His Holiday Family, by Margaret Daley

"When I decided to write a series about a town that goes through a hurricane, I wanted to give tribute to all the people who have gone through a disaster and rebuilt their lives. This series was written for the heroes and heroines who help others in a time of disaster. "



When Hurricane Naomi tears through a small Mississippi town, a daring rescue unites two heroes. Nurse Kathleen Hart is a single mom racked by guilt over her husband's death. Firefighter Gideon O'Brien—orphaned as a young boy—has lost too many people he cared for. To rise above the storm's devastation, Gideon helps Kathleen and her sons rebuild their home. As Christmas approaches, they discover that even the strongest of storms can't destroy a romance built on the foundation of faith.


Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Gideon O'Brien hopped down from Engine Two and assessed the chaos in front of him. Strapping on his air pack, he started toward his captain. A hand gripped his arm and stopped his forward progress. He turned toward the blonde woman who held him, her large blue eyes glistening with tears. She looked familiar, but he couldn't place where he knew her from. His neighbor's daughter, perhaps?

"My two sons and my cousin—their babysitter—must still be inside. I don't see them outside with the other tenants." Her voice quivered. She tightened her hand on his arm and scanned the crowd. "I'm Kathleen Hart. My sons are Jared and Kip. I tried Sally's cell but she didn't answer. Please get them out." A tear slipped down her cheek.

"Where are they?" Gideon moved toward his captain, his palm at the small of her back, guiding her in the direction he wanted her to go. Yes, he realized, she was his neighbor Ruth Coleman's daughter.

"Sally's second-floor apartment is on the east side, the fourth one down on your right. Number 212. Hurry." Her round eyes fastened on the fire consuming the three-story apartment building on Magnolia Street.

Gideon paused in front of Captain Fox. "Mrs. Hart says her sons and babysitter are still inside. Pete and I can go in and get them." He looked toward the west end of the large structure where the men of Engine One were fighting the flames eating their way through the top level. "There's still time."

"Okay." His captain surveyed the east end. "But hurry. It won't be long before this whole building goes up."

The scent of smoke hung heavy in the air. The hissing sound of water hitting Magnolia Street Apartments vied with the roar of the blaze.

Gideon turned toward the mother of the two boys. "We'll find them." He gave her a smile then searched the firefighters for Pete.

When Gideon found him a few feet away, he covered the distance quickly. "Let's go. There are three people trapped on the second floor. East end."

At the main entrance into the building Gideon fixed his mask in place, glancing back at the blonde woman standing near his captain. He had seen that same look of fear and worry many times over his career as a firefighter. He wouldn't let anything happen to her sons and Sally.

Gideon switched on his voice amplifier and headed into the furnace with Pete following close behind him. Through the thick cloud suspended from the ceiling in the foyer, the stairs to the second floor loomed. Crouching, he scrambled up the steps. The higher he went, the hotter it became.


His Holiday Family, Love Inspired, December 2011
From This Day Forward, Summerside Press, September 2011
Hidden in the Everglades, Love Inspired Suspense, September 2011
http://www.margaretdaley.com
http://www.margaretdaley.com/margarets-blog/

The Long Trail Home; The Wishing Pearl

Long Trail Home

By Vickie McDonough


Long Trail Home is the third book in the Texas Trails series that I'm writing with Susan Page Davis and Darlene Franklin. It is my first book in the series, and it is a stand alone book. For more information about this series, visit the Texas Trails website: www.texastrailsfiction.com

What others are saying:

Hold on to your heart—Vickie McDonough is about to steal it away with an irresistible love story so unique and fresh, it will leave you breathless. It may be a "long trail home," but the pages have never flown so fast! This is prairie romance at its very best—I loved it!

