Showing posts with label First Chapter Reveals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label First Chapter Reveals. Show all posts

First Chapter Reveal: Beautifully Shattered by Courtney Kristel

Title: Beautifully Shattered
Author: Courtney Kristel
Publisher: Amazon
Pages: 412
Genre: Romantic Suspense

What would you do if your world fell apart right before your eyes? If everything you held dear was stolen before you had a chance to say goodbye, would you give up or keep fighting? Adalynn Maxwell didn't decide to give up. She was robbed of her choice.

After years of therapy, Adalynn finally wants to move on and her brother's sexy best friend Jax lures her further out of her shell. But she doesn’t understand his game and he changes the rules at every turn, making her fall into the waiting arms of the mysterious Doctor Kohen Daniels, whom she can’t seem to avoid. She’s terrified of trusting him, but something about him makes her want to bare her soul.

Adalynn is desperate for that all-consuming love she reads about, but doesn't believe she deserves it. Her desperation to prove to Jax that she isn’t a little girl anymore may ruin her forever. One wrong decision can change her entire future. She has one last choice to make, but will it be ripped away from her like everything else? Will she pay the ultimate price?

For More Information

  • Beautifully Shattered is available at Amazon.
  • Discuss this book at PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.
First Chapter:

Six years later . . .
Every Tuesday is the same for me. I work at the bakery in the mornings, go to my therapy appointment in the late afternoon, and finally I have dinner with the guys. The only thing that changes is the location. I live a simple life, well, as simple as I can manage after causing my parents’ and sister’s death six years ago on my seventeenth birthday.
My body automatically tenses. I stare at the blank eggshell walls in my penthouse and shove those memories in the back of my mind before they can haunt me. I tell myself to relax, but no matter how many times I try to get comfortable on my suede couch, I can’t seem to unwind. Ed Sheeran plays in the background, but the solace I usually feel listening to the calming music is missing. My hands itch to do the one thing that will bring a peaceful calm over me. I visualize using the sharp blade I keep taped underneath my sink, feeling the cold of the steel as it nips my skin. I can practically see the blood dripping down my thigh. I slap those images away, too. I’m not that girl anymore.
As soon as I woke up today, I immediately knew something was off. I can’t put it into words; it’s something that I can feel all the way to my bones. I haven’t been able to shake off this sensation all day. I try concentrating on anything but today’s date. It’s almost as if my mind is in a war with my heart. My soul won’t let me forget and my mind attempts to push me past it, to move on. Something changed between the time I closed my eyes last night and when I opened them this morning.
I’ve been in and out of therapy ever since the accident. My brother, Logan, insists that I continue to see Olivia White since I have made “noticeable progress” with her over the other therapists that I have seen since the accident. If he has to go out of town for work he leaves either Connor or Jax, his two best friends since childhood, to babysit me. In other words I’m not to be left to my own devices.
Within these last six years, Logan has become less of a brother and more of a parent. He moved me from California to Manhattan, sent me to college for a business degree, and bought me a penthouse in walking distance from his place. I refused to move in with him after graduation so he made sure that he didn’t have to wait in New York traffic to visit me. He feels better knowing that I’m close, so I don’t fight him on it.
Before the accident I wouldn’t have stood for Logan treating me like I’m made out of porcelain. After? I allowed it because I didn’t care about anything. Now I’m starting to crave the independence I gave up to my brother without a fight.
He takes protectiveness to a whole new level. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had one of my doctors insert a GPS tracker in me. I can’t really blame him, though. I’m the reason that we have no family and he’s almost lost me twice. He won’t allow there to be a third time.
It’s my night to host this week’s dinner. The boys had to leave for an emergency at the office, but promised to bring dinner. I already laid out the white plates that Logan bought me when he purchased the penthouse. Everything in here is white, just the way I like it. The only color comes from a painting, mounted above my couch, that the interior designer snuck in. It’s a shadow of a girl holding a bright yellow umbrella while the storm rages on, falling from the dark, unforgiving night sky. I allow it to stay because I can’t care about pointless decorations when all my energy goes into not giving up.
I’m antsy, counting the minutes since the guys left. Once they return, they’ll distract me. They’ll buy Thai food to please me, even though Jax hates it, they’ll paint smiles on their faces, and not voice what’s on everyone’s mind. Today, May 21, six years ago, my life was consumed by darkness, stealing my every promise of a happy future.
I grab my phone to see if any of the guys have texted. Nope. I’ve been sitting here for almost an hour staring into space. Fantastic. I can’t wait here and do nothing. I become lost in my thoughts and that’s never good. I force myself off the couch and change into workout clothes. Hopefully a few miles on the treadmill will chase this unnerving feeling out of my gut. I send Logan a quick text while I press the L button in the elevator.
Me: Gonna hit the gym. Bringing my phone. Call when you guys are leaving the office. Love you.
I don’t bother to put away my phone. No matter what he is doing, Logan will always respond to me. Always. Best brother award goes to him.
Logan: No problem. You might get a full hour in. This is taking longer than I expected or I would have waited until tomorrow to handle it. Love you too baby girl.
Logan: Oh and don’t forget to do weights too not just cardio.
I roll my eyes. Of course my meathead brother would remind me to do weights. He is such a body builder.
Me: I understand your need to take over the world so take your time. Just give me a heads up so I can shower.
I tiptoe through the lobby, hating how my footsteps echo on the marble floor. I look down and avoid anyone I pass. I don’t have the energy to smile and nod. Not today. Opening the glass doors to the gym, I ignore the Olympic size pool I can see from the entrance. It’s impossible to miss with the glass walls on one side. The pillars have vines wrapped around them, giving it the appearance of a magical place. I’ve never stepped in there even though it beckons me. From here, I know I’ll secretly love the decor, though, because it reminds me of the Greek Gods. Of him.
