by Hope Ramsay
Jude ignored the sudden rushing of blood in his head and focused on snapping up the boat’s canvas cover. “Stop objectifying. Haven’t you heard? It’s no longer PC.”
Tim chuckled. “Objectifying is a scientific fact.”
“So says the science teacher. If the parents of your students could hear you now, they’d—”
“Come on. Let’s go get a drink and say ‘hey,’ Tim interrupted.
“No. I have a meeting tonight.”
Tim rolled his eyes. “With that group of history nuts again?”
“They aren’t nuts. Dr. Rushford is a history professor.” And he’d donated his time and that of his grad students to help Jude get several old homes listed on the historic register. Jude’s last chance to preserve those buildings was the petition he and several of his cousins and relatives had made to the town council, asking for a rezoning of the land north of town that white folks called “Gullah Town.” The area wasn’t really a town at all, but a collection of small farms out in the scrub pine and live oak that had been settled by his ancestors right after the Civil War. Jude’s people never used the term “Gullah Town.” To them, the land north of Magnolia Harbor was just simply home.
The council was having a hearing this week. Jude had been working on this issue for more than a year with the professor’s help. He wasn’t about to miss a meeting to flirt with a tourist. An almost-blond tourist at that.
“Okay. It’s your loss.” Tim slapped him on the back. “But thanks for leaving the field of play. You’re hard to compete with, dude.” Tim strode off while Jude finished securing the last bungee cord. When he glanced up again, the woman with the honey hair was still staring at him, even as Tim moved in.
Tim was going to crash and burn. Again.
Jude turned away. He wanted nothing to do with another one of Tim’s failed pickup attempts. Instead, he headed down the boardwalk toward the offices of Barrier Island Charters, his father’s company, where Jude had parked his truck. He needed to get on home and take a shower before the meeting.
“Can I have a minute of your time, Mr. St. Pierre?” someone asked from behind him.
Jude turned. Damn. It was the woman with the honey hair. She had a low, sexy voice that vibrated inside his core in a weird, but not unpleasant, way. “Do I know you?” he asked.
“Um, no. Abigail. The waitress? At the raw bar? She told me your name.”
“Can I help you with something?” he asked.
“Well,” she said, rolling her eyes in a surprisingly awkward way. Almost as if she was shy or something. Which she was not, since she’d chased him down the boardwalk. “I was wondering if you might be willing to give me sailing lessons.”
“What?” That had to be the oddest request he’d gotten in a long time. He was not a sailing instructor.
“I’d like to learn how to sail a small boat.”
“Did Abby put you up to this?”
She shook her head. “No. Of course not. I was watching you sail, and, well, you seem to know what you’re doing out there.” A telltale blush crawled up her cheeks as she talked a mile a minute. She was a Yankee, all right, from Boston. He didn’t need the Red Sox T-shirt to tell him that either. She had a broad Boston accent. She must be here soaking up the last of the summer sun before going back north.
She’d be gone in a week.
“I don’t give sailing lessons,” he said in a curt tone and then checked his watch. He really needed to go.
“Oh. Okay. I’m sorry I bothered you,” the woman said in an oddly wounded tone. Her shoulders slumped a little as she started to turn away.
Damn.
He’d been rude. And stupid too. If she really wanted sailing lessons, it was an opportunity to earn a few extra bucks doing the thing he loved most. Barrier Island Charters could use all the income it could get this time of year. “No, uh, wait,” he said. “How many sailing lessons do you want?”
She stopped, midturn. “I don’t know. How many would it take?”
“To do what?”
“Learn how to sail? On my own, you know.”
“No one sails by themselves. I mean, even in a small boat like Bonney Rose you need a crew.”
“Oh?” She frowned.
“Unless you’re learning on an Opti or a Laser. But I don’t have an Opti or a Laser.”
The frown deepened. “Oh.”
“Optis and Lasers are one-person boats. They capsize. A lot.”
