Senin, 13 April 2015

And I Love Her (A Green Mountain Romance Book 4), by Marie Force

And I Love Her (A Green Mountain Romance Book 4), by Marie Force

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And I Love Her (A Green Mountain Romance Book 4), by Marie Force

And I Love Her (A Green Mountain Romance Book 4), by Marie Force



And I Love Her (A Green Mountain Romance Book 4), by Marie Force

Best Ebook PDF And I Love Her (A Green Mountain Romance Book 4), by Marie Force

A Green Mountain Romance from the New York Times bestselling author of I Saw Her Standing There.As the oldest of the ten Abbott siblings, Hunter prides himself on his ability to solve other people’s problems, but now he has a problem of his own—how to convince the woman of his dreams that his love is for keeps.As the chief financial officer, Hunter Abbott manages the family’s various business interests while “fixing” things for the people he loves. But the one thing he can’t fix is his undeniable attraction to Megan Kane. Instead, Hunter is prepared to do whatever it takes to show Megan that he’s the man for her. Megan’s sister rocks her with the news that she and her husband are moving overseas, leaving Megan truly alone. With her sister—and her job at the diner—going away, Megan finds herself leaning on the sexy, button-down accountant who isn’t afraid to lay it all on the line for her. But Megan has watched too many people she loves leave her. Can she risk her heart on Hunter? Contains a bonus Green Mountain short story!

And I Love Her (A Green Mountain Romance Book 4), by Marie Force

  • Amazon Sales Rank: #15240 in eBooks
  • Published on: 2015-03-03
  • Released on: 2015-03-03
  • Format: Kindle eBook
And I Love Her (A Green Mountain Romance Book 4), by Marie Force

Review "I absolutely love this Green Mountain series by author Marie Force. She has a way of pulling you right in from the very first page and never letting you go until the very end."--Susan at Fresh Fiction "(Force) excels at creating characters readers can identify with and care about, even if they're a little quirky (Fred the Moose steals several scenes), and the sex is smoking hot!"--Booklist review "The Abbott family is fun and full of quirks that are irresistible, and Hunter and Megan's story is just as delightful as the others in the series."--Four Stars from RT Book Reviews "Marie Force makes you believe in the power of true love and happily ever after."--Carly Phillips, New York Times bestselling author"If you're a fan of Robyn Carr and Jill Shalvis, then you will want the Green Mountain series by Marie Force."--Fresh Fiction"Marie truly just has a way of telling a story that draws you in, and never lets you go. Not even when you reach the end of the book."--Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews"Force's And I Love Her will have you wishing we were all living in the Green Mountains of Vermont, seeking out one of these yummy Abbott brothers."--HeroesandHeartbreakers.com "AND I LOVE HER is the fourth book in the Green Mountain series by Marie Force and is just as good as I knew it would be. The Abbott family is honestly to die for! I loved the banter, family dynamics, and the journey to finding true love. I don't think Force could have written better family. She makes me want to be a part of it!"--Romance at Random

About the Author ***Start reading Marie's New York Times Bestselling Gansett Island Series today with Maid for Love, free on Amazon. You can also sign up for Marie's newsletter at marieforce.com on the left hand side of the page.***Marie Force is the New York Times bestselling author of contemporary romance, including the Gansett Island Series, which has sold more than 2.2 million books, and the Fatal Series from Harlequin Books, which has sold more than 1 million books. In addition, she is the author of the Green Mountain Series from Berkley Publishing as well as the new erotic romance Quantum Series, written under the slightly modified name of M.S. Force. Her goals in life are simple--to finish raising two happy, healthy, productive young adults, to keep writing books for as long as she possibly can and to never be on a flight that makes the news. Join Marie's mailing list for news about new books and upcoming appearances in your area. Follow her on Facebook, Twitter @marieforce and on Instagram. Join one of Marie's many reader groups. Contact Marie at marie@marieforce.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

“You’re a very nice guy.”

“This is what I’m trying to tell you.”

Her laughter broke the tension that had grown and multiplied during the intense conversation. His smile lit up his handsome face, and Megan couldn’t resist him when he looked at her that way. She put her hand around his nape and drew him in for a kiss. “He cooks, he irons, he bakes and he makes dreams come true.”

“You forgot balances the books and makes you come multiple times every night. What can I say, babe? I’m a Renaissance man.”

“And he’s funny and cute and sexy and adorable.”

“All those things? You shouldn’t let a guy like that get away. You might regret it for the rest of your life.”

“Yes, I’m quite sure I would.”

CHAPTER 1

Business opportunities are like buses, there’s always another one coming.

—Sir Richard Branson, founder of Virgin Group

When her sister and brother-in-law said they wanted to talk to her at the diner Monday evening, Megan Kane assumed they were going to tell her they were finally expecting the niece or nephew she’d wanted for as long as they’d been married. But the words that came from Brett and Nina in stuttering, halting sentences had nothing to do with babies.

“Moving overseas.”

“Selling the diner.”

“So sorry to do this to you.”

“It was an amazing opportunity.”

“We couldn’t say no.”

“You can come with us.” Nina seemed crushed to be delivering this news to her “baby” sister, who was almost twenty-eight and hardly a baby anymore. “I’d love that. We could run around and explore together while Brett is at work. It would be so fun.”

Megan shook off the shock and found her voice. “No. You’ve been taking care of me since you were twenty-two, Neen. It’s time to go live your life. I’ll be fine.”

“We really do mean it when we say you should come with us,” Brett said. He was always so kind to her, never once in all these years acting as if her tight bond with his wife was a problem for him.

“I can’t do that. I can’t crash your party. I’ve been around your necks long enough as it is.”

“You’re hardly around our necks, Megan,” Nina said. “We could have so much fun! Would you think about it before you automatically say no? Please?”

“Fine.” Megan said what her sister needed to hear. “I’ll think about it.”

“Great!” Nina said, beaming with pleasure at the small victory.

“If you decide to stay here, we’ll help you find another job,” Brett said. “Maybe the new owners of the diner would want to keep you on. They’d be crazy not to.”

He’d been a terrific brother-in-law to her since he married her sister nine years ago. A teacher at a nearby boys’ prep school, he’d apparently applied for overseas positions in the past but they’d never materialized until now.

Work at Nina’s Diner without Nina? Unthinkable. “I’ll figure something out. You guys don’t need to worry about me.”

“Of course we’ll worry about you, Meg.” Nina reached for her sister’s hand across the table. “I don’t know how not to worry about you.”

“It’s probably time I got a life of my own.” Megan tried to stay calm even as she panicked on the inside. Not see Nina every day? Unbearable. “Mom and Dad would be horrified if they knew I was still living in the garage apartment.”

“They’d be proud of you.”

“No, they’d be proud of you, but you deserve it. You’ve created such a wonderful business here, and now you have this fantastic opportunity to travel. I’d never hold you guys back from doing what you want.”

Brett’s relief was so visible he practically sagged under the weight of it. Obviously, they’d worried about telling her their news. “You really can come with us if you want to, Megan,” he said. “It would be great to have you in France.”

“I’d love to come visit while you’re there, but this is home.” In reality, Nina was home to her, not Butler or the house where they’d once lived with their parents, but Megan kept those thoughts to herself.

“You said you’d think about it!” Nina said.

“Neen, I can’t just go traipsing off to France, as fun as that sounds. I need to figure out my life and what I’m going to do with it. I can’t do that in France. I don’t want either of you to worry about me. I swear I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Nina asked tearfully. “You’d tell me if you didn’t mean that, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m very sure.” Megan kept her emotions out of it—for now anyway. “This could turn out to be a good thing for me. It’ll give me the kick in the butt I’ve needed to move on.” Megan had been marching in place for more than ten years, since the snowy night they lost their parents in a car crash during her senior year of high school.

Nina had been her rock ever since, acting as mother, father and big sister all rolled into one. The sisters had held on to each other for all these years, and the thought of everyday life without Nina was unfathomable to Megan.

“If you agree, we’re going to rent the house,” Brett said, “but the garage apartment is all yours for as long as you want or need it. We told the Realtor the garage wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Of course I agree. No sense the house sitting vacant when you could be making some money.” Her brother-in-law’s sweetness nearly broke her emotional dam, but she refused to cry in front of them. Since there were going to be tears—and lots of them—she had to get out of there immediately. No way would she make them feel bad about something they were so excited about. Knowing she was on borrowed time where the tears were concerned, Megan gathered up her belongings and stood. “I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

“Let me drive you home,” Nina said.

“That’s okay. I could use the fresh air after being inside all afternoon.” They’d used their afternoon and evening “off” to do their monthly deep clean of the diner.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” Nina asked.

Megan bent to kiss her sister’s cheek. “I’m fine, and I’m thrilled for both of you.”

Nina held her tight for a minute. “Love you, Meggie.”

Megan couldn’t remember the last time Nina had called her by her childhood nickname. “Love you, too.”

Feeling as if she’d been set adrift, untethered from the one sure thing in her life, Megan stepped out of the diner, taking a moment to breathe in the fresh, clean early-autumn air. The tears she’d managed to contain in front of Nina and Brett broke loose in sobs that had her looking for a place to hide until the storm passed.

She crossed the street and ducked behind the Green Mountain Country Store, planning to hide out until Brett and Nina left for home.

The last thing she wanted was for them to see her crying, and nothing short of a miracle would help her keep it together tonight.

*   *   *

After another twelve-hour marathon in front of the computer, Hunter Abbott stood and stretched out the kinks in his shoulders and back. As the chief financial officer for the Green Mountain Country Store and other Abbott family businesses, Hunter worked pretty much all the time. If it weren’t for the pressing need for food that his body demanded every few hours, he’d probably work around the clock.

It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. And wasn’t that a sad, pathetic fact of his life?

His stomach let out an unholy growl that had him checking the time on his computer. Nine ten. With the diner closed today, that left pizza as his only option in town at this hour. He dialed the number to Kingdom Pizza from memory and ordered a small veggie and a salad. If he was resorting to eating junk, at least it was somewhat healthy. Before his twin sister, Hannah, had remarried over the summer, Hunter might’ve headed for her house to bum some dinner and conversation. But with Nolan now living with Hannah and the two of them in starry-eyed newly wedded bliss, Hunter steered clear.

He turned off his computer and glanced at the stack of files still awaiting his attention. Bring them home or leave them for tomorrow? After a brief internal debate, he shut off the light and left them. His tank was running on empty, and tomorrow would bring more of the same.

In the outer office, he was surprised to find the light still on in his sister Ella’s office. He went over to knock on her door. “You’re working late.”

“As are you.”

“Except I always do. What’s your excuse?”