I head straight to the treadmill to clear my mind. I still don’t understand the point of continuing this stupid, futile charade of seeing Olivia White every other Tuesday afternoon. I think the whole idea is crazy. Nothing is going to change. I don’t want it to change. I don’t want to move on. I can’t. I need to remember what I did, who we lost.
I deserve to suffer unbelievable pain because of my actions. I am barely able to live now and what Liv wants seems impossible. That little voice in the back of my head thinks differently, though. I can do it. I can learn how to live again. I can have more. I want—
Nope, I shove that thought in the furthest part of my mind along with all the useless ones.
After a quick warm-up on the treadmill, I increase the speed. I focus on the sound of my feet hitting the belt with each step. I control my breathing the way my brother hammered into me at a young age when I got serious about working out. I wanted to strengthen my muscles for swimming. I spent hours upon hours training daily, never obtaining enough sleep. A small trail of sweat drips off my forehead and lands on the belt. My surroundings start to disappear as I replay today’s therapy session in my head.
“Adalynn, what do you think?”
I glance up from my hands and see Liv staring at me. I can tell from her disturbed expression this isn’t the first time she’s attempted to jostle me out of my thoughts.
“What’s the question? Sorry, Liv, I either stopped paying attention the moment I walked in, or the moment you brought up my dead parents and dead sister.”
I gawk at Liv, mortified. I can’t believe I actually said that out loud. I swear under my breath. “Sorry, Liv, I’m just distracted today.”
“Addie, you and I both know that I am used to your . . .” She pauses and I decide to help her out.
“Unique sense of humor?” I joke as I collect my long brown hair into a messy bun.
I wish that I took the time to gather my waves into a nice updo like she has done with her honey hair. She always looks so regal, something that I aspire to be. Even in a simple pair of black jeans, I carry myself as if I don’t have a care in the world. I refuse to let anyone see me as the broken twenty-four year old that I am.
“Let’s go with that. I’m used to your unique sense of humor by now. You can’t offend me. I want you to speak your mind. If you need sarcasm to do that, then by all means, just don’t shut me out, especially today of all days.”
Liv is my favorite therapist out of all of them. She always talks to me like I’m a human being, not just someone she has to focus on for an hour to get paid. I respect her as a person, but I still hate that she’s trying to encourage me to talk about them today. Although I was expecting it; after all it is the anniversary of their deaths. May 21, my birthday.
“Okay, I’m paying attention now. What was the question?”
I know the second the words leave my mouth I’m going to regret it. I should have just continued to tune her out until our session ended. My leg bounces up and down, a nervous habit of mine, when I notice the look she’s giving me. It’s the one that tells me I’m not going to take it well, but she’s going to say it anyways.
“I know discussing your family is extremely difficult, especially today. You can talk about them here, to me.” She pauses. “You think you don’t want to be here.” I manage to give a light nod. She is right after all. I don’t want to be here.
My gaze wanders to the panoramic window behind her like it usually does whenever she exposes my past. I can never seem to hold her gaze. Her thoughtful eyes are more knowing then I would like. I watch the outside world as she studies me. I know she’s waiting until she has my undivided attention before she speaks. I sigh loudly before turning my unwilling violet eyes back to her hazel ones.
“You’re wrong. You want to be here as much as your brother wants you here. There’s a point to this. I want to help you. We can sit here silently the entire time or we can talk. It’s up to you, Adalynn.”
I know I shouldn’t ask, but the words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them. “How are you so sure I want to be here, Liv?”
“You still come, don’t you? You can walk out at any second, but you don’t. You continue to show up for every appointment. Even though you fight with yourself, you still stay until the session is over. You don’t stay because of your brother. You stay because deep down you want to overcome your past, and that scares you.”
Olivia sees the wheels turning in my head. She waits for me to patiently digest what she’s saying. I study my hands again. There’s no point in arguing with her. As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. It is scary. I don’t think I can move forward, I don’t think I deserve it. What if I fail and let everyone down again?
“Some people feel anger towards their family members because they’re furious that they left. It’s okay to be angry with them, Addie. Whatever you feel is okay. You need to let it out or it will consume you. If you don’t feel like you can talk to me, then talk to anyone you feel comfortable with. Little by little, you need to open up or you will never be able to move forward with your life.”
I bite my lip so hard it bleeds. I focus on that pain then the emptiness inside of me. The little bite isn’t enough so I dig my nails into my palms. Noticing the blood, I slowly relax my hand. I interlace my fingers together so that Liv doesn’t see. I stare at the tiny trail of blood that barely shows. It doesn’t take away the emptiness. I need more.
“I am angry. They died and I didn’t. I’m angry that my world stopped that night and nobody noticed. All night I thought someone would see us, that someone would help us, but nobody stopped. Everyone kept driving. So, yes, I am angry, Liv. My world sank into the darkness and everyone else went on with their lives while the most important people in my life were dying beside me. I was helpless, unable to do anything but . . .”
Words leave me. I can’t finish that thought. It’s too much. Too painful.
The session drags on. Liv continues to demonstrate patience. Towards the end of it, Liv straightens her shoulders as if preparing for battle.
“I need you to start living your life. Go out. Meet new people, even take a vacation. Just live without thinking about the past and how you shouldn’t be having fun because they’re gone, as you put it earlier. The past is just that, the past. You can’t change it; no matter how much you wish you could.”

