Familiar Stranger In Clear Springs
Back in the officer's arms…Four years ago Tom Barrington shared a connection with Elizabeth Morley that was like nothing he had ever experienced. But as a solitary soldier he knew marriage was out of the question.So when he strolls back into her life Elizabeth can’t believe it. He once broke her heart and now he’s back – more irresistible than ever! But when the dangers of Tom’s lifestyle catch up with him the question remains: can he be the safe harbour she craves?
Читать Familiar Stranger In Clear Springs онлайн беплатно
âJust what do you think you are doing, terrifying us like this?â Elizabeth demanded, and stood up in the buggy to tower over him.
âWe need to talk.â
He ripped the reins from her hands and tossed them to Gemma. In one quick motion he scooped Elizabeth onto his saddle, in front of him. Her eyes widened and she looked to be gathering another wail of a breath.
He looked hard at her. âStop!â
She clamped her mouth shut.
âIâll bring her back as soon as Iâve had my say.â
With that, he reined the Major away and, with Elizabeth cushioned in front of him, galloped off.
I love stories about second chancesâabout people who fight for their happily-ever-after despite the curves life has thrown them. In Familiar Stranger in Clear Springs, Elizabeth must break through her fears in order to grasp her happy-ever-after.
As much as I love writing about La Playa, on San Diegoâs harbour, I enjoyed taking a trip with this story to Clear Springsâa fictional town that I modelled after Julian in the backcountry of San Diego.
I hope you enjoy Tom and Elizabethâs story.
KATHRYN ALBRIGHT writes American-set historical romance for Harlequin Mills & Boon. From her first breath she has had a passion for stories that celebrate the goodness in people. She combines her love of history and her love of story to write novels of inspiration, endurance, and hope.
Visit her at kathrynalbright.com and on Facebook.
This story is dedicated to my beautiful sister, Phyllis, who has been with me from the start in this dream to write stories. You have offered unconditional love, support, encouragement, and fun.
It means everything to me. Love you!
I would also like to acknowledge and thank Charlotte Mursell and Julia Williams, my amazing editors at Mills & Boon, who took the raw form of this story and helped me see the nuggets of gold. You are the best!
Contents
Southern California, 1876
Elizabeth looked up from marking the last sale in her ledger and frowned at the youngster standing by the large wooden crate of fruit from the backcountry. âTimothy Daugherty! I saw that! That apple does not have your name on it. Put it back right now. GentÂly please!â
Ten-year-old Timothy looked sufficiently chastised; however, Elizabeth knew better. Under that contrite expression he was plotting how he would talk his way out of this. It wasnât that he was starving. With his father managing the building of the new nail factory up the road, his family had the funds for whatever they desired here in the mercantile. It was the challenge that drove Timothy. He wanted to boast to his friends that heâd given âold Miss Morleyâ the slip and had gotten away without her realizing she had one less piece of fruit to sell.
His best friend and cohort, Lucas Slater, stood shoulder to shoulder with him and, by the looks of him, was also hiding an apple behind his back. He, however, concerned her. His mother, Martha, struggled to put food on the table for him and his sister ever since her husband passed on suddenly a year ago.
Timothy scowled and tossed the apple back in the crate.
Elizabeth winced. That would be a bruisedâand therefore unsellableâpiece of fruit. She mentally counted to ten. Deep breath in, deep breath out, letting the briny scent of the harbor fill her lungs. Better that than saying something she would regret. It would be so easy to retort with a sharp word. Too easy. And then wouldnât she be one step closer to being the sour old spinster she vowed never to become?
âDonât you have schoolwork or something you need to be doing?â
âNaw. Itâs Saturday.â
âI am well aware of the day, young man.â It was the day before Sundayâwhen after church she would sequester herself inside to be proper. A day she was coming to hate for all that it forced her to be alone when everyone else had families to enjoy. Usually she would work on her quilting, although even that pastime had dulled of late. She had made several quilts and given them away, but wouldnât it be wonderful to have a reason to make a special one to keep?
She pressed her lips together. Wasnât she sounding bitter all of a sudden? Better to be grateful for what she hadâa roof over her head, sustenance, her health. She put a smile in her voice. âPerhaps youâd like to earn that apple...and a few more...by doing some chores for me.â
Timothy wrinkled his freckled nose. âUgh... I got enough chores at home. Donât need no more.â
âDonât need any more,â she corrected gently.
âThatâs what I said!â
âWell, then...â She turned toward the other boy. âLucas? How about you?â
