I am a Christian, a retired teacher, a mother and a grandmother. I love to read and I love the Lord Jesus Christ! Unless otherwise specified ,all visual illustrations are from the YOU VERSION APP of the Bible.
Fast-paced, uplifting and with lovable characters, this book was one of my favorites from this author. I really enjoyed the story of widowed Isabelle who has a big heart and takes in foster children. She needs a handyman around her ranch so she hires Mac, a man with a tragedy in his past that he can’t seem to let go. Getting to know these two main characters was a real pleasure, but I enjoyed even more getting to know the children. Katie was a real heart-tugger. I could just picture her gamine face and her adorable little smile each time she came on the scene. And baby Lily was a welcome addition to Isabelle’s growing family, just as she also captured my heart. The undercurrent on the ranch of constant danger to Lily and Isabelle had me wondering how it would all end. With a simple plot that turned more complex the more I delved into the story, this book was enjoyable and so heart warming that I just wanted it to never end. Fans of clean romance with suspense mixed in will love this book! Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Lynette Eason lives in Simpsonville, SC with her husband and two children. She is an award-winning, best-selling author who spends her days writing when she’s not traveling around the country teaching at writing conferences. Lynette enjoys visits to the mountains, hanging out with family and brainstorming stories with her fellow writers. You can visit Lynette’s website to find out more at http://www.lynetteeason.com or like her Facebook page at www.facebook.com/lynette.eason
Mac bolted from the truck just as the sun crested the horizon and spread light around the area. He raced around the side of the house to the back and skidded to a stop. The intruder the owner had mentioned had one foot inside the window and his gloved hands gripped the molding. Mac darted forward, placed his hands on the porch railing and vaulted over it. He landed on the wooden flooring with a thud and faced the frozen figure now half in and half out of the house. “Don’t do it, man,” Mac said. “Cops are on the way.”
His words seemed to send indecision sweeping through the guy. A pause Mac took advantage of. He lunged, grabbed two fistfuls of the hoodie material and pulled him away from the window. A heavy fist glanced off Mac’s cheek. He winced and jerked back, losing his grip. That gave the wiry figure the opening he needed, and he darted away from Mac to dash down the length of the porch, leap over the steps and head full-speed across the pasture. Mac pounded after him.
The guy broke through the tree line and disappeared into the woods. Mac did the same seconds later, only to stop when he realized he’d lost him. Mac turned, listening, his eyes searching. Finally, he heard the crunching of underbrush to his left and headed that way, hit a patch of mud and slid almost falling. He managed to catch his balance, but a second later, the roar of a motorcycle captured his attention. After one last push through tree limbs and vines, he found himself staring at the back of a disappearing bike. He didn’t know where the trail led, but there was no way he’d catch the guy on foot. With a sigh, he gave up the chase and retraced his steps.
When he came to the pasture beyond the tree line, he could see the woman who was, hopefully, his future boss. Isabelle Trent. She stood on the front porch, a little girl about five years old clutching Isabelle’s knee with one hand and a doll with her other. Isabelle cradled an infant in the crook of her right arm.
Dressed in jeans, boots and a long-sleeved red flannel shirt, she had her blond hair pulled into a messy ponytail. It struck him that she looked comfortable and completely in her element. If understandably shaken. Two police officers faced her. One wrote notes in a little black book while the other spoke into the radio on her shoulder. As Mac approached, Isabelle’s green eyes landed on him, and the officers turned. Mac made sure they could see his hands.
“That’s the man who came to the rescue,” Isabelle said.
What a delightful way to spend an afternoon! This book was a quick read, with an enjoyable look at small town life, including some very stubborn animals. Avery Hammons is a single mom of her ten year old daughter Quinn when Grayson Stone unexpectedly returns to town and wants to get to know Quinn. After all, he is her father. There were some really quirky and funny secondary characters that I enjoyed meeting in the pages of this book , but the main characters were ones that I was engaged with, rooting for them to learn how to trust again and to forgive each other. The anxiety faced by Avery, Grayson and even Quinn was realistically portrayed and made the story totally believable. There was the underlying faith element of the genre (Love Inspired Romance) as well as a spunky little girl who knows when to make demands and when to just step back and watch things unfold. I think that Quinn was my favorite character, next to the judge who is Grayson’s dad and who was involved in getting him back to town to begin with. The interactions between the characters made a fun read that entertained and uplifted. The genre is contemporary romance, featuring a second chance at love. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from Harlequin via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive book. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Other than having an unwed mother, the book is clean, so I would rate it PG.About the Author: Brenda Minton lives in the Ozarks. She’s a wife, mom to three, foster mom to five and grandma to a princess. Life is chaotic but she enjoys every minute of it with her family and a few too many dogs. When not writing she’s drinking coffee on the patio, wrangling kids or escaping for an evening out with her husband. Visit her online at www.brendaminton.net
I really enjoy a good romantic suspense book and when it’s a Love Inspired book, that is even better because faith becomes a focus of the characters as they work to resolve their problems. This is the second book in a series, but it is the first one that I have read by this author so I can attest to the fact that it can be read as a standalone. The main characters are Mara Castillo and Levi Duke. Levi has partnered with Mara’s brother Seth to purchase a failing ranch in the desert outside of Las Vegas. Furnace Falls is not a paradise by any means but Levi and Seth hope to turn the ranch around and raise horses. Unfortunately, before Seth can even arrive, he is seriously injured and in a coma, leaving Mara to fill in the gaps on the ranch. I really enjoyed how responsible Levi was, to Seth and to Mara and to his own obligations. I read intently as Mara’s character developed from one who was bitter about what she has had to give up into one who accepts things the way they are. The plot is complicated by the fact that Mara’s sister Corinne disappeared about five years earlier and now it seems that Mara has received a text from her. So, in addition to finding out what happened to Corinne, visiting her seriously injured brother in the hospital, dealing with her feelings for Levi and working on the ranch, Mara is trying to discover the secrets that seem to be threatening her life. There were surprising twists along the way to the end of the story and a lot of back-and-forth romance between Levi and Mara. The suspense never let up and the romance was a light one, in the background but always there. The animals were my absolute favorites of the story! There was Banjo the intuitive dog, a kitten named Tiny whom Banjo seems to adopt as his own and a Rabbit living under the porch. Plus, of course, there were lots of horses on the ranch. I enjoyed the story, the characters, the themes of family and persevering and the intrigue of a good mystery. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from Harlequin via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
