Spotlight: The Kade & Lacey Collection: The Maxwell Series by S.B. Alexander

Fall in love with Kade & Lacey all over again in this jammed packed box set that includes a never before published Valentine’s bonus scene and over 800 pages in the bestselling Maxwell Series about coming of age, bullying, dating, family, falling in love, marriage, drama, and an eternal love worth waiting for.

Starting over is always easier said than done.

Lacey Robinson had the perfect life, the perfect family, and the perfect future, until one terrifying night when everything was ripped from her.

Now she’s trying to sew back the pieces, but it's hard when she’s haunted by nightmares and faced with a bully who does everything to shatter her future.

Then she met him.

Kade Maxwell makes her mouth water and her belly tingle. Through his own pain, he shows her that she’s stronger than she thinks. But she’s not so sure when his enemy is determined to use her to get to him.

With too many obstacles, too many triggers, and too many demons in her way, she’s on the verge of losing everything good she has left, including the one boy who just might be the key to mending her broken heart.

Valentine’s Surprise – Bonus Scene

Love is in the air.

Kade is full of surprises, but so are the triplets, Kelton, Kross, and Kody. Catch up on the Maxwell family in this short scene packed with funny moments and sweet romance. 

Included in this box set is Dare to Kiss, Dare to Dream, Dare to Breathe, and Dare to Embrace along with a special bonus scene. The collection contains strong language and mature content and is intended for audiences seventeen years and older.

Standalone Books in the Maxwell Series:

Dare to Love –Featuring Kelton Maxwell and is a second chance romance. Dare to Dance – Featuring Kross Maxwell and is a second chance romance. Dare to Live – Featuring Kody Maxwell and is a contemporary romance.

Excerpt

DARE TO KISS

"What are you doing out here all by yourself?" The guy stopped at the back edge of the car and turned his head left then right in quick succession.

The parking lot lights hit his face at just the right angle to illuminate his copper eyes with lashes so long that I shivered. Butterfly kisses. I imagined the light touch of those lashes skimming over my face or anywhere on my body.  I didn't want to take my eyes off of him, but just that thought made my gaze wander slowly down his entire muscular body. His blue—or was it black?—T-shirt stretched tight over his broad chest, emphasizing the word Zeal. I didn't know if it was just a word he liked, or if it was the band my father had signed. I continued my obvious assessment, holding the gun as steady as my trembling hand would allow while my eyes landed on his faded, worn jeans that hung low on his hips, tattered at the knees. 

"None of your business. What do you want?" I asked.

He took one step closer, and I whipped my hand around, aiming the gun at him.

He backed away, raising his hands to shoulder height, and as he did, his T-shirt lifted, exposing a small area just above his belt that made me suck in air. 

"I'm not going to hurt you. I was just looking for my brother. He said he would be down here practicing." His voice was calm, and his relaxed shoulders told me he wasn't frightened at all.

I slanted my head to one side and a bead of sweat slid down my temple. 

"I'm serious. Put the gun away. I'm not going to hurt you. I go to school here," he said in a husky tone.

"Prove it." My voice was calm and steady, which shocked me. I wasn't convinced this dude was a high school student. He looked older. 

He laughed, a deep, throaty sound that caressed my skin as though his tongue were licking every inch of my body. "And how do you suggest I do that?" He still had his hands in the air, revealing his taut skin above the waist of his jeans, causing tingles to spark inside me. 

The bright lights of the ball field suddenly went off, the area around us darkening. He used those seconds to make his move.

Buy on Amazon

About the Author

I'm Susan Alexander, and you'll find my books under S.B. Alexander. A little about me. I've been writing since 2012 and started with writing all about vampires. After the second vampire book, I began to branch out in New Adult Romance. I love to read mostly all genres, and I'm always game to try something new. So I tested my hand at writing romantic suspense and just loved it. So you'll find I write in several different sub-genres of romance.

