FLIRTING WITH FIRE (Modern Love Book #3) by Jane Porter is an engaging and delightful mature contemporary romance and the third story in the Modern Love trilogy. All the books in this trilogy can easily be read as standalones because there are few crossover scenes of the female friends this trilogy is centered around.
Margot Hughes is back in her hometown after twenty-five years of pursuing her Broadway dream. After a failed eleven-year relationship, she believes her dream life as a wife and mother has passed her by. Working for her friend, Sally, in her property development company, Margot is content until Sally pushes her back into the theater world when she is needed to save the summer community theater production.
Max Russo has worked hard for twenty years to become the famous star he is today. After growing up in a dysfunctional family and having two failed marriages, he has sworn off marriage. Sally was the one person who helped him and believed in him during his childhood, so he is willing to help her by starring in her summer community theater production opposite Margot Hughes. The attraction and chemistry are immediate. Max wants a relationship, but Margot has been down this road before and her and Max’s future wants are very different.
Can Margot sacrifice what she wants for her future again or is she better off alone?
I absolutely love Max and Margot. This contemporary romance has two mature people communicating and being honest with each other even when it hurts. Both Max and Margot change emotionally throughout this romance personally without trying to change the other. I fell right into the story with the realistic characters, beautiful descriptions of the California coastal towns, and believable dialogue. The sex scenes are explicit and smokin’ hot, but not gratuitous. This plot contains not only a beautiful romance, but also several real-life issues that can crop up during anyone’s life journey.
I love the Modern Love trilogy stories, the heroines’ friendships and support, and the varied mature contemporary romances Ms. Porter has written in each. I highly recommend these three romances: Flirting with Fifty, Flirting with the Beast and Flirting with Fire!
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About the Author
USA Today, and New York Times bestselling author of 65 romances and women’s fiction titles, Jane Porter has been a finalist for the prestigious RITA award six times, with her Tule Publishing novella, Take Me, Cowboy, winning the Novella Category July 2014. Today, Jane has over 15 million copies in print, including her wildly popular Flirting with Forty, a novel picked by Redbook Magazine as it’s Red Hot Summer Read in 2006 before being turned into a Lifetime movie in 2008 starring Heather Locklear.
Jane holds an MA in Writing from the University of San Francisco and makes her home in sunny San Clemente, CA with her surfer husband three sons, and two dogs. You can learn more about Jane at janeporter.com.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for BIG LITTLE SPELLS (Witchlore Book #2) by Hazel Beck on this HTP Books Summer 2023 Blog Tour.
Below you will find a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book, and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Summary
A smart, modern Rom-Com about a witch banished from her coven who seeks help from the only person who can prove she’s not a threat to witchkind—her annoyingly immortal childhood crush.
Rebekah Wilde was eighteen when she left St. Cyprian, officially stripped of her magic and banished from her home. Ten years later she’s forced to return to face the Joywood Coven, who preside over not just her hometown, but the whole magical world.
The Joywood are determined to prove Rebekah is a danger to witchkind, and she faces a death sentence if she can’t prove otherwise. Rebekah must seek help from the only one who knows how to stop the Joywood—the ruthless immortal Nicholas Frost. Years ago, he was her secret tutor in magic, and her secret, impossible crush. But the icy and frustratingly handsome immortal is as remote and arrogant as ever, and if he feels anything for Rebekah—or witchkind—it’s impossible to tell.Now, she’s no longer a child…and this time what sparks between Nicholas and Rebekah is more than just magic…
BIG LITTLE SPELLS (Witchlore Book #2) by Hazel Beck is an entertaining mash-up of paranormal romance and rom-com in the witchy world of St. Cyprian, Missouri. This second book in the Witchlore series picks up immediately where the first book, Small Town, Big Magic left the reader. I do feel for the best understanding of this book and the Witchlore world, it is best to read these books in order.
Rebekah Wilde is banished on what should have been the night of her acceptance into adult witch society. Ten years later, she is forced to return by the coven that banished her and while she is happy to be reunited with her older sister and friends, there is a dark plot underway to eliminate them all permanently.
Nicholas Frost is a dark and dangerous immortal who secretly tutored Rebekah before she left and while she had a schoolgirl crush on him at the time, she finds he is even more captivating now as an adult. While he remains arrogant and aloof, he does help Rebekah and her friends once more, but there will be a high price to pay.
This is an enjoyable new witchy world with good vs. evil, romance, family, forgiveness, and a good balance of dire and serious scenes vs. fun and enjoyable scenes. Rebekah is a heroine who has a lot of emotional tripwires to face as she returns home. I feel her character arc is believably written because even though she was gone for ten years, she falls back into old behavioral patterns when she returns home. Her romance with Nicholas has two broken souls accepting each other and their pasts, but there are also strong threads of sisterly love and the love between friends and family woven throughout this story.
I have enjoyed both books in this series so far and I am looking forward to following this coven of friends as they continue to fight for their town.
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Excerpt
Chapter One
You don’t have to be an exiled witch under threat of the death penalty should you cast the faintest little spell to feel the magic in Sedona, Arizona.
But it doesn’t hurt.
The full moon is shining, high and bright, making the red rocks glow outside my little bungalow. The air is soft and dry instead of swollen with Missouri’s trademark humidity, which I’m not sorry to leave behind.
If it was up to me, I would never have gone back to Missouri at all.
Because one thing exile has taught me is that magic is as much a habit as anything else. Unnecessary at best. Dangerous at worst. An addiction, in other words.
These days I am all about recovery.
Except for tonight. Tonight, admittedly, has been a bit of a relapse.
I breathe out and try to blow away the past while I do.
I’m standing out in my little yard, my head tipped toward the Arizona sky and my shoes kicked off so I can feel the earth and as many vortexes as possible. Because I’m a hippie, I tell myself. Just a run-of-the-mill Sedona hippie. Hair down, feet bare, crystals hanging all around like every other New Ager around here.
Not magic, just vibes.
But before I manage to fully ground myself here, I feel something grab me, like a huge, magical hook around the center of me—but inside out. It’s dark. Hard. Kind of slimy, really—and it makes my stomach heave.
This particular magical tug is a summons, yanking me out of the life I fought so hard to build, all on my own. Not for the first time.
Not even for the first time tonight.
Though this summons is harsher than the one before. Meaner.
I know instantly it’s not him.
Because he yanked me back to St. Cyprian too, but it didn’t hurt when he did it. It’s not supposed to hurt at all, and he made it feel almost good—
But I stop thinking about the maddeningly beautiful, impossible immortal witch who ruined my life once already, and start worrying about me.
There’s only one reason for me to be dragged back home against my will. And it’s been a long night already. My sister, Emerson, who I haven’t seen in person in a decade, formed her very own coven made up of our closest friends and one obnoxious immortal. Then, together, we all fought off a major, magic-induced flood that would have submerged the town of St. Cyprian and most of Missouri.
The final jerk makes Sedona disappear into a blur of red, then there’s a whooshing sensation while whispered words fill the air around me.
Rebekah Wilde, come before us, the voices command me.
And I’m back.
Right where I don’t want to be.
I’m standing outside a farmhouse across the river from my hometown. And instead of the terrifying wave of water and my sister ready to dive into the middle of it all like the first time I showed up here tonight, the river has settled down. The fight is over.
Or…maybe it’s only just begun.
Because a quick glance around shows me that Emerson is standing outside in the cool April night, looking like the fierce Warrior she is, her eyes blazing gold with all her newly rediscovered power. Jacob North, our old friend and a Healer—and, I think, my sister’s new love—stands with her and doesn’t look any worse for the intense healing he did when we came much too close to losing Emerson earlier.
Behind them is Zander Rivers, my cousin, looking uncharacteristically grim for a guy who used to make the role he was born into—a Guardian—seem a lot more fun than the name suggests. Next to him is Georgie Pendell, Emerson’s best friend, whose entire family has been witch Historians—and actual historians who run the town’s local-interest museum—as long as anyone can remember. And last but never least, Ellowyn Good. My best friend. And also the Summoner who helped Emerson contact me once Emerson remembered she was a witch, despite the Joywood spell that took those magic memories away from her for ten whole years.
Across from them stand all the members of the Joywood, the ruling coven based here in my hometown of St. Cyprian, MO. The authoritarian, bullying, small-minded coven that cheated me out of the life I was supposed to have.
Seven dictatorial witches I had no intention of laying eyes on again.
I feel a rush of a very old, too-dark fury inside me—but stop myself. It’s practically a reflex at this point. I don’t do outsize emotion or high drama anymore. I don’t do dark. That would lead directly to my death, and I’ve always been pretty clear about wanting to stay alive.
If I hadn’t wanted to live—my life on my terms—I would have stayed here. I would have let these petty Joywood tyrants wipe my mind the way they wiped my sister’s, taking away any hint of ever knowing magic.
I tell myself that I’ve forgiven them. I chant it inside me, not like one of the spells forbidden to me, but like a mantra. They were only doing their jobs, following their laws, as stupid as those laws might be. I forgive them because forgiveness is mine to give. I don’t need to carry the bitter taste of St. Cyprian and its ruling coven with me. I chose to leave all of this behind. I still choose it.
Something—not quite a shadow—moves in my peripheral vision, and I see him too. Nicholas Frost, the one and only immortal witch. Some people call him a traitor.
I call him all kinds of things and unlike most, have done it to his face. But now is not the time to air all my oldest grudges.
His gaze from halfway across a field makes everything inside me…change. Not so much that dangerous black fury any longer. This is something else. A different kind of heat.
I don’t want to acknowledge it. Or him. Especially not with this audience.
Even if, for a moment, it feels as if the two of us are all alone here.
I have to remind myself that we’re not.
I forgive you, I think at him, in my smuggest internal voice. The best of a decade of recovery programs right there. And even though I can’t—won’t—use a witch’s usual telepathic version of conversation, I suspect he hears me anyway. Because his dark blue eyes gleam.
From all the way across the tall grass.
