Category: book tour

 

A Choice of Secrets

Ever since raiders from the north began attacking villages, Lady Nicole

Montagna has known that defending her people would come at a
cost. The betrothal of her sister Chloe to a neighboring lord
seems the perfect solution, forging a powerful alliance. But
shortly before the wedding, Nicole is shocked to discover that her
sister is with child—and not by her husband-to-be. Now she

must make a choice. She has just hours to decide . . .

 

~Should she tell her soldier brother—

who will take swift, ruthless action

to ensure the family’s safety?

~Should she hold her tongue,

let her sister deceive her husband into
believing the child is his—

and then hope Chloe can get away with the lie?

~Should she tell her family,

hoping they will know the right thing to do?

With the help of a magic mirror, Nicole lives out each path, fighting to
protect herself and those she loves with the weapons she has: wits,
herbs, and fortitude. But no matter her cleverness, neither she norher family can escape unscathed—for there are repercussions she
could never have foreseen, involving her own heart . . .

I looked nothing like myself. Miriam had arranged my hair even more elaborately and used a
small round iron on the curls around my face. Then she’d put touches of black kohl at the corners of my
eyes. I wore an amber silk gown with a low, square-cut neckline that showed the tops of my breasts. I
don’t know where she’d found the gown. It wasn’t mine, and it was much too small to have fit Helena. I
supposed my mother must have had it made at some point while anticipating its need.
However, at the sight of me, my father beamed. I couldn’t meet his eyes. Seating at dinner was
equally awkward with my father at the head of the table, my mother and I seated on one side, and all
four of the Volodanes seated on the other—so I had no choice but to look at one of them when I raised
my eyes from my plate of roasted pheasant.
None of them had changed for dinner, and with the exception of Sebastian, they all wore armor
and swords. Jarrod hadn’t bothered to shave his face and sported a dark stubble. I could almost feel my
mother’s discomfort, but she smiled and made attempts at polite conversation.
Only Sebastian responded to her questions about weather and wild flowers in the northern
provinces. Rolf spoke only to his father or mine. Occasionally, he glanced at me as if I already belonged
to him. I wasn’t listening to any of them. My heart pounded too loudly in my ears. But then I did hear
Rolf say something about heading back north as soon as he and I were married.
A long pause followed, and for the first time, I paid attention.
“It is not settled yet that she will marry you,” my father finally responded. “Per our agreement,
Megan will choose for herself.”
Rolf’s face clouded. “I never agreed to that. I am the eldest. She will join with me.”
Jarrod turned in his chair. “You’ll do as I tell you! Nothing less and nothing more!”
Mother, Father, and I all flinched at his tone and his unthinkable manner at the table. Rolf’s face
went red, and Sebastian leaned back his chair, smiling. Something about him was beginning to strike me
as sly. He clearly enjoyed his older brother’s chastisement and discomfort.
“Now, now,” he said, dryly. “We mustn’t seem uncouth.”
Kai ignored all this. He ignored everything but his surroundings. His eyes were light brown like
mine, and they moved from the opulent tapestries on our walls to the peach roses in silver vases on the
table to the porcelain plates and pewter goblets.
Then for the first time, he looked directly at me.
“I fear you’ll find the furnishings at Volodane Hall somewhat lacking,” he said.
His voice dripped with resentment, and I knew I’d not been wrong in my first assessment. He
was angry.
His tone was not lost on my mother, who answered him with a strained smile. “Of course, we’ll
be sending some household things with her, and Megan will give your hall a woman’s touch.”These words made me wonder what had happened to Kai’s mother. I’d never asked and no one
had mentioned this, but it seemed I would be the lady of their house. The very thought ensured I would
not manage to eat another bite of dinner.
Kai studied my mother evenly and breathed out through his teeth. “Our hall won’t be good
enough for her. Nothing of us or ours will be good enough.”
Then I realized the source of his anger. He resented the need for this bargain as much as we did.
He knew that we—and most of the noble houses—looked down upon the Volodanes, and the last thing
he probably wanted was a permanent reminder in his home of their lowly state in comparison to ours.
“Quit!” Jarrod ordered him, pounding one hand on the table. In obedience, Kai stopped talking
and withdrew back inside himself, ignoring everyone again.
Sebastian looked at me and raised one eyebrow in amusement. I glanced away.
Somehow—and I never quite knew how—we made it through the rest of dinner.
By the time my mother rose, signifying the meal was over, my heart pounded in my ears again. I
felt the edge of my self-control slipping away and knew that I had to gain a few moments to myself or I
might possibly do or say something I’d later regret.
“Please make my excuses,” I said quietly to Mother. “I will return quickly.” She frowned briefly,
but then her face smoothed in annoyed understanding, and I realized she most likely thought I needed
to relieve myself. I didn’t care what she thought.
Turning, I fled the dining hall as fast as I could without running. Upon reaching the passage that
led toward the kitchens, I couldn’t stop myself and broke into a run, racing in my heavy silk skirts until I
reached an open archway in one side of the passage, just a few doors from the entrance to our kitchens.
There, I took refuge in an old, familiar hiding place.
As a child, I’d come to this storage room whenever I didn’t wish to be found. It was filled with
crates, casks, and places to hide. No one ever entered except servants from the kitchens, and none of
them ever noticed me secreted away behind a stack of crates.
I hadn’t come here in years, but now, I breathed in relief at the respite of solitude and the
illusion of safety.
Slowly, I sank to my knees.
As we were expecting a delivery of goods any day now, the storage room was nearly half-empty.
I didn’t even attempt to hide behind crates or casks, as I knew I’d have to return to the hall long before
anyone came looking me. A dismal prospect.
What was I going to do? I couldn’t face the thought of my life married to any of those men. Until
this afternoon, I’d never faced the prospect of marriage at all . . . but to one of them? I was not a
weeper. My parents had never allowed such an indulgence, and I honestly wasn’t aware I knew how to
cry, but tears came to my eyes and one dripped down my cheek. The water in my eyes made the
following moment even more uncertain than it might have been.

