Confessions of a Red Herring (A Red Herring Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
1st in Series
Kensington (May 29, 2018)
Mass Market Paperback: 336 pages

Synopsis

As a reporter, she’s used to covering the news.
Now she’s the headline.

Alex Vlodnachek has been a reporter for 12 years, a P.R. rep for three months, and a murder suspect for all of 24 hours. When her agency’s double-dealing CEO is stabbed, scheming co-workers cast the new redhead as a compelling red herring. The story is media catnip—especially her salacious nickname: Vlod the Impaler.

Even Alex has to admit she looks guilty.

Out of a job and under suspicion, Alex is running low on cash, when she’s visited by a second disaster: her family. Soon her tiny bungalow is bursting with her nearest and not-so-dearest. To keep herself out of jail—and save what’s left of her sanity—Alex returns to her reporting roots. She goes undercover to reclaim her life, break the story, and unmask a murderer. Pretty much in that order.

What she doesn’t know: The killer also has a to-do list.
And Alex is on it.

Review

When I started this book I wasn’t too sure if I was going to like the story or characters…it seemed to drag (but could have been my mood).  But once I was better acquainted with the characters and the story picked up steam, I fell in love with it all.  The term “red herring” takes on a whole new meaning with this book.  This book has it all – crazy family members, insane former employers, humorous situations, and a wild mystery all rolled into one.  I don’t know if I can choose a favorite character, but Baba (Alex’s Russian grandmother) and Trip top the list.

This mystery confirmed that if you royally piss off an employer it could be dangerous to your health and life.  One of my favorite scenes is where Alex is at the unemployment office because her former employer is contesting her unemployment pay.  Let’s just say, don’t piss off government workers.  That’s all I’m going to say but trust me when I say you’ll want to pick up this book to read this scene!  There are other scenes that left me dumbfounded at the actions of others, but it takes all types in this world.

I think this is going to be one of my new favorite series and I cannot wait for the next book to come out.

We give this 5 paws up.

About the Author

Dana Dratch is a former newspaper reporter and current personal finance writer. When she’s not finishing Seeing Red—the next Alex Vlodnachek mystery—you’ll spot her byline on a host of top news sites.

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Synopsis

Three runaway brides

Determined to escape their fates

Flee West to find freedom that can only be had

in a cowboy’s arms…

Alexandra Brighton spent the last five years in Boston, erasing all evidence of the wild frontier girl she used to be. Before she settles down, she’s determined to visit her childhood home one final time. But when she finds herself stranded far from civilization, she has no choice but to trust her safety to the tall, dark and decidedly dangerous bounty hunter Malcolm Kincaid.

Now that Malcolm finally has the location of his brother’s killer, he has no intention of wasting time protecting a pampered Eastern lady. But something about Alexandra speaks to the heart he long thought frozen—and her slow transformation from proper miss to wild-eyed beauty leaves him shaken. By the time they reach Montana, Malcolm must decide if seeking justice for past wrongs is worth losing a future with the woman he never expected to need…

Excerpt

After knocking sharply, he lowered his chin, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited. He chose not to analyze why the idea of disturbing her sleep gave him a perverse sort of pleasure.

He was about to knock again, when the lock released and the door opened to reveal a very sleepy— and very undressed—woman blinking at him with wide blue eyes.

“Mr. Kincaid? Is something wrong?”

Wrong? Hellfire and damnation. Malcolm could barely think.

The foolish woman stood there in nothing more than a white towel wrapped around her body from chest to knee. The creamy skin of her limbs and shoulders was entirely exposed, and dark hair fell in heavy waves down her back. She looked soft and feminine and too damned enticing.

Lust swept hot and furious through him. He ground his back teeth hard to stop his body’s instant reaction to the sight of Miss Brighton in such a state.

“What the hell are you doing opening the door like that?” Malcolm growled, glancing down the hall to make sure no one else was about.

Her eyes grew wider as she looked down at herself. A swift blush pinkened her cheeks, and she tried to step back around the edge of the door. “I was in a deep sleep,” she explained. “I forgot I wasn’t dressed.”

“What if it hadn’t been me knocking?” he asked angrily.

It was probably his tone that had her lifting her chin and narrowing her gaze. “Well, it is you, isn’t it? And you still haven’t told me why you have come to bother me in the middle of the night.”

“It’s barely ten o’clock.”

Apparently over her embarrassment, she crossed her arms over her chest in a perfect copy of his own stance and lifted her brows in question. The action plumped the upper swells of her breasts, and Malcolm’s mouth went bone-dry.

Forcing his attention back to her face didn’t seem to help much. Not with her eyes all soft from sleep and those lips looking so damn kissable.

“I’ll take you to Montana,” he said abruptly, trying to shake himself free of the sensual snare he’d walked into.

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “You will?”

Malcolm was tempted to back out then simply due to the strength of his unbidden desire. He did not want to entertain the idea that his attraction to her was growing stronger rather than fading. But it was the damned truth. The journey was going to be torturous in more ways than one. He had no intention of acting on the lust she inspired, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it, and it didn’t mean he’d always be able to hide it.

But he couldn’t in good conscience leave her stranded. Doing so would make him no better than Lassiter, and there was no telling what manner of character she’d end up in the hands of if he wasn’t there to keep her out of trouble.

“We do things my way,” he stated firmly. “No arguing.”

She nodded vigorously. “Of course. Whatever you say, Mr. Kincaid.”

Malcolm narrowed his gaze. Her ready agreement was suspicious, but he’d made his decision. “Malcolm,” he muttered.

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. Then she smiled, and Malcolm’s gut clenched. The curve of that lower lip was going to be the death of him.

“All right, Malcolm.” She unfolded her arms to extend her hand. “And you may call me Alexandra.”

Malcolm knew he shouldn’t take her hand. Not there in the dark while she stood in nothing but a towel, not when desire ran rampant through his blood at the simple sight of her. But she kept her hand extended and lifted a brow as though in challenge.

He took her hand in his, noting its softness and how easily it became folded up in his larger grip. His bicep tensed with the urge to give a quick and forceful tug so she’d tumble toward him until her breasts flattened against his chest, her thighs bumped his, and her breath spread across his throat. It’d be so easy to take her in his arms and claim her mouth.

But she was innocent and far too trusting—not to mention way the hell out of his class—and Malcolm had never taken anything from a woman that wasn’t freely given. Miss Brighton was not for him.

Oblivious to his train of thought, she gave a surprisingly firm handshake. Her smile never wavered as she declared, “You won’t regret this. I promise.”

Malcom released her hand and stepped back. “Be downstairs by seven o’clock tomorrow.”