My thoughts are anywhere but in this gym while I run on the treadmill. I play everything that Liv said on a continuous wheel in my head. It still seems surreal that she thinks I can go a month without seeing her, that I am ready to progress.
I have my doubts. My mind is going in circles. Suddenly I realize that I am sprinting and coming up on my ninth mile. I try to focus on the panel, but my vision has blurred. While chugging my water, I press the down button to slow my pace. As soon as I set my water down in the cup holder and reach for my towel, I’m seeing spots. The world tilts. Blindly I grope for the string to pull the emergency stop. Everything goes black before I hit the still moving track.
When I come to, I’m laying on the floor next to an unbelievably attractive man who’s leaning over to get a clear view of my face. His lips are moving, but all I hear is a loud ringing noise. My head hurts. I try to process what other body parts hurt, but all I can focus on is that it seems like someone took a sledgehammer to my head. I attempt to move and pain shoots up my ankle.
I breathe through the pain. Strong hands squeeze my shoulders. The hot guy is still talking. I can’t understand what he’s saying, or why he’s bending over me. He looks so edible, I end up staring into his dark blue eyes. They remind me of the ocean and a peaceful calm takes over me, but it’s short-lived when the pain comes back with a vengeance. Once the pain subsides to a more manageable level, I can focus on his words.
“Can you hear me? What’s your name? Do you know where you are?” Concern is evident in his voice.
He’s speaking slowly for my benefit. I struggle to sit up, but he presses his strong hands on my shoulders. Mr. Edible smirks at me.
“No you don’t, sweetie. Stay still until I know you’re okay. Can you tell me your name? Do you know where you are?”
The sudden desert that has taken residence in my throat makes speaking impossible. Mr. Edible lifts my head and tilts a cold water bottle to my dry lips. When he starts to pull it away, I grab it and gulp half of the water down.
“You should take sips right now.”
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I roll my eyes. “Oh yeah, why’s that?”
“If you have a concussion, you could throw up,” he says.
Today is just not my day. Of course I would be the one to hurt myself on a treadmill and attract a cocky Good Samaritan.
“Adalynn,” I say in a calm voice, answering his question from earlier.
He raises an eyebrow expectantly. Right . . . he asked two questions. He couldn’t just walk away and leave me here. I find it hard to believe that he would be able to turn his back on someone needing help. There’s something about him that screams Mr. Good-Guy.
The light bulb goes off.
“At the gym.” Who has the smug smile now, Mr. Edible?
Gazing into his eyes, I’m aware I’m not fooling him with my casual act. I also know from previous experiences that I need to stay calm so I can talk him down from doing something rash like calling 911. I need to extinguish this situation so I can make it back to my apartment before the guys return. I’ll pretend like everything is fine and go to the doctor tomorrow. Ha, who am I kidding! I’m not going to the doctor tomorrow. I can’t remember the last time I voluntarily went for a check up.
“How are you feeling?” he ask as he interrupts my thinking process. “You were out for a couple of minutes. Your forehead’s still bleeding, not as bad though.” Pausing, he moves so he can examine my leg. As he touches my ankle, I wince. “You may have a sprain. You’ll need an X-ray to be sure.”
Ah, it’s my ankle, not my entire leg, that’s a little more comforting. That will be easier to hide from the guys. I need a mirror to know how bad my face looks. From the throbbing pain on my forehead, my guess would be anywhere from horrible or death. My guess is on the latter.
“Fuuuccckkkk!” I draw that one syllable into about twenty, give or take, when he starts twisting my ankle.
“I’m sorry,” he says once I’m done screaming. “I’m just checking for breaks. Do you have a boyfriend that I can call before we head to the hospital?”
That one word causes me to go into full blown panic. I sit up way too quickly, making him drop my ankle on the floor. I’m surprised my earsplitting scream doesn’t break the glass doors. Once the pain subsides, I try to stand only to fail. Graciously, he helps me to my feet and leads me to a nearby bench.
“I really don’t need to go to the hospital,” I tell him when he pulls his cell phone out of his basketball shorts. I wave him off, hoping to convey that this isn’t as bad as it seems. “Honestly this is no big deal, just a scratch.” I shrug, eyes glued to the silver device that will seal my fate.
“Adalynn—”
I hold up my hand, silencing him. “No, really, I’m fine. I just need to go back up to my place. I’m a little lightheaded, but we don’t need to make an unnecessary scene. You don’t need to call anyone. Once the bleeding—”
He cuts me off with a glare that clearly says “don’t mess with him.” The Good Samaritan that I’m somehow stuck with isn’t going to give up.
“Listen, Adalynn, you need stitches. This is too deep for just a Band-Aid.” He stares at my forehead. “You also might’ve suffered a concussion, not to mention you need to have your ankle checked out and be possibly fitted for crutches.
I give him my most pleading look. “Please, just help me to my apartment. I have crutches somewhere in one of my closets from the last time I decided to do a gravity check. The bleeding has stopped. I’ll go to the hospital if I need to. I know all the signs of a concussion. This isn’t my first accident.” And it won’t be my last, I’m sure. Clumsiness doesn’t even begin to describe my unique quality of walking skills.
He shakes his head. “Give me your boyfriend’s number so he can meet you at the hospital.”
Okay, now, I’m mad. Who does he think he is? Good Samaritan or not, he doesn’t get to boss me around. Since standing isn’t an option, I sit up straight, attempting to appear taller. “Look, buddy, I already told you I’m not going to the hospital. So either help me back to my apartment or move out of my way.”
Rubbing his face, he says in a forced calm voice, “Fine Adalynn, you win. But I need to grab my emergency bag from my apartment. You will call me if there are any signs you need to go to the hospital. Take it or leave it.”
Without waiting for a response, he stands and gathers towels to support my ankle. Once he’s satisfied that I’m not going anywhere, he glances down at me with a question in his eyes.
“Fine. Hurry up.”
“I’ll be right back. I don’t need to ask you to stay put because with that ankle you’re not going anywhere.” He gives me one last smirk before walking away. At the door he turns and asks, “And what about your boyfriend, do you need to borrow my phone to call him?” He holds up the phone in question.
“Nope, no boyfriend so nobody to call.”
He shoots me a knowing grin before leaving. Why didn’t I ask for his name? I’m about to have a random, hot, controlling guy escort me to my apartment, and I didn’t even ask for his name. Smart. What was that nonsense about him retrieving his bag? Deciding I don’t really care, I rest my eyes.
They spring open when something cold presses on my ankle. It’s hard to focus at first, but when my I adjust to the bright lights in the gym I see my sexy stranger wielding a bag of ice.
I ask the most basic question that I should have asked from the beginning. “Does my knight in shining armor come with a name? Or should I just pick one from my favorite fairy tales? I have to warn you, though, my fairy tales are different from Disney.”
“Oh?”
“Instead of reading to me, my Dad made up his own fairy tales.”
He chuckles. “Do I remind you of the knights in shining armor?”
I shrug. “There weren’t really any knights in shining armor. The princess always saved the day. She didn’t need anyone to rescue her.”
I’m surprised that I just told that information to a stranger. I never open up. Never. There’s something about him that makes me want to bare my soul. Which means I need to shut up. This can only be heading somewhere dangerous.
He rummages into his bag and pulls out a pair of gloves and a white bottle with a spray cap before answering. “Kohen Daniels. Now hold still. This may hurt a little.”
Before waiting for me to catch on, he sprays the liquid on a cotton ball and then gently cleans my forehead. I scream a string of profanity that would make any sailor proud.
