Spotlight: Christmas in the Rockies by McKenna Grey

"McKensie’s Christmas Gift"

 When McKensie Scott returns to Wycliffe, Wyoming, she’s uncertain of her future . . . and the man she left behind two summers before. With the help of an unexpected ally, McKensie will discover that sometimes leaving the people you love is the only way to find your path home.

 
"A Snowy Falls Christmas"

After five years of searching for answers at her family’s home in Scotland, Maura Coburn returns to Snowy Falls, Colorado, the place she's always called home. When Wyatt Dobbes sweeps into town to take over his family's horse farm, Maura realizes five years might not have been long enough. When unexpected circumstances bring them together, Wyatt and Maura will soon discover the powerful magic of Christmas, love, and second chances.

"Christmas in Moose Creek"

Saige Travers said goodbye to Owen McGregor sixteen years ago. A spontaneous choice brings Saige home to Moose Creek, Montana, and she doesn’t expect her past to catch up with her present. When Owen walks back into her life, she struggles to remember why she left. Together they discover second chances are real and hope is a cherished gift.

Can six willing hearts find a second chance at love? Join us this holiday season and fall in love like it was the first time.

Book Excerpt

From “McKensie’s Christmas Gift” in Christmas in the Rockies

The fog cleared from McKensie’s brain. “And knowing my aunt, she insisted you have the wedding here.” 

“Yeah. I thought about moving the location, but Shirley insisted we still have it at the hotel, and Olivia—”

“Wouldn’t have wanted you to change a thing. I get it. Yes, you’ll have it here.” McKensie prided herself on handling tense situations, a handy talent when managing a kitchen. She avoided looking at Cameron throughout her conversation with Julie and realized he hadn’t moved, patient as ever. “When is the wedding?” 

“The week before Christmas.” 

McKensie raised a brow and studied her friend. “That’s fast.” 

Julie shrugged. “When it’s right, it’s right. That reminds me, I have one more thing to ask Shirley about the food. Meet you in the foyer in ten, big brother.” She stopped at the door and pointed to McKensie. “I will call you tomorrow. We have so much to catch up on.” 

Julie exited the office with as much excitement as she entered. McKensie replayed some of her last words over in her mind. When it’s right, it’s right. 

From “A Snowy Falls Christmas” in Christmas in the Rockies

Her breath faded into the crisp morning air. The stoneware mug cupped in her hands warmed her skin while the lavender tea blend stole away the frigid cold from within. She stood on the expansive deck overlooking the glistening waters of Winter Lake and contemplated her quiet return home. 

The Snowy Falls Lodge stood tall and grand behind her, a landmark on the lake and in the quaint mountain village. Her grandmother would have said, “For better or worse, it is now yours, Maura.”

Maura spent the first twenty-five years of her life in the spacious rooms and luxurious halls of the lodge that blended the design of a Scottish castle and Victorian cattle ranch. The idea might have resulted in a haphazard structure had it not been for a truly talented, though little-known, Scottish architect named Charles Mackenzie. 

Five years ago, Maura did what no one ever expected—she left home—and not because she didn’t love the lodge or the village. Her father called her a dreamer. Her mother used the word “wanderer,” and her grandmother often said she was a seeker. Maura appreciated her grandmother’s description best. What exactly Maura sought when she left Snowy Falls remained a mystery to everyone. 

From “Christmas in Moose Creek” in Christmas in the Rockies

The 4x4 careened to a stop and the driver waited in disbelief at the deplorable timing of Mother Nature. Moose Creek, Montana, had its share of wildlife—bear, deer, elk, mountain lions—but in her thirty-three years, Saige Travers had never seen a moose on this mountain. Until today. 

No one waited for her in her swank two-bedroom condo in Seattle except the goldfish her brother gave to her as a joke for her birthday. She’d needed a break from the city and the cataclysmic string of end-of-the-road relationships she’d been in the past five years. More like dates, if she was going to be honest with herself. 

Saige Travers didn’t have time for relationships.