“I will. Thank you, Malcolm.”

“And ask who’s at your door before you open the damned thing.”

Malcolm held his position until the door closed and he heard the lock click into place. Then he stalked down the hall to his own room, taking slow breaths to rein in his body’s fierce and unwelcome craving. He’d need to see to his own relief tonight. There was no way he was going to start on the trail with that woman wound as tight as he was.

Not if he hoped to survive the journey.

About the Author

Amy Sandas’ love of romance began one summer when she stumbled across one of her mother’s Barbara Cartland books. Her affinity for writing began with sappy pre-teen poems and led to a Bachelor’s degree with an emphasis on Creative Writing from the University of Minnesota-Twin Cities. She lives with her husband and children in Wisconsin.

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Book Title: Poppy (The Montgomery Sisters, Book 2) by Kat Flannery
Category: Adult Fiction, 170 pages
Genre: Historical western romance
Publisher: Picco Press
Release date: May 18, 2018

Synopsis

Poppy Montgomery has always been good with a gun and could fight her way out of anything. Tough as nails and a sharp shooter, her beauty deceives the outlaws she’s after.

Hot on the trail of the Clemmons gang, a group of outlaws who rob trains and killed an innocent woman and child a few months before, she is determined to make them pay for the sin’s they’ve committed by bringing them to justice.

Pinkerton, Noah Shaw is investigating a ring of stage robberies and knows the Clemmons gang is behind them. Told to track down the infamous redheaded bounty hunter, Noah gets more than he bargained for when he arrests Poppy for assault.

Handcuffed together the pair must work together to stop the robberies, and figure out who is behind them. But what happens when love interferes and thrusts Poppy into discovering emotions she never knew existed? Will she choose the solitude she’s always known, or Noah’s sweet embrace?

Guest Post

While I may not be a writer, I can relate to the procrastination demons!  Thanks for joining us today Kat!

Beware the Procrastination Demons…

Procrastination is a writer’s enemy. It can halt the writing process within seconds and it happens to all of us. It is the moment in which you wonder if the story you’re telling is good enough, if the characters and their plight are believable. It is the one emotion that causes me to drink.

How do I overcome this horrible downer? On a good day I ignore it, on a bad one, I cave into the insecurities every writer faces and bang my head on the table. When procrastination stops the flow of my writing, I take the time to research. This allows my mind to go in a different direction, one filled with possibilities and the creation of plot twists.
As a historical writer, I need to research. I use it as a distraction from the gloom and doom that comes from my self-doubt. I don’t read when I’m writing, but if you do, this could be a great way to come out of your funk as well.

What you should not do is dwell. Do not allow yourself to be pulled into the realm of second-guessing; this will only lead to disaster and an unfinished book. Ponder it for a moment or two, down a shot of whiskey, stretch your arms and legs, and get back to it whether it be research, taking notes, or writing.

What you need to remember is that all writers experience this, and it is not the end of the world. Muddle through, even if the writing is slow. Soon the procrastination will disappear, left in the words you have written.

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

Outside of Dodge City, Kansas 1884

Poppy reloaded the Winchester tucked between her legs. The pale skin beneath the denims winked at her through the frayed hole in the knee. The slacks had seen better days, and right now the rip was the least of her worries.

When she was on the hunt she packed light; it wasn’t wise to carry too many things that could weigh you down. Nope, she’d brought just the essentials. Except, this time she’d made extra room for a hairbrush and the lavender soap her sister, Fern, had given to her when she’d visited.

A bullet whizzed past, and she ducked lower. She yanked the Stetson off her head and checked it for any holes.

“Damn it.” The bullet had nicked the top, tearing the felt.

She crammed the Stetson back on and cocked her rifle. Her fingers tightened around the handle. The cold barrel rested against her cheek, and she shivered. Here we go. She slid to her stomach and inched the butt around the boulder she hid behind.

She’d been tracking the Clemmons gang for two months, and now she finally had them. The lowlifes were wanted clear across the territory for their robbing of the railroad, but Poppy’s debt was personal. The gang had killed Molly Schmidt and her son, Tad.

She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She’d never met the girl until the day she’d come across the turned-over stagecoach and found the mother and son sprawled on the dirt ground. Poppy swallowed. The horrid sight was forever etched into her mind. Molly had been alive when she’d found them, but not for long. After Poppy laid the little boy in Molly’s arms, the mother took her last breath. The memory still got to her making her eyes sting and throat work.

Killin’ had never bothered Poppy; she’d done her fair share and seen more than she’d like to admit, but what had her up nights was “Why them?” The thievin’ bastard Lefty Clemmons had murdered the mother and son, and she’d make him pay for what he’d done. The rebel outlaws had taken the lives of others too, but Molly and Tad had stuck with Poppy since the day she’d found them ten miles outside of St. Louis. She didn’t know where the pair was headed, but it’d been clear their deaths were for nothing more than pleasure.

Her eyes watered, and she blinked the wetness away just as another bullet whizzed past her head.

“I ain’t dyin’ today,” she whispered and rolled onto her stomach. Her sister Fern’s lecture on proper etiquette and language rang in her ears. Poppy had always been a bit to the left, as most folks would say. She didn’t take well to rules, and she didn’t take to speaking like a lady. Hell, she had better things to do, like kill the bastards who had her cornered.

She aimed her rifle, seeing two heads pop out of the bushes ahead, and fired. She smiled when she saw one of the outlaws pitch forward and fall to the ground.

“Gotcha.”

The band of men were hunkered behind a stand of pine trees, which made it difficult for Poppy to see them and would aid in their escape if she didn’t get a move on. She needed to push them out of the bush toward her and not in the other direction.

She scanned the field in between them. Aside from a few rocks, including the one she was wedged up against, there was nowhere for her to go. She didn’t want to retreat into the forest a couple of yards behind her until she was sure the gang lay dead.

A bullet hit the rock she was leaning on and ricocheted to the right She peeked around the boulder and saw six riders coming toward her. Damn it. They knew she was alone and figured her stranded. The horse’s hooves pounded onto the ground as they drew closer. Dust billowed above their heads, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt they were coming to kill her.

“Shit,” she breathed. She laid her Winchester down and checked the Colts on either side of her hips. She pulled them from the holsters and gripped the handles with her clammy palms. The forest looked more appealing now, but there was no way she’d make it without being peppered with bullets.

Poppy shook her head.

Nope, ain’t no outlaw was gonna kill her today. She checked the rounds and clicked them back into place. She swiveled to sit on her knees, aimed her guns, and began firing. Another outlaw fell from his horse and rolled to the ground. No time to see where she’d hit him, she continued to shoot.

