Sweet Talk
Foreword by Robyn Carr
Featuring in Order of Appearance:
Melody Anne, Violet Duke, Melissa Foster, Gina L. Maxwell,
Linda Lael Miller, Sherryl Woods, Steena Holmes, Rosalind James,
Nancy Naigle, Molly O’Keefe, Brenda Novak
Sweet Talk
Copyright 2015
Cover Design by Croco Designs
Formatted by IRONHORSE Formatting
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owners and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. The authors acknowledge the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.
Dear Reader
Thank you for purchasing this limited-edition digital boxed set filled with wonderful novels and novellas from some of today’s most popular authors. I hope you will have a wonderful reading experience and discover many authors you might not have read before.
All the proceeds from the sale of these stories will be going to fund important research at the University of Miami’s Diabetes Research Institute—because I feel as if they are currently our best bet for a practical cure. I have been involved in raising money for research for more than a decade. Usually, I run an annual online auction each May (so far, we’ve raised $2.4 million), but this “boxed set” effort is replacing the auction this year. I appreciate your support, and all those people who have supported me in the past. For more information about my efforts, please visit http://brendanovakforthecure.org/.
In addition to this boxed set, I’m offering two more this year—SWEET DREAMS (filled with 13 thrillers, including my own HANOVER HOUSE, the kick-off to my new suspense series coming out with St. Martin’s Press next year) and SWEET SEDUCTION (filled with 13 “hot” romances a la Fifty Shades of Grey). In addition, Lauren Hawkeye, a fellow writer who also has a son with Type 1, is contributing the proceeds of the sale of her contemporary romance, SAFE HAVEN, to the cause.
And don’t miss my very first cookbook! LOVE THAT! BRENDA NOVAK’S EVERY OCCASION COOKBOOK contains all of my healthiest recipes—the ones I used to raise my five kids, not recipes I hired someone to create—along with some recipes contributed by my friend and co-author Jan Coad, who once owned a restaurant and has published other cookbooks. It’s available in both digital and print, so order yours now.
Here’s to making a difference!
Brenda
Dedication
To all those who are fighting the same battle as my son, Thad. May we find a cure for diabetes soon! And to everyone who purchased this boxed set. Thanks for being part of the solution.
Table of Contents
Dear Reader
Foreword
Dreaming of Tomorrow by Melody Anne
Jackson by Violet Duke
Promise My Love by Melissa Foster
Deadly Obsession by Gina L. Maxwell
Interlude by Linda Lael Miller
Bayside Retreat by Sherryl Woods
The Memory Journal by Steena Holmes
Just In Time by Rosalind James
Sand Dollar Cove by Nancy Naigle
Christmas Eve: A Love Story by Molly O’Keefe
BONUS: WHEN WE TOUCH (A Whiskey Creek Novella) by Brenda Novak
Foreword
I remember always being aware of diabetes. My grandmother had it, late onset. She took pills to control it. In college a classmate had diabetes and I marveled at her ease with the syringe but beyond that, I wasn’t very tuned in to her. She was nineteen and even landed in the hospital a couple of times because her blood glucose was all out of whack, but I was the same age. I was bullet proof, took chances here and there, was less than one hundred percent cautious and I was fine. What I knew about diabetes was that you should watch your diet, take your insulin, manage your disease and live a completely normal life. Right?
Wrong.
The seriousness came home to me a little at a time. My father-in-law had diabetes, and it was referred to as ‘brittle.’ He had to check his blood and inject several times a day, but my in-laws didn’t like to talk about such things so I remained blissfully ignorant. Later he suffered from macular degeneration caused by his diabetes and was nearly blind.
But the first brush I had with the absolute enormity was after a swim meet, at the ice cream shop along with tons of students and parents. My son was on the team and we’d gone to his meet. One of his teammate’s mother worked there and I said, “Great meet, huh?” And she said, “Have you seen Josh? Do you know if he ate something?” Well, of course I didn’t know. I wasn’t minding him. Besides, I had a sixteen year old son, too, and eating wasn’t one of my worries. I worried about more practical things, like if he’d drink alcohol, drive too fast or maybe go too far with a girl!
Then I noticed that mother had my son cornered. So I quizzed him, asking him what she wanted. She wanted to know if Josh had eaten after the meet. My son did know. Josh, apparently, carried something he could snack on, so he put Josh’s mother at ease. “I saw him eat,” my son said. I asked what the big deal was and my son said, “He’s diabetic. He forgets sometimes or sometimes just doesn’t feel like it and trust me, when that happens, it can be bad. Sometimes he has a problem even when he’s careful. His mother wants him to have kidneys when he’s older.”