“Well, lucky for you I was wrong,” Kohen says after cleaning the wound.
“Oh?” I ask through my teeth. The sting is still fresh in my mind.
“You won’t need stitches. I have butterfly stitches that will keep this closed and it’ll heal nicely.”
He finishes cleaning the wound and applies the final bandage. Lightly he brushes his fingertips over my cheek and down my jaw. As he stares into my eyes, I feel a pull that I have only felt with one other person. Right when I think he is going to lean in, he quickly averts his attention to my ankle.
“I need to wrap your ankle and then I can help you back to your apartment.”
Not trusting my voice, I nod. What just happened? I must have hit my head a lot harder than I thought.
He wraps my ankle with practiced ease. Without asking, I know immediately that he’s a great doctor. Women must fall at his feet with those dark blue eyes and sandy blond hair that can’t seem to stay in place. I know without a doubt that he has an incredible body to match his handsome face. There’s no hiding it, even with a black sweatshirt on. When he’s satisfied with his work, he stands and holds out his hand for me. Smiling, I take it and wobble to his side.
“Thanks.”
Kohen must have collected my things when I was resting because now he is slinging the strap of my gym bag over his shoulder along with his medical bag. We’re standing so close that all I have to do is look up and our lips will meet. My hands fidget at my sides because I can’t make myself kiss him. The attraction I feel for him is foreign. My heart forever belongs to another.
Slowly, his hands trail from my shoulder to my wrists and back up again. By the second time his hands glide down my arms, goosebumps cover my whole body. As much as I don’t want to look up, I tilt my head back. My violet eyes connect with his azure ones. His hand caresses my face as he leans into me. Logic kicks in at the same time the gym doors bang open.
Kohen manages to angle his body in front of mine and yet he’s still supporting my weight. He watches me as Jax comes running around the corner in a desperate search for something, for me.
“Ads!” he shouts with relief.
I’m ogling him without shame, Kohen forgotten. My gaze is drawn to his brown hair that is styled in it’s usual messy fohawk, his forest green eyes, and his sinfully kissable lips. Everything is the complete package and I haven’t even taken in his body yet. I barely try to fight the pull I always feel when he’s around. He’s wearing a simple maroon dress shirt, first two buttons undone, with the sleeves rolled up displaying his tattooed arms. Once there was a time where I was able to study every picture, every black detail on his tanned arms. I would spend hours tracing every curve of his body.
Suddenly Jax comes to an abrupt halt when he sees the blood on my shirt, the bandage on my forehead, and me balancing on one leg. From the expression on his face, I can tell that his relief is short-lived. Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose and helplessly try not to make it obvious that I wished things were different between us, but they’re not. I’m just Logan’s little sister to him now.
“Please don’t start. I’m fine. I was on my way back to my place when you came storming in here.” Taking a deep breath to stall, I silently beg him to not make a big deal of this. I know there’s no use, he’s just as bad as my brother. “Please . . . just don’t, Jax.”
The only way this could be any worse is if Logan found me. At least with Jax I have a small window where he might be reasonable. With my brother I have no chance. It’s always take charge first, ask questions later. I know I only have a minute, maybe two if I’m lucky, to convince Jax not to make a scene. Suddenly I remember Kohen next to me. It’s amazing how just Jax’s presence can command a room.
I hate it.
“Seriously, Jax, I’m fine. Kohen,” I add pointing to the man still holding me upright, “is a doctor and he’s already looked me over. Gave me a clean bill of heath and everything. I just need to stay off the ankle and we both know I have crutches somewhere in my apartment.”
I’m wearing a huge grin knowing that I’ve talked my way out of this until the traitor opens his big fat mouth. “Actually I’ve been trying to convince her to go to the hospital for an X-ray. I don’t think anything is broken, but it wouldn’t hurt to have her examined. There’s a good chance she has a concussion.”
Kill me now.
My grin is now a scowl. I can’t believe Kohen ratted me out. Great, hospital here I come. Jax doesn’t say anything. He smiles that crooked smile I secretly love, the one that says he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Reaching into his black slacks, he grabs his vibrating phone.
“Yeah, man, found her. No idea, I haven’t asked yet. No, you’re going to need to meet us in the lobby. We need to make a quick run to the emergency room. Calm down, she’s fine. Yeah, tell Connor to bring the car around. Oh, I’m sure, I didn’t ask that either.” Pulling the phone away from his ear, he curses quietly so that my brother can’t hear. “Calm down, Logan. She’s fine. Yeah, I know. See you in a second.”
When Jax hangs up, he opens his mouth to speak. I hold up my hand. “No, Jax. Just don’t. Save it, okay? Let’s go before Logan loses his mind.”
I rub the side of my temple, hating that there’s a stranger witnessing the bubble that I live in. Wisely, Jax nods without saying anything. Turning slightly to face Kohen, I give him a weak smile that I don’t feel. “Thanks again for everything.”
Because I can’t help myself and I want to see Jax suffer, I rise up on my good foot and kiss his cheek. I hear a growl and have to bite my lip to keep from beaming.
Kohen smiles down at me, ignoring a steaming Jax. “You’re welcome . . . let’s try to be more careful next time?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Momentarily forgetting about my ankle, I stumble towards Jax, which makes both Jax and Kohen reach for me. There’s one on each side of me, helping me from face-planting.
“Jesus, Ads, stop trying to kill yourself.” I don’t have time to respond before Jax sweeps me up into his arms and cradles me to his chest. Jax grins down at me when I glare at him.
“Thanks for helping her,” he tells Kohen, his green eyes fixed on mine.
Then Jax strolls out of the gym without waiting for a reply. I bury my head into his chest from embarrassment. God, could he act anymore like a caveman? When we reach the door I take a quick look over Jax’s shoulder. Kohen hurls his medical equipment back into his bag.
“You don’t need to carry me,” I tell Jax.
“No, but I want to. Besides if your brother sees me letting you limp your way to the car, I’ll be dead.”
My brain has short-circuited. Jaxon Chandler wants to carry me. He wants me in his arms. I know I’m making a bigger deal out of this then I need to, but I can’t help it. This is Jax. The man that I’ve been in love with for as long as I can remember.
“Besides, most women would love to be in my arms.”
Ignoring the pain in my chest, I smirk at him. “Don’t flatter yourself, Jax, those women only want your money. The rest of us don’t want to hurt your feelings. You’re not as good-looking as you think.” We both know I’m lying. He is the very definition of beautiful.
“Great,” I mumble under my breath when we reach the lobby.
Connor leans against the wall idly typing on his phone while Logan paces. Logan rushes to my side. He tries to grab me from Jax, whose hold on me tightens.
“No, I got her. She doesn’t need to move more than necessary with her ankle.”
Logan nods while sliding off his suit jacket from his buff shoulders to lay it over me. “Thanks, man. You okay, Addie?”
“Of course. I’m a little tired, though, so maybe we should go back up to my place and watch a movie?”
His light blue eyes that are the exact replica of our father’s plead with me not to fight with him. I give him a tight nod. There’s so much of our father in him; his build, his tone of voice, even his brown hair. I have that, too. We both have our mother’s smile. Thanks to our mom I was blessed with her rare shade of violet eyes.
Logan kisses the top of my head. “Not a chance, baby girl,” he says using Dad’s nickname for me. To Jax he says, “Let’s go.”
Putting away his phone, Connor hurries over to the door to hold it open for us. The chill in the spring night air washes over me. I burry myself closer into Jax’s warm chest, secretly loving his potent cologne. I breathe deeply once before watching Connor’s 6’6’’ frame clear out the back seat of his car.