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About the Author

McKenna Grey is the contemporary alter-ego of an award-winning, historical romance author. She writes romantic suspense, including the Kyndall Family series, and heartwarming, small-town romance to break up the murder and mayhem. She lives and plays in the northern Rocky Mountains where she manages to stay out of the trouble her characters can't seem to avoid. 

Connect:

Website: https://www.mckennagrey.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authormckennagrey/

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

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Spotlight: Ride the Tide by Julie Ann Walker

Once a fighter, always a fighter...

Former Navy SEAL Mason McCarthy is done being a fighting man. Now he and the Deep Six Salvage crew are working feverishly to find the wreck of the Santa Cristina and its legendary sunken treasure. Unfortunately for Mason’s peace of mind, chatty, brilliant historian Alexandra Merriweather has joined the hunt and there’s no avoiding her. Alex is exactly the kind of distraction Mason can’t afford right now…or maybe ever.

When a murderous enemy from Mason’s past threatens the Deep Six, he must rely on old instincts and the skills he honed from years of running black ops to make sure nothing touches Alexandra. But with their lives on the line and the adrenaline running high, it’s inevitable that sparks will fly.

Excerpt

Mason “Monet” McCarthy had a problem. 

She was five feet tall. Had curly red hair that was only fifty percent tamed under the best of conditions, and one hundred percent out of control this early in the morning. And she was sitting at a table by the window watching the multicolored ships of the shrimp fleet as they rocked precariously with the wave action out near the horizon while her fingers absently fiddled with the corner of a book. 

Oh, and she was also studiously ignoring him. 

She was wicked good at that last part. Was making a frickin’ hobby of it, as a matter of fact. Not that he could blame her, considering what she’d offered him. 

And what he’d turned down. 

Her name was Alexandra Merriweather. Alex for short, which was a ridiculously masculine moniker for such a tiny wisp of a woman. One with skin like porcelain, eyes the color of Colombian emeralds, and a laugh as sweet and tinkling as a music box. 

She was his problem because…well…he liked her. Like, liked her liked her. And if his cheating ho of a wife… Scratch that. Rewind… That would be his cheating ho of an ex-wife—had taught him anything, it was that he wasn’t fit to like a woman like Alex. 

Not anymore. 

All the years schlepping his ass through countless missions, maiming and killing in the name of the flag, had turned him into something…not normal. 

That was the phrase Sarah had used when he came home early to surprise her for her birthday, but instead found her screwing his ex-best friend in their marriage bed. Surprise! 

“What d’you expect, Mason?” Sarah’s expression had been so sincere. “You’re gone all the time, and when you’re here, you’re not normal.” 

Copy that. When it came to a life of violence, the effects were biological, physiological, and psychological. It was the price of being a warrior. 

So even though he’d been heartbroken by her betrayal, he’d never worked up much anger over it. Then and now, there was no way to deny the truth. Mason McCarthy was no longer capable of living an ordinary life with the house, the wife, and the two-point-three kids. 

The only reason he was sitting in this hotel bar now, a bona fide civilian, was because of a deathbed promise he and the rest of his teammates had made to Rusty Lawrence, the eighth man in their SEAL unit. Barring that, Mason figured he would’ve kept on running and gunning until he found the bullet with his name on it. 

With a fingertip, he traced the scrolling black letters inked on the inside of his left forearm. For RL they read. Picturing Rusty’s craggy face, he tried to determine whether to curse the sorry sonofabitch or thank him for forcing them all to make that vow and wave their fond farewells to the navy. 

A call of “G’morning, asshole!” cut into his thoughts. Turning, he found Ray “Wolf” Roanhorse standing behind him. 

Since he’d yet to determine how good the morning was or wasn’t, Mason grunted his reply. Wolf, used to Mason’s wordless responses, bent to scratch Meat’s exposed belly. 

The fat English bulldog slept on his back beside Mason’s barstool, dick and balls on display for the entire breakfast crowd, and his snores nearly drowning out the cries of the seagulls coming in through the hotel’s open windows. 

