by Ramsay, Hope
She pulled open the door.
“It’s about damn time; it’s freezing out here.” A man wearing a rain-spattered, leather jacket, a soggy gray wool hat, and a steely scowl attempted to walk into her hallway. Jenny wasn’t about to let this biker dude intimidate her even if he was a head taller than she was.
His features were stern, his nose just a tad broad, as if it had been broken once. Several days’ growth shadowed his cheeks, and his eyebrows glowered just above eyes so dark they might have been black. If he’d been handsome or heroic-looking, she might have been afraid of him or lost her nerve. Handsome men always made Jenny nervous. But big guys with leather jackets and attitudes had never bothered her in the least. She always assumed that men like that were hiding a few deep insecurities.
“Can I help you?” she said in her most polite future-innkeeper voice.
“You damn well can. I want a room.”
“Um, I’m sorry but the Inn isn’t open.”
“Of course it’s open. You’re here. The lights are on. There’s heat.”
“We’re not open for business.”
He leaned into the door frame. Jenny held her ground. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
She was tempted to tell him he was an ass, but she didn’t use language like that. Mother had beaten that tendency out of her. It didn’t stop her from thinking it though.
When she didn’t reply, he said. “I’m the man who sold you this house. I would like, very much, to come in out of the rain.”
“The man who—”
“The name’s Gabriel Raintree. My family built this house. Now let me in.”
She studied his face. Gabriel Raintree was a New York Times bestselling author of at least twenty books, several of which had been made into blockbuster horror films. His books were not on her reading list. And she wasn’t much of a movie-goer.
She’d never met Mr. Raintree. The sale of the Jonquil House had been undertaken by his business manager and attorney. So she had no idea if this guy was the real Gabriel Raintree or just some poser. Either way she wasn’t going to let him come in. Besides, the house was not ready for guests. The furniture had not even arrived.
“I’m sorry, the Inn isn’t open.”
His black eyebrows lowered even further, and his mouth kind of curled up at the corner in something like a sneer. He looked angry, and it occurred to Jenny that maybe she needed to bend a little. The minute that thought crossed her mind, she rejected it. She had inherited a steel backbone from Mother, and this was a good time to employ it. She wouldn’t get very far as an innkeeper if she allowed herself to be a doormat.
“I need a place to stay,” he said, “for at least three months. I’m behind on my deadline.”
Three months. Good lord, she wasn’t running a boarding house. But then, she supposed that if anyone could afford three months lodging at a B and B it would be someone like Gabriel Raintree.
The income would be nice. But she wasn’t ready for any guests yet. And this guy, if he was Gabriel Raintree, would be a pain in the neck.
“I’m very sorry the Inn won’t be open until March. If you need to stay in Last Chance, there’s always the Peach Blossom Motor Court. Or you could see if Miriam Randall will take you in. She sometimes takes in boarders.”
“Damnit all, woman, this is my house.” He pushed against the door, and Jenny pushed back.
“Not anymore,” she said.
Thankfully, he stopped pushing and stepped back from the threshold, a surprised frown folding down between his eyes. She didn’t wait around to punctuate her point. She slammed the door on him. Then she twisted the bolt lock and took a couple of steps back from it, her heart hammering in her chest.
Gabe stood on the porch breathing hard. It seemed surreal to be back in Allenberg County. Decades had passed since he’d walked down the long driveway to the house. But not much had changed. He’d expected Zeph to be waiting on the porch with a rifle across his knees. He’d expected Violet to open the door and invite him in for a piece of her cornbread.
Instead, he’d come face-to-face with a tiny, birdlike woman who hadn’t been very impressed by his name dropping. She’d stood there, framed in the doorway, and given him an intractable look that was as bewitching as it was grave.
His heart twisted in his chest. He was an idiot to come back here. There was a good reason the family had abandoned this place.
But then again, he needed to disappear for a while. He needed to get away from the crazy fans who haunted him wherever he went in Charleston.
