Showing posts with label cottonmouth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cottonmouth. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 21, 2018

Any Way She Wants It!


Have I told you all how I got the title of Any Way She Wants It, West Coast, Book 6? First of all, let me say how much I love that old Journey song Any Way You Want It. So I was listening to that album, and it was so perfect for Tricia. It made me imagine exactly how she viewed sex, and I just knew she was a woman who would absolutely ask for it any way she wanted it.
But where did the idea for Tricia and David’s story come from? Of course you remember that David and Tricia have been dancing around each other since she started working at West Coast. But where did that whole dance start in my mind. Well, gosh, it’s been there for almost ever. So let me tell you…
Did you have a crush on an older man when you were 16? Or an older woman if you're a guy? Of course you did. It's sort of universal. I had a crush on my best friend's brother. He was ten years older than us. And I remember the actual day of my 16th birthday when he kissed my cheek and wished me Happy Birthday. I swooned. I was in love. I made up all sorts of fantasies about him waiting for me until I grew up. Of course we moved away that summer and I never saw him again. But it was a lovely fantasy! And that's what writers do. They take a small, insignificant memory or a newspaper article they read or a slice out of a dream and explode it into an entire story. Or they listen to a song and grab the title because it makes them actually see,  hear, and feel the characters they’re writing about.
So I’ve got a blurb and an excerpt coming up for you, but first I have to tell you about what you can win! To celebrate the release of Any Way She Wants It, I’m running a fabulous contest! Enter for your chance to win a $100 Zappos gift card (so you can get the sexy red high heels that Tricia loves to wear!) and a 3-month subscription of UnderClub from Cratejoy! That means for three months in a row, you’ll receive a box of luxury lingerie customized for you (or for anyone you’d like to give it to!). There are a ton of ways to get entries into the contest, too, like following me on Bookbub and Goodreads, and just going to my website to learn more about me! The contest starts on release day March 21! So make sure you get your entries in! Just go to Jasmine's Sexy Giveaway!
And before I forget, for those of you who loved Open Invitation Series, catch up with all of your favorites in Any Way She Wants It, West Coast, Book 6!
Blurb
He was engaged to be married.
She was his sister’s best friend and his dirty little secret.
Twenty years later, it’s all about to explode.
David Farris has been a widower for almost a year. He should have been able to handle Tricia Connelly walking back into his life. After all, it’s been over twenty years. But now that she’s here, she’s the embodiment of his greatest desire…and his worst guilt. Keeping everything between them strictly business is the only way to preserve his sanity.
Tricia wants nothing more than to make David totally crazy with need for her. When she realizes they’ll be working side-by-side, day in and day out, her heart clamors for this second chance to make the one man she’s always wanted fall for her. But David can’t let go of the past.
Her only choice is to seduce him with steamy kisses and delicious caresses to show him how perfect they could be for each other.
Can David forgive his past sins? Or will he sacrifice their future?
Excerpt
© 2018 Jasmine Haynes
Any Way She Wants It, West Coast, Book 6
Chapter One
She sat three rows in front of him, on the groom’s side of the garden wedding. Her dress was a satiny blue that draped her curves, no ruffles or frills, just spaghetti straps that left her shoulders bared to the late September sun and his gaze. Her short blond hair kissed the nape of her neck, silky and touchable.
Not that David Farris would ever think of touching Tricia Connelly.
Liar.
He thought about her when his guard was down. Jesus, he dreamed of her when his subconscious mind took over in the middle of the night. Hot, sexy, sweaty dreams he couldn’t quite banish when the alarm blared to wake him.
So it was safer to say that he would never act on any of his thoughts. Tricia Connelly was off limits. For so many reasons, but mostly because of their mutual past that he couldn’t forget and couldn’t forgive himself for. Because of his dead wife, as if her cancer was a manifestation of his guilt as well as his penance for all the wrong things he’d done.
God, yes, there were too many reasons, but the opening bars of the wedding march allowed him to shove them all from his mind. Everything except the sight of her.
Holt Montgomery’s back garden had been transformed into a chapel, with an arbor trimmed in flowers and ivy on a raised dais which would be converted to a dancefloor once the ceremony was over. White folding chairs had been set out for the guests with a center aisle the bride would walk down, all in a very traditional setting. Though Ruby Williams was anything but traditional.
The guest list wasn’t large, considering the fact that Holt was a Silicon Valley CEO with a huge contact base. Mentally cataloguing the seats, there was room for only fifty, and they were occupied mostly by employees from West Coast Manufacturing, including the executive team, a smattering of senior management, and the chairman of the board. Ruby and Holt had probably kept the number to a minimum in order to have the wedding in Holt’s backyard.
He would have expected more show from Ruby, five hundred attendees, a rented hotel ballroom, ice statues, and fountains of bubbling champagne.
But Ruby walked down the aisle with no escort and no entourage, wearing a magnificent cream confection David knew Cassandra Montgomery, Holt’s daughter, had designed. The halter-style dress tied at Ruby’s nape and dipped deep into her cleavage. The beaded bodice trimmed in lace ended in an arrow over her stomach, while the satin hugged her hips, finally flaring halfway down her thighs. Her dark hair pulled up in an elegant knot, she’d allowed a smattering of curls to artfully fall free.