“Getting some new products entered into the system, and dealing with a pile of paperwork that never seems to get smaller no matter what I do.”

“I hear you there. So much for being self-employed, huh?”

She smiled at him, but he noted a hint of sadness in her eyes that caught him by surprise. Ella was one of the most joyful people he’d ever known—always happy and upbeat.

“Everything okay?”

“Sure. Why do you ask?”

“You just seemed . . . I don’t know . . . sad or something for a second there.”

“I’m fine. No need to worry.”

“Okay then.” Hunter took a step back, planning to leave, but there it was again—the sadness he’d seen before. “You know if there’s anything wrong, you can come to me, right? We may see each other a thousand times a day, but I’m right over there if you need me. No matter what it is.”

“Thank you, Hunter. That’s very sweet of you. I know you want to take care of everything for all of us, but some things . . . Well, some things can’t be managed. They are what they are.”

More confused than ever, Hunter wasn’t sure whether he should stay and try to force the issue or give her some space to deal with whatever was bothering her. “I’m here, El. I’m right here. Don’t suffer in silence.”

Her smile softened her face. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to wait for you so you’re not here alone?”

“No. I’ve got another hour or so, and I can lock up.”

“Give me a quick call to let me know you got home okay.”

“Hunter . . .”

“What? You’ll always be my little sister, so call me.”

“I’m only four years younger than you.”

“And I vividly remember the day you were born.”

“Freak.”

Hunter chuckled at the predictable comment. His family teased him every day about his photographic memory and ability to recall facts and figures from years ago that should’ve been impossible to remember. Sometimes he wished he could forget some of the crap that rattled around in his brain, but it was his lot in life to be a walking, talking data warehouse. “See you in the morning.”

“Have a good night.”

“Call me.”

“Go!”

Hunter went down the stairs thinking about what Ella had said about him wanting to take care of things for everyone. Perhaps it was also his lot in life as the oldest of the ten Abbott siblings, but he wanted the people he loved to be happy and their problems to be few, even if that meant taking on more than his share of the load.

Hannah had been after him recently to work less and play more. If only he could think of something he’d rather do than work.

Totally pathetic. He knew it, but damn if he could figure out how to snap out of the rut he’d fallen into. When had he become an all-work, no-play stick in the mud? If he were being honest with himself, he’d been in the rut for a long time, probably since he graduated from college and joined the family business full time. College had been the last time he’d been truly free of responsibility and obligation.

Thinking about the blissful college days had him remembering his late brother-in-law Caleb, Hannah’s first husband, who’d died in Iraq seven years ago. If he came back to life and saw how ridiculously out of balance Hunter’s life had become, he’d raise holy hell.

Raising holy hell was on Hunter’s mind as he stepped into the cool darkness and waited for the motion-sensitive light to come on. Once it did, he turned to lock the door behind him. Ella would see to setting the alarm system. Leaving her alone at the store made him anxious, but he would check on her if she didn’t remember to call him.

A sound to his left had him stopping to listen. Was that sniffling? “Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Megan. I’m sorry to scare you.”

That voice . . . It cut through him like a knife slicing butter. Every nerve ending in his body stood up to take note of her nearness, which happened every damned time he came into any kind of contact with her. “Megan,” he said in a voice that was barely a whisper. “What’re you doing here in the dark?”

“Hiding out.”

“Why? Are you hurt? What’s wrong?” True to form, he wanted to make things right for her, no matter what it took. His heart beat quickly, as if he’d been running for miles, and his hands were suddenly sweaty and clammy. He’d never understand why this particular woman provoked such a strong reaction in him every time he laid eyes on her—or in this case, heard tears in her voice as she spoke in the dark.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just needed a minute. Sorry to trespass on your property. I’ll get out of your way.”

“Wait. Don’t go.” The words came out sounding far more desperate than he’d intended. “At least let me drive you home.”

“That’s all right. I can walk.”

“I wouldn’t mind at all.”

She stepped into the light, and the sight of her tear-ravaged face broke his heart. What could possibly be so wrong?

“It’s out of your way.”

“I’ve got nowhere to be.” He watched her expressive face as she pondered his offer. Her lips pursed, which brought her cheekbones into sharper relief against the pale skin on her face. Exquisite was the word that came to mind whenever he looked at her, which was as often as he could. Until recently she’d had a major crush on his brother Will, but that had no bearing whatsoever on how he felt about her. He looked at her, and he wanted. It was that simple.

Except she barely knew he was alive, which was a problem.

“If you’re sure you don’t mind,” she said after an impossibly long pause.

“I really don’t.”

“Thank you.”

She walked with him to his silver Lincoln Navigator and stood by his side as he held the passenger door and waited for her to get settled.

As he got into the driver’s side, his growling stomach reminded him of the takeout order. “Have you had dinner?” The words were out before he could take the time to overanalyze the situation.

“Not yet.”

“I have a pizza and salad on order. I’d be happy to share.”

“I don’t know if I could eat.”

“Come along and keep me company?”

“Um, sure. Okay.” She reached into her purse, withdrew a tissue and wiped her eyes.

“Are you going to tell me why you were crying?”

“Do I have to?”

“Of course not.” He was surprised that she would think he’d try to force it out of her. “But I’m told I’m a good listener.”

She had no reply to that, so he turned the key to start the engine, lowering the windows a bit to get some air.

“I probably stink from cleaning the diner,” she said.

“No, you don’t.” As he drove, he thought of a thousand things he’d like to say to her, but none were the sort of things a guy blurted out when he finally had a moment alone with the woman he desired.

How exactly did you tell a woman who barely knew you were alive that you thought about her constantly? That seeing her upset killed you. That wanting her kept you awake at night. How did you tell her it didn’t matter if she had once been obsessed with your brother? That there was nothing you wouldn’t do to see her smile, to see her pale blue eyes light up with joy?

How could he say any of that and not sound like a total creep?

He couldn’t, so he kept his mouth shut and hoped he wouldn’t do something embarrassing like hyperventilate from the overwhelming effort it took not to say all of it.

CHAPTER 2

To think is easy. To act is difficult. To act as one thinks is the most difficult.

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, German writer and statesman

Hunter pulled into the parking lot at Kingdom Pizza and said he’d be right back. When he’d asked her to keep him company, Megan assumed he’d want to eat at the restaurant, but now she watched him pay for takeout through big plate-glass windows and wondered what he had planned.

The cashier said something that made Hunter laugh as he returned his wallet to the back pocket of his black pants. His white pinstriped dress shirt stretched across broad shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist. Since she’d much rather check out Hunter Abbott than think about her own woes, Megan let her gaze travel down over what looked to be a tight, muscular ass and long legs.

As she’d spent most of her adult life longing for his brother Will, she hadn’t given Hunter all that much thought. He was, she decided, every bit as good-looking as Will, but in a different sort of way. Where Will was brawny and outdoorsy and rugged, Hunter was equally muscular and fit, but his appearance was far more refined.

Will had lighter coloring than Hunter, who had dark, wavy hair and intense brown eyes. As she watched Hunter turn away from the counter and head for the door with his purchases in hand, something Will had said recently chose that moment to pop into her mind. You’re focusing on the wrong Abbott brother.

What did that mean?

Megan was still thinking about that when she leaned over the fancy SUV’s center console to open the driver-side door for him.

“Thanks.” He handed her the pizza box and another bag, which she held on her lap.

The smell of the herbs and spices had her mouth watering. Half an hour ago, she couldn’t have imagined eating anything, and now she was suddenly starving.

“Do you mind if we take it back to my place?”

“Um, no, I guess not.”

You’re focusing on the wrong Abbott brother.

During the long years of her not-so-secret obsession with Will Abbott, she’d created a mental catalog of all the things she knew about him. However, when it came to Hunter Abbott, her catalog was empty in comparison. She knew hardly anything about him other than the fact that he was the oldest of the ten Abbotts and worked as the chief financial officer for his family’s company.

He came into the diner twice a day for coffee—at the exact same times every day—but unlike some of his more boisterous siblings, Hunter tended to keep to himself, observing rather than participating when joined at the diner by his family members.

The two of them had rarely exchanged more than a few words when he ordered food and she brought it to him. Except for one time recently when she’d asked him about Cameron moving in with Will, and he’d suggested she go out with someone else—him perhaps—to get her mind off Will. The wrong brother . . .

A few minutes later, he pulled into the driveway of a well-kept tan colonial with black shutters several blocks from Elm Street.

“This is yours?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I love this house and the garden. I had no idea you lived here.”

“I thought everyone in this town knew where everyone else lived.”

“I spend too much time at the diner listening to everyone’s business to pay much attention to where they all live.”

“Good point.” He relieved her of the pizza box and bag. “Come on in.”

The words were spoken casually, but when he opened the car door and the overhead light came on, she couldn’t miss the intense way he looked at her.

You’re focusing on the wrong Abbott brother.

What did Will know that she didn’t? Suddenly, she wanted the answer to that question even more than she wanted a slice of the mouthwatering pizza. Hunter took the pizza and bag and waited for her to come around the truck before he led her to the front door, where he used his key and then stepped aside to let her go in ahead of him.

The house was dark except for a small light in the kitchen, and it smelled fresh and clean, like lemons and maybe laundry detergent. She probably should’ve expected that a man who dressed the way Hunter did wouldn’t live like a typical bachelor. And when he flipped on a light in the living room, she saw there was nothing typical about this bachelor pad.

“Toss your stuff anywhere.”

His sofa and love seat were tan with dark brown trim. The tables were black and the usual life clutter nonexistent. On the fireplace mantel was a single framed photo of his family along with several candlesticks with thick cream-colored candles. The walls held framed prints by a Vermont photographer whose work Megan recognized.

She put her sweater and purse on the chair inside the door and followed him into the kitchen.

What am I doing here? The thought nearly stopped her in her tracks as she entered a fully renovated kitchen that had black appliances, matching granite countertops and funky teardrop lights suspended over an island.

“Have a seat.” He gestured to one of the two bar stools tucked under the extended edge of the countertop. “I ordered a veggie and got several slices of cheese, too. What’s your preference?”

“Either is fine. I didn’t expect you to share your dinner with me.”

“I’m happy to share.” He put a slice of each kind on her plate and pushed it across the counter to her. “Wine? Beer? Soda? Water?”

“I’ll take a beer if you have an extra.”

“Coming right up.” He opened two bottles—with an opener, no twist-offs for him—and handed one to her.

She glanced at the label, which she didn’t recognize. Naturally, it was something imported and classy, like him.

He joined her at the bar, sliding onto the other stool and offering to share his salad.

“No, thanks. The pizza is more than enough.”

