Lenora Worth - Because of Jane

Jane took in a breath. Did he see the loneliness, the isolation of the wall she’d managed to build around herself to keep others out?

Did he see her as a successful life coach, or a pathetic woman who’d come in hopes of using his name and his fame for her own purposes?

“Lenny, I can help clean up your grandmother’s house. For her sake. She’d want that, don’t you think?”

“You know something, Coach. I’m beyond help. I appreciate your efforts, but you should leave while you’ve got a chance.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Jane replied. And this time, it had nothing to do with ulterior motives or professional recognition.

Dear Reader,

This book is very special to me because even though I write for Steeple Hill Books, this is my very first Harlequin Superromance novel. I love writing for Steeple Hill Books and hope to continue doing that, but this story was a bit different, so I was thrilled when the editors of the Harlequin Superromance line decided to publish it.

I was born and have lived in the South all my life, and this is a Southern story. My heroine, Jane, lives in Arkansas, a state known for Razorback football, but she hates the game! It makes perfect sense that when she gets the assignment of a lifetime—to use her life-coaching skills to help ex-NFL quarterback Lenny Paxton get over a serious midlife crisis—she’ll take the challenge. But Lenny proves to be a hard case and doesn’t want to be tamed. These two opposites are definitely attracted to each other. Soon, Lenny has a plan to give Jane a bit of coaching, too.

This quirky Southern story was such fun to write. I’d love to hear what you think. You can contact me through my website—www.lenoraworth.com.

Lenora Worth

Lenora Worth has written more than forty books for three different publishers. Her career with Steeple Hill Books spans close to fourteen years. Her very first Love Inspired title, The Wedding Quilt, won Affaire de Coeur’s Best Inspirational for 1997, and Logan’s Child won RT Book Reviews’ Best Love Inspired for 1998. With millions of books in print, Lenora continues to write for the Love Inspired and Love Inspired Suspense lines. Lenora also wrote a weekly opinion column for the local paper and worked freelance for years with a local magazine. She has now turned to full-time fiction writing and enjoying adventures with her retired husband, Don. Married for thirty-five years, they have two grown children. Lenora enjoys writing, reading and shopping…especially shoe shopping. This is her first Harlequin Superromance novel.

To Tara Gavin, Wanda Ottewell and Patience Smith.

Thanks to each of you for believing in me, pushing me to be my best and letting me write this story!

And to Steve Miller, of course.

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

EPILOGUE

FROM HIS SPOT atop the hill, Lenny Paxton watched as his friend Henry Powell ran around the old truck to help the passenger. Amusement at Henry’s chivalrous antics changed to dread inside Lenny’s heart.

It couldn’t be. But it was. Henry set suitcases and tote bags down on the dusty road, tipped his hat to the woman standing there. Then with a grin, the man ambled back to the idling vehicle and took off, spinning rocks as he headed on up the mountain road.

“I don’t believe this,” Lenny said, his words edged with aggravation. He watched as the woman grabbed at her luggage and trudged up the rocky dirt driveway toward the farmhouse, purses and bags falling down her arms.

“Trouble, double trouble,” Lenny said, thinking a man could certainly reach his limits on days like this one. He’d just had words with ex-wife number two and now this.

Another woman in his life. An unwelcome, unwanted woman. And most of the women in his life were that way these days. He’d have to nip this in the bud right now.

But the primal male in him shifted gears. She did look kinda cute carrying all that baggage up that hill. Taking his time, he watched, a trickle of his old wickedness making him smile. He should go help her, but he wasn’t nearly as noble as old Henry. “Let her sweat a bit.”

Then she swayed, tripped on a rock and popped one of the heels off her pretty pumps. Lenny had to laugh at the words the cute woman uttered. A tad feisty underneath all that gabardine, wasn’t she?

When she threw down the bags and held up what was left of the heel of her right shoe, her expression full of exasperation and frustration, in spite of his aversion to the female population right now, Lenny knew he couldn’t let this one slide. This might get interesting.

SHE’D BROKEN A HEEL.

Letting out a groan, Jane Harper held that heel and looked up from her now ruined black Italian leather “client-meeting” pumps to the two-storied whitewashed farmhouse sitting with forlorn loneliness up on the hill in front of her. At least she was here now. And from the looks of the place, she’d be here a while. The yard was weed-covered and drought-thirsty. An old International tractor sat lopsided near a giant live oak on a hill, looking like a petrified bug. The steps were cracked, the porch paint was peeling. And the porch was lined with several pieces of vintage wicker furniture and Victorian plant stands, along with exercise equipment and piles of various brands of empty beer cans.

Jane glanced around, hoping the rumors she’d heard about shotguns weren’t true. She envisioned this place clean and well repaired. She could see this house renewed and invigorated, shining brightly with fresh white paint and ferns sitting pristinely on those fabulous old stands. She could almost smell freshly baked bread coming from the open kitchen window, hear the sound of someone practicing piano from inside the parlor. She’d plant daisies near that old tractor and make it into a backdrop instead of an eyesore.

Jane’s heart hurt for this place. All it lacked was a little nurturing. Her organizational skills were sorely needed. For this house, and for the man who’d been holed up here—allegedly armed and dangerous—since last spring.

“Certainly have my work cut out for me,” she mumbled to the broken heel of her pump.

But if anyone could get rid of the clutter surrounding the quaint Victorian house, Jane could. And if anyone could bring former NFL quarterback Lenny Paxton out of his self-imposed isolation after losing the Super Bowl, losing his beloved grandmother and then losing his cool in front of the world, Jane could. She also planned to get the scoop on the story everyone wanted—what in the world was wrong with Lenny Paxton?

Maybe everything that had happened up to now—the long drive from Little Rock, getting a flat tire out on the main road, then meeting the skinny, philosophical Henry in the old red pickup (he’d been kind enough to give her a ride and to warn her that she might get shot) and now her broken heel—had all been signs that she should have stayed in the big city.

Never one to take bad luck as the gospel, Jane dug in her one good heel and worked on calming thoughts. Forgetting her damaged shoe, she stood in the warm sunshine of this fall Arkansas afternoon, sweat pooling underneath her lightweight gray wool dress, steam fogging her black-rimmed glasses. After some steady deep-breathing, she once again looked over the meticulous notes tucked in her leather tote bag.