No matter what David thought of her personally, he had to admit Ruby was stunning. Her face was radiant with a smile that could only be called happiness, though that had never been a word he’d used to describe Ruby. Yet as she walked down the aisle alone, as if she were the one giving herself away, she had eyes only for her soon-to-be husband. And her gaze was literally alight. Holt was a fine figure, CEO all the way, as commanding up on the dais in his formal tuxedo as he was in the boardroom. Ruby Williams had never been a woman that inspired the word love—she was too aggressive, too calculating, too predatory—yet love radiated from the look Holt graced her with. Somehow they’d found a way, the most unlikely couple.
Just as Ruby was without a maid of honor, Holt had no best man. David could only presume it was because the logical choice, Clay Blackwell, had lived with Ruby before taking up with Holt. Talk about complications. West Coast Manufacturing had turned out to a hotbed of sexcapades. Ruby and Clay, then Clay and Jessica Murphy, who’d become Jessica Blackwell only last month, then Holt and Ruby.
Yes, the Blackwells had been invited to the wedding. Though they were seated in the second row, Ruby glided past them without a glance, as if she didn’t care, as if marrying Holt made up for all that had gone before. When Ruby was a step ahead, Clay raised Jessica’s hand, bending slightly to kiss her knuckles. It could have been reassurance, yet the way Jessica smiled in return, her face and her blond hair as bright as a beam of sunlight, she had all the assurance she could ever desire.
The music hushed as Holt took Ruby’s hand, and he helped her onto the dais amid afternoon birdsong. For endless seconds, he looked down into her face, his gaze speaking to her. The moment was almost too intimate to watch. It kindled vestiges of David’s own wedding day, his fears, his duty, the love he’d told himself he felt for his bride, the other feelings he’d denied. He’d been denying them ever since.
His eyes fell on Tricia. Always back to Tricia. She was his past, she was his guilt. He’d never thought to have her in his present, and he could imagine no future that included her.
Except in his dreams.
A minister in traditional robes began the vows—David had no idea where Ruby had found him since he didn’t believe she’d ever stepped inside a church.
There were no embellishments, no personally written vows that seemed to be the rage these days. Yet somehow, with her hands clasped in Holt’s, Ruby’s declaration, murmured in her husky, sexy tone, was touching. “I take you as my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day on, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and obey, till death do us part.”
David had expected her to remove the word obey, yet Ruby said the word with more force than all the others, giving it weight and meaning.
With his vows, Holt added his own stress on “Till death do us part,” as if it were a message that this marriage would be different. Especially since his ex-wife and her husband sat next to Holt’s daughter in the front row. Cassandra turned slightly, whispering into Ward Restin’s ear, then leaning her head on his shoulder. Ward was the company’s VP of Research, and Cassandra had been living with him almost since she’d moved up from L.A. five months ago to open her own fashion boutique. She was to have a spread in the Sunday social section of the newspaper, featuring Ruby in her magnificent dress. There might be only fifty guests today, but Ruby would have her limelight tomorrow, and so would Cassandra.
Short and sweet, the minister closed in on the end. “I pronounce you husband and wife.” He beamed widely, his smile another wrinkle in an already wizened face. “You may now kiss the bride.”
Ruby wore no veil, and Holt placed her hands on his chest then cupped her face with such tenderness it opened a wound in David’s chest, though God only knew why. Ruby blossomed for her new husband like a night-blooming flower, and that first kiss was both gentle and carnal, tender yet deep, as much an exchange of vows as their words had been.
God help him, his gaze came to rest on Tricia once more, his heart tearing right down the center.
That first kiss. She’d been so young. He remembered her tears, remembered how they’d slain him.
Why doesn’t anyone want to kiss me? What’s wrong with me, David?
She’d been sweet sixteen, and the boys she knew were too young to see the beauty she would become. But he was a man, ten years older, and she was his little sister’s best friend. He’d understood what the boys his sister knew never could, that Tricia was on the cusp of blooming into something extraordinary. He’d wanted only to prove to her that she was gorgeous no matter what the boys said. He’d wanted only to dry her tears and reassure her. Words could never have done it, only actions. So he’d kissed her.
And changed both their lives.
The depth of desire he’d felt floored him. That night destroyed him. It haunted his marriage. It consumed all his feelings for his wife. It burned him up with unquenchable guilt and irresistible desire. He hated himself for taking advantage of Tricia, hurting her, and yet it had been his pivotal moment, affecting everything that came after, even his dreams.
Because Tricia had lived in his nocturnal fancies, where she’d grown into the beautiful, stunning woman he’d known she would eventually become.
Until a few months ago, when she’d walked out of his dreams and back into his life, fulfilling his prophecies for her.
He shuddered, a slight movement of his shoulders as if he could shake off all the memories.
His fantasies had to end now, especially with Tricia so close and the endless hours of budgeting that loomed ahead. In the past, he’d spent the equivalent of days with Greg Stevens working on yearly forecasting. Tricia had taken over Greg’s position as Finance Manager when Greg was promoted to Controller.
David would never survive the year-end budget process unless he got himself under control.
He came out of his fog to find Holt and Ruby had descended from their dais. Instead of a procession back down the aisle and a receiving line, they greeted all their guests in a slow walk, stopping at each row.
Cassandra hugged her father, holding on tight for one long moment. They’d never been demonstrative, and in fact she called him Holt rather than Dad, yet there was a special bond in that hug. She’d gotten her red hair from her mother and her gorgeous features from her father, as well as his commanding aura. Ward had his work cut out with Cassandra if he wanted to wear the pants.