In between writing, I spend time with my soul mate of 20 years who got a bad deal in life. Three years ago he was diagnosed with ALS. It's a horrible disease, but we both have been making the best of life, laughing, smiling, and doing what we can together.

But writing is a great outlet for me to take my mind to another place. Plus, I have a great network of family, friends, fans, and so much more. I truly have an angel on my shoulder. My mantra is make the best of life because it's too darn short.

Twitter http://www.twitter.com/sbalex_author

Facebook  http://www.facebook.com/sbalexander.authorpage

Web  http://sbalexander.com

Instagram  https://www.instagram.com/sbalexanderauthor/

Goodreads  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6871111.S_B_Alexander?from_search=true

Amazon https://www.amazon.com/S-B-Alexander/e/B00AW0KZPI?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1561553211&sr=8-1

Spotlight: Parable of the Brown Girl: The Sacred Lives of Girls of Color by Khristi Lauren Adams

The stories of girls of color are often overlooked, unseen, and ignored rather than valued and heard. In Parable of the Brown Girl (adult nonfiction), readers are introduced to the resilience, struggle, and hope held within these stories. Instead of relegating these young women of color to the margins, Adams brings their stories front and center where they belong.

By sharing encounters she's had with girls of color that revealed profound cultural, historical and spiritual truths, Adams magnifies the struggles, dreams, wisdom, and dignity of these voices. Thought-provoking and inspirational, Parable of the Brown Girl is a powerful example of how God uses the narratives we most often ignore to teach us the most important lessons in life. It's time to pay attention.

Excerpt

 Chapter 1

Why would God make me a warrior when I’m really just weak?

—Deborah, age nine

For a nine-year-old girl, Deborah had a very sharp and opinionated mind. She was curious and perceptive, yet also quite innocent. About a week prior to Deborah’s ninth birthday, her mother brought her to see me for counseling. She wanted Deborah to have someone to share her inquisitive thoughts with outside of her family and friends. In the time we’d been seeing one another, Deborah and I talked about many things. She often described school as her “happy place.” One could feel the warmth of her big, bright smile when she talked about her friends and her classes. At school she felt safe, contrary to what she described as feeling trapped at home. She lived in a small, one-bedroom apartment with her mother and her mother’s boyfriend, who was recently released from jail after two years. Before he returned, Deborah slept in a room with her mother, which she loved because of how close she felt to her mother physically and emotionally.

Now she slept in the living room on their big, dusty, brown couch, which she described as old and worn. The middle dipped low when she lay on the couch and she often awoke with her back aching, but her mother thought Deborah was being dramatic when she complained about it. However, Deborah’s grievances indicated she felt distance between her and her mother and no longer had a sense of security and safety at home. Deborah’s mother was usually tired from working most of the day to support herself, her daughter, and her boyfriend. It had been six months since her mother’s boyfriend had moved in, and Deborah didn’t feel comfortable with him in her home. When she told her mother this, her words fell on deaf ears, just like all her other complaints did. Her mother thought Deborah was jealous but also believed Deborah would adjust to the situation eventually.

Deborah had a black-and white-marbled composition notebook she used as her journal. She didn’t structure her thoughts in a particular way, filling the notebook mostly with pencil-drawn pictures and poems. Knowing these were her private thoughts, I told Deborah she did not have to read them to me. Sometimes, she would bring the journal and have it idly on the desk. Other times, she wanted to read her thoughts from the past week. One day as she read, I glanced into the notebook and saw a picture she’d drawn, but I couldn’t quite make out who or what it was.

“What’s that?” I asked.

Embarrassed, she tried to hide it, but I promised I wouldn’t judge anything she drew or wrote. When she showed me the picture more closely, I was horrified. It was a picture of a girl with a gun to her head and the words “What’s the point? No one cares.” Something inside of me knew Deborah was the little girl. I asked her about the picture and she said it was an old drawing. Upon seeing the concerned look on my face, she tried to reassure me she’d just been having a bad day when she’d drawn it.

