Book of the month - February
I hear a lot from new to me readers or readers ready to begin a new series, "which book should I start with?"
Choosing can be a difficult decision with 35 to pick from. I'm going to make your life easier.
Each month, I'll highlight one of my books right here. You can pour a cup of tea and try chapter one for free without having to leave the site. (The first chapter is all I need to know if I want to keep going. Right? I mean if the author can't capture your attention by the end of chapter one...)
If you decide this month's book is for you (no worries if it isn't) I have a Thank You gift.
A special price for the digital version during the featured month.
And if you purchase the paperback directly from me, which is your cheapest option for PB, I'll sign it and add in a couple of fun stickers! Who doesn't love stickers? I'll never be too old for stickers.
This month’s pick to go along with the Valentine's Day theme is Steeling Hearts from the Hometown Series.
Choosing can be a difficult decision with 35 to pick from. I'm going to make your life easier.
Each month, I'll highlight one of my books right here. You can pour a cup of tea and try chapter one for free without having to leave the site. (The first chapter is all I need to know if I want to keep going. Right? I mean if the author can't capture your attention by the end of chapter one...)
If you decide this month's book is for you (no worries if it isn't) I have a Thank You gift.
A special price for the digital version during the featured month.
And if you purchase the paperback directly from me, which is your cheapest option for PB, I'll sign it and add in a couple of fun stickers! Who doesn't love stickers? I'll never be too old for stickers.
This month’s pick to go along with the Valentine's Day theme is Steeling Hearts from the Hometown Series.
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CHAPTER ONE
Most people would die for a house with a brick façade, tons of windows, two stories, plenty of property, and more than one guest cottage in the back. Claudia Jacobs was not most people. The mansion she stood before belonged to her now. And she didn’t want it.
Perched on the sidewalk staring up at the old house, the afternoon June sun baked her neck like Italian bread. The mansion leered back, not much happier to see her. Its tongue stuck out in the way of a red front door desperate for a fresh coat of paint. The shutters became droopy eyebrows, and the grass needed a good bikini wax or at least a date with a lawnmower.
Humidity ran its hands over her stockingless legs and slicked her skin until her thighs would rub together when she walked. Her feet swelled in her heels, making her cute pink designer shoes ugly and uncomfortable. Summer in New Jersey wasn’t much different than Chicago. Hot. Sticky. And full of mosquitos.
Her heart stuck on Chicago. Chicago was gone. Not off the map gone. No longer there for her. She wanted to go back, but nothing would be the same. Not her former hotel. Not the Chicago River. Not brick oven pizza. Because she had effectively ripped apart the ties that bind.
With nowhere to go, and poised like a statue, she contemplated if she should go inside or hail a taxi and make a run for it. Oh, right. She snapped her fingers. Hard to find a taxi in the middle of country land New Jersey.
“Do you need some help?” A younger man, maybe in his late thirties, with dark hair and gray-blue eyes approached her.
When had late thirties become younger? She stifled a sigh. Right after she crossed the fifty line. That was when forty looked a lot like twenty-five with a few more wrinkles.
“Do I look as if I need help?” Her snarky reaction was instinct. Where she was from, taking help from a stranger could be dangerous. Establishing strength and courage right away was paramount. Gawking tourists were always an easy target.
“You’ve been standing there for almost ten minutes staring at the house. I thought you might be lost or confused.” His simple smile offered no threat nor did his loose body language.
And if he had wanted to mug her, he would’ve by now if indeed she had been there ten full minutes, oblivious to passing cars and approaching people.
She regarded him closer. Nice-looking. Too wholesome to be a mugger. He oozed boy next door.
“Confused? I haven’t lost my marbles if that’s what you’re implying.” She hoped that day never dawned. She had no one to help her find her keys or shut off the burner if she did.
The sum of her existence included her career, her assistant Talbot and her son Corbin who was like a nephew, and the collection of suitcases beside her. A pretty sorry existence at that. But when she lost her job at The Barry Watson as hotel manager, she found out quickly who her real friends were.
