Along Came a Husband

Missy stepped back as if she’d seen a ghost, but then, he imagined, she had. “Jonas,” she whispered, putting a hand to her chest as if a bullet had pierced her heart. Pure shock, nothing more. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Better late than never,” he mumbled as the adrenaline he’d been running on finally fizzled. His legs fell out from under him. He hit the wall, keeled over and collapsed onto the porch floor.

“Jonas? Jonas.” Her hands touched his chest. Nice, soft hands. Hands that spread warmth all the way to his limbs. Hands he’d dreamed of more than he cared to remember.

Dear Reader,

I can’t believe this is already the fourth in the Mirabelle series. It seems like just yesterday I was writing about Sophie and Noah, and Mirabelle’s islanders were still a mystery to me.

When Missy first appeared in Garrett and Erica’s story, I had no clue she’d once been married. But when Natalie came to the island in the third Mirabelle book, Missy’s story started taking shape. Trust me. Jonas was as much a surprise to me as he was to Missy. That timing thing really does make life interesting!

My next book, due out in November, is Kate Dillon’s story. Some of you might remember her as the feisty younger sister in Finding Mr. Right. She and a certain bodyguard have some issues to figure out and it should be fun!

And with any luck you’ll have three more Mirabelle stories to look forward to in 2011. I think Sarah is due for her own story, don’t you?

I love hearing from readers, and I answer all correspondence. So drop me an e-mail at [email protected], or send your letter to P.O. Box 24107, Minneapolis, MN 55424.

My best,

Helen Brenna

Helen Brenna grew up in a small town in central Minnesota, the seventh of eight children. Although she never dreamed of writing books, she’s always been a voracious reader of romances. So after taking a break from her accounting career, she tried her hand at writing the romances she loves to read. Since her first book was published in 2007, she’s won a prestigious Romance Writers of America RITA® Award, an RT Book Reviews Reviewer’s Choice award and a Virginia Romance Writers’ HOLT Medallion. Helen still lives in Minnesota with her husband, two children and far too many pets. She’d love to hear from you. E-mail her at [email protected] or send mail to P.O. Box 24107, Minneapolis, MN 55424. Visit her Web site at www.helenbrenna.com or chat with Helen and other authors at RidingWithTheTopDown.blogspot.com.

For Mary Kuryla, my big sis, who never lets me forget she changed my diapers.

I love you!

As usual, I had no plot when I started writing this story. Thank you, thank you, thank you Chris Lashinski and Roxanne Richardson for your brainstorming ideas, critiques, encouragement and, above all, friendship. I could, possibly, do this without you, but it wouldn’t be half as much fun.

Once again, heartfelt thanks to my neighbor, George Kyrilis, for his expertise in all things FBI. America is a safer place because of people like you.

Thanks for your service, George!

Thanks to Tracy Dickovich, a very special person who showed me firsthand the benefits of healing touch massage. Are you sure you don’t have eight hands?

And I can’t forget my agent, Tina Wexler, on this one. Thank you, dear, for helping make Missy and Jonas’s story better and better!

You guys are the best!

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

“I’VE ALWAYS LOVED A GOOD thunderstorm,” Missy Charms murmured as lightning crackled outside the front windows of her gift shop and thunder rumbled over the roof of the historic brick building. “There’s nothing like early summer rain to settle the heat and wash away the dust and grime.”

“So says the quintessential earth child.” Sarah Marshik jumped as another bolt of lightning momentarily brightened the early evening sky. “Me? I can’t stand ’em.”

“I think they’re cool.” Brian, Sarah’s young son, went to stand beside Missy near the front of the store.

Together, they peered through the droplet-spattered windows overlooking the center of Mirabelle Island’s old-world quaintness. Other than an odd tourist or two caught unprepared in the sudden downpour and running from under one green-and-white awning to the next, the cobblestone streets were deserted. Slim, the black, short-haired cat Missy had rescued many years ago, rubbed against her leg, and she scooped him up.

Another bright and fiery flash lit the sky, and Brian grinned at Missy. “That was awesome!”

“Totally. It means we’re going to have lots of wind tonight,” she predicted, scratching the cat’s ears. “And a hotter than normal summer.”