We sat in silence for a moment while I tried to gather words. Deborah seemed more concerned with my reaction than the actual drawing, and I sensed she didn’t want me to worry. When I finally found the words, I tried my hardest to impress to her that her life was important and that although things were difficult, people loved and cared for her. I also told her she had a life with purpose just like everyone else and God hadn’t made a mistake when creating her. She paused to think about my words and then desperately asked one of the most profound questions I’d ever heard.

“Why did God make me a warrior when I’m really just weak?”

I’d explained to Deborah that we would journey through life’s questions during our time together. I’d warned I wouldn’t always have the answers, but we would do our best to find them. This was a time I had no answer. As our session for that particular day ended, I promised we would revisit her question the next time, which would be the following week. As the intervening days passed, I grappled with her question, unable to get it out of my head. I was also ashamed to admit I had been in that exact theological crisis more times than I could count. Why did God make me a warrior, when I, just like Deborah, was simply a weak human being? Numerous challenging moments in my life have led me to question my abilities. When I would outwardly struggle, people would quote, “He will not let you be tempted beyond your ability” (1 Corinthians 10:13). However, my abilities felt like failures. It was—and still is—hard to admit to feeling this weakness, even though I had been in leadership positions before where I had to portray strength. I realized a nine-year-old could articulate one of life’s important questions in a way that I never could.

Nevertheless, I knew I’d have to tell Deborah something more than typical, “You’re not weak—don’t say that. You’re brave and strong.” Why did we respond with this comforting platitude even though it was not the truth for most of us? Adults especially give these types of fabrications when communicating with children, believing to protect them from painful realities. Was it better to tell a child uncomfortable truths at a young age or to lie so they can maintain unchallenged happiness? In this case, I did not want to lie. I had to tell Deborah the truth, which meant I needed to figure out an appropriate response to her question.

A week later, I went to our next session with the intention to pick up where we left off. I waited for her nervously and quietly. Deborah walked into the sparsely decorated room and sat across from me at our usual table. I couldn’t tell if she looked tired because of a long day at school or because of her sleepless nights on her couch at home. I told her I had been thinking about her question all week and I finally had an answer. As I looked into the face of that troubled yet innocent nine-year-old little girl, I said, “Just because you are weak, doesn’t make you less than a warrior. Warriors can be weak.” She might not have grasped the totality of that statement, but nevertheless, she looked relieved to know she could still be considered a warrior. Her weakness did not negate her strength.

If our truest selves are not always strong, why do we place such emphasis and privilege on constantly embodying strength? This quandary is a theological and human in nature, and one many black women and girls especially have to face throughout their lives.

We are human; therefore, we are strong and weak. Many of us, particularly black women and girls, have not been taught how to graciously give ourselves space to live with weakness. Weakness makes us acknowledge our inabilities and surrender to forces outside of ourselves for help. All of this contradicts our understandings of success and strength. We have difficulty seeing power in weakness.

Deborah’s struggles as a young black girl wrestling with a perceived mantle of strength reminded me of similar struggles I’d had my entire life. While I marveled at Deborah’s courage to ask her question, I later realized I’d had to garner my own courage to respond, to admit warriors can be weak and that I can be weak. I, a strong, independent, black woman, can also be vulnerable and fragile.

Black women have not had permission to be both. We need to be seen for all of who we are. I am proud of the strength in my DNA as a black woman and warrior, yet I am also grateful for the grace that gives me space to be weak when I need to be.

Deborah made me confront my own weaknesses. I still don’t know why God created us to have both weakness and strength. However, as 1 Corinthians suggests, God uses the weak things of the world to shine a light of truth on the strong. God chose to become incarnate in the weakness of Christ in order to present a powerful gospel of truth to the world. Weakness was the chosen one. Therefore, do not discount weakness. God resides with us in both our strength and our weakness; neither limits God.

