Beach Girls

by Luanne Rice

  PRAISE FOR THE TRANSCENDENT NOVELS

  OF LUANNE RICE

  DANCE WITH ME

  “A return to what the author does best: heartfelt family drama, gracefully written and poignant.” —Kirkus Reviews

  “Once again, Rice captures the wonder of life, warts and all, and puts in a bid for hope. Dance with Me is a stellar example of why Rice continues to gain popularity.” —Booklist

  “Heartbreak gives way to love and reconciliation in this poignant tale. Rice's sympathetic protagonists and impressive secondary characters keep her readers engaged.” —Publishers Weekly

  THE PERFECT SUMMER

  “A beautifully crafted novel . . . Rice's ability to evoke the lyricism of the seaside lifestyle without over-sentimentalizing contemporary issues like adultery, anorexia or white-collar crime is just one of the many gifts that make this a perfect summer read.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “A loving look at family and the issues that must be faced when a crisis threatens its cohesion.” —Booklist

  “Rice has done it again. The Perfect Summer is hard to put down until the last page is turned.” —Sunday Oklahoman

  “If you're into stories that explore human emotions, that delve into different psyches and extol those who manage to triumph over some of life's tragedies, then you'll enjoy The Perfect Summer.” —Detroit News & Free Press

  THE SECRET HOUR

  “Familiar Rice themes of sisterhood, loss and the healing power of love are spotlighted, but Rice's interest in the human psyche has its dark side as well. . . . The shore scenes, including a cinematic climax . . . [are] among the novel's strongest. Rice's heartfelt personal tone and the novel's cunningly deranged villain make this a smooth-flowing and fast-paced effort, with justice served all around at the satisfying . . . conclusion.” —Publishers Weekly

  “Salt-of-the-earth characters form the life-breathing force in this emotionally charged novel. . . . Suspenseful . . . possibly Rice's best work to date.” —Romantic Times

  “Rice's lyrical style humanizes the dilemma of justice by the book versus justice for victims.” —Booklist

  “Luanne Rice is one of the most mesmerizing storytellers. Her books are always deeply emotional, [with] wonderful characters.” —Somerset (PA) Daily American

  “A beautiful book . . . the reader is drawn in from the first word. It's a tense, driven, sometimes harsh and sometimes very gentle love story.” —Old Book Barn Gazette

  “Engrossing . . . captures the reader from the first page. Heartbreaking drama and chilling suspense combine to create an engaging novel of family and new beginnings. Ms. Rice captivates the reader with her detailed and evocative narrative and the multilayered facets of her characters. Beautifully written . . . highly recommended.” —America Online Romance Fiction Forum

  “Intense and emotional, The Secret Hour has everything [readers] have come to expect and enjoy in novels by Luanne Rice . . . infinitely appealing characters . . . a sense of family that is rich and satisfying. Beyond these familiar elements is the underlying current of the unsolved mystery—the suspense is spine-tingling and well developed. This added dimension in The Secret Hour elevates the novel to more than just a deep, meaningful novel of family relationships, and makes it one of Ms. Rice's best yet—A Perfect Ten.” —Romance Reviews Today

  TRUE BLUE

  “With its graceful prose, full-bodied characters and atmospheric setting, this uplifting and enchanting tale is likely to become a beachside staple.” —Publishers Weekly

  “Rice, as always, provides her readers with a delightful love story filled with the subtle nuances of the human heart.” —Booklist

  SAFE HARBOR

  “Luanne Rice has a talent for navigating the emotions that range through familial bonds, from love and respect to anger. . . . A beautiful blend of love and humor, with a little bit of magic thrown in, Safe Harbor is Rice's best work to date.” —Denver Post

  “Irresistible . . . fast-paced . . . moving . . . Through Rice's vivid storytelling, readers can almost smell the sea air. Rice has a gift for creating realistic characters, and the pages fly by as those characters explore the bonds of family while unraveling the mystery.” —Orlando Sentinel

  “Heartwarming and convincing . . . a meditation on the importance of family ties . . . buoyed by Rice's evocative prose and her ability to craft intelligent, three-dimensional characters.” —Publishers Weekly