Julie Lessman, award-winning author of The Daughters of Boston and Winds of Change series

Blurb:

A weary soldier returns from the War Between the States to discover his parents dead, his family farm in shambles, and his fiancée married. Riley Morgan takes a job at the Wilcox School for Blind Children and tries to make peace with God and himself. When a pretty, blind woman who cares for the children reaches through his scarred walls and touches his heart, he begins to find renewed faith and hope for the future. But when he discovers Annie feigned her blindness just to have a home, will his anger and hurt drive him away and ruin all chances for a future filled with love, faith, and family?


WACO, TEXAS, 1858

That one right there—he's your mark."
Annie Sheffield slipped past her daddy and peeked around the corner of the building. A handsome youth with wheat-colored hair stood in the dirt road in front of the mercantile, a shiny pocket watch dangling from his fingers on a silver chain. Annie squinted when a shaft of light reflected off the watch, and she blinked several times, refocusing on her prey. A much younger boy with the same color hair reached for the watch, but the older boy lifted the treasure higher to safety.
The taller boy's look was stern but gentle. "No, Timothy. Remember this watch was Grandpa's. It's very old, and we must be careful with it."

The younger boy's face scrunched up but he nodded. Then the comely youth bent down and allowed Timothy to hold the shiny watch for a moment before he closed it and put it back in a small bag, a proud smile on his handsome face.
Ducking back into the alley, Annie leaned against the wall in the early evening shadows. She glanced at her daddy. "Do I have to?"
"You wanna eat, don'tcha? We need that watch."
"But that boy looks so proud of it."
Her father narrowed his gray eyes. "I'd be proud if'n it was mine."
Annie sighed. If her father possessed the watch, he'd just go hock it or gamble it away.
"Go on with ya." He flicked his thin index finger in the air, pointing toward the street. He tugged down on the ugly orange, green, and brown plaid vest that he always wore. "Scat!"

Annie peered around the building again, taking a moment to judge how fast she'd have to run and where she could hide once she'd taken the watch. She'd come to hate being a pickpocket. Ever since she heard that street preacher several months back in Galveston hollering to a small crowd that stealing was breaking one of God's special laws, it had nagged her worse than a swarm of mosquitoes. But she was hungry, and they had no money.

She studied the boy's long legs. Could she outrun him? And what about his little friend?

Her daddy was an expert pickpocket. He could snitch a wallet and disappear into a crowd like a crow in a flock, but when it came to running away from a target, well, that's where she came in.

The tall cowboy was probably only a few years older than her thirteen years. He motioned to the younger boy, and they hopped up on the boardwalk and strolled toward her, completely unaware they were being spied on. He held one hand on the younger boy's shoulder, as if wanting to keep him close. Now that they both faced her, she could see their resemblance.

They had to be brothers. The big boy glanced at his watch bag, tucked it in his vest pocket, and gave it a loving pat.

Annie jumped back. "He's coming," she whispered over her shoulder.

Her father scowled. "I want that watch. Go!"
He gave her a shove. She stumbled forward and turned. The youth's blue eyes widened. "Hey, look—"
They collided—hard. Annie was knocked backwards, arms pumping, and her cap flew off. The youth grabbed her shoulders, and in a quick, smooth move that had taken Annie her whole life to master, she slipped his watch from his pocket and into hers. She ducked her head and stepped back. "Sorry, mister."

Her apology was more for stealing his treasure than crashing into him. She spun around and ran, hating the baggy trousers her father made her wear so she'd look like a boy. Hating the life she was forced to live. Hating that the handsome youth would hate her. She ran past a bank and a dress shop, then ducked down another alley. Behind the building she turned right instead of going left and back toward her daddy. Right now she didn't want to see him.

"Hey! Come back here, you thief!"

Annie's heart lurched, and she switched from trot to gallop. She could no longer see the watch's owner, but she knew it was him hollering. Bumping into that young man had flustered her. She hadn't expected him to be so solid, not for a youth not even full grown yet. Men grew taller and tougher here in Texas than in the other cities of the South where she'd mostly grown up—a different city every few weeks. A thief wasn't welcome in town for long.

