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Maureen Davenport finally gets to direct Avalon's annual holiday pageant, and she's determined to make it truly spectacular. But former child star Eddie Haven is turning out to be a tattooed lump of coal in her stocking. Eddie can't stand Christmas, but a judge's court order has landed him right in the middle of the merrymaking. He and Maureen spar over every detail of the pagaeant, from casting troubled kids to Eddie's original—and distinctly untraditional—music.

Is he sabotaging the performance to spite her, or is she forcing the show into her storybook-perfect notion of Christmas? And is it possible that they're falling in love?

• Sales Rank: #363143 in Books
• Brand: Mira
• Published on: 2010-09-28
• Released on: 2010-09-28
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.62" h x .96" w x 4.21" l, .41 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 384 pages

Features

• Great product!

About the Author
When Susan Wiggs's recent novel, Fireside, landed at #1 on the New York Times bestseller list, the author responded by jumping fully clothed into her swimming pool. In February. In the Pacific Northwest. After thawing herself out, the author put on her lipstick and vacuumed the living room. Why? Because on the tiny island where she lives, news travels fast. She knew her girlfriends would show up momentarily - which they did - with the customary champagne and bags of Cheetos. She toasted her loyal readers, whose unflagging interest in her books propelled her sales upward. She toasted her friends and family as well, since they have always been the source of her inspiration. From the very start, her writings have illuminated the everyday dramas of ordinary people. At the age of eight, she self-published her first novel, entitled A Book About Some Bad Kids. Today, she is an international best-selling author, with millions of copies of her books in print in numerous countries. Her Lakeshore Chronicles novels celebrate the power of love, the timeless bonds of family and the nuances of human nature that make headlines every day. She lives on an island in the Pacific Northwest and is perpetually working on her next novel.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.


The boy came to the edge of town at twilight, at the close of a winter day. Although the snows had not yet begun, the air was brutally cold, having leached the life from the fields and forests, turning everything to shades of brown and buff.

The road narrowed to one lane and passed through a covered bridge on ancient river stone pilings. Through the years, the structure had weathered and been replaced, plank by plank, yet it never really changed. The tumbled rocks and sere vegetation along the riverbanks were rimed by a delicate breath of frost, and the trees in the surrounding orchards and woods had long since dropped their leaves. There was an air of frozen waiting, as though all was in readiness, as though the stage was set.

He felt a quiet sense of purpose, knowing his task here wouldn't be easy. Hearts would have to break and be mended, truths would be revealed, risks would be taken. Which, when he thought about it, was simply the way life worked—messy, unpredictable, joyous, mysterious, hurtful and redemptive.

A green-and-white sign in the shape of a shield identified the town—Avalon. Ulster County. Elevation 4347 feet.

Farther on, a billboard carried greetings from the Rotary, the Kiwanis and at least a dozen church and civic groups. The message of welcome read Avalon, in the Heart of the Catskills Forest Preserve. There was another sign exhorting travelers to visit Willow Lake, The Jewel Of The Mountains. The bit of hyperbole might apply to any number of small lakeside towns of upper New York state, but this one had the earnestness and charm of a place with a long and complicated history.

He was one of those complications. His understanding of what brought him here only extended so far, a narrow glimpse into the mystical realm of the human heart. Perhaps he wasn't meant to know why the past and present were about to collide at this moment in time. Perhaps it was enough to know his purpose—to right an old wrong. Exactly how to accomplish this—well, there was another unknown. It would reveal itself, bit by bit, in its own time.

The main feature of the town was a pretty brickwork square around a Gothic block structure which housed municipal offices and the courthouse. Surrounding that were a variety of shops and restaurants with lights glowing in the windows. The first Christmas garlands and light displays of the season adorned the wrought-iron gas lamps around the square. In the distance lay Willow Lake, a vast indigo sheet under the brooding sky, its surface glazed by a layer of ice that would thicken as the season progressed.

A few blocks from the main square was the railway station. A train had just pulled in and was disgorging passengers coming home from work in the bigger towns— Kingston and New Paltz, Albany and Poughkeepsie, a few from as far away as New York City. People hurried to their cars, eager to escape the cold and get home to their families. There were so many ways to make a family… and just as many to lose them. But human nature was forged of forgiveness, and renewal might be only a word or a kind gesture away.

It felt strange, being back after all this time. Strange and… important. Something was greatly at risk here, whether people knew it or not. And somehow he needed to help. He just hoped he could.

Not far from the station was the town library, a squared-off Greek revival structure. The cornerstone had been laid exactly ninety-nine years ago; the date was seared upon his heart. The building was surrounded by several acres of beautiful city park, lined by bare trees and crisscrossed by sidewalks. The library occupied the site of its original predecessor, which had burned to the ground a century before, claiming one fatality. Few people knew the details of what had happened or understood the impact the event had on the life of the town itself.

Funded by a wealthy family that understood its value, the library had been rebuilt after the fire. Constructed of cut stone and virtually fireproof, the new Avalon Free Library had seen nearly a hundred years come and go— times of soaring prosperity and crushing poverty, war and peace, social unrest and harmony. The town had changed, the world had changed. People didn't know each other anymore, yet there were a few constants, anchoring everything in place, and the library was one of them. For now.

He sighed, his breath frosting the air as old memories crowded in, as haunting as an unfinished dream. All those years ago, the first library had been destroyed. Now the present one was in danger, not from fire but from something just as dangerous. There still might be time to save it.

The building had tall windows all around its periphery, and a skylight over an atrium to flood the space with light. Through the windows, he could see oaken bookcases, tables and study carrels with people bent over them. Through another set of windows, he could see the staff area.

Inside, laboring at a cluttered desk in the glow of a task lamp, sat a woman. Her pale face was drawn with a worry that seemed to edge toward despair.

She stood abruptly, as though having just remembered something, smoothing her hands down the front of her brown skirt. Then she grabbed her coat from a rack and armored herself for the rapidly falling cold—lined boots, muffler, hat, mittens. Despite the presence of numerous patrons, she seemed distracted and very alone.

The sharp, dry cold drove him toward the building's entrance, a grand archway of figured stone with wise sayings carved in bas-relief. He paused to study the words of the scholars—Plutarch, Socrates, Judah ibn-Tibbon, Benjamin Franklin. Though the words of wisdom were appealing, the boy had no guide but his own heart. Time to get started.

Hurrying, her head lowered, the woman nearly slammed into him as she left the building through the heavy, lever-handled main door.

"Oh," she said, quickly stepping back. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you there."

"It's all right," the boy said.

Something in his voice made her pause, study him for a moment through the thick lenses of her eyeglasses. He tried to envision himself as she saw him—a boy not yet sixteen, with serious dark eyes, olive-toned skin and hair that hadn't seen a barber's shears in too long. He wore a greenish cargo jacket from the army surplus, and loose-cut dungarees that were shabby but clean. The winter clothes concealed his scars, for the most part.

"Can I help you?" she asked, slightly breathless. "I'm on my way out, but…"

"I believe I can find what I need here, thanks," he said.

"The library closes at six tonight," she reminded him.

"I won't be long."

"I don't think we've met," she said. "I try to meet all my library patrons."

"My name is Jabez, ma'am. Jabez Cantor. I'm…new." It wasn't a lie, not really.

She smiled, though the worry lingered in her eyes. "Maureen Davenport."

