In Firefly Valley (Texas Crossroads Book #2) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Amanda Cabot

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

212 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

Marisa St. George is devastated when she is a victim of downsizing and has no choice but to return to the small Texas town where she grew up. Though it's a giant step backward, she accepts a position as business manager at the struggling Rainbow's End resort. The only silver lining is Blake Kendall, a new guest who is making her believe in love at first sight. But will her dreams of happily-ever-after be turned upside down when she discovers who he really is?Romance readers will love this warm and witty story of mistaken identity and second chances from bestselling author Amanda Cabot.

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	11 mai 2015
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441223265
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0432€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

© 2015 by Amanda Cabot
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www . revellbooks .com
Ebook edition created 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4412-2326-5
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
For Martha Long, whose emails, Smileboxes, and special snail mails have brightened so many days. Thank you!
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
Author’s Letter
Acknowledgments
Sneak Peek of Book 3
About the Author
Books by Amanda Cabot
Back Ads
Back Cover
1
I t wasn’t the homecoming of her dreams. When she’d pictured this moment, Marisa St. George had imagined herself riding in a shiny new Lexus. She’d be wearing a designer dress and sporting an impressive diamond on her left hand, while her tall, dark, and handsome husband smiled at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world. Instead she was driving an ordinary white sedan with more than its share of dents and a loud rattle that the previous owner had assured her wasn’t serious. Her clothes were as ordinary as the car, and the diamond ring and doting husband were as much a figment of her imagination as the luxury car and expensive clothing.
The car clanked again, reminding Marisa she was no longer a rising star at a prestigious Atlanta accounting firm but was back in the town she’d been so eager to flee and headed for a job that was definitely not part of her career plan.
Think of something positive , she admonished herself. She glanced at the sign marking the entrance to town and nodded. It still said “Welcome to Dupree, the Heart of the Hills,” reminding passing motorists that they were in Texas’s famed Hill Country, but the sagging wooden post that had turned it into a Texas version of the Leaning Tower of Pisa had been replaced by two perfectly straight shiny metal poles. The sign itself was freshly painted, a nice improvement over the faded and peeling greeting Marisa had seen the last time she’d been here.
Maybe it wasn’t just wishful thinking. Maybe Mom and Lauren were right when they said Dupree was changing. Marisa hoped that was the case. The town needed a boost, and so did her mother and her best friend. Being with them again was the one good thing to come out of all that had happened this year.
Marisa was smiling as she turned onto Hickory Street and pulled into the driveway of what had once felt like her second home. Her smile turned into a grin as a seven-year-old dynamo launched herself from the porch, her dark brown braids bouncing against her shoulders as she ran, and her socks—one purple, the other an unfortunate shade of puce—sagging around her ankles.
“Aunt Marisa, I thought you’d never get here,” the young girl announced, throwing her arms around Marisa. “Mom baked brownies, and she wouldn’t let me have any until you came. But now you’re here, and we can eat. So, hurry up.” Fiona turned, raced up the steps, and flung the front door open. “Come on. You’ve got to hurry.”
Marisa rubbed her stomach, smiling at the girl who’d made her an honorary aunt. “It just so happens that I’m extra hungry. I might have to eat all the brownies,” she teased.
“You wouldn’t.” A stomp accompanied Fiona’s words, and her smile turned into a pout. That wasn’t normal. The last time Marisa had video called Fiona, she’d seemed to enjoy a little teasing.
“Don’t get her started,” Lauren called from the doorway. “She threw a fit this morning and yelled so loudly I thought the neighbors might call Child Services.”
“All because you wouldn’t let her have a brownie?” Marisa asked as she hugged her friend, holding on a second longer than normal when she sensed that Lauren needed comfort.
The woman who’d been her best friend since grade school was the same height as Marisa—an inch over five and a half feet. When they were growing up, no one would have mistaken them for sisters, but thanks to L’Oreal, Marisa’s once-blonde hair was now the same dark brown as Lauren’s, and colored contacts had transformed her blue eyes to a shade of brown only slightly lighter than Lauren’s chocolate brown. Now the most striking difference between the two women was that Lauren was thin enough to be called skinny, whereas Marisa’s weight was well within the normal range.