Loud footsteps pounded behind her. She ducked under a wagon that sat behind the smithy, rolled, and then dove into the open doorway. She crawled into the shadows of the building and curled up behind a barrel that had oats scattered on the ground around it. She took several gasps of air and listened for footsteps.
The watch pressed hard against her hipbone, causing her guilt to mount. A horse in a nearby stall snorted and pawed the ground. Annie's heartbeat thundered in her ears as she listened for her pursuer's footsteps. Would he thrash her if he found her?

She peeked around the barrel. The tall boy stood in the doorway, looking around. She shrank back into the shadows like a rat—like the vermin she was.

After a moment, he spun around and quick steps took him away. Annie leaned against the wall, hating herself all over. Why couldn't she have been born into a nice family who lived in a big house? She'd even be happy with a small house, if she could have regular meals, wash up every week or so, and wear a dress like other girls.

But no, she had to be born the daughter of a master pickpocket.



**For more information about Vickie McDonough and her books, visit www.vickiemcdonough.com

Long Trail Home is available in bookstores and online:

Christianbook.com - http://www.christianbook.com/the-long-trail-home-texas-trails/vickie-mcdonough/9780802405852/pd/405852?product_redirect=1&Ntt=405852&item_code=&Ntk=keywords&event=ESRCP#curr

Amazon - http://www.amazon.com/Long-Trail-Home-Texas/dp/0802405851/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1319028952&sr=8-1

© 2011 by VICKIE MCDONOUGH

* * *

The Wishing Pearl
By Nicole O'Dell

"O'Dell's heart for young adults shines through. A story of hope in the midst of pain, poignantly-written with vivid characters facing real-life issues, THE WISHING PEARL is a can't-put-down must-read for teens!" --Tosca Lee, author of Demon: A Memoir

Series Description:
Diamond Estates. Three girls are on a journey to find hope and healing. Each coming to Diamond Estates seeking solace… Each with her own unique set of struggles… And each capturing hearts and challenging faith.



THE WISHING PEARL
Sixteen-year-old Olivia Mansfield dreams of a land far, far away. . .
A land far away from her stepfather's abuse and torment.
A land far away from her mother's blind eye.
A land far away from the haunting memories of her past.


But then reality sets in, and Olivia knows she must make the best of her dire situation—at least until her high-school graduation. But when poor choices lead Olivia to the brink of a complete breakdown and she finds herself dealing with the unexpected death of her best friend, she comes to a crossroads.


Will Olivia find the path to ultimate hope and healing that her heart longs for?
Or will the demons from her past prove too much to bear?

Chapter One
Even the happiest of songs could sound mournful on the oboe when it was played just right.

Olivia Mansfield pulled the instrument from between her lips and traced her fingers along the silver tracks and keys that reminded her of the braces she wore on her teeth last year. The oboe understood her. It sang her somber song. Melancholy and forlorn, her band director once called it. Perfect words to describe its cry and Olivia.

Buzz. Olivia jumped as the intercom in her bedroom suite intruded.

"Are you almost done with that incessant noise?" barked a crackling voice.

Five more minutes had been the plan—but not anymore. She hurried to the wall and jabbed the Talk button. "I'll be at least another half hour, Chuck." Charles hated when Olivia called him that, almost as much as he hated the sound of the oboe. Which wasn't nearly as much as he hated her.

"Well, hurry up." The speaker clicked and fell silent. Olivia tipped the bell of her instrument in the direction of the door and blew a long, angry note, loud enough to make her stepfather's acne-scarred skin crawl just like he made hers every time he came near. She could wait and practice later when he wasn't home, but why should she? Only two more years of high school band and then, hopefully, a prestigious music school somewhere very far away. Making that dream come true required practice—lots of it. It wasn't her fault Charles couldn't tolerate the sound.