I know, he thought. I know who you are. He understood her importance, even if she didn't. She'd done so much, here in this small town, though perhaps even she didn't realize it.

"I'm the librarian and branch manager here," she explained. "I'd show you around, but I need to be somewhere."

I know that, too, he thought.

"See you around, Jabez," she said.

Yes, he thought as she hurried away. You will.

Maureen Davenport's cheeks stung after the brisk walk from the library to the bakery. Although she loved the nip of cold in the air, she was grateful for the warm refuge of the Sky River Bakery. Peeling off her muffler, hat and gloves, she scanned the small knot of people crowded around the curved-glass cases of pastries and goodies. More couples gathered at the bistro booths and tables around her.

He wasn't here yet, clearly. It was a singularly awkward sensation to be waiting for someone who didn't know what you looked like. She considered ordering a big mug of tea or hot chocolate, but there was a line. She sat down and opened the book she was reading—Christmas 365 Days a Year: How to Bring the Holiday into Your Everyday Life.

Maureen was always reading something. Ever since she was small, she'd found delight and comfort in books. For her, a story was so much more than words on a page. Opening a book was like opening a door to another world, and once she stepped across the threshold, she was transported. When she was reading a story, she lived inside a different skin.

She loved books of every sort—novels, nonfiction, children's books, how-to manuals. As the town librarian, books were her job. And as someone who loved reading the way other people loved eating, books were her life. She tried not to sink too deeply into the page she was currently reading because of the upcoming meeting. She kept reminding herself to keep an eye out for him.

Him. Eddie Haven. And he was late.

As the minutes ticked by, Maureen grew paranoid. What if he didn't come? What if he stood her up? Could she fire him? No, she could not. He was a volunteer, and you couldn't really fire a volunteer. Besides, he'd been court ordered to work with her.

Why else would a man like Eddie Haven be with her except by judicial decree? She tried not to be insulted by the notion that the only way he'd ever be found with the likes of Maureen Davenport would be through court order. The fundamental mismatch was a simple fact, perhaps even a law of nature. He was heartthrob handsome, a celebrity (okay, a D-list celebrity, but still) and a massively talented musician. He was almost famous.

Long ago, his had been one of the most recognizable faces in the country. He was one of those former child stars who had rocketed briefly to fame at a young age, and then flamed out. Yet his role in that one hit movie— along with twenty-four-hour cable—kept him alive for decades. The Christmas Caper, a heartwarming movie that had captivated the world, had become a holiday staple. She'd heard his name linked with a number of women, and every once in awhile, one of the gossip magazines pictured him with some starlet or celebutante. For quite a while, he had fallen off the radar, but a fresh wave of notoriety surrounded him now. The silver anniversary DVD of his hit movie had just been released, and interest in him had skyrocketed.

Maureen had nothing in common with him. Their lives had intersected one night he didn't remember, though it was seared in her mind forever. He lived in New York City, but came to Avalon each holiday season—against his will. She'd heard he had friends in town, but she wasn't one of them. To her knowledge, he'd never set foot in the library.

Even so, arranging to meet him here had almost felt like a date. The rendezvous had been organized via e-mail, of course. Using the phone would be far too bold and intimidating. She was much better in e-mail. In e-mail, she didn't get flustered. In e-mail, she almost had a personality. So she hadn't actually spoken to him—who needed to talk when there was e-mail?—yet the give and take as they settled on a day and time had borne all the hallmarks of a date. It wasn't a date, of course, because that sort of thing didn't happen to women like Maureen.

Except maybe in books. And of course, in dreams.

It only happened in dreams that a plain, bookish woman caught the eye of someone like Eddie Haven.

Even if the plain woman had once saved his life. She sighed, and shrugged away an aching wisp of memory, quickly stifled.

She hadn't dated anyone in a very long time. She had exacting taste, or so she told herself and her too-inquisitive siblings and friends. She still cringed, remembering her last two dates—an outing with a stamp collector named Alvin, and a very bad concert with Walter Grunion last year. She'd ended up returning home with a headache, and a resolve to quit going out with guys because it was expected of her. She was determined to stop saying yes to men she wasn't interested in just because she was still in her twenties—barely—and "supposed" to be dating.

People coming and going in the bakery barely looked at Maureen, which was fine with her. She never liked being the center of attention. A long time ago, she used to dream of being in the limelight. Life had quickly cured her of that notion. At a mercifully young age, she'd learned that being well-known and recognized was no substitute for being loved and cherished. Maureen was an unobtrusive sort; that was her comfort zone. Flying under the radar took very little effort on her part. She wore a T-shirt that said Eschew Obfuscation and a button in support of intellectual freedom, yet the slogans didn't seem to draw anyone's eye. Maybe the trendy shirt was counteracted by her hand-knit cardigan sweater—a gift from a favorite aunt—and Maureen's tweedy wool skirt, leggings and boots. Though she knew her style of dressing was plain and boring, this didn't bother her in the least. Fashion was for people who craved attention.

Occasionally, her gaze touched someone else's and they would give each other a slight, social nod. She was the sort people recognized only obliquely. She looked vaguely familiar, like someone they occasionally encountered but couldn't quite place.

This always mystified Maureen, because she had a facile memory for faces and names. For example, there was Kim Crutcher nursing a mug of coffee with her friend Daphne McDaniel, who was nibbling a donut with sprinkles in every color of the rainbow. They were both regular library patrons. So was Mr. Teasdale, who sat on the opposite side of the café, gazing dreamily out the window. He used the library's low vision services on a regular basis. With hardly a stretch, Maureen could name the kids jostling toward the exit with their post-hockey-practice purchases—Chelsea Nash, Max Bellamy, AJ Martinez, Dinky Romano.

She wondered if Eddie Haven liked his notoriety. Maybe now that they were about to be forced to work together, she would have the chance to ask him.

Or not.

The sad fact was, she'd probably be too bashful to ask him what time it was, let alone the way he felt about the vagaries of fame. She knew plenty about Eddie Haven. Yet she didn't know him. Perhaps over the weeks leading up to Christmas, that would change.

Or not.

She wondered if it was possible to get to know someone without letting him know her. And did she care enough to try?

Most helpful customer reviews

23 of 24 people found the following review helpful.
sweet holiday romance
By A Customer
Prim and proper Willow Lake, New York librarian Maureen "Mo" Davenport relishes that she will lead the annual Avalon holiday pageant for the first time in her life; having been in a support role. She wants this year's gala to be one everyone will remember for years to come.

Her co-director is former child star Eddie Haven, who loathes Christmas. He had no choice but to agree to be a host because of a judge's order. Eddie and Mo battle over the celebration. Shockingly they begin to work together even as they fall in love. However, both fear taking a chance on a commitment having been burned before. It will take a Christmas miracle just like his claim to fame movie he starred in as a child.

The latest Lakeshore Chronicles (see SUMMER AT WILLOW LAKE, DOCKSIDE and FIRESIDE) is a sweet holiday romance kept from being to angelically sugary by the skeptic who scorned Christmas, Eddie. He brings a special flavor with his "shut up and sing the blues" attitude although he has met his match in Mo. Fans of the series will enjoy the spending the Yuletide season with the Willow Lake crowd complemented by cynical disbeliever Eddie and a kind but strange individual Jabaz.