  “Luanne Rice's exploration of the difficult emotional balance between professional success, personal fulfillment and family ties is pure gold. Evocative descriptions add interest to an already compelling tale. Equal parts romance, mystery, and character study . . . Readers beware: don't start this book at bedtime; you may not sleep at all!” —Library Journal

  “A story for romantics who have never forgotten their first love.” —Columbia (SC) State

  FIREFLY BEACH

  “A beautifully textured summertime read.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “Rice does a masterful job of telling this powerful story of love and reconciliation.” —Booklist

  SUMMER LIGHT

  “Few . . . authors are able to portray the complex and contradictory emotions that bind family members as effortlessly as Rice. . . . This poignant tale of love, loss and reconciliation will have readers hitting the bookstores.” —Publishers Weekly

  “The prolific Rice skillfully blends romance with magic.” —Booklist

  “Luanne Rice awakens in the reader the excitement of summer and love at first sight in this enjoyable novel.” —Abilene (TX) Reporter-News

  DREAM COUNTRY

  “A moving story of love and reunion . . . an absolute joy to read . . . I finally put Dream Country down at 2 a.m. and almost called in sick the next day to finish it.” —Denver Post

  “Superb . . . stunning.” —Houston Chronicle

  “Captivating . . . Dream Country will cast a spell on readers.” —Orlando Sentinel

  “A transcendent story about the power of hope and family love . . . A compelling plot and nuanced character portrayals contribute to the emotional impact. . . . Rice creates believable dramatic tension.” —Publishers Weekly

  “Engaging . . . a taut thriller . . . Rice's descriptive gifts are impressive.” —Minneapolis Star Tribune

  “A story so real it will be deeply etched into the hearts of its readers . . . Rice once again delivers a wonderfully complex and full-bodied romance.” —Booklist

  “Highly readable . . . moving . . . a well-paced plot . . . Rice pulls off some clever surprises.” —Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

  FOLLOW THE STARS HOME

  “Addictive . . . irresistible.” —People

  “Involving, moving . . . stays with the reader long after the last page is turned.” —Denver Post

  “Uplifting . . . The novel's theme—love's miraculous ability to heal—has the ingredients to warm readers' hearts.” —Publishers Weekly

  “A moving romance that also illuminates the tangled resentments, ties and allegiances of family life . . . Rice spins a web of three families intertwined by affection and conflict. . . . [She] is a gifted storyteller with a keen sense of both the possibilities and contingencies of life.” —Brunswick (ME) Times Record

  “Powerhouse author Luanne Rice returns with a novel guaranteed to wrench your emotional heartstrings. Deeply moving and rich with emotion, Follow the Stars Home is another of Ms. Rice's classics.” —Romantic Times

  CLOUD NINE

  “A tightly paced story that is hard to put down . . . Rice's message remains a powerful one: the strength of precious family ties can ultimately set things right.” —Publishers Weekly

  “One of those rare reading experiences that we always hope for when cracking the cover of a book . . . A joy.” —Library Journal

  “Elegant . . . Rice hooks the reader on the first page.” —Hartford Courant

  “A celebration of family and the healing power of love. Poignant and power
ful . . . One of those rare books that refresh and renew the landscape of women's fiction for a new generation of readers.” —Jayne Ann Krentz, author of Sharp Edges

  HOME FIRES

  “Exciting, emotional, terrific. What more could you want from a late-summer read?” —New York Times Book Review

  “Compelling . . . poignant . . . riveting.” —Hartford Advocate

  “Rice makes us believe that healing is possible.” —Chicago Tribune

  “Good domestic drama is Rice's chosen field, and she knows every acre of it. . . . Rice's home fires burn brighter than most, and leave more than a few smoldering moments to remember.” —Kirkus Reviews

  BLUE MOON

  “Brilliant.” —Entertainment Weekly

  “A rare combination of realism and romance.” —New York Times Book Review

  “Eloquent . . . A moving and complete tale of the complicated phenomenon we call family.” —People