So he’d come here to the middle of nowhere, knowing that the old family hunting lodge was being turned into a bed and breakfast. Coming out here to the middle of the swamp was a brilliant idea. It was peaceful here.
He stepped down off the porch, frustration tensing the muscles of his neck and shoulders. If the inn wasn’t going to open until March he’d have to come up with another plan. The rain was picking up, and sleet was beginning to mix with it. The roads were going to get bad before too much longer.
He’d have to book a room at the Peach Blossom Motel. But tomorrow, when the storm had passed, he’d come back out here and negotiate. The little innkeeper had her price. Everyone did.
Tomorrow he’d buy the Jonquil House back.
SIMPLE RIBBED STOCKING CAP
This pattern makes a simple ribbed stocking cap with a circumference of 21 inches. As shown it’s a short hat, for a variation you can knit the cap an extra 3 inches in length and have a turned up edge.
MATERIALS
Yarn: Red Heart acrylic wool, worsted weight.
Needles: 16-inch size US8 circular needles; size US8 double-pointed needles
GAUGE
16 sts x 24 rows = 4 inches in stockinet stitch on size US8 needles
ABBREVIATIONS
K—knit the stitch
P—purl the stitch
K2tog—knit two stitches together
PATTERN
Ribbed pattern: *K1, P1* repeat from * to * to the end of the round.
INSTRUCTIONS
Cast on 84 stitches onto circular needles.
Join the round and place a marker.
Start knitting rounds using the ribbed pattern. Work even until the piece measures 6.5 inches. (For a longer hat, knit to your desired size.)
SHAPING THE CROWN
You can start shaping the crown on the circular needles, but at some point the work will become too small for the circulars and you’ll need to switch to the double-pointed needles.
Round 1: *K1, P1, K1, P1, K2tog*. Repeat from * to * to the end of the round.
Round 2: K1, P1, K1, P1, *K2, P1, K1, P1*. Repeat from * to * until the last stitch in the round, K1.
Round 3: *K1, P1, K1, K2tog*. Repeat from * to * to the end of the round.
Round 4: K1, P1, *K3, P1*. Repeat from * to * until the last 2 stitches in the round. K2.
Round 5: *K1, P1, K2tog*. Repeat from * to * to the end of the round.
Round 6: K1, P1, *K2, P* Repeat from * to * until the last stitch in the round. K1.
Round 7: *K1, K2tog*. Repeat from * to * until the end of the round.
Round 8: Knit for the entire round.
Round 9: K2tog for the entire round.
Round 10: Knit for the entire round.
Round 11: K2tog for the entire round.
You should have 6 stitches remaining on the needles.
Cut your yarn, leaving a six inch tail. Using a tapestry needle thread the end of the yarn back through the loops of the remaining stitches and draw tight to close the top of the hat. Weave in the yarn ends.
THE DISH
Where Authors Give You the Inside Scoop
From the desk of Jennifer Haymore
Dear Reader,
When Mrs. Emma Curtis, the heroine of THE ROGUE’S PROPOSAL, came to see me, I’d just finished writing The Duchess Hunt, the story of the Duke of Trent and his new wife, Sarah, who’d crossed the deep chasm from maid to duchess, and I was feeli
ng very satisfied in their happily ever after.
Mrs. Curtis, however, had no interest in romance.
“I need you to write my story,” she told me. “It’s urgent.”
I encouraged her to sit down and tell me more.
“I’m on a mission of vengeance,” she began. “You see, I need to find my husband’s murderer—”
I lifted my hand right away to stop her. “Mrs. Curtis, I don’t think this is going to work out. You see, I don’t write thrillers or mysteries. I am a romance writer.”
“I know, but I think you can help me. I really do.”
“How’s that?”
“You’ve met the Duke of Trent, haven’t you? And his brother, Lord Lukas?” She leaned forward, dark eyes serious and intent. “You see, I’m searching for the same man they are.”
My brows rose. “Really? You’re looking for Roger Morton?”
