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      MILLS & BOON

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      This is my fifteenth book to be released by Harlequin Books, and I can’t imagine having hit this milestone without the encouragement, advice and friendship of the wonderful ladies (and men!) of Georgia Romance Writers. Thank you for all you’ve taught me and all you’ve seen me through.

      Contents

      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 One

      “Did Webster’s change the definition of celebrate and no one told me? Because I always thought it should involve being, you know, happy.”

      Veronica Carter turned her attention from the dance floor, with its multicolored spotlights and twirling couples, to Lola Ann Whitford, town librarian and Ronnie’s best friend. While it was impossible to discern Lola Ann’s every word over top of the exuberant local band that played every Friday night, the gist was clear.

      “Sorry,” Ronnie said sheepishly. “I’m not being very good company, am I?”

      “No.” The short, curvy brunette grinned, showing all her dimples. “Which is why I am ditching you for the very first guy who asks me to dance.”

      “Well, as long as he’s hot,” Ronnie conceded. After today’s inspection of her new home, she should be feeling celebratory. Yet her emotions were as badly tangled as a carelessly handled fishing line.

      In addition to the inspector telling her she’d chosen her future house well, and that the flaws were mostly cosmetic and the foundation was solid, she could still hear Wayne Carter’s resigned sigh. Her dad’s eyes, the exact green as hers, had brimmed with wistful loss instead of eager joy, an image reversed in reflection. I am twenty-five, more than old enough to move out. She shouldn’t feel guilty, like some ungrateful teenager running away to the big city in the middle of the night. Heck, Ronnie wouldn’t even be changing zip codes.

      Lola Ann snapped her fingers in front of Ronnie’s face. “I’ve lost you again.”

      “No, I’m here. You’re right about celebrating! Is it bad luck to toast the new place before it’s legally mine?” In a few weeks, she’d officially close on the house…then spend the foreseeable future remodeling. Ronnie had always been mechanically inclined, better with power tools than curling irons or mascara wands, and without the quirks and superficial damages to the one-story brick home, she never would have been able to afford it. “Come on, I’m buying this round.”

      They edged their way through the dance hall’s regular weekend crowd and stopped at the teak counter that ran parallel to the far left wall. Flannel-clad Jack Guthrie, his wire-rimmed glasses and silver hair taking on an otherworldly glow beneath the neon signs, had been the bartender here since time before memory. He’d poured Ronnie a drink the night she turned twenty-one and had done the same for her three brothers before her. He’d also served inaugural beers to her parents.

      There was that pang again. Often she could think of her parents, the life they’d once shared, without missing her mother too terribly, but today—the approaching milestone of buying her first house—had left her nostalgic.

      Forcing a smile, Ronnie placed a ten on the bar for two drinks. In her peripheral vision, she saw that her oldest brother, Danny, was waiting to order. His wife, Kaitlyn, stood behind him, her face flushed with pleasure and the exertion of dancing. Children were allowed inside Guthrie Hall, and Ashley often accompanied her mother and father. Tonight, however, Ronnie’s niece was hanging out with Grandpa Wayne, who’d promised to teach the second-grader how to play poker just as he’d taught Ronnie when she was around Ashley’s age.

      Ronnie caught her sister-in-law’s eye, and Kaitlyn approached, nodding hello to Lola Ann.

      “You look like you’re having fun,” Ronnie observed.

      Kaitlyn bobbed her head in cheerful agreement. “I adore my daughter, but I need these occasional adults-only evenings to remind myself what a passionate, flirtatious man my husband can be.”

      Ronnie pretended to shudder. “I don’t want to hear about passion and my brother in the same sentence.”

      “Fair enough.” Kaitlyn chuckled. “Some unsolicited advice from an old married woman—when you get married, don’t feel like you have to have kids right away. Take the time to savor those early newlywed years.”

      Sound, yet pointless, advice. Last time Ronnie had checked, dating was a prerequisite to marriage.

      Men weren’t exactly beating down her door—correction, her father’s door—to ask Ronnie out. Her town identity as a skinny grease monkey had long been cemented. While even a flat-chested mechanic could attract male admirers once in a blue moon, her overprotective brothers had put an end to those few budding relationships, making marriage the least of Ronnie’s current concerns. Not that she minded being single. Once she moved out of her dad’s house, she selfishly planned to make the most of the solitude—watching whatever she wanted on the television set and not worrying about preparing meals for anyone.

      Danny joined them, handing his wife a cold bottle of water and sipping draft beer from a plastic cup. With his free hand, he tugged lightly on Ronnie’s ponytail. “You saving a dance for your big brother?”

      “Nah, I’ll leave you to a woman who can truly appreciate you.” She jerked her chin toward Kaitlyn, then grinned teasingly. “Personally, I’m holding out for a better offer.”

      Kaitlyn and Lola Ann both laughed at the jibe, but Danny took the words at face value.

      “Like who?” he asked, scanning the crowd with narrowed eyes.

      Ronnie groaned. “Kaitlyn, go keep your husband occupied, won’t you?”

      “My pleasure.” Ronnie’s sister-in-law winked at them and stood on tiptoe to whisper something in Danny’s ear. Giggling like teenagers, they headed toward a dimly lit corner.

      Turning back to Lola Ann, Ronnie sighed. “Does it make me pathetic that the only invitation to dance I’ve had since we got here is from my brother?”

      Even if she weren’t at a point in her life where she yearned for his-and-her towel sets, the occasional two-step partner would be nice. An image began to form

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