She had five bullets in each gun and she’d fired six of them already. The men were closing in. She lifted her arm to aim at an outlaw, when a sharp pain penetrated her shoulder, and she fell backward. The pistol she’d been holding flew from her hand and lay two feet from her on the dirt ground. She inched her injured arm closer to the gun. A searing pain raced up to slam into her shoulder, and she hissed from the pain.

A bullet hit the ground beside her hand, throwing up dust. She scrambled backward closer to the rock. Hell and tarnation. She was in trouble. One gun was all she had left. She flipped open the chamber. Two bullets lay nestled inside.

“Damn it. Two shots and a lame arm.”

She hadn’t thought this through when she’d followed the outlaws from town into the blasted prairies. No shelter, and her against six dangerous men did not bode well. But Poppy never shied away from danger, and to hell if she’d do so now.

She glanced around the boulder; four riders came toward her. She leaned against the rock and inhaled—two bullets and four targets. And one damn pistol.

She could hear the horse’s hooves pounding into the ground like a hundred buffalo. Oh, what she’d give for a band of Sioux to crest the hill to her right. At least she could get out of that one. Most of the Indian tribes were friendly with her, since she could speak their language and had sat many nights around their fires.

She looked at the Winchester lying beside her. With the injured arm, she wouldn’t be able to shoot the rifle. All she needed were two extra shots. The outlaws were closing in, and she had no time to load the six-shooter.

Shots pinged off of the rock beside her head, and she shimmied closer to the ground. The guns hadn’t ceased, but instead of hitting her they were flying above her. Thank goodness. Another shot, this one from ahead of her. Had the gang circled around and were now coming for her in both directions?

In her mind’s eye she saw her sisters, Fern and Ivy, standing over her grave, broken and desolate. Nope, she’d not do that to them. She’d come out of this if she was riddled with bullets, but she’d not die.

Another shot flew ahead of her. Whoever was shooting was not aiming at her but instead at the gang. She inhaled, rotated her hips, and rested her bloody shoulder against the rock. If this was help, she’d use it. She peered around to see where the outlaws were. The Clemmons gang had retreated, and she stared at their backsides.

Poppy dropped her six-shooter—the threat of the outlaws now gone—and flexed the fist on her injured arm and almost howled from the pain. Blood dripped from her fingertips and into the dirt, creating a crimson puddle.

A rider cantered toward her from the forest where she’d left Milo. She went for her Colt and remembered she’d dropped the gun, which was now lying too far for her to grab.

The sun caught a piece of the badge he wore on the lapel of his suit. The metal star shone bright. A Pinkerton. A bloody damned Pinkerton. They were the only ones who dressed better than a judge and wore a badge.

Poppy shaded her eyes to get a better look at him when he pulled his horse to a halt right in front of her.

“You all right?” His voice was rough, gritty, and low.

She pressed her back against the rock and shimmied her way to stand.

“I’m fine,” she said and reached for her revolver.

“Looks like you’ve been shot.”

“Nothin’ gets past a Pinkerton.” She holstered her guns, the movement causing her great pain, but she refused to show him how much.

About the Author

Kat Flannery’s love of history shows in her novels. She is an avid reader of historical, suspense, paranormal, and romance. She has her Certificate in Freelance and Business Writing.

A member of many writing groups, Kat enjoys promoting other authors on her blog. Kat enjoys teaching writing classes and giving back to other aspiring authors. She volunteers her time at the local library facilitating their writing group. She’s been published in numerous periodicals throughout her career

Her debut novel CHASING CLOVERS has been an Amazon Top 100 Paid bestseller. LAKOTA HONOR and BLOOD CURSE (Branded Trilogy) are Kat’s two award-winning novels and HAZARDOUS UNIONS is Kat’s first novella. Kat is currently hard at work on her next series, THE MONTGOMERY SISTERS.

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Title: The Start of Something Good
Author: Jennifer Probst
Release Date: June 5, 2018
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Series: Stay, #1

Synopsis

When Ethan Bishop returns to the Hudson Valley, his body and spirit are a little worse for wear. As a former Special Forces paratrooper, he saw his fair share of conflict, and he came home with wounds, inside and out. At his sisters’ B & B and farm, he can keep all his pain at a safe distance. But quiet time isn’t easy when a fiery woman explodes into his life…

It’s business—not pleasure—that brings Manhattan PR agent Mia Thrush reluctantly to the farm. Tightly wound and quick tempered, Mia clashes immediately with the brooding Ethan. Everything about him is irritating—from his lean muscles and piercing blue eyes to his scent of sweat and musk.

But as the summer unfolds and temperatures rise, Ethan and Mia discover how much they have in common: their guarded histories, an uncontrollable desire, and a passion for the future that could heal two broken hearts. But will their pasts threaten their fragile chance at a brand-new future?

Meet Mia Thrush from Jennifer Probst’s The Start of Something Good

Greetings! My name is Mia and I’m the head of Strategy Solutions PR and my current client is the prospective mayor of New York. I adore everything about New York City and I have a passion for designer shoes and clothes.

I decided to go into public relations after my father was ruined in his political career by untruths. If he just had the right PR representative, I think the election would have turned out differently. I’m extremely selective about my clients, and dedicate myself to helping them reach their potential without being smeared by social media. My work is my passion and I dedicate my all.

But my newest assignment… Sigh.

My client’s daughter has been mandated to community service this summer at an upstate B&B and horse rescue farm. Of course, she needs supervision, and I’ve been selected to be her full-time babysitter so my client doesn’t lose the election. I’m terrified I’m going to be bored out of my mind and trapped in country hell.

But it’s not all bad. The food is outstanding—fresh, local produce and tempting desserts that I must avoid at all costs in order to get into my new Gucci dress. The Robin’s Nest B&B is also quite charming, and Ophelia is a lovely hostess. Surprisingly, I’m beginning to enjoy the townspeople too. Especially Ethan, aka Horse Man.

At first I thought he was rude and mean and his personality sucked. I didn’t even care if he was a bit hot with that scruffy beard and piercing baby blues and a drool worthy muscled body. But, eventually, I realized there was so much more beneath the surface. He’s a man of honor and integrity. He’s kind. He takes care of what belongs to him, and you can trust him completely. To be honest, I’ve never met a man like him before…

***

Excerpt

After more driving through uniformed country roads and passing the same hills and cows, Mia spotted a crooked sign that read Goosey Drive.

That sounded right! Yes, that was the funny-sounding name. She was on the right path.

