It takes courage to fall in love
To everyone in her rural Ohio community, Jude Foster O’Leary’s dead husband is a war hero. Yet how can she forgive him for choosing the military over his family when they needed him most? And now the charitable foundation she established in his name is in danger of going belly-up, until Liam Manning comes to the single mother’s rescue. But the financial adviser’s arrival in Dancing Falls wasn’t happenstance. Despite her attraction to the driven professional in his three-piece suit—and Liam’s winning way with her young son—Jude has to protect herself from this caring, contradictory man who takes dangerous risks. And from the treacherous feelings Liam’s awakening.
“Jude, I’m your man, financially speaking, if you’ll have me.”
She appeared uncertain, as if she was going to turn him down.
“I really do know what I’m doing. All you need to do is...give me a chance,” Liam finished.
And then she completely surprised him. “I guess I could.” She looked up into his eyes. “You really will try to understand, right?”
The question made her seem so vulnerable, as if she’d trusted before and her faith had disappointed her. Guilt stabbed him. He’d made a deal with her father even though he hadn’t been comfortable doing it. Liam didn’t like keeping secrets. And yet here he was, working undercover for Dr. Foster.
But why should he feel guilty? The foundation, and Jude, would benefit from his advice. And once he helped her, just maybe this normally strong, determined woman would accept an invitation for dinner.
An unexpected breeze kicked up from the woods. Strands of Jude’s hair tickled Liam’s nose.
Most likely she wouldn’t go out on a date with him. How could he forget that she loved another man?
Dear Reader,
In my last book, I told the story of Alexis, the firstborn daughter in the series, The Daughters of Dancing Falls. As firstborn, much was expected of Alex, and she more than met expectations in grades and accomplishments.
In this book, I concentrate on Jude, the middle daughter, whose life was fraught with mistakes and risks. Writing this story, I thought a lot about middle children. Had my sister not died very young, I would have grown up a middle child. I discovered that middle children often act out, because they feel underappreciated or have a difficult time finding their niche in the family. But I also discovered one very interesting fact. If you look at pictures of three siblings, the middle child is usually in the middle of the photo. That should make the “middles” feel special. They are the center, the focus of the picture. “Middles” unite. You are the center of the family. You ground the others with your determination and will to stand out on your own merits.
I hope you enjoy this book about the middle child in the Foster family. I certainly enjoyed writing it for you.
I love to hear from readers. You may contact me at [email protected] or visit my website, www.cynthiathomason.net.
Cynthia
The Bridesmaid Wore Sneakers
Cynthia Thomason
Cynthia Thomason inherited her love of writing from her ancestors. Her father and grandmother both loved to write, and she aspired to continue the legacy. Cynthia studied English and journalism in college, and after a career as a high-school English teacher, she began writing novels. She discovered ideas for stories while searching through antiques stores and flea markets and as an auctioneer and estate buyer. Cynthia says every cast-off item from someone’s life can ignite the idea for a plot. She writes about small towns, big hearts and happy endings that are earned and not taken for granted. And as far as the legacy is concerned, just ask her son, the magazine journalist, if he believes.
Books by Cynthia Thomason
Harlequin Heartwarming
A Boy to Remember
Firefly Nights
This Hero for Hire
A Soldier’s Promise
Blue Ridge Autumn
Marriage for Keeps
Dilemma at Bayberry Cove
Harlequin Special Edition
His Most Important Win
Harlequin Superromance
The Men of Thorne Island
Your House or Mine?
An Unlikely Match
An Unlikely Father
An Unlikely Family
Deal Me In
Her Sister's Child
Return of the Wild Son
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This book is dedicated to Lisa Beaumont, my rugged and beautiful stepdaughter, who, like the heroine in this book, finds as much comfort in the company of four-legged creatures as she does the two-legged variety.
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM CAROUSEL NIGHTS BY AMIE DENMAN
PROLOGUE
Eight years ago
“AN OLD SOUL with a fighting spirit.” That was how Jude Foster’s mother often referred to her. Well, if caring about people and creatures and causes made her an old soul, then Jude was happy to have earned the title. Just because she didn’t go out with friends a lot and chase guys...just because she didn’t care a bit for the community college courses her father had encouraged her to enroll in—none of that meant she didn’t have a fulfilling life.
True, she was twenty-three years old and had never been in love. So what? Her mother also told her that her heart would find its match eventually, and in the meantime she didn’t mind avoiding all the angst and heartache her sisters constantly talked about.
If she could just convince her dad that she wasn’t college material, that she truly hated the idea of cleaning teeth for the rest of her life. All she needed was a new goal, one she could present to her father as a viable alternative to scraping molars.