“Yes! Roger Morton is the man who murdered my husband. Please—Lord Lukas is here in Bristol. If you could only arrange an introduction … I know his lordship could help me to find him.”
She was right—I did know Lord Lukas. In fact…
I looked over the dark-haired woman sitting in front of me. Mrs. Curtis was a young, beautiful widow. She seemed intelligent and focused.
My mind started working furiously.
Mrs. Curtis and Lord Luke? Could it work?
Maybe …
Luke would require a lot of effort. He was a rake of the first order, brash, undisciplined, prone to all manner of excess. But something told me that maybe, just maybe, Mrs. Curtis would be a good influence on him … If I could join them on the mission to find Roger Morton, it just might work out.
(I am a romance writer, after all.)
“Are you sure you want to meet Lord Lukas?” I asked her. “Have you heard the rumors about him?”
Her lips firmed. “I have heard he is a rake.” Her eyes met mine, steady and serious. “I can manage rakes.”
There was a steel behind her voice. A steel I approved of.
Yes. This could work.
My lips curved into a smile. “All right, Mrs. Curtis. I might be able to manage an introduction …”
And that was how I arranged the first meeting between Emma Curtis and Lord Lukas Hawkins, the second brother of the House of Trent. Their relationship proved to be a rocky one—I wasn’t joking when I said Luke was a rake, and in fact, “rake” might be too mild a term. But Emma proved to be a worthy adversary for him, and they ended up traveling a dangerous and emotional but ultimately sweetly satisfying path in THE ROGUE’S PROPOSAL.
Come visit me at my website, www.jenniferhaymore.com, where you can share your thoughts about my books, sign up for some fun freebies and contests, and read more about THE ROGUE’S PROPOSAL and the House of Trent Series. I’d also love to see you on Twitter (@ jenniferhaymore) or on Facebook (www.facebook.com/jenniferhaymore-author).
Sincerely,
From the desk of Hope Ramsay
Dear Reader,
My mother was a prodigious knitter. If she was watching TV or traveling in the car or just relaxing, she would always have a pair of knitting needles in her hand. So, of course, she needed a steady supply of yarn.
We lived in a medium-sized town on Long Island. It had a downtown area not too far from the train station, and tucked in between an interior design place and a quick lunch stand was a yarn shop.
I vividly remember that wonderful place. Floor-to-ceiling shelves occupied the wall space. The cubbies were filled with yarn of amazing hues and cardboard boxes of incredibly beautiful buttons. The place had a few cozy chairs and a table strewn with knitting magazines.
Mom visited that yarn store a lot. She would take her knitting with her sometimes, especially if she was having trouble with a pattern. There was a woman there—I don’t remember her name—but I do remember the half-moon glasses that rode her neck on a chain. She was a yarn whiz, and Mom consulted her often. Women gathered there to knit and talk. And little girls tagged along and learned how to knit on big, plastic needles.
I went back in my mind to that old yarn store when I created the Knit & Stitch, and I have to say that writing about it was almost like spending a little time with Mom, even though she’s no longer with us. There is something truly wonderful about a circle of women sharing stories while making garments out of luxurious yarn.
I remember some of the yarn Mom bought at that yarn store, too, especially the brown and baby blue tweed alpaca that became a cable knit cardigan. I wore that sweater all through high school until the elbows became threadbare. Wearing it was like being wrapped up in Mom’s arms.
There is nothing like the love a knitter puts into a garment. And writing about women who knit proved to be equally joyful for me. I hope you enjoy spending some time with the girls at the Knit & Stitch. They are a great bunch of warm-hearted knitters.
From the desk of Erin Kern
Dear Reader,
So here we are. Back in Trouble, Wyoming, catching up with those crazy McDermotts. In case you didn’t know, these men have a way of sending the ladies of Trouble all into a tizzy by just existing. At the same time there was a collective breaking of hearts when the two older McDermotts, Noah and Chase, surreptitiously removed themselves from the dating scene by getting married.