Meat was the only thing Mason had taken from the divorce. He’d let Sarah have their restored three-decker in Southie, along with the furniture and all the minutia that went with a “normal” life. But Meat? Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but he’d have crossed hell with nothing but a bucket of ice water before he’d let her keep his dog. 

“A wise woman once said, ‘If you risk nothin’, you risk everythin’.’” With the unaffected ease that came with being supremely fit, Wolf settled himself onto the barstool next to Mason’s. 

The two of them had become instant friends when they’d been teamed up as swim partners way back in BUD/S—Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL—training. And through all the intervening years, Wolf had never run out of inspirational quotes. He fancied himself a scholar of the world’s philosophers and religions. 

There were times, including this one, when that could get damned annoying. 

Instead of answering, Mason kept quiet. He hoped his silence conveyed his wish for more coffee and less talk. 

“I said,” Wolf said louder, “a wise woman once—” 

“First off,” Mason muttered irritably, “what part of this face”—he pointed to his scowling mug—“makes you think I’m in the mood for morning convo?” 

“You’re never in the mood for conversation,” Wolf drawled, his Oklahoma accent making the words sound twice as long as they normally would. “Don’t matter what time of day it is.” 

“Second off,” Mason went on as if Wolf hadn’t spoken, “what’s that supposed to mean anyway? If you risk nothing, you risk everything?” 

“It means you should pull your head from your ass and go for it. Take her up on what she’s offerin’.” Wolf stuck a cocktail straw between his teeth and hailed the bartender to put in an order for a Bloody Mary. Hitching his chin toward Alex’s table, he added, “Come on, man. You know you want to.” 

Mason hadn’t been kidding when he said he wasn’t in the mood to talk. But he sure as shit wasn’t in the mood to talk about Alex and her heart-stopping offer. 

***

Excerpted from Ride the Tide by Julie Ann Walker. © 2020 by Julie Ann Walker. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

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About the Author

Julie Ann Walker is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Black Knights Inc. and the Deep Six romantic suspense series’. She has won or been nominated for numerous awards including a Top Ten Romance by Booklist and a Best Summer Read by Publishers Weekly. She lives in Chicago, IL.

Connect: https://julieannwalker.com/ 

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Spotlight: Pretending by Holly Bourne

In this hilarious and heartbreaking debut novel perfect for fans of Fleabag, a woman struggling to move on after a traumatic relationship pretends to be “the perfect girl” in an act of vengeance that goes awry when she finds herself emotionally compromised.

He said he was looking for a 'partner in crime' which everyone knows is shorthand for 'a woman who isn't real'.

April is kind, pretty, and relatively normal - yet she can't seem to get past date five. Every time she thinks she's found someone to trust, they reveal themselves to be awful, leaving her heartbroken. And angry. Until she realizes that what men are really looking for is Gretel.

Gretel is perfect - beautiful but low maintenance, sweet but never clingy, sexy but not a slut. She's a Regular Everyday Manic Pixie Dream Girl Next Door With No Problems.

When April starts pretending to be Gretel, dating becomes much more fun - especially once she reels in the unsuspecting Joshua. Finally, April is the one in control, but can she control her own feelings? And as she and Joshua grow closer, how long will she be able to keep pretending?

Excerpt

I hate men.

There, I’ve said it. I know you’re not supposed to say it. We all pretend we don’t hate them; we all tell ourselves we don’t hate them. But I’m calling it. I’m standing here on this soapbox, and I’m saying it.

I. Hate. Men.

I mean, think about it. They’re just awful. I hate how selfish they are. How they take up so much space, assuming it’s always theirs to take. How they spread out their legs on public transport, like their balls need regular airing to stop them developing damp. I hate how they basically scent mark anywhere they enter to make it work for them. Putting on the music they want to listen to the moment they arrive at any house party, and always taking the nicest chair. How they touch your stuff instead of just looking; even tweak the furniture arrangement to make it most comfortable for them. All without asking first—never asking first.

