Carol Stephenson - Nora's Pride

The wild, reckless boy of her dreams had turned into the dark, dangerous man of her nightmares.

Only his eyes were as she remembered—bold, piercing and purposeful.

He knew.

“You look good. Just as I remembered you,” he said.

And he still had the ability to paralyze her—that stomach-quivering, breath-hitching, knee-jellying, mind-numbing power to immobilize her with one curve of his mouth.

He had no right to sashay into her store, into her life. Not after all this time.

“Why don’t you crawl out the way you came in?”

Connor’s nostrils flared slightly, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Same old sassy mouth, too.”

Dear Reader,

This May, we celebrate Mother’s Day and a fabulous month of uplifting romances. I’m delighted to introduce RITA ®Award finalist Carol Stephenson, who debuts with her heartwarming reunion romance, Nora’s Pride. Carol writes, “Nora’s Pride is very meaningful to me, as my mother, my staunchest fan and supporter, passed away in May 2000. I’m sure she’s smiling down at me from heaven. She passionately believed this would be my first sale.” A must-read for your list!

The Princess and the Duke, by Allison Leigh, is the second book in the CROWN AND GLORY series. Here, a princess and a duke share a kiss, but can their love withstand the truth about a royal assassination? We have another heart-thumper from the incomparable Marie Ferrarella with Lily and the Lawman, a darling city-girl-meets-small-town-boy romance.

In A Baby for Emily, Ginna Gray delivers an emotionally charged love story in which a brooding hero lays claim to a penniless widow who, unbeknownst to her, is carrying their child…. Sharon De Vita pulls on the heartstrings with A Family To Come Home To, in which a rugged rancher searches for his family and finds true love! You also won’t want to miss Patricia McLinn’s The Runaway Bride, a humorous tale of a sexy cowboy who rescues a distressed bride.

I hope you enjoy these exciting books from Silhouette Special Edition—the place for love, life and family. Come back for more winning reading next month!

Sincerely,

Karen Taylor Richman

Senior Editor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Mom, with the angels in heaven, and Dad.

Because of your endless love and belief in me,

I reached for the stars and achieved my dreams.

This one is for you with all my love.

credits her mother for her love of books and her father for her love of travel, but when she gripped a camera and pen for the first time, she found her two greatest loves—photography and writing.

An attorney in South Florida, she constantly juggles the demands of the law with those of writing. I-95 traffic jams are perfect for dictating tales of hard-fought love. She’s thrilled that her debut as a published author is with Silhouette Special Edition. You can drop Carol a note at P.O. Box 1176, Boynton Beach, FL 33425-1176.

1. Tuck roses into your jacket lapel…and hers, too

2. Sprinkle rose petals atop your steaming hot bathtub…and your bed

3. Build a rosebush nursery, so you always have fresh roses at hand

4. Develop a new kind of rose…and name it after the woman you love

5. Massage the woman you love with freshly plucked rose petals…everywhere…

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Arcadia Heights, Ohio

Twenty years ago

Their hands.

When Abigail McCall opened the front door to her house, she first saw three pairs of hands, linked together across their bodies. So small, so fine, clamped white with tension.

Then, as she looked farther, she saw the three terrified pairs of eyes watching her above reddened cheeks. Three little girls joined together by blood and tragedy.

Abigail had been cursing the fates since she’d received the phone call yesterday. Her younger sister, Tess, had always been bent on destruction and had finally found it in a tawdry motel room. Thirty-five and dead of a drug overdose. Now the only evidence of Tess’s brief life was the three youngsters standing on Abigail’s porch.

Tess had never cared about the bindings of marriage, had never stayed with the same man longer than a few months, had never bothered to protect herself. Her foolishness had produced three daughters by three different men. None of their fathers had come forward to claim the girls.

In the end, Tess’s irresponsibility had come home to roost at her older sister’s door. Abigail had been tempted to tell the social worker who called yesterday to take a hike. Why should she let Tess be the albatross around her neck again? Why should she pay the price for her sister’s mistakes? She’d liked the life she’d made for herself in this small Midwest town, and she liked living alone.

But all thoughts of rejecting the girls shriveled and died the moment Abigail saw the poorly clothed little ones shivering before her. Their linked hands testified to their fear and their unified strength.

The tallest and eldest stood on the right, her thin shoulders hunched against the cold. Long black hair whipped around her pinched features.

On the other end, a pint-size blond angel waited patiently, her blue eyes wistfully fixed on the glowing light spilling from the front parlor onto the veranda’s weathered planks.

Sandwiched between the two was the youngest child, who fidgeted until the oldest looked at her. The girl went still and stared, owl-eyed, at Abigail. Wisps of cinnamon-colored hair straggled out from under the brim of her blue knit cap. She lifted one joined pair of hands to wipe her nose. The older girl rolled her eyes but didn’t let go, as if she feared someone would snatch her sister away.

Poor children. None of this was their doing.

Tears pricked Abigail’s eyes. In that moment she lost her heart to them. Her nieces had suffered enough. It was time for them to have a real home.

Abigail dropped to her knees, silently encircling her nieces with her arms. Three heartbeats later, the blond pixie shyly put her free hand on Abigail’s shoulder and frowned at her oldest sister. Eyes grayer than the November sky studied Abigail, judged her and came to a decision. The older girl’s hand came up to rest on Abigail’s shoulder. The smallest child, encapsulated by her sisters, flashed a dimpled smile and threw both hands around Abigail’s neck.

They were hers now.

Three nights later, after the girls were asleep, Abigail carried a steaming mug of hot chocolate into her workshop at the rear of the house and went straight to her bench. During the summer months, she normally trekked across the backyard to her pottery shop, which faced the main business street. But with winter’s unrelenting cold and wind, she retreated to a workshop set up in her converted den, which also accessed the back porch. Cocooned from the cantankerous weather, she worked her magic.

After unwrapping the plastic sheet from a block of ironware-grade clay, she placed the slab on the potter’s wheel. After sluicing water over her hands, Abigail kneaded the clay, getting the feel of the formative powers of this particular lump. She closed her eyes and began to run her hands up and down the cool, moist material. Gradually she relaxed, the familiar tempo of molding the clay taking over all thought. Only instinct pulsed through her now.