Puffing up with pride over her memory skills, she followed the road, noticing a single unpaved lane winding toward the left. It was heavily wooded but definitely a road. As she got closer, she saw a tiny sign that said Inn Horse Trail.

Yes. The inn was part of a rescue farm, so this must be it.

The Kia bumped along potholes, mud, and scattered brush blocking the lane. Her temper grew as she drove. How was a guest able to find this place? Why on earth wasn’t it paved and well marked? Had she been dropped into one of those horrid Wrong Turn movies to find herself being chased by deformed country bumpkins?

Finally, the car jerked to a halt at the end of the path. She stared openmouthed at the tiny bungalow in front of her.

This was the place she was staying at?

Horror unfolded. It wasn’t even Victorian. It had no sprawling front porch that served tea and cookies. It was just a basic mud-brown house with standard-issue windows, a basic concrete stoop, and a plain-beige door. No cheery potted geraniums or herbal gardens or quirky antiques like she’d imagined a B & B to have. Instead, there was a bunch of chickens roaming around, squawking and pecking at the unpaved ground. No real parking lot. Just a battered black truck parked in front. Was she the only guest?

And if so, now she knew why.

She was going to have a panic attack.

Clutching the door handle in a merciless grip, she dragged in deep breaths and tried to calm herself. Maybe the inside was amazing. Maybe it was a lesson so she’d learn the motto “Don’t be fooled by the surface, because great things lie beneath.” Or in this case, inside.

She grit her teeth and got out of the car, giving the chickens a wary glance. Her Prada shoes were open toed. Could chickens draw blood if they pecked at her toes? She stilled, watching them carefully, but they didn’t seem interested in a stranger, so she began to walk toward the house. Her heels sank into the mud, aggravating her even more. Why wasn’t anyone here to take her luggage or greet her?

Worst. B & B. Ever.

“Hello?” she called out. “Anyone around?”

The answer was not what she expected.

From behind the dirty, red coop thing, a massive chicken monster appeared in response to her call. She froze, mouth opening in horror, staring at the thing that seemed like a scary crossover of animal-genetic madness.

He had a giant head covered in crazy white feathers, sticking out from every angle like in one of those memes on her Facebook newsfeed. Beady eyes focused on her with sheer fowl suspicion. Fat, red jowls hung down beside his massive beak. His body was a mottled, inky black that ended with tremendous clawed feet.

“Umm, nice chicken?”

A pissed-off sound emitted from the creature’s beak, and he began lurching forward in a drunken walk of doom. She backed up, hands out, terrified she would die of a chicken attack in the backwoods, where no one would find her.

“Stay away from me!” she warned. “I mean it. I’ll make you the main course of my Thanksgiving, you freak!”

The thing clucked harder, beginning to flap his wings in crazed motions, his long, curly clawed toes moving faster toward her, beak open, ready for the kill.

She screamed.

“Hei Hei!” The masculine voice snapped through the air in command. The chicken monster stopped midcharge, cranking its feathery head toward the house. “Leave her alone.”

The chicken let out a murderous shriek.

“Wanna be left out this winter so your feathers freeze? I mean it, Hei Hei, I won’t save you like Harper. Go back and finish your lunch.”

Feathers shook. With one last glance at her that promised retribution, the chicken monster disappeared back behind the house. The man who saved her propped his hands on his hips and didn’t budge. “Sorry, he’s a bit temperamental. Can I help you?”

The long howl of a dog made her jump back. What now? Was this place a zoo? A black Lab came racing out with one intention: to take her down. She squared her shoulders, stood her ground, and prayed he or she was friendly.

He or she was. The dog bounded around her without jumping up, seeming thrilled to have some company. She reached down and pet the dog. At least one animal made sense out here. She’d always loved dogs. Not cats. Not chickens. Not horses or squirrels or chipmunks or snakes. Just dogs.

The man whistled. “Wheezy, come here. She’s had enough of the animal-crew welcome.” The dog obeyed, trotting back to his or her master and settling down near his feet. “Let’s try this again. Can I help you?”

Her words seemed to drift away. She stared at him in total fascination, her mind short circuiting the endless possibilities of this man. She’d just met a hot Grizzly Adams.

About the Author

Jennifer Probst is the New York Times bestselling author of The Billionaire Builders series, The Searching for . . . series, The Marriage series, and The Steele Brothers series, among others. The Start of Something Good is the first book in her new Stay series. Like some of her characters, Probst, along with her husband and two sons, calls New York’s Hudson Valley home. There, she enjoys reading, watching “shameful reality television,” and visiting an animal shelter, when she isn’t traveling to meet readers.

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Synopsis

Andie Carson has to do three things to inherit her grandmother’s lottery winnings—sober up, spend a month running her grandmother’s Georgia coffee shop, and enter homemade jam in the county fair. If she can’t meet those terms, the money goes to the church, and Andie gets nothing. She figures her tasks will be easy enough, and once she completes them, Andie plans to sell the shop, take the money, and run back to Boston.

After a rough breakup from his crazy ex-fiancée, Officer Gunnar Wills decides to take a hiatus from women. All he wants is to help make his small town thrive the way it did when he was a kid. But when wild and beautiful Andie shows up, Gunnar’s hesitant heart begins to flutter.

Gunnar knows that Andie plans to leave, but he’s hoping to change her mind, fearful that if her coffee shop closes, Main Street will fold to the big-box corporations and forever change the landscape of his quaint community. But convincing her to stay means getting close enough to risk his heart in the process. Even though Gunnar makes small-town life seem a little sweeter, Andie has to decide if she’s ready to turn her world upside down and give up big-city life. One thing’s for sure—it’s a very sticky situation.

Review

 

Southern style romance is the best and this books just strengthens that belief.

Andie is a woman that some could probably relate to in their own lives.  She is out all the time getting drunk but why?  Probably because she is lonely and has no true friends.  She doesn’t have any family either.  But this twist of fate changes all of that and she learns that family isn’t just those that you are related to by blood.  Gunnar has his own issues, from a scandal in college to being dumped nearly at the altar (the day before which is just as bad).  He does have a family but that doesn’t mean he has it all together.  So really, Andie and Gunnar are made for each other!

I enjoyed all the southern aspects of this book, the various storylines, the characters…all of it!  Several characters are put in their place in some amusing ways.  I felt like this book was well rounded with romance, some tension between characters, and even some life-altering realizations.

We give this 5 paws up and suggest you pick up this book soon!