They ate in silence, and Megan appreciated that he didn’t push her to talk about what had upset her earlier. Being with him on this little detour from her regular routine had helped to briefly take her mind off the bomb Nina and Brett had dropped on her earlier.

The whole thing came rushing back to her in one big wave of sadness that made it difficult to swallow her pizza. She took a sip of beer and closed her eyes, hoping to contain the emotional firestorm that threatened to erupt again at any second.

Megan opened her eyes to find Hunter watching her, and Will’s words once again bounced around in her brain. You’re focusing on the wrong Abbott brother. Looking into Hunter’s deep brown eyes, which were filled with concern and compassion and something else she couldn’t easily identify, Megan was filled with an awareness of Hunter as a man for the first time. Until right that second, he’d been a customer, a guy she knew from town, Will’s brother.

She cleared her throat and took another sip of her beer. “Nina and Brett are selling the diner.”

His expression changed in a heartbeat from compassionate to shocked. “What?”

“He’s been offered a teaching position in France for the new school year. They’re leaving next week. Apparently, the person the school originally hired had to decline at the last minute, so they have very little time to get there.”

“Megan . . .”

“The diner is closing.”

“And you just found this out?”

She nodded. “After we cleaned.”

“You were crying. Behind the store.”

“Maybe a little.”

He pushed his plate away, apparently having lost interest in the food, and reached for her hand. “Are you okay?”

She glanced down at their joined hands and shrugged. “I will be. It’s just a job. I suppose I can find another one somewhere.”

“That’s not what I meant. Your sister . . . You two are close, and she’ll be leaving. Soon.”

Damn it, he had to say that. He had to home in on the part of the situation that had truly broken her heart, and she was going to cry again if she didn’t get out of there immediately. She withdrew her hand and stood, nearly tipping over the stool in her haste. “Thank you so much for the pizza and the company. I’m just going to . . . I’ll go now.”

He stood and took hold of her elbow. “Don’t go. Not now. Not when you’re upset.”

She shook her head. “You’ve had a long day. You don’t need an emotional female blubbering all over you.”

“Please,” he said, the note of longing in his tone impossible to deny, “don’t go. Let me help.”

The wrong brother, the wrong brother, the wrong brother . . .

Megan blinked rapidly, wishing intently that she were a stronger person, the kind who didn’t fall apart over news that tipped her world upside down.

And then Hunter’s arms were around her, and he was holding her, the scent of fine, expensive cologne filling her senses, making her forget, if only for a second, that her heart was breaking.

“I stink like ammonia and bleach, and you smell like Nordstrom.”

His laughter rumbled through his body, making her smile despite the tears that threatened to spill over at any second. “You don’t smell like either of those things.”

Was he . . . sniffing her hair? And was she really tipping her head to give him better access?

“You smell like jasmine and lilies. I love the smell of jasmine. It’s one of my favorite things in the summer.”

His gruff words sent a tingle of sensation down her backbone, which settled in a throb between her legs that made her gasp with surprise.

Hunter released her abruptly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .” He stared at her.

“You didn’t.” She wanted to beg him to hold her some more, to make her feel like he had for that brief second before she overreacted and ruined the moment. Summoning courage she wouldn’t have thought she had, she took a small step toward him and put her hands on his waist, above his black leather belt.

“Megan . . .”

She looked up at him, noting the slashes of color that had appeared in the area of his cheekbones as well as the raw heat in his gaze. “It felt good to have you hold me, Hunter. Would you do it again?”

He blew out a deep breath and drew her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe.

If Will had been the wrong Abbott brother, was Hunter the right one? The thought, which moved through her mind like a bullet whizzing toward its target, nearly made her laugh when a second ago she’d been on the verge of tears.

What am I doing here?

She forced the question from her mind and leaned into his embrace as well as the comfort he offered so willingly.

His ringing phone interrupted the moment. He tensed for a second before he released her, seeming reluctant to let go. “I need to grab that. I’m waiting for a call from my sister.”

“Sure,” she said, embarrassed now by the way she’d blatantly asked him to hold her. Her hands dropped from his waist, and she looked down as she linked her index fingers.

“Hey, El.” Hunter sounded rushed and abrupt. “You’re home? Okay, thanks for calling. See you tomorrow.” He ended the call and turned back to Megan. “Sorry about that. Now where were we?”

She shook her head. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine. It was just . . . tonight.” Shrugging, she added, “The news sort of blindsided me.”

“Of course it did.” He took her hand, apparently comfortable touching her now that she’d all but begged him to, and led her into the living room, where he sat on one of the sofas and drew her down next to him. “You’re losing your sister from your daily life, not to mention your job. That would upset anyone.”

“I want to be happy for her,” Megan said softly. “She’s done so much for me.”

“Tell me.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I want to know you.”

Sitting next to him in his lovely home with his appealing masculine scent filling her senses and his kindness touching her heart, Megan wanted to know him, too.

“You know our parents were killed in a car accident the winter of my senior year of high school.”

“Yes, I remember. I don’t know if I ever told you how truly sorry I was for you and Nina. Your folks were great people.”

His kind words nearly brought her to tears again. “Thank you for saying that. Yes, they were. It was an awful time, but somehow we got through it together. Nina was a senior in college, but she came home to be with me, and she never left. She finished her degree over the summer. Then, when she and Brett got married, they took the house, and I moved to the garage apartment. I’ve been there ever since. She opened the diner, I went to work for her and the years just sort of passed in a blur. And now . . . Now I’m not sure what I’ll do.” Megan ran her damp hands over the soft denim of her jeans. Talking about the darkest days of her life never got any easier, even ten years later.

“I’m sure the thought of her moving away has to be so upsetting for you.”

“It is, but I’m also feeling selfish for wishing she wouldn’t go while at the same time I’m happy for her to have this incredible opportunity. Crazy, right?”

“Not at all. She’s your anchor. It’s only natural you’d feel this way at the thought of her so far away. I’d die if Hannah moved away from me.”

She smiled at his attempt to make her feel better. Had she ever noticed what a nice guy he was? “I feel like a big baby weeping over the fact that my sister is moving overseas.”

“I think you’re being really hard on yourself. For one thing, the news shocked you because you hadn’t been expecting it. For another, you and Nina share a special bond that will be changed by this, even if it’s a good change. For her at least.”

“It’s a good change for me, too. It’s time for me to shake things up a bit. Maybe I’ll finally go to college or find a job with more potential or something. After the way I reacted to Will falling for Cameron, I’m sure you’d all like to see the last of me. With Nina leaving and my job going away, there’s no reason to stay.”

“That’s not true. There’s a very good reason to stay.”

CHAPTER 3

I like thinking big. If you’re going to be thinking anything, you might as well think big.

—Donald Trump, business magnate

The words had been said before he took a second to consider the implications of laying it all on the line. Sitting next to her on his sofa, her hand curled around his, Hunter wanted to keep her there forever. Listening to her talk, her nearness spinning him up in knots, he wanted her like he’d never wanted another woman.

He’d sensed the fragility beneath the tough veneer she showed the world, and now that he’d seen the fragility firsthand, he wanted to fix things for her, to make her smile again, to make her happy. Why he wanted that so badly he couldn’t begin to know. It just was, the way Hannah was his twin, Molly and Lincoln were his parents and Butler was his home.

She looked at him, her head tilted ever so slightly in inquiry. “Are you going to tell me this very good reason I should stay?”

“I, um . . .” Hunter Abbott didn’t stutter. He didn’t fumble over his words, or at least he never had before. Until Megan Kane’s crystal blue eyes seemed to see right through the smooth exterior he showed the rest of the world. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Why?”

Shaking his head, he laughed softly. “Damned if I know.”

His words hung in the air between them, almost like a gauntlet he’d thrown down, hoping she’d pick it up and run with it. Did she understand what he was saying? Perhaps not, which was why he tried to think of a better way to say it. “I like you, Megan. I have for a while now.”

“You like me . . . as in . . .”

“I like you. A lot.”

“Why?” she asked, wide-eyed. “I’m not even nice most of the time.”

Her blunt comment made him laugh again. “We all have our moments.”

“I have more than most. I’ve been awful to Cameron, for one thing. I’m trying to be a better person.”

“I heard you apologized to her.”

“I did.”

“That’s good of you.”

“I was wrong to treat her that way. It wasn’t her fault he fell for her.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

She glanced at him, and the hesitance he saw in her eyes made him want to hold her again and never let her go. “You like me even though I used to like him?”

“That never mattered to me, although I often wished you might someday consider his older, wiser and much more handsome brother.”

Her laughter surprised and delighted him. He’d never heard her laugh like that before, and he loved it. He loved that he’d made it happen and wanted to do it again.

“So you used to like him,” he said tentatively. “As in past tense?”

“Yes, past tense. He’s crazy about Cameron, and so is everyone else.” She shrugged it off, as if it hadn’t hurt her to watch Will fall for Cameron. “He said something to me recently . . . about how I was focusing on the wrong Abbott brother.”

Hunter was so shocked to hear this that he didn’t know what to say. Will had tried to help his cause with Megan? That was news to him.

“Was he talking about you?”

“Yeah, I think he was.”

“Is this why you asked me out a couple of months ago? You said it might help me to get over Will if I went out with someone else. I told you I didn’t think going out with Will’s brother would help me get over him.”

“I remember,” he said, grimacing. It hadn’t been funny at the time. Rather, it had felt like the final nail in his coffin where she was concerned. He’d left the diner that day feeling as if he had a better chance of winning a million bucks in the lottery than he did of ever getting Megan to notice him as anything other than her beloved’s brother.

“Did I hurt your feelings that day?”

“You crushed me.” After a pause, he smiled so she’d know he was teasing her. Sort of.

Her lips parted, her eyes widened and he wanted to kiss her so badly he burned with it. “I’m sorry.”

“I was teasing. I wasn’t totally crushed. Just kinda.”

“I didn’t know. I’ve been so oblivious, and I feel terrible.”

“That’s not why I told you. I don’t want you to feel terrible. I wanted you to know. That’s all.”

“That’s all? Like that’s the end of it?”

“I’m hoping it’s just the beginning of it.”

*   *   *

Megan struggled to absorb the shock of hearing Hunter admit he was interested in her. Romantically interested. Hunter Abbott of the Green Mountain Country Store Abbotts. The man who dressed like an advertising executive on Madison Avenue in New York rather than an accountant on Elm Street in Butler. He was smart, quiet, handsome, intense and currently looking at her in a way that made Megan’s skin feel unusually warm.

She had to put a stop to this. How had it even happened? One minute they were eating pizza and the next they were talking about him being interested in her. She’d never thought of him that way. For so long, the only man she’d wanted had been his brother Will, who had never thought of her as anything other than the waitress he talked to at the diner.

