New York Times bestselling author Susan Andersen has captivated readers everywhere with her sassy romances. Here, a man who doesn't believe in love and a woman who doesn't trust in it find out just how wrong they can be...
A Man With a Past
J.D. Carver learned life's tough lessons on the streets, so when an unexpected inheritance sends him to the Star Lake Lodge to claim his half, he's expecting trouble. Being greeted with open arms by the whole Lawrence gang—feisty Aunt Sophy and calm Uncle Ben, clearly off-limits Dru and her young son, Tate—just convinces him they're working an angle, and he's determined to uncover it. Even though a tiny part of him longs for the home-and-hearth life they have...
A Woman With a Reputation
Dru's finally beaten her bad-girl reputation, and though the Lodge may not be exciting, she's fiercely protective of her quiet home. Hard-eyed J.D.'s ability to push all her buttons—some of which haven't been pushed in way too long—just proves how wrong he is for her. So why does her son hero-worship the guy? And why does her heart clench when he gets that "nose pressed against the candy shop window" look on his face
In Love . . . and All Shook Up
They thought they knew everything their lives had to offer . . . until they met. Can a failed good girl and a guy who never caught a break learn to believe in one another long enough to trust their love?
The gas gauge on J.D. Carver's vintage Ford Mustang read "Empty" when he arrived in Star Lake, Washington, one day ahead of schedule. But then, it never read anything else—the needle had been stuck there since he'd bought the car in '93. The car's trunk held a few of his favorite power tools, a tool chest, and a My loaded carpenter's belt. The backseat held two table saws. He also had an antique gold watch in his pocket, an old canvas army duffel containing everything else he owned in the world, and a raft of emotions he'd give a lot to deny sitting heavy in his gut.
His life back in Seattle had gone to hell. It was his own fault, but knowing that didn't help. His friend Butch he didn't even want to think about right now. And Bob Lankovich, the man who'd given him his start in construction-and through whose company's ranks J.D. had risen to become foreman—was in prison. J.D. didn't want to think about Bob, either. Or his idiot son, Robbie.
He was just tired of the whole freaking mess—the threats, the being a pariah. In Rat City, for chrissake. How could anyone do anything bad enough to be a pariah in a neighborhood known as Rat City? His unexpected inheritance from Edwina Lawrence was nothing if not timely. It was an excellent time to get out of town.
He laughed without humor. Of course, Edwina was just another can of worms. He ought to open a damn bait shop—between her, Butch, and the Lankovich mess, he was ass-deep in worms.
J.D. rubbed at the tension knotting the back of his neck. He was pretty much down to his last option. He'd given up his studio apartment, sold the tools he couldn't fit in the car, and cleaned out his bank account. There was nothing left for him in the city where he'd grown up, and nowhere to go if this didn't work out. So he planned to make it work, come hell or high water.
He pulled up in front of the fieldstone-and-timber lodge that he now had a half interest in, and parked the car. Then he simply sat there for a moment, breathing in the rich scent of evergreens and lake. Reaching into the watch pocket of his jeans, he stroked. a finger over Edwina's father's gold timepiece, which she had left him along with her share of the lodge.
The same watch she'd once accused him of stealing.
More than Robbie Lankovich's threats or J.D.'s disillusionment over Butch's collecting on a debt he'd always known would one day be collected, Edwina's ancient betrayal still had the ability to bother him.
He snorted softly. Bother. There was a nice, understated way of putting it.
It still had the power to twist his gut into a mass of knots, and that wouldn't do. Climbing out of the car, J.D. shouldered his duffel and stared up at the imposing shingle-roofed fieldstone porch that ran across the entire front of the inn.
It was bad enough that he still allowed a childhood injustice to color his life after all these years. But right now, he particularly needed to focus his concentration.
Because five would get you ten that he was about two minutes away from a no-holds-barred dog fight with Edwina's relatives over the share of this lodge that she'd bequeathed him.
Dru thanked the front-desk clerk and hung up the phone. Oh, God, he was here. She straightened in her chair, aware of her heart rate bumping up a notch. J.D. Carver was out in the lobby. He wasn't supposed to be here until tomorrow.
She'd believed she was fully reconciled to the new situation. She'd honestly thought she was prepared to meet Edwina's beneficiary and welcome him into both the business and the Lawrence clan. But if the sudden, apprehensive tripping of her pulse was anything to go by, she'd merely been fooling herself.
Standing, she checked to see that her sleeveless...
The things that are important to me are fairly simple, though sometimes rare: a husband of thirty-plus years with whom I’ve yet to run out of things to talk about, a grown son who, deep in my heart, will forever remain my sweet baby boy, a warm and supportive extended family, a few good friends, skate-skiing, in-line skating, and a cat who requires only that I remove the lid from the Pounce so he can fish his treats out for himself.
I love to hear from my readers, so please feel free to write me at P.O. Box 47375, Seattle, WA 98146, or email me at susan@susanandersen.com. To be kept apprised of upcoming novels by email, address one to susanandersen-subscribe@egroups.com. Those desiring a reply to their letters via the good ol’ United States Postal Service, please include a self-addressed, stamped envelope and I’ll respond as quickly as I possibly can.
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