I hate how they think their interests are more important than yours—even though twice a week all most of them do is watch a bunch of strangers kick a circle around a piece of lawn and sulk if the circle doesn’t go in the right place. And how bored they look if you ever try to introduce them to a film, a band, or even a freaking YouTube clip, before you’ve even pressed Play.

I hate their endless arrogance. I hate how they interrupt you and then apologize for it but carry on talking anyway. How they ask you a question but then check your answer afterward. I hate how they can never do one piece of housework without telling you about it. I hate how they literally cannot handle being driven in a car by a woman, even if they’re terrible drivers themselves. I hate how they all think they’re fucking incredible at grilling meat on barbecues. The sun comes out and man must light fire and not let woman anywhere near the meat. Dumping blackened bits of chicken onto our plates along with the whiff of a burp from their beer breath, acting all caveman, like we’re supposed to find it cute that we may now get salmonella and that we’re going to have to do all the washing up.

I hate how I’m quite scared of them. I hate the collective noise of them when they’re in a big group. The tribal wahey-ing, like they all swap their IQs for extra testosterone when they swarm together. How, if you’re sitting alone on an empty train, they always come and deliberately sit next to you en masse, and talk extra loudly about macho nonsense, apparently to impress you. I hate the way they look at you when you walk past—automatically judging your screwability the moment they see you. Telling you to smile if you dare look anything other than delighted about living with stuff like this constantly fucking happening to you. 

I hate how hard they are to love. How many of them actually, truly, think the way to your heart is sending you a selfie of them tugging themselves, hairy ball sack very much still in shot. I hate how they have sex. How they shove their fingers into you, thinking it’s going to achieve anything. Jabbing their unwashed hands into your dry vagina, prodding about like they’re checking for prostate cancer, then wondering why you now have BV and you still haven’t come. Have none of them read a sex manual? Seriously? None of them? And I hate how they hate you a little just after they’ve finished. How even the nice ones lie there with cold eyes, pretending to cuddle, but clearly desperate to get as far away from you as possible.

I hate how it’s never equal. How they expect you to do all the emotional labor and then get upset when you’re the more stressed-out one. I hate how they never understand you, no matter how hard they try, although, let’s be honest here, they never actually try that hard. And I hate how you’re always exhausting yourself trying to explain even the most basic of your rational emotional responses to their bored face.

I hate how every single last one of them has issues with their father.

And do you know what I hate most of all?

That despite this, despite all this disdain, I still fancy men. And I still want them to fancy me, to want me, to love me. I hate myself for how much I want them. Why do I still fancy men so much? What’s wrong with me? Why are they all so broken? Am I broken for still wanting to be with one, even after everything? I should be alone. That’s the only healthy way to be. BUT I DON’T WANT TO BE ALONE. I hate men, that’s the problem. GOD I HATE THEM SO MUCH—they’re so entitled and broken and lazy and wrong and…and…

Hang on…

My phone.

HE MESSAGED BACK!!!

WITH A KISS ON THE END!

Never mind.

Forget I said anything. It’s all good.

Excerpted from Pretending by Holly Bourne, Copyright © 2020 by Holly Bourne. Published by MIRA Books. 

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About the Author

Holly Bourne is a bestselling UK-based YA and Adult Fiction author and is an Ambassador for Women’s Aid. In 2019, she was an Author of the Day at the London Book Fair, and was named by Elle Magazine’s weekly podcast as one of “Six Female Authors Changing the Conversation in 2019”. Pretending is her US debut.

Connect:

Author website: https://hollybourne.co.uk/

Twitter: @holly_bourneYA

Instagram: @hollybourneya

Facebook: @Holly.BourneYA

Spotlight: The Wife He Needs by Brenda Jackson

Will this billionaire bachelor say “I do” to love? He desires her more than any other woman. 

The arrangement is simple: a two-week getaway, then a marriage of convenience. Until Garth Outlaw’s potential bride is a no-show. Now family pilot Regan Fairchild is sharing his bed—and he can’t get enough…even though he’s vowed never to love again. Can Regan convince him the wife he needs and the woman he desires are one and the same?

Excerpt

“So, when is the wedding, Garth?”