“I’m not implying anything.” This young stranger held up his hands in surrender. “My name is Van Wilde. I live next door.” He pointed to the house over his shoulder. “Can I give you directions to somewhere?”
“No, thank you. I’m where I need to be.” Unfortunately. Or fortunately, she supposed. She could be homeless. At least Aunt Georgette had provided a roof to live under. “This was my late aunt’s house.”
Aunt Georgette must’ve lost her mind in her final years. God, was that in her genetics? Leaving that old house to Claudia made no sense except that Claudia was Aunt Georgette’s only living relative. They rarely spoke and visited less. In fact, she hadn’t been here since she was a teenager.
Where had Aunt Georgette been all the years Claudia and her mother had struggled? They could’ve used a room or two in that oversized home during the difficult times. Georgette was not exactly the warm and fuzzy type and had kept her distance. No one wanted the stain of failure all over their expensive clothes. Now Claudia had the burden of dealing with the house and all its belongings.
“Oh, you’re the new owner. It’s nice to meet you. I’ll be working on the house, doing the renovations. Whatever they might be.”
“You must work for Dean Hunter.” The contractor she had called based on Aunt Georgette’s lawyer’s suggestion.
“I do. Are you sure you don’t want some help carrying your suitcases? You seem to have a few.” He choked out a laugh.
She had packed almost everything in her closet, unable to part with much. Her belongings translated to three suitcases to check at the airport, one carry-on, and her oversized tote. She had struggled at baggage claim and in the Uber from the airport. She would need her car to get around town, but that was being shipped—a parting gift from her former employer. The shipping. Not the car.
Talbot had traveled ahead of her, leaving her alone without help. Not that she was blaming Talbot who had her own life and concerns. Claudia respected that and gave Talbot the space she needed.
Claudia was not one to treat the people who worked for her as anything except equals. She knew what it felt like to be handled as if she were the dirt on someone’s shoes. She had wanted Talbot to come ahead and get settled because now they both were stuck in Candlewood Falls until she sold this house, and they could move on.
Van stared at her with puppylike anticipation. What was it he had said? Oh, right. Suitcases.
“No, thank you. I’ll manage.” She would be soaked through with sweat by the time she had dragged all her bags into the house. But she needed to exert her independence as a reminder to herself that she could still handle whatever came her way.
“Are you sure? You’re dressed kind of nice to carry that stuff.”
“I’ve got it. Really. But thank you.” Sneakers and a pair of shorts would be better than her heels and her white tulle skirt, but she hadn’t had time to change before the flight. She would wear a more suitable outfit if she knew which bag she had packed with those clothes. No point in wasting precious time looking. The skirt and the heels would have to do. Her back might hate her later, but a few stretches should work out the kinks.
She preferred to dress up for most occasions anyway. The armor of nice clothes and great hair told everyone that she was someone to be taken seriously.
“Okay, then. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to knock on my door.”
“Thanks.” She forced a smile because knocking on his door or anyone else’s would be the very last thing on her list. She had no interest in making friends. No one made new friends at her age. She needed to stop saying at her age. Fifty-four was hardly old. Just older than before and older than this guy.
Van offered a small wave and disappeared behind the bushes. She lost sight of him as he rounded the corner of the large arborvitaes at what must be the property’s edge. She should ask for a copy of the survey. She didn’t want her new neighbor arguing about block and lot sizes.
She looped her bag onto her shoulder and heaved the biggest suitcase against her thigh. The faux leather crinkled her skirt and banged her knee. Maybe the help would have been beneficial.
Letting herself into the house with a vintage door key, she dropped the bags in the large foyer with a split staircase. The key was pretty with its cuts and patterns, sitting heavy on her hand. An antique that any collector would love to use as a decoration. A modern key with a security camera and a direct line to an alarm company might be better. She had to remember. She wasn’t in Chicago any longer. People in Candlewood Falls probably didn’t even know what locks were.