The air in the storage room appeared to waver. Alarmed, I wiped away my tears, but the motion
of the wavering air grew more rapid, and then…something solid began taking shape.
Jumping up to my feet, I gasped.
There, near the far wall across the storage room, a great three-paneled mirror now stood where
there had been only empty air an instant before. The thick frames around each panel were of solid
pewter, engraved in the image of climbing ivy vines. The glass of the panels was smooth and perfect,
and yet I didn’t see myself looking back.
Instead, I found myself staring into the eyes of a lovely dark-haired woman in a black dress. Her
face was pale and narrow, and she bore no expression at all. But there she was, inside the right panel
gazing out me. Was I going mad? Had my parents driven me mad?
“There is nothing to fear,” the woman said in a hollow voice.
I doubted that statement. I feared for my sanity, but as yet, I’d not found my voice to answer
her.
“You are at a crossroad,” she continued, “with three paths.” As she raised her arms, material
from her long black sleeves hung down. “I am bidden to give you a gift.”
Here, sadness leaked into her voice, especially at the word “bidden,” and my mind began to
race. Was this truly happening?
“You will live out three outcomes . . . to three different choices,” she said. “Lives with men . . .
connected by blood. Then you will have the knowledge to know . . . to choose.”
I shook my head. “Wait! What are you saying?”
Lowering both hands to her sides, she said, “The first choice.”
Before I could speak again, the storage room vanished. Wild fear coursed through me as the
world went black for the span of a breath, and then suddenly I found myself back in my family’s dining
hall, only everything was different.
Chairs had been set up in rows, and guests were seated in them. I wore a gown of pale ivory and
held my father’s arm as he walked me past the guests toward the far end of the hall. Flowers in tall
vases graced that same end, and a local magistrate stood there with a book in his hands.
Beside the magistrate stood Rolf, wearing his armor and his sword.
Turning, he looked at me in grim determination.
He was waiting.