Garth Outlaw raised his eyes from studying his cards. Was his brother playing mind games to mess with his concentration?

“And just what wedding are you talking about?”

Garth glanced around the table and saw the smirks on the faces of all four of his brothers. Even Jess had made a trip home from the nation’s capital for a week long visit.

“Is anyone going to answer?” Garth asked.

Jess grinned as he threw out a card. “I heard it from Dad the moment I walked through the door. He claims you’ve gotten over Karen Piccard, decided to settle down and do whatever needs to be done for the benefit of the company, which includes getting a wife and making babies to guarantee the Outlaw dynasty. Those were his words, not mine.”

“We heard the same thing,” Cash said, with Sloan and Maverick nodding in agreement.

Garth didn’t say anything. Being the oldest son of Bartram “Bart” Outlaw wasn’t easy, especially when his father liked spreading information that wasn’t true. However, in this case, it was. At least partly. He was planning to do what needed to be done for the company. But he seriously doubted he would ever get over Karen. She would always have his heart.

“No wedding date has been set because I haven’t chosen a bride.”

His brother Cash sat up straight in his chair. “Are you really thinking about settling down with a wife and making babies?” he asked, as if the thought of doing such a thing was as unheard of as living in outer space.

Garth threw out some chips. “Why not? I don’t see any of you guys rushing to the altar to continue the Outlaw legacy. Not even you, Jess, and you’re the politician in the family. You of all people should be thinking about acquiring a wife.” A couple of years ago, Jess had gotten elected as a senator from Alaska.

A grin touched Jess’s lips. “No, thank you. I’m not ready to fall in love.”

Garth shrugged. “Who said anything about falling in love?”

“You’re thinking of marrying a woman you don’t love?” This question came from Sloan. 

“For me there’s no other way.”

There was no reason to explain what he meant. They knew.

“And you’ll do it because Bart says it needs to be done?”

Garth rolled his eyes at his youngest brother, Maverick, who’d been quiet up to now. “No, I’ll consider doing it because I think it’s about time I settled down. I’m thirty-eight, and dating gets old.”

“Speak for yourself,” Maverick said, grinning. “I happen to enjoy dating a lot of women.”

Garth shook his head. “And Walker got me thinking. Look how long he was a loner before he got married. If he can do it, then anyone can.”

Walker Rafferty was Garth’s best friend. A couple of years ago, Walker had met his current wife and now they were parents to twins, a boy and a girl they’d named Walker and Westlyn. Nobody thought Walker would ever remarry after losing his first wife and son in a car accident. Surprisingly, ten years later, Walker had fallen in love again. Garth was happy for Walker, and inspired to settle down, but honestly, he couldn’t see himself falling in love. He was convinced Karen was the only woman he was meant to love.

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About the Author

Brenda Jackson is a New York Times bestselling author of more than one hundred romance titles. Brenda lives in Jacksonville, Florida, and divides her time between family, writing and traveling. Email Brenda at authorbrendajackson@gmail.com or visit her on her website at brendajackson.net.

Spotlight: Judge’s Girls by Sharina Harris

Family is what you make it.

Three very different women. Only one thing in common. But when their family patriarch dies and they must share his estate, the truths they discover will test them—and everything they think they know about each other.

Beloved Georgia judge Joseph Donaldson was known for his unshakable fairness, his hard-won fortune—and a scandalous second marriage to his much-younger white secretary. Now he's left a will with a stunning provision. In order to collect their inheritance, his lawyer daughter Maya, her stepmother Jeanie, and Jeanie’s teen daughter, Ryder, must live together at the family lake house. Maya and Jeanie don’t exactly get along, but they reluctantly agree to try an uneasy peace for as long as it takes . . .

But fragile ex-beauty queen Jeanie doesn’t know who she is beyond being a judge’s wife—and drinking away her insecurities has her in a dangerous downward spiral. Fed up with her mother’s humiliating behavior, Ryder tries to become popular at school in all the wrong ways. And when Maya attempts to help, she puts her successful career and her shaky love life at risk. Now with trouble they didn’t see coming—and secrets they can no longer hide—these women must somehow find the courage to admit their mistakes, see each other for who they really are—and slowly, perhaps even joyfully, discover everything they could be.