Like my brother, Jax treats me as if I’m a porcelain doll as he maneuvers me in the car. By the time he has the buckle in place I’m covered in goosebumps and it’s not from the cold. Jax is so close, but still so many miles away from me.
After making sure that I’m comfortable in the back, Logan surprises me by manning the wheel. He hardly drives since the accident. He utilizes his massive amounts of money and has a full-time driver. I feel his fear resembles mine in a way, even if he wasn’t there that dreadful night.
I nearly groan when Jax settles himself next to me and Connor slides into the passenger seat. I was hoping that Connor would sit with me. It would be easier to keep my distance from Jax. When we finally arrive at the hospital, Connor rushes to snag a wheelchair for me while the rest of us wait in the car.
Logan breaks the silence. “You didn’t think to call us?”
I turn to face the window. “No, I was a little preoccupied. Besides, I knew you three would make a big deal out of this.” I wave my hand down my body.
Luckily, Connor returns with the wheelchair before Logan or Jax can respond.
“All right, Addie, you know the drill,” Connor says.
Jax picks me up like I’m a child and sets me in the chair. I breathe my first breath of fresh air since being in his arms. Being so close to him yet so far away is torture.
I sigh dramatically for his benefit. “Oh, well thank you, kind sir. I don’t know how I would have made it the whole half a step to the wheelchair without you.”
Someone clutches my hand. I look up and smile at Connor. His tall frame bends slightly so that he can continue to hold my hand while Logan steers me towards the automatic doors. I watch Connor as we near the entrance. Not for the first time, I wish that I felt something for him besides friendship. It would be so much easier to be in love with the blond stud squeezing my hand, but of course I consider him a brother. He brushes his long hair behind his ears. It’s only then that I realize his wrist is missing the pink hair-tie I gave him earlier. Without saying anything, I give him the extra I keep on my wrist just for him. He smiles appreciatively as he gathers his shoulder-length hair into one of those manly ponytails at the bottom of his head.
My anxiety rises the closer I’m wheeled to the hospital’s doors. Ever since the accident, I avoid them. Well, I try to at least; me being accident-prone doesn’t help with my fear since the guys always insist on me seeing a doctor. Logan wheels me into the crowded Emergency Room at New York Presbyterian Hospital, oblivious that I’m dying inside.
Jax walks up to the counter like he owns the place. Flashing the receptionist his trademark smile he says, “I need to have someone look at my friend Adalynn Maxwell. She hit her head pretty badly and we’re worried she might have a concussion.”
He’s so charming it should be illegal. The lady doesn’t shift her focus from the computer screen; apparently there are women immune to Jax’s charm. That’s just too bad. Really, my heart breaks for him.
“You’re going to need to fill this out and wait in the waiting room like everyone else.” She hands him a clipboard with the paperwork attached. When Jax doesn’t make a move for it, Connor is forced to seize it.
“I didn’t introduce myself earlier, my apologies. I’m Jaxon Chandler, as in the owner of Trinity. Which happened to give the largest donation this year at the pediatric fundraising event last week.”
He doesn’t even wait for the light bulb to go off. I’m surprised how fast she recognizes the name of their company. Understanding dawns on me when I glance around. The new self-help posters have the Trinity logo in the lower left corner. What doesn’t their company dabble in these days?
“I would like Miss Maxwell in a private room and to be seen by the best neurologist.”
She’s already standing and walking around the counter. She might be immune to Jax’s charm, but she doesn’t want to piss off their biggest paycheck. I doubt their CEO, who I know just went golfing with Logan, would be happy to hear from a fuming Jax. I have to try extremely hard not to laugh at her sudden willingness to help. It’s hilarious how name-dropping can change people, even in a hospital, where it shouldn’t matter.
“Of course, sir. I can have someone show you to Miss Maxwell’s room right away. Unfortunately you will have to see the on-call doctor, as our head of neurology has the night off. I assure you Miss Maxwell will be in good hands.”
Connor groans with me. Jax ignores both of us. She couldn’t have just kept quiet, could she? No, it’s not like she would have known that Jax isn’t a man to be deterred. I tremble when he slams his strong hands on the counter. He glares at her as if she just said the most outrageous thing in the history of the world.
“That’s unacceptable. I want the best. Make it happen or do I need to call Don?” He reads her name tag. “Mrs. Adams?”
“My apologies, sir. I’ll have someone take her for all the tests while you wait for the doctor. It might take awhile longer since this is his only day off this week.”
Mrs. Adams calls over a nurse to manage the desk before snatching the wheelchair from Logan. The guys are forced to hurry along after us to catch up. I have to hand it to Mrs. Adams, she doesn’t just take it lying on her back. Go her! I pick imaginary lint off my bright orange leggings as Mrs. Adams silently pushes me. I stare straight ahead as we pass through the doors that she has to use a keycard to access. The urge to break the silence is overwhelming.
“I’m sorry about him. He’s harmless, by the way,” I tell her as she wheels me into a room.
“Yeah, he’s like a rabid dog without teeth.” I turn just in time to see Jax slap the back of Connor’s head. “Ow!”
I can tell from her tight smile that Mrs. Adams wishes she were anywhere else right now. Can’t say that I blame her. She starts to help me from the chair, but Jax pushes her out of the way.
“I got her.”
My jaw drops. He needs to stop acting this way in front of Logan. I force myself not to react to his closeness as he lifts me up before gently laying me in the bed.
“Your nurse will be right in.” Mrs. Adams inches her way closer to the door.
“You’re not my nurse?” I ask, surprised.
After a shake of her head, she slips out the door.
“Jax, any doctor would have been fine.” I let my annoyance show in my voice. “I’m pretty sure they all went to medical school, but who knows, some might have gone to clown school.”
Jax ignores me as he makes a point of walking over to Logan, who’s leaning against the far wall across from the bed. I’m still irritated that I’m here when a male nurse knocks on the door. He couldn’t have come at a better time. Being here is making my entire body tense. Pretty soon I’m going to snap. Hopefully nobody is here to witness it.
Forty-five minutes later I have my ankle re-wrapped. Just a bad sprain, thank goodness; I just have to wait for the doctor to go over my CT scan. I survey the room for Jax, but he’s missing. I want to ask where he’s gone, but I don’t want to clue in Logan to my feelings for his best friend. Talk about awkward.
“Don’t be so hard on them, Addie,” Connor says, “You know they’re both just worried.”
I frown at my best friend, hating that he’s right. He’s known me my entire life, and he’s usually the one who makes those two see reason when it comes to me. He’s like another big brother. I love him even if he annoys me 99 percent of the time.
I stare at Logan as he types away on his phone, probably responding to the thousand of emails he receives daily. As I inspect him closer I notice the shadows under his eyes. Without asking, I know he didn’t sleep last night. Most likely he was restless like me, remembering everything we lost. But unlike me, he doesn’t have the gory, haunting memories I do. I’m glad as my brother doesn’t deserve to suffer like me. He’s innocent.
“I know, Connor. I’m not mad at them. I just wish Jax didn’t make a big deal out of this. Between the two of them, I don’t know who’s worse.”
His twin dimples are prominent. “If you haven’t noticed, Jax likes to make a show out of everything when it comes to you.” Before I can say anything, he quickly changes the subject. “Have you picked your dress for the Masquerade Ball yet or are you—” He breaks off when there’s a soft knock on the door.
We all turn to see a tall, muscular doctor with sandy blond hair that just can’t seem to stay in the right place. Tonight is getting better and better.

