That uncertain pushpin in life’s perpetual calendar. The only reason she’d kept her ex-husband’s last name was for the sake of their two young sons, figuring she could always change it later. Where everyone knew her by her maiden name. The job-hunt didn’t knot her nerves as much as the embarrassing grapevine chitchat sure to follow once the neighborhood found out she was living in Scenic View again, with her parents no less, after she’d made a clamor about getting out of this one-traffic light town as soon as she graduated high school. It was stupid to let the simple action of printing her name intimidate her, but it did, so she moved on to the next question, saving that bit of pertinent information for last. Joy clenched the black ballpoint pen, her clammy hand trembling as she filled in the narrow blank spaces on the job application-the first of such forms in almost a decade. Published in the United States of Americaįor Mom, who’d prefer I write children’s books.Īnd Oliver & Otis, my favorite fur-nephews. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.Ĭontact Information: Art by Angela Anderson No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.Īll rights reserved. Your mother would actually tie your dog to a tree? All night? In the rain? He pressed her back against the wall, getting close enough to kiss, hoping some memory of last night was enough to make her stay. I didn’t put your clothes in the dryer yet. Tristan yanked on his robe and followed behind, catching her before she reached the front door. She slipped out of the bedroom and down the hallway. Thanks for everything, but I need to go home. Joy scrambled off the bed and into his over-sized gray sweat suit. Fried bacon and eggs with a side of burnt toast was Nick’s usual wake-up call. Nope, Tristan said, amused at the grown woman’s sudden state of panic. The aroma of fresh coffee drifted down the hallway, along with the clamor of clanking pans. I’d rather not ruin this moment by inviting my parents into the conversation. It’s bad enough I’m crawling home after sunup. And say what? I spent the night with some guy I just met? No, thanks.
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