Marge Webster has always known what she wanted, and how to accomplish it.

As editor-in-chief of
Lady Fair magazine,
she’s got influence and fame, a social calendar as packed as her
closet, and a gorgeous attorney boyfriend. Jerry is successful,
loving, and ready to settle down. As for Marge—she just feels
exhausted. Maybe that explains her weak knees and fluttering
heartbeat when she runs into Sam Packard, her high-school crush.

Back then, Sam was the most popular and charismatic guy around. He
didn’t
always understand Marge’s dreams, but their connection was
undeniable. Marge isn’t that awestruck girl anymore—but for the
first time in her life, she has no idea which path to follow. Maybe
the answer is to step back, take a doctor-ordered European vacation,
and explore exactly what and who makes her happy. The answers might
surprise everyone—especially Marge…

 

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It was just too good a day not to be outside in the sun. The retailers’ meeting had gone really
well and ended early with smiles all around. She was ahead of schedule for her lunch appointment
and the city was inviting her to come out and breathe a little.
“Luke. Stop the car.” She looked at her watch—a gift from Hermès—and said, “I have some
time. I’m going to walk from here. You go on to the restaurant and wait for me till it’s time to go back
to the office.”
“Okay, Ms. Webster.” Before Marge could move, Luke was out of the car and came around
to open the door for her. “Nice day for a walk,” he said. “Summer’s winding down. It’ll be fall soon.”
“Yes.” She smiled. “You can feel it in the air.” It seemed, despite Piero Massione’s childish
behavior, the world was full of smiles now.
“You sure can. Need to enjoy what’s left of the good weather.” Luke smiled, too. “Have a
good one,” he said, and he got back into the car.
Marge watched the big black town car blend in with the rest of the traffic—the moving mass
of other big black town cars and boxy yellow taxis, the private cars, the buses, and the trucks that
made the city feel
always on the go.
She turned away and smiled again; she’d just slipped out of the day’s tightly packed
schedule and found a little escape time just for herself. It didn’t happen often. It certainly didn’t
happen often enough. She really needed just a small escape—needed to get away from her mental
to-do list. She took one big, deep breath and looked around, looked to see where she had landed.
It was an ordinary neighborhood street, somewhere in the Village. Small shops, some
brownstones, people just quietly going about their business. Babies in strollers. Dogs being walked.
Teenagers falling in love. A city street. Always a treat. Better than any television screen for variety,
humanity, action, the potential for drama, a laugh, something new.
She took off her jacket, hooked it over her arm and started to walk. A man passed her,
turned to look, and kept going. At the corner, a street vendor was filling the air with the irresistible
aroma of honey roasted nuts. She paused at his cart, checked her watch once more—forty minutes
till she had to meet Bridey—decided she could indulge in a snack before lunch. She paid her dollar
and started to walk away with her paper bag of honey roasted peanuts. But an idea stopped her.
She turned and watched as a mother and her little boy approached the cart. The mother gave her
boy the money to buy a bag. And Marge thought about it.
Street food in New York. Surprisingly, it really is very good. Good, and often very interesting.
Might be an idea to discuss with Bridey. See what she thought of a piece on the street food of New
York. It would make an amusing story. “What to Wear While Dining Out.” With the emphasis on
“out,” of course.
Always new ideas. Can’t help it. I just love the magazine so much.
She really needed to take more breaks like this one.
I know. I know. Doctor Diaz says I have to ease up a little. Working too hard.
She did a little deep breathing, quietly, as she walked along. Marge would never let anyone
know, but it was beginning to worry her. Carrying it all on her shoulders. She was feeling the stress,
she was seeing the
signs of overwork, the wound-up overdrive of her thoughts that kept her from falling asleep. The little
wrinkles forming at her lips. The need for concealer under her eyes.
But who would—who could—run Lady Fair as skillfully as she did? Marge knew it was her
ability to be the calm in the eye of the storm that was her major asset—that had gotten her hired for
this job at the impossibly early age of twenty-nine.
She’d first come to the notice of the magazine’s owners early on, when she was a young
features editor, first months on the job, and an article of hers won an ASME award. Not bad for a
rookie. Not bad for anyone! Then, a month later, there was her memo to upper management
suggesting a cost-cutting digital innovation that resulted in an annual bottom-line savings of more
than eighty thousand dollars. And the clincher came the day a crazy ex-con broke through the lobby
security downstairs and ran naked through Lady Fair’s reception area, waving a long Tanaka knife.
While the receptionist cringed behind her chrome and glass desk, paralyzed with terror, and the stafftrembled in the corridors and behind their locked doors, it was the still-a-rookie Marge whose gentle
and sympathetic voice talked the man down and kept him quiet until the police arrived to escort him
out of the building, wrapped up in a gorgeous blue floral wool-and-silk
shawl from Gucci, produced at the last minute by one of the design people, out of the nearest
fashion closet.
When an ABC reporter did the interview about the incident for the evening news, Marge
credited the outfit she’d been wearing. “It was probably the charcoal gray Valentino I had on. It’s a
very no-nonsense business suit, suitable for handling any office crisis. Maybe,” she added, “he
thought I was his parole officer.”
But it wasn’t only Marge’s steel in the face of danger together with her light touch that got her
noticed. She was a brilliant writer, knew how to work to a deadline, and understood the difference
between a good story and an indispensable story. She’d proven she understood the dollars and
cents of the industry, and she had a respect for its full product range from the low end of a strip
mall’s ready-to-wear to the haute couture of the most exclusive salons. And, perhaps the most
important skill in a potential editor in chief, Marge had not only a passion for fashion but a sure
sense of its exact place in today’s social scene as well as in the scene that would appear over
tomorrow’s horizon.
What no one included in the mix, not even Marge herself, was what it was costing her to be
cool and effective, day in and day out. No one, that is, except Dr. Martine Diaz who had been telling
her to take it easier.