  More Critical Acclaim for LUANNE RICE

  “What a lovely writer Luanne Rice is.” —Dominick Dunne

  “Ms. Rice shares Anne Tyler's ability to portray offbeat, fey characters winningly.” —Atlanta Journal-Constitution

  “Luanne Rice handles with marvelous insight and sensitivity the complex chemistry of a family that might be the one next door.” —Eileen Goudge

  “Miss Rice writes as naturally as she breathes.” —Brendan Gill

  “Luanne Rice proves herself a nimble virtuoso.” —Washington Post Book World

  “Rice has an elegant style, a sharp eye, and a real warmth. In her hands families, and their values . . . seem worth cherishing.” —San Francisco Chronicle

  “Rice's great strength is in creating realistic characters readers care about.” —Denver Post

  “Luanne Rice touches the deepest, most tender corners of the heart.” —Tami Hoag, author of Kill the Messenger

  “Pure gold.” —Library Journal

  The enchantment of the holidays meets

  with the pure storytelling genius of

  Luanne Rice,

  as one of our most beloved authors

  presents readers with a special gift for

  the season and a Christmas classic

  in the making:

  SILVER BELLS

  LUANNE RICE

  Watch for it in hardcover in

  Fall 2004

  wherever books are sold

  Please read on for a special advance preview

  ALL SUMMER LONG THE TREES HAD GROWN TALL and full, roots deep in the rich island soil, branches yearning toward the golden sun. The salt wind had blown in from the east, gilding the pine needles silver. Everyone knew that the best Christmas trees came from the north, with the best of all coming from Nova Scotia, where the stars hung low in the sky. It was said that starlight lodged in the branches, the northern lights charged the needles with magic. Nova Scotia trees were made hardy by the sea and luminous by the stars.

  On Cape Breton's Pleasant Bay, in the remote north of Nova Scotia, was a tree farm owned by Christopher Byrne. His family had immigrated to Canada from Ireland when he was a child; they'd answered an ad to work on a Christmas tree farm. It was brutally hard work, and they were very poor, and Christy remembered going to sleep with a gnawing hunger in his belly.

  By the time he was twelve, he was six feet tall, growing too fast for the family to afford—and his mother had often sacrificed her own food so her oldest child would have enough to eat. He'd need it to withstand the elements. For the north wind would roar, and Arctic snows would fly, and summer heat would blaze into flash fires, and Christy would work through it all. His mother would ring the dinner bell, to call them home from the field. He loved that sound, for no matter how little they had, his mother would do her best to make sure Christy had more than enough love and almost enough food.

  His hunger had made Christy Byrne a fierce worker, and it had given him a wicked drive for success. He saved every penny he made, buying land of his own, using the skills and instincts he'd learned from his father to plant his trees and survive the brutal elements. His mother's love and generosity had made Christy a fine man, and that had made him a good father. He knew he was a good father. It couldn't be in doubt; he had a fire in his heart for his children. So that was why this year, cutting the trees on the mountainside in preparation for going south to sell them, he felt such a storm of hope and confusion.

  Every year on the first day of December, Christy drove south to New York City. Hordes of tree salespeople would descend upon the glittering island of Manhattan, from the flatlands of Winnipeg, the snowy forests north of Toronto and east of Quebec, the green woodlands of Vermont and Maine, the lakes of Wisconsin, the lonely peninsulas of Michigan. Their trees would be cut and tied, hauled by flatbed trucks over the brilliant garland bridges spanning the East and Hudson Rivers, offloaded on street corners from Little Italy to Gramercy Park, from Tribeca to Morningside Heights, in the hopes of making a year's worth of income from one month's worth of selling.

  A scruffy bunch, the tree salespeople were. Dungarees and Carhartt jackets were their uniform. Some arrived in caravans, like Gypsies, parked their trailers by the curb, and lived out December in the vans' cramped chill. Some would stick a huge illuminated Santa or snowman on the van roof.