Buy on Amazon | Barnes and Noble

About the Author

Khristi Adams is the Firestone Endowment Chaplain, instructor of religious studies and philosophy, and co-director of Diversity at the Hill School in Pottstown, PA. Previously, she worked as Interim Protestant Chaplain at Georgetown University Law Center & Georgetown University, Associate Campus Pastor for Preaching & Spiritual Programming at Azusa Pacific University, and former Director of Youth Ministries at First Baptist Church of Lincoln Gardens in Somerset, NJ. Khristi is also the Founder & Director of “The Becoming Conference” that began summer 2017, which is an annual conference designed to empower, educate & inspire girls ages of 13-18. Khristi is a graduate of Temple University with a degree in Advertising and a graduate of Princeton Theological Seminary where she obtained a Master of Divinity. Khristi is also currently an Associate Pastor at First Baptist Church of Lincoln Gardens. Her ministry and youth advocacy have been featured on CNN and her work has appeared in Huffington Post, Off the Page, and the Junia Project. When not in residence at The Hill School, she lives in East Brunswick, New Jersey.

Connect:

Website:

khristilaurenadams.com

Facebook link:

https://www.facebook.com/ParableOfTheBrownGirl/?view_public_for=114770629891635

Twitter link:

https://twitter.com/KhristiLauren

LinkedIn link:

https://www.linkedin.com/in/khristiadams/

YouTube link:

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCbtUqrQQA4pkW3WX72_MtTg

Spotlight: Hometown Girl Forever by Kirsten Fullmer

Hometown Girl Forever
Kirsten Fullmer
(Hometown #3)
Publication date: August 11th 2016
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Lizzy is making changes. Her recent move to Smithville and her job at the spa, as well as her boho-chic alpaca farm, are perfect. However, her overbearing socialite mother will not stop interfering with her plans. The woman may have run her life back in Boston, but Lizzie is determined that those days are in the past!

Elliot, a successful big-city architect, is visiting Smithville to check on his latest Spa design. The last thing he expects to find is a gorgeous gypsy-style spa manager and her demanding mother. Elliot is instantly drawn to Lizzie, but doesn’t understand her mixed signals. Unused to small town life, he is completely out of his element and in for one surprise after another.

Lizzy can’t help but be attracted by Elliot’s charms, but he’s exactly the type of man her mother would choose for her. Once Again, Smithville folk interfere with plans at every turn, forcing Lizzy and Elliot to face their personal dilemmas, and each other, head on.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

Elliot followed Tara into the spa, steadying his coffee cup, carefully stepping around a short, thin man who was shoveling the flowerbed as if the devil himself were prodding him. The man’s eyes bulged and his glassed hung on the tip of his nose.

“That’s Bobby,” Tara said as they stepped into what would become the spa lobby, “and over there are Gloria and Marge.”

Unsure which of the gaggle of women she was referring to, he nodded and gripped his coffee cup tighter. The women all nodded as he passed. The room was just as cluttered as it had been the night before, but now, instead of boxes, the room was filled with piles of items pulled from the boxes, as well as women of all sizes, ages, and types. Flattening against the wall so the redhead could pass, he scanned the room. “Who is in charge here?” he croaked, afraid to ask.

Tara scanned the noisy room. “There she is, come on…” she said, dragging Elliot forward by the elbow.

Elliot shuffled through the piles of supplies as Tara called out to friends. Being a good-sized man, he had to twist and turn to fit through the narrow spaces Tara easily passed. Forced to hold his half-full coffee cup over his head, Elliot muttered apologies for stepping on feet and bumping into women. Finally they reached the other side of the large room.

Gaping behind him at the sea of supplies and bodies he’d traversed, Elliot was caught off guard when he turned to see the gypsy woman he’d met the day before standing in front of him with a clipboard.

Her eyes were bright, and her riot of black curls were held back from her face with a headband. She wore a cream-colored tunic unlike anything Elliot had ever seen. It was rumpled, loose, and long to her hips, and the top of the bodice was comprised of multiple layers of lace. Over the frock she wore a loose-weave grey jacket that hung open, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Soft netting hung out the bottom of the frock at her hips, and around her neck she wore what he could only categorize as a necklace, but was actually a long chain with charms and feathers and scraps of lace shimmering all around it.