But what about the other McDermott brother, you ask? Brody is special in many ways, but no less harrowing on those predictable female hormones. And, even though Brody has sworn off dating for good, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have it coming. The love bug, I mean. And he gets bitten, big time. Sorry, ladies. But this dark-haired heartbreaker with the piercing gray eyes is about to fall hard.
Happy Reading!
From the desk of Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
Dear Reader,
“If you love her, set her free. If she comes back, she’s yours. If she doesn’t … Christ! Stubborn woman! Hunt her down, and bring her the hell back; she’s still yours according to vampire law.”
Niccolo DiConti, General of the
Vampire Queen’s Army
I always like to believe that the universe has an all-knowing, all-seeing heart filled with the wisdom to grant us not what we want, but that which we need most. Does that mean the universe will simply pop that special something into a box and leave it on your doorstep? Hell no. And if you’re Niccolo DiConti, the universe might be planning a very, very long, excruciating obstacle course before handing out any prizes. That is, if he and his over-bloated, vampire ego survive.
Meet Helena Strauss, the obstacle course. According to the infamous prophet and Goddess of the Underworld, Cimil, Niccolo need only to seduce this mortal into being his willing, eternal bride and Niccolo’s every wish will be granted. Thank the gods he’s the most legendary warrior known to vampire, with equally legendary looks. Seducing a female is hardly a challenge worthy of such greatness.
Famous last words. Because Helena Strauss has no interest in giving up long, sunny days at the beach or exchanging her happy life to be with this dark, arrogant, deadly male.
From the desk of Jessica Lemmon
Dear Reader,
Imagine you’re heartbroken. Crying. Literally into your drink at a noisy nightclub your best friend has dragged you to. Just as you are lamenting your very bad decision to come out tonight, someone approaches. A tall, handsome someone with a tumble of dark hair, expressive amber eyes, and perfectly contoured lips. Oh, and he’s rich. Not just plain old rich, but rich of the filthy, stinking variety. This is exactly the situation Crickitt Day, the heroine of TEMPTING THE BILLIONAIRE, finds herself in one not-so-fine evening. Oh, to be so lucky!
I may have given the characters of TEMPTING THE BILLIONAIRE a fairy-tale/fantasy set-up, but I still wanted them rooted and realistic. Particularly my hero. It’s why you’ll find Shane August a bit of a departure from your typical literary billionaire. Shane visits clients personally, does his own dishes, makes his own coffee. And—get ready for it—bakes his own cookies.
The recipe for these mysterious and amazing bits of heavenly goodness can be traced back to a cookbook by Erin McKenna, creator of the NYC-based bakery Babycakes. What makes the recipes so special, you ask? They use coconut oil instead of vegetable oil or butter. The result is an amazingly moist, melt-in-your-mouth, can’t-stop-at-just-one chocolate chip cookie you will happily burn your tongue on when the tray comes out of the oven. Bonus: Coconut oil is rumored to help speed up your metabolism. I’m not saying these cookies are healthy … but I’m not not saying it, either.
Attempting this recipe required a step outside my comfort zone. I tracked down unique ingredients. I diligently measured. I spent time and energy getting it right. That’s when I knew just the hobby for the down-to-earth billionaire who can’t keep himself from showing others how much he cares. And if a hero is going to bake you cookies, what better place to be served said cookies than by a picturesque waterfall? None, I say. (Well, okay, I can think of another location or two, but admit it, a waterfall is a pretty dang good choice.)
As you can imagine, Crickitt is beyond impressed. And when a rogue smear of chocolate lands on her lips, Shane is every bit the gentleman by—ahem—helping her remove the incriminating splotch. Alas, that’s a story for another day. (Or, for chapter nineteen…)
I hope you enjoy losing yourself in the very real fantasy world of Shane and Crickitt. It was a world I happily immersed myself in while writing; a world I still imagine myself in whenever a certain rich, nutty, warm, homemade chocolate chip cookie is melting on my tongue.