“Oh.”
“If you want to learn on a bigger boat, you know, with a keel, you should check out the group courses in Georgetown.”
“What’s a keel?” she asked, cocking her head a little like an adorable brown-eyed puppy.
He fought against the urge to roll his eyes. “A keel boat has a…Never mind. It’s bigger and more comfortable. And safer.”
“Okay, then I want to learn how to sail the other kind. Does Bonney Rose have a keel?”
“No. She has a centerboard.”
“Perfect.” Her mouth broadened.
“I’m not a certified teacher. In Georgetown, you can—”
“So you’ve already said. But I’m not interested in group classes in Georgetown. I don’t want that kind of thing. I want to learn how to take risks. Live on the edge. Sail fast.”
“Look, sailing can be dangerous, and I don’t do thrill rides.”
She folded her arms across her chest, her eyebrows lowering a little and her hip jutting out, the picture of a ticked-off female. “I’m not looking for a thrill ride.”
“No?” He gave her his best levelheaded stare.
She blushed a little. “Okay. I know nothing about sailing. But I want to learn.”
“Go to the sailing school in Georgetown.”
“Is that where you learned?”
Damn. She had him there. He’d learned from one of the best sailors on the island. He shook his head.
“Okay. So, can you give me the name of your teacher?”
“No. My teacher is retired now.”
“Oh.” She seemed crestfallen. Damn.
He checked his watch again and huffed out a breath. He was going to be late to the meeting. “Okay, look, I don’t know if I’d be any good teaching you how to sail, but if you want to charter Bonney Rose for a couple of hours, the going rate is two hundred fifty an hour.” That should shut her up. Judging by her worn-out flip-flops and threadbare camp pants, she didn’t look like someone who could afford that kind of rate.
Her face brightened. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
She nodded. “Tomorrow?”
Damn. “Yeah. I guess. At the public pier. Four o’clock.” He turned away before she could argue.
“Hey. Wait,” she called as he scooted down the boardwalk.
He didn’t wait.
“Hey. Don’t you even want to know my name?” she hollered at his back.
He turned around and backpedaled. “Why? I’ll recognize you if you show up tomorrow. Oh, and bring cash.”
Acknowledgments
I started Summer on Moonlight Bay shortly after the death of my husband, so spending time in Magnolia Harbor during the summertime was a true escape for me. I hope it will be for its readers. Spinning out a love story between a vet and a veterinarian kept me sane and even laughing at times, while I was simultaneously dealing with the worst life can dish up, plus selling a house, buying a house, and moving, all on my own.
So naturally I have many people to thank for making this book happen.
First I’d like to acknowledge my faithful pooch Daisy. Or Doodle Dog, as my late husband used to call her. For many months, while I was writing this book, Daisy was the only reason I got out of bed. Our long autumn walks became the perfect time for dreaming up Noah and Lia’s story. It’s truly amazing how much plotting I can accomplish on a two-mile walk with the dog. But much more important, I’m relatively new to the world of dog lovers, having been a cat person most of my life. The love of a good dog is something Daisy has ta
ught me, and I’m not sure I could have written Prince’s story without a deep understanding of what it means to love a dog and to have a dog love you back.
I also need to give my deepest thanks to the gang of morning writers in the Ruby Slippered Sisterhood’s chat room. Dana, Debbie, Marin, Lenee, AJ, Cynthia, and a number of other irregulars, kept me focused on my work but always had time to listen to my rants, brainstorm plot issues, or send me cyber hugs when life got hard. You ladies rock! Knowing that you’d be there every weekday morning at 9:00 a.m. kept me on track and moving forward. It’s true what they say about the power of showing up every morning.
I’d also like to thank J. Keely Thrall, a longtime friend and critique partner who helped me understand what the softball game in this novel was all about. Her suggestions opened a vista of possibilities I hadn’t seen before.