First Chapter Reveal: Christmas on Candy Cane Lane by Sheila Roberts




Title: Christmas on Candy Cane Lane
Author: Sheila Roberts
Publisher: Mira (Harlequin)
Pages: 400
Genre: Women’s Fiction / Romance

Everyone's getting ready for Christmas in Icicle Falls, especially on Candy Cane Lane, where holiday decorating is taken very seriously. Tilda Morrison, town cop, is looking forward to celebrating Christmas in her first house…until she discovers that she's expected to "keep up" with the neighbors, including Maddy Donaldson, the inspiration behind the whole extravaganza. But this year, someone's destroying Maddie's precious candy canes! Thank goodness for the cop in their neighborhood.

Tilda already has her hands full trying to sort out her love life and fix up her fixer-upper. Oh, and won't it be fun to have the family over for Christmas dinner? Not really… Then there's her neighbor, Ivy Bohn. As a newly single mom, Ivy can sum up the holiday in two words: Bah, humbug. But she's determined to give her kids a perfect Christmas.

Despite family disasters, irritating ex-husbands and kitchen catastrophes, these three women are going to find out that Christmas really is the most wonderful time of the year!

For More Information

  • Christmas on Candy Cane Lane is available at Amazon.
  • Discuss this book at PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.
Chapter One
The holidays are tailor-made for getting to know your neighbors better.
―Muriel Sterling, Making the Holidays Bright: How to Have a Perfect Christmas

