by Toni Blake
Then, glancing around, it hit her. She peered down at the cat and said, “I don’t quite know how it happened, Erik, but I have it all. An amazing home, a new business, dear friends, a loving family—and a hot, sexy man who adores me.”
In response, the black cat meowed as if he were protesting, making her laugh.
“Yes,” she told him. “I know. And I have a sweet and wonderful kitty who I love very much, too.”
Anna’s Blackberry Cobbler*
½ cup (1 stick) butter
2 cups self-rising flour
2 cups white sugar
2 cups milk
4–5 cups blackberries (enough to fill pan to brim)
Preheat oven to 350˚F. Once oven temperature is reached, melt butter in a 9”x13” pan.
In a medium-sized bowl, stir together the flour, sugar, and milk (2% milk is best). The batter will be slightly lumpy. Pour mixture on top of melted butter in baking pan. Do not mix butter and batter together.
Drop blackberries into batter (if more crust is desired, add less blackberries). (Yes, the batter goes in first, then the berries. Don’t worry, when you take the cobbler out of the oven, the berries will be on the bottom and the batter will have formed a crust on the top.)
Bake in preheated oven for one hour or until golden brown.
*Thank you to Amanda Beverly of Joseph-Beth Bookseller in Lexington, Kentucky, for allowing me to use her recipe.
Did you fall in love with Toni Blake’s Half Moon Hill?
Then you won’t want to miss out on the rest of her new series set in a beautiful small town with a lot of heart—and unforgettable people.
Keep reading and fall in love all over again.
Welcome to Destiny . . .
One Reckless Summer
Jenny Tolliver’s been the good girl all her life, and now that her marriage has been busted up by her cheating ex, she’s decided it’s time to figure out what life holds in store for her next. She never dreamed the answer would be Mick Brody, Destiny’s number one hell-raiser. He’s exactly the kind of guy Jenny’s always kept her distance from . . . but soon the good girl and the bad boy are caught in a raw heat that’s out of control.
For God’s sake—he’d really just had sex with her. With Jenny Tolliver.
He’d known her name then, and he knew it now, too. He wasn’t sure why, either time, he’d acted like it was such a mystery. He just hadn’t wanted her to know, he guessed, that he’d even realized she existed. That he’d seen her, when they were teenagers, cheering at high school basketball games in that little red-and-white skirt. Go Bulldogs—ruff, ruff, ruff! That he’d seen her back then hanging out at the Whippy Dip, with guys who were much cleaner-cut than him but who were still probably talking her out of her panties on hot summer nights.
He blinked, still shocked to remember that he’d just talked her out of her panties. Well, not talked—no, not that at all. But the result was the same, and something he would never forget. The police chief’s daughter, who had provided him with more than a few teenage fantasies, who he’d been certain would never look twice at him, had just done it with him in the woods.
The wonder of that—and the horror of it—made him drop to his knees on the forest floor and close his eyes. He ran his hands back through his hair, frustrated.
She couldn’t possibly understand what was at stake here, why what he’d just done could possibly be the biggest mistake of his life—and he’d already made more than his fair share. And—realistically—she probably couldn’t be trusted not to tell people she’d seen him, not to tell her father. Mick emitted a huge groan of defeat at the very thought.
Then again, maybe she wouldn’t tell her dad. To tell him the whole story would mean admitting to having sex with Mick without having hardly exchanged a word. And why that had happened—why she had let it—he’d never know.
He’d never consciously made the decision to start kissing her, touching her—it had just happened when she’d tried to get past him. It hadn’t resulted from thought—but mere instinct.
He truly hadn’t recognized her at first, but once he’d figured out who she was, something about her had brought out the animal inside him. And there’d been moments when he’d been sure she’d stop him, and other moments when he’d been much more sure she wouldn’t—but he still couldn’t believe the latter had turned out to be true.
Although even if she didn’t tell her dad, she’d surely tell someone. She just didn’t have any reason not to.
And then word would get around. And then her father would find out. And then everything Mick was trying to do here would fall apart. And he might go to prison, for all he knew—something he should have thought about before he’d agreed to this, but he hadn’t. He might go to prison, and that was only one lousy aspect of being found here.
I shouldn’t have let myself be talked into this. I should be at home in Cincinnati, having a beer at Skully’s on the corner, or watching a little TV before bed.
But it was too late for the shoulda-coulda-woulda thing.
He supposed he should get back to the house. He’d only intended to take a short walk, get some air, clear his head from the troubles between those walls. And then he’d seen someone on the property and his body had gone on red alert—he’d closed the short distance between them without even thinking about consequences, his only thought that whoever it was couldn’t be here. And the truth was, he hadn’t been overreacting. The last thing he needed was a woman trotting around the woods with a telescope that could just as easily be pointed in a window as at the sky.
Which was when he realized the big clear plastic bag she’d been carrying lay right next to him on the ground—she’d been so pissed at him that she’d walked off without it.
And that gave him an idea.
Since he didn’t think Jenny Tolliver could be trusted to keep his presence a secret . . . well, it might be wise to pay her a visit, remind her that he was deadly serious about the promise she’d made.