Harriet Klausner

8 of 8 people found the following review helpful.
Heartwarming Story!
By Marilyn W.
How can readers feel anything but delight at being given yet another heartwarming, humorous romance by Susan Wiggs? I loved the interplay between the hero and heroine in Lakeshore Christmas--a former child star and a librarian. So different and so right for each other! The Willow Lake setting and cast of characters couldn't be more charming. For me, personally, any story that adds in a funny theatrical plotline is a bonus, and the author did a marvelous job with this element. For readers who adore Christmastime love stories, this novel tops my 2009 list!

9 of 11 people found the following review helpful.
There has to be another book
By Nancy G. May
I have truly enjoyed the Lakeshore series and especially loved The Christmas book. Now I know I want there to be more books in the series. We can't just be left hanging so Susan please write another book in the Lakeshore Chronicles.

See all 137 customer reviews...

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Sometimes love's right there in front of you

As Stephanie Coulter discovers, sometimes you find it in the most ordinary places—and what could be more ordinary than the office? Stephanie, who works as an assistant at Lockwood Industries in Minneapolis, is temporarily assigned to the boss—Jonas Lockwood himself. Jonas lives up (or down!) to his reputation as a tyrant, dictator and grouch. But Stephanie's colleagues, romance readers all, decide that he's really the classic lonely hero. What he needs, they say, is Love 'n' Marriage. And the woman they have in mind for him is…Stephanie.

Bethany Stone, on the other hand, is already in love with her boss, Joshua Norris, although their relationship is strictly business. But one day he asks for her help—outside the office. Joshua's ten-year-old daughter, Angie, is coming to live with him and he has no idea how to raise a precocious little girl. Angie might be Almost an Angel, but she quickly develops a matchmaking plan for her dad—and Bethany!

• Sales Rank: #576181 in Books
• Published on: 2013-01-29
• Released on: 2013-01-29
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.61" h x .99" w x 4.13" l, .0 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 368 pages

Review
"Well-developed emotions and appealing characters... Macomber is a skilled storyteller who turns [Montana] into an engaging, unabashedly sentimental love story." -Publishers Weekly

"Debbie Macomber is one of the most reliable, versatile romance authors around. Whether she's writing light-hearted romps or more serious relationship books, her novels are always engaging stories that accurately capture the foibles of real-life men and women with warmth and humor." -Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

"Debbie Macomber shows why she is one of the most powerful, highly regarded authors on the stage today." -Midwest Book Review

"Debbie Macomber's gift for understanding the souls of women-their relationships, their values, their lives-is at its peak." -BookPage on Between Friends

"Macomber has a gift for evoking the emotions that are at the heart of the genre's popularity."-Publishers Weekly

"A multifaceted tale of romance and deceit, the final installment of Macomber's Dakota trilogy oozes with country charm and a strong sense of community."-Publishers Weekly on Always Dakota

"Macomber...is no stranger to the New York Times bestseller list. She knows how to please her audience." -Oregon Statesman Journal

"Bestselling Macomber..sure has a way of pleasing readers." -Booklist

"Macomber's assured storytelling and affirming narrative are as welcoming as your favorite easy chair." -Publishers Weekly on Twenty Wishes

About the Author

Debbie Macomber, with more than 100 million copies of her books sold worldwide, is one of today's most popular authors. The #1 New York Times bestselling author is best known for her ability to create compelling characters and bring their stories to life in her books. Debbie is a regular resident on numerous bestseller lists, including the New York Times (70 times and counting), USA TODAY (currently 67 times) and Publishers Weekly (47 times). Visit her at www.DebbieMacomber.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.


Stephanie Coulter sauntered into the personnel office at Lockwood Industries, the largest manufacturer of airplane parts in North America, carrying a brown paper bag. Her friend Jan Michaels glanced up expectantly. "Hi. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

In response, Stephanie placed the sack on Jan's desk.

"What's that?"

Stephanie sat on the corner of her friend's desk and folded her arms. "Maureen sent books. It seems I've been allotted the privilege of delivering your romances."

"I take it Potter is still sick?"

"Right." The entire morning had been a series of frustrations for Stephanie. Her boss was out with a bad case of the flu for the third consecutive day. For the first couple of days Stephanie had been able to occupy herself with the little things an executive assistant never seemed to find the time to do. Things like clearing out the filing cabinets, updating the on-line calendar and reorganizing her desk. But by the third morning she'd run out of ideas and had ended up writing a letter to her parents, feeling guilty about doing it on company time.

"Old Stone Face is out, as well," Jan informed her.

The uncomplimentary name belonged to the executive assistant to the company's president, Jonas Lock-wood. In the two years Stephanie had been working for the business, she'd never known Martha Westheimer to miss a day. For that matter, Stephanie had never even visited the older woman's domain on the top floor and doubted that she ever would. Martha guarded her territory like a polar bear protecting her cubs.

The corner of Jan's mouth twitched. "And guess who's working with Mr. Lockwood in the interim? You're going to love this."

"Who?" Stephanie mentally reviewed the list of possible candidates, coming up blank.

"Mimi Palmer."

"Who?"

"Mimi Palmer. She's been here about a month, working in the mail room, and—get this—she's Old Stone Face's niece."

"I can just imagine how that's working out."

"I haven't heard any complaints yet," Jan murmured as she opened the paper bag. "But then, it's still early." She took out the top book and shot a questioning glance in Stephanie's direction. "Are you sure you don't want to read one of these? The stories are great, and if you're looking to kill time…"

Stephanie held up both palms and shook her head adamantly. "That would look terrific, wouldn't it? Can you imagine what Potter would say if he walked in and caught me reading?"

"Take one home," Jan offered.

"No, thanks. I'm just not into romances."

From the look Jan was giving her, Stephanie could tell that her friend wasn't pleased with her response. She knew that several of the other women at Lockwood Industries read romances, and often traded books back and forth. To be honest, she didn't see why they found the books so enjoyable, but since she hadn't read one she felt she didn't have any right to judge.

"I wish you wouldn't be so closed-minded, especially since—" Jan was interrupted when the door burst open and Mr. Lockwood himself stormed into the room like an unexpected squall. He was tall and broad-shouldered and walked with a cane, his limp more exaggerated than Stephanie could ever recall seeing it. She remembered the first time she'd seen Jonas Lockwood and the fleeting sadness she'd felt that a man so attractive had to deal with the twisted right leg that marred the perfection of his healthy, strong body. His appearance was that of a cynical, relentless male. As always, she couldn't take her eyes away from him. His dark good looks commanded her attention any time he was near.

Most helpful customer reviews

5 of 5 people found the following review helpful.
good read
By greatlove#2
I read love n marriage and enjoyed it so much I'd love to read a sequel I'm eager to get more books from macomber

4 of 4 people found the following review helpful.
received
By mellonie
I bought this product because of the price and because its from Debbie Macomber.
I hate that I can't afford all her cd books for hours of enjoyment. However who doesn't just love this woman's work.
I would always recommend any book of hers cause you can't go wrong when its a Macomber book.
oh and the seller was spot on along with the shipping time.