“Here’s an accident waiting to happen,” Tilda Morrison said grimly. Just what nobody wanted on the day before Thanksgiving.
“Not if we get to her in time,” said her partner, Jamal Lincoln.
“Why us?” Tilda grumbled to Cherie, the dispatcher. “This is a job for animal control.”
“Chief said you’d say that,” Cherie told her. “He also said to tell you that today it’s a job for you and to bring a rope and get to work before somebody ends up hurt.”
“I don’t believe this,” Tilda muttered as Jamal turned on the look-out-here-come-the-cops lights and shot their patrol car out of town toward the highway.
“We’re in Icicle Falls. Believe it,” Jamal said. “You still got that rope in the trunk?”
“Yes. It’s there from the last time.” Tilda frowned. “You know, this really isn’t the job of the Icicle Falls Police Force. I don’t care if Stumpy Hodgkins is best buds with the chief.”
“You gonna tell that to the chief?”
“Yeah, I am. As soon as we get back to the station.”
Jamal grinned. “That’s what I love about you, partner. You’re fearless. You should’ve been a man. I swear you’ve got more balls than most guys.” “Thanks. I think.”
Tilda knew she was a tough cookie, and she liked being tough. She liked being a modern woman, able to stand up for herself and hold her own against any man. But she also had a feminine side and,
secretly, she fantasized about some man tougher than her, pushing her up against a wall and having at it.
She’d thought she’d found that man, but it hadn’t worked out. He’d never bothered to look beneath her tough exterior and check out her sweet, soft side. Instead, he’d fallen for the kind of woman Tilda thought of as a cream puff. Maybe that was what all men really wanted, someone as sweet as honey and as elastic and bendable as warm taffy. Tilda wasn’t a bending kind of woman. Sadly, there were very few men who appreciated that.
Jamal did, but he was her partner. Then there was Devon Black, town bad boy, the king of speeding tickets and barroom brawls, who thought he was God’s gift to women. In fact, he thought he was God’s gift to her. Christmas might have been just a month away, but she had no intention of unwrapping Devon Black.
She frowned, thinking of their last encounter. “What the hell?” he’d said angrily when she’d pulled him over a week ago for a broken taillight. “I wasn’t speeding.”
“No, you have a taillight out.”
Instead of showing some respect and thanking her for letting him know, he’d flashed her a cocky grin and said, “You’re looking for excuses to see me.” As if she had nothing better to do that chase after wolves dressed in blue jeans.
If I wanted to see you, I could just wait till the next bar fight,” she retorted. It was how she’d met him when he moved to town. Trouble followed Devon around like a lost puppy. “Now, do you want me to let you off with a warning or do you want to keep flapping that big mouth of yours and up the ante?”
That had shut him up—until she gave him his warning and turned to leave. “I’m working the bar at The Man Cave. Come on by after you get off work and I’ll give you a beer on the house.” As if he owned the place. It was his brother’s. He just filled in on weekends.
 “In your dreams,” she’d called back over her shoulder.
“And yours, too, I’ll bet. I can show you some new uses for those handcuffs.”
“Oh, there’s an original line,” she’d muttered. Fifty Shades of Devon Black. No way, even if he was ridiculously gorgeous. So was a hot-fudge sundae, but look what it did to your butt.
“There’s Stumpy,” Jamal said, bringing her back to the present.
Sure enough, the short, old guy was hobbling as fast as he could down the side of the snowbanked road in his jeans and cowboy boots and leather bomber jacket, his hunting cap mashed down over his ears, a lasso dangling from his right hand and Daisy’s halter from his left. And there, half a mile farther up the road, trotted his horse, the escape artist. Loose again. Not a good thing, considering the fact that the old paint was deaf.
“You can turn off the lights now,” Tilda said, and Jamal obliged.
They pulled up beside Stumpy and Tilda lowered the window. “Stumpy, this is the third time this month she’s gotten loose.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. Daisy!” he hollered at the horse. “Dang it all, come back.”
Sometimes Tilda wondered how deaf Daisy really was. Either she was faking it or she was psychic because the darned beast tossed her head as though she was saying, “No way.” Then she started across the road. Oh, great.
An SUV came over the rise and Tilda sucked in her breath. The car skidded to a halt and waited while Daisy stood in the middle of the road, trying to decide what to do. The driver soon tired of waiting and honked. The noise didn’t faze Daisy. She stood there, watching Tilda, Jamal and Stumpy as if wondering what they were doing out here on a cold winter afternoon. Then she strolled back to her own side of the road and continued her journey, probably looking for some other horses to spend Thanksgiving with.
“Give me the rope and get in,” Tilda commanded. With Stumpy safe inside and the rope in hand, they set off in hot pursuit. Well, semihot, not wanting to end up hitting the animal.
“I’d’a gotten her,” Stumpy insisted from the backseat. “I don’t know why Mildred keeps calling you guys.”
“Because she’s seen the way you drive,” Tilda said. They were lucky that Stumpy hadn’t taken the horse trailer. The week before, he’d attempted to rope Daisy from behind the wheel, skidding into Dan Masters’s truck and effectively blocking traffic for a good forty minutes while they sorted things out. Daisy, naturally, had gotten away and wound up at the llama farm.
They’d almost reached the horse. “Stop here,” Tilda told Jamal. “We don’t want to spook her.”
“Everything spooks her,” Stumpy grumbled.
The natural retort would be, “Then why do you keep the dumb critter?” But Tilda didn’t say it. She knew why. Daisy had been their granddaughter Willow’s horse. Willow had died two years earlier from a brain tumor. Stumpy could no more get rid of the horse than he could throw out the pictures of their only granddaughter that filled their living room.
Tilda got out of the car and shut the door as Daisy moved down the road a few paces.
“Go get ’er, cowgirl,” Jamal teased.
“Ha, ha,” Tilda muttered. Jamal was the size of Texas and could take down three men single-handed, but he was a city boy and no use whatsoever in capturing a deaf horse.
Tilda moved away from the patrol car. Daisy, sensing pursuit, trotted a few more feet, then stopped and looked around. Neener, neener, neener. You cant catch me.
Oh, yes, I can. You may be big but youve got a brain the size of an onion. Tilda squatted next to the freshly piled snow on the side of the road and waited. She’d done her share of ropin’ and ridin’. Gone to horse camp at the nearby guest ranch all through high school. She was not going to be outsmarted by a horse.
Daisy tossed her mane and then, to show that she wasn’t even remotely worried about Tilda and her rope, decided to enjoy a little roadside snack, pulling up a mouthful of snow-tipped grass.
Tilda slowly stood and sneaked forward a few feet. Daisy raised her head and Tilda froze. This was like playing Red Light, Green Light when she was a kid. Daisy went back for seconds. Okay, green light. Tilda moved forward again.
Daisy lifted her head and checked to see where Tilda was.
Frozen in place, of course.
The next time the horse went for some grass Tilda moved in, and this time when Daisy lifted her head Tilda swung the rope and…missed.
Daisy shied away and trotted off down the road and Tilda swore.
“You rope about as good as you shoot,” Jamal called from the patrol car.
Tilda gave him the finger and started the whole process again. Horses were such foodies. Tilda could have lured over any other equine simply by shaking a can of oats. Was there such a thing as horse hearing aids? If so, it would sure make catching Daisy a lot easier.
