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    Hurricane Bride
    Hurricane Bride
    Hurricane Bride
    Ebook98 pages1 hour

    Hurricane Bride

    By Beth Williamson

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Get caught up in the storm...

    When a hurricane forces uptight Claire Blackwood's life into a tailspin, she never expects to find her true north again. An opportunity to get back on her feet lands her at the Peach Bellini B&B and sharing a cottage with a man who makes her feel again.

    Boyd Rowe lives life as it comes to him and sharing a house with her is the most difficult thing he's ever done. The tightly wound woman makes him crazy at the same time makes him long for something else. The runaway hurricane bride is just the storm he needs.

    *A Magnolias & Moonshine Novella*

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBeth Williamson
    Release dateApr 12, 2017
    ISBN9781943089109
    Hurricane Bride
    Author

    Beth Williamson

    Beth has never been able to escape her imagination and it led her to the craft of writing romance novels. She’s passionate about purple, books, and her family (not to mention long cruises). She works full-time and writes romance novels evening, weekends, early mornings and whenever there is a break in the madness.She is compassionate, funny, a bit reserved at times, tenacious and a little quirky. Her cowboys and western romances speak of a bygone era, bringing her readers to an age where men were honest, hard and packing heat.For a change of pace, she also dives into some smokin’ hot contemporaries, bringing you heat, romance and snappy dialogue.Beth is a Career Achievement Award Nominee in Erotic Romance by Romantic Times Magazine, in both 2009 and 2010.

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      Book preview

      Hurricane Bride - Beth Williamson

      Chapter One

      ‡ ‡

      The long, winding road led Claire past beautiful, stately oaks and mature bushes, allowing her peeks at classic Southern houses. It was a gorgeous area of Atlanta she’d not explored before. Not that she had time. Working had consumed her. Not that she had to worry about that any longer.

      She reached the address she’d been given and turned down the driveway. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight.

      The house was magnificent. Six columns stood like sentinels in front of the structure, complete with a wide front porch with half dozen rocking chairs and swirling iron railings. Green bushes ripe with a riot of pink blossoms accentuated the winding path to the front door.

      Sunshine sparkled on the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. Dark green hedges, perfectly manicured, lined the front porch. The grass was a thick, rich green and cut to perfection with a criss-cross pattern.

      The oval sign in front proclaimed it the Peach Bellini Bed & Breakfast in rich, gold lettering adorned with peach blossoms painted with an artisan’s skill. This was definitely the right place.

      She took a deep breath and drove around the back of the house to park. A small cottage was nestled among the trees beside a larger barn. A gazebo sat in a fairy-like garden decorated with iron benches and more gorgeous flowers and bushes. Whoever the gardener was, he or she was amazing. The entire place had a surreal, other-time feel to it.

      Her newly found cousin Pearl had told her the house had been rebuilt in the 1920s after a fire. The original house had been constructed before the Civil War. This was a true antebellum property, converted into a bed and breakfast.

      Claire closed her eyes and fisted her hands. This was a chance to get back on her feet. The other option, calling her family in Texas for help, was a last resort. She could get through this. She would get through this. Atlanta was her new home, and she’d do her damnedest to stay here.

      She got out of the car and noted Manny and Pearl walking toward her from the back of the house, through a sweeping veranda covered with white iron furniture. The sound of birds singing and bees buzzing filled the air along with the sweet perfume of the flowers and trees. It was idyllic and beautiful, a paradise.

      The two of them were a few inches shorter than Claire, with silver hair and laughing eyes. They were a typical elderly couple, holding hands as they walked. According to Pearl, they’d been married forty years. Claire didn’t know them well, but they had made her feel safe and welcome from the moment they’d met six months earlier.

      Pearl was a distant cousin Claire had gotten in touch with when she had moved to Atlanta last fall. The sixty-something woman and her sweet husband had been a lifeline during the darkest day of her life. It was then Pearl had mentioned the job at the Peach Bellini.

      Claire was so grateful for the opportunity. Her life so far in Atlanta had been rocky, to say the least. It wasn’t in her plan to work at a bed and breakfast, but it was a job a place to sleep.

      Claire! Pearl’s Southern drawl almost pulled the one syllable name into two. I’m so glad you see you, darlin’. Her wide smile helped dispel the tension in Claire’s shoulders.

      The petite woman pulled Claire into a hug, and the smell of vanilla surrounded her. For some foolish reason, her eyes pricked with tears. As the middle of four children—along with her twin brother—and a couple dozen cousins of all types, she’d been surrounded by family her entire life. Moving to Atlanta had been her choice, and she didn’t regret it, however, until this moment, she’d always felt smothered by her family’s attention.

      Now their absence was a bittersweet ache in her chest.

      Thank you for this. She pulled back and shook Manny’s proffered hand. I, uh, brought my things in the car.

      Claire gestured to her subcompact. She planned to buy a larger, nicer car in the fall but at least this little blue one was paid for. It had carried all her things from Texas to Atlanta, and she hadn’t bought anything since, for the most part. Leaving the plush condo had taught her a great deal about self-control and courage.

      Taking this job would teach her more.

      Let us give you a tour before you settle in, hm? Pearl tucked her arm into Claire’s. We’ll start with the front and work our way back.

      Whatever the day held, everything was up from here. Claire was a Blackwood, and she would do her family proud.

      * *

      Damn sprinkler had a mind of its own. Boyd Rowe glared at the offending valve, but it didn’t move. He’d traced the issue to an actuator, which he’d replaced, but the valve that controlled the quadrant of sprinklers refused to budge.

      As the groundskeeper for the Peach Bellini, his days were never boring. The constant upkeep of the trees, bushes, flowers, and grass kept him busy day and night. The sprinkler in the entire back corner of the lawn had stopped working, but he wasn’t sure when. The hurricane a week earlier had left at least three inches of rain, so he hadn’t noticed the difference until this morning.

      He’d dug a small hole to get to the valve and had wrestled with it for an hour. A few voices had drifted by now and then, but he hadn’t looked up. Probably just some guests touring the grounds after arriving on this gorgeous Friday morning.

      His muscles screamed from the effort, and when his hand slipped, he fell, landing face-first in the moist ground. He was in a shady spot where the morning dew painted his cheek. The humidity was thick as it always was in mid-summer, and he lay there for a minute giving his muscles a break and his dignity a chance to recover.

      Then a woman screamed.

      A body landed, knees first, into his side. Well, hell’s bells, what the actual fuck?

      Someone yanked his arm and rolled him over. Boyd groaned and blinked up at the most striking woman he’d ever seen. She was curvaceous to the point his hands itched to follow the path of her voluptuous body. Her hair was a riot of rich color with hues of browns, golds, and russets sparkling in the dappled sunlight. Her eyes were the warm brown of good whiskey—and they were filled with panic.

      You’re not dead.

      He blinked. No, and thanks for the diagnosis.

      She wore a pretty yellow dress with a white cardigan and a string of pearls. She could have walked out of a 1950s magazine ad. No doubt she wore a pair of white pumps, too.

      Jesus, I thought you were dead. She glanced down at the grass stains that marked the front of her perfect dress. Shit.

      Thanks for trying to rescue me. He pressed a hand to his ribs that smarted from her sharp knees.

      I’m sorry. I saw you lying there and I thought…never mind. It’s obvious what I thought. She got to

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