“Rebekah Wilde,” booms a voice I recognize entirely too well, even though I haven’t heard it in a decade. Carol Simon, the Joywood coven’s Warrior and therefore the leader of…everything involving witches the world over.
I force myself to look at her, hopefully without my feelings all over my face, and decide that teenage me was right. Her frizzy hair really is unforgivable.
“You have been summoned here, to the site of your infraction, to answer for your offense,” she intones.
I finally take note of the fact that she and her cronies hauled me into this field, but not into the group of my friends and family who also infracted tonight. I’m standing halfway between them and the Joywood. As tempting as it is to think that’s just carelessness, I know better.
They don’t do careless.
I slouch where I stand, because even being across the river from my hometown makes me want to behave like the sulky teenager I was when I lived here. That’s what Carol and her buddies likely see anyway, so why not live down to their worst expectations? I’ve always been excellent at that.
I lock eyes with Felicia Ipswitch, the Joywood’s Diviner and my personal nemesis, and smirk a little. And just like that, it might as well be tenth grade when Felicia was the high school principal and I was a problem. A problem she thought she could solve with draconian detentions and the kind of punishments that would send human teachers to jail—but witch students heal up better.
Turns out I’m not over high school, which doesn’t really do a lot for the sullen peace and love vibe I’m trying to exude here.
I look away from that evil old hag to find Emerson looking at me like I’m an answer. That’s not unusual. My sister always thinks there is one. And better yet, that she can find it and implement it.
I know better, because I made my own way out in the world, relying on nothing and no one but me. I learned the hard way that life and the world often have no answers, no neat little bows. For anyone, witch or human.
I tell myself that it gives me great internal peace to accept this knowledge, and maybe it will, someday. I grit my teeth and think peace, please.
Especially when Carol starts to speak again. Peace, love, light, I chant inside me. No spellwork here. No witchcraft. Just words of power that anyone could use while anointing themselves in essential oils and rearranging their houses for better feng shui.
“I know you must think you did something big here tonight,” Carol is saying, as if she’s never heard anything dumber in her life. Her voice is so persuasive that I have to pinch myself to remember that no, we weren’t giggling over a Ouija board, pretending we weren’t pushing it while we clearly were. We actually fused together the way all the books say true covens should, fought some gnarly dark magic, and won. Almost at the expense of my sister’s life.
“But I’m afraid all you really did, Emerson and Rebekah, is break the terms set down before you when you failed your pubertatum.” She glances around. “And the rest of you broke several laws aiding them.”
The word pubertatum has not gotten any less obnoxious in the ten years I haven’t heard it spoken aloud. It’s an ugly Latin word for a coming-of-age ceremony where witches in their eighteenth year are required to demonstrate their powers so they might take their places in witch society. Pass the test and you answer a few questions to be herded into one of the seven witchkind designations. Warrior, Guardian, Summoner, Healer, Historian, Praeceptor, or Diviner.
Fail the test, like Emerson and I did, and you get to be a zombie or an outcast.
“I have power, Carol. You can’t deny that,” Emerson says, with her usual bouncy forthrightness, like she’s flabbergasted at the possibility that Carol would bother trying to deny such a thing. When it’s so obvious.
I really have missed my sister.
“You told me I had none.” Emerson points to me now. “You told us we have no power at all. You were wrong. And then, all this power inside me you said I didn’t have fought off your obliviscor.”
I expect rage. Carol has never been one for being told she’s wrong. Her mind wipe spell wasn’t supposed to have failed. But Carol surprises me.
She titters, and her cronies all laugh along with her. I remind myself that it’s supposed to make me feel wrong and stupid and vaguely humiliated. That’s what they do. Better to rule us by making us hate ourselves.
“And you’ve turned a simple testing error into some…nefarious plot? I do worry, Emerson, that fighting off the obliviscor addled your senses.”
“We just saved St. Cyprian and possibly all of witchkind, Carol,” my sister says, and not angrily. Just like she’s reciting facts, inviting Carol to come aboard. She even smiles. “You’re welcome.”
And I know hate is for the weak. Forgiveness is power. Blah, blah, blah.
But Carol Simon makes the case for blood feuds, forever. Especially when she rolls her eyes.
“We saved witchkind with no help from you,” Emerson continues, as if she doesn’t see any eye-rolling. Because she won’t give up. Emerson never, ever gives up.
Even when she should.
“As a concerned, dedicated St. Cyprian citizen who also happens to be chamber of commerce president, I have to wonder,” Emerson tells Carol. But she also casts an eye over the rest of them, these fixtures of St. Cyprian and my witchy past that I did not miss at all. Like Maeve Mather, the Joywood’s Summoner, who used to go out of her way to be mean to my grandmother. Just because she could. “Why, I’m asking myself, did the ruling body of all witchkind not only turn a blind eye to the obvious imbalance in our power source that’s been making the rivers rise so dangerously, but also fail to help us fix it? Why did we have to stop it?”
“I assume because you wanted attention,” Felicia says. It is a familiar sentence, meant to be pure condemnation. She used to use it all the time as a precursor to her nasty little punishments. My gaze moves across the dark field to find Ellowyn’s, and I can tell from my best friend’s expression that she’s remembering the same thing I am.
All of high school, basically. When Principal Ipswitch dedicated herself to what she called our reprehensible, attention-seeking behavior.
What amazes me is how little I’ve thought about high school since leaving Missouri. Deliberately. And tonight, it’s like I never left.
“I saw the darkness at the heart of the confluence myself,” Emerson says with a great calm I certainly don’t feel. Especially since I saw it too. That terrible, encroaching dark, eating the world whole. It had hunkered there where the three rivers meet, waiting malevolently. And then, tonight, it exploded. Emerson, with our help, destroyed it. My heart starts kicking at me again, a riot of panic, like it’s still happening.
“Are you accusing us of something?” Carol asks, and she’s scarily good at this. She sounds on the verge of laughter, yet somehow almost hurt. As if she cares deeply what Emerson thinks of her. Of them.
I worry this will work on my sister. Because the truth is, Emerson has no power here. She’s too honest, and this is politics. Power. It’s ego and control. Emerson is a lot of things I roll my eyes at all the time, but she’s never been ruled by ego or greed.
Not like these witches.
“I’m pointing out facts,” Emerson says, sounding patient now. My sister has never met a windmill she didn’t try to charge head-on. “And the facts are, we saved St. Cyprian. You could have helped us, Carol. But you didn’t.”
“Oh, Emerson.” Carol sounds sad. Legitimately sad, which would require emotions on her part. And I’m pretty sure velociraptors don’t have emotions. “Why would we deliberately choose not to help save the place where we live? How does that make sense?”
Emerson blinks. “You tell me.”
I want to give a short TED talk on gaslighting and master manipulators, but this is not the time. It’s still not clear whether this is an execution or not. Carol did mention infractions of the pubertatum rules, and last I heard, me using magic the way I did tonight is a capital offense. Emerson wasn’t supposed to be able to do it. I claimed I could do it, but was exiled because they said I had no real power—only the shameful, unsafe urge to use borrowed force. Either way, using witchcraft as an exile is about as forbidden as you can get.
I can always be counted on to rebel when it will do me the most harm.
There’s a part of me that wants to turn to Nicholas Frost, the only other being here who isn’t standing with a group. He’s the one who came up with the goddamned pubertatum back when the earth was young, or so they taught us in school. He is considered the first Praeceptor—the teacher of all teachers, but not in a safe little classroom way. Praeceptors in his day taught armies of witches, then wielded them.
But I know better than to look to him for help.
Looking at him at all is fraught enough when you were once a teenage girl with a teenage girl’s unwieldy crush. Those things are hard to vanquish.
“We saved St. Cyprian,” Emerson says again, as if saying it enough will get through to Carol when as far as I know, nothing has ever gotten through to Carol.
“Maybe you did save the town,” Felicia says, with her little sniff of disdain that I remember all too well. “But if you did, it was for your own gain and nothing more.”
I want to say that at least that’s better than doing it for attention, but I don’t, because I’m evolved as fuck.
My sister’s eyes narrow. And here’s the thing that most people don’t know about Emerson Wilde. She expends a lot of energy trying to convince the people around her to see the error of their ways. She embodies the notion that if you lead a horse to water in the right way, it really will drink.
But when she’s done, she’s done.
As her little sister, I know this better than anyone. So, I step in to stop the impending storm. “This seems straightforward to me,” I say, doing my best to sound as if all this carrying on is a waste of energy, and I low-key resent it. And as if I’m some kind of authority here. “Emerson has some magic. Let her take the test again.”
HAZEL BECK is the magical partnership of a river witch and an earth witch. Together, they have collected two husbands, three familiars, two children, five degrees, and written around 200 books. As one, their books will delight with breathtaking magic, emotional romance, and stories of witches you won’t soon forget.
BROKEN COWBOY (The Montana Men Book #1) by Jamie Schulz is the first book in a new cowboy western contemporary romance series featuring a strong, but struggling owner of a run-down farm and the broken drifting cowboy who wants to help and protect her. This is a steamy, emotional romance that kept me curled up reading from the beginning to the end.
Addie Malory completely changed her life and bought a farm. It turned into more work than she expected and when the help she has make unwanted advances she fires them. Now on her way to town, she finds a cowboy walking down the road and when she finds out he has work experience on farms and the rodeo offers him a job on her farm.
Cade Brody is drifting after being betrayed by his brother. When his truck breaks down, he is grateful for the ride and the offer of a job. Cade is instantly attracted to his new boss, but he also has a lot of emotional baggage. His protective instincts kick in when the farm is vandalized.
Addie and Cade wrestle with their building chemistry as Addie is being squeezed financially and Cade, while wanting to protect her, also must deal with his past if he wants to move forward.
Addie and Cade are dealing with so much baggage and yet they are able to let their relationship grow. While I would have liked a little more honest communication at times, they do move from friends to lovers at a believable pace even with the instant attraction. I liked that Addie was a curvy girl who found a man who appreciated her curves and made her feel beautiful. Cade is a hero who needed Addie and her love to begin to deal with his past and forgiveness. The sex scenes are explicit and smokin’ hot, but not gratuitous. All the secondary characters are well written, and I am looking forward to seeing them in the coming books in this series. The suspense sub-plot kept me guessing and I was surprised at the resolution.