It took two more tries before she got the rope around Daisy’s neck, although the third try wasn’t exactly the charm. Daisy neighed and pulled away, and even though Tilda had planted her feet, the horse still managed to yank her over into the snow. “Oh, no, you don’t,” Tilda growled, struggling back to her feet. “Bring the halter,” she yelled.
Stumpy climbed out, holding it. “We got her now,” he said gleefully.
We. Yeah, right.
Finally Daisy was haltered and rewarded for cooperating with the police with a pat on the neck. “You’d better stop this escape-artist stuff or we’re gonna ship you off to become dog food,” Tilda threatened.
Daisy just tossed her head yet again. She knew Tilda was all talk and no action.
Tilda was equally stern with Stumpy. “You make sure your fence is well mended and you keep that barn door shut,” she told him as she handed over the escapee. “We can’t keep coming out to help you catch her.” She felt bad about being mean to the old guy. He was in his seventies and had arthritis in both hips, and maintaining the house and barn on their five-acre spread was getting to be too much for him. His wife was ready to downsize. Maybe being in trouble with the cops would motivate Stumpy to find a home for Daisy and move someplace smaller.
Stumpy hung his head. “I know, Tilda. You guys have better things to do.”
“In Icicle Falls?” Jamal cracked as they drove off, leaving Stumpy and Daisy to make their own way home. “Right.”
“Hey, you want action? Go to New York or LA,” Tilda said, and turned up the heat. They’d have to swing by her place so she could get some dry pants.
“No, thanks,” he said with a grin. “No horses to chase in LA. Anyway, I’d probably get stuck riding with some clown who farts all the time. Besides, where am I gonna find a lady cop as cool as you?”
That made her smile. “If you’re trying to flatter me…”
He snorted. “Like that would get me anywhere.” He shook his head. “It sucks when the best woman in town also happens to be your partner.”
“Okay, now it’s getting really thick in here.” She had a pretty good face and her body was in mint condition but, sadly, there were too many good-looking women and not enough men in this town. She glanced out the window at the snowy firs and pines. “Sometimes I think I should’ve moved to Seattle.” Except that Icicle Falls was her home and her roots ran too deep. Hmm. Maybe she was root-bound.
Jamal grunted. “You should’ve thought of that before you bought a house. Hey, we still on for Saturday?”
“Yep. When are you coming back from your mom’s?”
“Friday morning.”
“Good. You can help me finish packing.”
“You know, some of us have to fill in for you and work that day. Who takes vacation on Thanksgiving weekend, anyway?”
Somebody who had a lot of vacation days piled up and more seniority than half the guys on the force. Tilda grinned at him and played the world’s smallest violin on her fingers.
“All I gotta say is you better feed me.”
“`Cause you’re a growing boy?”
“Order something from the deli. I don’t wanna get poisoned,” he joked. “Where’d you not learn to cook?”
“From my mom.”
“Come on, your mom owns Pancake Haus. She can’t be that bad a cook.”
“She hires people to do stuff in the kitchen, you dope.” Tilda sighed. “The turkey will probably be dry and we’ll have stuffing out of a box. But I like stuffing out of a box. And Mom’s great with pickles and olives. And at least Aunt Joyce and the cousins will be bringing the candied yams and casseroles.”
“What are you bringing?”
“Pumpkin pie.”
“From?”
“What do you mean ‘from’?”
“I know you ain’t bakin’ it.”
Busted. Tilda shrugged. “Gingerbread Haus.”
“Yep, you’re gonna make some lucky guy a great husband someday.”
“Oh, ha, ha.”
He shook his head. “Somehow, I just can’t picture you in a house.”
“What I should be living in, a yurt?”
“More like an army barracks.”
“I do have a feminine side, you know.”
“Sure you do.”
She did, and she could hardly wait to get everything all squared away in her new house on Candy Cane Lane. She’d have dried flowers on the dining table and she was going to give that quilted wall hanging her cousin Georgie had made for her a place of honor on the living room wall. The house had three bedrooms, two baths, a big living room with a fireplace and a den, which she was going to turn into a kick-ass party room where her pals from the force could come over and play Call of Duty and World of Warcraft. The kitchen was bigger than the one she’d had in her condo. Once she put in new flooring, it would be great. Lots of room to…heat frozen dinners. Or make cookies. She made a mean chocolate chip cookie. Maybe, with her fancy new kitchen, she’d graduate to cake or pie or something.
Expanding her cooking skills would have to wait, though. The house needed some serious work. It had been a bank repo and the previous owners had done a fair amount of damage. Walls would have to be repainted, gutters replaced and, of course, the kitchen set to rights. And she’d have to replace the carpeting, which was badly stained and a little on the smelly side. Well, okay, a lot. She hoped she could afford to give herself new carpeting for Christmas, at least in the living room and den.
“I don’t know, Tillie girl,” her mom had said when they’d first gone to see the place. “Sure looks like a lot of work. You really want to mess with that?”
“Yes,” Tilda had replied. “It’s in a great neighborhood. It’ll be a good investment.”
“It’ll be a pain in the patootie,” Mom had corrected her.
Yeah, but it would be her pain in the patootie and she was ready for it. For the past five years she’d been envisioning herself in a house with a great guy and a couple of kids and a big, friendly dog. The guy thing hadn’t happened and she’d decided there was no point in waiting around. She was going to get her house and the dog, too. Heck, maybe even a kid. These days you didn’t need a man to have kids. These days, it seemed you didn’t need a man for much of anything.
Tilda wanted one, anyway. There were still some things nobody did better than men, and she was darned tired of being the only one who ever saw the lacy bras and matching thongs she wore under her uniform.
A man with a handsome, swarthy face and an admirable set of pecs suddenly appeared at the back of her mind. Oh, no. Devon Black was not in the running for that cozy life with the house, the kids and the dog. Devon Black did not deserve to see her in her bra and panties. Or out of them.
Someday she’d find the right man. New people moved to Icicle Falls all the time. Maybe Santa would bring her the perfect man for Christmas next year. This year it was a house. And that was enough to ask for. After all, there was only so much the jolly, old guy in red could fit in his sack... 

About the Author:


Sheila Roberts lives on a lake in the Pacific Northwest. She’s happily married and has three children. She’s been writing since 1989, but she did lots of things before settling in to her writing career, including owning a singing telegram company and playing in a band. Her band days are over, but she still enjoys writing songs. Sheila's books are best sellers and often appear as Reader's Digest Condensed Books. Her novel "Angel Lane" was named one of Amazon's top ten romances in 2009. Her novel "On Strike for Christmas" was a Lifetime Network movie and her novel "The Nine Lives of Christmas" is now a Hallmark movie, scheduled to air November 8th.

When she’s not speaking to women’s groups or at conferences or hanging out with her girlfriends she can be found writing about those things near and dear to women’s hearts: family, friends, and chocolate.

Her latest book is Christmas on Candy Cane Lane.

For More Information
  • Visit Sheila Roberts’ website.
  • Connect with Sheila on Facebook and Twitter.
  • Find out more about Sheila at Goodreads.
  • Visit Sheila’s blog.