To hear that Will’s brother had harbored secret feelings for her while she harbored not-so-secret feelings for Will was . . . Well, she didn’t know exactly what word to use to describe how strange that was.

She stood up. “I need to go.”

“Because of what I said?”

“Because I can’t process this on top of everything else that’s already happened tonight. My brain feels like it’s spinning or something.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you that to upset you more than you already were. I just . . . I wanted you to know.”

“You didn’t upset me.”

“Let me drive you home.”

“That’s not necessary. I can walk. It’s not that far.”

“It’s dark and cold, Megan. Let me drive you. Please?”

“Fine. Okay. Thanks.”

He went to get his jacket and returned with his keys. Neither of them said anything as he followed her out to the driveway, where he again held the car door for her and waited for her to get settled.

Megan watched him walk around the front of the SUV and get into the driver’s side.

Hunter put on his seatbelt but made no move to start the car. After a long silence, he cleared his throat. “I know I already said it, but I really am sorry. Tonight was not the night to have this conversation.”

She turned in her seat so she could try to make out his face in the inky darkness. “I want you to know I’m flattered. I truly am. And I’d like to talk about it. Sometime. Just not tonight. If that’s okay.”

“It’s okay.”

“Are you mad?”

“No,” he said with a small laugh as he turned the key to start the engine. “I’m sort of oddly relieved that you know.”

“So you’ve . . . felt this way, about me . . . for a while, then?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“I don’t remember not feeling this way.”

“Hunter! I’ve known you for years!”

After another long pause, he said, “I thought we weren’t going to talk about this tonight.”

Megan had so many questions suddenly running around in her mind, but he was right. She’d put a stop to the conversation, so it wasn’t fair to restart it just because she had questions.

He drove to her house, which was located about a mile past his parents’ house on the way to Butler Mountain.

“I can get out here.”

Hunter pulled up to the curb. “I suppose it would be useless to offer to walk you to the door.”

“It would,” she said with a smile, “but thank you for asking and for the pizza and the ride. And everything.”

“No problem.”

“We’ll talk about it, Hunter. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that. You know where to find me.”

“Yes, I do.” She got out of the car and headed for the garage apartment at the end of the long driveway, aware of him watching her even though he couldn’t see her.

Hunter Abbott. Though his revelations had added to the emotional turmoil swirling inside her, Megan couldn’t stop thinking about the sincerity she’d felt coming from him. She’d been focused on Will for so long that the thought of another man being interested in her was something that would take some time to process.

As she showered and changed into cozy flannel pajamas, Megan thought about Hunter and everything she’d learned about him during the eventful evening they’d spent together.

She got into bed thinking more about his confession than she was about the impending changes in her life that had upset her in the first place. Snuggling into bed, she relived every minute she’d spent with him, from the second he found her crying in the dark outside the store until he dropped her off at home.

He’d been so thoughtful and caring, scooping her up and taking her home with him, feeding her and listening to her cry over her sister’s surprising news. And when he’d held her for that all-too-brief moment in the kitchen, the last thing on her mind had been her feelings for his brother.

She could still remember how good he’d smelled and how great his strong arms had felt around her. The tingle of desire she’d experienced in his arms had taken her completely by surprise, and once again, she really wished she hadn’t ruined the moment by gasping. What might’ve happened if she had handled it better?

Now she would never know, but she fell asleep hoping she might get another chance to find out.

*   *   *

Hunter returned home to a ringing phone and ran to answer it.

“Hey there,” a female voice said.

Hunter had no idea who it was until she started speaking again.

“I wanted to let you know that Tom has the kids this weekend if you want to get together.”

Oh God, Lauren . . .

“Hunter? Are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry, just getting home and ran for the phone.”

“It’s been a while. I thought it might be fun.”

It was always fun with Lauren, but that was all it had ever been or ever would be. After holding Megan in his arms, however briefly, he had no desire to spend time with any other woman. “I wish I could, but this weekend is crazy.” In truth he didn’t have any plans, but he hoped that would change between now and then.

“Do you?”

“What?” he asked, not following where she was going with the question.

“Wish you could?”

“Lauren . . .”

“Do you have someone else, Hunter?”

He ran his fingers through his hair repeatedly, wishing he could think of a way to get out of this conversation without hurting her feelings. She’d been a good friend to him for a couple of years. “I, um . . . I might. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? What does that mean?”

“It means,” Hunter said with a sigh, “I can’t see you anymore.”

“You aren’t sure if you have someone else, but you can’t see me anymore. You realize how crazy that sounds, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” The question was tinged with sadness that made him feel bad.

He thought of Megan’s gorgeous face, her teary blue eyes and the way she’d felt in his arms. “I’m sure.” He was sure of nothing more than he wanted a chance with her, and that could never happen as long as he was still seeing Lauren on occasion.

“I’m really sorry to hear that. I thought we had a fun thing going.”

“It was fun.”

“So that’s it? We’re done?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He eyed the leftover pizza still sitting on his counter, his stomach turning at the sight of it. Then he realized she was crying, and he felt like total shit. “Lauren, come on. We were never about anything more than a good time. I thought you knew that.”

“I did know that, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings for you.”

“I wish I knew what to say, but I don’t.”

“Were you going to tell me that we were done?”

“I guess I’m a little confused here. I wasn’t aware that we were in any kind of relationship, per se. We dated here and there, but that was the extent of it.”

“That’s not all we did.”

“We had fun. Didn’t we?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts. That’s all it was. Fun. Please don’t make it into something more serious than that because we both know it wasn’t.”

“I’m going to go now.”

“Lauren—”

“Bye, Hunter.” When the line went dead he pressed the Off button and returned the cordless phone to the cradle. With his hands flat against the granite countertop, he tried to figure out how this night had gotten so far out of control in the course of two hours.

“At least I’m not stuck in my usual rut,” he said with a laugh that turned to a grimace when he recalled the hurt in Lauren’s voice. His conscience was clear where she was concerned. They’d had an uncommitted, once-in-a-while arrangement that usually revolved around the one weekend a month when her young kids were with their father.

He liked Lauren and had enjoyed the time they’d spent together, but he didn’t think of her between visits. He didn’t count the days or the weeks until he could see her again. Hell, he hardly even talked to her except for on the weeks they saw each other. He had nothing at all to feel guilty about, and she knew it. He’d intentionally kept his friendship with Lauren uncommitted and casual because he had feelings for someone else. So why did he feel like the world’s biggest asshole after the conversation with her?

He wished he could call Hannah and air it out with her, but it was too late to call her. She’d know just what to say to make him feel better and to help him figure out what his next move with Megan ought to be. He stashed the leftover pizza in the fridge and wiped down the countertop before trudging upstairs, unbuttoning his shirt as he went.

Hunter stripped down to boxers, brushed his teeth and got into bed, his mind still whirling from the eventful evening. His thoughts kept coming back to that all-too-brief moment when he’d held Megan close to him and felt the click of two halves coming together in a perfect fit. He could still recall the scent of jasmine that had surrounded her, making him want to get even closer to her.

God, he had it bad for her, and the thought of her leaving town made him crazy. Mindful of her huge crush on Will, he hadn’t acted on his feelings for her, but he’d always known she was right across the street, working every day at the diner, close by even if she had no idea how he felt about her.

He thought about the possibility of buying the diner from Nina and Brett. If only they hadn’t just agreed to acquire additional acreage to expand the family’s sugaring facility to accommodate expected demands from the new website. Between that and the cost of the website, the family business couldn’t afford to take on something else. Not right now anyway. He needed time to pull the financing together, but time was the one thing he didn’t have where Megan was concerned.

Hunter had money of his own put away, but it probably wasn’t enough to buy the diner, and besides, how would that keep Megan in town? Hadn’t she said it was time to shake things up? To maybe go to college? To get a “real” job?

He couldn’t stand the panic that seized him at the thought of her slipping away before he ever had a chance to really know her. Lying awake for hours that night, he ran the numbers in his head but couldn’t seem to arrive at a place where he could afford to solve all her problems by keeping the diner “in the family.”

What if he found a way and she wasn’t interested in continuing to work there with her sister out of the picture? And what in the hell did he know about managing a restaurant anyway? Not much, but he could learn. He could figure it out if it meant keeping her around.

He was already working sixteen hours a day to keep up with the demands of the family’s vast business interests. What were a couple more hours if it meant the woman he cared for might stay in Butler rather than going God knows where to find this so-called real life she’d been missing out on?

By the time the sun began to streak between the slats in the blinds, Hunter was no closer to a solution, but he was more determined than ever to do something, anything to keep her from leaving town.

CHAPTER 4

The cynic says, “One man can’t do anything.” I say, “Only one man can do anything.”

—John W. Gardner, former secretary of health, education and welfare

Hunter waited until he was fairly certain Nolan would’ve left for the garage before he headed to Hannah’s in the morning. He’d given up on sleep at about five A.M. and had a full pot of coffee in him by the time he pulled up to the stately Victorian where Hannah lived with her new husband.

Today he needed his sister and closest friend to tell him what the hell to do.

Hunter groaned when he saw Nolan’s truck still parked in the driveway. He should’ve been long gone by now. Since it was a workday and Nolan would be heading out soon, it was probably safe to knock on the door. At least he hoped so . . .

He missed Hannah. She hadn’t gone anywhere, but he’d tried to give her some space since she and Nolan had gotten together, which had left him on the outside looking in. The situation was reminiscent of when she and Caleb had first been together in high school and then in college at the University of Vermont when he’d had the miserable misfortune of being their unwanted third roommate. And hadn’t those been good times? Thankfully Will had joined them the next year to save him from having to be alone with the lovebirds.

As Hunter used the big brass knocker on the door and heard it echo inside the house, he yearned for the “old days” when he could walk right into his sister’s house without having to worry about seeing something that couldn’t be unseen. Although, he was thrilled to see his sister happy again after suffering through the agonizing loss of Caleb, a man they’d all loved and respected. She’d chosen a great guy in Nolan, another close friend of Hunter’s, and he couldn’t be happier for both of them.

That didn’t mean, however, that he didn’t miss the ability to talk to his sister any time he wanted or needed to.

The door swung open, and Nolan greeted him in the uniform shirt he wore to work along with a pair of black jeans and work boots. His brother-in-law looked frazzled.

“Everything okay?” Hunter asked.

“Hannah’s not feeling great today.”

“Oh.” Hunter was about to ask him to tell Hannah he’d call her later.

“Come in.” Nolan walked away as he said the words, so Hunter followed him inside, closing the door behind him.

Nolan led him into the kitchen, where Hannah was seated at the table, wearing a robe and sipping a cup of tea. She was pale and had dark circles under her eyes that had Hunter immediately concerned for her health and that of her unborn child.