Excerpt

Pastor Davies strode toward the solid oak lectern, a thick, maroon-colored Bible in hand. Sunshine streaming through the stained glass cast red and green lights against his weathered face. “Let the church say amen.” “

Amen,” the congregation responded. I couldn’t. My throat felt like grains of sand in an hourglass. A hundred pairs of eyes were aimed at me, watching my every move even though they couldn’t see me through the black lace veil covering my face. I stroked a coin, Daddy’s lucky penny, between my forefinger and thumb. The cool from the copper soothed me.

“Oh, Lawd.” Aunt Lisa waved a black lace handkerchief in the air, her arms jiggling with the motion. “Not my baby, sweet Jesus. Not. My. Baby!” Aunt Lisa jumped from the seat and walk-hopped to the front of the church. She threw herself on the black and silver casket, moaning and groaning and body shaking.

That’s right, Aunt Lisa. Give them a show. Move the attention away from me.

“Take me instead, Lord!” Aunt Lisa patted her chest and looked toward Black Jesus in the mural above the baptism pool. My daddy’s other sister, Aunt Eloisa, wailed from the pew. She didn’t dare run up like Aunt Lisa. Aunt Eloisa had bad knees, bad ankles, bad joints—bad everything if you let her tell it. Daddy would hate this. He hated spectacles and pomp and circumstance. If he were here, he’d tell Aunt Lisa to sit down and tell Pastor Davies to get on with it. But if he were here, he’d be alive. And I wouldn’t be at his funeral. Exhausted from crying myself to sleep. Exhausted from heaving the two crackers I’d just managed to swallow before my stomach churned. Exhausted from taking care of my stepsister. Exhausted from making sure my stepmother hadn’t burned the house down.

Pastor Davies looked over his shoulder and nodded to the minister seated to the right of the pulpit. I couldn’t remember his name, but he’d always been nice the few times I’d attended service. He sighed and hefted his portly physique up. The chair squeaked and shifted, as the red velvet cushion on top of the chair rose like dough. “All right, Sister Lisa.” The minister’s soothing and patient voice could barely be heard over the wails. “Go on back to the pew, now. Sit down with your family.”

 Aunt Clara Bell, my great-aunt who’d raised Daddy and his sisters after my grandmother died, waved Aunt Lisa back. “Come sit down, so we can pay our respects to Joe. It’s a funeral, not The Price Is Right.” Aunt Lisa wailed louder. Minister Simpson, who’d been seated toward the left side of the pulpit, gently grabbed her elbow and guided her away from the casket. She slumped from his grip like a toddler in the throes of a tantrum. Her black, mad-hatter hat fell to the ground, as she flopped onto the floor and howled. “Hush now,” the minister’s voice grew agitated. “Judge Joe’s in a better place.”

In a better place. What better place could there be than here with me? The tsunami was building, churning my insides, flooding my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. I was angry—so damn angry and hurt. I couldn’t move past the vow he’d made twenty-two years ago. He should be here. He promised. The penny heated between my fingers, but I couldn’t stop rubbing it. I couldn’t stop the memories from bowling me over.

“Swear it, Daddy. Swear on your lucky penny that you’ll never leave me.” Daddy, so big and so strong, was like the oak tree in our backyard that I’d loved to climb—solid and steadfast. But the day Mama died he’d fallen, and he’d crumbled. And at five years old I didn’t know what was scarier—Mama’s lifeless body or Daddy’s lifeless eyes. I don’t know if it was my small fists banging on his legs, or the tears that soaked his pants, but he suddenly dropped to his knees. His brown eyes glistened with a wetness that left me cold even though the sun warmed my skin. He looked at me, and he saw me. He choked on a breath as if he were coming back to life. He took the penny from my fingers and vowed, “I promise, Maya. I’m here to stay.” I believed him. But I’m not five years old anymore. Twenty-seven years old, mad at the world, mad at God. Mad at Daddy for saddling me with his second wife, Jeanie, who couldn’t bear to see his casket. So instead of sitting in the pew with his family, she’d run out of the sanctuary and locked herself in the bathroom. After everything Daddy endured for that woman: my family giving him crap for marrying a white woman fifteen years his junior, his so-called friends freezing him out because they didn’t think it was right. And how had she repaid him? With cowardice.