My readers, who responded to my Facebook call for dog name suggestions, also get a shout-out. Thanks for all the doggie names, as well as the fun conversation about whether Prince should be a Prince Charming or a Prince of Darkness. That particular joke made it into the book.
As always, I need to acknowledge my longtime editor, Alex Logan, who made this book better by insisting that I follow my gut and add the secondary romance, even though it meant a complete rewrite of one of the points of view. And to my publisher, please accept my gratitude for all you do to support my career. And, more specifically, for giving me an extension on this book’s deadline.
Also by Hope Ramsay
The Last Chance series
Welcome to Last Chance
Home at Last Chance
Small Town Christmas (anthology)
Last Chance Beauty Queen
“Last Chance Bride” (short story)
Last Chance Christmas
Last Chance Book Club
“Last Chance Summer” (short story)
Last Chance Knit & Stitch
Inn at Last Chance
A Christmas to Remember (anthology)
Last Chance Family
Last Chance Hero
“A Midnight Clear” (short story)
The Chapel of Love series
“A Fairytale Bride” (short story)
A Christmas Bride
A Small-Town Bride
Here Comes the Bride
The Bride Next Door
The Moonlight Bay series
The Cottage on Rose Lane
Praise for Hope Ramsay
The Moonlight Bay series
“Ramsay mixes a tasty cocktail of sweet and sexy in this heartfelt launch of the Moonlight Bay series. Ramsay’s expert characterization (particularly with the multilayered hero and heroine), entertaining cast of secondary characters, and well-tuned plot will make readers long for a return trip to Magnolia Harbor.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Cottage on Rose Lane
The Chapel of Love series
“[A] laugh-out-loud, play-on-words dramathon…It won’t take long for fans to be sucked in while Ramsay weaves her latest tale of falling in love.”
—RTBookReviews.com on The Bride Next Door
“Getting hitched was never funnier.”
—FreshFiction.com on Here Comes the Bride
“Ramsey charms in her second Chapel of Love contemporary… [and] wins readers’ hearts with likable characters, an engaging plot (and a hilarious subplot), and a well-deserved happy ending.”
—Publishers Weekly on A Small-Town Bride
“Happiness is a new Hope Ramsay series.”
–FreshFiction.com on A Christmas Bride
The Last Chance series
“I love visiting Last Chance and getting to revisit old friends, funny situations, the magic and the mystery that always seem to find their way into these wonderful stories.”
—HarlequinJunkie.com on Last Chance Hero
“4 stars! Ramsay uses a light-toned plot and sweet characters to illustrate some important truths in this entry in the series.”
―RT Book Reviews on Last Chance Family
“5 stars! I really enjoyed this book. I love a little mystery with my romance, and that is exactly what I got with Inn at Last Chance.”
—HarlequinJunkie.com on Inn at Last Chance
“Ramsay writes with heart and humor. Truly a book to be treasured and a heartwarming foray into a great series.”
—NightOwlReviews.com on Last Chance Knit & Stitch
“Last Chance is a place we’ve come to know as well as we know our own hometowns. It’s become real, filled with people who could be our aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, or the crazy cat lady down the street. It’s familiar, comfortable, welcoming.”
—RubySlipperedSisterhood.com
on Last Chance Book Club
“Amazing…This story spoke to me on so many levels about faith, strength, courage, and choices. If you’re looking for a good Christmas story with a few angels, then Last Chance Christmas is a must-read.”
—TheSeasonforRomance.com
on Last Chance Christmas
“A little Bridget Jones meets Sweet Home Alabama.”
—GrafWV.com on Last Chance Beauty Queen
“Full of small town charm and Southern hospitality…You will want to grab a copy.”