“What’s wrong?” Marisa asked.
Turning to her daughter, Lauren laid her hand on the child’s head, giving her a loving pat. “Why don’t you pour yourself some milk and get Aunt Marisa a glass of tea? We’ll be there in a minute.”
When Fiona scampered off to the kitchen, Lauren shrugged and gestured toward the stack of boxes that filled one corner of the living room. Like the rest of the house, this room had changed little since Lauren had lived here as a child. When she and Patrick had inherited it after her parents’ deaths, they’d planned to renovate but had never had enough money to turn plans into reality, and so the house retained what Lauren called shabby chic décor.
“Fiona’s upset because I’m cleaning out Patrick’s belongings. She saw me folding clothes and started wailing.”
“Oh, Lauren.” Marisa gave her friend another hug. “You should have waited until I arrived. I could have distracted her.”
“I didn’t expect that reaction. She doesn’t talk about Patrick very often anymore. Now she’s focused on wanting a new daddy.”
“I thought you’d resolved that. I saw her socks.” Earlier that year, when Fiona had been playing matchmaker for her mother, they’d struck an agreement. Fiona could choose her own socks—even on Sunday—and she’d let her mother choose a man to replace Patrick.
Not that anyone could do that. From the day Patrick Ahrens had walked into Dupree High and set eyes on Lauren Manning, everyone had known they were meant for each other. They’d married the day after Lauren graduated and had lived what had appeared to be a fairy-tale marriage until Patrick was diagnosed with leukemia. Now Lauren was a young widow, trying to rebuild her life in a town where single mothers were uncommon.
Lauren’s lips curved into a smile. “Those socks. You couldn’t miss them, could you? Unfortunately, when we made our agreement, I didn’t stipulate that she couldn’t whine about how much she wants a new daddy.”
Marisa couldn’t help laughing. “That sounds like hairsplitting to me. Do you suppose you have a future lawyer on your hands?”
“Heaven forbid. Fiona already tries to outtalk me. Imagine if she were trained!” Lauren laid her hand on the back of Marisa’s waist and pushed her toward the kitchen door. “I can’t vouch for the brownies’ safety if we don’t get in there.”
The brownies proved to be as delicious as they smelled. Once Fiona had devoured two, she regained her normal sweetness and announced that it was time to play with Alice. As if on cue, the doorbell rang.
“Alice has a baby brother,” Fiona announced as she jumped up from the table, giving her mother a look that told Marisa this was another point of contention. Lauren merely sighed.
“So she wants siblings as well as a father?” Marisa asked when Fiona had left.
“And a dog. I think Alice is behind that one. Every time she’s here, she tells me we’re lucky to have a backyard.”
“I gather that she doesn’t.”
Lauren shook her head. “The Kozinskis live in Hickory View,” she said, referring to Dupree’s only apartment complex. “No pets.”
“So, is Fiona going to get a puppy for Christmas?”
Wrinkling her nose, Lauren broke off a piece of brownie. “I’m not sure. Of course, if you promise to clean up after it and do all the training . . .” She popped the brownie into her mouth.
“In your dreams.”
“Some friend you are.” When Marisa refused another brownie, Lauren’s expression sobered. “I’m really sorry you lost your job and that Trent turned out to be such a scoundrel, but I’d be lying if I said I was sorry you’re back home. I’ve missed you so much.”
“And I’ve missed you.” Seeing the moisture beginning to pool in Lauren’s eyes, Marisa decided they both needed a change of subject. She glanced at her watch. “Mom’s not expecting me for an hour. Can I help you do some more sorting and packing?”
“Sure.” Lauren sounded grateful, although Marisa wasn’t certain whether it was for the change of subject or the offer of help. When they were back in the living room, Lauren pointed to one of a set of two matched bookcases. “That one’s filled with Patrick’s books. I know I won’t read them, so I might as well find them a new home.” She handed Marisa two empty boxes, then disappeared for a moment, returning with a pile of her late husband’s clothing.
Marisa heard her friend’s quick intake of breath. It couldn’t be easy, disposing of a loved one’s belongings. As far as Marisa knew, her mother hadn’t given away her father’s clothes, even though it had been more than eight years since anyone in Dupree had seen Eric St. George. Eight years, three months, and . . .
Marisa shook herself mentally. There was nothing to be gained by counting, just as nothing would be gained by continuing to search. She’d done everything she could to find her father, and she’d failed. It was time—well past time—to admit that she would never have the answers she sought.
“What can you tell me about my new employers?” Marisa asked, hoping to distract both herself and L