 

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Holly knew the romantic helicopter ride up to the remote peak of Whisky
Mountain was a bad idea. But she never expected it to snatch her
fiancé from her—or destroy her life. A few fiery seconds turn a
postcard-perfect morning in the Canadian Rockies into a snowy hell,
thirteen thousand feet above sea level. And in the midst of grief and
agony, Holly catches sight of a scene in the ice that will haunt her
until she can return and discover the truth.

Oliver Nelson could see the stranger had
a mystery inside her. The scars on
her face, the pain in her eyes, the insistence that he teach her
completely alone—no one needs to
learn rock climbing, or so he thought. But the more he gets to know
her, the more he admires her drive, her ingenuity, and that little
edge of recklessness. If she can trust him with her story, he’s
ready to follow her wherever her heart takes her.

But nature’s deadly beauty isn’t the only danger waiting for them on
Whisky Mountain. To survive, Oliver and Holly will have to move
fast—and think faster . . .

 

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Lily saw the temple of Agulinta on television: a vast stone structure
swallowed by the Yucatan jungle, rediscovered only now after hundreds
of years. So why did the papers she found after her father’s death
show the same mysterious carvings that puzzled archaeologists at
Agulinta? Her search for answers pulls her to Mexico’s southern
border, where the journey to the lost temple will take her through
jungle and mountain, over waters home to crocodiles and drug runners,
and into uncomfortably close quarters with a man whose need to wander
has become a way of life . . .

