Brenda Minton - Thanksgiving Groom

“That isn’t who I am.”

“You aren’t Penelope?” He stayed close to the fire, watching her gather herself. Lamplight flickered, casting shadows on a face that was beautiful in a way he wouldn’t have imagined. Maybe because of the light in her eyes, the animation of her features.

“I am Penelope Lear. But…but I’m not a spoiled little rich girl.” In the warm glow of the lamp he saw tears pool in her blue eyes.

“I’m sure they’ll be looking for you.”

“Of course they will.” She shivered again.

But would they find her?

Alaskan Bride Rush:

Women are flocking to the Land of the Midnight Sun with marriage on their minds

Klondike Hero—Jillian Hart

July 2010

Treasure Creek Dad—Terri Reed

August 2010

Doctor Right—Janet Tronstad

September 2010

Yukon Cowboy—Debra Clopton

October 2010

Thanksgiving Groom—Brenda Minton

November 2010

The Lawman’s Christmas Wish—Linda Goodnight

December 2010

started creating stories to entertain herself during hour-long rides on the school bus. In high school she wrote romance novels to entertain her friends. The dream grew and so did her aspirations to become an author. She started with notebooks, handwritten manuscripts and characters that refused to go away until their stories were told. Eventually she put away the pen and paper and got down to business with the computer. The journey took a few years, with some encouragement and rejection along the way—as well as a lot of stubbornness on her part. In 2006 her dream to write for the Steeple Hill Love Inspired line came true. Brenda lives in the rural Ozarks with her husband, three kids and an abundance of cats and dogs. She enjoys a chaotic life that she wouldn’t trade for anything—except, on occasion, a beach house in Texas. You can stop by and visit at her website, www.brendaminton.net.

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But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.

—Isaiah 40:31

This book is dedicated to Doug, for being my hero each and every day. And to my kids for chipping in and making it so much easier.

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

Chapter Fifteen

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Lost in the Alaskan wilderness.

Penelope Lear’s great adventure was not supposed to end this way, with her standing on a shadowy path in the middle of nowhere. Mountains surrounded her, cutting her off from the rest of the world. She was completely, utterly alone in a world so huge she didn’t know in which direction to turn.

What had started with her brilliant idea that she could find the treasure and save the town of Treasure Creek was now looking like a news alert. All because she was positive she’d seen a clue from the treasure map. Just days ago when she’d taken a hiking tour of the area, she really thought she’d seen the rock formation that people were talking about. Her dad would have told her she was less than a week in town and already in over her head.

Instead of the confidence she had started out with, she was picturing the headlines that would be splashed across newspapers tomorrow morning. Or whenever they finally realized she was missing.

“Penelope Lear, Heiress, Lost in the Alaskan Wilderness.”

She didn’t want to think of other headlines, worse headlines. But she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about what would happen if someone didn’t find her. If they didn’t find the Jeep and her note that she was hiking out, heading south toward Treasure Creek, what would happen?

As for heading south, she hoped she was heading south.

She glanced at her watch and then looked west, where the sun would have been setting in an hour, if not for the mountains encircling her. At least she thought she was looking west. She had a compass in her bag, but she didn’t know how to use a compass. It had been part of the equipment she’d bought at the general store.

The clerk had grinned at her when she’d bought supplies. Either because he was single and enjoyed all the single women trotting through Treasure Creek and his store, or because he thought she was another clueless city slicker.

Fortunately Joleen Jones had bounced into the general store in time to take some of the pressure off. Joleen with the hair, the clothes and the personality to draw attention the way sugar drew ants. Joleen, like so many other women, had come to Treasure Creek looking for the hunky tour guides described in the Now Woman magazine article.

In the short amount of time Penelope had been in Treasure Creek, she had realized she wasn’t the only woman who had shown up to see what the men of Treasure Creek were all about; if they really were different.

Penelope insisted on being married to the man of her choosing, rather than the man with the right business portfolio.

Cold seeped into her bones, pulling her back to the present and her horrendous situation. Penelope pulled her coat a little closer and took a few careful steps on the trail.

November in the Alaskan wilderness. She’d lived in Anchorage her entire life. Even if she had spent her time in the city, she should know something about the Alaskan wilderness, something more than the fact that it was cold. And dark.

Yeah, she should know something—like stay home where it was safe and warm.

She hitched her backpack over her shoulder. At least she had jerky to eat, a few bottles of water and a rain poncho. And matches. If it came down to it, she could build a fire.

A noise, just a rustle or maybe rocks shifting under someone’s careful steps, caught her attention. She froze, and then turned cautiously, carefully. Chills were sweeping up and down her spine, tingling through her scalp and arms. She didn’t want to be dinner for a bear. Or a mountain lion.

How far back had she left the Jeep? It had to be miles. She’d been walking for hours. Not that going back would do her any good. Something had run out in front of the vehicle a few hours ago and she’d veered, sending the blasted thing over a small ledge and into a ditch. It wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

If only she hadn’t allowed herself to get distracted. But instead of paying attention to the trail that passed for a road, she’d been daydreaming about the Chilkoot Pass, an icy trail over the mountains that had claimed many lives back in the late 1800s as settlers hurried to Alaska, hoping to find gold. Instead they’d found greedy traders, icy trails and death.