A clean romantic suspense that can be read by all who enjoy a good mystery and a light romance.Four stars foragood book that left me wanting to know more about the characters and the storyPhoto from the author’s website at http://www.danamentik.com
About the Author
Dana Mentink is a national bestselling author. She has been honored to win two Carol Awards, a Holt Medallion, and a Reviewer’s Choice award. She’s authored more than thirty novels to date for Harlequin’s Love Inspired Suspense and Harlequin Heartwarming. Dana loves feedback from her readers. Contact her at www.danamentink.com
Although this book is a part of a series, I have not read any of the other books and was able to thoroughly enjoy the story of Rosa and Wyatt as if it were a standalone. Rosa Galvez lives and works in the little beach town of Cannon Beach, managing the Brambleberry House apartments and running a little souvenir shop. She is totally content with her solitary life, letting into her heart her Irish setter Fiona. Then a new police officer needs a place to stay while his home is being repaired, so he takes at apartment at Brambleberry. Wyatt is recently widowed and has a young, precocious son names Logan. All of the characters were so realistically portrayed that I felt as though I could meet them on the street and instantly know who they were. I felt a great affinity for Rosa, a woman who has a lot of secrets in her past but who is determined to just hold them close and not let anyone touch her heart. Logan, however, could break a heart of stone and that is where Rosa begins to see that she needs to tell others about her past and let go of it. There is building suspense in this book which was unexpected for me since I was thinking this would be just a lighthearted romance. The romance was there, but the road to it was rocky and filled with intrigue. That kept me engaged and reading quickly so I could find out what Rosa’s secrets were and if she could overcome them in order to establish a lasting relationship with Wyatt. Two people with overwhelming hurts in their past discover love, so that was very heartwarming, if totally predictable. What was not predictable was all of the detours that they had to take to get to their happy ending. The plot was very well done, with some unexpected twists and even a sub-plot involving another tenant in the house, Jen and her daughter Addie. The multiple layers also added interest for me as I got to know more of the characters and felt empathy for them. The author did a masterful job of creating an engaging plot, characters with heart and soul, and an ending that wrapped everything up with a bow. Fans of romance will enjoy this journey to Cannon Beach! Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
New York Times bestselling author RaeAnne Thayne finds inspiration in the beautiful northern Utah mountains where she lives with her family. Her books have won numerous honors, including six RITA Award nominations from Romance Writers of America and Career Achievement and Romance Pioneer awards from RT Book Reviews. She loves to hear from readers and can be reached through her website at www.raeannethayne.com.
Now that the deed was done, Rosa was having second, third and fourth thoughts about Wyatt Townsend moving in downstairs.
Why had she ever thought this would work?
That evening as she pulled weeds in the backyard after leaving the store, she had to fight all her instincts that were urging her to call up Carrie right now and tell her she had made a mistake. The apartment was no longer available.
“There is no law against changing your mind, is there?” she asked out loud to Fiona, who was lying in the grass nearby, watching butterflies dance amid the climbing roses.
The dog gave her a curious look then turned back to her business, leaving Rosa to sigh. She yanked harder at a stubborn weed that had driven deep roots into the ground.
She would do nothing. She had given her word and could not back out now. Integrity, keeping her word, was important. She had learned that first from her own mother and then from her adopted parents.
Lauren and Daniel Galvez were two of the most honorable people she knew. They would never think of reneging on a promise and she couldn’t, either.
Yes, Wyatt made her extremely nervous. She did not want him moving in downstairs. But she had given her word to his sister. End of story.
Because of that, she would be gracious and welcoming to him and to his sweet son.
Thinking about Logan left her feeling a little bit better about the decision. He was a very adorable boy, with good manners and a ready smile.
It was not the boy’s fault that Wyatt made her so nervous.
She had almost talked herself into at least accepting the new status quo, when an SUV pulled up to the house a half hour later.
Fiona lifted her head to sniff the air, then rose and hurried over to the vehicle to greet the newcomers.
Rosa climbed to her feet a little more slowly, pulled off her gloves and swiped at her hair before she headed for the vehicle. She might be accepting of her new tenants, but summoning the same kind of enthusiasm her dog showed so readily would be a stretch.
When Rosa reached the vehicle, Logan was opening the back door and jumping to the ground, his little dog close behind.
Fiona barked a greeting, then leaned in to sniff the newcomer, tail wagging. The Townsends’ dog sniffed back, and a moment later, the two were circling each other with joy.
At least Fiona was happy to have them here.
“Hello, Logan,” Rosa said.
“Hi.” The boy beamed at her, showing off a gap in his teeth that she found adorable.
“Guess what?” he said. “We’re moving into your house! Dad says we can stay here until our house is done and I’ll have my own bedroom and won’t have to sleep in Aunt Carrie’s sewing room anymore.”
“This is so wonderful, no?” She smiled down at him, trying not to pay any attention to his father walking around the vehicle, looking big and serious and intimidating.
“What is the name of your dog?”
“This is Hank. Don’t worry. He’s nice.”
“I never doubted it for a minute,” she assured him. “Hello, Hank.”
She reached down to pet the dog, who responded by rolling over to have his belly scratched. Rosa loved him immediately.
“This is Fiona. She is also very nice.”
Logan grinned and petted Fiona’s long red coat.
Wouldn’t it be lovely if she only had to deal with the boy and the dog? Unfortunately, the boy had a father. She had to say something to Wyatt, at least. Bracing herself, she lifted her attention from the two dogs and the boy, and faced the man who always looked as if he could see through her skin and bones into her heart, and was not convinced he liked what he saw.