And in the meantime, maybe he’d sleep worse than usual in that hot little house tonight, because he had brand new problems to worry about.
Or . . . maybe he’d sleep better, because he’d be taking even hotter memories back inside with him.
Sugar Creek
Rachel Farris returned to her childhood home with one mission in mind: get Mike Romo, the local police officer, out of her family’s apple orchard business and out of their lives. However, neither the hunky cop nor the sexy prodigal hometown girl can anticipate the electricity that heats things up whenever they’re together.
Rachel sighed audibly. He was back to being his jerky self, that fast. “No, as a matter of fact, I’m not happy. I’m freaking miserable, actually.”
“Well, it’s your own damn fault,” he complained.
And that was it. She stared boldly up into those dark brown eyes of his, thoroughly disgusted. She’d had it with his rude behavior. She’d had it with . . . everything. “Look, I didn’t want to come here tonight. I did it as a favor for a friend. I don’t even want to be in this stupid town, but here I am, trying to help out my grandma. And now I’ve got you, giving me ridiculously expensive tickets and acting like I’m a terrible person every time I see you. Well, I’m not that terrible, Romo. So why don’t you just take your attitude and your blame and your self-righteousness and shove it up your—”
“Stop!” he said then, reaching up, closing his hands tight on her upper arms. “Be quiet! Be quiet.”
At first, she thought maybe he’d heard something outside and wanted to listen. But that’s when she realized he was staring at her lips. And that somewhere during her diatribe his eyes had drifted half shut, while his mouth now fell slightly open. He still had that light, stubbly beard going, and being right next to him like this, she could smell that musky scent again—in fact, it was permeating her senses. He stood so close, just a few inches away. How had she not noticed that until now?
As she’d spoken, her adrenaline had risen,
and peering up at him, she heard herself breathing—and he suddenly seemed to be breathing pretty heavily, too.
“Maybe we should just do this, get it over with, get it out of our systems,” he said.
She blinked up at him. “Do what?”
And then he kissed her—hard.
His mouth sank over hers with such power that she had to lean into him just to keep from collapsing.
“Oh. That,” she breathed when the kiss ended.
Then she instinctively kissed him again, pressing her hands to his chest. She was a little shocked—by his actions, by hers—but mostly just . . . pleasured.
“Yeah. That,” he said, voice ragged with passion.
After which their mouths came back together, kissing feverishly, and Rachel followed the urge to ease back against his sturdy body, now feeling his kiss . . . everywhere.
Whisper Falls
After a failed big-city career, Tessa Sheridan has returned to Destiny to pick up the pieces. The last thing she expected was to fall for the biker next door! They say that former teen rebel Lucky Romo has a dark, secret past—that he’s trouble with a capital T. But when Lucky invites her into his world, she can’t ignore the sparks igniting between them.
Holy crap.
She’d been right. This was Lucky Romo! In the flesh! It was a miracle!
Because his family hadn’t heard from him in so long they’d actually feared he was dead. Which was because—uh-oh, she just remembered—they’d also gotten word at some point that he’d joined an outlaw biker gang out west.
Oh boy. Bikers were one thing—outlaw bikers were another. Did she have some vile and dangerous criminal helping her look for Amy’s cat? Should she just forget Mr. Knightley and run? Maybe the sense of danger that hung around her neighbor was what had kept her from giving him her name. And if she didn’t run, should she tell him she knew who he was?
Before she could think further, the door on the white house opened and Lucky Romo came walking back out—carrying a small bowl of milk in one large hand. Huh.
He said nothing as he rejoined her in the yard, so she cleverly remarked, “Milk.” Then cringed. Stop with the brilliant comments already! Lucky Romo lowered the dish to the grass halfway between Tessa and the woods, then stepped back beside her. And that’s when she realized what Mr. K. had wanted when he’d been meowing at her. Amy gave him a saucer of milk every night with dinner—and Tessa had forgotten. Stubborn, spoiled cat.
“Is that him?” Lucky asked.
Tessa’s heart rose to her throat when she followed his pointing finger toward the edge of the yard, where the forest met the lawn—Mr. Knightley crouched there in the taller grass, peering at the milk as if it were prey. “Uh-huh,” she whispered.
Both of them stayed quiet as Knightley slowly, silently inched toward the milk, his movements implying he thought he was being very sneaky about the whole thing. Once he started lapping at it, Tessa gingerly moved in to kneel beside him. He didn’t flinch when she reached to stroke his fur, too caught up in the milk, and she sighed, “Thank God,” giving the spotted cat an affectionate squeeze. For the first time since Knightley’s escape, Tessa felt like she could breathe again. She hadn’t lost Amy’s cat. Life would go on.
But then she remembered the weirder part: Lucky Romo, of all people in the world, had helped her find him. She still couldn’t fathom that this big, tough guy was him. He’d left town at eighteen, which was—she did the math—sixteen years ago now. But this had to be him. The whole motorcycle thing fit. As did the name on the back of his shirt. Sure, it could be somebody else’s business, but he looked so much like Mike with that thick, dark hair and olive complexion.
So this was him. Lucky Romo. Home at last.