The door to her room flew open. Mom rapped her knuckles on the frame then bustled in looking perfect as usual in her designer clothes and impeccable makeup. Her big brown eyes surveyed the room.

"Hi, Mom. Thanks for knocking." Olivia gave her a raised eyebrow then continued her song. If her room were smaller, it might be considered a pigsty. Luckily, the enormity swallowed the mess, making it look only mildly untidy. Hopefully Mom wouldn't complain too much about all the dirty designer clothes littering the walnut floors.

"Sorry. I'm just in a hurry." Mom rushed over to the king- sized four-poster bed and yanked the silk duvet cover up over the rumpled Egyptian cotton sheets. "I wish you'd take better care of this beautiful room, Liv. Charles has been more than generous to pay for all of this and everything else you'd have only dreamed of having."

Yeah, Charles had bought Olivia all that stuff, but only so he'd look good to everyone else—certainly not to make her happy. "I never asked him for any of this." Olivia swiveled in the desk chair she'd pulled to the center of the room and gestured at her expansive quarters. The sitting area looked like a high-tech home theater pictured in a magazine, and the marble and granite bathroom would have satisfied a queen. The jetted tub was nice, but Olivia would never admit that to Charles. "Besides, I'm going to get in the bed in a couple of hours anyway, so why bother?"

Mom's spiked heels clicked as she strode across the room, swept up a pile of dirty clothes into her arms, then dumped them down the laundry chute near Olivia's bathroom door. "You know, Norma can't wash the laundry if you don't drop it down."

Whatever. Norma could come up here and get it if she wanted it—she sure got paid enough. Time to change the subject. "Where are you going anyway?"

"Don't you remember?" Mom turned to the mirror while she spoke and tucked a nonexistent errant hair back into her long dark waves.

When would she cut her hair into a more age-appropriate style—at least shoulder length? "Don't tell me this is your shop- ping weekend in Chicago."

"Yep. Tonight's a fancy downtown dinner with the girls and a night at the Ritz. Saturday is for shopping on Mag Mile and dinner again. Then we'll work off the calories with a lakefront bike ride on Sunday."

Two nights? Home alone with Chuck? "Will Jake be here?"

"Probably for some of the weekend. But he's definitely going to want to get out and have fun with his friends—he's only got three weeks left before he leaves for college. Try not to get in his way too much."

"That's my job. Stay out of everyone's way." Why should this weekend be any different? Olivia slumped in her chair.

Mom stacked some books that had slipped to the floor from Olivia's built-in bookcase. "Just try a little harder to be nice to Charles. He's never been anything but wonderful to you."

Gag. "No, Mom. Daddy was wonderful. Chuck. . .exists." Olivia threaded her fingers through the layers of her silky black hair to find the purple streak she'd added a few days ago. She twisted it around her fingers and put the ends in her mouth.

"Quit that. Do you know how many germs are in your hair?" Mom swiped the clump of hair from between Olivia's lips. "Now give me a hug. I'll be home in a couple of days. Just try to be pleasant. Okay?" She pulled Olivia back to arm's length and smiled as she slid her hand down the back of Olivia's head. "I'll buy you something special—purple to match that streak of rebellion in that gorgeous hair of yours."

Great. A present. Mom's answer for everything—she sure hadn't acted like that when Daddy was alive, and she wouldn't have even if she'd had the money. Olivia mumbled her thanks as Mom hurried from the room, high heels clacking on the wood.

Olivia rushed to lock the door, her plan the same as every other day: stay out of everyone's way. Nothing new. Probably shouldn't have started the weekend off with the oboe serenade though—much better not to draw attention to herself. But it was too late to worry about that. Her eyes drilled holes in the intercom. A shame she couldn't see through it into the rest of the house. Go down and make peace, or stay hidden as long as possible? It would help if she knew whether he was already drinking.