 

 

 

 

About the Author

 

After several decades of writing medical research documents, Cindy decided to switch gears and write stories where the chances of happy endings are 100% and the side effects include satisfied sighs, permanent smiles, and a chuckle or two.  She writes romance novels with a slice of humor that range from historical romance to southern fried romantic comedies. Her young adult debut novel, Tuned Into You (BookFish Books) was released in June 2016 and her adult sweet romance, Left Hanging (Red Adept Publishing) was released in March 2017. In A Jam (Red Adept Publishing) will be released summer of 2018.

Cindy was born in Texas and raised in Georgia.  She received her Bachelor’s Degree from Kennesaw State University and her Master’s Degree from The University of Georgia.  Cindy enjoys gardening, reading, bodybuilding and a whole bunch of movies.  She can be overheard quoting lines from her favorite movies… a lot.  But her favorite pastime is spending time with Mark, her bass playing husband, Maddie Rose, the coolest girl on the planet, and fur child Daisy Mae.  She currently resides in Nashville, TN where live music can be heard everywhere, even at the grocery store.

 

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Synopsis

Most days Rebecca Lindt feels like an imposter…

The world admires her as a survivor. But that impression would crumble if people knew her secret. She didn’t deserve to be the one who got away. But nothing can change the past, so she’s thrown herself into her work. She can’t dwell if she never slows down.

Wes Garrett is trying to get back on his feet after losing his dream restaurant, his money, and half his damn mind in a vicious divorce. But when he intervenes in a mugging and saves Rebecca—the attorney who helped his ex ruin him—his simple life gets complicated.

Their attraction is inconvenient and neither wants more than a fling. But when Rebecca’s secret is put at risk, both discover they could lose everything, including what they never realized they needed: each other

She laughed and kissed him. This morning she’d melted down. But somehow this man had her laughing and turned on only a few hours later. Everything inside her felt buoyed.

She felt…light.

She’d forgotten what that felt like.

“Absolutely unputdownable, delivers all of the feels! Roni Loren is a new favorite. Loved this.” —COLLEEN HOOVER, #1 New York Times bestseller

Excerpt

Fifteen minutes. That was how long it took for Marco and Kincaid to abandon Rebecca and Wes in the kitchen under the auspices of Let me show you the view from Marco and Does this building have original details? from Kincaid.

Kincaid had motioned at Rebecca as she slipped out of the kitchen, some invented sign language that probably meant Talk it out with the hot chef but looked more like a drunken game of naughty charades.

Rebecca had promptly flipped her off.

But now here she was. Alone with Wes again.

Wes stood behind the large island, black bandanna keeping his hair back, gray T-shirt putting all that colorful arm ink on display, and forearms flexing as he sliced and diced an onion with practiced precision. If not for the simmering annoyance, it would’ve been a nice show to watch from her spot sitting on a stool on the other side of the counter. But he hadn’t said a word to her since they’d gotten into the condo. Just chop, chop, chop and irritated grunts.

“Do you need any help?” she asked for lack of anything else to say.

“Can you help me murder my brother?”

“I was thinking we could get rid of them both in one go. How far is the drop from the balcony?” Rebecca tapped her chin. “We could make it look like an accident. I know someone who could defend us.”

Wes smirked.

The little break in the wall helped her relax some. “Why’d you give in anyway? I was about to get us out of it. I had a whole argument prepared. There were bullet points. Closing statements. We could’ve saved ourselves this lovely moment.”

He frowned and dumped the onions into one of the prep bowls. “Yeah, but you didn’t see the look on my brother’s face.” He pushed a basket of strawberries and a paring knife toward her. “Can lawyers hull strawberries?”

“Sure.” She took the berries and stole one of his empty prep bowls. “So what kind of look was that?”

“The Don’t ruin this for me look. The Remember all the times I’ve helped you out look. That look.”

“That’s a lot for a look to say.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t hard to get the point. He’s always working and doesn’t get to go out and meet women. He likes your friend, and she seems to like him for whatever reason”—he shrugged and grabbed a bell pepper from the stack of vegetables—“so I’m hanging out with my ex-wife’s lawyer and taking one for the team.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing. I’m just having a high school flashback.” Thankfully not the kind she’d had Friday night, but one that was unpleasant enough in its own right.

“How’s that?”

She concentrated on cutting the stem off a strawberry. “I had a friend whose parents would only let her go on group dates. So I always got dragged out with her and had to be the date of her boyfriend’s best friend, who pretty much reminded me every ten minutes that he was there as a favor and was taking one for the team by hanging out with me. It was super awesome for my fifteen-year-old ego.”

“Ouch. What an idiot.”

“Yeah, I should’ve just told her to leave me out of it and sneak out like everyone else.”

“No, I meant him. What a douche.”

“Oh. Yeah. He was.” But even as she said it, she felt a pang of guilt in her gut. Craig hadn’t made it through prom night. So douche or not, she felt guilty talking bad about the dead. “We were just in a doomed-to-fail setup. Popular jock and high-strung goody-goody were not a wise combination. Two different planets and all that. He probably thought I was an insufferable Miss Priss.”

His lip curled. “Were you?”

She lifted her hand and held her index finger and thumb an inch apart. “Maybe a little. I wasn’t…not. When they brought weed to date night, I couldn’t just say no and let them do their thing. I gave everyone a lecture about how long it stays in your system and how having something on your record could ruin your college chances.”

He cringed. “Ahh, you were that girl. We had one of those at my school, too.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “Laney Becker. And she thought I was a douche.”

“Were you?”

He lifted his fingers, repeating her motion back to her but widening the gap further.

“Nice.”

“I probably would’ve done better if I’d been friends with someone like her. I could’ve used a girl telling me not to blow off class and get high. Or doing a lot of other things I shouldn’t have been doing back then.” He tossed more chopped veggies into a bowl. “And I’m sorry about the ‘taking one for the team’ comment. I didn’t mean it that way. This is just…a screwed-up situation. I’m willing to call a temporary let’s-forget-we-have-history truce for today.”

“I’m on board with that.”

“Good.” He frowned down at her chopped berries. “Hold up. That’s not how to hull.”

She looked down at the berry in her hand. She’d cut off the top. The stem was gone. She didn’t see any problem. “What’s wrong?”

He set down his knife and stepped around the island. “You’re wasting a big part of the berry that way. Here.” He held out his hand for the paring knife, and she handed it over. He shifted until he was right next to her and held the fruit in front of her. “The woody part is just under the leaves. That’s what you’re after.”

He poked the tip of the knife right beneath the leaves and then made a circle around the stem. He popped out the stem and only a little piece of the berry, leaving much more of the fruit intact.

“See.” He held the strawberry in his palm, the sweet scent of the ripe fruit wafting up to her. “Lots more berry, and you also don’t lose the shape of the fruit that way.”