I can highly recommend this cowboy western contemporary romance for an emotional and engaging HEA read.
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Author Bio
Jamie Schulz is a contemporary Western romance and dystopian cowboy romance author. She loves to write about heroes with vulnerabilities and strong, feisty heroines who are a match for the men they love. To her, every one of her stories, no matter how dark, must have a happy ending, and she strives to make them impossible to put down until you get there.
Jamie has been writing and making up stories for most of her life and hopes to one day reach the bestsellers lists. Her book Broken Cowboy won the Global Book Awards Gold Medal for romance and was a RONE Awards finalist. Jake’s Redemption—a full-length prequel to the dark, dystopian world of the Angel Eyes series—was also an award-winner in the Global Ebook Awards.
Cowboys, ice cream, and reading almost any kind of romance are among her (not so) secret loves. She balances her free time between reading her favorite romance authors—in genres ranging from erotica and dark romance to sweet historicals and contemporary romance—and spending time with those she is closest to. She lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her family and their fur babies, and she enjoys hearing from her fans.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for SUDDENLY THIS SUMMER Anthology featuring Susan Mallery, Synithia Williams, and Stefanie London on this HTP Books Romance Blog Tour.
Below you will find a book summary, my mini book reviews, an excerpt from the the book, and the author’s bios and social media links.
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Book Summary
Nothing is sweeter than the first kiss of summer…
SAY YOU’LL STAY by Susan Mallery. Shaye Harper has sworn off men for good. But when she meets army vet Lawson Easley during a pit stop on the road to a fresh start, she’s drawn in by the quirky town—and the handsome stranger she can’t resist. Lawson knows there’s no place better than Wishing Tree. Too bad the woman he’s certain is “the one” is just passing through…unless he can convince her to give him and his hometown a chance at forever.
THIS TIME FOR KEEPS by Synithia Williams. Home to care for her ailing father, Michaela Spears is on a mission: reconcile with the one man she can’t forget. She broke his heart years ago, so when Khalil appears on her parents’ doorstep in his scrubs, she knows it’s her last chance. Khalil Davenport shouldn’t have taken the job as her dad’s home nurse, but he couldn’t resist her. Their timing was never right, but now can he trust that she’s home to stay?
BEST MAN NEXT DOOR by Stefanie London. For Sage Nilsen, coming back to her small Massachusetts hometown for a family wedding feels like high school all over again. Except Jamie Hackett has gone from charming boy next door to handsome best man. And sparks are suddenly flying between the popular guy and the so-called outcast. As the wedding gets closer, Sage finds herself on the edge of something unexpected—a second chance in the town she left behind…with the guy she’s never forgotten.
Authors: Susan Mallery, Synithia Williams, Stefanie London
ISBN: 9781335004871
Publication Date: August 22, 2023
Publisher: Canary Street Press
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
SUDDENLY THIS SUMMER Anthology featuring Susan Mallery, Synithia Williams, and Stefanie London is an enjoyable combination of three contemporary romances that are all great for a quick read and a heartfelt bit of romance. I started these stories and could not stop until I finished all three.
Say You’ll Stay by Susan Mallery is an introduction to the wonderful small-town of Wishing Tree. This story has Shaye Harper just passing through, but Lawson Easley knows she is “the one” and wants her to stay. I have read all the Wishing Tree books and they are just wonderful and always leave me with a smile on my face and a warm feeling in my heart.
This Time for Keeps by Synithia Williams has Michaela Spears returning home when her father gets a kidney transplant determined to convince Khalil Davenport she is home to stay and wants their relationship to be permanent. This is a new to me author who wrote about finding the balance that is important in life and love. This is a spicier romance than the other two.
Best Man Next Door by Stefanie London has Sage Nilsen returning home for her sister’s wedding to the hometown she could not wait to leave. Jamie Hackett is the best man and was the only man Sage had ever wanted but could not have. This wedding may be the second chance both are looking for if they can let go of the past. I loved this romance so much even though it reminded me why I hated high school.
Overall, three well written novella length, delightful contemporary romances that are relatable and satisfying on every level.
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Excerpt
Best Man Next Door by Stefanie London
CHAPTER ONE
Before today, Jamie Hackett had thought he’d already faced death.
Like the time he dove off a cliff on a dare, plunging into the ocean with the speed of a bullet. Or
the time he’d come face-to-face with a territorial goose who’d gone apeshit at him for getting too
close to her goslings. Or when his car skidded across a patch of black ice in the middle of winter
and he’d narrowly missed crash- ing into a big oak tree.
He’d been cool as a cucumber, every single time.
But it turned out he hadn’t really faced death. Now that he’d confronted it for real, he understood
what it felt like.
Jamie glanced around the sterile white hospital hall- way, feeling weirdly disconnected from it
all. If some- one had told him he was floating in the air, watching everything happen from above,
he would have believed it. Giving himself a shake, he reached one hand to his opposite arm and
pinched himself. Hard. He winced from the pain.
Still alive.
But the quicker he was out of here the better.
His mom stood at the administration desk, her shoulders hunched. Exhaustion seeped into her posture and made her look even smaller than usual. When she turned to face him, he noticed her blouse was buttoned wrong and her curly ginger hair was sticking out in all directions like it always did when she didn’t have time to style it.
“Ready to go, hon?” She tried to smile, but her eyes were watery and the dark shadows circling underneath made her look hollowed out.
You did that to her.
He nodded.
“Your dad has gone to get the car so he can meet us out front.” She slipped her arm into his and held him close, her fingernails biting into his skin, as if she was worried he’d float away like a discarded balloon if she didn’t hold on tight enough. “No need to rush—we’ll walk slow.”
“You didn’t have to wait around. I could have gotten a cab,” he said quietly. He kept his gaze averted from the goings-on around him, not wanting to see the people being wheeled about and the elderly folk shuffling along, walking their fluid bags like strange, lifeless pets.
It freaked him out.
He was thirty-two for crying out loud. Thirty-two with his whole life ahead of him. With decades ahead of him.
“Jamie Hackett, if you think I would let my child come home from hospital in a cab then I don’t even know…” Her voice broke as she shook her head, still clutching him tightly. He could hear the tears she was holding back, companions of the ones she’d been shedding ever since she’d arrived at the hospital yesterday. “Of course we were going to take you home.”
There was no point arguing. Patty Hackett was an overprotective mama bear at the best of times, let alone when one of her own was hurt. Although really, aside from a few stitches in the back of his head and some chest pain that felt like a couple of boulders had been propped there, Jamie was walking away from this situation a lot better than he could have.
A lot better than what would have been if his best friend hadn’t saved him.
When they made it outside, Jamie sucked in as much air as his lungs would allow, and even though doing so burned, he had to clear the hospital smells from his nostrils. It was warm and sunny out, with a clear blue sky and not a cloud to be seen. The perfect early summer day.
Perfect like it had been the previous evening when he’d decided to get a good sweaty workout in. Perfect like when he’d jogged across the gym floor, warm sunshine streaming in through the windows and the high-quality shock-absorbent flooring cushioning his feet. Perfect like when his fists had sailed at the heavy punching bag, the repetitive pounding motion better than any form of therapy he’d found to date.
Perfect…until he’d almost died.
Jamie shook the dark thoughts from his head as his father pulled the family SUV up in front of the hospital’s pick-up area. His mom rushed forward to open the passenger side door for him.
“I can open the door myself, okay?” he said. He hated seeing her worry like this. Hated knowing that he caused it. “You don’t need to wait on me.”
“Just get in the car, James,” she sighed and shot him a look that told him there was no point arguing. It was easier to do what he was told. And if she was calling him by his full name, it meant she was a hair away from clipping his ear.
So he climbed into the car without another word.
“Son.” His father looked over to him with a crinkled brow. “Let your mother fuss. She needs it.”
Jamie nodded. “You’re right.”
His father turned to face the road as the back door opened and Patty climbed in, scrambling to hoist her small frame up into the giant SUV like she always did. The ride home was filled with rapid-fire questions from the back seat.
Why didn’t you tell us you were stressed out?
Should you be talking to a professional about your problems?
Is it happening again?
The last one made a weird acidic taste burn in the back of his throat. No matter how many years he put between himself and The Great Breakdown of his early twenties, he was frequently reminded that nobody would ever forget it happened.
Because when you were a world-class athlete, your failures didn’t only become gossip—they became lore.
“The doctor said you need to keep your stress levels down and take a break from work,” his mother relayed. “This could happen again. She said that panic attacks can be triggered by working too much and not getting enough rest, and—”
“I know, Mom. I was there.”
“We care about you, Jamie.” His father’s voice was gruff. “This isn’t about blame or trying to make you feel bad. You know that, right?”
Despite everything that had happened in the past, his parents had never once made him feel like he was to blame for what had happened…even if he himself had felt like a giant failure.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
“And the doctor said we need to keep an eye on you for the next twenty-four hours to make sure there are no complications,” Patty continued. The car rolled smoothly along the highway, other vehicles passing them at a rapid pace thanks to his dad’s careful—read: slow—driving. “I got your sister to set up the spare bedroom at our place. And don’t bother protesting about going home by yourself because I won’t have it.”
Jamie glanced at his father, who simply shrugged as if to say, she’s the boss. Too right. Nobody was under any illusions about who was head of their household, that was for damn sure.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mom. But what about—”
“Flash is staying at Clay’s house,” she said without letting him finish. “He said we could leave him there until you were ready to go home.”
Whenever Jamie wasn’t feeling himself, the first thing he wanted to do was to hang out with his dog. They really were man’s best friend. No doubt Jamie’s business partner, Clay Harris, would spoil him rotten with treats and belly scratches, so it wasn’t like he’d be sad having a sleepover.
Jamie watched the scenery roll along outside the window. Soon they were approaching Reflection Bay, the town where he’d spent most of his life—a town that wasn’t even big enough for its own hospital.