Australian Carter Logan’s work as a nature photographer has given him
the
excuse he needs to roam wherever his restless feet take him. But in
all the time he’s traveled, he’s never been drawn to anyone the
way he is to this determined, cagey young American. Lily’s
perseverance through dirt, sweat, and danger to the heart of the
ancient temple fires through him. But when the two of them are left
alone and stranded in a vicious wilderness, their connection might
prove the difference between life and death . . . if the secrets of
the past don’t come between them first.

**Only .99 cents!!**

 

 

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Kendall Talbot is the author of the Maximum Exposure series, and many

other action/adventure stories. A thrill seeker, hopeless romantic,
and award-winning author of stories that’ll have your heart
thumping from action-packed suspense and steamy bedroom scenes, she
lives in Brisbane, Australia with her very own hero and a fluffy
little dog who specializes in hijacking her writing time. Meanwhile,
Kendall’s two sons are off making their own adventures—look out world

Chapter 1

From the moment Holly climbed into the helicopter, a sense of foreboding plagued every
thought. Three times in her life she’d had a premonition about death. Each time it’d come true. But
she wouldn’t say anything. Not when Milton, her new fiancé, had paid so much money for this
exclusive trip. And especially not when he’d looked like an excited teenager when he’d first spied the
chopper at the ski resort. Holly forced her brain to focus on the mountain scenery around her, rather
than the tendrils of dread inching up her spine.
This once-in-a-lifetime opportunity was supposed to be fun. But the buffering wind and
shuddering windows made it so far from fun she could barely breathe. According to the pilot, a
private picnic on the west
summit of one of Canada’s highest peaks had never been done before. But Milton had charmed the
man with both his expert persuasion skills and his generosity with money. So much so that the pilot
simply couldn’t refuse.
Twelve thousand dollars had been his tipping point. For that, not only did they get a private
helicopter, but the pilot also provided expensive champagne, a gourmet feast, and a folding table
and three chairs, ready
to be set up wherever they wanted.
Milton was capable of convincing anyone to do anything. Her being on Whiskey Mountain
was a testament to that. She never did anything that even hinted at danger.
Death had a way of following her. Her brother died as a three-week-old baby. Her father
went to work one day and never came home. Her best friend died in a freak accident that’d
perplexed all the authorities. Even her one and only pet didn’t make it past puppy stage. And Holly
was only twenty-four years old. Based on that average, one death every five or so years, she was
due again. She smacked the disturbing statistic away and wiped her sweating palms on her ski
pants.
Shielding her eyes from the sun, she looked up at the mountain peak. The snowcapped
granite wall jutted skyward like an enormous shark fin. It was an interesting color, like the rocks were
gilded in copper. She
wondered if that’s why it’d been named Whiskey Mountain. With each foot they rose, it appeared to
grow wider and higher, and the very tip glistened like a diamond.
The helicopter shot over the ski resort’s highest cable car station, leaving behind the last
signs of civilization. The lump of dread, deep in the pit of her stomach, hit a whole new level. The
white terrain stretched as far as she could see. Even the trees had given up trying to live here.
When Holly had suggested to Milton that they take a vacation, she’d envisaged lying in
hammocks on a deserted beach, sipping fancy drinks out of coconuts. Not this. Not high in the
mountains where snow and ice
blanketed every surface. Cold weather seeped into her bones. Her mother said it was because she
didn’t eat enough. Her fiancé said it was because she didn’t eat meat. Ever since their first date, two
years ago, Milton had been trying to coax her off her strict vegetarian diet.
“Having fun?” Milton beamed at her. His eyes were hidden behind mirrored glasses, but she
could picture the dazzle of excitement in his brown irises that she’d come to love.
Swallowing a bitter taste in her mouth, she decided to dodge his question. “It’s magnificent.”
The last thing she’d do was voice her fear, not when he looked to be enjoying it so much. And
especially not in front of Milton’s son, who’d commandeered the front seat next to the pilot. Kane had
visited more countries in his seventeen years than Holly had dreamed of.
He hated Holly…and had made it his mission to tell her so at every opportunity. He blamed
her for breaking up his parents’ marriage. She hadn’t. Their marriage was fractured long before
Milton strolled into the coffee shop where she worked.
Holly had suggested to Milton that a vacation would be the perfect opportunity for Kane to
get to know her better. She was desperate to prove to Milton’s son that she was worthy of his
father’s love. At least,
that’d been her plan.