He stared at her in shock, not only because of her clothing, but because it was her. The strange bohemian woman had danced in and out of his scattered dreams all night. His eyes roamed over her all the way to the floor, taking in her grey leggings and laced boots, unable to miss her very shapely legs, before traveling back up to her face. This gypsy woman was going to run his spa?

Her perturbed expression clearly asked if he was finished gaping.

Feeling quite the clod, he hurried to extend his hand, forgetting momentarily that he held a coffee cup.

Lizzie jumped back, raising the clipboard in order to miss the torrent of black liquid as coffee sloshed over the rim of the cup.

Elliot jerked the cup back and staggered sideways into a pile of boxes, splashing coffee across his slacks and shoes.

“Let me help you,” Lizzie said, tossing her clipboard on a stack of boxes and grabbing a towel from a nearby pile of linens. Bending, she brushed at the coffee on his shins and shoes.

Embarrassed and numb with what he could only describe as uncharacteristically cloddish behavior, Elliot stood like a statue, his coffee cup held at arm’s length, still dripping onto the hardwood floor.

Author Bio:

Kirsten is a dreamer with an eye for art and design. She worked in the engineering field, taught college, and consulted free lance. Due to health problems, she retired in 2012 to travel with her husband. They live and work full time in a 40' travel trailer with their little dog Bingo. Besides writing romance novels, she enjoys selling art on Etsy and spoiling their three grandchildren.

As a writer, Kirsten's goal is to create strong female characters who face challenging, painful, and sometimes comical situations. She believes that the best way to deal with struggle, is through friendship and women helping women. She knows good stories are based on interesting and relatable characters.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram

GIVEAWAY!
a Rafflecopter giveaway

Spotlight: Forgotten Pieces by Tori Fox

Forgotten Pieces
Tori Fox
(White Creek #3)
Publication date: February 27th, 2020
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Eight years ago, I fell for Ryder Thompson.

He knew me in a way no one else did.

He held my heart in his hands.

Until he brought it crashing to the floor.

I picked up the pieces, vowing to never let him in again.

And I never thought I would see him again.

Then one day, he reappeared in my life.

I promised myself I would ignore him.

I lied.

————————————————————

Tacoma Calloway made me a better man.

To this day I swear upon it, no matter how broken I am.

We weren’t meant to be together when we first met.

We were two lost souls finding solace in the other.

But eight years later, I still want her.

I forbid myself from loving her then.

And I am unable to love her now.

If only my heart would listen.

It won’t.

Add to Goodreads / Pre-order

—

Previous books in the series:

Author Bio:

Tori Fox loves books. So much so she decided to write one. It didn't go well. But after genre changes, many rewrites, and lots of editing she finally finished. And now that she is done, she doesn't plan on stopping anytime soon. Besides writing you can find her curled up on the couch with her dog reading a book or lost in a makeup store purchasing more makeup than is necessary for a human. She is also a fan of hockey and whiskey, especially together. Tori lives with her fiancé in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram

Spotlight: Back to You by Kristen Granata

Genre: Contemporary Romance

They say you never forget your first love. Clearly, they haven’t tried hard enough. I’ve spent five years forgetting about Christopher Hastings.

His gentle touch? A distant memory.

Those gorgeous hazel eyes? Long gone.

The sparks that flew when we kissed? Wiped from my mind.

Now my life is going exactly the way I want it to. I landed a teaching job at my old elementary school. I’m happy again. Everything’s perfect.

Imagine my surprise when I find out my school’s gym teacher is none other than Christopher Hastings.

Cue panic attack.

But it doesn’t matter how good he fills out those basketball shorts—I’ve moved on. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. If only my heart would get the memo.