 Sniffles cut through my fog of anger. Ryder. My shadow. The only good thing Jeanie had done with her life had been birthing a beautiful and brilliant daughter. The squeeze from Ryder’s hand gave me a sliver of comfort. Though, from the red that inflamed her baby blues, and from the puffy bags under her eyes, she needed comforting, too.

 I tilted my head on her shoulder and pulled her into a side hug. “We’ll be okay,” I managed to whisper. Her arm squeezed my waist.

“Promise?” Her voice shaky and desperate, much like my own when I’d asked Daddy the same request. I wanted to give her the world, but I couldn’t utter the lie. But I did stop rubbing the penny. It wasn’t lucky after all.

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Sharina Harris earned her Bachelor of Arts degree from Georgia State University. After college, she pursued a career in digital marketing and public relations. Although her profession required writing, she decided to pursue a career in writing in 2012.

Sharina’s contemporary romance series under the pen name, Rina Gray, was named Book Riot’s 100 Must‑Read Romantic Comedies. When Sharina’s not writing, she can be found with her head stuck in a book, rooting for her favorite NBA teams, and spending time with friends and family.

CONNECT WITH SHARINA HARRIS: AUTHOR SITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | INSTAGRAM | NEWSLETTER | GOODREADS | BOOKBUB | AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE

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Spotlight: His Holiday Prayer by Tina Radcliffe

A new beginning could be closer than he thinks. What he wants for Christmas may not be what he needs. After receiving an unexpected job offer in Texas, widower Tucker Rainbolt decides he and his twins need a fresh start. But moving on means leaving his best friend, Jena Harper, and their vet clinic behind. For the first time, Tucker sees Jena as more than a buddy. What if leaving isn’t the answer? Maybe what he’s been missing has been right beside him the whole time…From Harlequin Love Inspired: Uplifting stories of faith, forgiveness and hope.

Excerpt

“Looking good, Muffin.” Jena Harper examined the suture line on the English bulldog, then removed her gloves with a snap. She gave the dog a gentle massage behind the ears before turning her over to the clinic technician.

“Any special orders, Dr. Harper?” Pilar Lopez asked.

“No, her incision looks great. Give the Tuttles a call and let them know their princess is ready to pick up.” Jena glanced at the clock. “Remind them that the clinic closes early on Saturdays.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thanks, Pilar. And thank you for working overtime until we find a second tech,” Jena said.

“No problem, Doc. Mind if I take off after I call? My son has a scout meeting.”

“Go ahead, and have a great rest of the weekend.” Jena headed to the sink, scrubbed her hands and rinsed them before pushing through the swinging door to the staff area where her partner at Rebel Vet and Rescue, Tucker Rainbolt, stood at the counter in the file room, documenting in a patient chart.

“Thanks for handling those last few appointments, Tucker,” she said. 

He yawned and ran a hand through short, caramel-colored hair. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“Yes, but you already put in the entire morning out at Rebel Ranch treating that stallion.”

“Small animals are a nice change of pace from the equine clinic. Hopefully Monday and Tuesday will be quiet for you, since I won’t be around to help.”

“Ah, yes. You’re headed to Texas.” She shook her head. “Explain to me why you’d want to speak at a university whose football team annihilated us this year?”

Tucker chuckled. “Life is not just about animals and Oklahoma State football, Jena.”

She opened her lab coat to show off her OSU Cowboys black-and-orange sweatshirt, which managed to be both gaudy and tacky. “Says who?”

He stopped writing and looked at her. “You never cease to amaze me.”

“I consider that a compliment.”