Then Holt shook Ward’s hand and bussed his ex-wife’s cheek while Cassandra gave Ruby a restrained hug. She might have designed the wedding dress but the two women weren’t suddenly BFFs. Unconventional, Cassandra wore a flame-red dress that absorbed the color of her hair rather than clashed with it. In any other circumstances, these two women would be rivals. Maybe they would be tomorrow.
When they turned to the other side of the aisle, David became aware of the silence as every breath was suddenly held.
“Cat fight,” Spence Benedict muttered in his ear.
David hadn’t been aware of Spence’s arrival, let alone that Spence sat right behind him. A guilty flush spread up David’s neck. He’d been watching Tricia too intently, and he wondered how much Spence had picked up on.
Instead of acknowledging that, he gave his own low murmur back. “They’ll be on their best behavior.”
That’s exactly what Ruby and Jessica did, smiling politely at each other, Jessica saying something, probably congratulations, Ruby thanking her, while the male parties exchanged handshakes and backslaps.
“Jesus, I think he’s going to hug her.” Spence’s laughter was cut off at a snort when Zoe elbowed him.
“Shh,” she hushed him, though he’d spoken softly enough that no one but she and David had heard.
The hug didn’t happen. Instead Clay kissed Ruby’s cheek, as chaste as a father or a brother.
With the moment over, the chatter started again as Holt and Ruby moved on down the aisle, receiving handshakes, hugs, and congratulations.
“You look marvelous,” David told Zoe.
“Thank you.” She was a pretty woman with long dark hair, and she’d made Spence happy.
Spencer Benedict had always been good for a laugh, always found the joke in everything, and yet he’d never seemed quite as…what was the word? Complete? Yes, that was it. Zoe completed Spence. If David didn’t miss the mark, he’d say Zoe would soon be making them a complete family, too. There was the slightest bump beneath the summer dress she wore. The problem, David knew, was that Zoe’s divorce wasn’t yet final.
“Okay, come on.” Spence took Zoe’s hand in his. “I gotta give Ward some crap and see when he’s going to follow in Holt’s footsteps and marry that girl.” He pulled her to the far end of the aisle, obviously skipping the congratulations for now.
“Don’t hold your breath,” David muttered, though they were now out of earshot. He didn’t believe Cassandra Montgomery was the marrying kind. Then again, he had to admit she seemed to adore Ward.
Everyone else was merging toward the center aisle to await Holt and Ruby’s greeting, while the staff began at the sides, moving chairs and bringing out the cocktail tables for mingling, beginning the garden’s transformation from chapel to reception. They set aside the trellis and unlocked hinges on the dais that allowed them to extend it to make a larger dancefloor.
David shifted back to the front, judging the newly married couple’s progress down the aisle, gauging how long before he could make his escape.
And turned right into Tricia’s sky-blue gaze. Her eyes were focused, as if she’d seen every thought he’d had about her, every wet dream painted on his face like prison stripes.
The guests, the minister, the bride and groom, they all seemed to fade. Except her. His breath constricted in his chest, his heart lodged somewhere in his throat, and his stomach plummeted to the ground he stood on, shaking it beneath his feet.
Over the last few months, since she’d started working at West Coast, Tricia had tried to talk to him. Christ, she’d actually cornered him a couple of times. How he’d shut her down, he couldn’t even recall. He’d probably run like a coward or a fool.
Her gaze was so direct, so straight, lancing him.
Yes, he was a coward. Eventually, they would need to have the confrontation. But not today.
Holt saved him, reaching Tricia’s row. She shook hands, no hugs, no pecks on the cheek.
To the left of David’s row, the wait staff carefully placed the wedding cake on a side table. A three-tiered confection, it was topped with a Day of the Dead bride and groom. Despite the emotions roiling inside him, he chuckled. It was so un-Ruby. But then he had to wonder about all the things he didn’t know about her. Didn’t know about Holt. Or about their relationship.
Every relationship wore a different face behind closed doors. Every relationship had a surface hiding its depths. There was what you wanted people to see versus the actual truth.
It was his turn now and Holt grabbed his hand in a hardy shake.
“Congratulations,” David said. His smile felt forced. It had been a mistake coming. The wedding was a reminder of his dead wife, his dead marriage, and Tricia was the embodiment of his guilt, of all his mistakes, of the harm he’d caused. And a token of the things he desired but could never have.
He shook off all the memories. He was here. He had to act. He took Ruby’s hand in both of his. “You make a stunning picture, Ruby. I wish you all the best.”
She smiled without artifice, even though Ruby always had artifice. “Thank you, David.” She poked him in the chest. “Now, I want you to get out there and dance once the music starts. Be the life of our party.” She elbowed Holt fondly. “He says he’ll only do the first dance so I’m going to need lots of partners.”
Ruby had definitely had her share of partners.
“She’s teasing, David.” Holt wrapped a proprietary arm around her, pulling her close and tight, staking his claim. “But we want you to enjoy yourself.”
He saw the words between their lines. He saw the last ten months since his wife’s death where he seemed to be living in a world of grief. And there were the endless months before that, the diagnosis, the treatment, then when the doctors finally destroyed all their hope. He’d been aware of the thoughtful gazes at work, the worry, the desire to help, the inability to do so. Now they all wanted him to move on, to get better, to be the man he’d been before the cancer.
His son and daughter wanted it, too. They missed their mom, but they were both in college now and starting their own lives, creating new priorities.
What none of them knew was that the genesis of his guilt came long before the cancer, before his kids were born, before he’d married Marie.
It began that night with Tricia.
~
Can David resist Tricia? To find out, pick up you copy of Any Way She Wants It, West Coast, Book 6 today!
Check out all our current Freebies available everywhere!
She's Gotta Be Mine is FREE! Try Book 1 of the Cottonmouth Series.
Dead to the Max, Max Starr Series, Book 1 is free!
The Girlfriend Experience, Courtesan’s Tales, Book 1 is free!
Double the Pleasure, Prescott Twins, Book 1 is free!

