Jeanie London - Frankie's Back in Town

It simply plain stopped right in her chest. Jack was ignoring everything she’d told him, all the boundaries she’d set. She had no reply, nothing but that swelling feeling in her chest, a feeling of such excitement that she had to consciously remember to breathe.

“Francesca, Francesca,” Jack said in a voice that told her he knew exactly the effect he was having on her, told her he had no intention of playing by her rules. “Just because I’m under your spell doesn’t mean I’ll throw the investigation.”

Then he laughed softly, a sound that filtered through her like the warmth from the fire, and Francesca knew right then and there that she was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.

Dear Reader,

Where is Bluestone Mountain? In my imagination it’s a picturesque town sandwiched between Woodstock and Bearville in the Catskill Mountains. In my heart it’s the place where I explored my imagination and learned to dream.

I was born and reared in New York City and spent my youth running back and forth between Brooklyn and the Mid-Hudson Valley. When the time came to create a whole new world…I returned to my roots.

Frankie’s Back in Town is my first title for Harlequin Superromance, and I’m thrilled to be writing stories that reflect situations and struggles most women know intimately. For Francesca, returning home means not only facing the past, but taking a few chances on the future. She rises to unexpected challenges, learns a few things about herself along the way, and finds love where she never expected. Not so different from real life, is it? Hence my new catchphrase: Ordinary women. Extraordinary romance. Sigh. Life is good.

I hope you enjoy Francesca and Jack’s love story. I love hearing from readers. Visit me at www.jeanielondon.com.

Peace and blessings,

Jeanie London

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Jeanie London writes romance because she believes in happily-ever-afters. Not the “love conquers all” kind, but the “we love each other so we can conquer anything” kind. Which is why she loves Harlequin Superromance—stories about real women tackling real life to fall in love. She makes her home in sunny Florida with her romance-hero husband, their two beautiful and talented daughters and a menagerie of strays.

A very special thanks to Wanda ;-)

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

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

EPILOGUE

JACK SLOAN, CHIEF OF POLICE, set the phone back in the cradle then reached for the intercom that connected him directly to his assistant.

“The mayor’s on his way over,” he said. “Just tell him to come in when he gets here and hold my calls.”

“You got it, Chief,” the upbeat voice shot back.

Jack got up from the desk and went to stretch before the window. He had a view of a street lined by shop fronts whose colorful awnings were now indistinct beneath a leaden gray sky. Mounds of dingy snow covered the curbs and spilled over onto sidewalks of the main street that wound through town center and bisected with Route 45, the primary highway into the valley.

Once a quarry town, Bluestone Mountain was now a fair-sized community, popular with writers, artists, musicians and sports enthusiasts because it lacked the commerciality of the nearby, and more widely known, hamlets of Woodstock and Bearsville.

Even now, in the dead of winter, folks came to town to enjoy some of the best skiing around. When the ice finally melted, Bluestone would attract people from all over who wanted to enjoy a renowned Catskill summer.

A good portion of his town’s population consisted of part-timers from Manhattan—business people eager to escape the city for densely wooded hillsides and mountain-tops, sports and outdoor activities, all only a convenient few hours north.

Another portion of his town’s demographic was made up of deeply rooted locals. Well over a century ago, people had surged to the area when miners had discovered feldspathic greywacke, the rare, dark blue sandstone that made Bluestone Mountain unique, and wealthy.

Even now, when the whole Catskill region had been earmarked as part of New York’s Forest Preserve, not all the land around here was publicly owned, which made Jack’s jurisdiction an interesting mix of big- and small-town politics. A mix that had its share of plusses and minuses. A plus was the freedom to run his department the way he saw fit. A minus was being at the beck and call of the good old boy network. Some folks considered themselves the local monarchy.

Like the mayor.

Gary Trant was Bluestone homegrown—Ashokan High class of ’92, a year Jack’s senior and, also like Jack, an alumnus of the football team. Those were the kinds of ties that bound tight. Since the mayor had appointed Jack, he could pick up his phone any time and inform his police chief he’d be dropping by to discuss whatever was on his mind.

That was how things worked in Bluestone.

Fortunately, the timing was good. Jack had just returned from observing a SWAT class at the police training academy and wasn’t due to meet with the assistant chiefs of the Professional Standards Bureau for another forty-five minutes. Plenty of time if Gary didn’t get waylaid by folks who recognized the mayor’s smiling face. No question whether he’d stop and chat.

Jack didn’t have to wait long, though. He’d barely sat back at his desk to review some proposed changes to the departmental budget when the door opened and Gary strode into the room, hand extended.

“Good to see you, Jack.”

Gary Trant radiated the kind of energy and personality that played well to the media. On the football field, too. Jack knew exactly how well because he’d followed in Gary’s wake and had found the helmet a challenge to fill.

“Have a seat,” Jack said. “What’s on your mind?”

Gary didn’t sit. He only cocked a hip against the desk, folded his arms across his chest and leveled a serious gaze Jack’s way. “Heard about the trouble at Greywacke Lodge. Credit card fraud, is it?”

“We’re not sure what we’re dealing with yet.”

“I pushed hard for that senior-living community to be built. Folks get old. Made sense to bring in developers to provide facilities instead of forcing people out of Bluestone to retire. Don’t want anything to reflect poorly on that decision.”

Not with reelection around the corner and Kevin Pierce looking to step up from the town council. Pierce was already generating buzz about the town needing a change. Since the Bluestone Mountain Gazetteer was giving him ad space, Jack knew which way that wind would blow.

“I’ve got people on it,” he said. “No need to worry. You know as well as I do in this electronic climate, credit cards get stolen all the time.”

“Agreed,” Gary said. “But that’s what I wanted to talk about. Who you’ve got on the case.”

“Randy Tanner. Assigned him when Chuck Willis realized there was a problem with a routine stolen wallet report.”

“You think Randy’s the best man to put on this?”

“Randy’s the best I’ve got.”

Gary nodded. “I know. I know. No question there.”

“Then what’s your concern?”