—TopRomanceNovels.com on Home at Last Chance
“Ramsay’s delicious contemporary debut introduces the town of Last Chance, SC, and its warmhearted inhabitants…[she] strikes an excellent balance between tension and humor as she spins a fine yarn.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
on Welcome to Last Chance
About the Author
Hope Ramsay is a USA Today bestselling author of heartwarming contemporary romances set below the Mason-Dixon Line and inspired by the summers she spent with her large family in South Carolina. She has two grown children, a couple of demanding lap cats named Simba and Pete, and a precious cockapoo puppy named Daisy. She lives in Virginia where, when she’s not writing, she’s knitting or playing her forty-year-old Martin guitar.
You can learn more at:
HopeRamsay.com
Twitter: @HopeRamsay
Facebook.com/Hope.Ramsay
Then There
Was You
Miranda Liasson
Angel Falls is the last place Sara Langdon wants to be. Her hometown may be charming, but it’s also filled with memories of her “wedding-that-never-was.” Yet Sara’s grandmother needs her, and joining her dad at his medical practice gives Sara time to figure out what she wants for her future. But when her first patient turns out to be Colton Walker, the man who sabotaged her wedding, Sara starts to wonder if she’ll ever be able to escape her past.
A bonus novel from award-winning author Miranda Liasson follows.
New York Boston
Sometimes the last person on earth you want to be with is the one person you can’t be without.
—Tagline for the movie
Pride and Prejudice, 2005
Chapter 1
Dr. Serafina Langdon stood in the Angel Falls Community Hospital ER before the door to exam room three, squeezing her eyes shut, struggling to be a better person. Clearly a higher power was telling her she’d made the wrong decision, returning to her hometown of Angel Falls, Ohio. Because the name on the sheet of paper in her hand said that the patient occupying the room in front of her was Colton Bentley Walker.
Not him. Anyone but him. She’d hoped to ease back into town, get herself established, and then confront—on her own terms—the man who’d helped ruin her engagement a year ago. Who’d been a burr in her side for years—since she was fourteen, really. She’d known this day would come; she just hadn’t expected it during her first ER shift.
Sara sucked in a deep breath. She could handle this. She reminded herself again of the reason she’d returned to this sleepy small town to join her dad’s medical practice after her high-powered Ivy League training at Columbia. Her sweet, precious grandmother had recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disea
se, and Sara wanted to do all she could to help the woman who’d been her rock, her support, her unwavering cheerleader her whole life. She could face the demons of the past for Nonna’s sake.
Sara opened her eyes. Slid the sheet of paper back into the metal pocket on the wall. She couldn’t do it. Not today, and maybe not ever. She turned on the soles of her Dansko clogs and walked at a fast clip back to the nurses’ station.
The ER was just as white bright at two on a Saturday morning as it was at high noon. And just as busy. Even the administrative assistant was on the phone. Sara peeked around the corner to find the doc she was sharing this shift with. Sara was a primary care doctor, but in a town as small as Angel Falls, the primary care docs worked alongside the ER docs to help staff the ER. Brian Graves, a guy from the next town over whom she knew from residency, was her partner this shift. He had one claim to fame: he’d bedded more women than an eighties rock star.
She hated to approach him, but what was worse? Asking a favor of a guy who wanted to get her in the sack or inflicting irreversible pain and suffering on the man she blamed for ruining her chance at happily ever after?
An unwanted flash of herself in her mother’s wedding gown passed before her, pivoting slowly in front of the big mirror at Katie O’Hara’s bridal shop, while her sisters and her grandmother and her stepmother oohed and aahed. Sorrow over the future that had come crashing down around her stabbed her in the gut, as it tended to do at the worst times. She didn’t want to be reminded of all that pain, and she could not see Colton without wanting to kill him. All righty then. Brian it was.
She found him sauntering down the hall to an exam room, eyeing the butt of a nurse as she made the usual two a.m. pot of coffee.
“Trade me a patient?” Sara asked.
He reached out and took the electronic tablet she carried in her hand. “Oh, Chief Walker.” He looked from the tablet to her. “You running away from the law or something?”