After three trips, the luggage congregated in the house like a tour group waiting for their next stop. Sweat ran down her back and pooled under her bra. She had abandoned the heels after trip two and now her feet were dirty.
At some point, she would claim a bedroom and lug all her stuff up there, but for now, she would hope the water worked and pour herself a cold glass.
Before she could take a step to quench her thirst, her phone rang out an Elton John song from deep within her purse. Someone was calling. Carter River’s name flashed on the screen. Aunt Georgette’s lawyer. What could he want? She thought they were mostly settled, except she hadn’t signed any final papers. In her rush to pack up her old life and start anew, she had missed that detail.
“Claudia Jacobs.” She searched for the kitchen, bumping into it at the back of the house. She stifled a gasp at the beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows, letting the professionally manicured lawn and gardens in like well-dressed guests at a party.
“Hello, Claudia. It’s Carter River. Do you have a minute?” His voice was raspy with age.
She had a lot more than a minute. “I have a quick second, sure.”
“Wonderful. There’s a few more things we need to go over about your aunt’s estate. We can do it on the phone or you can come in to the office.”
“Go ahead and give it to me straight.” She had no desire to shove her feet back into those heels at the moment and find her way to his office. Whatever it is that he had to say, he could say on the phone or email it over to her. What she really needed from this guy was the name of a good real estate agent.
“Your aunt put stipulations on the will.”
“What kind of stipulations? And why am I just hearing about them now?” If Aunt Georgette had some kind of condition for her to keep ownership, Carter River should’ve made that clear up front. Hopefully, the mortgage wasn’t saddled with a lien.
“Georgette had strict instructions not to mention any of her conditions until you arrived at the house.”
“How did you know I was here? Never mind. Small-town stuff, right?” She had no idea how many cars or people had passed her while she outstared the house. But someone had realized the stranger was in town and couldn’t wait to get on the party line to spread the word.
“Afraid so. My assistant saw you on the sidewalk. You know, now that I think about it, it might be better if you came in to discuss this. It would be easier in person. I have time now if that works.”
“Let me ask you one question first.”
“Go ahead.”
“Can I sell this house?” She had no intention of staying in Candlewood Falls with its little shops on Main Street. Each one more adorable and welcoming than the last. Where little old men swept sidewalks outside their stores, waving to kids on bicycles. Or where women met at a knitting club above a yarn shop. Not that she knew if a yarn shop existed in this town, but if she were a betting woman…
Real life was hard and unfair with many disappointments that skinned knees and broke hearts. She belonged in Chicago with its gritty streets and straight-lined skyscrapers and harsh winters. Not Candlewood Falls, soft, warm and welcoming, like a grandma with fresh fruit and iced tea.
“We can talk about your options when you come in. Can you be here in ten minutes?”
Didn’t sound as if she had a lot of options. “I’ll need to call an Uber.”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary. You can walk from the house. If you were further in town, then yes, you’d need a car. If you don’t have one, you’ll want to get one. I can give you the name of a reputable guy.”
“I’ll let you know.” If she could be out of here in a few short weeks, maybe she could do without a car.
“That’s fine. Grab a pen. I’ll give you a couple of landmarks near the office.”
“That’s okay. If I can make my way around Chicago, I’m sure I can travel a couple of blocks to you. I’ll see you soon. Goodbye.” She hit the end button before he could explain the way. There couldn’t be too many turns. She’d pop it in her phone.
She found some old juice glasses in the cabinet. The water poured from the spout with enough pressure to bring a sigh of relief to her lips. Too bad she didn’t have time for a quick shower. Not before she unpacked some of her things and she didn’t want to make Carter River wait.
Patting under her arms and her boobs with a napkin, she shoved her aching feet into her cute pink heels and headed out.
She would sell this house. And nothing and no one, not even Aunt Georgette from the grave, would stop her.