“Hey.” She forced a weak smile for her brother. “What brings you out so early?”

Nolan stood next to Hunter, hands on his hips, the picture of agitation as he studied his wife.

“I was hoping to talk to you, but we can do it another time if you’re not feeling well.”

“I’m fine,” she said with a pointed look for her husband. “Go to work.”

“Stop trying to get rid of me.”

“I’m not trying to get rid of you, but you’ve got a busy day at the garage, and I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You can’t stop puking.”

“Am I puking right now?”

“Hannah . . .”

“Nolan. Go to work.”

“Fine. Call me if it gets worse.”

“I will.”

“Will you really?”

“Nolan!”

He leaned in to kiss her, lingering long enough for Hunter to find a picture on the wall that needed his full attention. “I’ll be home to check on you at lunchtime.”

“It’s practically lunchtime now.”

“I’ll be back.”

“Thanks for the warning. I’ll make sure my boyfriend is gone by then.”

“You’re hilarious when you’re not puking.”

“And you’re leaving so I can talk about what a pain you are to my brother.”

“He was my best man. He wouldn’t dare let you get away with that, would you, Hunter?”

“Um, well, she was my twin long before I was your best man.”

The comment earned Hunter a bright, beaming smile from his sister.

“Should’ve known,” Nolan muttered before he kissed Hannah again and headed for the mudroom.

They heard the garage door go up and come down and his truck start in the driveway.

“Go make sure he’s really gone,” Hannah said. “Yesterday he faked me out, came back in five minutes later and caught me puking again.” She waved her hand. “Go check.”

“Yes, ma’am. Is there anything else I can do for you, ma’am?”

“Just that.”

Hunter did as she asked and went to look out the window of the sitting room, which overlooked the empty driveway. Returning to the kitchen, he said, “He’s gone.”

“Finally! He’s driving me crazy.”

“He’s worried about you. So am I. You look like hell.”

“Aww, shucks. Thanks! I’m pregnant, not dying. Vomit happens, especially in the first trimester.” When she’d postponed the planned Labor Day opening of the new inn for war widows, named in Caleb’s honor, she’d told her family it was because she was feeling so crappy. They’d also put off their planned move to Nolan’s house, which would free up the Victorian to serve as the new inn.

“Seems to be happening a lot. What does the doctor say?”

“She said the same thing I did—it happens. She’s keeping an eye on me with weekly appointments to make sure I don’t get dehydrated.” This was said as if it were no big deal to be so sick.

“You’re all . . .” He waved his hand as he searched for the word he needed. “Zen or something. What the hell is wrong with you that you don’t care that you’re puking the day away?”

Laughing, she said, “I don’t care about the puking. As long as the baby is fine—and he or she is doing great—that’s all I care about. At the end of all of this, I get a baby. I really want this baby, and I’m willing to do whatever I have to.”

Despite her pallor, despite the dark circles, she positively glowed with joy. “I’m happy for you, Hannah banana. It’s nice to see you excited again and looking forward to something.”

“I’m so excited it’s not even funny.” She rested her hand over her still-flat abdomen. “How will I survive for seven more months until I can meet this little person?”

“You never were known for your patience. I still remember being your lookout while you opened all your Christmas presents and rewrapped them. I used to be terrified we were going to get caught, but you always said the risk was worth it.”

“I still say that.”

The risk is worth it. Was it, he wondered?

“What’s on your mind, Hunter?”

“Last night was kind of crazy.”

She got up, poured him a cup of coffee, grimacing at the smell, and brought it to him before rejoining him at the table.

“Thanks. Why do you brew this stuff if you can’t stand the smell of it?”

“My husband needs it to function, and I need him to function so I don’t have to.”

“Gotcha.”

“Crazy how?” she asked, getting back to his initial statement.

“I worked late, and when I came out, Megan was there and she was crying.”

“Wait. Megan was where? At the store?”

“Sitting on the back steps.”

“In the dark? By herself?”

“Yeah. Nina and Brett are selling the diner and moving overseas so he can take a job teaching at a school in France. They’d just told Megan.”

“Oh damn. Wow. She took it hard, huh?”

Nodding, he said, “I talked her into letting me give her a ride and feed her dinner, which we did at my house.”

“You had her at your house?”

“Just long enough to eat some pizza and talk a little.” And to hug her, he thought, but didn’t say. That seemed too personal to share with anyone, even Hannah.

“Still. You had her at your house. That’s a big development.”

“She talked about moving away, finding a ‘real’ job and maybe going to college. She never got to do that because her parents died and everything got derailed.”

“I remember that. Such a sad time for them.”


And I Love Her (A Green Mountain Romance Book 4), by Marie Force

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Most helpful customer reviews

9 of 10 people found the following review helpful. The couple just didn't add up... By Tyme4abook I first started shaking my head when Hunter, the eldest Abbott who is CFO of the family business, falls head over heels for Megan, the waitress in the town diner. Hunter is described as urbane, sophisticated, smart and debonair. Megan, who lives in the garage of her sister's home, has been carrying a torch for Hunter's younger brother for the better part of ten years while grieving over the loss of her parents. Really?!? Hunter's devotion/obsession with Megan borders on stalker-ish and the way he carries on about "being afraid to ask her out" and seeking his sister's counsel on "where to go on a first date" sounds more middle school than middle 30s to me.That said, the story is sweet, as are all the secondary characters (several from previous books) and Marie Force can write a sex scene like nobody's business. I'll revisit the Green Mountains again, hopefully with a couple that makes a bit more sense...

8 of 9 people found the following review helpful. Heroine Needed Psychiatric Care By Ruby Reads A smart educated CFO of a large family and their many businesses has had a full-on crush on a heroine with severe emotional problems for a long time. For 10 years the heroine, an uneducated waitress,hasn't had a date because she has used her crush on the hero's brother as a reason not to get close to anyone. She has a deep seated fear of feeling anything because she thinks she'll lose them like she did her parents, then her only sister decides to move to France with her husband. When they tell her they are selling the restaurant and moving she goes across the street and sits on the steps behind the hero's business and cries. This pretty much sets the stage for her behavior for the rest of the book. The hero, at age 35, seems almost like a boy going on his first date when he asks his sister for dating advice. The heroine is cured of her "no dating" rule after one 10 minute conversation with her sister.I have to say much of the book was about casual sex and a hero who bent over backward for a very weak heroine. I found it impossible to understand what he found in the heroine to like except maybe sex. Honestly, this is not a book I would recommend.

8 of 9 people found the following review helpful. I am not Team Megan By Amazon Customer I usually love Marie Force books and I love the Abbott family, but this one did not do it for me. At the end of the third book when it looked like Hunter and Megan would get together I kept hoping maybe there would be a surprise and Hunter would see her for the whiney, selfish, emotional wreck that she was and move on to someone he deserved. But unfortunately not. Their relationship moved into overdrive on the first date, which didn't ring true to me. And then he gets hurt and she "can't" go to the hospital because her parents died ten years ago. And he "understands". Gak. I'm hoping the next one is better or I might have to give up on the Abbotts.

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And I Love Her (A Green Mountain Romance Book 4), by Marie Force

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Hope Bats Last (An American-Irish-Philosophical-Romance-Murder Mystery Book 6), by Gene Powers

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Twice widowed, recently retired, and now an official senior citizen after turning 65, Rory Conner wants to take one last motorcycle journey across the USA. The former detective and child protection social worker wants to ride Big Red - his old Harley Davidson Road King - from Georgia to California. His plan is to take only the blue highways, the back roads, and leave all of the other decisions to chance, fate, and Divine Providence. His son and daughter aren’t happy about his trip. He’s been forgetting things lately, won’t use a GPS system, nor will he plan his route. His son worries about his dad getting lost. Rory replies. “It’s California son, a big state. Even I can’t miss it.” What could possibly go wrong? Rory's sojourn takes him across the Mississippi River a few more times than necessary and he encounters murder, mayhem, mechanical problems, and romance along the way. He finds himself calling on his detective and child protection skills one last time to try and save a child’s life. Will he make it to California? Is this his last ride? And what does it mean that “Hope Bats last"?

Hope Bats Last (An American-Irish-Philosophical-Romance-Murder Mystery Book 6), by Gene Powers

  • Amazon Sales Rank: #879623 in eBooks
  • Published on: 2015-03-12
  • Released on: 2015-03-12
  • Format: Kindle eBook
Hope Bats Last (An American-Irish-Philosophical-Romance-Murder Mystery Book 6), by Gene Powers


Hope Bats Last (An American-Irish-Philosophical-Romance-Murder Mystery Book 6), by Gene Powers

Where to Download Hope Bats Last (An American-Irish-Philosophical-Romance-Murder Mystery Book 6), by Gene Powers

Most helpful customer reviews

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. Declining memory, but no loss of integrity By 30809 "Hope Bats Last" is the sixth installment of the Rory Connor series. Rory Connor, a retired detective and child protective services worker, takes the reader with him on a cross-country motorcycle adventure. As he encounters the early stages of dementia, he recognizes it is time to make the most of "being in the moment" and to be grateful for the exciting life he has lead. As in the earlier books, Rory experiences challenges, adventure, and even some romance as he maneuvers across the plains on a journey to visit his daughter in California. The story fully engages the reader as Rory does his best to hold true to his values in face of his declining memory. As the story unfolds, it becomes clear that 65 years of living a life full of challenges has made Rory the kind of person we all strive to become: a person of integrity, authenticity, and commitment. I was surprised by the ending and had to take pause to ponder its implications. I suppose that will be the case for most readers. They will not be disappointed with the book. In fact, readers might share my opinion that the story would make a great screenplay. I hope we see that happen in the coming months.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. Another fantastic novel from Gene Powers! By Corinna Underwood Having read the previous Rory Connor novels, I was excited to see this one finally released. I was not disappointed. Powers paints a vivid portrait of a man who is familiar with the many faces of death and is coming to terms with living with Alzheimer’s. Determined not to succumb to his failing memory Connor takes a cross-country road trip on his faithful Harley. When reading the story I felt as though I was riding along with him as he encountered each quirky character along the way. This is a poignant page turner with a very unexpected finale.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. Read for Riders By M. Hopkins Many of the roads in this book I rode when I was young. Well, I am not as young as I was, and I don't ride any more. With Mr. Powers' help I was able to go back for a while.If you ride, you should read it.

