USA Today Bestselling Author
I recall the winter of my first grade year, basking in the
heat from our fireplace in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Dad read aloud Madeline
L'Engle's A WRINKLE IN TIME and Mom peeled orange segments for us to enjoy. That
was the definitive moment I fell in love with fiction.
I write frequent articles (or view recent posts easily
on my Home Page, scroll down) about the nineteenth century
American West–every subject of possible interest to readers, amateur
historians, authors…as all of these tidbits surfaced while researching for my
books. I also blog monthly at Sweet Romance Reads, Sweet Americana
Sweethearts, and Romancing the
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His worst mistake was letting her go.
His second-worst mistake? Bringing her home.
Pleasance is back to reclaim her rightful place at Jacob’s side. One way or another she’ll remind him theirs is a match made in heaven…once the shock wears off. The teensy-weensy problem? Jacob doesn’t know that she—his first love—is his catalog bride..
“Give me one good reason,” Jacob challenged, his voice low and menacing, “why I should let you stay.”
The warm summer sun could do nothing to banish the sudden chill.
His love letters had been matter of fact. A business transaction. Well then, she’d let this be a business transaction. “You want one good reason?”
He’d braced his forearms on his knees, effectively blocking her out. He faced the road ahead, turned his head just enough to glare at her through narrowed eyes.
He gave no reply.
“You want one answer.” Love for this man, her man had never left her. He was hers, and it was high time he accepted that. “I’ll give you three.”
“One: every word I wrote was the bald truth and you chose me.” He’d said as much, in his letters. He’d had nearly twenty replies through the matrimonial agency he’d enlisted to find his bride. He’d selected her.
“Second, you must marry to meet the bankers’ stipulations and secure the loan you need.” He’d written all about the ranch, his plans, and the roadblock in his way.
He shook his head, rejecting her reasons.
She wouldn’t let him gain the upper hand. She surged ahead, determined he would hear her reasons. “Most important of all,” she insisted, vehement, “the passion between us has not dimmed.”
Without giving him a moment’s warning, she tossed herself into his arms. She would kiss him with all the longing four tortured years had inspired, and prove nothing had changed.
She landed across his knee. As if by reflex, he caught her close.
She fit in his arms perfectly. The first touch in four anguished years banished the chill. Heat engulfed her.
Breath left his lungs. He moaned.
Or maybe she had.
Either way, one of them started the kiss—the fire and zest and love—all still there. She’d dreamed of him, wanted his kisses, missed him so desperately…
This first reunion kiss was…amazing.
The rasp of his beard awakened her senses. The fullness of his lips reminded her of every kiss, every touch, an entire history of courtship and love binding them together.
He kissed her as if he were starving, and she, his only sustenance.
She’d come home.
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