He’d driven along this road so many times he’d lost count, watching the silvery blue of the ocean flicker between patches of green and rugged cliff faces, the tourist-favorite red-and-white lighthouse rising up in the distance. It was the same as it had always been and yet…it felt different now.
Everything felt different.
Forty-eight hours after returning home from the hospital, Jamie was “discharged” from the Hackett Family Hospital. But not without needing to pass a rigorous interrogation from his mother. If someone had overheard the conversation, they might mistake Patty Hackett for an actual doctor rather than the elementary school art teacher she was.
But now that Jamie could taste the sweet air of freedom, he was happier than ever to be alive. Especially since he had been reunited with his canine best friend.
“Isn’t it glorious? The sun is shining. The birds are singing.” Jamie glanced down at his dog, Flash, who ambled with the kind of gait that could only be described as “walking under duress.” “Oh, come on, bud. It’s not that bad.”
The chunky fawn-and-white bulldog looked up at him with imploring eyes as if to say, please make it stop. Flash, named in the most ironic fashion, hated working out as much as Jamie loved it. In fact, it was somewhat of a local joke that the two fittest guys in town had adopted the laziest dog ever as the mascot for their gym.
But Jamie loved Flash with everything he had. The dog might not be able to move faster than a drunk snail, but he had a heart of gold. Flash was always happy to see Jamie, never judged him for working too long or for stressing out too much about his business, and loved nothing more than just hanging out. No expectations, no bullshit.
That was love.
The pair ambled along the street. His business, Reflection Fitness, sat right at the end of the main strip, on a corner. It never failed to make pride surge through Jamie’s veins to see what he and Clay had built together. Their goal had been to create a gym that catered to all the people in their small town, leaving no one to feel like they didn’t belong. Reflection Fitness had clients who were training for big goals like marathons and fitness competitions, as well as clients like Jamie’s grandpa—who was combating osteoarthritis with regular, low-intensity workouts—and Jamie’s favorite personal training client—a bubbly woman in her forties who’d decided to try weight lifting after years of thinking cardio was the only option for women. They had a trainer on staff who specialized in pre- and post-natal fitness and another who ran classes for seniors aimed at improving joint mobility. They had built the gym to be accessible for clients with mobility needs. It was important to both Jamie and Clay that everyone who came to the gym felt welcomed and catered to.
“Let’s get you inside where there’s some air-conditioning, huh?” Jamie looked down at Flash, who was taking each plodding step with great effort. To be fair to the dog, it was unseasonably hot for so early in the summer. “We’re almost there.”
Jamie turned the corner to access the gym from the back door, which led directly into the office he and Clay shared. He tried not to take Flash through the front if he could help it, in case anyone working out had asthma or allergies. But when Jamie got to the door and tried to turn the handle, he found it locked.
“Weird,” he muttered.
The back was usually open if Clay was working, which he should be, given the hour. But perhaps he’d stepped out.
Jamie tried unlocking it. Only…the key wouldn’t fit.
“What the heck?” He tried again. No dice.
He stared at the key, wondering if the knock he’d taken to the back of his head had done more damage than he’d realized. But no, it was definitely the right key.
Befuddled, Jamie walked Flash around to the front of the gym, where a sleek set of glass doors opened to a small reception area. The space was light and welcoming, with a big potted plant and a white couch in one corner. An old black-and-white photo hung on the wall, showing Clay and Jamie in their high school days, arms around each other—a tennis racket in Jamie’s hand and a basketball in Clay’s.
“Jamie!” The receptionist, Sara, brightened when she saw him. She wore a blue Reflection Fitness uniform polo shirt and her long, dark brown hair hung over her shoulder in twin braids. “How are you feeling?”
“Never better,” he replied breezily. “And thank you for sending those flowers to Mom’s place. That wasn’t necessary.”
“Everyone was thinking about you.” Her brow wrinkled. “We were all so worried when Clay told us what happened!”
Ugh, Clay. The guy had a big mouth.
“I told him to keep it quiet,” Jamie muttered. “In any case, I appreciate the gesture. Mom commandeered the flowers right away for her living room.”
Sara laughed. “That’s why I picked tulips. I had a feeling she would end up with them.”
Mama Hackett was a favorite among the staff since she often made oatmeal cookies, energy balls and other healthy treats for everyone who worked at Reflection Fitness.
“Is Clay in?” Jamie asked. “I tried the back door, but I think something’s wrong with my key.”
“Uh…” Sara’s expression turned strange, and she reached for the phone on the desk. “Let me call him through.”
“It’s okay, I’ll head in.” Jamie had his swipe pass on hand, like always, and he tapped it against the electronic reader which activated the gate into the gym.
The screen flashed red and made an angry beep sound.
First his key didn’t fit the lock and now his pass wasn’t working. What the—
“Jamie.”
He looked up and saw Clay striding through the gym toward the foyer, a no-nonsense look on his face. At six foot five with shoulders that could bridge two cities, Clay had the perfect build for the sport he’d loved as a child—basketball. He had dark brown skin, warm eyes and close-cropped curly black hair. Usually, Clay would be flashing his signature charming smile—a smile that had won over just about every cheerleader the guy had ever encountered in his high school and college days. A smile that, now, was conspicuously absent.
“You locked me out.” Jamie shook his head in disbelief. “You changed the locks on the office without telling me?”
“Outside, now.” Clay pointed to the front doors as he strode through the gate. “We’re not doing this in front of the clients.”
Sara dropped her head and pretended to bury herself in work, ignoring Jamie’s gaze pleading for support.
He let out an irritated huff. “Fine.”
The two men walked back outside and Jamie felt a pang of guilt as Flash made a noise of protest about returning to the hot summer day. The trio rounded the corner away from the front of the gym so they could have it out.
“This is for your own good, Jamie.” Clay held up his hands, signaling he didn’t want a fight. Despite being strong enough to beat most men in anything physical, Clay was a gentle giant with a big heart.
He was also, however, stubborn as an ox.
“We’re partners, Clay. You can’t lock me out of my own damn business.” Jamie gestured with his free hand toward the building next to them. “That’s…that’s got to be illegal.”
Clay folded his arms across his chest. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t take this seriously. The doctor said you need to rest and your mom told me to keep an eye on you, because she’s worried, too.”
Typical Patty. Jamie made a sound of disbelief. “I rested.”
“For two days.” Clay shook his head. “That’s not enough.”
“Man, it was nothing. You’re overreacting.”
“I am not overreacting. Do you have any idea what it’s like to walk up on your best friend lying unconscious on the floor? I thought you’d had a heart attack or something. I thought you were dead.”
He felt terrible for putting Clay through that, but he was already feeling vulnerable about this whole thing. He couldn’t let his friend see how much it had shaken him.
“So dramatic.” Jamie rolled his eyes.
“See, this—” Clay circled a finger at his face just like his mom used to when they were naughty kids “—is why I know you’re not listening to what the doctor said. You came right here to go back to doin’ exactly what you were doin’ before.”
“Building our business?” he replied, biting back his frustration.
“Running yourself into the ground. Wake up, Jamie.” Clay shook his head. “You might not be so lucky next time.”
“It’s my call to determine whether I’m ready to come back, not yours.”
“It sure is, because I won’t give you a new key until I’m sure you’re actually taking this thing seriously.”
Jamie’s mouth popped open. “You can’t do that!”
“Sure I can. It’s my name on the lease, remember?”
Oh yeah. That. He’d been meaning to get that bit of paperwork updated for almost three years now, but it was one of those things that kept falling off his to-do list in favor of more impactful items. Besides, he’d always thought Clay would never do him dirty, so it didn’t seem like a big deal.
“It’s our business, no matter what the lease says.”
“Jamie, I’m doing this because you’re my best friend. I want you to take care of yourself.” Clay looked genuinely concerned. “Coach always used to say a heart that pumps too fast is no better than one that doesn’t pump at all. Rest is as important as work.”
Jamie let out a groan. “Sitting at a desk isn’t exactly strenuous. I just need to answer some emails—”
“And then you’ll just need to look at some spreadsheets and make some calls and then some new client will come to you with a sob story and you’ll squeeze them in even though you said you weren’t going to take on any more PT clients yourself.” Clay shook his head. “I know your tricks, man. Don’t try to play me.”
“But what about the clients I have—”
“I split them up between the other trainers. It’s already done.”
“You called everyone already?” Jamie scrubbed a hand over his face. “I told you I didn’t want anyone to know.”
“I said you were helping me plan stuff for the wedding. Best man shit.” Clay grinned and Jamie found his anger withering away. It really was hard to hate the guy when he smiled. “You’re loyal like that.”
He let out a strangled noise of frustration. “I’ll call the locksmith myself.”
“Then he’s gonna have to get through me.”
Jamie considered his options. Anyone who didn’t know Clay might be too intimidated to try changing the locks against his wishes and anyone who did know him would be too charmed to want to try. Fact was, his best friend had him over a barrel.
“What am I supposed to do with myself, huh?” Jamie hated the panic in his voice. Who on earth felt panicked at the prospect of time off?
“I don’t know. Play ping-pong with your dad, go up to the Cape, sleep in. You’re a big boy—you’ll figure it out.”
Clay’s hand came down hard on Jamie’s shoulder, earning him a soft grunt. There was no reasoning with the guy, that much was clear.
Maybe Clay and his mom were right and this was serious. Jamie could have died. When he’d woken up in the ambulance, everything had flashed before his eyes—his whole life. His family. Work. His failed professional tennis career. His business. Long hours at his computer after longer days on the gym floor. Chasing the next thing, expanding the business, more clients, more money. Never satisfied. Always restless.
Was that all his life was about?
He’d always been hyper competitive, driven, and ambitious. But what if he had died the other day? What would he have left behind?
Jamie realized then that Clay was looking at him, as if waiting for him to speak. “No sweat. You want me to chill for a bit, fine. I can do that. You’ll see this isn’t a big deal.”