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Hope Bats Last (An American-Irish-Philosophical-Romance-Murder Mystery Book 6), by Gene Powers

Hope Bats Last (An American-Irish-Philosophical-Romance-Murder Mystery Book 6), by Gene Powers

Hope Bats Last (An American-Irish-Philosophical-Romance-Murder Mystery Book 6), by Gene Powers
Hope Bats Last (An American-Irish-Philosophical-Romance-Murder Mystery Book 6), by Gene Powers

Secrets of the Lighthouse: A Novel, by Santa Montefiore

Secrets of the Lighthouse: A Novel, by Santa Montefiore

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Secrets of the Lighthouse: A Novel, by Santa Montefiore

Secrets of the Lighthouse: A Novel, by Santa Montefiore



Secrets of the Lighthouse: A Novel, by Santa Montefiore

Free Ebook Secrets of the Lighthouse: A Novel, by Santa Montefiore

Set in Ireland on the wild coast of Connemara, this hauntingly romantic novel tells the story of a young woman who goes in search of her family’s past and ends up discovering her future.Ellen Trawton is running away from it all. She hates her job, she doesn’t love the aristocratic man to whom she is engaged, and her relationship with her controlling mother is becoming increasingly strained. So Ellen leaves London, fleeing to the one place she knows her mother won’t find her, her aunt’s cottage in Connemara. Cutting all her ties with chic London society, Ellen gives in to Ireland’s charm and warmth, thinking her future may lie where so much of her past has been hidden. Her imagination is soon captured by the compelling ruins of a lighthouse where, five years earlier, a young mother died in a fire. The ghost of the young wife, Caitlin, haunts the nearby castle, mourning the future she can never have there. Unable to move on, she watches her husband and children, hoping they might see her and feel her love once more. But she doesn’t anticipate her husband falling in love again. Can she prevent it? Or can she let go and find a way to freedom and happiness? The ruggedly beautiful Connemara coastline with its tightknit community of unforgettable characters provides the backdrop for this poignant story of two women seeking the peace and love they desperately need. For each, the key will be found in the secrets of the past, illuminated by the lighthouse.

Secrets of the Lighthouse: A Novel, by Santa Montefiore

  • Amazon Sales Rank: #391157 in Books
  • Brand: Montefiore, Santa
  • Published on: 2015-03-24
  • Released on: 2015-03-24
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 8.37" h x 1.10" w x 5.50" l, .0 pounds
  • Binding: Paperback
  • 480 pages
Secrets of the Lighthouse: A Novel, by Santa Montefiore

Review "With a brooding hero, dark secrets and a jealous, ghostly narrator, this modern gothic is a blood-tingling good read." (People)"A love story with so many layers that perhaps it's best to call it a story about love." (Kirkus Reviews)"A story of history, fate, and second chances...captivating, enchanting." (Booklist)"A lyrical novel rich with ghostly beings, love, and loss set along the idyllic Connemara coastline of Ireland." (Publishers Weekly)

About the Author Born in England in 1970, Santa Montefiore grew up in Hampshire. She is married to historian Simon Sebag Montefiore. They live with their two children, Lily and Sasha, in London. Visit her at SantaMontefiore.co.uk.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Secrets of the Lighthouse