Suddenly it fell into place for me. Just manage it? Just follow the rules? Bip, bop, zip? Who was I kidding? I couldn’t even get my son of the same age to trot his dirty clothes to the hamper! I was afraid he’d wreck the car out of sheer foolishness or carelessness while his friend’s mother was afraid he’d have a sugar low or insulin overdose and lose consciousness and wreck the car! She had to worry about all the same things I worried about PLUS guarding the health of a sixteen year old boy to make sure he lived into adulthood.
Talk about priorities.
The next time I rubbed up against the seriousness of the disease was when a woman I knew nearly died in childbirth because of complications of diabetes. I didn’t realize, none of us realized, her condition was so severe it had been strongly recommended she not risk pregnancy. She survived but later had a kidney transplant. Trust me, you don’t want to sign up for one of those.
Diabetes isn’t something one gets from bad habits or being careless. In fact there are still too many questions about the cause to find the cure. It’s a serious chronic health condition that requi
res lifelong monitoring and is all too often fatal. Great strides have been made in recent years but not enough to put the mother of a teenager with diabetes at ease, not enough to allow a woman who has had diabetes since she was four years old to risk having a family of her own.
Now as I write this and indulge a little history check of my own, the number of people in my life who have had to deal with diabetes is so much broader and deeper than I realized, than I paid attention to. There were uncles, cousins, friends, in-laws and colleagues. It reaches its tentacles deep into our families and touches everyone. It impacts every day for the diabetic and everyone within his reach. It’s a huge burden with potentially horrendous consequences.
And the cure is getting a little closer every day. Please, God.
Robyn Carr
Dreaming of Tomorrow
Prologue
“Are you Whitney Steele?”
As she struggled to wake up, Whitney was shivering from the frigid air drifting inside her open doorway. A police officer was standing before her with an expression she couldn’t read. All she knew was that it was three in the freaking morning, and this intrusion was unacceptable.
“Yes. How can I help you?” Her tone was anything but polite.
The officer looked away for the briefest of moments, and her sleepiness vanished. Maybe this wasn’t news she wanted to hear. When his eyes finally reconnected with hers, the sympathy she saw made her certain of that.
“No news at this hour is good news,” she told him, and she started to shut the door in his face.
He put his hand out to keep the door open. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry … but there’s been a terrible accident.”
She stopped listening. Nothing else he could say would be worth hearing.
“No …” She could stop him. She would.
“Your sister and her husband were in an auto accident at 10:06 PM.” He paused, and the very air seemed to throb. “They didn’t make it.”
Whitney’s knees began to give out, and she felt blackness overtaking her.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Steele,” the officer told her again seconds before he caught her.
“No, you’re wrong,” Whitney pleaded. Christmas was right around the corner, and she couldn’t possibly live in a world where Maxine didn’t exist.
The officer simply looked at her with kindly but regretful eyes, and she knew he was speaking the truth. If only she could wake up from this nightmare.
“Are you going to be okay?” the officer asked. “Do you have someone you can call?”
“There’s no one. My sister was all I had left,” she said in a panic. How would she get through all of this without Maxine to guide her? “But … where are my niece and nephew?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. I was just sent here to inform you of the accident since you are listed as next of kin.”
“I’ll have to find out,” she said, and then stepped back into her house and closed the door. She stumbled to the phone and dialed her sister’s house.
On the third ring, the babysitter picked up. She’d been informed about the accident, but she didn’t know what to do, and the poor girl was sobbing.
Whitney gathered herself together and headed over to her sister’s house. She had to stay strong for Maxine’s children. There wasn’t time to fall apart.
As she made the drive, all she could think of was that she was about to bring these two children the worst news of their life. And once she arrived, she sat in the car for a moment, composed herself, brushed away her tears, and took a deep breath. They would all somehow make it through this tragedy.
At least they had each other.
She walked through the darkened doorway and heard a mewling cry coming from the living room. The house seemed so empty, though nothing had changed about it — physically. But this time she knew her sister would never again grace the halls with her laughter or come rushing around the corner. With great effort, Whitney held in the tears that wanted to fall once more.
“Thanks for staying, Ginny. You can leave now. I’ve got the kids,” Whitney said to the sitter, who gratefully jumped up and rushed from the home without a word. She was only a teenager, and would probably be too frightened to ever babysit again.