But even as he brushed off the severity of the incident, he knew the earth had shifted beneath his feet. What he’d thought was solid ground was now loose earth and uneven terrain. He needed to find his footing again. He needed to get himself straight. Most of all, he needed to prove to everyone that this was just a one-off. That he could handle pressure—unlike when he was younger.
Because he couldn’t ever go back to being Jamie Can’t-Hackett ever again.
SUSAN MALLERY: Susan Mallery is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of novels about the relationships that define women’s lives—family, friendship, romance. Library Journal says, “Mallery is the master of blending emotionally believable characters in realistic situations,” and readers seem to agree—40 million copies of her books have sold worldwide. Her warm, humorous stories make the world a happier place to live. Susan grew up in California and now lives in Seattle with her husband. She’s passionate about animal welfare, especially that of the ragdoll cat and adorable poodle who think of her as mom. Visit Susan online at www.susanmallery.com.
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SYNITHIA WILLIAMS: Synithia Williams has loved romance novels since reading her first one at the age of 13. It was only natural that she would one day write her own romance. When she isn’t writing, Synithia works on water quality issues in the Midlands of South Carolina while taking care of her supportive husband and two sons. You can learn more about Synithia by visiting her website, www.synithiawilliams.com.
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STEFANIE LONDON: Stefanie London is a USA TODAY bestselling author of contemporary romances and romantic comedies. Her books have been called “genuinely entertaining and memorable” by Booklist and have won multiple industry awards, including the HOLT Medallion and OKRWA National Readers’ Choice Award. Originally from Australia, Stefanie lives in Toronto with her very own hero and is doing her best to travel the world. She frequently indulges in her passions for good coffee, lipstick, romance novels and anything zombie related. Visit Stefanie online at Stefanie-London.com.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for WHAT WOULD JANEAUSTIN DO? by Linda Corbett on this Austenprose PR Blog Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Description
It’s a truth often acknowledged that when a journalist and Jane Austen fan girl ends up living next door to a cynical but handsome crime writer, romantic sparks will fly!
When Maddy Shaw is told her Dear Jane column has been cancelled she has no choice but to look outside of London’s rental market. That is until she’s left an idyllic country home by the black sheep of the family, long-not-so-lost Cousin Nigel.
But of course, there’s a stipulation… and not only is Maddy made chair of the committee for the annual village literary festival, she also has to put up with bestselling crime author –and romance sceptic – Cameron Massey as her new neighbor.
When Maddy challenges Cameron to write romantic fiction, which he claims is so easy to do, sparks fly both on and off the page…
WHAT WOULD JANE AUSTIN DO? By Linda Corbett is a sweet and entertaining contemporary romance and rom-com mash-up featuring an unemployed journalist and lover of all things Jane Austin and romance and an argumentative crime writer in need of inspiration for a new book and temporary lodging. This is a new to me author who kept me turning the pages and enjoying this English small-town enemies-to-lovers romance.
Maddy Shaw inherits a country manor from the black sheep of her Shaw family, and it could not have come at a better time. She has been let go from her magazine Dear Jane column and needs this windfall, but it has stipulations. Besides having to live in the home, she also must run the annual village literary festival.
Cameron Massey (pen name) is a famous crime writer who is having extensive work done on his home and needs a quiet place to write his next book. Cameron, whose real name is Luke, moves in with Maddy, who is looking for someone to help with the bills and the sparks fly.
This is a cozy romance with plenty of humor and wonderful and quirky small-town characters. Maddy’s love of Jane Austin and romance leads to many spirited debates with a man who does not believe in romance. Her research into her cousin who left her his home was an interesting sub-plot. Ms. Corbett did a great job of moving Cameron’s character from being a grump and only likable for his looks to having a background that wounded him and you slowly begin to see the real caring man underneath the gruff. Buster, Luke’s dog, is endearing and a good buffer as Maddy and Luke open up to each other.
I recommend curling up on the couch and enjoying this heartfelt contemporary romance and rom-com mash-up.
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Author Bio
Linda Corbett lives in Surrey with her husband Andrew and three permanently hungry guinea pigs. As well as being an author, Linda is treasurer and fundraiser for Shine Surrey – a volunteer-led charity that supports individuals and families living with spina bifida and hydrocephalus. For many years she also wrote a regular column for Link, a disability magazine, illustrating the humorous aspects of life with a complex disability and she is a passionate advocate of disability representation in fiction. Love You From A-Z is her first published novel.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for TALULAH’S BACK IN TOWN by Brenda Novak on this HTP Books Romance Blog Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Description
Sometimes the past we leave behind leads us right where we belong.
Talulah Barclay doesn’t like complications. Unfortunately, they seem to love her. Fourteen years after leaving her fiancé at the altar, Talulah returns to her hometown of Coyote Canyon, Montana, to settle her great-aunt’s estate. As she’d feared, her “runaway bride” reputation is waiting right where she left it, and her ex’s best friend, Brant, isn’t about to let her slip by unnoticed.
Brant has always been a loyal friend, but Talulah’s decision to run isn’t the only thing he hasn’t forgotten. He remembers more about Talulah than he cares to admit. Vividly. And it’s increasingly difficult to ignore her now, especially when they find themselves in close quarters. Talulah has no plans to stay in town after she fixes up her aunt’s Victorian farmhouse, even if the unbridled sparks with Brant give her a good reason to linger. Besides, bailing on relationships is kind of her thing. But a lot has changed since Talulah last turned tail—maybe her heart has changed, too?
TALULAH’S BACK IN TOWN (Coyote Canyon Book #1) by Brenda Novak is an enchanting small-town contemporary romance set in Montana featuring a runaway bride returning home after fourteen years. This is the first book in this small-town romance series, and I am looking forward to returning to Coyote Canyon again and again.
Talulah is now a successful partner in a bakery/café in Seattle since leaving her hometown boyfriend at the alter fourteen years ago. She has returned to settle her great aunt’s estate and attend the birth of her new niece only to discover her reputation has not improved. Talulah works hard on her relationship issues and tries to be honest with any man she is involved with, but she also hates confrontation and disappointing people, so her relationships get out of her control, she panics and runs.
Brant is Talulah’s ex-fiancé’s best friend and while he should be the last person to get involved with Talulah, there is now some sort of attraction that was not there before. As Brant and Talulah’s relationship grows it causes problems with not only those who never forgave her for leaving, but also with her business partner back in Seattle.
There are plenty of obstacles, but has Talulah finally found the one?
This is an entertaining romance with a hero and heroine who communicate honestly with each other throughout the story. They discuss feelings, friendships, careers, and finances which you do not normally find in a romance. Since this is the first book in the series, there are many character introductions and connections, but they flowed effortlessly onto the page and became a part of the group without slowing the pace of the story. There are explicit sex scenes, but they are not gratuitous or long. I really enjoyed Brant and Talulah’s romance and I am looking forward to seeing who Ms. Novak will bring together next in Coyote Canyon.
I recommend this small-town contemporary romance.
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Excerpt
One
“Well, if it isn’t the runaway bride.”
Talulah Barclay glanced up to find the reason a shadow had just fallen across her plate. She’d been hoping to ease back into the small community of Coyote Canyon, Montana, without drawing any attention. But Brant Elway, of all people, had happened to come into the café where she was having breakfast and stopped at her booth.
“Of course you’d be the first to bring up my past sins,” she grumbled. They hadn’t seen each other for nearly fourteen years, and he’d certainly changed—filled out what had once been a spare frame, grown a couple of inches, even though he’d been tall to begin with, and taken on a rugged, slightly weathered look from spending so much time outdoors. But she would’ve recognized him anywhere.
The crooked smile that curved his lips suggested he was hardly repentant. “I’m not likely to forget that day. I was the best man, remember?”
She wasn’t likely to forget that day, either. Only bumping into her ex, Charlie Gerhart, would be more cringeworthy.
She felt terrible about what she’d done to Charlie. She also felt terrible that she’d repeated the same mistake with two other men since. Admittedly, jilting her fiancés at the altar hadn’t been among her finest moments, but she’d had every intention of following through—until the panic grew so powerful it simply took over and there was no other way to cope.
It said something that, while she regretted the pain she’d caused others, especially her prospective grooms, she didn’t regret walking out on those weddings. That clearly indicated she’d made the right choice—a little late, perhaps, but better not to make such a huge mistake than try to unravel it later.
She doubted Brant would ever view the situation from that perspective, however. He’d naturally feel defensive of Charlie. He and Charlie had been friends for as long as she could remember. She’d hung out with Charlie’s younger sister, Averil, since kindergarten and could remember seeing Brant over at the Gerhart house way back when she and Averil were in fifth grade, and he and Charlie were in seventh.
Dressed in a soft cotton Elway Ranch T-shirt that stretched slightly at the sleeves to accommodate his biceps, a pair of faded Wranglers and boots that were worn and dirty enough to prove they weren’t just for show, he rested his hands on his narrow hips as he studied her with the cornflower-blue eyes that’d been the subject of so much slumber-party talk when she was growing up. Those eyes were even more startling now that his face was so tanned. Had he lived in Seattle, like her, she’d assume he spent time cultivating that golden glow. But she knew he hadn’t put any effort into his appearance. According to Jane Tanner, another friend who’d hung out with her and Averil—the three of them had been inseparable—Brant’s parents had retired, and he and his three younger brothers had taken over the running of their two-thousand-acre cattle ranch.
“What brings you back to town?” he asked. “You’ve laid low for so long, I thought we’d seen the last of you.”
Pretending that running into him was no more remarkable to her than running into anyone else, she lifted her orange juice to take a sip before returning the glass to the heavily varnished table. “My aunt Phoebe died.”
“That’s the old lady who lived in the farmhouse on Mill Creek Road, right? The one with the blue hair?”
Her great-aunt had been a diminutive woman, only five feet tall and less than a hundred pounds. But she’d had her hair done once a week like clockwork—still used the blue rinse she’d grown fond of in her early twenties when platinum blond had been all the rage—and dressed in her Sunday best, including nylons, whenever she came to town. So she’d stood out. “That’s her.”