3 of 3 people found the following review helpful.
love in many packages
By Jbarr5
Love in Plain Sight: Love n' Marriage / Almost An Angel by Debbie Macomber
Love how these two stories came about.
Love n' Marriage
Stephanie has to work for Jonus who uses a cane and he is the president of the company. She is just a temp as the regular secretary is out of medical leave.
She tries to kill him with kindness to throw him off.. She meets with her other secretary friends for a drink after work and they are gearing up to make the boss meet someone to love.
One of her jobs is to accompany the boss to Paris because she knows French and will be an asset in the meetings there.
They do share some of their pasts with one another and then they return to the states.
She has a thing for him and the women give her romance novels to get her in the mood so they can read his signals... Things go wrong after that til she loses her job..
.
Almost an angel
Bethany Stone works for Joshua Norris and is furious with him and how he treats her. He is worried about her daughter..
He has custody of Angie but he has no idea how to help her dress so he gives Bethany a raise and she's more than happy to help with the girl. They return to the house where she is shown the rooms and the lake where she falls in-it's February.
Besides laced coffee she is given wine at dinner after a hot shower and his robe til her clothes are dried.
Liked hearing about things in New Orleans.
Her friends think she's being used to watch his daughter on weekends when he's busy with work things but she tries to tell them that is not the case..
I received this book from National Library Service for my BARD (Braille Audio Reading Device).

See all 24 customer reviews...

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! PDF Ebook The Heart of Christmas (Whiskey Creek), by Brenda Novak

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www.BrendaNovak.com

Just call her Christmas Eve… 

Eve Harmon has always enjoyed Christmas, but this year it reminds her of everything she doesn't have. Almost all her friends are married now, and that's what Eve wants, too. Love. A husband and kids of her own. But the B and B she manages, and even Whiskey Creek, the small Gold Country town where she was born and raised, suddenly seem…confining. 

Eve's worried that her future will simply be a reflection of her past. There's no one in the area she could even imagine as a husband—until a handsome stranger comes to town. Eve's definitely attracted to him, and he seems to have the same reaction to her. But his darkly mysterious past could ruin Eve's happily ever after—just when it finally seems within reach. And just when she's counting on the best Christmas of her life!

• Sales Rank: #396819 in Books
• Published on: 2014-10-28
• Released on: 2014-10-28
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.62" h x .98" w x 4.21" l, .41 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 384 pages

Review
"Whenever I see a new Brenda Novak book, I buy it and read it, pronto. I can always count on her for a solid, exciting story, full of adventure and romance." –Linda Lael Miller #1 New York Times bestselling author

"Novak is always a go-to author for sassy romance set in small towns loaded with charm....Naughty and nice, readers will fall in love with the magic of the season portrayed throughout."-RT Book Reviews, 4 1/2 stars, Top Pick!

"Brenda Novak's seamless plotting, emotional intensity and true-to-life characters who jump off the page make her books completely satisfying. Novak is simply a great storyteller." –Allison Brennan, New York Times bestselling author

"A hero in need of redemption, a heroine up to the challenge, and an idyllic California gold country setting brilliantly launch Novak's foray into the thriving 'small-town community' market." --Library Journal on When Lightning Strikes

The characters' "heartwarming romance develops slowly and sweetly. The sex is fantastic, but the best part is how Simon and Gail tease and laugh as they grow closer." –Publishers Weekly on When Lightning Strikes

"Novak delivers a lively, sparkling series debut...romantic gold by a superior novelist." –RT Book Reviews on When Lightning Strikes

"It's steamy, it's poignant, it's perfectly paced - it's When Lightning Stikes and you don't want to miss it!" --USA Today, Happily Ever After Blog

"Sensitive, passionate, and heartbreakingly poignant," –RT Book Reviews on When Snow Falls (2012 Reviewers' Choice Winner and Nominee for Book of the Year)

"A rare treat. Brenda Novak draws you in from the first page."--#1 New York Times Bestselling Author Barbara Freethy

"Affecting, painful, sometimes funny, but ultimately satisfying, this engrossing tale of love and forgiveness takes on real problems and gives its characters the strength and compassion to come through with flying colors. Real people-with all their virtues and vices-live in Whiskey Creek, and Ted and Sophia will be two more you'll be glad to have met." Library Journal on Take Me Home for Christmas (Starred Review)

About the Author

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Brenda Novak has penned over 45 novels. A two-time Rita nominee, she's won The National Reader's Choice, The Bookseller's Best, The Bookbuyer's Best and many other awards. She runs an annual online auction for diabetes research every May at www.brendanovak.com. To date, she’s raised over $2 million. Brenda considers herself lucky to be a mother of five and married to the love of her life.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
There was a naked man in her bed.

Eve Harmon's stomach tensed, and her heart skipped a beat—but she was pretty sure she'd invited him. From the way their clothes were strewn carelessly around the room, it was obvious that, not long ago, she'd been happy to have him with her.

She nearly groaned as her eyes swept over him. What had she done? She didn't have a boyfriend and she never slept around. She hadn't been with anyone since Ted Dixon—an old friend who had briefly turned into more a year ago. And before him, it had been much longer. Most people, at least those younger than her parents, would consider her extended periods of celibacy rather pathetic for a woman her age. But she lived in a small town, cared about her reputation and had been holding out for the kind of love that came with a white picket fence.

She just hadn't found the right guy, and she was beginning to think maybe she never would. The odds weren't in her favor. Now that most of her friends were married, she didn't get out all that often.

But she had a lot to be grateful for in spite of her dismal love life, she quickly reminded herself. Although she'd never been the type who wanted work to become her sole focus in life, she liked her job. She ran Little Mary's, a B and B in a converted Victorian owned by her retired parents. They lived in the house a hundred yards in front of her own small bungalow—when they weren't traveling in their RV like they were at the moment. Thanks to them, and the quaint, bucolic area where she'd been raised, her life had always been pleasant and safe—and predictable. Absolutely predictable. Until now.

God, she hadn't even slept with someone she knew. And since there were only about two thousand people in Whiskey Creek, it was hard to find someone she didn't.

Shifting carefully so she wouldn't wake the man lying next to her—she needed to regain her bearings before confronting him—she tried to get a look at his face, but a thunderous headache made it difficult to sit up. That headache also explained how she'd ended up in this predicament. Last night she'd made the mistake of going out to celebrate her thirty-fifth birthday even though her friends weren't available until tonight, and she'd drunk too much. She'd been determined to do something wild and fun and completely out of character before reaching such a significant age, the age at which some doctors advised against getting pregnant.

Now she was paying the price for her out-of-control evening.

Had they even used birth control?

Briefly squeezing her eyes shut, she sent up a silent prayer that she'd had the presence of mind for that at least. It would be entirely too ironic for someone like her—someone so cautious—to get pregnant because of a one-night stand.

What have you done? And what should she do now? Should she wake him? What would she say when he was looking back at her? She'd never been in this situation before. But she couldn't let him sleep much longer. She needed to get rid of him so she could shower for work.

Thank goodness her parents had had engine trouble and hadn't made it home from her brother's house yet. She'd lamented that yesterday, when she'd been bored and lonely while setting up her little Christmas tree. Today she was glad.

Moving slowly to compensate for her hangover, she managed to prop herself against the headboard and, once there, frowned at her bedmate.

Who the heck was he?

She had no idea, but she was relieved to see that he was no bum off the street. He wasn't even one of those "he looked a lot more attractive last night" kind of pickups everyone joked about. This guy was so far above average that she began to wonder why he wasn't already taken. Heaven forbid that was the case! She didn't see a ring on his left hand, which rested on the pillow above his head. But he had to have some story. If he looked this good sleep-tousled, she could only imagine what he'd be like once he had a chance to clean up.