 

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I’m a wardrobe stylist with a resume full of fake job experience

(when my
resume was accurate no one wanted to hire me). I drive a crappy car
and I have $37.58 in my bank account.

He is People’s Sexiest Man Alive who lives in a beach house

 

We are all wrong for each other for a number of reasons.

The main one being: I hate everything about him.

Finn Dalton is arrogant, cocky, and self-involved.

He thinks he’s God’s gift to women and the fact that he has bedded
almost every available (and unavailable) woman in Hollywood supports
that theory.

I hate him…so what am I doing here? Why do I keep saying yes?

Yes, to a date. Yes, to a kiss. Yes, to this.

And what happens when the one person who is all wrong is the only one
who’s right?

**This is a standalone contemporary romance.

Charlotte Byrd is the bestselling author of many contemporary romance

novels.
She lives in Southern California with her husband, son, and a crazy
toy Australian Shepherd. She loves books, hot weather and crystal blue waters.

“Oh, that’s right.” I take a deep breath. “I was just wondering…why you ask me here?”
Finn puts the water down and takes a few steps closer to me.
For some unknown reason, I take a step back.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He doesn’t say a word.
Instead, he takes another step closer to me.
Now, my back is all the way against the door of the pantry.
He’s standing as close to me as we stood when we were dancing.
I can feel him breathing with my body.
“I like you, Chloe,” he says very slowly and deliberately.
I bite my lower lip.
He takes his hand and runs his fingers along my neck.
I close my eyes.
I feel his finger along my lower lip.
As if it were possible, he pushes himself even closer to me.
When I open my eyes, I see him closing his.
His eyelashes are long and delicate, and his face is completely relaxed.
Ever so lightly, his lips touch mine.
Almost without my consent, my mouth starts to move along with his. His lips are soft and
powerful, pushing against mine. At first, he’s gentle. He takes his time.
His tongue slowly makes its way and finds mine, but then our dance gains strength.
He buries his hands in my hair, cradling my head, maneuvering as he sees fit.
It’s as if he takes full possession of me, and I let him.
I want him to.
It feels good not to be in control for once.
For a few moments, the rest of the world ceases to exist.
There’s only Finn and me, and as long as our lips remain locked, nothing else matters.
But then he pulls away.
He looks into my eyes, and I remember that there’s a whole other world out there.
Perhaps, what we have is fleeting and delicate and can disappear at any moment.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” Finn says.“Really?”
“Yes. Ever since I first saw you.”
I smile. “I doubt that.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“The first time you saw me, I spilled orange juice all over you and you freaked out.
Remember?”
His face flushes.
Wait, what is that?
“Are you blushing?” I ask. “I was just joking.”
“That was not my finest moment. I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
For a moment, both of us seem at a loss as to what to do next.
This isn’t like in a movie.
People in movies start kissing, then fall into bed together.
But to get to bed, you have to walk through 3,000 square feet of house, and the transition is
a little bit less fluid.
I look up at him.
His eyes are twinkling again, and he’s smiling his crooked smile at me.
“You’re a good kisser,” I say.
“So are you.”
I nod.
He leans closer to me again.
He was never more than a step away, but now we’re breathing the same air again.
This time, I make the move.
I want to shut the whole world out again.
I reach up to him and run my fingers over his smooth lips.
His breathing speeds up, catching me off guard.
I thought he’d be such a natural at this (getting girls into bed), but he looks nervous. Is that
really him or is it just my imagination?
I run my fingers over his lips from one side to another.
I pull his lower lip down, feeling the soft, moist flesh on the inside.