“What happened?”
Talulah got the impression he was assessing the changes in her, just as she was assessing the changes in him, and wished she’d put more effort into her appearance today. She didn’t want to come off the worse for wear after what she’d done. But when she’d rolled out of bed, pulled on her yoga pants and a sleeveless knit top and piled her long blond hair on top of her head before coming to the diner for breakfast, she’d assumed she’d be early enough to miss the younger crowd, which included the people she’d rather avoid.
That had proven mostly to be true; except for Brant, almost everyone else in the diner was over sixty. But he worked on a ranch, so he was probably up even before the birds that’d been chirping loudly outside her window, making it impossible for her to sleep another second. “She died of old age. Aunt Phoebe was almost a hundred.”
“I’m sorry to hear you lost her.” He sounded sincere, at least. “Were you close?”
“No, actually, we weren’t,” Talulah admitted. “She never liked me.” Phoebe hadn’t liked children in general—they were too loud, too unruly and too messy. And once Talulah had become a teenager, and her mother had allowed her to quit taking piano lessons from her great-aunt, they’d never really connected, other than seeing each other at various family functions during which Talulah and her sister, Debbie, had gone out of their way to avoid their mother’s crotchety aunt.
His teeth flashed in a wider smile. “Maybe she was a friend of the Gerharts.”
Talulah gave him a dirty look. “So were you. But unfortunately, you’re standing here talking to me.”
He chuckled instead of being offended, which soothed some of her ire. He was willing to take what he was dishing out; she had to respect that.
“I’m more generous than most,” he teased, pressing a hand to his muscular chest. “But if it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one who struggled to get along with your aunt.”
“You knew her personally?” she asked in surprise.
“Not well, but I’ll never forget the day someone had the audacity to honk at her because she was driving at the speed of a horse and buggy down the middle of the highway, holding up traffic for miles.”
“What happened?”
“Once I got around her, I found she was capable of driving a lot faster. She tailgated me to the bank, where she climbed out and swung her purse at me while giving me a piece of her mind for scaring her while she was behind the wheel.”
Talulah had to laugh at the mental picture that created. “You’re the one who honked at her?”
“The bank was about to close.” He gave a low whistle as he rubbed the beard growth on his squarish chin. “But after that, I decided if I was ever in the same situation again, I’d skip the bank.”
Most people in Coyote Canyon probably had a similar story about Aunt Phoebe, maybe more than one. She might’ve been small, but she was mighty and wouldn’t “take any guff,” as she put it, from anyone. “Yeah, well, imagine being a little girl on the receiving end of that sharp tongue. I’d dread my weekly piano lesson and cry whenever my mother left me with her.”
“I’ll have to let Ellen know that,” he said.
Talulah didn’t remember anyone by that name in Coyote Canyon. “Who’s Ellen?”
“I assume you’re staying at your aunt’s place?”
She nodded. “My folks moved to Reno a couple of years after I embarrassed them at the wedding,” she said glumly.
He laughed at her response. “Ellen lives on the property next to you. She and I used to go out now and then, when she first moved to town, and she told me the old lady would knock on her door to complain about everything—the weeds near the fence, trees that were dropping leaves on her side of the property line, the barking of the dogs.”
“But they both live on several acres. How could those small things bother Aunt Phoebe?”
“Exactly Ellen’s point. Heaven forbid she ever decided to have a dinner party and someone parked too close to your aunt’s driveway.”
Talulah found herself more distracted by the mention of his relationship with this Ellen woman than she should’ve been, given that it wasn’t the point of the anecdote. Brant had always been so hard to attract. Most girls she knew had tried to gain his interest, including her own sister, and failed. So she couldn’t help being curious about how he’d come to date her new neighbor—and why and how their relationship had ended. “Sounds like Phoebe.”
A waitress called out to tell Brant hello, and he waved at her before returning his attention to Talulah. “How long will you be in town?”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you running recognizance for my enemies?”
“Just curious.” He winked. “Word will spread fast enough without me.”
“You can assure everyone who cares that it’ll only be for a month or so,” she said. “Until I can clean out my great aunt’s house and put it on the market.”
“If you weren’t close to her, how come you were unlucky enough to get that job?” he asked.
“My parents are in Africa on a mission.”
“For the Church of the Good Shepherd?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t realize they sent people out on organized missions.”
“Sometimes they do, but this one is self-funded, something my dad has wanted to do ever since hearing a particularly rousing sermon.” Talulah wasn’t religious at all—much to the chagrin of her parents. But a good portion of the town belonged to her folks’ evangelical church or one of the other churches in the area.
“What about your sister?” Brant asked. “She can’t help?”
“Debbie’s married and living in Billings. She’s about to have her fourth child any day now.”
He feigned shock. “Married? Fear of commitment doesn’t run in the family, I guess.”
She scowled. “It’s a good thing I didn’t go through with it, Brant. I was only eighteen—way too young.”
“I never said I thought it was a good idea,” he responded.
“If you’ll remember, I made the same argument way back when.”
“How could I ever forget?” They’d always been adversaries. He’d hated the amount of time his best friend had devoted to her, and she’d resented that he was often trying to talk Charlie into playing pool or going hunting or something with him instead. “But let’s be fair. I doubt I’m the only one with commitment issues.” She glanced at his hand. “I don’t see a ring on your finger.”
“I’ve never left anyone standing at the altar.”
She could tell he was joking, but he’d hit a nerve. “Because you bail out before it even gets that far.”
He seemed to enjoy provoking her. “That’s what you’re supposed to do. I can teach you how, if you want me to.”
“Oh, leave me alone,” she muttered with a shooing motion.
He chuckled but didn’t go. “How much are you hoping to get for your aunt’s house?”
“I have no idea what it’s worth,” she replied. “I live in Washington these days, where prices are a lot different, and haven’t met with a real estate agent yet.”
“You know Charlie’s an agent, right?”
Slumping back against the booth, she sighed. “Here we go again…”
He widened those gorgeous blue eyes of his. “That wasn’t a jab! I just thought you should be aware of it.”
“I’m aware of it, okay? Jane Tanner told me.”
“You still in touch with Jane?”
“We’ve been friends since kindergarten,” she said as if he should’ve taken that for granted. But she’d been equally close to Charlie’s sister, and they hadn’t spoken since Talulah had tried to apologize for what she’d done at the wedding and Averil had told her she never wanted to see her again.
“Maybe it’d help patch things up if you listed your aunt’s house with him,” Brant suggested.
“You’re kidding. I can’t imagine he’d want to see me—not even to make a buck.”
His eyes flicked to the compass tattoo she’d gotten on the inside of her forearm shortly after she’d left Coyote Canyon. “Does he know you’re in town?”
She shrugged. “Jane might’ve told him I was coming. Why?”
He studied her for a long moment. “I have a feeling things are about to get interesting around here. Thanks for breaking the monotony,” he said, and that maddening grin reappeared as he nodded in parting and walked over to the bar, where he took a stool and ordered his breakfast.
Disgruntled, Talulah eyed his back. He’d removed his baseball cap—that was a bit old-fashioned, perhaps, but her parents would certainly approve of his manners—so his hair was matted in places, but he didn’t seem to care. He came off more comfortable in his own skin than any man she’d ever known, which sort of bugged her. She couldn’t say why. He’d always seemed to avoid the foibles that everyone else got caught up in. For a change, she wanted to see him unable to stop himself from falling in love, do something stupid because he couldn’t help it or make a mistake he later regretted.
“Would you like a refill?”
The waitress had approached with a pot of coffee.
Talulah shoved her cup away. “No, thanks. I’m finished.”
“Okay, hon. Let me put this down, and I’ll be right back with your check.”
Leaving twenty-five bucks on the table, more than enough to cover the bill, Talulah got up and walked out.
The last thing she wanted was to run into someone else she knew.
Most of the town had been at that wedding.
Aunt Phoebe’s house was going to take some work. Two stories tall, it was a Victorian farmhouse with a wide front porch, a drawing room/living room off the entry, a music room tucked to the left, a formal dining area in the middle and a tiny kitchen—tiny by today’s standards—at the back, with a mudroom where the “menfolk” could clean up before coming in from the fields at dinner. Probably 2,400 square feet in total, it was divided into thirteen small rooms that were packed with furniture, rugs, decorations, books, lamps and magazines. The attic held objects that’d been handed down for generations, as well as steamer trunks of old clothes, quilts and needlepoint—even a dressmaker’s dummy that’d given Talulah a fright when she first went up to take a look because she’d thought someone was in the attic with her.
The basement held shelf upon shelf of canned goods, a deep freezer full of meat that’d most likely been butchered at a local ranch, which meant there would be certain cuts—like tongue and liver—Talulah would have no idea what to do with, and stacks of old newspapers and various other flotsam Phoebe had collected throughout her long life.
Even if she started right away, it’d take a week or more to sort through everything, and the house wasn’t the most comfortable place to work. The windows, while beautiful with their old-fashioned casings and heavy panes, weren’t energy-efficient. There was hardly any insulation in the attic and no air-conditioning to combat the heat. Typically, summers in Coyote Canyon were quite mild, with temperatures ranging between fifty and ninety degrees, but they were in a heat wave. It was mid-August, the hottest part of the year to begin with, and they were setting records.
A bead of sweat rolled between Talulah’s breasts as she surveyed the basement. Even the coolest part of the house felt stifling. And it was only noon. She couldn’t imagine how Aunt Phoebe had managed in this heat. But her aunt could handle just about anything. She’d had a will of iron and more grit than anyone Talulah had ever met.
“How am I going to get through all this junk—and what am I going to do with it?” Talulah muttered, disheartened by the sheer volume of things her great-aunt had collected over the years.
Her phone vibrated in the pocket of her yoga pants. Pulling it out, she saw that her sister was calling. “Hey,” she answered.
“How’s Coyote Canyon?” Debbie asked.
“I just got in last night, but from what I’ve seen so far, it hasn’t changed much.” The town’s population had stayed at about three thousand since the end of the nineteenth century, when the railroad came to town and Coyote Canyon had its big boom.