Monday, May 26, 2014

What if the only way to get someone out of your house is murder?

Welcome back to Cottonmouth! Woohoo, a new release! Can’t Forget You, Cottonmouth Book 3! I hope readers are as happy to return to Cottonmouth as I am! You’ll meet Nick and Bobbie from She’s Gotta Be Mine Book 1, and catch up with Brax and Simone from Fool’s Gold Book 2! I loved coming back to Cottonmouth after so long! But just to keep things interesting, I’ve created a whole new set of characters to introduce readers to as well. Here’s a blurb to whet your appetite!

There’s something very special about the house Maggie grew up in. It’s sort of...alive. With a mind of its own.

And it has plans for the people living there now.

All Maggie Halliday has left after the divorce is the family dog and the home her grandmother left to her when she passed away two months ago. Maggie’s got no other choice but to run back to her hometown of Cottonmouth, California, only to discover her high school sweetheart, Cooper Trubek, is living in the house, along with four other boarders for whom Maggie is now responsible. And according to Nana’s will, Maggie can’t kick any of them out.

Unless one of them commits murder.

Still grieving for her grandmother and trying fix up the house that seems to be falling down around her, Maggie’s got more trouble than she can handle. Then things go from bad to worse when Samson the dog starts digging in the basement…

Samson so amused me. I loved writing in his point of view. I think my Star must have been a little bit like Samson, even though they look entirely different. I also fell in love with Principal Owen Sterling, and I think readers might find his story coming sometime in the future, too!