“Don’t you ever feel a little stifled in Rebel?” he asked.

“No. I love this town.” Rebel was idyllic. Small enough that you knew nearly everyone’s name. Then from Memorial Day to Labor Day, the population swelled with tourists. There was always something going on thanks to nearby Rebel Lake and Keystone Lake. Yes, Rebel, Oklahoma, was pretty much perfect.

“Hmm,” Tucker murmured. “I guess the difference is that you don’t have two older brothers who hover over you at every turn.”

“You have a supportive family who are concerned about your well-being. You’re very fortunate.” Tucker had no clue what it was like to have zero family, and she prayed he’d never know that feeling of being alone in the world.

“Yeah. Extremely fortunate,” Tucker agreed. “But all that concern comes at a price.” He released a slow breath. 

“I’ll forever be the little brother. Even more so since we lost Levi and Megan.”

Jena grimaced. It hadn’t been her intention to bring up memories of those dark times when Tucker lost both his wife and his younger brother in separate incidents but so close together.

“It’s not their fault,” he said. “And it is getting better since both Reece and Mitch got married. Eventually, the folks in this town will ease off, too.”

“The town?”

“Jena, the pastor’s wife will pick up her dog shortly. When she does, she’ll bring me a casserole. The woman has had my name on her outreach calendar for over four years, since Megan passed. When I suggest removing me, she won’t hear of it. Ridiculous, but there it is.”

“Oh, wow. I had no idea. And I feel like a jerk of a friend for not noticing. I’m sorry, Tucker.”

“Don’t apologize. You’re the only one who doesn’t treat me with kid gloves.”

She chuckled. “No, I can’t say that I do.” Often the two of them had running disagreements about all sorts of things. She definitely had no fear of telling him the truth about…pretty much everything. That’s what made them such good friends. They could and did talk.

“Sometimes, I wonder if maybe there’s something else out there for me.” Tucker stared through the storefront window of the clinic as though he was a million miles away from Rebel.

Panic gripped Jena around the middle as the reality of his words sank in. “You’re not thinking of leaving Rebel, are you?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Good.”

When the front door bells chimed, they both turned toward the sound. 

Tucker followed Jena to the reception area just in time to see Saylor Tuttle sashay through the doggie entrance, holding a foil-covered pan and bringing with her the unmistakable scents of gardenia perfume and tomato sauce, along with a chilly late October breeze.

“Tucker,” she said. “So glad you’re still here.” The pastor’s wife slid the casserole onto the counter and then patted her sky-high, silver bouffant hair.

Turning slightly toward Jena, Tucker raised his brows with a ‘see what I mean’ expression.

“Thank you, Mrs. Tuttle.” He smiled. “You know you can take me off the list any time now, right?”

“Nonsense. It’s an honor for the ladies’ outreach to assist you during this difficult time.”

“Let me go get Muffin,” he said.

“Muffin is healing nicely,” Jena said to Mrs. Tuttle. “Keep the E-collar on to prevent her from messing with the incision line and continue cleaning the area as you have been.”

The older woman leaned across the counter. “You know, honey, if you’d marry him, I could take him off my calendar.”

“Excuse me?” Jena inched away from the desk, eyes rounding as she processed the woman’s words. “Are you talking about Tucker?”

“Who else? He’s a catch and you’re the most likely candidate.”

Jena took a breath. It wouldn’t do to insult the pastor’s wife, so she measured her response. “Tucker and I are friends. We went to college together and started the clinic together. I’m the twins’ godmother.” She raised a hand, then lowered it to the counter, still stunned. Never in a couple zillion years would she ruin their friendship and their professional bond by crossing that line.

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About the Author

Tina Radcliffe has been dreaming and scribbling for years. Originally from Western NY, she left home for a tour of duty with the Army Security Agency stationed in Augsburg, Germany, and ended up in Tulsa, Oklahoma.  Her past careers include: Certified Oncology R.N. and library cataloger.  She recently moved from Denver, Colorado, to the Phoenix, Arizona area, where she writes heartwarming and fun inspirational romance.