Whitney made her way up the stairs and looked in quietly on both children. They were sleeping soundly and she didn’t want to wake them. They’d gone to sleep full of hopes and dreams of the upcoming holidays, and when they awoke, their entire world would be changed forever. Talk about cruelty.
She crept back down the stairs and sat motionless on the living room couch. When the morning light started peeking through the windows, her six-year-old niece, Ally, wandered into the room, still gripping her blanket. She was rubbing her eyes sleepily, and she smiled when she spotted Whitney sitting there.
“Aunt Whitney!” she exclaimed before cuddling up in Whitney’s arms.
Whitney rubbed her niece’s hair while the two of them waited for Brayden to join them.
When he finally appeared, Whitney had no choice but to be the bearer of bad news. How could they possibly move forward?
Chapter One
One year later
Whitney gazed out the window, watching as snowflakes drifted down on top of one another, creating a blanket of white. At one time, this had brought her joy. Now, it only brought her sorrow.
She sat back down at the counter of her pathetic customer service job, watching the clock for closing time. She wanted to get home to her nephew and niece. They’d had a year to grieve. It was now time to build new memories, and that wasn’t something she could do while working long hours at a job like this.
At least this would be her last day here. She’d certainly have to go looking for another one, but this was a dead end, and she couldn’t provide properly for her newfound family on the wages she was making.
She sighed as she looked around. So many changes in such a short period of time — taking care of two young children, putting her education on hold, and trying to hide the pain she felt at losing her sister so she could help her niece and nephew to heal.
To top it all off she couldn’t connect with her nephew. He was bitter and angry at the loss of his parents, and he seemed to feel that he should have done something to prevent it. He was now nine and acted like an adult. It frightened her.
She was failing on every count. Life had always been easier for her sister, who had made like look effortless. What had gone wrong with her own DNA?
Maxine had been the perfect mother, friend, sister, wife and employee. There wasn’t anything she couldn’t do. Whitney only hoped that her sister wasn’t looking down upon her and shaking her head.
The last of the customers walked from the store and Whitney moved to the front door, locking it for the last time while her co-worker and friend counted out the till. It didn’t take long, and then the two of them left the store together before rushing to their cars.
The roads were icy, but Whitney didn’t mind much. At least it gave her a few extra minutes to paste on the smile she needed to have in place when she stepped through the front doors of her home for the past year.
Her sister had left the house and custody of the children to her. There had been a modest life insurance policy, but Whitney had placed that in a trust for when the children turned eighteen. Enough had been taken from the kids already and she wouldn’t touch their inheritance, even if that meant a few extra nights of macaroni and cheese for dinner.
Ally and Brayden had attended a private school since kindergarten, and Whitney wanted to keep their lives as normal as possible, so her money was stretched to the penny. But the fewer changes she could make, the better.
“Time…,” she murmured. She’d been saying this same thing over and over again for more than three hundred and sixty-five days. Everyone told her all she needed was time. Maybe one day that would be true.
She squared her shoulders and stepped into the house. The home was eerily quiet, which immediately worried her. She knew be
yond a doubt that if the kids were quiet, they were most likely up to no good. She tossed her purse onto the chair and went in search of Brayden and Ally. She stepped into the kitchen and felt her feet slip out from under her.
“What the heck?” she yelled as her tailbone connected with the ground and she thrust her hands out to stop herself from sliding. Was that a layer of oil on the floor? Yes, and worse. There was a mixture of flour and oil all over the place. What had the kids done now? And where in the heck was the sitter?
The babysitter came flying around the corner.
“No amount of money is worth watching these brats,” the woman yelled. “They’re horrible children, absolutely horrible.” She grabbed her purse and went running out the front door. She didn’t even stop to ask for money, which made Whitney almost thankful.
After the door slammed, Whitney turned toward the kids, who were looking guiltily at the floor.
“What were the two of you thinking? That’s the third sitter you’ve managed to chase out of here. How am I supposed to work if there isn’t someone to take care of you?”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Whitney,” Ally said with tears streaming down her cheeks.
“We don’t need a stupid babysitter anyway. I’m nine and Ally is seven, but you still treat us like babies,” Brayden snapped.
“Brayden, I don’t want you having to take on the responsibility of raising your little sister. You do need someone here with you, whether you think so or not,” Whitney said. “I know you’re lashing out because you’re hurt, but we’re going to be okay. I promise you.”
She reached out toward Brayden but he jerked backward.
“On what planet is everything going to be okay?”
Sweet Talk Boxed Set (Ten NEW Contemporary Romances by Bestselling Authors to Benefit Diabetes Research plus BONUS Novel) Page 1