But . . . if he wasn’t here to reconcile with his family, why was he in Destiny?
The second Mr. Knightley reached the bottom of the shallow bowl, Tessa anchored one arm snugly around him and pushed to her feet. “Thanks,” she said. Although peering back up into that tough-guy face and those captivating eyes made her a little dizzy. She’d never known a guy with muscles like this. With long hair. With so many tattoos.
“No problem.” He was still Mr. Unemotional, though, his voice flat and detached.
“You saved my life,” she felt the need to add.
He gave his head a pointed tilt. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
His words made her remember the whole outlaw rumor. Maybe an outlaw biker dude took that kind of statement a lot more literally than she did. And did this mean she should be scared? She’d been a little scared even before remembering that part.
And yet . . . even as her muscles stayed tensed, she felt a response to him in other places, too. In her breasts. Between her thighs. Good Lord—what was that about? Or—wait. Maybe it was all just nerves, her whole body getting into the act because he was so freaking intimidating. Hopefully. She couldn’t tell.
So she dropped her gaze briefly and bit her lip, her heart still pounding too hard, before forcing her eyes back to his one last time. “Well, I better get him into the house before he tries to make another break for it.”
Mr. Unresponsive didn’t reply, so with cat in hand, she turned to go.
That’s when he said, “See ya later . . . hot stuff.”
The last words halted Tessa in place. What had he just called her? Looking over her shoulder, she raised her gaze back to his—to find another tiny hint of amusement there as he said, “Your shirt.”
Glancing down, Tessa wanted to die. She’d completely forgotten she wore a snug white tank with the words Hot Stuff written in script across it, actually half of a pajama set Rachel had given her for her birthday; the matching pants had little smiling hot peppers all over them. But the worst part was—she wasn’t wearing a bra, a fact that was scandalously apparent. She even caught a hint of color through the thin cotton. Dear God in heaven.
Holly Lane
A weekend in a cabin near Destiny seems like the perfect Christmas gift to Sue Ann Simpkins—until her ex’s best friend, Adam Becker, shows up at the door, claiming the cabin is his! But when a sudden snowstorm strands them together in very close quarters, Adam realizes that what he really wants for Christmas is a second chance at love. Now all he has to do is convince Sue Ann . . .
“What, um, are we doing?” she whispered in the still air.
“I don’t know,” he whispered back, sounding earnest and yet . . . maybe a little needful.
And then she lifted her gaze to his and their eyes met and she had the feeling she was looking at him like she wanted him to kiss her.
And she must have been right about that, too, because that was when he leaned slowly, tentatively forward and brushed his lips ever-so-gently across hers. She let out a little gasp as the pleasure it delivered cascaded through her deprived body. Oh boy. Oh wow. Oh Lord.
When their eyes met again, she noticed how blue his sparkled in the firelight and that her chest now heaved a little. And she said, dumbly, “I have a plate in my hand.” Because it seemed like it was going to be hard to kiss him that way.
But he never acted like it was dumb at all—instead he just rushed to take the plate and set it on the coffee table with his—and then he took her back into his arms, pulled her close enough that there was no mistaking the hard bulge in his pants, and lowered his mouth to hers in the most powerful kiss she’d ever received.
Whoa.
She wasn’t usually thankful for blizzards, but suddenly, all she could think was—let it snow!
If that last kiss had been filled with power, the ones that followed were stunningly . . . smooth, controlled, and skilled. Wow. Adam definitely knew how to kiss a woman. As his hands skimmed her curves—one roaming her back, the other drifting seductively up her side toward her breast—it all left her breathless, the pleasures at once simple yet profound. The lack of urgency in his kisses combined with the confident way he delivered them gave the impression that he wasn’t racing toward some better end—but that he
was completely and wholly satisfied by the moment, that he was enjoying the passion passing between them just as much as she was.
She found herself shocked by how easy it was to stand there and kiss him, how her body seemed to take over, instantly comfortable moving against his. Since that’s what was happening now, very naturally—her breasts shifted sensually against his chest, her fingers twined in his thick, mussed hair. His hands had eased onto her ass now, which, of course, meant that in front she was grinding against him where he was hard and thick—and wow, talk about being breathless.
This should be more awkward. But instead, it was just . . . pleasure, plain and simple.
Willow Springs
Despite being the town matchmaker, Amy Bright is desperately shy when it comes to her own love life—and helpless when it comes to firefighter Logan Whitaker, with whom she’s head-over-heels in love. One smoking-hot kiss could change everything for them . . . but will it ruin a one-of-a-kind friendship, or show Logan and Amy that they’ve already found everything they need, right here in Destiny?
Finally, after a long moment, she said something so honest to Tessa that it was the first time she’d ever realized how true it was. “I used to think that. But I’m just not sure I believe it anymore. I’m not sure I’m meant to have that kind of happiness.”
Tessa’s face fell as she instantly knelt next to Amy’s chair. “Of course you are, Ames. Everyone is. I went through a long drought myself if you recall, and felt pretty undateable. But then Lucky came along and all that changed in the blink of an eye.” Then she shook her head, obviously befuddled by Amy’s attitude. “What on earth brought this on?”