“Oh.” She tried to focus on what he was showing her and not on the fact that he was so close and she could feel his body heat against her arm. Her hormones apparently had no qualms about this man. They remembered what his lips tasted like and were ready to ignore everything she knew about him. Stupid, misguided hormones.

About the Author

Roni wrote her first romance novel at age fifteen when she discovered writing about boys was way easier than actually talking to them. Since then, her flirting skills haven’t improved, but she likes to think her storytelling ability has. She holds a master’s degree in social work and spent years as a mental health counselor, but now she writes full time from her cozy office in Dallas, Texas where she puts her characters on the therapy couch instead. She is a two-time RITA Award winner and a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author.

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Synopsis

This baby’s not the only one in need of a cuddle…

Brant Wylder is a bachelor and loving it! He’s in Misty Bottoms, Georgia, property-hunting for his vintage car repair shop when he gets the call. His sister’s been in an accident, and Brant has to drop everything and take care of his five-month-old nephew. That’s the end of the bachelor lifestyle.

Bridal boutique owner Molly Stiles is all business all the time, until she sees that Brant’s in trouble. In this Southern town, nobody ever has to go it alone. And besides, how can she resist that beautiful baby in the arms of a beautiful man…?

Excerpt

Molly stood beneath a magnolia tree, her face tipped to catch the moonlight. The breath caught in his throat, and for one fanciful second, Brant imagined a mythical princess or fairy.

He shook his head. The woman was real, and he wanted a dance, wanted to hold her in his arms. A little flirting? Harmless.

Stepping out of the shadows, he made his way to her.

“Beautiful night, huh?”

“Perfect.” Slowly, she turned, a smile on her face.

“How about a dance?”

She hesitated.

“I’m not asking for a lifelong commitment, sugar. Just a single dance under the stars. The night’s made for dancing.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

He caught her hand in his, amazed at its softness against his work-roughened one. “In the interest of full disclosure, I’m not the world’s greatest dancer, but you shouldn’t lose any toes.” He glanced at her sequined stilettos, showcased by her cocktail-length dress. “Don’t know how you even walk in those, let alone put on the miles you do, but I have to say that all mankind is grateful.”

Smiling, Molly peeked at her shoes. “They’re awesome, aren’t they?”

He nodded. “You can dance in them?”

“I could run a marathon in these.”

“Okay, then.” The moon shone through Spanish moss that dripped from the live oaks, forming a lacy pattern on the dewy grass.

Kelly Clarkson’s “A Moment Like This” played over the sound system. Reaching the dance floor, Brant slid an arm around her waist and drew her in, breathed in her scent. He swung her out and brought her back in one smooth motion, felt her quick laugh in the pit of his stomach. The music slowed when the band segued into John Legend’s “All of Me,” and he drew her close.

Molly fit perfectly in his arms. She lived in Georgia and he in Tennessee, and that made her safe. And if the plans he and his brothers were working on panned out? Still nothing to worry about since she lived in Savannah. When she rested her head against his chest, he wondered if she could hear the rapid thump of his heart. Ms. Molly was hot, hot, hot.

His hand slid a little lower, and without missing a beat, she relocated it to her waist.

Molly smelled of a midnight garden with just a touch of naughty. His body responded, and he willed himself to think about something else. “How’s the city?”

“Savannah?” She shrugged. “I live in Misty Bottoms now. I opened a bridal boutique. Today’s bride was my first.” She grinned, dimples creasing her cheeks.

The dance ended, and he reluctantly released Molly. “I’m driving back to Tennessee tomorrow.”

“Speaking of driving, thanks for taxiing the last of the rehearsal dinner’s partiers home last night. I heard they celebrated pretty hard at Duffy’s.”

“No problem.”

“I need to stop at my car before I go back inside. I left the little silver heart I attach to the bridal gown’s garment bag in my glove box.”

Brant walked beside her in the soft night air, a hand at her elbow, while the band played Blake Shelton’s “God Gave Me You.”

He lowered his head. “Before we call it a night, I’d love to see the rose garden our friend Cole salvaged.”

“What a mess, but after a lot of hard work it’s incredible again.”

The scent of roses surrounding them, they strolled through the yard. In the silver light of the moon, the flowers glowed and took on an almost magical, fairy-tale illusion. The house shimmered and welcomed, like the true Southern lady she was. Interlacing his fingers with Molly’s, peace enveloped Brant.

They wandered across the expanse of lawn and through the blooms in comfortable silence.

From the parking area, he heard the sound of engines starting, of tires crunching on the long drive. “Looks like it’s about time for lights-out. We’d better head back so you can finish up.”

A slight breeze caused Molly to shiver, and happy for the excuse, Brant wrapped an arm around her and pulled her a little closer, surprised when she didn’t pull away.

Reaching her yellow-and-white Mini Countryman, he made to open her door, then changed his mind, leaned in and gave her a quick kiss, one that should have been impersonal. Friendly. Instead, fire shot through him.

He pulled back, unsure whether he should be relieved or horrified that the expression on her face mirrored his own stampeding feelings. Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m taking care of a few loose ends in the morning, then heading back to Tennessee. And I already said that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. The kiss was nice, thanks, but you don’t need to worry. I won’t show up naked at your hotel door.”

His breath caught.

She grinned, and he understood she knew exactly the effect she was having on him.

“I—” His phone vibrated. “Whoops. Sorry, but I’d better take this. My brothers probably forgot something. Organization isn’t their strong suit. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Sure.”

“Hello? Dad?” As he spoke, he made his way to a gnarly old oak. His father’s voice was gruff, almost as if he’d been crying. Panic grabbed Brant by the throat. “What’s wrong?

About the Author

LYNNETTE AUSTIN gave up the classroom to write full time. An author of eight novels, she has been a finalist in RWA’s Golden Heart Contest, PASIC’s Book of Your Heart Contest, and Georgia Romance Writers’ Maggie Contest. She and her husband divide their time between Southwest Florida’s beaches and Blairsville, GA.

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Synopsis

Three former Navy SEALs

Injured in the line of duty

Desperate for a new beginning…

Searching for a place to call their own.

Jack Armstrong’s been slowly piecing his life back together after a career-ending injury bounced him from the SEALs. The only trouble is, his family’s on their way to his new haven in Montana…and Jack refuses to let them know he’s still hurting. Desperate, he makes a deal with local bad girl Rose Rogers: in exchange for some extra security, she’ll play the perfect loving girlfriend.

Rose doesn’t trust any man, much less some tough-as-nails former SEAL. But the more they settle into their ruse, the more things start to feel real, and the more Rose’s true fear surfaces—that she’ll never be good enough for love. But Jack isn’t about to lose Rose. He’s done running when things get tough, and he’s determined to prove—once and for all—that even the most troubled hearts can find their way to redemption.