They say you never forget your first love, and it looks like Christopher is determined to make sure I never forget mine.

Exclusive Excerpt

Have you ever forced a smile so hard that it actually hurt?

I think I just pulled a muscle in my face.

Either that or I’m having a stroke. That would give me a good excuse to exit this conversation. Sorry, I’m having a stroke. I have to go.

“And then I was like, wait ... is this gluten free? Because I’m gluten intolerant.”

What’s this girl’s name again? My eyes glazed over five minutes ago, yet she continues blabbering on:

“And he was like, “No, ma’am.” And I was like, did he just call me ma’am? And then I was like, “I want to speak to your manager.””

Is it Jessica? Or Jamie?

“I mean, how prudent can you be? Can you believe that?”

Maybe it doesn’t start with a J at all ...

“Uhm, hello? Are you even listening to me?”

Shit. I’ve been caught. I clear my throat. “I’m not sure prudent is the right word.”

Nameless Girl cocks her blond head to the side. “What?”

“You said: How prudent can you be? But that word doesn’t make sense in that sentence.”

Her vacant eyes blink back at me.

So I continue to dig my hole deeper. “Prudent means practical, sensible. I think you meant to say insensitive.”

Blink, blink.

I lift my half-empty cup of beer to my lips and take a swig. I guess it could be half-full, if you’re one of those types. But that’s not how I see things. Guess I’m more prudent.

My roommate, Damon, claps me on the back. “Hey, man. The pool table’s open. Let’s go.”

I don’t play pool, but he’s clearly on a search and rescue mission. A damn fine wingman, that friend of mine.

I push my cheeks up, straining through another smile. “I’m going to play pool. It was nice talking to you …” Jordana? Jody? Ah, fuck it. Who really cares what her name is?

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, thanks for the vocabulary lesson.”

Damon chokes out a laugh as he ushers me toward the pool table. “Dude, that girl was a sure thing. Tell me you didn’t get all nerdy on her.”

I shrug before gulping down the rest of my beer. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I would want someone to tell me if I used a word incorrectly in a sentence.”

He shakes his head. “People don’t come to these parties to talk about school. They come here to get fucked up and not think about school.”

“But a conversation shouldn’t be physically painful. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. I’m pretty sure she used the word like over twelve times within one minute.”

Damon leans against the table, leveling me with a look. “That’s your problem: You were trying to talk to her. You’re supposed to smile and nod, let her run her mouth about whatever she wants. After a few minutes, you ask her if she wants to get out of here. Then, you take her back to your place and fuck her.” He spreads his arms out wide. “Have I taught you nothing in the past year?”

I’m quiet as I set my cup down on the edge of the table. It’s not socially acceptable for a guy to tell another guy that he’s tired of the one-night stands and meaningless conversations. I want to get laid, trust me. But what’s wrong with having an interesting conversation with a girl before I fuck her? Why can’t I enjoy her company, fully-clothed, as much as when we’re naked? Is that too much to ask?

    That’s the real foreplay. Getting into a girl’s mind before getting into her pants. If I can’t stand talking to her, what’s going to make me want to fuck her? Stupidity is a major boner killer.

Buy on Amazon | Barnes and Noble

About the Author

Kristen Granata is a teacher by day, and an (exhausted) author by night. Known for writing emotional New Adult Romance, she loves creating realistic, flawed characters who struggle through the darkest parts of life and come out stronger on the other side. Kristen is a self-proclaimed "bitter cynic trapped in a hopeless romantic's body." Her characters pack a sarcastic punch, make you laugh, make you think, make you ugly cry - and they will always live happily ever after. If you're a lover of moving, inspirational reads, Kristen's your girl.Kristen was born in Brooklyn, New York in 1986. She moved to Staten Island with her family and lived there for almost twenty years. There she attended community college and became a teacher. Despite her passion for writing, and despite her professors strongly suggesting she become a writer, she took the more sensible route (bitter cynic, remember?) After going through a difficult divorce when she was only twenty-nine, Kristen returned to writing. The raw story that poured out of her led her to publish her debut novel, Collision, in March of 2018. Soon after in August 2018, the sequel, Avoidance, was published. Her third novel, The Other Brother, released in April 2019.Kristen openly shares her mental health struggles with depression and anxiety with her Instagram following. Her message is a beacon of hope to anyone who is suffering: You are not alone. She delicately weaves this theme into her writing, and demonstrates the ability of love to heal trauma.When she's not teaching or writing, Kristen is reading, Instagramming, indulging in her messy love affair with popcorn, and annoying her wife and step-daughters by incessantly singing along to The Greatest Showman soundtrack.

