From the New York Times bestselling author of the Spellbound Falls novels comes a delightful new romance set on the coast of Maine...
Jesse Sinclair and his two brothers spent years dodging the women his grandfather threw in their path. But then the matchmaking old wolf died, and his brothers did the unthinkable- they ran off to Maine to get married.
Now Jesse wants to join them. Convinced the Pine Tree State must have another eligible woman to spare, he buys a small island just off Castle Cove to build a home for his future family. But as he discovers, finding the woman of your dreams isn't as easy as his brothers made it seem. First of all, the only woman capable of filling those wedding shoes is Cadi Glace-and unfortunately, she's already engaged...
So imagine Jesse's surprise when he finds the aforementioned Miss Glace hiding out in his camper, charmingly, adorably drunk. And apparently single....
A native of rural central Maine, Janet Chapman lives there in a cozy log cabin on a lake with her husband. Three cats and a stray young bull moose keep them company. The author of the hugely popular Highlander time-travel series, she also writes contemporary romances.
Praise for Janet Chapman "Janet Chapman is a keeper."--Linda Howard, New York Times bestselling author
"Chapman continues to maintain a great blend of magic, romance, and realism in a small-town setting; tales in the style of Barbara Bretton's popular books."--Booklist
Jesse stole a quick glance at the dash of his pickup in hopes the navigation device knew where it was, because he sure as hell didn''t. Forget that he hadn''t met any cars since turning onto the winding, narrow road half an hour ago; the power lines had stopped at the last house he''d passed some eight miles back. He checked his right-hand outside mirror only to see the tires on the camper were barely staying on the asphalt, and wondered what had made him think leaving Route One while hauling a forty-foot-long fifth-wheel had been a good idea. At least he had a place to sleep if he didn''t reach civilization by nightfall. He''d be going to bed hungry, though, because he had planned to stock his cupboards in Castle Cove tomorrow morning before loading the camper on a barge for its short voyage to Hundred Acre Isle. But the farther down the desolate road he drove, the more it looked like he might have to reschedule, all because he hadn''t been able to wait two days to get a look at the house he was having designed. Not that Stanley Kerr, of Glace & Kerr Architecture, was expecting him today. But rather than reassuring Jesse that everything was right on schedule, the vague drawings of a very modern kitchen Stanley had emailed him three weeks ago had only fueled his impatience. So instead of getting the camper settled on the island and backtracking over an hour on Friday, he''d decided to cut across to Whistler''s Landing this afternoon on the chance the architectural model he''d commissioned had arrived a couple of days early. But even if it hadn''t, he could at least see the preliminary plans the model builders would have used, and maybe talk Stanley into giving him a copy. That way he could spend the week studying the layout while imagining he was sitting on his new porch overlooking the Gulf of Maine--which he''d be doing this time next year if everything stayed on schedule--and decide on any changes he might want to make. Jesse had purchased the island that sat three nautical miles offshore of Castle Cove the very day he''d set foot on it late last summer. He''d then spent the next six months traveling from New York to Maine to look at houses and interview homeowners before settling on an architect he was confident could give him the state-of-the-art yet unpretentious home he wanted. Hundred Acre Isle was to be his sanctuary from the corporate world, the place his children would run free every summer, his . . . Rosebriar. But where his grandfather''s sprawling estate north of New York City had been Abram Sinclair''s deliberately pretentious testament to his love for Grammy Rose, Jesse had decided to build before finding the woman of his dreams. That is, assuming such a paragon even existed. Because despite his grandfather''s best efforts, Jesse had become an expert at dodging all the marriage-minded women the scheming old wolf had constantly thrown in his path. But seeing how wedded bliss appeared to agree with his two older brothers, he''d started worrying he might in fact be missing out. And since both Sam and Ben had found the women of their dreams in Maine . . . well, maybe the state could pony up one more Sinclair bride. Not that he intended to marry the first beauty to catch his eye simply so he''d stop rattling around Rosebriar all alone but for a way-too-familial staff. Yet he really couldn''t see himself settling in for the long haul with any of the self-absorbed and high-maintenance women he was in the habit of dating, any more than he could see his current interest, Miss Pamela Bowden, spending her summers chasing a passel of kids around an isolated island. Which meant he really needed to start dating mother -minded women if he hoped to have children close in age to their cousins, seeing how his two older brothers already had a three-year head start on him. In fact, Sam was expecting his second little bundle of joy in October. Getting two of his grandsons to the altar from his grave had been quite a coup for Bram, considering all three men had been experts at dodging women. But Sam had married Willa within six weeks of following her home to Keelstone Cove--which, ironically, had been exactly six weeks after Bram''s death--and Ben had given Emma less than two weeks to plan her wedding not a month after showing up at her sporting camps in the western mountains of Maine. But then, Sinclair men did have a reputation for moving quickly once they made up their minds about something--in matters of the heart as well as business, apparently. Jesse crested yet another blind knoll and immediately slowed to a crawl when he spotted the car parked just off the pavement, its two right tires nearly touching the water of an encroaching bog. And even though flames were shooting above the raised hood of the late-model luxury sedan, he didn''t dare brake to a stop for fear of being rear-ended if someone should crest the knoll behind him. It was just as he swerved to the other side of the road to get past the car that he spotted the woman up ahead, who had stopped walking and turned at the sound of his engine. She was carrying a large white box, there were no fewer than a dozen brightly colored balloons tied to the bulging purse hiked up on her shoulder, and he couldn''t help noticing her expression go from hopeful to disappointed. Obviously seeing he wasn''t a local, she started walking again, apparently unconcerned that her car was on fire. Jesse continued past her, edged to the side of the road as far as he dared, and brought his rig to a stop on the crest of another knoll so it could be seen by anyone traveling from either direction. He set the park brake as an extra precaution, shut off the engine and got out, and walked down the length of the camper. "Have you called 911?" he asked, only to watch the swirling balloons knock her wide-brimmed hat askew when she stopped a good twenty yards from him. "No," she said, shifting what appeared to be a pastry box to one arm and righting her hat. "I was afraid they''d get here before the car was totaled." Jesse stilled in the act of pulling out his cell phone. "You want it to burn?" "Right down to its four crappy tires," she shot back, her curt nod making her hat slip sideways again. Only this time instead of righting it, she pulled it off and sent it sailing into the woods. She glanced back at the car, which now had black smoke billowing out all four open windows, and shrugged. "It''s not close enough to any trees to start a forest fire," she said as she started walking again. "I''ll call it in when I get to town." "How far would that be?" Jesse asked, moving into the road when he realized she intended to walk right past him. "I''ll give you a ride." She stopped again. "Thank you, but I''ll walk. It''s only about a mile." That flawless complexion, pale-to-its-roots curly blonde hair, and those intelligent, arresting blue eyes made Jesse realize he knew her. "Miss Glace," he said, unable to believe he hadn''t recognized her immediately, considering how often she''d invaded his dreams over the last three months. "I''m Jesse Sinclair," he explained at her startled look. "Your fianc
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