Brenda Novak - A Home of Her Own

“A Family of Her Own is an emotionally charged, fast-paced read. I will definitely be awaiting Novak’s next book.”

—RoundTableReviews.com

“A Family of Her Own tells a story rich in internal and external conflict…. Novak also explores family dynamics, friendships and other relationships.”

—Romance Reviews Today

“Once again author Brenda Novak delivers a stunningly magical performance…. Novak’s fans will easily recognize her unforgettable style and characterizations from the first chapter.”

—WordWeaving on A Family of Her Own

“A powerful author, Brenda Novak is an expert at creating emotionally driven romances full of heat, sensual tension and conflict that not only satisfy her characters, but her readers as well….”

—Writers Unlimited on A Husband of Her Own

“Brenda Novak always writes a wonderful story, whether it’s her Superromances or her single-title books. I know when I pick up something she’s written that I’ll be totally satisfied. And I certainly wasn’t disappointed with this one.”

—Old Book Barn Gazette on A Husband of Her Own

“Brenda Novak has hooked me with her endearing characters and heart-tugging romance.”

—EscapeToRomance.com on A Baby of Her Own

“A one-sitting read! Kudos to Brenda Novak for an insightful and emotional story that tore at my heartstrings!”

—The Best Reviews on A Baby of Her Own

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to the small town of Dundee, Idaho. If you’ve read the first three books in my series, you already know that Dundee is one of those places where family stands for something. It might not always be what we want it to stand for, but Dundee’s definitely a place where a person grows roots. Love the place or hate it, the mountains, the land, the town are in the blood of everyone who lives there. So far, Booker has turned his life around. Rebecca has married her childhood nemesis. And Delaney has given Conner the tether he needed so badly.

So what about Mike Hill? Those of you familiar with Mike know what a good guy he is—and what a great catch. You also know he’s nearly forty and unmarried. It’s going to take a very special woman to bring this man to his knees. He finds her just about the time he gives up looking—and in a very unlikely place.

I had a great time writing this story, especially because the inspiration for certain plot elements came from my own family background. I’ll leave you to guess which ones, but as you read, reserve a smile for those of us who truly understand the cliché “Truth is stranger than fiction.”

I love to hear from readers. Please drop me a line at P.O. Box 3781, Citrus Heights, CA 95611, or visit my Web site at www.brendanovak.com, where you can e-mail me or check out excerpts of my books, research articles and win fabulous prizes.

Until we visit Dundee again…

Brenda Novak

To Tonya, my oldest sister. She let her friend offer me my first

(and only) cigarette when I was eight years old and she was

eighteen, then cried laughing when I nearly hacked to death.

She locked me and my other siblings out when she baby-sat

so she could bake cookies and eat them without us. She

refused to let us cross the holy threshold of her room,

where she entranced us (standing outside looking in)

with such mysterious antics as burning incense and

making bottle candles out of crayons.

She also rocked me for hours when I was a baby,

bathed me until I was old enough to bath myself,

married young and let me stay with her almost every

weekend, took the heat from my parents when I stupidly

caused the loss of something important to the family,

taught me how to cook and clean and decorate.

You’ve been a friend, a sister, a mother to me, Tonya.

For everything, I love you.

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

EPILOGUE

THE VACANT HOUSE LOOKED haunted. Large and imposing, with a full moon hanging directly behind, the old Victorian cast a grotesque shadow across the snow, and the windows shone like so many eyes.

Ignoring the gooseflesh that prickled her arms, Lucky Caldwell stood on the ornate porch, braced against a chill wind as she pushed the heavy front door a little wider. She didn’t really want to venture inside now that it had grown so late. The house had sat empty long enough that rats, possums, raccoons or other crawling things could easily have taken over. Or maybe she’d find some mass murderer hiding in one of the rooms….

If she was anywhere else, she’d head into town and get a motel for the night. But as soon as even one person in Dundee spotted the distinctive strawberry-blond hair she’d inherited from her mother, word would spread all over town that she was back. And she didn’t want to alert anyone to her return just yet. She needed to get her bearings. Coming here was a risk, a huge risk, and she’d never been as lucky as her name.

The floor creaked as she stepped across the threshold. Instinctively she reached for the light switch, but then paused. Somehow, waltzing inside and lighting up the place seemed too brazen. She didn’t belong here; she’d never belonged here.

But she didn’t belong anywhere else, either.

Marshalling her nerve, she flipped the light switch anyway.

Nothing happened. The pace of life in Dundee was maddeningly slow but, evidently, not so slow that Mike Hill, executor of the Caldwell Family Trust, hadn’t gotten around to having the utility company shut off the electricity. Which, after six years, didn’t come as any big surprise. She’d inherited this rambling Victorian when Morris died and hadn’t been back since. During that time, she’d received a couple of calls from Fred Winston, the town’s only real estate agent and a man she remembered as wearing a cheap brown toupee. He’d told her the paint was peeling and the porch was sagging and asked if she wanted to sell. But she knew who wanted to buy and the answer had been and still was—no. At least not yet. She had unfinished business here in Idaho.

She set her backpack on the dusty floor and searched for her flashlight. Unfortunately, it was already on when she found it and, judging by the weak beam, had been on for several hours.

Lucky considered returning to her car for the extra set of batteries. She’d had to park out front because the roof on the garage had collapsed. But she was afraid she’d lose her nerve if she turned back now. Better to forge ahead….

She hefted her backpack to her shoulder, trained the dim light in front of her and left the door open in case she encountered something or someone she’d rather not meet.

Entering the formal living room, she quickly swept the light around the perimeter. Nothing moved—but the familiarity of the place evoked bittersweet memories. As bad as her childhood had been, she’d been truly happy for a few short months while living in this house. Especially that first Christmas after her mother had married Morris.