  When it came to vending Christmas trees, Christy had no peer. He used to travel alone—set up his stand on the corner in Chelsea, string up white lights to show off his trees with their salt-sparkle, and use his silver Irish tongue to sell every last one at top dollar in time to get home on Christmas Eve—laden with sugarplums, walnuts, fine chocolates, and cheeses from the best Manhattan markets; golden-haired dolls, tin soldiers, silver skates, and Flexible Flyer sleds for Bridget and Danny; soft red wool sweaters and fine cream silk nightgowns for Mary. Why not spend some of the profits on his family? He'd made plenty off the glamorous people of New York City.

  He'd go home and tell everyone about it, tell Danny what he had to look forward to. “We'll be partners, you and I,” Christy had said. “When you get old enough, you're going to own half this farm. Study up in school, son.”

  “You're saying it takes book knowledge? To be a farmer?” Mary had asked, laughing. Christy had held in his hurt—she'd never appreciated the skills it took. Her father had done two years of college in Halifax, worked in the front office of a lobster company, and Christy knew she had similar designs for their son.

  “That, and instincts,” Christy had replied, aware that Danny was listening, wanting him to be proud of his tree-farming heritage. “Running the land takes the best we have—all of it! It's magical work, it is, to make Christmas trees grow out of nothing much more than sun and dirt.”

  But after Mary's death four years ago, he had had to take the children with him to New York. Danny had been twelve then, and Bridget eight. The school always gave them permission, along with a month's worth of lessons and homework to do while their father hustled the trees. Danny's eyes had just about sprung out of his head, the first time he saw the city: the towers, bridges, fancy stores.

  “This is New York City?” he'd asked that first year, mesmerized. “It's so—big, Pa! Like a forest of buildings, all lit up.”

  “Just don't lose sight of the farm,” Christy had warned.

  “Never, Pa,” Danny had said.

  So Christy would rent two rooms at Mrs. Quinn's boardinghouse right there on Ninth Avenue, where he could keep an eye on the trees. A big room for him and Danny, a smaller one for Bridget—he could afford it, because his blue and white spruces, Douglas firs, and Scotch pines were the best, and he could always get the rich New Yorkers to pay half again as much as they would for the trees on other street corners.

  Mary used to chide him for his cynical attitude about the wealthy denizens of Manhattan. “Christy, they're paying our way the year round. They've been meeting the mortgage on our land, and they're going to pay for college—if you'll ever let Danny off the farm long enough to go. So don't go putting your mo
uth on them!”

  “Ah, they've got so much money, they don't even notice the air they breathe,” Christy said, ignoring her dig. “They don't notice the snow, except to complain that it ruins their expensive shoes. They're so busy rushing to get out of the wind, they forget to feel the sting on their faces, letting them know they're alive.”

  “Well, you're happy enough to take their dollars,” she'd say.

  “That I am,” Christy would laugh. “Believe me, they've enough so they won't miss it. If I doubled my prices, I'd probably sell out twice as fast—the rich people love to spend their money, and if something costs them a lot, it gives them a reason to swagger.”

  “You're a scandal, Christy Byrne,” Mary would say, shaking her head. “Selling Christmas trees with that kind of a mentality is some kind of a sin, it is. It's going to get you in trouble—mark my words.”

  Mary's family had been comfortable, and she'd never gone to bed hungry. What did she know? he'd ask himself in the tree fields wet with rain, the short, enchanted Nova Scotia summers when he'd walk along the crystal-cool streams, feeling the rapture of summer's breeze as he pruned the spruces' golden growth into Christmas tree shapes, calculating the handsome dividends they'd bring.

  This year, with the power saws roaring like demons, spitting out wood chips in their vicious, hellish destruction of nature's best, Christy knew that Mary had been right. Last winter, Manhattan—for all the money it had given him over the years, had exacted the greatest price imaginable, interest on all his profits, on what Mary had called his greed, compounded beyond comprehension: New York City had taken his only son.

  Three years of city lights had proven too much temptation for the teenage boy. And last Christmas Eve, after a banner season of tree selling, Danny had informed his father he wasn't returning home. He was going to stay in New York—find a job, make his way.

  “What do you mean?” Christy had asked.

  “Let me go, Pa—I can't talk about it anymore! You don't get it!”

  “Staying in New York? Are you mad, Danny?”

  Christy grabbed his sleeve, felt Danny pulling away. And that made Christy hold on tighter.