Here’s what The Book Sage had to say about Can’t Forget You!
“I'm used to Jennifer's erotica (writing as Jasmine Haynes), which I thoroughly enjoy. This one is a humorous romantic mystery, with a few interesting elements thrown in. Do you want to know what a dog is thinking? How about a house that fixes itself and dispenses pages of a journal on an "as needed" basis? Or a romance that is strictly NOT erotic? Can't Forget You has all of these things. Here's something you need to know about Jennifer Skully/Jasmine Haynes. She can really write - no matter which genre she chooses.”

You’ll find great reading recommendations over at The Book Sage. I’ve loved every one of the books he’s recommended to me so be sure to check out his blog.

So I have to tell you about a special deal! She’s Gotta Be Mine will be part of a new romance anthology called Love is a Mystery: Six Novels of Love, Laughter, and Law-breaking. A little mystery, a lot of laughs, and whole lot of romance! The bundle will only be available for 90 days, and we’re offering it for only .99. That’s 1400 pages of Kindle reading! So if you haven’t read She’s Gotta Be Mine yet, here’s the way to do it, plus you’ll get 5 other novels! Here’s a line-up of the fabulous authors.

In FROSTED SHADOW by Nancy Warren, there’s nothing pretty about murder. When a cosmetics sales rep is murdered at the annual convention, only Toni Diamond, a sleuth who understands how to make appearances deceiving, can see into the mind of this killer.

In SHE’S GOTTA BE MINE by Jennifer Skully, what better way to show her ex what he’s missing in the made-over Bobbie Jones than taking up with the local bad boy—who’s also reputed to be a serial killer. That is, until a real murder rocks the little town of Cottonmouth.

In THE HONEYMOON COTTAGE by Barbara Cool Lee, Camilla Stewart finds too late that escaping her past won’t be easy. Because local sheriff’s captain Ryan Knight realizes that Camilla and her son Oliver may be the only people alive who can identify a serial killer... and they are next on his hit list.

In STEAMED by Holly Jacobs, cleaning is murder on the manicure. Quincy Mac is a maid in LA—a maid who’s accidentally cleaned a murder scene. Now she’s a suspect with only one option—find the real murderer before she ends up in jail.

THE ZEN MAN by Colleen Collins is a 21st-century Nick and Nora tale. It’s just another ho-hum Christmas party until a murder lands private eye Rick Levine in the slammer on first-degree murder charges. Released on bond, Rick and his girlfriend Laura have 30 days to find the real killer.

In CAUGHT YOU LOOKING by Shelley Adina, when it comes to love and crime, who’s catching whom? Hot on the trail of a technology thief, PI Duncan Moore thinks he’s found him, but he needs proof. So he asks Mallory Baines if he can do surveillance from her upstairs bedroom—which would be great except her family thinks he’s moved in and wedding bells are imminent!
 
If you want to be notified when the book is released on June 1, sign up here: http://tinyurl.com/LoveIsAMystery

 
We’ll be hosting a Facebook Party for on Tues, 6/3 from 7 pm to 10 pm EST. One of my prizes will be an e-copies of Fool’s Gold and Baby, I’ll Find You, so be sure to drop by for the fun! Plus there will be giveaways every 15 minutes! You can find the party here: http://bit.ly/LIAMParty

Okay, two more things! Then I’ll give you the first chapter of Can’t Forget You!

Invitation to Seduction, Open Invitation Book 1, is still free through the end of May! Find it for Kindle http://amzn.to/1nt0v3Z iBooks http://bit.ly/1iPvRvg Nook, Kobo, Smashwords, and ARE! It’s also available in audiobook now! Audible Amazon Amazon UK iTunes That means you can buy it for your Kindle, then get the whispersynced audio version for a low price (it might be a few weeks before it whispersyncs).

 
 
Now you can Somebody’s Lover, Somebody’s Ex, and Somebody’s Wife together in one bundle! The Jackson Brothers 3-book Bundle is available everywhere: Kindle Kindle UK iBookstore Nook Kobo All Romance CoffeeTime

 
 
 
 
 
And now, a first look at Chapter One!

Cottonmouth Series, Book 3
Copyright 2014 Jennifer Skully

Chapter One

Her ex-husband got the new wife, the new baby, the house, the SUV, and their daughter Evie’s undying devotion.

Maggie Halliday got the dog.

“You’re such a good dog. What would I have done without you?” she crooned as she stroked Samson’s snout. Along with his snub pit bull face, stout bulldog body, and Australian shepherd markings, Samson had the sweetest of natures.

Maggie rolled down the windows to let the October breeze waft through the old minivan’s interior. At noon, the air was warm, but it carried the promise of a cooler season. She’d parked beneath a massive oak along a tree-lined lane on the outskirts of Cottonmouth, the hometown she hadn’t visited in twenty years. Less than three hours north of San Francisco, Cottonmouth was a lifetime away.