Excerpt

No man had ever held her close like this. Like you just held a person because you woke up together. And okay, maybe she’d never really spent the night with a guy. The few times she’d allowed herself to be charmed into sex, she’d always vamoosed either once the act was done or once the guy dozed off.

She didn’t stay. She didn’t do it again. And she did not, God forbid, cuddle. Someone holding her was supposed to be stifling. It was supposed to feel awkward. She was supposed to want to make fun of an act as soft and pointless as this.

Mostly she wanted to cry again and stay here forever. What was this man doing to her? And why him? Was it the scars—internal and external? The sob story? Or just those eyes?

“Do you have nightmares?” he asked out of nowhere.

She shifted in his arms. “Why would I have nightmares?”

He kissed her bare shoulder. “PTSD.”

“Hate to break it to you, sailor, but I never went to war.”

“You survived your own hell,” he said so matter-of-factly, she couldn’t even think up a response. “War isn’t the only thing that stamps itself on you, and death isn’t either. You know, when I was in the rehabilitation center, someone told me foster kids suffer from PTSD at a higher rate than military veterans.”

“What asshole said that to you while you were in a rehabilitation center?”

He shrugged. “Mike.”

“I’d like to wring that little f*er’s neck.”

Jack’s mouth curved into a smile. “I’d rather you didn’t. My mother likes you, but she wouldn’t approve of that.”

“Your sister likes me too.” Which she shouldn’t have said or even thought. What did it matter what his family thought? It was a fake like, for a fake her…but she liked them in return.

Except Dick Bag Mike.

“My sister worships you and might not care if you wring Mike’s neck.”

She laughed. Oh, damn him for having half a charming family. Vivian was adorable, and his parents were…

Well, she didn’t want to think about how lovely they were.

“You had your own trauma, Rose. I just wondered if it still bothered you. Nightmares. Panic attacks. I’ve done it all, so…”

Trauma. As though she were a victim. She had been, in a sense, but not like her sisters. They’d all looked after each other. They had put each other first at great risk to themselves. Only Rose had ever taken their father’s teachings to heart.

Always look out for number one.

“Just tell me the truth,” he said, and it was all gentle and impossible to fight him off.

The truth. She didn’t want to acknowledge the truth, but lying to Jack seemed so impossible. “S-sometimes. I’ve had nightmares. Rarely, but sometimes.”

“Mine have gotten fewer ever since I started talking. I told my sister I loved her last night.” He paused, rubbing his lightly stubbled chin against her temple. “I don’t think I’ve ever done that. And it was something. Telling Madison how much she hurt me changed something. I’ve still got scars, Geiger is still dead, Madison is still married to my brother, but…”

“But what?”

“See, that’s the thing. There didn’t used to be a but. It was a list of horrible, dark things, and it ended there. Everything was awful. Now? I still feel beat down by those things, by those hurts and scars, but…there’s a but. There’s more.”

She wanted to cry. For him. Because of him. She knew what it was like to have a but. Her sisters had always been that. It was so strange to realize that, over the past year as her sisters had been building their lives, she’d lost that but for herself.

She had her bar, her power, and her freedom. It should have been enough, but the list of bleak was holding her down, and she didn’t know how to be as brave as Jack and believe in a but.

“I’m not your happy ending, Jack,” she rasped.

“I don’t believe in happy endings anymore, Rose. Maybe I never did. I do know we don’t get what we deserve, and hard work doesn’t always pay off. That doesn’t change the beauty and hope of having a but.” He smiled then, so open and perfect and beautiful. “I care about you, Rose.” A gesture she didn’t deserve.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” she whispered.

“I know.” He sighed and brushed his lips across hers, light and quick. “I have to go do my chores before the family wakes up. Why don’t you come with me?”

“Come with?”

“Yeah, you can watch me do manly chores, we can eat breakfast with my family, and then you can head home and get some rest before you have to open the bar.”

She should refuse, stop diving deeper into this thing that was going to end so very badly if she let him get more attached.

If you let yourself get more attached.

“Say yes,” he murmured against her neck, nuzzling there.

And she was a very, very stupid woman, because that’s exactly what she said.

About the Author

NICOLE HELM writes down-to-earth contemporary romance specializing in people who don’t live close enough to neighbors for them to be a problem. When she’s not writing, she spends her time dreaming about someday owning a barn. She lives with her husband and two young sons in O’Fallon, Missouri.

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Synopsis

Cora Rey wanted a fresh start in life, but being thrown back in time to 1850 isn’t how she expected to do that. She discovers that Victorian England isn’t the pleasant social whirl Jane Austen led her to believe, but when in Rome—or in this case Twickenham . . . She’s determined to have the vacation of a lifetime, especially in the company of a certain duke.

Simon Tuttle never expected to become the duke of Hertfordshire, never wanted it, but now he is, and eligible women seeking a title consider him the next trophy to be taken in the marriage mart. A union of convenience is the most he hopes for due to the shame-filled secret he bears—until he meets Cora. Now, he imagines that a love match could be possible after all. Hiding his secret from society has been easy—hiding it from Cora proves impossible. Can Cora love a man like him despite learning the truth?

Review

I’m a sucker for time travel books. Just the thought about going to another time period in the past and learning how to adapt to what was customary and usual can be mind boggling. But this book takes a bit of a twist – there is a home that resides on fey lines and travel back and forth between time periods happens quite often. Another twist is that one might spend a year or so in one time period, but when they go back to the original time period it is like no time has passed at all.

The romance between Cora and Simon is sweet. While there are some miscommunications at times, watching their love for each other unfold made my heart happy. It wasn’t easy at times because of a few issues, but as any good romance they made it through to each other. I also enjoyed reading their letters to each other and the P.S. that were added to the bottom of each letter. They told so much more about the characters than the body of the letter.

I think this might be (or will be) a series and I can’t wait to read other books. There are characters that mention their time periods (not current day as this book) and hopefully there will be books about their story.

We give this 5 paws up.

About the Author

Jo Noelle grew up in Colorado and Utah but also spent time in Idaho and California. She has two adult children and three small kids. She teaches teachers and students about reading and writing, grows freakishly large tomatoes, enjoys cooking especially for desserts, builds furniture, sews beautiful dresses, and likes to go hiking in the nearby mountains. Oh, and by the way, she’s two people—

Canda Mortensen and Deanna Henderson, a mother/daughter writing team.