______________________________
Nicole O'Dell, founder of Choose NOW Ministries, battles peer pressure as she writes and speaks to preteens, teenagers, and parents about how to prepare for life's tough choices. She is the author of a bunch of YA books, including the popular Scenarios for Girls interactive fiction series and her recent release, THE WISHING PEARL, 1st in the Diamond Estates series. Non-fiction for teens includes Girl Talk, 2/1/12, which she wrote with her two daughters based on their popular blog column by the same name, and O'Dell's desire to bridge the gap between parents and teens is evident in her adult non-fiction like the upcoming Hot Buttons series.
Do Not Reproduce without permission.

A Lasting Impression

A LASTING IMPRESSION

by Tamera Alexander



"Tamera Alexander has once again written a novel rich in storytelling and history, peopled with living, breathing characters who made me laugh, and cry. Better than sweet tea on a veranda, A Lasting Impression is a winner. I want to live at Belmont!"

~Francine Rivers, New York Times best-selling author of Redeeming Love





About the book…



A fake. A forger. That's what Claire Laurent knows she is, which is why she can't fathom working in the home of the richest woman in Nashville, let alone America. But when she meets Sutton Monroe––Mrs. Acklen's far too handsome and equally as discerning personal attorney––Claire's certain the first impression she made with him…will be her last.





Chapter 1



French Quarter, New Orleans,

Louisiana September 7, 1866



Claire Laurent studied the finished canvas on the easel before her, and though masterpiece hardly described it, she knew the painting was her best yet. So why the disappointment inside her? The fiendish fraudulence trickling its way through her like tiny beads of sweat beneath layers of crinoline and lace. She ran a hand through her curls and dropped the soiled paintbrush into a cup of turpentine, full well knowing why. And knowing only deepened her guilt.



Her gaze fell to the lower right­hand corner of the canvas, the one reserved for the artist's signature. She hadn't yet been able to bring herself to sign this one. Not with that name. Because of all the landscapes and still lifes and portraits she'd painted, none had truly felt like hers . . .



Until this one.



A breeze, moist and swollen, heavy with the certainty of rain, wafted in through the open second­story window, and she peered from her bedroom over the town, breathing in the tang of salty air moving in from the gulf.



She viewed the Vieux Carré below, the Old Square she'd painted so many times she could close her eyes and still see every detail—the rows of pastel­colored buildings clustered together and edging the narrow streets, their balconies of decorative black cast iron boasting hanging baskets that cascaded with late summer blooms. The combination lent a charm and beauty unique to this part of the city.



No wonder she'd fallen in love with New Orleans so quickly, despite the hardship of recent months.



The steady tick-tick-tick of the clock on the mantel marked the seconds, and she released her breath with practiced ease. She rose from her stool and stretched, paying the toll for retiring so late in recent evenings and for rising so early, but there was no avoiding it. This painting had taken longer to complete than she'd estimated.



Much longer, as her father kept reminding her.



Almost half past two, and she needed to "take leave of the gallery no later than three," as her father had insisted. She knew she shouldn't allow his request to bother her. It wasn't the first time he'd demanded she leave while he "conferred" with gallery patrons. And it wasn't as if she didn't know what he was doing during that time. What they did as a family business.



His increasing agitation in recent weeks wasn't helping her attitude toward him, however. Though not a gentle man, by any means, he wasn't customarily given to a sharp tongue. But in recent days a single look from him could have sliced bread hot from the oven.



"Claire Elise? Où estu?" She stiffened at his voice. "Oui, Papa. I'm up here." She glanced back at the canvas, fighting the ridiculous urge to hide it. Something within her didn't want him to see the painting. Not yet. And—if it had been within her control—not ever. Maybe she could tell him it wasn't finished yet. But one look at her, and Papa would know. Pretense was a skill she'd never mastered—not like he had.



Hurried steps coming up the stairwell told her there wasn't enough time to stash the painting in the empty space behind the wardrobe, and throwing a drape over it was out of the question with the final brushstrokes only moments old. Maybe if she told him how much this particular painting meant to her, he would let her keep it.