It was his bone structure, she decided. Those pronounced cheekbones. The narrow bridge across his nicely shaped nose. The distinct ridge of his upper eye sockets. He also had a strong chin and a manly jaw, which certainly didn't detract.

So maybe she couldn't point to just one or two features. With his long, sandy-colored hair spread across his pillow, he resembled a fallen angel—and his body further enhanced that image. Although bedding covered his lower half—thank goodness—she could see his torso. He was built like a greyhound or panther, lean and sinewy and ideally proportioned with very little body hair.

What body hair he did have was golden and downy, as appealing as his tanned skin.

He'd make a nice subject for a painter, she mused, someone looking for refined masculine beauty—a man who could even be called elegant.

But not everything about him was elegant. When she looked closer, she could see that he had some very unusual scars….

What types of injuries could've caused those? she wondered. It seemed to her that he'd been shot, and more than once. Several round, bullet-size marks dotted his chest. Then there was a long, jagged scar on his side that must've come from something else….

Out of nowhere—he didn't open his eyes first, so she had no warning—he grabbed her wrists in a crushing grip and slammed her onto her back.

Eve gasped as she stared up at him. Gone was the image of an angel, fallen or otherwise. Shocked at being so easily and unexpectedly overpowered, she couldn't even scream. His fierce expression, as if he was intent on causing her bodily harm, made it worse.

Had she brought home a homicidal maniac? Was he about to kill her?

The terror that surged up must've shown on her face because he suddenly came to his senses. He gave his head a shake. His expression cleared and, letting go, he eased off her and slid back onto his side of the bed.

"Sorry about that. I thought. " His words trailed off, and he covered his eyes with one arm as if he needed a moment to pull himself together.

Her heart was now pounding in unison with her head. But once she could speak somewhat normally, she prompted him to finish his sentence. "Thought what?"

His lips turned down. "Never mind. I was dreaming."

She pressed a hand to her chest as though she could slow her galloping pulse. "It couldn't have been a pleasant dream."

"They never are," he muttered.

He dropped his arm and looked over at her, and—intriguing as that statement was—she was too concerned about her nudity to pursue more of an explanation. She drew up the blankets, but he didn't seem interested in ogling her. His gaze circled the room, taking in the gauzy fabric that wound around the top of her canopy bed, the Christmas gifts she'd already wrapped and stacked in the corner, the many photographs of friends and family scattered across her dresser and the plantation shutters she'd recently had installed. He seemed to be taking stock of everything, weighing it, evaluating it—especially the closet and the door leading into the hall—as if he might encounter some threat.

"Where am I?" His voice, although more commanding than before, hadn't quite lost the rasp that came from having just awakened.

"Whiskey Creek."

He held three fingers to his forehead. She guessed he had a headache, too, although, suddenly, she could scarcely feel hers, thanks to that recent burst of adrenaline.

"I can remember the town," he said wryly. "It's not like I think I'm in China."

Fortunately, he sounded as normal as he looked. "Really? Whiskey Creek is where you're supposed to be? Because I've lived here my whole my life, and I don't ever remember seeing you."

"You say that like you know everyone."

"I do. Or just about."

As he proceeded to rub his face, she wished he'd cover up. The bedding had fallen away when he rolled on top of her. She could see far more of him than she wanted to—at least now that she was sober. But he didn't seem to notice or care about his state of undress.

"I'm new here," he said.

"When did you move in?" she asked.

"I didn't. I should've said I'm visiting."

A lot of tourists came through. The quaint shops beyond the graveyard next door to her B and B catered to them, particularly in the summer. So an unfamiliar face in town, even in the first part of winter, wasn't remarkable enough for anyone to make a fuss.

"Where are you staying?"

He hesitated. "I don't remember the name of the place," he muttered. He had to be at her competitor's or one of the small inns or B and Bs out in the country. She hadn't seen him at her place. "How long will you be in town?"

"A short time."

His answers were clipped, terse and noticeably skimpy on the details. She might've asked what had brought him here. But he was being so evasive she didn't see the point. Was he putting her on notice not to expect any follow-up to their night together?

Eve told herself she didn't care that the first romantic encounter she'd had since her big mistake with Ted Dixon wasn't shaping up to be any more promising than the false starts she'd experienced before. She just wanted to make sure that her "no way am I going to stay home and watch TV on my birthday" mutiny hadn't left her with an STD. As soon as she felt reasonably assured that she hadn't ruined her life, they could part ways—and she'd try to forget that she'd felt desperate enough to sleep with a stranger.

"I don't see anything in here that belongs to a man," he said.

She gave him a curious look. "A man?"

"I'm safe to assume you're not married? You aren't wearing a ring, but not everyone does."

Particularly a woman hoping to pick up a guy in a bar. Now she understood. She'd been too busy berating herself to clue in, or his meaning would've been clear from the beginning. "Do you make a habit of sleeping with married women?"

"Not when I can think straight. But last night I wasn't using a great deal of discretion. I don't even remember how I got here." He lifted a hand. "Wait, yes, I do. There was some waitress from that hole-in-the-wall honky-tonk who—"

"Sexy Sadie's."

"What?"

When his eyes flicked to her, she noticed that they were a startling shade of green, far lighter than the more common hazel. His eyelashes and eyebrows matched the darker streaks in his hair.

"That's the name of the bar," she clarified.

He shrugged. Apparently he found that information irrelevant—as though a bar was a bar and he'd frequented many. "Anyway, I have this vision of some waitress driving us over here and dumping us on what appeared to be a very long driveway, and that's about it."

When Eve's mind conjured up the same memory, she barely managed to stifle a groan. "Noelle Arnold." That Noelle, of all people, would know what they'd done made it so much worse….

"You don't like her?"

Her tone had revealed more than she'd intended. "Not a great deal. Not since she seduced her sister's boyfriend, then claimed she was pregnant so he'd marry her."

"Small towns…"

She didn't like the way he said that. It seemed to imply that they were too backward to behave with as much sophistication as city folk. "I happen to be close friends with Kyle, the man she duped. Of course I'd feel defensive."

"You can feel defensive all you want, but this Noelle person did us a favor. She could easily have left us to our own devices. I certainly deserved it. I haven't gotten that wasted in—" without bothering to ask, he rummaged on the nightstand and helped himself to one of her elastic ties so he could pull back his hair "—a couple of years."

She could've pointed out that if Noelle had really been looking out for her, she would've seen to it that she got home safe and alone. But then she remembered making out with this man in the backseat of Noelle's car. No wonder Noelle had dropped them off together. Now she was probably running around, telling everyone she could think of that Eve Harmon, of all people, had picked up a stranger and taken him home to bed.

His eyes narrowed. Something about her had caught his interest. "What's wrong?" he asked.

She combed her fingers through her hair in an attempt to untangle it. While she had far bigger concerns than her appearance, she couldn't entirely resist her female vanity. Because her hair was jet black and her eyes blue, people often told her that she reminded them of the Disney version of Snow White. Some red lipstick added to the effect; she'd often capitalized on that when she needed a costume.

But maybe he didn't find Snow White all that appealing. He didn't seem too impressed.

"Nothing. Why?"

"You're blushing."

"No, I'm not."

"You absolutely are," he said. "Did I say something to embarrass you?"

