Blurb:
Lacy Dahl never questioned her
past until the deaths of her adoptive parents and her husband. A husband
who wasn't what he seemed. Her research uncovers secrets about the mother
she never knew; secrets that dispute the identity of her father and threaten
her life.
Sheriff Chance Meadowlark is
still haunted by the murder of his wife and the revenge he unleashed in the
name of justice. When he meets Lacy he is determined not to become
involved, but their pasts may make that impossible. As they move closer
to the truth, saving Lacy may be his only salvation.
Lacy begins to think the present is more important than her
past...until Chance's connection to her mother and a murder spin her deeper
into danger and further from love. Will the truth destroy Lacy and
Chance or will it be the answer that frees them?
Excerpt:
Momentarily struck dumb by his eye
color, she stared back. Why hadn’t she noticed until now? Although not as light
as hers or her father’s, the professor’s eyes were a startling green shade.
His hand nudged her arm. “Lacy?”
She jumped. “Oh, yes.” She slipped the
tissue from the half-carved wolf. Another glance
at his eyes and goose bumps riddled her arms.
He lifted the wood close to his face,
using both hands as if handling a delicate hummingbird. His thumb traced the
neck of the creature to the juncture of where it emerged from the wood. When he
brought the piece to his nose, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, Lacy
wanted to turn away from the oddly erotic gesture.
He swallowed, opened his eyes and set
the wolf back on the tissue. His attention shifted to the photograph of the
chest. He touched the photo, a smile on his lips. “Where is the chest?”
The chest. Like he knew it, had seen it
before. “I’m having it sent. You’ve seen it before?”
He didn’t move, stared out the window as
if deep in thought. “I’d like to show you something, Lacy.”
“All right.” She waited, watching his
profile.
He turned and stared into her face a
moment. “You’re so very lovely. A creation full of life and passion, surpassing
any art form.”
His hypnotic voice floated on the
classical strains drifting from the living room. She couldn’t speak. Didn’t
know what to say. She’d been lifted upon a pedestal of admiration. With any
other man, she might consider his words a means to a sexual end. The
professor’s intentions, however, were crystal. He admired her like a work of
art.
Buy Links:
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Bio:
Brenda Whiteside spends most
of her time writing stories of discovery and love. The rest of her time is
spent tending vegetables on the small family farm she shares with her husband,
son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter. Together, they’ve embraced an age-old
lifestyle that has been mostly lost in the United States - multiple generations
living under one roof, who share the workload, follow their individual dreams
and reap the benefits of combined talents.
Although she didn’t
start out to write romance, she’s found all good stories involve complicated
human relationships. She’s also found no matter a person’s age, a new discovery
is right around every corner. Whether humorous or serious, straight
contemporary or suspense, all her books revolve around those two facts.
Visit
Brenda at www.brendawhiteside.com.
Or
on FaceBook: www.facebook.com/BrendaWhitesideAuthor
She
blogs on the 9th and 24th of every month at http://rosesofprose.blogspot.com
She
blogs about writing and prairie life at http://brendawhiteside.blogspot.com/
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Diane, thanks for hosting me today. Pretty slow but I enjoyed the appearance.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad you came.
DeleteI tweeted. Best of luck, Brenda.
ReplyDelete