They began writing separately several years ago but found the process much more fun when they started collaborating. They are debut authors, with Lexi’s Pathetic Fictional Love Life as their first completed work. Other titles include Newbie and Damnation.

Deanna attended college before marrying and starting her family.

Canda received a Bachelor’s degree in Elementary Education, a Reading Specialist endorsement, and a Master’s degree in Educational Leadership. Her day job focuses on teaching teachers and children about literacy.

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Synopsis

She knows the kind of man he is;

The kind who breaks hearts.

But a hot summer at the Jersey Shore

Might be just what they need to light up their lives…

As the only daughter of a single mom, Connie Reyes swore she would never put herself or her child in a similar position. But when she runs into oh so tempting Jonathan Pierce at a wedding, she knows she must stay away. She’ll fall for him—hard. And he’s not the type to stick around.

Ever since he left town after their teenaged fling, Jonathan hasn’t been able to forget about Connie. He can’t wait for the wedding—to show her the man he’s become. And when the night finally comes, their mutual desire will lead to unexpected consequences neither of them were prepared for…

“One Summer Night is the perfect escape! It’s tender, funny and sexy, with wonderful characters you’ll fall in love with. You can’t go wrong with Caridad Pineiro.”—RAEANNE THAYNE, USA Today bestselling author

Excerpt

Jonathan Pierce stared hard at the mirror, wondering what Connie Reyes might see tonight when she and her friends came over for the dinner his brother Owen had arranged. What Connie might think after so much time had passed.

The teen she had known seven years earlier was gone as was the man she’d run into shortly after Hurricane Sandy.  That man had been replaced by one who had known his share of hardship and success. Barely perceptible laugh lines that hadn’t been there that last summer bracketed his mouth and eyes. There was a thin scar above one brow thanks to a crash while testing a new vehicle prototype on the Bonneville Salt Flats. Another jagged white line on his jaw was courtesy of shrapnel when a hydrogen fuel cell had unexpectedly exploded in their lab.

He looked away and leaned heavily on the edge of the vanity, noting the other assorted nicks and scars on his hands. They were the hands of a man who had lived life to the fullest and made himself what he wanted to be and not what others expected. He knew he’d sometimes hurt people with his choices, especially his older brother Owen, who’d had to shoulder the burden of the family business as well as their father’s ire whenever one of Jonathan’s escapades caught the attention of the media.

He’d gotten used to the interest the press had in him. After all, he was the renegade son of a wealthy family. A self-taught inventor who had sold his first small invention for millions. He was now revolutionizing the motor vehicle and battery industries with his innovative designs, unconventional methods, and fearless experiments.

He had brought idea after idea to life with detailed research and hard work. There had been failures along the way, but that had only made the successes that much more enjoyable. He had celebrated those successes with his team, his brother, and a bevy of actresses and models who were only too keen to be seen on the arm of a rebellious multi-millionaire who might soon be a billionaire if his company’s stock prices continued to climb.

Only… none of those women could hold a candle to Connie.

Connie, who he would see in just a few hours thanks to his brother. Owen had finally decided to fight for Maggie Sinclair, and he was happy that his brother was following his heart.  But while Jonathan would do almost anything for Owen, he wasn’t happy about having to spend time with Connie.

Smart and beautiful Connie, he thought with a sigh and a shake of his head.

He’d managed to avoid her for the last several years. Sure, he’d seen her after Sandy and occasionally from afar when Maggie and her friends had come down to Sea Kiss. Or every now and then when he’d gone to some business event in the city.

He’d tried to tell himself he didn’t like the sleek professional woman she’d become. That she wasn’t prettier than ever. He tried not to imagine peeling off those elegant business suits to reveal the real woman beneath. But he was lying to himself.

He had never really gotten over the Connie Reyes that had emerged that summer they had shared.  The woman who had learned to live for the moment and have fun.  Who had been carefree and willing to explore their love. He doubted he would ever forget that women and wondered if she was still there, trapped inside her very prim and proper suits.

Maybe he’d find out tonight, he thought, and prepared himself for what might be a very difficult dinner.

***

Connie Reyes splayed her hand across the nervous butterflies in her stomach that were beating their wings so violently, she felt like throwing up. She was tempted to beg off from dinner with the Pierce boys, only Maggie needed her moral support and Connie never disappointed a friend. Especially Maggie, who was like a sister.  She’d do anything for Maggie, even suffering through a meal with Jonathan Pierce.

“You feeling okay? You’re looking a little . . .” said Emma Grant, her other BFF. Emma eyed her intently, her green-eyed gaze inquisitive.

“I’m just fine,” she lied, but it was clear from Emma’s meaningful stare that her friend suspected something was up as they followed Maggie onto the patio and to the long row of tall privet hedges that separated the two Jersey Shore mansions.

She tamed the flutters much as she did when arguing a case before a judge and trudged along behind Maggie as they eased through the hedges and approached the entrance to the Pierce mansion. They had barely reached the front porch when Owen threw open the door, a big friendly smile on his handsome face.

He welcomed them warmly, but Connie couldn’t resist mumbling to Emma, “Said the spider to the fly.” As much as she wanted things to work out with Owen, she still worried about how Maggie would be hurt if they didn’t.

Emma jabbed her in the ribs and luckily, it seemed as if Owen either hadn’t heard her comment or if he had, was choosing to ignore it. She gave him props if it was the latter, since it indicated he was truly trying to be nice for Maggie’s sake.

They quickly walked through the foyer and living room and back to the dining area. Jonathan was in the kitchen, an apron over his jeans and T-shirt. The T-shirt hugged his broad, muscled chest and laid bare the powerful muscles of his arms. His light brown hair still had the kiss of the summer sun and was tied back from his face, revealing the sharp lines of his features.

He looked older, but still so handsome.

She had thought she could handle this dinner for her friend’s sake.  That she could face Jonathan and not get caught up in the emotions from years past.  But it was impossible to forget the way he’d held her in his arms, a dimpled smile on his lips, his sea-blue eyes bright with humor and love. With that memory, the flutters in her stomach were replaced by an ache in the region of her heart.

 

About the Author

Caridad Pineiro is a transplanted Long Island girl who has fallen in love with pork roll and the Jersey Shore, but still can’t get the hang of tomato pies. When Caridad isn’t taking long strolls along the boardwalk to maintain her sanity and burn off that pork roll, she’s also a NY Times and USA Today bestselling author with over a million books sold worldwide. Caridad is passionate about writing and helping others explore and develop their skills as writers. She is a founding member of the Liberty States Fiction Writers and has presented workshops at the RT Book Club Convention, Romance Writers of America National Conference as well as various writing organizations throughout the country.

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