She stopped trying to act as if discovering him in her bed was no big deal. "This whole situation embarrasses me," she admitted. "I've never taken anyone home from a bar before and, unlike you, I won't be leaving this town any time soon. That means I'll have to face all the people who witnessed my licentious behavior."

He raised one eyebrow. "Licentious? "

"Promiscuous, debauched. Whatever you want to call it. Waking up with a total stranger isn't something that's normal for me."

He studied her, his gaze…thoughtful. "Last night you told me it was your birthday."

"And?"

"Quit being so hard on yourself. From what I could gather, it was a rough one. And with the holidays coming up, and knowing you're going to spend another year alone, you said it wasn't likely to get any easier."

Damn. She'd shared that? Hadn't she revealed enough when she took off her clothes? "My birthday was fine. Spending another Christmas as a single woman is fine. Everything's fine." How could she complain when she'd always had it so good?

She could hear the scrape of his beard growth as he ran a hand over his chin. "What's that saying about protesting too much?"

"I'm not protesting."

"If you say so."

Holding the sheet in place, she slid a few more inches away from him, but she couldn't go far. She was about to fall out of bed. He wasn't bulky, but he had wide shoulders and he didn't seem to be concerned about giving her space. "If you know it was my birthday, you remember more than getting dropped off here," she said. "It's coming back to me."

Bits and pieces were coming back to her, too. How she'd noticed him watching her from where he sat alone at the bar. How she'd danced for him in such a seductive manner, reveling in the appreciation she kindled in his eyes. How he'd eventually gotten up and walked over to join her. How he'd danced with her, so cautiously and respectfully even though the sparks between them felt like they were about to burn the place down.

How she'd slipped through the crush of bodies on the dance floor to catch her breath outside and he'd followed….

There were still things she couldn't recall, however, and his name was one of them. Had he ever told her what it was?

"Who are you?" she asked.

Without even a stretch or a concluding peck on the cheek, he climbed out of bed and started to dress.

Most helpful customer reviews

13 of 13 people found the following review helpful.
Wonderful Christmas Read!
By Vicky Shirey
After reading Take Me Home For Christmas last year, I couldn't wait to read Eve's story. This holiday season, The Heart Of Christmas takes us back to Whiskey Creek, with a feel good story about Eve Harmon. Eve is a good girl, who runs Little Mary's, the family B&B. She is turning 35, and sees all of her friends happily married, and wonders if she will ever have that. Feeling sorry for herself, she goes to Sexy Sadie's (the local bar), gets drunk and wakes up the next morning with a stranger in her bed.

The stranger, Rex McCready, uses several aliases, because of people from his past that are trying to kill him. Rex was only passing through town, but the problems from his past and the chemistry with Eve, keeps him in town through the holidays.

Meanwhile, Ted Dixon the local suspense author, is trying to solve the mystery of who killed the real Little Mary back in 1871. Cheyenne has her baby, too. This book is full of Christmas magic, characters we have known from Whiskey Creek, and suspense. It is a perfect addition to the Whiskey Creek Series. I think you will love this book, I know I did!

12 of 12 people found the following review helpful.
Friday Coffee Group to The Rescue
By J. Jones
The Heart of Christmas takes another single member of the Friday Coffee group and gives them their own happy ending. Eve has been a featured character in each of the previous Whiskey Creek books. Once it looked like she might finally find her own HEA but it was not to be. Now she is 35 and feeling like she will never find that special person. I have always liked Eve. She is very caring and very strong. Seeing her down as she is in The Heart of Christmas was very sad. I just knew someone would show up to be her very special person. What I did not expect was a man with a very mysterious and dangerous past.

Brenda Novak does a great job with that mysterious man. Why no name? (small spoiler) Because his name has been changed several times for his own protection. He does not want anything to happen to Eve so it looks like no HEA for Eve again. Then the Friday Coffee group decides to help and comes up with a winning solution.

I have to admit both the mysterious man and how he and Eve came to have their own HEA surprised me. The Heart of Christmas has a much darker tone than previous Whiskey Creek books. I think the slight change of pace strengthens the series and helps keep it from being predictable.

13 of 14 people found the following review helpful.
Favorite Whiskey Creek Book Yet!
By N. Royalton, OH Mom
OMG I LOVED this story! The Heart of Christmas is Eve's story. After Ted broke her heart by walking away so he could be with Sophia, his first love, Eve is finally getting her chance at true love. The story starts off with Eve waking up in her bed with a naked man lying next her. She starts remembering the previous night and remembers bringing him home. This is so unlike Eve but she was feeling down since it was her 35th birthday and her friends weren't taking her out until the next day to celebrate, so Eve went to Sexy Sadie's and ended up getting drunk. Now Eve is freaking out because "what will people think", "did they use protection", "does he have STD's"? Eve asks him who he is because she has never seen him before and he says he is visiting Whiskey Creek and it doesn't matter his name. Now Eve is really worried. What neither of them understands is the pull they have towards each other. They just can't get each other out of their minds. Eve knows something is off about "Jared" but doesn't have a clue as to what it is.

Eve goes into work that morning and takes breakfast up to one of the rooms. Guess whose room it is! Brent "Jared" Taylor's! Oh, boy! I just loved how these two couldn't help finding their way back to each other after everything that happens between them. As Eve starts to find out more and more about Brent, her friends are getting worried. They don't want her with some dangerous person who keeps telling lies and hiding things. Eve knows deep down Brent is a good guy.

As more of Brent's background starts to get exposed, Eve is starting to fall in love with him and he is developing strong feelings for her. These two just can't stay away from each and decide for the few weeks Brent is in town, they will be together.

I loved how Eve's friends all rallied around her to help with the Brent situation. I just adored Mrs. Higgins! Everyone needs a Mrs. Higgins in their life.

I love the happy ending, with all the happy surprises! I cannot believe the epilogue ended how it did! You are killing me here Brenda Novak! I want, no I need to know what happens next!

Another great Whiskey Creek story. I loved the love story but I also really enjoyed the suspenseful parts with Brent and the ghost Mary. I laughed, cried and swooned and just could not put this book down. Thanks!

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Ireland—a land of unbridled spirit, ancient legends, whitewashed cottages and storybook castles. A place where anything can happen and there are no strangers—until now.

Quinn Gallagher has reluctantly come to Castlelough. He's cynical, bitter and disillusioned. But the magic of the west coast is about to change him.

He's never met anyone like Nora Fitzpatrick. Despite all of life's hardships, the young widow still has a generous heart. Quinn can't help himself. He falls in love.

But life has taught Quinn never to trust in anything…especially a happy ending.

• Sales Rank: #987954 in Books
• Published on: 2012-09-18
• Released on: 2012-09-18
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.62" h x 1.07" w x 4.21" l, .40 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 400 pages

About the Author

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author JoAnn Ross has been published in twenty-seven countries. A member of Romance Writers of America's Honor Roll of bestselling authors, JoAnn lives with her husband and three rescued dogs — who pretty much rule the house — in the Pacific Northwest. Visit her on the web at www.joannross.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.


Nora

The news came to Castlelough as if riding on wisps of early-morning fog, winding its way from Donal's gift shop on the tidy medieval square, to The Irish Rose pub on Gaol Road, to Molly Lee's Confectionery at the top of the ancient steps, from which visitors made a breath-stealing descent down the towering limestone cliffs to the sea.