Connect with the Author:  Instagram | Facebook | Website | Amazon | GoodReads | Twitter

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Spotlight: Sisters by Choice by Susan Mallery

From the New York Times bestselling author of California Girls comes an all new original Blackberry Island novel told with Susan Mallery’s trademark humor and charm. Sisters by Choice is a heartfelt tale of love, family and the friendships that see us through.

Cousins by chance, sisters by choice…

After her cat toy empire goes up in flames, Sophie Lane returns to Blackberry Island, determined to rebuild. Until small-town life reveals a big problem: she can’t grow unless she learns to let go. If Sophie relaxes her grip even a little, she might lose everything. Or she might finally be free to reach for the happiness and love that have eluded her for so long.

Kristine has become defined by her relationship to others. She’s a wife, a mom. As much as she adores her husband and sons, she wants something for herself—a sweet little bakery just off the waterfront. She knew changing the rules wouldn’t be easy, but she never imagined she might have to choose between her marriage and her dreams.

Like the mainland on the horizon, Heather’s goals seem beyond her grasp. Every time she manages to save for college, her mother has another crisis. Can she break free, or will she be trapped in this tiny life forever?

Excerpt

Chapter Four

Kristine was pretty sure she hadn’t been born organized, but having three kids in less than five years, not to mention several great lessons from her mother, had taught her the importance of developing the skill. Some days were easier than others, but on the busiest ones, a plan was required. Her challenging day ran from Thursday afternoon until bedtime on Friday.

She started right after lunch with a trip to the big-box store on the mainland to stock up on baking supplies. When she got home, she checked on the stew she’d started in the Crock-Pot right after breakfast and then put everything away. No after-school activities were allowed on Thursday. It was home directly after school to get homework and chores done before dinner.

By five she had the salad made and the ingredients for cheddar biscuits on the counter. She separated egg yolks from egg whites and saved the former to use in a custard over the weekend. After chopping green onions and measuring flour, butter and shredded cheddar cheese, she checked the schedule on the refrigerator.

“Grant,” she yelled up the stairs. “Time to make biscuits.” 

All three boys appeared in the kitchen.

“Are you sure it’s his turn?” JJ asked, walking to check the schedule himself. “He got to help last time.”

“I went last time,” Tommy said. “You went the time before.”

“Everyone gets the same number of turns. We rotate for a reason. Now, shoo.”

Tommy and JJ grumbled as they retreated. Grant carefully washed his hands and stood by the stove.

“I’m ready, Mom.”

“I can see that.”

While she would love to think it was her sparkling company that had the boys so anxious to help her in the kitchen, she knew the real appeal lay in the professional-grade stand mixer she’d wrestled onto the counter. She appreciated its work ethic and reliability, but the boys loved the roar of its engine and how it was Terminator-like in its relentless pursuit of turning disparate ingredients into a smooth, pliable blend.

She poured water into a stainless-steel pot, then added butter and cayenne pepper. Grant watched the mixture, stirring it occasionally.

“There are bubbles, Mom!”

“Excellent. Is the butter melted?”

“Not yet. Almost.” He stirred a few more times. “It’s melted!”

She took the pot off the heat and beat in flour. After dumping the dough into the stand mixer bowl, she smiled at Grant.

“It’s all yours, my man.”

