His gaze settled on her lips, and he laughed. “You, uh…” He motioned at his mouth. “…you have a slight mustache, my fearless reporter.”
A red blush crept up her cheeks, and she tried to wipe away the milk from her lips. Scott stopped her and wiped it away himself, rubbing his thumbs over her mouth. And then he paused with his hands cupping her face. His breath hitched. When had he fallen for her? This sassy redhead who forged head-on into any situation.
Ashton Price inherits her aunt’s B&B in Cranberry Cove, Washington. But before she can open, she must discover the identity of an elusive intruder who appears by night. Could the handsome gardener who claims he once knew her aunt be the prowler?
Gardener James Atwood is actually a corporate executive in the cranberry business but can’t allow the beautiful Ashton to learn of his true identity or why he works in the peaceful gardens at the inn. He’d like nothing more than to help Ashton discover the secret that dwells within the walls at The Inn at Cranberry Cove.
Owning her own PR firm is all reporter Stephanie Clark wants for Christmas, but the idea of running a prestigious election campaign in the country’s capital throws her stomach into knots. A last minute vacation road trip to focus and seek God’s direction for her life ends up in disaster when she gets caught in the worst snowstorm to hit Vermont in over a decade, crashing her into a small town and the one person she’d rather forget.
Constable Ben Koper is still healing from the polar bear attack that almost killed him. Nine months after it happened, he returns to Churchill, Manitoba, a changed man—scarred more than just physically. PTSD is his new shadow, haunting his every step, and he can’t seem to kick the pain meds he shouldn’t need anymore. He’s determined to prove, to himself and his colleagues, that he’s still up to his job. Failure isn’t an option.
Jason’s eyes narrowed and he held Stephanie’s gaze. He fished his keys out of his pocket and handed them to her. She took them from his hand and offered a polite smile. Stephanie rose, tossed Kimberley’s resume on the desk, and tried to brush past him. Her breath caught when he blocked her with a gentle, but firm hand on her wrist. The tender touch of his thumb all but stole her composure. Her gaze focused on the fingers wrapped around her wrist and journeyed up his arm until she met eyes pooled with concern.
She swallowed hard, wishing strength into her weak petition. “Please let me go.” Tears pricked her eyes as she stared at him.
A nerve pulsed in his cheek, and Stephanie’s breaths grew raspy.
One minute more and she wouldn’t have the strength to leave.
Welcome to the blog, Jennifer! Tell us a little bit about yourself: My husband, Ronnie, and I will have been married for twenty-six years this November. Wow – time sure flies! When we met, we were both attending our church’s singles ministry. That next year, I was...
Welcome to the blog, Christina! Tell us a little bit about yourself: A member of the American Christian Fiction Writers, Christina Sinisi writes stories about families, both the broken and blessed. Her works include a semi-finalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel...
‘Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead. Forensic anthropologist Taya McGill disagreed with Benjamin Franklin’s famous quote. In her experience, the dead were horrible secret keepers. Rather, she’d dub them mysterious pirates hoarding a treasure trove of clues. And as a general rule, far more reliable than most living people she’d encountered.
Taya cherished the incredible honor of speaking for the dearly departed, even when an active crime scene overtook her nonexistent Christmas plans. The excavation freed her from the holiday hustle and bustle she detested more than the insufferable game and parks officer reigning as security over the site.
He’d gone, for now, but if his previous behavior was any indicator, there’d soon be more rounds in futility. Those who misjudged Taya’s petite five-foot, ninety-pound stature for weakness learned the hard way that her stubbornness came packaged like dynamite and equaled her determination.
Dr. Taya McGill would never again succumb to a uniformed bully.
” What are my chances of actually making it to Fortune’s Fall? Not high. Then again, according to Pallas, there’s a network helping people get there. True, some people have been caught. But what if I’m not?
“Can I really do this?” I say aloud to my empty room. I scan the furniture. The walls. My messy bed. It’s all so familiar to me after seven years that I usually overlook the paisley on the quilt and the stain on the rug where an exhausted Ethelind tripped and dropped an entire pan of accidentally undercooked brownies one night. We ate them anyway. A mud puddle laced with carpet fibers, scooped up with spoons and laughed about later. I blink, and the memory is gone.
“I’m going to do this.” I turn toward my closet, grab a shirt, and pull it over my head.
“I have to do this for my family.” I zip my jeans.
“For Pallas.” I tie my shoes.
I’m a robot. Don’t think. Just act.
“I’m going to do this,” I repeat.
If I stop talking, if I stop moving, the likelihood of failure will paralyze me. I pull my hair into a ponytail and open the door, tiptoe across the common room and into the hall. The door closes behind me without a sound.”
I swiveled to look out my small window at the rainy streets. Growing up, I had known for sure that He was in my life and guided me. I wasn’t feeling guided now.
As I turned back to my computer, the large framed letter on the wall caught my eye. The one that had started it all.
I am so frustrated with men. I finally find the guy that makes my heart pound, and he turns out to be a player, just like all the other men I’ve ever met. What is a girl to do? How am I ever going to find Mr. Right? Am I doomed to be a spinster the rest of my life? Please, help!
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