From schoolyard to church to cottage to manor house to the post office—where Elizabeth Murphy was quick to announce whenever another red, white and blue overnight express letter arrived from America—the question was always the same:

"Did you hear? The movie people are coming."

By the time Nora Fitzpatrick arrived in the village on the day the movie people were due to arrive, the whispers and murmurs had risen to a near clamor.

Although the sunshine yellow gorse was blooming vividly in the hedgerows and the taste of late spring rode faintly on the soft wet sea air, the day had turned chilly and threatening.

Nora dropped into O'Neill's Chicken and Chips for a cup of tea, to warm up after her long ride from the farm, and watched the oldest O'Neill daughter flirt with the handsome boy delivering an order of canned lemonade. Feeling a great deal older than her twenty-five years, Nora left them merrily laughing at some joke the boy had made.

As she crossed the stone bridge over a river rushing its way toward the Atlantic, it occurred to her she'd been jealous of eighteen-year-old Brenda O'Neill.

"Not jealous," she amended out loud. "Perhaps just a wee bit envious." The sight of the carefree couple had brought back thoughts of when her husband, Conor, had been courting her. She sighed at the memory, which was both pleasing and sad at the same time.

Conor Fitzpatrick, who'd grown up on the neighboring farm, had matured into a man as handsome and bold as an ancient king. Nora doubted any woman would have been able to resist falling in love with him. After spending time on the continent, he'd literally burst back into her life and eased the grief she'd been suffering so at the time. And for that she'd always love him.

She pushed her bicycle up the steep narrow cobblestone street. In the distance she could see the lake, carved out by a glacier thousands of years ago, limpid against mountains tipped with silvery fog. On the far bank a pre-Christian ring of stones appeared to be silently awaiting a solstice ritual fire. The sap had begun to flow in the birch trees, turning the winter brown twigs a brilliant eye-pleasing purple.

It was spring when Conor had first made love to her—their wedding night—and Nora hadn't even thought to be afraid, she'd trusted him so. The bittersweet memories were as preserved in her mind as fossils captured in amber.

"I had a 'dream' about your mam the other night," Nora's sister-in-law had told Nora just the week before. "She thinks you need a new man in your life."

Nora was not particularly surprised that Kate would be claiming to be in communication with Eleanor Joyce. The fact that her mother had been dead for years had certainly not stopped Nora from talking to her. Since the conversations were a source of comfort, she never bothered to wonder if others might think her a bit daft. Besides, Nora often thought she'd probably go daft if she weren't able to talk things out with her mam. But although her mother never actually answered her back—except in Nora's own mind—she suspected it might possibly be quite a different case with Kate.

Ever since childhood, Kate had been able to "see" things. Like when she was five and saw the black wreath on Mrs. Callahan's door two months before the old woman dropped dead of a heart attack while weeding her cabbage patch. Or the time they were teenagers and had been picnicking on the beach with a couple of boys and Kate saw little Kevin Noonan floating facedown in the surf seconds before a white-crested wave swept the wandering toddler off his feet—but soon enough to warn his mother, thank God.

When her sister-in-law had brought up the subject of men the week before, Nora had reminded Kate—and her mother, in case Eleanor Joyce had been eavesdropping from heaven—that she already had enough males in her life. "There's Da," she'd said. "And, of course, Michael and John."

"I don't think your mam was talking about your father or brothers," Kate had argued. "She thinks you need to marry again. You need a husband."

Nora had grown up in Castlelough. As a child she'd run barefoot in the meadows with boys who'd grown up and were now the county's eligible males. She knew them all, liked most of them well enough, but there wasn't a single solitary one whose boots she'd want to put beside her bed.

"Well, then," she'd said with a soft laugh, "since there's none handy around here and I'm too busy taking care of the farm and the children, along with trying to keep Da on the straight and narrow, to go out and find myself a proper husband, I guess you'll have to tell mam to pull some strings up there and send me one."

"I suspect that may be what she has in mind to do," Kate had answered. "But I doubt she has a proper one in mind. What would be the challenge in that, after all?"

What indeed? Knowing her father's quicksilver nature all too well, Nora suspected Eleanor Joyce had certainly had a great many challenges in her own life. As did Kate. And most of the other married women of her acquaintance. Irish men, while charming, unfortunately did not always make the easiest of husbands, she thought as she stopped in front of her destination.

The sparkling windows of Monohan's Mercantile were filled with treats designed to lure the passerby inside—colorful tins of biscuits, bags of saltwater taffy, tidy rows of Cadbury chocolates, jars of skin creams and bath lotions made from the carrageen moss still gathered by hand from the rocky western coast and bunches of perky golden daffodils displayed in dazzling white pots.

A paper banner, handpainted kelly green on white, welcomed the cast and crew of The Lady of the Lake to Castlelough. Bordered with blatantly touristy shamrocks, the banner also featured an imaginative rendition of the creature rising from the water. Nora guessed it had been drawn by the Monohans' twelve-year-old daughter, Margaret, a talented young artist who always won, in her age group, the summer's Sea Safety poster contest.

Beneath the sign was a collection of miniature sea monsters for sale, ranging from cheap plastic ones to sparkling crystal serpents hand-blown by local artisans. A towering pyramid of hardcover novels claimed the center spot of honor in the gaily decorated window.

A small brass bell tied to the Dublin blue door signaled Nora's arrival in the shop.

"So, today's the big day, is it?" Sheila Monohan asked, looking down from the top rung of a ladder where she was replacing a burned-out fluorescent tube. "The day your movie man arrives."

"Mr. Gallagher is a writer." Nora repeated what she'd already told Mrs. O'Neill.

She glanced at the pyramid of books. From this vantage point, the author photo on the back of the dust jacket seemed to be looking right back at her. Scowling at her, actually, which she didn't believe was the best expression to encourage people to buy his book. Still, even with his glower, Quinn Gallagher didn't appear old enough to be so successful. Perhaps success, like so many other things, came easier in America.

"I don't read horror novels," Sheila confessed. "There are so many things to worry about in the world. I'd much rather settle down at night with a nice love story. But I hear many consider him quite a fine writer."

"John certainly thinks so." Nora's youngest brother had stayed up all night reading the American horror novelist's latest book. "Kate sings his praises, as well.

But it still strikes me as odd the way everyone's behaving. You'd think a bunch of Americans arriving in Cas-tlelough was as important as the Second Coming."

After all, Americans weren't an uncommon sight. Even perched on the far west coast of Ireland as it was, Castlelough received its share of tourists. Still, Nora hadn't seen so much excitement since the time it was rumored—erroneously, it turned out—that the pope was coming to visit the rural county.

"People figure the movie folk will liven up the place," Sheila said.

"We're already lively." When the older woman lifted a jet-black eyebrow at the outrageous falsehood, Nora shrugged one slicker-clad shoulder. "Well, we may not have the bright lights of Dublin, but that's the point. Some of us appreciate a quiet life."

"If it's a quiet life you're seeking, Eleanor Rose Joyce Fitzpatrick, you should have stayed in that Dublin convent.

"Besides—" Sheila nodded, appearing pleased with herself when the light flickered to life "—you know as well as I do there's not much opportunity in a small village like Castlelough. Tourism or emigration, that's our choice, my Devlin always says."

Even as her heart took a little dive at the depressing prospect of having to leave Castlelough, Nora couldn't resist a smile at the mention of Sheila's son, the man who once, in what seemed like another lifetime, had taught her to French-kiss, even as she'd worried for her immortal soul.