Jude left the medical associate’s degree building of Munson Community College and released her usual sigh of relief. Somehow she’d managed to muddle through nearly three semesters of training in the dental hygienist school, doing just well enough to keep from flunking out.
She certainly couldn’t attribute her modest success in college to her own drive and purpose. Jude simply wasn’t a student, never would be. No, she was doing this for her father, who’d spent the first two years after Jude graduated from high school trying to interest her in a field that required higher education, while she worked the cash register at Winnie’s Western Wear. They’d settled on this path, or more accurately Martin Foster had settled on it, and the rest had been a history just short of drudgery. If she finished this semester and got through one more, she could clean teeth. Wow, the prospect excited her not
at all.
She came around the corner of the student union building and decided to skip lunch today. She could be home in thirty minutes and spend her afternoon at the barn with her docile and delightful mare, Honey. Maybe they’d ride on the property. Maybe they’d go all the way to Bees Creek. Either way, the thought of a gallop through the countryside made Jude forget uppers and lowers that hadn’t been flossed in months.
She was about to cross the paved road that ran between the union and the students’ parking lot when she noticed an old pickup truck broken down on the side of the asphalt. The hood was up, and a frantic hand waved the air where smoke was billowing from the engine. She couldn’t see the man’s face, but he was dressed in old jeans, work boots and a long-sleeved T-shirt that showed off admirable muscles.
Never one to pass by a trouble spot if she thought she could lend a hand, Jude went up to the truck. “Can I help?” she asked.
The man rose from the hood, wiped steam from his forehead and grimaced.
Jude’s mouth almost watered, probably from a lack of lunch, she told herself.
He was gorgeous. Long, dark hair that reached nearly to his shoulders. A strong face with storybook masculine features that included a square jaw, high cheekbones, a slightly crooked nose. The only part of that face that didn’t blend well with the other features were dark, curling lashes that immediately captured Jude’s attention.
“Have you got a cell phone?” the man asked. “I need to make a phone call.”
The guy didn’t have a cell phone? Wow, maybe she’d entered a time warp and had been transported back a few decades. The truck, at best a relic of the eighties, fit the scenario in her mind. She fished her phone out of her backpack and handed it to him. “Do you know how to use this?”
He gave her a questioning look. “Of course. I just forgot mine when I left the house this morning.”
He punched in a number. “Richie, it’s me. Tell Pop the truck broke down again. I’m going to need a tow.” He paused, listening. “I know. I tried that.” Another pause. “Yes, I made it to the college, but I’m going to have to unload all this produce by myself and carry it into the kitchen.”
For the first time Jude noticed a plastic tarp covering the cargo area of the truck. Between the rope tie-downs she could see assorted vegetables and fruits.
“Don’t bother,” he said to the person on the phone. “By the time you could get here, I would already have it mostly delivered. Just tell a tow to be here in an hour.”
He handed Jude her phone. “Thanks. Can’t believe I left my phone at home.” Glaring at the truck, he added, “I should know to keep it handy when I’m forced to drive this piece of...” He stopped, looked at Jude. “Sorry.”
She’d noticed his left hand when he gave her the phone. No ring.
“No problem,” she said. “I heard you tell that other guy...”
“My brother, Richie.”
“Okay, Richie, that you would unload this produce. I assume it’s going into the building next door to us here.”
“That’s right. My family farm furnishes fresh vegetables to the cafeteria. Usually I drop it off at the loading door in the back. Looks like I won’t be doing that today.” He frowned at the truck. “She conked out on me and won’t go another inch. Can’t let the stuff sit in the truck and spoil.”
“No, you wouldn’t want to do that.” She dropped the backpack from her shoulder and tossed it into the truck cab. “This should be safe here.” And if it wasn’t, she really didn’t care.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to help you carry this produce to the union. Me and anyone else I can draft to give us a hand.”
“You?” His facial expression was less than confident. “I can do it, really. I don’t want you straining anything.”
She knew her slight figure belied her strength. And she also knew her strength. A girl didn’t haul hay bales and water buckets without building up some muscle tone. She began untying the knots in his tie-downs. When she’d cleared a bushel basket of tomatoes, she hoisted it easily from the truck. Staring at the man’s shocked expression, she smiled and said, “Come on, let’s go.”
Jude succeeded in nabbing a half dozen volunteers she knew from hygiene classes. The entire truck was emptied in a half hour.
“Wow, thanks everyone,” Mr. Gorgeous said when the job was done. The other students left, but Jude, gratefully accepting an apple, munched and waited for the tow to arrive. When it did, she asked the man what he intended to do to get back to his farm.
“I’ll ride in with the tow driver. My brother will pick me up.”
“I might be able to take you,” she said. “Where is your farm?”