Available on June 29th, but you can pre-order now. Purchase Links:
This book was a good Amish story with lovable characters and a plot that had some surprises and unexpected twists in it. Lauren Nolt is a former member of the Amish community in Lancaster County where she is sent by her employer to win the people over to the idea of building a casino in their community. When her car breaks down during an ice story, Lauren is stuck asking for assistance from widower Adam Hershberger, a mechanic who used to bully her in their childhood. Lauren stays with her Aunt Sylvia, a feisty older Amish woman who speaks the truth in love to Lauren and who was my favorite character in the book. Her wisdom led Lauren to many hours of thoughtful reflection. When Lauren meets Adam’s precocious daughter Mary Beth, it was life love at first sight. Mary Beth is a cute little matchmaker who wants her dad to have a new wife and for herself to have a new mother. Although parts of the book were predictable, there were numerous secrets revealed and some surprises, too, so it was was a really captivating read. I was totally invested in the story of Lauren and Adam and rooting for little Mary Beth to get her way with them. This is a great first book in a new series and I look forward to more! Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Totally clean Christian fiction from Harlequin Love Inspired.Photo and biography from author’s website http://www.joannbrownbooks.com
I loved this romantic story and hope that you will buy it and read it for yourselves. Many thanks to Harlequin for giving me the opportunity to read and review this book!
This was a great summer read that took me away from the doldrums of pandemic quarantine onto the road of discovering new things and being open to new adventures. Kathleen is an eccentric and fun eighty-year old who is determined to go on a road trip across America. She needs a companion and chooses Martha, a twenty-something who is still trying to find herself and her purpose in life. Kathleen leaves behind her morose and worrying daughter Liza, a middle-aged woman who is burdened down with her responsibilities in life and has forgotten to take care of herself. There is thus a character for all generations to relate to: wild and carefree Kathleen who has just gotten her second wind in life; stalwart and long suffering Liza who is desperate to discover a place for herself beyond her family and its stress; and Martha, the exuberant young woman who is open to adventure. At the beginning, the tone of the book was one of humor and was light-hearted. As the book progressed, there were some somber and thought-provoking moments. Reading the book was like taking a journey on the road of life and the three main characters portrayed traveling down this road perfectly. This was an uplifting story of self-discovery and being open to looking for and finding new things in life, even at an advanced age. I loved this book and highly recommend it to those who enjoy contemporary fiction and a good read. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Fun book, rated PG-13
Author Bio: USA Today bestselling author Sarah Morgan writes hot, happy, contemporary romance and women’s fiction, and her trademark humor and sensuality have gained her fans across the globe. Described as “a magician with words” by RT Book Reviews, she has sold more than eleven million copies of her books. She was nominated three years in succession for the prestigious RITA® Award from the Romance Writers of America and won the award three times: once in 2012 for Doukakis’s Apprentice, in 2013 for A Night of No Return and in 2017 for Miracle on 5th Avenue. She also won the RT Reviewers’ Choice Award in 2012 and has made numerous appearances in their Top Pick slot. As a child, Sarah dreamed of being a writer, and although she took a few interesting detours along the way, she is now living that dream. Sarah lives near London, England, with her husband and children, and when she isn’t reading or writing, she loves being outdoors, preferably on vacation so she can forget the house needs tidying.
It was the cup of milk that saved her. That and the salty bacon she’d fried for her supper many hours earlier, which had left her mouth dry.
If she hadn’t been thirsty—if she’d still been upstairs, sleeping on the ridiculously expensive mattress that had been her eightieth birthday gift to herself—she wouldn’t have been alerted to danger.
As it was, she’d been standing in front of the fridge, the milk carton in one hand and the cup in the other, when she’d heard a loud thump. The noise was out of place here in the leafy darkness of the English countryside, where the only sounds should have been the hoot of an owl and the occasional bleat of a sheep.
She put the glass down and turned her head, trying to locate the sound. The back door. Had she forgotten to lock it again?
The moon sent a ghostly gleam across the kitchen and she was grateful she hadn’t felt the need to turn the light on. That gave her some advantage, surely?
She put the milk back and closed the fridge door quietly, sure now that she was not alone in the house.
Moments earlier she’d been asleep. Not deeply asleep—that rarely happened these days—but drifting along on a tide of dreams. If someone had told her younger self that she’d still be dreaming and enjoying her adventures when she was eighty she would have been less afraid of aging. And it was impossible to forget that she was aging.
People said she was wonderful for her age, but most of the time she didn’t feel wonderful. The answers to her beloved crosswords floated just out of range. Names and faces refused to align at the right moment. She struggled to remember what she’d done the day before, although if she took herself back twenty years or more her mind was clear. And then there were the physical changes—her eyesight and hearing were still good, thankfully, but her joints hurt and her bones ached. Bending to feed the cat was a challenge. Climbing the stairs required more effort than she would have liked and was always undertaken with one hand on the rail just in case.
She’d never been the sort to live in a just in case sort of way.
Her daughter, Liza, wanted her to wear an alarm. One of those medical alert systems, with a button you could press in an emergency, but Kathleen refused. In her youth she’d traveled the world, before it was remotely fashionable to do so. She’d sacrificed safety for adventure without a second thought. Most days now she felt like a different person.
Losing friends didn’t help. One by one they fell by the wayside, taking with them shared memories of the past. A small part of her vanished with each loss. It had taken decades for her to understand that loneliness wasn’t a lack of people in your life, but a lack of people who knew and understood you.
She fought fiercely to retain some version of her old self—which was why she’d resisted Liza’s pleas that she remove the rug from the living room floor, stop using a step ladder to retrieve books from the highest shelves and leave a light on at night. Each compromise was another layer shaved from her independence, and losing her independence was her biggest fear.
Kathleen had always been the rebel in the family, and she was still the rebel—although she wasn’t sure that rebels were supposed to have shaking hands and a pounding heart.
She heard the sound of heavy footsteps. Someone was searching the house. For what, exactly? What treasures did they hope to find? And why weren’t they trying to at least disguise their presence?