Across Garden Street sat the weathered Victorian house of her childhood. White shutters had aged to gray, and the roof was minus some shingles, like a faded old lady caught without her dentures. Crab grass, weeds, and gophers had long since choked the lush lawn out of existence. To the left of the front steps, the porch sagged, the support column sinking beneath the overhang’s weight. Its chains broken, the porch swing lay forlorn beneath the dining room window. The paint was peeling, and the dormer windows in the third-floor attic looked as if they’d been sealed shut with time and rot.

A man appeared around the corner of the house, a tool belt at his waist, a stack of two-by-fours balanced on his shoulder. She hadn’t ogled anyone in more years than she could count, but there was something about him. The T-shirt molded to his chest and the jeans hugging his thighs started a flutter low in her belly.

Dumping the wood on the scrubby earth, he went down on one knee to shove what looked like a car jack under the edge of the porch. As he cranked the handle, the sagging support column rose, lifting the overhang. When it was level, he nestled a wooden square between the base of the column and the concrete it rested on. The repair was a stop-gap measure in a slow decline that brought an ache to Maggie’s heart. The house was all she had left of her grandmother.

A black Lexus purred to a stop on the gravel shoulder behind her. Maggie waited for the lawyer to get out of his car. Stacked in the back of the minivan, the detritus of her life obscured most of the view out the back window. Boxes and suitcases filled with clothing, photos, kitchen gadgets, an ancient computer, and other odds and ends were all she’d claimed from her marriage.

The door of the Lexus banged shut. Samson chuffed like a steam engine. He didn’t like loud noises, hated to be yelled at, and was afraid of strangers—at least for the first fifteen minutes. After sniffing feet, pant legs, and various body parts, be they private or otherwise, he was friends for life.

Except for Ray, Maggie’s ex-husband. Samson had cowered before Ray from the moment she and Evie brought the pound dog home. Ray hadn’t even yelled at him yet. Ray Halliday wasn’t an animal person. He said they were too hard to control. Then again, Ray wasn’t a people person either. They were also too hard to control.

Maggie scratched the dog’s ear. “Be a good boy,” she crooned, then climbed out of the van.

Elton Cook was tall, gaunt, and pasty-faced. He’d have made a perfect undertaker. Or a cadaver. Instead, he’d been her grandmother’s lawyer, looking as ancient when Maggie was a child as he did now.

An oak branch scratched the top of his gray hair as he stared at the crabbed lawn, the missing shingles, the sagging porch, and the handyman shoring it up.

“This isn’t possible.” He turned to Maggie, eyes deep and dark in his skeletal face. “Right?”

She guessed what he was driving at. “You didn’t hire the handyman?”

Maggie certainly hadn’t. Her grandmother had died two month ago, leaving Maggie the house and the boarders living inside it. She blinked away the pain at the renewed sense of loss. Officially divorced for six months, a week ago Maggie lacked even a home—the dingy apartment she’d been living in didn’t count. Ray had bought her out of the house, but with the second and third mortgages they’d taken out for remodeling and Evie’s college fund, there hadn’t been much equity to distribute. The trust fund her grandmother had left for maintenance wasn’t going to cover all this. And though she’d gotten money out of the divorce settlement, it wouldn’t last long if she had to spend it on house repairs.

“It didn’t need a handyman a month ago.” Elton Cook whispered, as if the house itself might overhear and fall down as a consequence.

In Maggie’s estimation, it had needed a handyman for a long time. Turning it into a boardinghouse obviously hadn’t earned enough for all the necessary repairs.

“I’m sure my grandmother did the best she could.” A hole opened wide in Maggie’s chest as she thought of all the lost years she’d let build between her grandmother and herself.

“No.” Elton flapped bony fingers. “You don’t understand. She had it painted last year. Then there was the new septic installed nine months ago, and she sodded the entire lawn afterward. There wasn’t a weed in sight when I was out here in the middle of August.” A month and a half ago, two weeks after her grandmother passed on August first.

The handyman hammered at the base of the column, the afternoon sun shining down on his hair in an odd halo effect. In the van, Samson whined. He needed a potty break.

Elton Cook stuck his hand out, straight-armed, a key ring jangling in his fingers even as he eased closer to his Lexus. “I have to go.”

Maggie made a side shuffle to close the distance between them. “You could come in.”

“There isn’t any need.” Mr. Cook took a giant spread-eagled step in the opposite direction.

“Shouldn’t you at least introduce me to the tenants?”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine on your own.” He jingled the keys when she didn’t take them.