Prologue

It is autumn and yet it feels more like summer. The sun is bright and warm, the sky a translucent, flawless blue. Ringed plovers and little terns cavort on the sand, and bees search for nectar in the purple bell heather, for the frosts are yet to come and the rays are still hot on their backs. Hares seek cover in the long grasses, and butterflies, hatched in the unseasonal weather, flutter about the gorse in search of food. Only the shadows are longer now, and the nights close in early, damp and cold and dark. I stand on the cliff and gaze out across the ocean to the end of the earth, where the water dissolves into the sky and eternity is veiled in a mysterious blue mist. The breeze is as soft as a whisper and there is something timeless about the way it blows, as if it is the very breath of God calling me home. I can see the sweeping Connemara coastline to my left and right. The deserted beaches, the soft velvet fields dotted with sheep, the rugged rocks where the land crumbles into the sea. I look ahead to Carnbrey Island, the small mound of earth and rock that sits about half a mile out, like an abandoned pirate ship from long ago. The old lighthouse is charred from the fire that gutted it, leaving a forlorn white shell where once it stood proud and strong, guiding sailors safely back to land. Only seagulls venture there these days to pick at the remains of unfortunate crabs and shrimps trapped in rock pools, and to perch on the fragile skeleton of burnt timber that creaks and moans eerily in the wind. To me, it’s romantic in its desolation, and I remain transfixed, remembering wistfully the first time I rowed out to explore soon after we were married. It was a ruin even then, but just as I had hoped, the lighthouse possessed a surprising warmth, like a children’s playhouse that still resonates with the laughter of their games long after the children have packed up and gone. I remained captive in fantasy, oblivious as the wind picked up about me and the sea grew rough and perilous. When the skies darkened and I decided to row back to shore, I found myself stranded like a shipwrecked sailor. But shipwrecked sailors don’t have heroic husbands to rescue them in gleaming speedboats, as I had. I remember Conor’s furious face and the fear in his eyes. I still feel the frisson of excitement his concern gave me, even now. “I told you never to row out here on your own,” he growled, but his voice had a break in it that pulled at my heart. I pressed my lips to his and tasted the sweet flavor of his love. The lighthouse never lost its allure, and, to my cost, I never lost my fascination for that lonely and romantic place. It resonated with the lonely and romantic person that I was. Now it beckons me across the waves with a light that only I can see, and I’m almost sure that I can make out the figure of a child in white, running up the grass with outstretched arms; but then I’ve always had a fanciful imagination. It could just be a large seagull, swooping low. I turn suddenly, my attention diverted by the people now arriving at the gray stone chapel behind me. It is a short walk up the hill from the car park, and I watch with curiosity the mourners dressed in black, making their way up the path like a solemn line of moorhens. Our home is situated outside the village of Ballymaldoon, which boasts a much bigger church. But there is something special about this weather-worn little chapel, surrounded by ancient gravestones and shrouded in myth, which has always enthralled me. Legend says that it was built in the fourteenth century by a young sailor for his deceased wife, so that she could keep watch over him while he went to sea, but the headstones have all been eroded by the elements so that it’s impossible to read what was once carved into them. I like to think that the gravestone at the far end, closest to the sea, is the one that marks the remains of the sailor’s wife. Of course she’s not in there and never was: just her bones, discarded along with the clothes she no longer needed. But it’s a sweet story, and I’ve often wondered what happened to the disconsolate sailor. He must have loved her very dearly to build an entire church in her memory. Will Conor build a church for me? The chapel fills with people but I keep my distance. I see my mother, pinched and weary like a scrawny black hen, beneath a wide black hat embellished with ostrich feathers—much too ostentatious for this small funeral, but she has always tried to look grander than she is—and my father who walks beside her, tall and dignified in an appropriate black suit. He is only sixty-five, but regret has turned his hair white and caused him to stoop slightly, making him look older. They have traveled up from Galway. The last time they made this journey was the year Conor and I married, but that time they were pleased to be getting rid of me. None of my six sisters have come. But I am not surprised: I was always the black sheep, and it is too late now to make amends. My parents disappear into the chapel to take their places among the congregation of locals, and I wonder whether they feel shame in the glare of the people’s love: for I am loved here. Even the one man I was sure would not attend is sitting quietly in his pew, hiding his secret behind a mask of stone. Tentatively, I step closer. The music draws me right up to the door, as if it has arms that reach out and embrace me. It is an old Irish ballad I know well, for it is Conor’s favorite: “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.” And I smile sadly at the memory of those helicopter journeys from Dublin to Connemara when we’d all sing it loudly together over the rumble of the propellers, our two small children with their big earphones on their heads, trying to join in but unable to get their tongues around the words. Just then, as I seek refuge in the past, I am wrenched back into the present where the tall, shaggy-haired figure of my husband is making his way up the path. Three-year-old Finbar and five-year-old Ida hold his hands tightly, their small feet stumbling occasionally as they struggle to keep up with his long strides. His dark eyes are fixed on the chapel, his long, handsome face set into a grimace as if he is already fighting the accusations muttered against him behind hands and pews. The children look bewildered. They don’t understand. How could they? Then Finbar notices a black-backed gull on the path ahead and suddenly drops his father’s hand to chase it. The little boy flaps his arms and makes a whooshing noise to scare it away, but the bird just hops casually over the grass, careful to maintain a safe distance. Ida says something to her father, but Conor doesn’t hear. He just keeps his eyes focused on the chapel in front. For a moment I think he sees me. He is looking directly at me. My heart gives a little leap. With every fiber of my being I want to run to him. I want him to enfold me in his arms like he always used to. I long for his touch as life longs for love. But his expression doesn’t change, and I retreat back into the shadows. He sees only bricks and stone and his own desolation. The desire to gather my children against my breast propels me into hell, and I realize then what hell is. Not a land of fire and torture in the center of the planet but a land of fire and torture in the center of one’s soul. My longing is constant and unbearable. I am unable to kiss their sweet brows and brush my lips against their skin and whisper my love into their ears. I am certain their little hearts would be lifted to know that I am close. And yet, I cannot. I am imprisoned here and can only watch helplessly as they walk on past me into the chapel, followed by the coffin and its six solemn bearers. The coffin, which contains within its oak walls the greatest lie. I remain outside a while longer. Singing resounds from inside the chapel. The scent of lilies is carried on the breeze. I can hear the shrill voice of Conor’s eccentric mother, Daphne, who sings louder than everyone else, but I don’t feel a mocking sense of amusement as I usually would: only a rising fury, boiling up from the bottom of my belly because she is there to pick up the pieces and nurse her son’s broken heart, not I. I think of Finbar and Ida and the coffin that rests in front of them, and wonder what they are feeling as they face death for the first time in their young lives. I have to find a way to tell them. There must be something I can do to tell them the truth. I gather my courage like a warrior gathering arms. I never dreamed this would be so hard. I thought, at this point, everything would be so much easier. But I have brought it upon myself, so I will bear the pain bravely. It is my choice to be here, after all. But now I am afraid. I step silently into the chapel. The singing has stopped. Father Michael takes to the pulpit and speaks in a doleful monotone, and I believe that he is truly sad and not just pretending. The congregation is still and attentive. I am distracted a moment by the enormous displays of tall-stemmed lilies on either side of the altar, like beautiful white trumpets lifting their muted lips to heaven. They vibrate with a higher energy that draws me to them, and I have to muster all my will to resist their pull. I am like a thread of smoke being drawn to an open window. I focus on my intent and tread noiselessly over the stone floor towards the coffin. It is bathed in a pool of sunlight that streams in through the dusty windows, like spotlights on a stage. I was never the famous actress I once yearned to be. But my moment of glory has come at last. Everyone’s eyes are upon me. I am where I have longed to be all my life. I should revel in their devotion but I feel nothing but frustration and despair—and regret, it is true: I feel a terrible regret. For it is too late. I turn and face the congregation. Then I scream as loudly as I can. My voice reverberates around the chapel, bouncing off the ancient walls and ceiling, but only the birds outside hear my cry and take to the skies in panic. Conor’s eyes rest steadily on the coffin, his face contorted with pain. Finbar and Ida sit between their father and Conor’s mother, as still as waxworks, and I turn to the coffin wherein lies my death. My death, you understand, but not my life—for I am my life and I am eternal. And yet no one knows the truth: that I stand before them as an actress who’s taken her final bow and stepped off the stage. The cliché is true. My costume and mask lie in that coffin, mistaken for me, and my husband and children mourn me as if I have gone. How could they think I’d ever leave them? For all the riches of heaven I would never leave them. My love keeps me here, for it is stronger than the strongest chain, and I realize now that love is everything—it is who we are; we just don’t know it. I approach my children and reach out my hand, but I’m made of a finer vibration, like light, and they feel nothing, not even the warmth of my love. I press my face against theirs, but they don’t even sense that I am close, for I have no breath with which to brush their skin. They feel only their loss, and I cannot comfort them or wipe away their tears. As for my tears, they are shed inwardly, for I am a spirit, a ghost, a phantom, whatever you want to call me. I have no physical body; therefore, I suffer my pain in my soul. In a rage I fling myself about the church, hoping for some reaction. I tear about like a maddened dog, but I am as a whisper and no one can hear me howl but the birds. The strangest thing about dying is that it’s not strange at all. One moment I was living, the next I was outside my body. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to be outside of myself, as if I had already done it a hundred times before but forgotten. I was just surprised that it had happened so soon when I still had so much left to do. It didn’t hurt nor did it frighten me. Not then, anyway. The pain was yet to come. What they say about the light and your loved ones who come down to escort you on is true. What they don’t tell you is that you have a choice; and I chose to stay. Father Michael clears his throat and sweeps his moist eyes over the grave faces of his congregation. “Caitlin is with God now and at peace,” he says, and I attempt and fail to wrench the Bible from his hand and fling it to the floor. “She leaves behind her husband, Conor, and their two young children, Finbar and Ida, whom she loved with a big and generous heart.” He looks directly at my children now and speaks with grand authority. “Although she is gone to Jesus, she leaves a little of herself with them. The love they will carry in their hearts throughout their lives.” But I am more than that, I want to shout. I’m not a memory; I’m more real than you are. My love is stronger than ever, and it is all I have left. The service finishes, and they file out to bury me in the churchyard. I’d like to be buried near the sailor’s wife, but instead I am laid to rest beside the stone wall a little farther down the hill. It’s farcical to watch the coffin lowered into the ground while I sit on the grass nearby, and it would be quite funny, were it not so desperately sad. Conor tosses a white lily into the trench, and my children throw down pictures they have drawn, then step back into their father’s shadow and cower against his legs, pale-faced and tearful. I am weary from trying to get their attention. A gull hops towards me, but I shoo him away, just for the pleasure of watching him react. Time does not exist where I am. In fact, I realize now that time does not exist where you are, either. There is only ever now. Of course, on earth there is psychological time, so you can plan tomorrow and remember yesterday, but that exists only as thought; the reality is always now. So days, weeks, years mean nothing to me. There is only an eternal present from where I watch the disintegration of everything I love. It is as if, with my death, the life has gone out of Ballymaldoon Castle, too. It is as if we have died together. I watch the men in big vans motor up the drive, beneath the burr oaks that crowd in over the road to create a tunnel of orange and red, their gossamer leaves falling off the branches and fluttering on the wind like moths. On either side a low, gray stone wall once hemmed in sheep, but there haven’t been sheep here since Conor bought the castle and surrounding land almost twenty years ago, so now the fields are wild. I like them that way. I watch the long grasses swaying in the breeze, and from a distance they look like waves on a strange green ocean. The lorries draw up in front of the castle where Cromwell’s armies stood four hundred years ago to seize it for an officer, as a reward for his loyalty. Now the army of burly men is here to take the valuable paintings and furniture into storage, because Conor is boarding up the windows and bolting the doors and moving into a smaller house near the river. He has always been a solitary man; creative men often are, but now I watch him retreat even further into himself. He cannot live here without me because I breathed the life into this place and now I am dead. I loved the castle from the very first moment I saw it, nestled here at the foot of the mountain like a smoky quartz. I imagined its imposing gray walls once scaled by princes come to rescue princesses imprisoned in the little tower rooms that rise above the turreted gables. I imagined how swans once glided across the lake and lovers lay on the banks in the evening sun to watch their courtship. I imagined the three billy goats gruff trotting across the ancient stone bridge, unaware of the wicked troll lurking in the shadows beneath. I imagined the ghosts of knights and ladies haunting those long corridors carpeted in scarlet and never guessed that I would be one of them, imprisoned by the longing in my heart. I never dreamed I would die young. I watch helplessly as most of the pieces I chose with such care are lifted and carried and piled high in the vans, supervised by our estate manager, Johnny Byrne, and his son Joe. It is as if they are dismembering me, piece by piece, and placing my limbs into coffins all over again; but this time I’m sure I can feel it. The George VI pollard-oak library table, the parcel-gilt mirror, the set of twenty George IV dining chairs I bought at auction from Christie’s. The marble busts, Chinese lamps, my maple writing desk. The ebony chests, the Victorian armchairs and sofas, the German jardinières, the Regency daybed, the Indian rugs: they take them all, leaving only the pieces of no worth. Then they lift down the paintings and prints, exposing pale squares on the denuded walls, and I cringe at how ungallant they are, as if these brawny men have robbed a lady of her clothes. I fear they are about to remove the greatest prize of all: the portrait of myself that Conor commissioned a little after we were married, by the famous Irish painter Darragh Kelly. It takes pride of place above the grand fireplace in the hall. I am wearing my favorite emerald-colored evening dress, to match my eyes, and my red hair falls in shiny waves over my shoulders. I was beautiful, that is true. But beauty counts for nothing when it lies rotting in a casket six feet beneath the ground. I rest my eyes upon it, staring into the face that once belonged to me, but which is now gone forever. I want to weep for the woman I was, but I cannot. And there is no point tearing about the place as I did in the chapel, for no one will hear me but the other ghosts who surely lurk about this shadowy limbo as I do. I’m certain of it, although I have not seen them yet. I would be glad of it, I think, because I am alone and lonely. Yet they do not take it down. It is the only painting left in the castle. I cannot help but feel a surge of pride when the doors are bolted at last and I am left in peace to contemplate the earthly beauty I once was. It gives me comfort, that painting, as if it is a costume I can slip on to feel myself once more. Conor and the children settle into Reedmace House, which is built down by the river, near the stone bridge where the goats and troll of my imagination dwell, and Conor’s mother, Daphne, moves in to look after them. I should be pleased the children have a kind and gentle grandmother, yet I cannot help but feel jealous and resentful. She embraces them and kisses them in my place. She bathes them and brushes their teeth as I used to do. She reads them bedtime stories. I used to mimic the voices and bring the stories to life. But she reads plainly, without my flair, and I see the children grow bored and know they wish that she were me. I know they wish that she were me because they cry silently in their beds and stare at my photograph that Conor has hung on the wall in their bedroom. They don’t know that I am beside them all the time. They don’t know that I will be with them always—for as long as their lives may be. And time passes. I don’t know how long. Seasons come and go. The children get taller. Conor spends time in Dublin, but there are no films to produce because he no longer has the will or the hunger. The empty castle grows cold as the rocks on the hills, and is battered by the winds and rain. I remain constant as the plants and trees, with no one to talk to but the birds. And then one night, in the middle of winter, Finbar sees me. He is asleep, dreaming fitfully. I am sitting on the end of his bed as I do every night, watching his breath cause his body to rise and fall in a gentle, rhythmic motion. But tonight he is restless. I know he is dreaming of me. “It’s all right, my love,” I say, as I have said so often, silently, from my other world. “I’m here. I’m always here. Right beside you.” The little boy sits up and stares at me in amazement. He stares right at me. Not through me but at me. I’m certain of it because his eyes take in my hair, my nose, my lips, my body. Wide with astonishment, they drink me in, and I am as astonished as he. “Mam?” he whispers. “Darling boy,” I reply. “Is it you?” “It’s me.” “But you’re not dead.” I smile the smile of someone with a beautiful secret. “No, Finbar. I’m not dead. There is no death. I promise you that.” And my heart lifts with the joy of seeing his face flush with happiness. “Will you never leave me?” “I’ll never leave you, Finbar. You know I won’t. I’ll always be here. Always.” The excitement begins to wake him, and slowly he loses me. “Mam . . . Mam . . . are you still here?” “I’m still here,” I say, but he no longer sees me. He rubs his eyes. “Mam!” His cry wakes Daphne, who comes hurrying to his side in her nightdress. Finbar is still staring at me, searching me out in the darkness. “Finbar!” I exclaim. “Finbar. I’m still here!” But it is no good. He has lost me. “It’s only a dream, Finbar,” Daphne soothes, laying him down gently. “It wasn’t a dream, Grandmam. It was real. Mam was on the end of my bed.” “You go back to sleep now, darling.” His voice rises, and his glistening eyes blink in bewilderment. “She was here. I know she was here.” Daphne sighs and strokes his forehead. “Perhaps she was. After all, she’s an angel now, isn’t she? I imagine she’s always close, keeping an eye on you.” But I know she doesn’t believe it. Her words satisfy Finbar, though. “I think so,” he mumbles, then closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep. Daphne watches him a while. I can feel her sadness; it is heavy like damp. Then she turns and leaves the room, and I am alone again. Only this time, hope has ignited in my heart. If he managed to see me once, he might see me again.


Secrets of the Lighthouse: A Novel, by Santa Montefiore

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Most helpful customer reviews

11 of 11 people found the following review helpful. Predictable but good By MountainReader I felt I was there in a small town in Ireland! The author does a lovely job of taking the reader to the setting. I was having an out of body experience! One of the reasons many of us read is to escape. This novel allowed me to escape and take an inexpensive trip to beautiful Ireland. The story was predictable. I knew what was going to happen nearly the entire book. But it did not stop me from enjoying it. I liked all the characters. The charcter of Caitlain was a nice addition, and usually one I would not welcome. Caitlain's viewpoint did add an extra interesting element to the story. I think the author probably could have done more with her, creating more drama and tension for the characters. The novel on my Kindle ended at 70% which gave me the false impression that something else would happen in the story (and I could not predict it!). So when I was reading what was the end of the book, I thought, how clever the author is making the reader feel the end is here, when it really is not! Unfortunately, this was not the case. The novel ended at 70% in a fairly predictable manner. Then there was endless ads for the author's other books, as well as a reading group guide. That was disappointing. All that said, I would still recommend the book. The setting and characters are enough to hold your interest. I will read another of the author's novels.