I look up at him.
His eyes meet mine and we each dare each other to look away first.
I find a new source of courage, coming like a secret spring from somewhere deep inside of
me.
Unlike our first kiss, the passion of this moment is like a smoldering coal, glowing in the
aftermath of a fire.
Hot, but quiet.
I run my fingers over the outline of his face.
I push back the loose strands of hair that keep falling into his eyes. His hair is soft and
welcoming to my touch.
I linger around his ear and slowly make my way to his earlobe.
Then it hits me.
Touch is an amazing sense.
The sensation is completely different, depending on how hard I touch. Pressing too hard
makes me feel the underlying strength of the thing that I’m pressing against, but touching
something slowly and deliberately, produces a whole new sensation.
The kind that sends goose bumps up my arms.
I must’ve known this all along, but this is the first time I’m consciously experiencing it.
I run my fingers along his neck.
I’m sure that he shaved not long ago, but a few stubborn hairs are already making a
resurgence.
“You feel nice,” I say.
He opens his eyes and meets mine.
“I can’t stand your teasing anymore,” he says and presses his lips onto mine again.
I’m swept away by his passion.
I kiss him back, burying my hands in his hair.
I feel his fingers running up and down my back.
He squeezes my shoulders over and over again.
He pushes me against the pantry door again, and it makes a noise as our bodies slam into it
over and over.
My knees start to buckle.

I feel myself going limp and slowly slide down to the floor.
He follows me.
Suddenly, we’re both on our knees.
A moment later, I’m lying on the floor and he’s on top of me.
We’re moving as one.
We’re dancing to the same silent rhythm.
Then, something feels off.
I’m not sure where it comes from, but suddenly, I feel queasy. Perhaps, it’s from the surge
of adrenaline that rushes through my body.
“Um, Finn,” I say, pushing him away from me.
He sits up.
“I feel sick,” I manage to say.
And then I throw up.
All over his tile floor.

 

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Even though Gloria is determined to change her reputation, most of the

women in town still think she’s a tramp. Sure, she may have dressed
a little flashy and dated pretty much every single guy in town, but
that’s the past. Now that she wants to make a fresh start, will
Smithville give her a second chance?

Ned has heard all the gossip, but being the Sheriff’s Deputy, he sees
all the kind things Gloria does behind the scenes for the folks of
Smithville. It looks like the upcoming Christmas Pageant will offer
him the opportunity to spend time with her, but can he overcome a
frustrating stutter and talk to her, face to face?

Your favorite characters from the Hometown Series bring craziness, love,
and Smithville Christmas style, to a whole new romance about
overcoming your past and sharing your deepest secrets. Fall in love
and be swept away with the Christmas Eve celebration of your dreams.

Kirsten grew up in the Western US and graduated from high school in

1984. She married soon there after and quickly built a family.
With three young children and number four on the way, she returned to
college in 1992. Her career as a draftsman included many settings
ranging from a steel fabrication shops to prestigious engineering
firms. Balancing family life with the workplace forced her to
become the queen of multitasking. In 2001, bored with the cubical
life, she moved on to teach drafting in technical college, then to
opening her own consulting firm teaching 3D engineering software. Due
to health problems, Kirsten retired in 2012 to travel with her
husband for his job. She now works writing romance novels and enjoys
spoiling her three grandchildren. Since 2017 Kirsten has lived and
worked full time in a 40′ travel trailer with her husband and her
little dog Bingo.