But she had a feeling that conversation would go much like the one six months ago, following her mother's passing—when she'd told him, as forcefully as she dared, that she didn't want to paint "like this" anymore. Her father had never struck her, but she'd sensed he'd wanted to in that moment, and she hadn't considered broaching the subject again.



Until now.



"Ah . . ." His footsteps halted in the doorway behind her. "Finally, you have finished, non?"



His tone, less strident than earlier that morning, tempted her to hope for an improvement in his mood. "Yes . . . I've finished." Readying herself for his reaction—and critical critique—she stepped to one side, a tangle of nerves tightening her insides.



He stared. Then blinked. Once, twice. "Jardins de Versailles . . . again." A muscle tightened in his jaw. "This is not the painting upon which we agreed." He looked at her, then back at the canvas. Keen appraisal sharpened his expression. "But . . . it does show some improvement."



Claire felt her nerves easing at the merest hint of praise. Until she saw it. . . .



That familiar flicker in his eyes. Her father appreciated art, in his own way, but he was a businessman at heart. His pride in her artistic talent ran a losing footrace with the profit he hoped to make through selling her paintings.



Her paintings . . .



The irony of that thought settled like a stone in her chest, which sent an unexpected—and dangerous—ripple of courage through her. "Papa, I . . ." The words fisted tight in her throat, and he wasn't even looking at her yet. "I need to speak with you about something. Something very important to me. I know you're not—"



His hand went up, and she flinched.



But he seemed not to notice. "This isn't the landscape we agreed for you to paint this time, nor is it what I described to the patron, but—" He studied her rendering of Louis the XIV's palace and the surrounding gardens, then gave an exaggerated sigh. "Given we are out of time, and that the patron very much desires to own a François­ Narcisse Brissaud . . . it will have to do." He nodded succinctly, as though deciding within himself at that very moment.



"Yes. I'm certain I can convince him of its worth. After all"—he smiled to himself—"the larger galleries in Paris often ship the wrong painting. But next time, Claire . . ." He looked down at her, his gaze stern.



"You must render, to the smallest detail, the painting upon which we have agreed."



Claire searched his face. His words stung, on so many levels. But the most disturbing . . . "You've secured a buyer for this painting? Before they've even seen it?"



To read the full first two chapters, click here:
http://www.tameraalexander.com/cmsdocuments/Alexander_LastingImpression_Ch1&2.pdf



About the author:

TAMERA ALEXANDER is a bestselling novelist whose works have been awarded or nominated for numerous honors, including the Christy Award, the RITA Award, and the Carol Award. After seventeen years in Colorado, Tamera and her husband have returned to their native South and live in Tennessee, where they enjoy spending time with their two grown children.

Website: http://www.tameraalexander.com

Blog: http://www.tameraalexander.blogspot.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/tameraalexander

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/tameraalexander

Email: tameraalexander@ymail.com



A Lasting Impression is available at bookstores everywhere, on www.bethanyhouse.com, www.amazon.com, www.christianbook.com, and at your local Christian bookstore.



Copyright © 2011 by Tamera Alexander

ISBN 978-0764206221 Bethany House Publishers
All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without permission.

The Loner's Thanksgiving Wish

The Loner's Thanksgiving Wish

by Roxanne Rustand



The Rocky Mountain Heirs series


Harlequim Love Inspired Romance




Mei Clayton veered off the trail near the summit of Belle's Peak, found the edge of the cliff where she'd often picnicked as a teenager, and surveyed the panorama of rugged ranching country below.

To the west, shadowed by the massive, snowy peaks of the Rocky Mountains, lay the distant, rustic cowboy town of Clayton, Colorado. Her hometown, named after a great grandfather she'd never met. The last place she wanted to be today, tomorrow or ever.

Especially for an entire, interminable year, though that's exactly what she had to do, thanks to a stipulation in her Grandpa George's will.