Having resolutely ignored all suggestions that she might be vulnerable, she was now forced to acknowledge the possibility. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so stubborn. How long would it have taken from pressing the alert button to the cavalry arriving?
In reality, the cavalry was Finn Cool, who lived three fields away. Finn was a musician, and he’d bought the property precisely because there were no immediate neighbors. His antics caused mutterings in the village. He had rowdy parties late into the night, attended by glamorous people from London who terrorized the locals by driving their flashy sports cars too fast down the narrow lanes. Someone had started a petition in the post office to ban the parties. There had been talk of drugs, and half-naked women, and it had all sounded like so much fun that Kathleen had been tempted to invite herself over. Rather that than a dull women’s group, where you were expected to bake and knit and swap recipes for banana bread.
Finn would be of no use to her in this moment of crisis. In all probability he’d either be in his studio, wearing headphones, or he’d be drunk. Either way, he wasn’t going to hear a cry for help.
Calling the police would mean walking through the kitchen and across the hall to the living room, where the phone was kept and she didn’t want to reveal her presence. Her family had bought her a mobile phone, but it was still in its box, unused. Her adventurous spirit didn’t extend to technology. She didn’t like the idea of a nameless faceless person tracking her every move.
There was another thump, louder this time, and Kathleen pressed her hand to her chest. She could feel the rapid pounding of her heart. At least it was still working. She should probably be grateful for that.
When she’d complained about wanting a little more adventure, this wasn’t what she’d had in mind. What could she do? She had no button to press, no phone with which to call for help, so she was going to have to handle this herself.
She could already hear Liza’s voice in her head: Mum, I warned you!
If she survived, she’d never hear the last of it.
Fear was replaced by anger. Because of this intruder she’d be branded Old and Vulnerable and forced to spend the rest of her days in a single room with minders who would cut up her food, speak in overly loud voices and help her to the bathroom. Life as she knew it would be over.
That was not going to happen.
She’d rather die at the hands of an intruder. At least her obituary would be interesting.
Better still, she would stay alive and prove herself capable of independent living.
She glanced quickly around the kitchen for a suitable weapon and spied the heavy black skillet she’d used to fry the bacon earlier.
She lifted it silently, gripping the handle tightly as she walked to the door that led from the kitchen to the hall. The tiles were cool under her feet—which, fortunately, were bare. No sound. Nothing to give her away. She had the advantage.
She could do this. Hadn’t she once fought off a mugger in the backstreets of Paris? True, she’d been a great deal younger then, but this time she had the advantage of surprise.
How many of them were there?
More than one would give her trouble.
Was it a professional job? Surely no professional would be this loud and clumsy. If it was kids hoping to steal her TV, they were in for a disappointment. Her grandchildren had been trying to persuade her to buy a “smart” TV, but why would she need such a thing? She was perfectly happy with the IQ of her current machine, thank you very much. Technology already made her feel foolish most of the time. She didn’t need it to be any smarter than it already was.
Perhaps they wouldn’t come into the kitchen. She could stay hidden away until they’d taken what they wanted and left.
They’d never know she was here.
They’d—
A floorboard squeaked close by. There wasn’t a crack or a creak in this house that she didn’t know. Someone was right outside the door.
Her knees turned liquid.
Oh Kathleen, Kathleen.
She closed both hands tightly round the handle of the skillet.
Why hadn’t she gone to self-defense classes instead of senior yoga? What use was the downward dog when what you needed was a guard dog?
A shadow moved into the room, and without allowing herself to think about what she was about to do she lifted the skillet and brought it down hard, the force of the blow driven by the weight of the object as much as her own strength. There was a thud and a vibration as it connected with his head.
“I’m so sorry—I mean—” Why was she apologizing? Ridiculous!
The man threw up an arm as he fell, a reflex action, and the movement sent the skillet back into Kathleen’s own head. Pain almost blinded her and she prepared herself to end her days right here, thus giving her daughter the opportunity to be right, when there was a loud thump and the man crumpled to the floor. There was a crack as his head hit the tiles.
Kathleen froze. Was that it, or was he suddenly going to spring to his feet and murder her?
No. Against all odds, she was still standing while her prowler lay inert at her feet. The smell of alcohol rose, and Kathleen wrinkled her nose.
Drunk.
Her heart was racing so fast she was worried that any moment now it might trip over itself and give up.
She held tightly to the skillet.
Did he have an accomplice?
She held her breath, braced for someone else to come racing through the door to investigate the noise, but there was only silence.
Gingerly she stepped toward the door and poked her head into the hall. It was empty.
It seemed the man had been alone.
Finally she risked a look at him.
He was lying still at her feet, big, bulky and dressed all in black. The mud on the edges of his trousers suggested he’d come across the fields at the back of the house. She couldn’t make out his features because he’d landed face-first, but blood oozed from a wound on his head and darkened her kitchen floor.
Feeling a little dizzy, Kathleen pressed her hand to her throbbing head.
What now? Was one supposed to administer first aid when one was the cause of the injury? Was that helpful or hypocritical? Or was he past first aid and every other type of aid?
She nudged his body with her bare foot, but there was no movement.
Had she killed him?
The enormity of it shook her.
If he was dead, then she was a murderer.
When Liza had expressed a desire to see her mother safely housed somewhere she could easily visit, presumably she hadn’t been thinking of prison.
Who was he? Did he have family? What had been his intention when he’d forcibly entered her home? Kathleen put the skillet down and forced her shaky limbs to carry her to the living room. Something tickled her cheek. Blood. Hers.
She picked up the phone and for the first time in her life dialed the emergency services.
Underneath the panic and the shock there was something that felt a lot like pride. It was a relief to discover she wasn’t as weak and defenseless as everyone seemed to think.
When a woman answered, Kathleen spoke clearly and without hesitation.
“There’s a body in my kitchen,” she said. “I assume you’ll want to come and remove it.”