“I got it, Mom. I got it!”

He carefully lowered the mixer and locked it into place, then turned it on. The whole eggs were added one at a time, then the egg whites. By the time that was done, she’d prepped two cookie sheets and started on the boys’ lunches.

Grant left the dough to cool and raced back to his bedroom. Tommy wandered in to set the table while JJ started watching for his father. 

The dance was a familiar one, she thought. On other nights, when there were games and school meetings or Jaxsen had to rush out to meet the guys on his bowling league, things were hectic, but Thursdays were quieter. At least until dinner was done.

“Dad’s home!” JJ yelled from the front of the house. Seconds later she heard the front door open then bang into the wall. Grant shrieked and ran down the stairs. Tommy finished setting out flatware before joining his brothers.

Kristine whipped the sliced green onions and cheddar cheese into the dough and started dropping spoonfuls onto the cookie sheets. Jaxsen walked in, all three boys hanging on him.

“Look what I found outside,” he said, crossing to her and kissing her. “Can we keep them?”

“I don’t know. Do we have room?”

“We do. Oh, come on. Let me keep them. I’ll take good care of them, I swear.”

The boys laughed uproariously as if they hadn’t heard the joke a thousand times before. Kristine briefly thought that it would be nice if Jaxsen was telling the truth and he really would take care of the boys. Not that he didn’t help, but their responsibilities were clearly defined. Jaxsen worked hard on the state road crew and he brought in the money. Everything else was on her. After all, she was a stay-at-home mom. What else did she have to do with her day?

Kristine slid the cookie sheets into the oven.

“Twenty-one minutes, people. We have twenty-one minutes.”

The boys ran out of the kitchen. Jaxsen leaned against the counter.

“How was your day?” she asked.

“Good. A couple of my crews got sent to help out with clearing the North Cascade Highway. Should be open by mid-May if it stays warm. Did you get by to see Sophie’s warehouse?”

“Not yet. I know she’s really busy hiring people and getting in shelves and stuff. I’ll get there.” She thought about what her cousin was going through. “She’s amazing. Starting over the way she is. I bet in a year or two, she’ll have doubled the business.”

“I think it’s sad.”

“Why would you say that? She started with nothing and now she has a successful company. Do you know what those jobs are going to do for the island? Plus, she’s making it as a woman with virtually no one helping her. She’s impressive.”

He moved close and wrapped his arms around her. “She’s by herself. Even when she was married to Mark, she seemed like she was by herself. Look at all the love in this house. You, me, the boys. She goes home to nothing. I wish she’d find somebody and quit working so hard.”

She looked into Jaxsen’s eyes. “I can’t figure out if you’re being sweet or a total jerk.”

“I’m not saying a woman can’t be happy by herself, but it’s better with a man.”

She raised her eyebrows and he quickly amended. “A partner of either gender. I’m not saying she shouldn’t be a lesbian if she wants to be. Hell, then I could watch.”

She slapped his arm and stepped away. “Do not let the boys hear you talking like that. I mean it.”

“You know I’m kidding. I just think Sophie needs somebody to love who loves her back. She needs somebody in her bed.” He pulled her close again. “I couldn’t make it without you.”

Kristine was pretty sure that was true. Jaxsen worked hard and he was a good dad, but he wasn’t the kind of guy who did things he didn’t like. All his “helping” with the boys was things he enjoyed. If one of the kids turned up sick, he was nowhere to be found. A flaw, she thought, stepping out of his embrace, but one she could live with.

Buy on Amazon | Audible | Barnes and Noble

About the Author

#1 NYT bestselling author Susan Mallery writes heartwarming, humorous novels about the relationships that define our lives-family, friendship, romance. She’s known for putting nuanced characters in emotional situations that surprise readers to laughter. Beloved by millions, her books have been translated into 28 languages.Susan lives in Washington with her husband, two cats, and a small poodle with delusions of grandeur. Visit her at SusanMallery.com.

Connect with Susan: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram