Jennifer Snow - Falling for Leigh

Title Page Falling for Leigh Jennifer Snow www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author JENNIFER SNOW lives in Edmonton, Alberta, with her husband and four-year-old son. She is a member of the Writers Guild of Alberta, the Romance Writers of America, the Canadian Author Association and shewrites.org. She is also a regular blogger on the Harlequin Heartwarming Authors site and is a contributing writer for Mslexia magazine and RWR. She has offered online courses on writing sweet romance through several RWA local chapters and has written articles for Avenue magazine. An active volunteer with Frontier College, she is an advocate for literacy programs worldwide. More information can be found on her website, www.jennifersnowauthor.com .

Acknowledgments Acknowledgments Acknowledgments Dedication 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 Copyright This book would not have happened so soon if not for the support of my amazing husband. Reagan, I can’t thank you enough for giving me the opportunity to do what I love and for believing in me more than anyone. Thanks a million times to my agent, Stephany Evans, whose happy faces on my manuscripts are what give me the strength to face the tough critiques, as well. And as always, this book wouldn’t shine as brightly without the input from my amazing editor, Victoria Curran. So thank you all again for the love and support. And finally, a big thank-you to Adoption Options for the resources and examples of Birth Mom letters that both broke and restored my heart. Dedication Dedication 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 Copyright For Cheryl—“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying ‘I will try again tomorrow.’” —MaryAnne Radmacher

Dedication Acknowledgments Acknowledgments Dedication 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 Copyright This book would not have happened so soon if not for the support of my amazing husband. Reagan, I can’t thank you enough for giving me the opportunity to do what I love and for believing in me more than anyone. Thanks a million times to my agent, Stephany Evans, whose happy faces on my manuscripts are what give me the strength to face the tough critiques, as well. And as always, this book wouldn’t shine as brightly without the input from my amazing editor, Victoria Curran. So thank you all again for the love and support. And finally, a big thank-you to Adoption Options for the resources and examples of Birth Mom letters that both broke and restored my heart. Dedication Dedication 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 Copyright For Cheryl—“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying ‘I will try again tomorrow.’” —MaryAnne Radmacher

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

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“WHAT IS THAT NOISE?” Logan Walters asked through clenched teeth. He paced the hardwood floor in his room at the Brookhollow Inn, the room phone cradled to his ear. His laptop sat open on the antique writing desk, and papers were strewn about the bed. Discarded, rolled balls of yellow legal-pad paper lay near the trash can in the corner of the room. So much for the peace and quiet he’d been expecting from the small town in the middle of New Jersey. He’d been making just as much progress in his sublet studio apartment in Manhattan as he was here in Brookhollow.

None.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Walters,” the Brookhollow Inn’s new owner, Rachel Harper, said. “My children aren’t running through the hallways of the guest quarters again, are they?”

“No, not today.” That had been yesterday’s distraction. He couldn’t believe the bed-and-breakfast was home to so many kids. Funny, they’d forgotten to mention it on their newly designed website. He suspected complaints about noise were common now.

He ran a hand through his hair, which reached the back of his shirt collar. Past due for a cut.

Man, he missed the nice, quiet, little old lady that used to own the place. Had he known of the switch in ownership the year before, he certainly wouldn’t have come.

“I don’t hear anything here at the desk. What kind of noise is it?” she asked.

“It’s a hammering sound.” How could she not hear the deafening vibrations echoing off the walls?

“Our renovations have been complete for quite some time.”

He picked up on the note of pride in her voice.

Yes, their renovations—he’d noticed them, too. New paint, new windows, new tiled roof...improvements for sure, but he’d been relieved to see they hadn’t messed with the antique furniture in the guest rooms.

“Maybe it’s coming from outside,” she said. “Would you like me to go take a look?”

Logan was about to reply when the hammering ceased. He waited.

“Mr. Walters?”

“Hang on.” He waited a second longer. Nothing. He brought the receiver back to his ear. “No, that’s okay. It stopped.” Hopefully this time for good.

“Okay, then. Is there anything else I can do for you? I noticed you didn’t come down for breakfast yet. Would you like something brought up?”

Logan glanced at the clock on the mantel of the old wood-burning fireplace: 8:26. He’d been awake since five, surviving on the in-room coffeemaker. His stomach growled. The offer was tempting, especially as the smell of fresh-baked pumpkin-spiced muffins filled the house. Scanning the messy room, he hesitated.

In less than twenty-four hours, he’d made quite an impact on the small space. Clothes spilled out of his carry-on suitcase in front of the window. Yellow Post-it notes decorated the freshly painted dark blue walls above the desk, and his notebooks littered the floor, along with the homemade quilt thrown in a heap next to his damp towels. And the room still held the faintly nauseating smell of the Chinese takeout he’d ordered the night before.

“Um...no, thanks. I’ll come down.” After he restored the room to a livable state.

“Great, thank you. I have several guests checking in any minute, so I really shouldn’t leave the desk until my partner, Victoria, arrives.”

As Logan replaced the receiver, the sound of children squealing, running through the hallways made him wince. Spoke too soon about not hearing her children.

Coming here was a bad idea. He was never going to get any work done with the never-ending noise, in and outside the B & B. Being away from the distractions in the city was supposed to cure his writer’s block. Alone in a place where he could focus on the story in progress and not the stack of personal issues that competed for his every thought.

He’d first discovered this small town when he lived in New Jersey, at the start of his writing career. Brookhollow had been a great weekend escape during his first novel. He’d hoped the inspiration he’d once found here might be waiting for him. He’d foolishly believed that things wouldn’t have changed in the place in almost a decade.

Sitting at the desk, he stared at the open document on the screen. The idea of this sixth book—the final one in his mystery series—made him cringe. Halfway through, he realized his original idea of how to end the series that had defined his career and put him in the spotlight years before just wasn’t good enough. His fans expected more and he didn’t want to disappoint them.