She would stay a year--but not one day more.

Mei and each of her five cousins all had to comply, or none would receive a single penny. And though Mei would have preferred to continue teaching in San Francisco, she just couldn't let the others lose out on the inheritance some of them badly needed.

Delaying her inevitable, awkward arrival, she'd parked along the highway to hike one of the easier trails in this part of the Rockies, just to savor one of the good memories she'd kept close to her heart during her years away.

Yet even up here, she hadn't found a sense of solitude and peace. The snow-dusted trail offered an easy climb and breath-taking vistas, and she'd already run into several other local hikers taking advantage of the unseasonably warm sunshine for the first weekend of November.

She'd hoped to do a little climbing and had brought her gear in a backpack. But the snow was deeper at this higher elevation, and she needed to turn back. Get in her car. And face her return to the town she'd so desperately wanted to leave as a teen.

Though it was her impending conversation with her widowed mother that truly had her stomach tying itself it a tight knot. How would Mom react when she heard the news about her son? Lucas had been in a few scrapes when he was a teenager, but nothing like this one.

At the sound of voices and the merry jingle of bear bells, she stopped at one side of the trail to let a pair of hikers pass.

One of them continued on, but the girl pulled to a stop. "Mei?"

At the soft, familiar voice, Mei looked up in surprise at the pretty teenager standing in front of her in a puffy pink down jacket and jeans. "Jasmine?"

The girl tucked a long strand of silky brown hair behind her ear, her eyes sparkling. "What are you doing back in Colorado so soon? We didn't expect you until Christmas."

Warmed by the girl's obvious happiness, Mei felt some of her tension ease. "I...had a change of plans."

"Well, I think it's great you're here. Arabella has been looking forward to you living in town again, and now you'll be here in time for the wedding!"

"Whose?" Mei recalled her mother's last e-mail--a rare event in any case--that had mentioned the latest romance involving one of Mei's cousins, and smiled. "Arabella and Dr. Turner? Already?"

A flash of confusion crossed the girl's face. "Mine. You didn't hear about it?

"Yours?" Mei asked faintly. Jasmine had lived with Arabella for a couple years, and had graduated from high school this past spring. Maybe she was of legal age, but...

"We're getting married on Christmas Eve." Jasmine's smile widened as her hiking partner turned back to join her. "You remember Cade, right?"

"Cade Clayton?" A flood of memories rushed through Mei as she stared up at the handsome young man in a denim jacket and jeans looping an arm protectively around Jasmine's shoulders.

Oh, she remembered Cade, all right. Years ago, Cade's mother had married Mei's infamous cousin Charley.

Memories flooded back from the day when Mei was getting her hair trimmed at the Hair Today beauty salon, and Cade's mother happened to be sitting in the next chair.

Lorelai had freely admitted that she'd sought fame and fortune by marrying into the Clayton clan, but had picked the wrong branch of the family tree and definitely the wrong man.

She'd claimed that the only good thing that came out of that marriage was little Cade...but that she "was sure glad that at least her son Jack was no blood-kin to the Claytons."

Mei had been all ears, because at the time, she'd been in the throes of a long and futile high school crush on Jack--one of the more embarrassing points in her life.

Even after ten years, she felt a blush warm her cheeks. He'd been way out of her league. She'd known it from the start, but the humiliating whispers amongst her classmates about her foolish crush had been even more painful.

The last thing she'd wanted was to move back here, and she definitely didn't want to run into Cade's brother, ever again.

She could only hope that he'd moved far, far away.

* * *

The Loner's Thanksgiving Wish, by Roxanne Rustand

All rights reserved. No part may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Visit www.roxannerustand.com for more information about the author, this book, and her other titles out in 2011.

The Loner's Thanksgiving Wish is now available in stores everywhere, and online at www.eharlequin.com, www.christianbook.com, www. Barnesandnoble.com. www.amazon.com, and other online retailers.