She chuckled. “It never does. Bozeman is growing like crazy, though. I read somewhere that it’s the fastest growing town in America. You should see how much it’s changed.”
“No kidding? Who’s moving there?”
“Mostly families, I guess, but enough millennials and nature-lovers to change the whole vibe from Western to trendy.”
Only forty minutes away, Bozeman had been where their parents would take them to buy school clothes and other supplies. But she’d had no reason to go there since she’d left Coyote Canyon. Thanks to the stigma caused by the wedding, she’d tried to forget the whole area. “Did you guys come for Rodeo Days this year?” The week before the Fourth of July, Coyote Canyon held seven days of celebration that included rodeos, a 10K/5K run, a Mountain Man Rendezvous, parades, tractor pulls and bake-offs. Everything culminated in the fireworks of Independence Day.
“No. I wanted to,” Debbie said, “but Scott was under too much pressure at work to take the time, and I didn’t want to try to manage the kids on my own.”
“I’m sorry that Paul and I couldn’t make it.”
“Has something changed I’m not aware of? Are you two together now?”
He’d been trying to get with her since she met him, especially after they started the diner. But it was only recently that she’d gone on the pill and slept with him for the first time. “Not really. We’ve started dating. Sort of.”
“Sort of?” her sister echoed.
“You know how hard it is for me to know when I really like a guy. Anyway, how’ve you been feeling? Any news on the baby?” She asked because she was interested, but she was also eager to change the subject.
“I’m fine,” Debbie said. “Just tired.”
“It shouldn’t be much longer, right?”
“I’m due in a week, and the doctor won’t let me go more than a few days over.”
“Call me as soon as labor starts. I’ll come for the birth.” Billings was only a hundred miles to the east. Part of the reason Talulah had agreed to handle her aunt’s funeral and belongings was because it put her in closer proximity to Debbie. She wanted to be there for the arrival of the new addition, especially since their parents couldn’t be.
“I will. I can’t wait until this pregnancy is over.” She groaned. “I’m getting so uncomfortable.”
“You’ve done this three times before. I’m sure the birth will be routine.”
Maybe not strictly routine. Debbie had developed gestational diabetes, so there was a good chance this child would have to be delivered by Caesarean section. But they were pretending there’d be no complications. Neither of them cared to consider all the things that could go wrong.
“I feel bad that you’re having to take so much time away from the dessert diner,” she said. “Maybe I should drive over for the funeral, at least, and help while I can.”
“Don’t you dare!” Talulah said. “I don’t want you going into labor while you’re here. Your husband, your doctor, everyone and everything you need are there.”
“But I’m just sitting around with my swollen ankles while you deal with everything in that musty house.”
Musty, sweltering house. But Talulah didn’t want to make Debbie feel any guiltier. Besides, her sister wasn’t just sitting around. She was watching her other kids. Talulah could hear them, and the TV, in the background and knew that Debbie would have to bring her young nieces and nephew if she came here. Having them underfoot would only make it harder to get anything done. “The church is stepping in to organize the funeral. You set that up yourself. So you have been involved. Besides, much to our parents’ dismay, you’re the only one giving them grandkids. This is the least I can do for Mom and Dad.”
Debbie laughed. “Have you heard from them?”
“They called last night to make sure I got in okay.”
“How long did the drive take you?”
“Ten hours.”
“Ugh!”
“It wasn’t a big deal. I couldn’t fly—I knew I’d need a car while I was here.” She’d made the trip to Reno several times since her family moved from Coyote Canyon, so she was used to driving even farther. They’d only visited Seattle once, but Talulah had been so busy with college, then culinary school, then working in various restaurants before launching Talulah’s Dessert Diner with Paul, whom she’d met along the way, that she didn’t mind.
“I’m surprised they aren’t coming home for the funeral,” Debbie mused.
Not to mention the birth of their latest grandchild. Talulah thought she could hear the disappointment in her sister’s voice, but Debbie would never complain, especially to a defector like Talulah. Debbie remained as committed to their parents’ faith as they did. “I’m not surprised,” Talulah said. “Africa is so far away, and they’d only have to turn around and go right back. They want to remain focused on their mission, at least until they’re officially released.”
“Aunt Phoebe was so prickly, she and Mom were never very close, anyway,” Debbie added.
That wasn’t strictly true. Phoebe used to have them over for dinner every Sunday, and Carolyn brought Talulah and Debbie over for piano lessons. It was only later that they had a bit of a falling-out and quit talking. Despite that, Talulah guessed their mother felt conflicted about missing her aunt’s funeral. She also understood that Carolyn wasn’t going to change her mind. Choosing her mission over her family was almost a matter of pride; it showcased the level of her belief. “When we visited Aunt Phoebe, and we weren’t there for piano lessons, we had to sit on chairs in the cramped dining room or living room, and she’d snap at us to quit wiggling, remember?”
“That was if she’d let us in the house at all,” Debbie said drily. “She used to tell us to go out front and play.”
“With no toys.”
“She was the sternest person I’ve ever met.”
“She also never threw anything away.”
“She was a hoarder?”
“Kind of. She somehow managed to be fastidious and clean at the same time, so it’s not the type of hoarding you imagine when you hear the word, but it’s so cluttered in here I can barely move from room to room.”
“If it’s that bad, I should come over, after all.”
Talulah blew a wisp of hair that’d fallen from the clip on top of her head away from her mouth. “No, I’ve got it. Really.” There was no way Debbie would survive the heat, not in her condition.
“But you must be feeling some pressure to get back to Seattle,” Debbie said. “You told me you have a line of people every night trying to get into the diner.”
“We do, but Paul’s there.” She couldn’t have taken off for a whole month in any prior year. In the beginning, their business had required too much time, energy and focus—from both of them. She’d come up with the concept and had the name, the website, the logo, the location and the recipes figured out when Paul decided to come on board to help with the capital, credit and muscle required to get the rest of the way. It’d been touch and go for a while, but the place was running smoothly now, following a familiar routine. They had employees they could trust, and with her partner managing the day-to-day details, she wasn’t too worried.
“He doesn’t resent you being gone so long?” Debbie asked.
“He has a family reunion in Iowa at the end of September. Then he’ll be hiking in Europe for three weeks with a couple of friends. So I’ll be returning the favor soon enough.”
“He gets to go to Europe while you have to spend your vacation in Coyote Canyon, attending a funeral and cleaning out a house that was built in the 1800s?”
Talulah didn’t mind the work. It was facing the past and all the people she hadn’t seen or heard from in years that would be difficult. “It’s not a big deal,” she insisted.
“Okay.” There was a slight pause. Then her sister said, “I hate to bring up a sensitive subject, but…what are you going to do when you see Charlie?”
“I don’t know.” She certainly wasn’t looking forward to it.
“It’d be a lot easier if he was married.”
Talulah agreed. If he had a wife, he’d be able to believe she’d saved him for the woman he was really supposed to marry. His family and friends would then be more likely to forgive her, too. But according to Jane, he wasn’t even seeing anyone, so she had no idea how he’d feel toward her. “I ran into Brant,” she volunteered, simply because she knew her sister would be interested.
“How’d he look?”
Too good for the emotional well-being of the women around him. But such an admission would never pass Talulah’s lips. She preferred not to acknowledge his incredible good looks. “Haven’t you seen him fairly recently?” She knew her sister came back to Coyote Canyon occasionally.
“Four or five years ago.”
“He probably hasn’t changed much since then.”
“He married?”
“No.”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. I doubt he’ll ever settle down. What’d he say when he saw you?”
“Just gave me a hard time about Charlie.”
“When I was in high school, I was so disappointed I couldn’t get his attention. Now I’m glad he had no interest in me. He would only have broken my heart.”
“Probably,” Talulah agreed. But, truth be told, she felt sort of bad talking about Brant that way. It was a case of “the pot calling the kettle black,” as her aunt would’ve said. She’d broken her share of hearts, too, and possibly in worse ways, as he’d intimated. But she couldn’t seem to settle down. No matter how hard she tried to force the issue and be more like her sister—to do what her parents expected of her—she wound up having such terrible anxiety attacks she literally had to flee. Maybe Brant had the same problem when it came to making a lifelong commitment. Maybe he was just better at accepting his limitations.
The doorbell rang as her sister finished telling her about little Casey, her three-year-old niece, who’d gotten hold of a pair of scissors and cut her bangs off at the scalp. “That’s probably the woman from the church now,” Talulah said. “I need to go over the funeral with her. I’ll call you later, okay?”
Her sister said goodbye, and Talulah disconnected as she hurried up the narrow, creaking stairs. There was a woman standing on the stoop, all right. But before she pushed open the screen door—the regular door was already standing open because she’d been trying to catch even the slightest breeze—Talulah could see enough to know it wasn’t anyone from the church.
This woman had a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
Talulah Barclay glanced up to find the reason a shadow had just fallen across her plate. She’d been hoping to ease back into the small community of Coyote Canyon, Montana, without drawing any attention. But Brant Elway, of all people, had happened to come into the café where she was having breakfast and stopped at her booth.
“Of course you’d be the first to bring up my past sins,” she grumbled. They hadn’t seen each other for nearly fourteen years, and he’d certainly changed—filled out what had once been a spare frame, grown a couple of inches, even though he’d been tall to begin with, and taken on a rugged, slightly weathered look from spending so much time outdoors. But she would’ve recognized him anywhere.
The crooked smile that curved his lips suggested he was hardly repentant. “I’m not likely to forget that day. I was the best man, remember?”
She wasn’t likely to forget that day, either. Only bumping into her ex, Charlie Gerhart, would be more cringeworthy.
She felt terrible about what she’d done to Charlie. She also felt terrible that she’d repeated the same mistake with two other men since. Admittedly, jilting her fiancés at the altar hadn’t been among her finest moments, but she’d had every intention of following through—until the panic grew so powerful it simply took over and there was no other way to cope.
