Mary’s never been completely honest with anyone–especially herself.
The man she’s supposed to marry reminds her of her father in ways she’s suppressed for years–controlling, abusive, and manipulative. The sisters she’s finally found don’t understand her shame or confusion.
When Ian enters the picture with his British accent and Montana tan, Mary starts to question the past and her loyalty to a father who took away all her chances at true happiness.
Can Mary help her sisters break free from their father’s diabolical past? Or will his sins corrupt any chance at true happiness with Ian? And herself?
Why couldn’t Ian get his head wrapped around working on the stupid fence post? Some idiot had driven off the road the night before and smashed into a post made of treated wood and then gotten his vehicle towed before Ian could find out who did it.
He growled as he pushed on one side of the post and then the other. His thoughts weren’t focused on removing the damaged fence piece and replacing it. He couldn’t escape tortuous thoughts about Mary getting married the day before. He kicked the post with the sole of his cowboy boot.
By that time, he’d worked himself up so much, he had her married off in his mind and convinced himself she was gone forever.
A car drove up, pulling to the side. If it was the stupid driver who’d wrecked his fence, right then was not the time to show up and apologize.
Ian whirled, fists clenched, ready to take someone on.
But Mary’s Subaru parked just off the shoulder of the road and she opened the door. Her slim cut jeans and t-shirt took the spur right out of his side.
He dropped his hands, turning back to the post before his confusion made him nauseous. Why was she there? To tell him about the wedding? He ground his teeth. Thanks but no thanks. He didn’t need any updates on her happily-ever-after nuptials.
The soft crunch of gravel as she approached made him close his eyes. Slowly he turned, careful to hide his roiling emotions. “Hi, Mary.”
“Hi, Ian.” She smiled at him, like she hadn’t torn up all his hopes and tossed them along the highway like forgotten litter.
“I hear you got married. How’s the honeymoon?” Great. He hadn’t wanted to sound bitter, but there his pain was, in plain view of her and God and anyone driving by. He rolled his hand to stretch his wrist to do something, anything to make himself feel better, feel different.
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Bonnie R. Paulson mixes her science and medical background with reality and possibilities to make even myths seem likely and give every romance the genetic strength to survive. Bonnie has discovered a dark and twisty turn in her writing that she hopes you enjoy as much as she has enjoyed uncovering it. Dirt biking with her family in the Northwest keeps her sane.
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