Excerpt 2 from Christmas in Smithville
Gloria could practically hear Ned’s heart beating; he was standing so close.
What was he thinking? They’d formed a solid friendship, and now, if her instincts we
right, he appeared to be crossing the friendship line. Had that been his intention all
along? Was she so stupid that she’d let her guard slip and hadn’t seen that he just
wanted to get her in bed? What was it about her that made men think she was fair
game?
Scrubbing at a stubborn piece of food on a plate, she frowned.
Ned backed up half a step, picking up on her discomfort. “What’s wrong?”
The plate was clean, but she kept scrubbing anyway.
“Gloria?” He said her name more like a quiet demand than a question. She
quit scrubbing the dish but didn’t look up.
He waited, and the silence in the small kitchen was deafening. Finally, Gloria
met his eye. Ned grinned an easy smile. “I’ll dry.” With that, he snatched up the
dishtowel hanging on the oven door and reached for the plate.
She regarded him through narrowed eyes, trying to read his intent. He felt
like the same old Ned; maybe she’d been wrong. With a shrug, she rinsed the plate
and handed it to him. Her instincts had led her astray before. Crap, she’d never been
able to tell when a man cared about her.
Ned dried the plate and reached up to put it in the cupboard. Glancing back
to Gloria, he caught her watching him, so he offered a reassuring, friendly grin.
“Damn,” she thought, turning her attention back to the dishes. The man really
was dangerously good looking. Yet, here she stood with him in Nadine’s kitchen. Theone woman she wanted to show she had changed. She had to prove to Nadine, and
the other wives in town, that she wasn’t out to get a man. She needed to remember
that, no matter how gorgeous Ned was. Besides, she valued his friendship far too
much to mess it up. If she was capable of managing any type of relationship with a
man, she wanted to be Ned’s friend.
Rinsing a plastic cup, she handed it off to him, and her eye caught his.
Something in the depths of his gaze snagged her attention, and she couldn’t look
away. What was he trying to tell her?
“I’m firsty,” Christi’s tiny voice said from the doorway.
The cup dropped to the sink as both Ned and Gloria jerked their hands apart,
both jumping back as they turned toward the little girl.
Christi stood in her pajamas, her eyes wide. “I need a dwink.”
Ned was the first to spring into action. “I’ll get you a d—drink, sweetheart. Do
you want water or milk?”
“Miwk,” she said. Her little face was serious as her eyes bounced from Ned to
Gloria and back.
Reaching into the cupboard by the sink, he retrieved a child’s sippy-cup and
lid, then headed toward the fridge. For a moment he juggled the cup and lid to open
the door and take out the milk, but he managed to make it to the table and fill the
cup half full. Tossing a grin to Gloria, as if to say ‘I got this’, he twisted the cap onto
the cup.
Christi padded across the room and reached for the cup.Ned squatted down to eye level and offered her his trademark grin. “Here
you go d—darlin’.”
The child gave him a serious once over as she took the cup, then tipped it up
to drink. Unfortunately, when the cup reached her mouth, the lid came off, and milk
spilled all down the front of the little girl’s chin, neck, and footy pajamas.
Ned gasped and jumped back to miss the torrent of milk splashing across the
floor.
“Oh dear!” Gloria cried, grabbing the towel off the counter and hurrying to
the little girl’s side. “Did the lid come off?” Her eyes sprung to Ned’s, and she felt
instantly silly for asking the obvious, so she turned back to the little girl. “Of course,
it did. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Ned floundered, “I didn’t m—mean to… I’m so s—sorry…”
Little Christi glared up at him, her expression clearly stating that she
considered the man to be a complete jerk. Milk dripped onto the floor as she stood
in a widening puddle. Her fuzzy pink pajamas and even her hair were soaked in
milk.
Trying not to laugh, Gloria stripped off the sodden pajamas, soothing and
assuring Christi that the deputy didn’t mean to spill her milk. After dabbing up all
the milk she could with the now-soaked towel, she hefted the child up onto her hip
and turned to Ned. The miserable look on his face gave her pause. “Don’t worry,” she
assured both parties. “Nothing a bath won’t fix.”
As she headed across the room, Ned found his voice. “I’ll m—mop up…” but
Gloria was gone, along with his chance to tell her how he felt.

 

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