“I don’t even remember their names.”

“Hopefully they do.”

Maggie grabbed her grandmother’s keys before he dropped them. Mr. Cook skipped sideways the rest of the way to his car as if he were afraid to turn his back on the house. It might be time to let his son take over the law firm.

“Don’t forget,” he called. “You can’t put them out unless they don’t pay rent or they get arrested and accused of murder.”

“Can’t forget that,” she muttered to the cloud dust he left behind as he peeled out. She’d inherited her grandmother’s house as well as the boarders living there. They could miss six monthly rental payments before she could kick anyone out. Unless they tried to kill her first. She’d have to read the will again; had it said get arrested and accused of murder or was that an either/or?

She tipped her head and gazed across the street. The house and its tenants might actually be worth it if she got the handyman, too.

She was forty, divorced, and it was high time she had some fun, right? Opening the van’s door, she snapped her fingers. Samson hit the ground running. He squatted on the edge of her new yard and christened the dirt for what seemed like a full minute as Maggie crossed the road. Despite being male, Samson was a squatter, not a leg-lifter. Ray said that made him a wuss. Maggie thought it demonstrated he was an individualist.

“Guess your dog didn’t see the sign on the lawn?” The handyman’s voice was deep, the kind of voice you felt vibrating on the inside.

Maggie stared at the crab grass, the weeds, the gopher holes, and the dirt. “We didn’t notice a lawn,” she answered, perfectly serious, not a funny-bone in her body.

He pointed to the marker, a picture of a dog squatting, the universal red not circle over its behind.

“Ah, that’s it. He doesn’t read sign language.”

His lips moved, but he didn’t crack a smile, and Maggie resisted pointing out that it was her nonexistent lawn. After all, he’d fixed the column so the porch no longer sagged. For that, he deserved a thank you. She shaded her eyes from the sun pouring over the roof, opened her mouth to offer it…

And looked up into the face of the man she should have married instead of Ray.

 

* * * * *

 

It took Maggie forever to find her voice over the crack in it. “What are you doing here?”

He crossed his arms, staring down at her with something that resembled a smile, but with the sun in her eyes, it could also have been a grimace. “A whole lot of nothing, Maggie.”

God. He recognized her.

Cooper Trubek had been her high school sweetheart. Had been, was, is. It depended on your definition of the word is. He still existed, she still existed, and she’d loved him with all her heart. So Cooper Trubek is her high school sweetheart might be the right way to say it. Despite the intervening twenty-two years, the girl she’d once been had never fallen out of love with the boy. That girl still remembered every precious moment with Cooper from sophomore to senior year.

She could have said all that but, thankfully, what came out was “Samson did number one.”

Cooper glanced at Samson, who sat on his haunches, giving him the mother of all stares.

Up close, Cooper’s dark brown hair was shot through with silver strands, and fine lines etched his eyes. The years had made him better, seasoned, overwhelmingly male, instead of a mere boy of eighteen. Tall, over six feet, he’d perfected a stone-faced demeanor she found daunting. In high school, he’d laughed a lot. Back then, she hadn’t hurt him yet.

His gaze tracked her face, her hair, her eyes, her lips, then down to the tight, low-waisted jeans and snug T-shirt. She wasn’t an eighteen-year-old girl either, and his gaze made her self-conscious, as if he thought she was trying to deny her age. It was just that she’d done all her shopping with Evie who’d always said that Maggie shouldn’t dress like an old lady.

“I live here,” he finally said, without inflection.

Deciding the man wasn’t a threat, Samson rose to his four paws, trotted to Cooper’s side, and sniffed his work boots, then his pant legs. He was heading north when Cooper stuck his hand in the way.

It took that long for Maggie to realize Cooper had answered her original question. “You’re one of Nana’s boarders?”

He nodded. This time, the smile made it to his eyes. “I’m one of your boarders.” Samson circled, and Cooper shoved him away before he sniffed the backside. “I’ve got the attic.”

When Maggie lived in the house, the attic was dusty and dark, one long room with a sloped ceiling, boiling in summer and freezing in winter. How could a person live in the attic? Elton Cook told her Nana had remodeled to make more space for boarders, turning the first-floor rumpus room into a bedroom and adding a shower to the half-bath by the stairs. There were now three full bathrooms. But Mr. Cook hadn’t mentioned the attic.

Maggie snapped her fingers, and Samson slumped in the dirt, laying his snout on his paws. “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t expect you to”—his voice roughened, the first sign of emotion slipping—“since Cecelia never called you in the entire five years I’ve been here.”

And not for twelve years before that. Did Cooper think Maggie had deserted Nana the way she’d deserted him?