It said something that, while she regretted the pain she’d caused others, especially her prospective grooms, she didn’t regret walking out on those weddings. That clearly indicated she’d made the right choice—a little late, perhaps, but better not to make such a huge mistake than try to unravel it later.
She doubted Brant would ever view the situation from that perspective, however. He’d naturally feel defensive of Charlie. He and Charlie had been friends for as long as she could remember. She’d hung out with Charlie’s younger sister, Averil, since kindergarten and could remember seeing Brant over at the Gerhart house way back when she and Averil were in fifth grade, and he and Charlie were in seventh.
Dressed in a soft cotton Elway Ranch T-shirt that stretched slightly at the sleeves to accommodate his biceps, a pair of faded Wranglers and boots that were worn and dirty enough to prove they weren’t just for show, he rested his hands on his narrow hips as he studied her with the cornflower-blue eyes that’d been the subject of so much slumber-party talk when she was growing up. Those eyes were even more startling now that his face was so tanned. Had he lived in Seattle, like her, she’d assume he spent time cultivating that golden glow. But she knew he hadn’t put any effort into his appearance. According to Jane Tanner, another friend who’d hung out with her and Averil—the three of them had been inseparable—Brant’s parents had retired, and he and his three younger brothers had taken over the running of their two-thousand-acre cattle ranch.
“What brings you back to town?” he asked. “You’ve laid low for so long, I thought we’d seen the last of you.”
Pretending that running into him was no more remarkable to her than running into anyone else, she lifted her orange juice to take a sip before returning the glass to the heavily varnished table. “My aunt Phoebe died.”
“That’s the old lady who lived in the farmhouse on Mill Creek Road, right? The one with the blue hair?”
Her great-aunt had been a diminutive woman, only five feet tall and less than a hundred pounds. But she’d had her hair done once a week like clockwork—still used the blue rinse she’d grown fond of in her early twenties when platinum blond had been all the rage—and dressed in her Sunday best, including nylons, whenever she came to town. So she’d stood out. “That’s her.”
“What happened?”
Talulah got the impression he was assessing the changes in her, just as she was assessing the changes in him, and wished she’d put more effort into her appearance today. She didn’t want to come off the worse for wear after what she’d done. But when she’d rolled out of bed, pulled on her yoga pants and a sleeveless knit top and piled her long blond hair on top of her head before coming to the diner for breakfast, she’d assumed she’d be early enough to miss the younger crowd, which included the people she’d rather avoid.
That had proven mostly to be true; except for Brant, almost everyone else in the diner was over sixty. But he worked on a ranch, so he was probably up even before the birds that’d been chirping loudly outside her window, making it impossible for her to sleep another second. “She died of old age. Aunt Phoebe was almost a hundred.”
“I’m sorry to hear you lost her.” He sounded sincere, at least. “Were you close?”
“No, actually, we weren’t,” Talulah admitted. “She never liked me.” Phoebe hadn’t liked children in general—they were too loud, too unruly and too messy. And once Talulah had become a teenager, and her mother had allowed her to quit taking piano lessons from her great-aunt, they’d never really connected, other than seeing each other at various family functions during which Talulah and her sister, Debbie, had gone out of their way to avoid their mother’s crotchety aunt.
His teeth flashed in a wider smile. “Maybe she was a friend of the Gerharts.”
Talulah gave him a dirty look. “So were you. But unfortunately, you’re standing here talking to me.”
He chuckled instead of being offended, which soothed some of her ire. He was willing to take what he was dishing out; she had to respect that.
“I’m more generous than most,” he teased, pressing a hand to his muscular chest. “But if it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one who struggled to get along with your aunt.”
“You knew her personally?” she asked in surprise.
“Not well, but I’ll never forget the day someone had the audacity to honk at her because she was driving at the speed of a horse and buggy down the middle of the highway, holding up traffic for miles.”
“What happened?”
“Once I got around her, I found she was capable of driving a lot faster. She tailgated me to the bank, where she climbed out and swung her purse at me while giving me a piece of her mind for scaring her while she was behind the wheel.”
Talulah had to laugh at the mental picture that created. “You’re the one who honked at her?”
“The bank was about to close.” He gave a low whistle as he rubbed the beard growth on his squarish chin. “But after that, I decided if I was ever in the same situation again, I’d skip the bank.”
Most people in Coyote Canyon probably had a similar story about Aunt Phoebe, maybe more than one. She might’ve been small, but she was mighty and wouldn’t “take any guff,” as she put it, from anyone. “Yeah, well, imagine being a little girl on the receiving end of that sharp tongue. I’d dread my weekly piano lesson and cry whenever my mother left me with her.”
“I’ll have to let Ellen know that,” he said.
Talulah didn’t remember anyone by that name in Coyote Canyon. “Who’s Ellen?”
“I assume you’re staying at your aunt’s place?”
She nodded. “My folks moved to Reno a couple of years after I embarrassed them at the wedding,” she said glumly.
He laughed at her response. “Ellen lives on the property next to you. She and I used to go out now and then, when she first moved to town, and she told me the old lady would knock on her door to complain about everything—the weeds near the fence, trees that were dropping leaves on her side of the property line, the barking of the dogs.”
“But they both live on several acres. How could those small things bother Aunt Phoebe?”
“Exactly Ellen’s point. Heaven forbid she ever decided to have a dinner party and someone parked too close to your aunt’s driveway.”
Talulah found herself more distracted by the mention of his relationship with this Ellen woman than she should’ve been, given that it wasn’t the point of the anecdote. Brant had always been so hard to attract. Most girls she knew had tried to gain his interest, including her own sister, and failed. So she couldn’t help being curious about how he’d come to date her new neighbor—and why and how their relationship had ended. “Sounds like Phoebe.”
A waitress called out to tell Brant hello, and he waved at her before returning his attention to Talulah. “How long will you be in town?”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you running recognizance for my enemies?”
“Just curious.” He winked. “Word will spread fast enough without me.”
“You can assure everyone who cares that it’ll only be for a month or so,” she said. “Until I can clean out my great aunt’s house and put it on the market.”
“If you weren’t close to her, how come you were unlucky enough to get that job?” he asked.
“My parents are in Africa on a mission.”
“For the Church of the Good Shepherd?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t realize they sent people out on organized missions.”
“Sometimes they do, but this one is self-funded, something my dad has wanted to do ever since hearing a particularly rousing sermon.” Talulah wasn’t religious at all—much to the chagrin of her parents. But a good portion of the town belonged to her folks’ evangelical church or one of the other churches in the area.
“What about your sister?” Brant asked. “She can’t help?”
“Debbie’s married and living in Billings. She’s about to have her fourth child any day now.”
He feigned shock. “Married? Fear of commitment doesn’t run in the family, I guess.”
She scowled. “It’s a good thing I didn’t go through with it, Brant. I was only eighteen—way too young.”
“I never said I thought it was a good idea,” he responded.
“If you’ll remember, I made the same argument way back when.”
“How could I ever forget?” They’d always been adversaries. He’d hated the amount of time his best friend had devoted to her, and she’d resented that he was often trying to talk Charlie into playing pool or going hunting or something with him instead. “But let’s be fair. I doubt I’m the only one with commitment issues.” She glanced at his hand. “I don’t see a ring on your finger.”
“I’ve never left anyone standing at the altar.”
She could tell he was joking, but he’d hit a nerve. “Because you bail out before it even gets that far.”
He seemed to enjoy provoking her. “That’s what you’re supposed to do. I can teach you how, if you want me to.”
“Oh, leave me alone,” she muttered with a shooing motion.
He chuckled but didn’t go. “How much are you hoping to get for your aunt’s house?”
“I have no idea what it’s worth,” she replied. “I live in Washington these days, where prices are a lot different, and haven’t met with a real estate agent yet.”
“You know Charlie’s an agent, right?”
Slumping back against the booth, she sighed. “Here we go again…”
He widened those gorgeous blue eyes of his. “That wasn’t a jab! I just thought you should be aware of it.”
“I’m aware of it, okay? Jane Tanner told me.”
“You still in touch with Jane?”
“We’ve been friends since kindergarten,” she said as if he should’ve taken that for granted. But she’d been equally close to Charlie’s sister, and they hadn’t spoken since Talulah had tried to apologize for what she’d done at the wedding and Averil had told her she never wanted to see her again.
“Maybe it’d help patch things up if you listed your aunt’s house with him,” Brant suggested.
“You’re kidding. I can’t imagine he’d want to see me—not even to make a buck.”
His eyes flicked to the compass tattoo she’d gotten on the inside of her forearm shortly after she’d left Coyote Canyon. “Does he know you’re in town?”
She shrugged. “Jane might’ve told him I was coming. Why?”
He studied her for a long moment. “I have a feeling things are about to get interesting around here. Thanks for breaking the monotony,” he said, and that maddening grin reappeared as he nodded in parting and walked over to the bar, where he took a stool and ordered his breakfast.
Disgruntled, Talulah eyed his back. He’d removed his baseball cap—that was a bit old-fashioned, perhaps, but her parents would certainly approve of his manners—so his hair was matted in places, but he didn’t seem to care. He came off more comfortable in his own skin than any man she’d ever known, which sort of bugged her. She couldn’t say why. He’d always seemed to avoid the foibles that everyone else got caught up in. For a change, she wanted to see him unable to stop himself from falling in love, do something stupid because he couldn’t help it or make a mistake he later regretted.
“Would you like a refill?”
The waitress had approached with a pot of coffee.
Talulah shoved her cup away. “No, thanks. I’m finished.”
“Okay, hon. Let me put this down, and I’ll be right back with your check.”
Leaving twenty-five bucks on the table, more than enough to cover the bill, Talulah got up and walked out.
The last thing she wanted was to run into someone else she knew.
New York Times bestselling author Brenda Novak has written over 60 novels. An eight-time Rita nominee, she’s won The National Reader’s Choice, The Bookseller’s Best and other awards. She runs Brenda Novak for the Cure, a charity that has raised more than $2.5 million for diabetes research (her youngest son has this disease). She considers herself lucky to be a mother of five and married to the love of her life.