15 of 16 people found the following review helpful. Can't stop till you're done. By AMK What a wonderful love story. Ellen comes to Ireland to escape her mother and her wedding. Connor is raising his two children and getting on with his life after the death of his wife Caitlin. This story starts with Caitlin setting up the story telling of how it is to be a ghost. Ellen arrives and discovers there are a lot of secrets in this village her mother left and never came back. The interaction is wonderful. The suspense is perfect and the story is unpredictable and perfect. Enjoyable and compelling, you would stop till you're done.

9 of 9 people found the following review helpful. Easy, breezy novel! By Patricia A. Winiewicz Being a teacher I usually enjoy an easy read during the school year, I found it with this book. It was just a simple story about an Irish family with a secret, and a love story woven within. It had a predictable, happily ever after ending but fulfilled the need for a lighthearted easy read. I usually enjoy books which make me think and ponder but during a very busy time in my life it was a perfect story to help me through many sleepless nights.

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Secrets of the Lighthouse: A Novel, by Santa Montefiore

Secrets of the Lighthouse: A Novel, by Santa Montefiore

Secrets of the Lighthouse: A Novel, by Santa Montefiore
Secrets of the Lighthouse: A Novel, by Santa Montefiore

Minggu, 05 April 2015

Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone with BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency)

Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone with BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), by Jason Reynolds

When some people looking at you while reading Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone With BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), By Jason Reynolds, you might feel so proud. But, as opposed to other people feels you must instil in on your own that you are reading Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone With BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), By Jason Reynolds not because of that factors. Reading this Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone With BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), By Jason Reynolds will offer you greater than individuals admire. It will certainly guide to recognize more than the people looking at you. Even now, there are several sources to learning, reviewing a book Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone With BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), By Jason Reynolds still becomes the first choice as a great way.

Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone with BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), by Jason Reynolds

Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone with BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), by Jason Reynolds



Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone with BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), by Jason Reynolds

PDF Ebook Download Online: Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone with BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), by Jason Reynolds

The Ultimate Borderline Relationship Recovery Book

Today only, get this Amazon bestseller for just $2.99. Regularly priced at $4.99. Read on your PC, Mac, smart phone, tablet or Kindle device.

Emptiness, shame, guilt, low self-worth, hopelessness - you might be experiencing some of these emotions at this very moment. Maybe you are perplexed as to what just happened to you. You might be in one or more of the following situations:

  • Your ex stopped communicating with you completely, without any logical reason and you desperately want them back.
  • Your ex left you for someone else.
  • You have been through countless breakup/reconciliation cycles with your ex.
  • Your ex has been emotionally and/or physically abusing you and you are afraid to leave.
  • Your ex broke up with you over a seemingly trivial issue.
  • You left your ex but you desperately want them back and cannot cope with the pain of being alone.

Before you can begin to regain your sanity, you must understand the dynamics of your relationship, including who you were dating, why were you dating them, and why it was destined to fail from the very beginning.

Why does this breakup hurt more than any other breakup? We are going to answer this question and much more. The answer is quite complex and there are many facets to consider.

If you found this program, then most likely you have been rummaging the internet for information on borderline personality disorder in an attempt to make sense of things. Perhaps you had an aha moment like I did when I realized that I was dating a personality disordered individual. Maybe you have been in excruciating pain for months and finally figured out that you were dating someone emotionally unstable after searching for any answers you could find.

Here Is A Preview Of What You'll Learn...

  • Understanding Your Relationship
  • Who Your Ex Truly Was
  • Why You Were Involved With A Borderline
  • How To Cope With Depression
  • Tools For Healing Yourself
  • Anger Release Exercises
  • How To Cope With Uncomfortable Feelings
  • Much, much more!
Download your copy today!

Take action today and download this book for a limited time discount of only $2.99!

Tags: BPD, Depression, Relationship Recovery, Codependency

Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone with BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), by Jason Reynolds

  • Amazon Sales Rank: #286010 in eBooks
  • Published on: 2015-10-10
  • Released on: 2015-10-10
  • Format: Kindle eBook
Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone with BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), by Jason Reynolds


Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone with BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), by Jason Reynolds

Where to Download Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone with BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), by Jason Reynolds

Most helpful customer reviews

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful. great book for post breakup By Amit Hoque Since going through repeat breakups with a borderline, I have felt lost and unable to cope with the pain that I am feeling. I have looked for advice from many forums and this has been the first true resource that has helped me improve my situation.Jason gives you specific tools and a detailed plan to overcome the pain of dating an emotionally unstable person. Please, if you have gone through a breakup with a BPD, get this book immediately. You won't regret it.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. I think this is a great "workbook" for you to help begin to pull yourself ... By niqualiz This "book" is for a specific audience; not just anyone who's dated/been in a relationship with BPD. It is more for those who are just figuring out that they are involved with a BDP and/or are struggling to keep contact cut off. If you fit that audience, I think this is a great "workbook" for you to help begin to pull yourself out of the haze. One thing I like is that it doesn't spend time on the "why's" but instead focuses on what/how to do about it. Very concise and user-friendly...just a little too specific to fit my needs.

0 of 2 people found the following review helpful. Eh By Amazon Customer This is a very short book that didn't tell me anything that I didn't already know. Since I had started my healing process long before I found out that my ex is Borderline this book didn't really help me along. I was hoping it would ad more insight and more actions that could be taken to help in the healing process, but it did not add anything to my current knowledge. I could have written this book it's so simple. It may be beneficial for someone who has not started the healing process yet and needs guidance. That's all it's really good for. I could have done without this one.

See all 3 customer reviews... Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone with BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), by Jason Reynolds


Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone with BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), by Jason Reynolds PDF
Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone with BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), by Jason Reynolds iBooks
Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone with BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), by Jason Reynolds ePub
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Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone with BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), by Jason Reynolds

Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone with BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), by Jason Reynolds

Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone with BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), by Jason Reynolds
Borderline Personality Disorder: Recovering Your Life After Dating Someone with BPD (BPD, Relationship Recovery, Depression, Codependency), by Jason Reynolds

Jumat, 03 April 2015

Killer &Victim, by Chris Lambert

Killer &Victim, by Chris Lambert

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Killer &Victim, by Chris Lambert

Killer &Victim, by Chris Lambert



Killer &Victim, by Chris Lambert

Free Ebook PDF Online Killer &Victim, by Chris Lambert

Alexander, the first crowd-sourced city, has come to rival NYC as the premier metropolis in America. It's known as The Paradise City, the first step of a new era. But tonight: A haunting art performance. A killer's quest for redemption. And a photo shoot in a field set aflame. These plant in Alexander seeds of chaos that, when they blossom, will see paradise tearing itself apart.

Killer &Victim, by Chris Lambert

  • Amazon Sales Rank: #1422293 in Books
  • Published on: 2015-03-16
  • Original language: English
  • Dimensions: 8.00" h x .47" w x 5.00" l,
  • Binding: Paperback
  • 188 pages
Killer &Victim, by Chris Lambert

About the Author Chris co-founded and manages the movie analysis site Film Colossus (filmcolossus.com). He is the head fiction editor at Red Fez Publications (redfez.net). Canal Fulton, Ohio raised him, and now Austin, Texas keeps him warm. Fight Club is his favorite movie, followed by Groundhog Day.


Killer &Victim, by Chris Lambert

Where to Download Killer &Victim, by Chris Lambert

Most helpful customer reviews

3 of 3 people found the following review helpful. A Whirlwind of Perspectives and Mysteries - Couldn't put it down. By Bears Fonte I don't read many novels because they rarely can hold my attention, but Killer & Victim is a completely different undertaking. Set in a fascinating utopian/dystopian? city that we only catch glimpses of through these pages, the story deftly leaps from character to character all tied together strangely through the perspective of a madman, and the chaos he leaves in his wake. The novel is a mystery with no easy answer, a series of twists that take us down and around corridors leading back to the lobby of our own wonder. Each section plays like a self-contained interlude, interrupting a much larger narrative that, unfortunately, we still can't grab a hold of by the end of the book. But at this length, that's not frustrating, its just an introduction to a new world, and a new voice. I desperately hope there is another installment, and not before too long.

2 of 2 people found the following review helpful. Intriguing New Author By A. Gitchell You know the expression “so many books, so little time”? It only becomes more meaningful as the years pass. I think I now qualify as a senior citizen, or senior reader, and I have given myself permission to read CASUALLY. Very casually! I used to finish any book I started… No more! And if I want to skip around, read from the back to the front, whatever, I do so.And that’s how I read and enjoyed Chris Lambert’s "Killer and Victim". It’s not very linear. It’s best read slowly. Some parts of it are devoid of paragraphs and light on punctuation, features that would bother me if I were in a hurry.What Lambert has mastered is mood and atmosphere. The first chapter of the book was weird, creepy and totally intriguing. Lambert managed to trigger several of my phobias, like confined spaces and being separated from my cell phone. (Please don’t laugh.) I stopped to wonder just how scary the novel might be. I’m glad I kept going! After Chapter 2, I started skipping around and enjoying the adventure."Killer and Victim" is a wonderful and exciting first novel, and I look forward to further literary adventures with Chris Lambert.

2 of 2 people found the following review helpful. Exciting and dangerous By Benoit Lelievre Here's a novel that has a pretty quirky way of being unique and interesting. I'm not sure I've understood everything there is to it (especially the second part), but it did make me feel like I was doing something exciting and dangerous. There are definite influences of James Joyce, Don DeLillo and David Foster Wallace to Chris Lambert's writing, although it has its own angle, its own identity if you will. It's noticeably darker and influenced by television and genre literature, too. Lambert is definitely not a copycat.While I appreciated the telescoping realities and the intimate portrays interweaved, I couldn't shake the sense that it was all foreshadowing something else and I'm not sure what that something else is. I'd love to discuss it with other readers if you guys are inclined. KILLER & VICTIM has a fantastic scope and such an original and daring setting that I've deliberately slowed down my reading in order to get the most I possibly could out of it. That's when I know a novel got to me. KILLER & VICTIM was not exactly an emotional journey, but it managed drag me into its intricate and groundbreaking structure without making me feel stupid. Only great novels can do that.

See all 5 customer reviews... Killer &Victim, by Chris Lambert


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Killer &Victim, by Chris Lambert iBooks
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Killer &Victim, by Chris Lambert

Killer &Victim, by Chris Lambert

Killer &Victim, by Chris Lambert
Killer &Victim, by Chris Lambert