“I should have called her,” she admitted, the guilt like a lump of raw cookie dough in her stomach, the kind of thing you thought you could handle until it expanded. How much had her grandmother told Cooper about Ray and Evie? Short for Evangeline. Long ago she’d chosen the name for the little girl she and Cooper would one day have. She’d dreamed so many things that had never come to pass.

If she wasn’t careful, she’d become maudlin, something she’d tried hard not to do since the divorce. “What happened to the lawn?” And the swing, the porch, the paint? “Mr. Cook said the grass was just replaced.”

Cooper stared at the house, the brown of his eyes deepening. “It got sad.”

“The house got sad?”

“When Cecelia died.” He swept an arm across the expanse of dirt, and Maggie realized the elusive sentiment in his gaze was grief. He’d had a soft spot for Nana, bringing her a treat when he arrived, meringues or flowers or a cookbook. And he’d left her with a goodnight kiss on the cheek. “First week,” he said, “the grass died, second week the weeds and gophers took over.”

Her grandmother’s house had always been...special. The scents of baking cookies and fried chicken lingered long after the kitchen should have aired out. If Maggie wanted a breeze on a summer’s night, she’d find a window open she was sure she’d closed. When she climbed out her second-floor window to meet the most beautiful boy in the world, the trellis suddenly reached right up to her sill. As if the house shared her feelings for Cooper. When she’d let him move to L.A. on his own following high school, the trellis vines grew thorns.

Over the years she’d been absent, Maggie decided she’d imagined all the strange things about the house.

“Maybe the septic’s failing again.” It could have contaminated the dirt and killed the grass.

Cooper went on. “Then the swing fell down, the porch sagged, the paint flaked, and the shingles fell off.” He kicked up one side of his mouth. “I don’t think that’s the septic.”

Her grandmother had loved the swing on a warm night, swaying, sipping homemade lemonade as they discussed the day. The torment when Timmy Tipton sent Maggie a love note only to have their fourth grade teacher intercept it and read it aloud. The tragic loss of Jimmy Howell when he was killed in the sixth grade as he crossed the big highway east of town. Susan Foster getting pregnant at fifteen. What Maggie should wear to the junior prom with Cooper.

All the memories, the years, the times she thought of calling Nana but never did. All the regrets and guilt. “I thought you were some big screenwriter in Hollywood,” she said, a catch in her voice.

His head bent to Samson, Cooper merely raised his eyes to meet his gaze. “You know I never sold a screenplay.”

She hadn’t known. For years, she’d searched movie credits for his name. When Cooper left to make his Hollywood dreams come true, she was supposed to go with him. Fear got the better of her, and she’d allowed him to board that train alone, deserting him with nothing but a note she’d sent via a friend. At eighteen, it had seemed the best way to let him down. Today, she saw it for the coward’s way out that it was.

After that there was college, Ray, then Evie. And now this, back at the house she’d started in as if she were George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life. What would her life have been like if she hadn’t thrown away Cooper’s love?

“I’m sorry you didn’t make a movie.” What else could she say? She’d chosen security over a frighteningly uncertain future with Cooper. Two years later, when she’d gotten pregnant, Ray had represented her safety net. She’d chosen what she thought was security, even against her grandmother’s wishes and advice.

She’d lost it all when Ray no longer had a use for her. Even Evie didn’t need her after she went off to college.

She sounded disgustingly poor-poor-pitiful-me, but she’d made her own choices. “Thanks for fixing the porch.”

“Cecelia used to give me money off the rent for doing her odd jobs.” He turned, bounded up the porch steps, then threw over his shoulder, “I don’t expect the same thing from you.”

The message, she assumed, was that he didn’t want anything from her. He disappeared into the bowels of her grandmother’s house, the screen door banging shut behind him. One of the hinges dropped off, the screws pinging on the porch.

She’d deserted him, hurt him, hadn’t talked to him, or written him. She’d owed him more than a note. Yet she’d walked away and never looked back. Just as Ray had done to her over a year ago, the day after they’d settled Evie in her first-year college dorm room in San Luis Obispo. So Maggie knew how Cooper felt.

She shoved the house keys in her jeans pocket, snapped her fingers, and whistled. People didn’t like being snapped at, but to dogs, it was a sound, a command, and if they obeyed, they knew they’d get a treat. Samson followed her back across the lane to the minivan, and she carried the first of her boxes into her grandmother’s house. Her house now.

They say you can’t go home again; Maggie had no choice but to try.

Hope you enjoyed Chapter one of Can’t Forget You! Here’s where you can find the ebook! Kindle Kindle UK Nook Nook UK iBooks Smashwords All Romance
 

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