Sister Mary Augustine had taught all the girls in her class that letting a boy put his tongue in your mouth was one of the vilest of mortal sins.

"And don't forget, girls, every sin you commit is another thorn in our Lord Jesus's side." Sister had glared like Moses standing atop the Mount at the group of tartan-clad adolescents. "French-kissing debases a girl. And makes the devil smile."

Although Nora certainly hadn't wanted to make Satan smile, three years after that memorable sex-education lecture, Devlin Monohan's kisses had proved so thrilling she'd recklessly risked hell on more than one occasion during that idyllic summer of her first love.

"How is Devlin?" she asked now.

"Fit as a fiddle. He rang up last night, as a matter of fact, to say he's been offered a position at the National Stud."

"That's wonderful!" Graduating from veterinary college and working at the National Stud had been Devlin's dream. He'd talked about it a lot between kisses.

"Isn't it just? I'll have to admit I'm guilty of the sin of pride at the idea of my son helping to breed the best racehorses in the world."

"It's no sin to be proud of a son." On this Nora had reason to be very clear. Nora wondered if her mother knew this latest news about Devlin and decided she probably did. Not much had ever slipped by Eleanor Joyce.

The woman who might have been Nora's mother-in-law climbed down from the ladder and brushed her dusty hands on her apron, which, like the poster, bore a fanciful image of the lake creature—which, in a way, was the source of all this uproar.

If those old myths hadn't existed, Quinn Gallagher wouldn't have written the book, Hollywood wouldn't have bought the film rights and the movie people would have stayed in Hollywood.

"We were all surprised when you went off to become a postulate," Sheila said suddenly, as if that lifealtering Sunday morning were only yesterday and not eight long years ago. "Everyone expected you and my Devlin would get married."

"I thought we might, as well. For a time." After all, Nora wouldn't have risked hell for just anyone. "But I truly believed I had a vocation."

"Just because you could memorize all the prayers and catechism answers faster than any girl at Holy Child School," Sheila said, "didn't necessarily make you a candidate for the convent." She was only pointing out what Nora's own mother had told her as they'd loaded her suitcase—filled with the muslin sheets, black stockings, black shoes and white cotton underwear the nuns had instructed she bring to the convent—into the family car.

"I would have eventually realized that." Nora wondered briefly if this out-of-the-blue discussion might be no coincidence. Her mother had supposedly told Kate she might be sending Nora a husband. Could she be trying to get the two childhood sweethearts back together again?

"As it turned out, you didn't have time to make up your own mind," Sheila said with a regretful shake of her head. "What with your poor mam dying giving birth to Celia and you having to leave the order."

It had been the second-worst time of her life. "Someone had to tend to the house and children." And Da, she thought, but did not say.

"I've always said it was too much responsibility for a young girl. A child raising children was what you were. Lord knows Brady, as good a man as he is in his way, couldn't take care of himself, let alone those babies.

"Considering how lonely you must have been, it's no wonder you fell head over heels for Conor Fitzpatrick when he came back from the continent with all those flashy trophies."

"I loved Conor," Nora stated firmly.

Her love for her dashing husband—who'd held the promise of becoming one of the world's greatest steeplechase riders—had been the single constant in Nora's life during that time. And if she hadn't married Conor, Rory, the shining apple of her eye, wouldn't have been born.

And then Conor had been killed in a race, which had been the worst time of her life.

"He's been dead for five years, Nora. It's not good for a woman to be alone. Especially a woman with children to raise."

"I manage."

"Of course you do, dear." Sheila paused, giving Nora the impression she was choosing her words carefully. "Devlin had other news."

"Oh?"

"He's engaged. To a young woman he met in veterinary school."

The older woman's gaze had turned so intent Nora felt as if she were standing at the wrong end of one of those telescopes all the lake-monster trackers inevitably carried.

"I'm so happy for him," she said. "You'll have to give me his address so I can write him a note."

"You don't mind?"

"Of course not. It's been over between Devlin and me for a long time. I'm pleased he's found someone to share his life with."

So much for her mother's perceived matchmaking.

"Here's my list." Not wanting to discuss her love life—or lack of it—any longer, Nora handed the piece of paper to the storekeeper. "I hope you have some of those Spanish oranges. Rory loves them, and they're so much better for his teeth than sweets or biscuits."

"You're a good mother, Nora Fitzpatrick," Sheila said. "And no one can fault the job you're doing with the children. But it's easier on a woman to have a man around the house. Sons, especially, need a father's firm guiding hand."

As the older woman began plucking items from the wooden shelves, Nora almost laughed as she thought how much Sheila Monohan sounded like her mother. Which made sense, she decided, since the two women had been best friends.

"Brady brought in your eggs this morning, in case you're wondering," Sheila offered as she began adding up Nora's purchases on her order pad. "I gave him a credit."

Most helpful customer reviews

2 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
Lyrical writing and a delightful cast of characters in a wonderful setting
By Kate Vale
If you like stories set in Ireland, you will love this first of of a trilogy. Quinn Gallagher doesn't really know how deeply his own roots will mesh with what he finds there when we attends the film making of a book he has written. He's a hard-bitten best-selling author with a back story that has convinced him he should never feel strongly about anything but what he writes about. Certainly not the people he meets in Castlelough, be they small boys or women or the men who frequent a local pub.

Too bad he hasn't encountered anyone like Nora Fitzpatrick before. She's a widow with a 7-yr-old and responsibility for both her father, her aging grandmother and her father's young children after their mother dies. Nora leads with her heart, though she doesn't expect to like the Hollywood scriptwriter until she realizes he's not really Hollywood.

The words that make up this story are lyrical in both the musical language of the Irish that is represented in its pages and also in how the relationships between the key and minor characters are blended into a chorus that ends in a way both satisfying and leaving me want to return via the next book in the series.

2 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
GOOD READ
By Dotty
It had a good romance story and a happy ending. JoAnn Ross always seems to have a little twist in her stories..something a little unexpected.

2 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
I liked it!!
By Constance M LeBel
A great touching story, kept me intrigued throughout the book. It was a very well done book. Glad I picked it out!!.

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The search for gold and other treasures brought the earliest Hispanic migrants to North, Central, and South America in the 1500s. Featuring full-colour artwork and eyewitness accounts, this book looks at the many Hispanic cultures who came to stake their claims in North America and how their traditions are still celebrated.

• Sales Rank: #5524037 in Books
• Published on: 2000-10-01
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 11.02" h x .34" w x 8.74" l, .87 pounds
• Binding: Hardcover
• 32 pages

About the Author
Gregory Nickles is an oft-published author of non-fiction children's texts. His works include a variety of titles about animals, science, U.S. history, and countries of the world. A graduate of Fine Arts, his interests extend to creative works including theater and music. He currently lives and works in Toronto, Canada.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Culture and Traditions Hispanics celebrate a rich variety of customs and traditions. They brought some from Latin America and invented others in their new homes. For hundreds of years, Hispanic cultures have had an important influence on the culture of North America. Hispanic culture is rich in music, which is usually paired with exciting dances. This music has roots in sounds from Africa and Spain, which then evolved in each Latin America and Caribbean country. Rumba, Tango, conga, mambo, cha-cha, and merengue are just a few of the energetic styles of music and dance that became popular in the twentieth century.

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