“Bees Creek Township,” he said.
“Amazing,” she said. “I’m going right by there.” Never had a lie come so easily.
“Well, then, I appreciate the lift. You’ll really save me some time.” He stuck out his hand. “I don’t think a young lady should offer a ride to a stranger, though. My name’s Paul O’Leary.”
“Jude Foster. Nice to meet you.”
They rode to Bees Creek in Jude’s trusty Volkswagen with its ragtop and five-speed transmission. By the time they pulled into the driveway of an old farmhouse, which bore the signs of many coats of paint, Jude was in love.
CHAPTER ONE
DESPITE BEING A WIDOW, Jude Foster O’Leary was content with her life most of the time and even happy on occasion. Unfortunately she’d only experienced a very short period being happily in love. And on this last Saturday of November, at her sister Alex’s wedding to the love of her life, Jude had to work at keeping a smile on her face. That was because she’d only been married to Paul O’Leary for two years before he was killed in Afghanistan, and while she was truly happy for her sister, she couldn’t help being miserable for herself.
Paul had left her with an infant son who just turned six a few weeks ago. Jude adored Wesley, even though his appearance was enough like his father’s that sometimes her eyes hurt just looking at him. And she loved the animals she cared for. She loved and respected her father, and she’d always been close to her two sisters, Alex and Carrie. But as anyone who’s ever been in love, or suffered the loss of love, can attest, all that isn’t enough.
Alex was the one in white today, while Jude and Carrie, along with Alex’s daughter, Lizzie, wore floor-length shimmering pink dresses, perfect for the other two ladies, not so much for Jude, who never chose to shimmer for any occasion. Now that the ceremony was over, the bridal party occupied a banquet-length table affording a view of the guests at Fox Creek Country Club. The Fosters had lived in Fox Creek, Ohio, for three generations, so Jude knew most everyone in attendance.
Except the tall guy in the perfectly fitted three-piece suit whose sandy blond hair was meticulously styled in an I-don’t-have-to-try-to-look-like-this way. Jude normally didn’t fixate on men, but when this guy had walked by the table earlier, Jude noticed several details, including the overhead chandeliers reflecting their twinkling lights in his polished shoes. She picked him out of the crowd again as she played with her shrimp cocktail.
“Hey, Carrie,” she said, gently jabbing her younger sister in the arm. “Who’s the slick reality show bachelor sitting at the farthest table to the left?”
Carrie adjusted the glasses that made her look like an adorable nerd. “I’ve seen him before,” she said. “Also that man next to him.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “I know now. That’s Lawrence Manning. He’s a dermatologist at the hospital where Daddy works. They’ve been friends for years.”
Jude coughed. “That young guy is a friend of Daddy’s?”
“No, silly. I’m talking about the older guy. I think the younger one is his son. I remember meeting him a couple of years ago when Daddy and I were at a restaurant near the hospital.
His name is Ethan or Liam, or...something old-fashioned.”
Liam Manning. The name raced to the forefront of Jude’s mind, but not in a good way. “It’s Liam,” she said. “I remember him, too. We were at a party together when we were kids, maybe ten years old. He was a horrid little monster back then.”
Carrie exaggerated fanning her face with her hand. “Well, he doesn’t look like a monster now.”
Unless monsters came with too-perfect bodies, perfect bronzed skin and aristocratic noses.
“I think you should ask him to dance, Jude,” Carrie said.
“Me? I don’t think this orchestra knows any Western line dances. And I’d only fall over my feet trying to do anything else.”
“Don’t be silly,” Carrie said. “You’re graceful on a horse, why not the dance floor?”
“Because grace isn’t a transferrable quality,” Jude answered. “I think you should ask him to dance. You’re the one with light feet.”
Carrie gave her the cute, conniving smile that Jude had admired for years. “You saw him first.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want him. I was mostly admiring his shoes. Besides, he’s probably married.”
“I don’t think so. I believe I heard Daddy say that Lawrence’s son got a divorce.”
“Oh.” Jude continued looking Liam’s way.
“Doesn’t matter, anyway. Looks like neither one of us will get the chance to dance with Mr. Charming,” Carrie said. She watched her father approach the young man. “I wonder what Daddy’s up to.”
Her father walked up to the Mannings’ table and put a hand on Liam’s shoulder. Martin leaned over, spoke to Lawrence and then into the younger man’s ear. Liam nodded, stood and followed Martin out of the room.
“Now, where could they be going?” Jude said, suddenly suspicious of her father’s motives. “What does Daddy have in common with that guy? He must be thirty years younger than Daddy.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t have anything to do with any of us,” Carrie said. “Are you going to eat the rest of that shrimp?”
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