This was certainly a multi-layered book in which each character had her own story and then the stories gradually meshed together. It was the story of Mary, a mom who doesn’t feel that she has a close relationship with her own daughters and knows that she feels abandoned by her own mother. It is also the story of each of her daughters: Avery, a proud stay-at-home-mom; Hannah, an accomplished violinist on break from the Boston Symphony; and Lark, an artist with a real spark of creativity. Each girl and her mother has a secret that is the central focus of the story, unraveling the secrets as they make a quilt together from the scraps that Mary’s mom left behind. Some of the story was heartbreaking to me because of my own past experiences. Other parts were interesting but not in a personal way. I think this story will appeal of all because of its characters that are so varied and yet so much alike in the way that a family is. I like the saying that kept getting repeated, “You can never go so far that you can’t go home again.” This was a powerful theme that lent itself to the focus of self-discovery, revelations and forgiveness. I loved the way the author crafted the story around sewing a quilt, with its many pieces that are totally different. I especially liked the slow reveals of what was in each ladies’ heart. The characters and theme made this story and I highly recommend it to those looking for a good contemporary fiction or romance. Yes, there is romance, but it is not the main idea of the book. The real theme is discovering each other and accepting one’s past. Amazing book with so many life lessons! Deep and yet so simple…loved it! Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
I would rate this book PG because of content.Author Bio: New York Times Bestselling author Maisey Yates lives in rural Oregon with her three children and her husband, whose chiseled jaw and arresting features continue to make her swoon. She feels the epic trek she takes several times a day from her office to her coffee maker is a true example of her pioneer spirit.
The dress is perfect. Candlelight satin and antique lace. I can’t wait for you to see it. I can’t wait to walk down the aisle toward you. If only we could set a date. If only we had some idea of when the war will be over.
Love, Dot
Present day—Lark
Unfinished.
The word whispered through the room like a ghost. Over the faded, floral wallpaper, down to the scarred wooden floor. And to the precariously stacked boxes and bins of fabrics, yarn skeins, canvases and other artistic miscellany.
Lark Ashwood had to wonder if her grandmother had left them this way on purpose. Unfinished business here on earth, in the form of quilts, sweaters and paintings, to keep her spirit hanging around after she was gone.
It would be like her. Adeline Dowell did everything with just a little extra.
From her glossy red hair—which stayed that color till the day she died—to her matching cherry glasses and lipstick. She always had an armful of bangles, a beer in her hand and an ashtray full of cigarettes. She never smelled like smoke. She smelled like spearmint gum, Aqua Net and Avon perfume.
She had taught Lark that it was okay to be a little bit of extra.
A smile curved Lark’s lips as she looked around the attic space again. “Oh, Gram…this is really a mess.”
She had the sense that was intentional too. In death, as in life, her grandmother wouldn’t simply fade away.
Neat attics, well-ordered affairs and pre-death estate sales designed to decrease the clutter a family would have to go through later were for other women. Quieter women who didn’t want to be a bother.
Adeline Dowell lived to be a bother. To expand to fill a space, not shrinking down to accommodate anyone.
Lark might not consistently achieve the level of excess Gram had, but she considered it a goal.
“Lark? Are you up there?”
She heard her mom’s voice carrying up the staircase. “Yes!” She shouted back down. “I’m…trying to make sense of this.”
She heard footsteps behind her and saw her mom standing there, gray hair neat, arms folded in. “You don’t have to. We can get someone to come in and sort it out.”
“And what? Take it all to a thrift store?” Lark asked.
Her mom’s expression shifted slightly, just enough to convey about six emotions with no wasted effort. Emotional economy was Mary Ashwood’s forte. As contained and practical as Addie had been excessive. “Honey, I think most of this would be bound for the dump.”
“Mom, this is great stuff.”
“I don’t have room in my house for sentiment.”
“It’s not about sentiment. It’s usable stuff.”
“I’m not artsy, you know that. I don’t really…get all this.” The unspoken words in the air settled over Lark like a cloud.
Mary wasn’t artsy because her mother hadn’t been around to teach her to sew. To knit. To paint. To quilt.
Addie had taught her granddaughters. Not her own daughter.
She’d breezed on back into town in a candy apple Corvette when Lark’s oldest sister, Avery, was born, after spending Mary’s entire childhood off on some adventure or another, while Lark’s grandfather had done the raising of the kids.
Grandkids had settled her. And Mary had never withheld her children from Adeline. Whatever Mary thought about her mom was difficult to say. But then, Lark could never really read her mom’s emotions. When she’d been a kid, she hadn’t noticed that. Lark had gone around feeling whatever she did and assuming everyone was tracking right along with her because she’d been an innately self focused kid. Or maybe that was just kids.
Either way, back then badgering her mom into tea parties and talking her ear off without noticing Mary didn’t do much of her own talking had been easy.
It was only when she’d had big things to share with her mom that she’d realized…she couldn’t.
“It’s easy, Mom,” Lark said. “I’ll teach you. No one is asking you to make a living with art, art can be about enjoying the process.”
“I don’t enjoy doing things I’m bad at.”
“Well I don’t want Gram’s stuff going to a thrift store, okay?”
Another shift in Mary’s expression. A single crease on one side of her mouth conveying irritation, reluctance and exhaustion. But when she spoke she was measured. “If that’s what you want. This is as much yours as mine.”
It was a four-way split. The Dowell House and all its contents, and The Miner’s House, formerly her grandmother’s candy shop, to Mary Ashwood, and her three daughters. They’d discovered that at the will reading two months earlier.
It hadn’t caused any issues in the family. They just weren’t like that.
Lark’s uncle Bill had just shaken his head. “She feels guilty.”
And that had been the end of any discussion, before any had really started. They were all like their father that way. Quiet. Reserved. Opinionated and expert at conveying it without saying much.
Big loud shouting matches didn’t have a place in the Dowell family.
But Addie had been there for her boys. They were quite a bit older than Lark’s mother. She’d left when the oldest had been eighteen. The youngest boy sixteen.
Mary had been four.
Lark knew her mom felt more at home in the middle of a group of men than she did with women. She’d been raised in a house of men. With burned dinners and repressed emotions.
Lark had always felt like her mother had never really known what to make of the overwhelmingly female household she’d ended up with.
“It’s what I want. When is Hannah getting in tonight?”
Hannah, the middle child, had moved to Boston right after college, getting a position in the Boston Symphony Orchestra. She had the summer off of concerts and had decided to come to Bear Creek to finalize the plans for their inherited properties before going back home.
Once Hannah had found out when she could get time away from the symphony, Lark had set her own plans for moving into motion. She wanted to be here the whole time Hannah was here, since for Hannah, this wouldn’t be permanent.
But Lark wasn’t going back home. If her family agreed to her plan, she was staying here.
Which was not something she’d ever imagined she’d do.
Lark had gone to college across the country, in New York, at eighteen and had spent years living everywhere but here. Finding new versions of herself in new towns, new cities, whenever the urge took her.
Unfinished.
“Sometime around five-ish? She said she’d get a car out here from the airport. I reminded her that isn’t the easiest thing to do in this part of the world. She said something about it being in apps now. I didn’t laugh at her.”
Lark laughed, though. “She can rent a car.”
Lark hadn’t lived in Bear Creek since she was eighteen, but she hadn’t been under the impression there was a surplus of ride services around the small, rural community. If you were flying to get to Bear Creek, you had to fly into Medford, which was about eighteen miles from the smaller town. Even if you could find a car, she doubted the driver would want to haul anyone out of town.
But her sister wouldn’t be told anything. Hannah made her own way, something Lark could relate to. But while she imagined herself drifting along like a tumbleweed, she imagined Hannah slicing through the water like a shark. With intent, purpose, and no small amount of sharpness.
“Maybe I should arrange something.”
“Mom. She’s a professional symphony musician who’s been living on her own for fourteen years. I’m pretty sure she can cope.”
“Isn’t the point of coming home not having to cope for a while? Shouldn’t your mom handle things?” Mary was a doer. She had never been the one to sit and chat. She’d loved for Lark to come out to the garden with her and work alongside her in the flower beds, or bake together. “You’re not in New Mexico anymore. I can make you cookies without worrying they’ll get eaten by rats in the mail.”
Lark snorted. “I don’t think there are rats in the mail.”
“It doesn’t have to be real for me to worry about it.”
And there was something Lark had inherited directly from her mother. “That’s true.”
That and her love of chocolate chip cookies, which her mom made the very best. She could remember long afternoons at home with her mom when she’d been little, and her sisters had been in school. They’d made cookies and had iced tea, just the two of them.
Cooking had been a self-taught skill her mother had always been proud of. Her recipes were hers. And after growing up eating “chicken with blood” and beanie weenies cooked by her dad, she’d been pretty determined her kids would eat better than that.
Something Lark had been grateful for.
And Mom hadn’t minded if she’d turned the music up loud and danced in some “dress up clothes”—an oversized prom dress from the ’80s and a pair of high heels that were far too big, purchased from a thrift store. Which Hannah and Avery both declared “annoying” when they were home.
Her mom hadn’t understood her, Lark knew that. But Lark had felt close to her back then in spite of it.
The sound of the door opening and closing came from downstairs. “Homework is done, dinner is in the Crock-Pot. I think even David can manage that.”
The sound of her oldest sister Avery’s voice was clear, even from a distance. Lark owed that to Avery’s years of motherhood, coupled with the fact that she—by choice—fulfilled the role of parent liaison at her kids’ exclusive private school, and often wrangled children in large groups. Again, by choice.
Lark looked around the room one last time and walked over to the stack of crafts. There was an old journal on top of several boxes that look like they might be overflowing with fabric, along with some old Christmas tree ornaments, and a sewing kit. She grabbed hold of them all before walking to the stairs, turning the ornaments over and letting the silver stars catch the light that filtered in through the stained glass window.
Her mother was already ahead of her, halfway down the stairs by the time Lark got to the top of them. She hadn’t seen Avery yet since she’d arrived. She loved her older sister. She loved her niece and nephew. She liked her brother-in-law, who did his best not to be dismissive of the fact that she made a living drawing pictures. Okay, he kind of annoyed her. But still, he was fine. Just… A doctor. A surgeon, in fact, and bearing all of the arrogance that stereotypically implied.
One of the saddest things about living away for as long as she had was that she’d missed her niece’s and nephew’s childhoods. She saw them at least once a year, but it never felt like enough. And now they were teenagers, and a lot less cute.
And then there was Avery, who had always been somewhat untouchable. Four years older than Lark, Avery was a classic oldest child. A people pleasing perfectionist. She was organized and she was always neat and orderly. And even though the gap between thirty-four and thirty-eight was a lot narrower than twelve and sixteen, sometimes Lark still felt like the gawky adolescent to Avery’s sweet sixteen.
But maybe if they shared in a little bit of each other’s day-to-day it would close some of that gap she felt between them.
I was delighted to be a part of the Summer Blog Tour for Women’s Fiction!
I hope that you enjoyed my review and that you will buy this amazing book! Many thanks to Harlequin for extending to me the opportunity to read and review this novel with so many life lessons in it. Enjoy!
What a very sweet and clean romance! Grace has retired as the town’s librarian and is looking forward to a long trip to celebrate when her old love Jack Prinz shows up with his little granddaughter Lizzie and is insistent that Grace is going to marry him. Grace is generous, compassionate and the perfect person to be Lizzie’s grandmother. All of her traits are admirable and to be emulated. Jack is learning to be a new Christian and to trust God’s will instead of insisting on his own. The plot is predictable but getting to the end was heart-warming entertainment. The characters were well-developed, even little Lizzie with her heartbreak that she needs Grace to help heal. I especially enjoyed Grace’s generosity to her friend Jess and how the entire town rallied around to do a fundraiser to improve the children’s camp. This book portrayed life the way I wish it could be, with people just loving and accepting each other and waiting for God to tell them the next step to take in life. Fans of romance will enjoy this book, especially if you’re older and have given up on love. With the lesson to never give up on God, this was a wonderful story to read! Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from Harlequin via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
With more than fifty books and millions of copies in print worldwide, Lois Richer continues to write of characters struggling to find God amid their troubled world. Whether from her small prairie town, while crossing oceans or in the midst of the desert, Lois strives to impart hope as well as encourage readers’ hunger to know more about the God of whom she writes.
Grace Partridge, you look stunning so stop fussing.” Jessica James flipped up the car’s visor, hiding the passenger mirror. “Trust me, with your makeup update, your stunning wardrobe and now that glorious feathered cut, you’re going to be attracting men’s looks the entire three months you’re traveling the world.”
“Oh.” Grace gulped. Attracting men’s looks— Did she really want that? “Maybe it’s too much…”
“Out!” Jess laughed as she parked in front of Grace’s tidy bungalow. She leaned across and flicked the door latch so the passenger door swung open. “No more second- guessing yourself. Embrace the new you, best friend of mine. And finish getting ready,” she ordered after glancing at her watch. “The Calhoun boys will soon be here to drive you to catch your flight in Missoula.”
“Yes, they will. Thanks for being my cheerleader.” Grace hugged Jess, stepped out of her car and then she bent over to ask anxiously, “You will call me before I leave?”
“Try and stop me.” Jessica sounded amused by her hesitancy.
“Thank you, dear friend. You are so—”
“I love you, too. Later, kiddo.” With a cheery wave, Jess drove away.”
–
Inside her home, Grace dropped her keys on the dish in the foyer while thinking how much she’d miss Jess these next few months. She hung the new dress she’d just purchased in the closet. What a lot of things she’d bought for this trip.
Actually, her wardrobe shift wasn’t only for the trip. It was part of Grace’s plan to shed the three D’s: Dumpy, Drab and Dreary.
Her musing disintegrated at the sound of frantic pounding on her front door. When she pulled it open, her jaw dropped at the sight of a young girl whose face streamed with tears while she danced from one foot to the other.
“Help,” she pleaded. “My pops is hurt.”
Taken aback, Grace wondered when that nest of black hair had last seen a comb.
“Hey! Lady! Help him,” the girl begged.
“Of course, dear.” Grace snapped into action and grabbed her phone. “Uh, where is your pops?”
“There.” The child pointed.
Grace gasped at the sight of a silver-templed man in a battered black leather jacket, lying sprawled on the street in front of an expensive-looking black car. She dialed 911 before racing outside and down her sidewalk toward the victim.
“I didn’t see him, Grace,” her elderly neighbor Mrs. Fothergill wailed as she stood by her car. “When I started backing up, he wasn’t there. Then he was and my foot slipped on the gas pedal. Please help him.”
“I’ll try, Mrs. Fothergill. I’m reporting an accident.” Grace focused on the operator and gave her address. “A man’s been hit by a car. We need the ambulance and police. Hold on while I try to find out more about his condition.”
Grace knelt by the man. He was unconscious. She pressed her fingers against his neck for a pulse. With his head half-buried under his arm she couldn’t get a good look at his face. She was afraid to move him lest there were nonvisible injuries.
“Oh, Lord, help us,” Mrs. Fothergill chanted repeatedly. Distracted by the feeble woman’s agitation, Grace suggested she sit in her car and wait for help.
“Please, do something for Pops,” the little girl implored her.
“I’m doing my best, dear.” Grace studied her watch. “He has a pulse,” she told the operator. “It’s a bit fast. Yes, I do have first-aid knowledge, but I don’t want to move him because his leg is at a strange angle. Also, there’s a large bruise forming above his left eyebrow. I believe he hit his head when he fell so he may be concussed.” She turned to the child. “Does your grandfather take medication?”
“He already took it,” the girl explained. “I dunno if he’s s’posed to take more.”
Grace relayed that information and the name of the pre- scription on the vial she withdrew from the pocket of the leather jacket. The name suddenly registered.
“Jack?” she gasped in utter consternation.
The man moaned and moved his arm slightly, revealing his face. Grace gaped as her breath whooshed out.
He’d aged. His face was thinner, more angled, rendering him more rakish-looking than ever. But it was Jack. The operator demanded to know what was going on.
“The victim’s name is Jack Prinz,” Grace explained after licking her dry lips and finding her voice. “He’s fifty-three. Not from Sunshine. Not for many years.”
***
Heartfelt or thrilling, passionate or uplifting—our romances have it all. Visit TryHarlequin.com to sample FREE books from among 12 different series. It’s just a taste of the new books published each month—every story a journey guaranteed to leave you with That Harlequin Feeling.
This was a stellar collection of short stories by some really famous authors like Dean Koontz and Lisa Unger. I don’t usually review anthologies because I don’t usually read them, but this one spoke to me because it came from the Mystery Writers of America and it promised to introduce me to authors new to me. Wow! The promise was fulfilled and now I have a list of authors to look for in novel-length books. Any author who can write a short story and capture my attention as this group of stories did has a “tip of the hat” from me because I have not read a collection of short stories since high school and that was required reading. I was absolutely mesmerized by these stories, most of which were spooky, scary and page turners. This collection reminded me of the Alfred Hitchcock collections that I used to read, in a really good way. Some stories were short, others were fairly long but they all promoted the theme that is in the title. Strangers can be a new person in town, at your door or a new neighbor. The book was relatable, with excellent characterization even in the format of short stories. I had my favorites, but I will keep mine a secret and let you choose your own. So many good ones to choose from! In fact, I was sad when I read the last story. Fans of anthologies with a mystery or suspense involved will devour this collection and want more from the next collection. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Some of the stories are pretty scary in a “gotcha” kind of way, so I would rate this book a PG-13. Also includes expletives which are widely used in some stories more than in others.
The list of writers includes: S.A. Cosby, Amanda Witt, Alafair Burke, Smita Harish Jain, Michael Connelly, Jaqueline Freimor, Dean Koontz, Joe R. Lansdale, Emilya Naymark, Lisa Unger, Bryan Quertermous, Tilia Klebenov Jacobs, Lori Roy,Paul A. Barra, Michael Kortya, Elaine Togneri, Jonathan Stone, Steve Hamilton, Attica Locke, Tina Debellegarde, and Joe Hill.
This is a suspense/mystery/police procedural that was well-written and fast-paced. Each chapter flowed seamlessly to the next one and kept me interested and reading. The main characters are Detective Jake McAllister and Victims’ Advocate Kyra Chase. They have a porcupine kind of relationship with each other at first, but there is no doubt that each knows and does their job well. In this first book of a new series, Jake and Kate are trying to outsmart and catch a serial killer who is imitating a killer from two decades ago called The Player. Assisting them on the task force are some really unique characters, including Billy, Jake’s partner who is a flashy dresser and a ladies’ man (emphasis on the plural). Billy is a smart addition to the cast of characters since he often added some comic relief. Also in the mix is the retired detective who investigated the murders of The Player and who is a good friend already of Kyra. Quinn is highly intelligent and was a good addition to the story. There were some twists in the story and an unexpected confrontation at the end. For sure, I look forward to book two in the series and more adventures with Jake and Kyra. I hope that Quinn will be along for that ride, too, because his grudging help and sarcastic remarks to Jake about accepting his age were well worth reading and developing his character more. There was a little romance, but it was subtle as this was the introductory book in the series and the characters are just now developing trust for each other. Fans of Harlequin Intrigue and mystery in general will want to delve into this one. Disclaimer Disclosure or Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from Harlequin via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Highly entertaining and fast paced. I would rate this book PG because of the content being about a serial killer.
Author Bio:
Carol Ericson lives in southern California, home of state-of–the-art cosmetic surgery, wild freeway chases, and a million amazing stories. These stories, along with hordes of virile men and feisty women clamor for release from Carol’s head until she sets them free to fulfill their destinies and her readers’ fantasies. To find out more about Carol and her current books, please visit her website at http://www.carolericson.com, “where romance flirts with danger.”
“Good thing she was already dead when he took her finger.” Detective Jake McAllister lifted the victim’s wrist and grimaced. He called over his shoulder, “Tire tracks at the trailhead? We know this isn’t the kill site.”
“Too many to identify just one.” His partner, Billy Crouch, impressive in a dark gray tailored suit, purple pocket square and wing tips, strode down the trail to join Jake where he crouched beside the body. “No tire tracks, no cameras. I had one of the officers check with the park rangers.”
“No cameras at the other dump site, either. He’s being careful.” Jake rose to his feet, inhaling the scent of pine from the trees and locking eyes with an ambitious squirrel who’d been busy scurrying up and down the large oak that provided a canopy over the body.
Griffith Park was an oasis of rugged, untamed land in the middle of the urban sprawl of LA. It housed the zoo, the observatory, a concert venue, a carousel, pony rides and acres of wilderness crisscrossed with hiking trails. It had also hosted several dead bodies in its day, including the Hillside Strangler’s first victim.
Jake pointed at the card inserted between the victim’s lips. “Queen of hearts, missing finger—looks like we have a pattern here.”
Billy whistled as he pushed his sunglasses to the end of his nose. “It’s The Player all over again.”
“Copycat.” Jake raised his hand to the crime scene investigators who had just arrived at the park and waved. “The Player was working twenty years ago and abruptly stopped. He’s gotta be dead or in prison.”
“Maybe he just got paroled.” Billy picked an imaginary speck of lint from the arm of his jacket. “He could’ve been twenty when he was operating before, spent twenty years behind bars for armed robbery, as- sault, rape. Now he’s forty, tanned, ready and rested.”
“Could be. They never got his DNA back then. Never left any—just like these two murders.”
Billy whipped the handkerchief, which Jake had believed was just for show, out of his front pocket and dashed it across the shiny tip of one of his shoes. “Damn, it’s dirty out here.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “It’s the great outdoors. Most people don’t take hikes in Italian suits and shoes.”
Shaking his head, Billy clicked his tongue. “Only the shoes are Italian, man. The suit’s from England.”
“Excuse me, Cool Breeze.” Jake bowed to his partner. He’d given Billy the nickname Cool Breeze, and it had stuck. The man knew his fashion, his fine wines and his women.
Jake had warned him about the women because Billy already had a fine woman, Simone, at home. They needed only one divorce in the partnership, and Jake had that covered—not that he had run around on his wife, unless you counted the job as the other woman…and a lot of cops’ wives did.
Someone cleared his throat behind him. “Finger- prints?”
Jake jerked his head toward Clive Stewart, their fingerprint guy in Forensics, his shaved head already sporting a sheen. “Yeah, you can check, Clive. He didn’t leave the knife or box cutter behind that he used to slice off the finger. You might try the playing card, her neck. You know your job, man. I’ll let you and the others do it.”
As CSI got to work, Jake shuffled away from the body on the ground and eyed the crunch of people beyond the yellow crime scene tape. Although still morning, the air possessed that quiet, suffocating feel that heralded a heat wave, and the tape hung limply, already conceding defeat.
Jake pulled out his phone. Holding it up, he snapped some pictures of the looky-loos leaning in, hoping to catch a glimpse of…what? What did they hope to see? Did they want to ogle the lifeless body of this poor woman dumped on the ground?
Maybe one of them was already familiar with the position of the victim. Killers had been known to re- turn to the scene of the crime and relive the thrill.
He swung his phone to the right to take a few more pictures from the other side of the trail. As he tipped up his sunglasses and peered into the viewfinder to zero in on his subjects, he swore under his breath.
What the hell was she doing here?
Billy stepped into his line of fire. “He wanted some- one to discover her quickly. She’s not that far off the trail, but no purse or ID, so he doesn’t want us to identify her right away.”
“You’re blocking my view.” Jake nudged Billy’s shoulder and framed the crowd at the edge of the tape again…but she was gone.
***
Heartfelt or thrilling, passionate or uplifting—our romances have it all. Visit TryHarlequin.com to sample FREE books from among 12 different series. It’s just a taste of the new books published each month—every story a journey guaranteed to leave you with That Harlequin Feeling.
Vickie's Book Nook and Meditation Corner 