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Isabella Trueblood made history reuniting people torn apart by war and an epidemic. Now, generations later, Lily and Dylan Garrett carry on her work with their agency, Finders Keepers. Circumstances may have changed, but the goal remains the same.
Lost
One grandson. Ailing Eve Bishop desperately wants to find her estranged grandson and heir before she dies. Lily Garrett is on the case.
Found
One ornery cowboy. Now all Lily has to do is find a way to hog-tie a lone wolf and get him back to Grandma’s house. Gossip says that dangerously handsome Cole Bishop is going to pay someone to have his child, which gives this Little Red Riding Hood an idea....
Finders Keepers: bringing families together
“What do you want, Lily Garrett? Why are you here?”
“I’m applying for the job.”
“You think you could handle it? Handle me?”
“That all depends on whether you’re a gentleman or not.”
He took another step, until his chest brushed her arm. “I’m not.”
The cold air behind her and the heat in front met inside her, brewing up one hell of a storm. It wasn’t enough he had that rugged cowboy thing going on, but he also oozed bad-boy sexy, which wasn’t the least bit fair.
His hand lifted and he touched her hair. Just her hair. And she nearly dropped her soda. She needed to make her mouth work. For words to form. But that seemed way too difficult as his fingers brushed her cheek. “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”
“What?”
“You touching me.”
“I’ll stop if you want me to.”
She closed her eyes. His thumb, callused and thick, followed the curve of her jaw all the way to her chin. “Stop.” Her voice sounded weak, soft.
“You’re old enough to know better,” he whispered.
“Better than what?”
“That you shouldn’t play with fire if you don’t want to get burned.”
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Trueblood, Texas!
Here’s what I want to know—how come, when I lived in Texas for five years, I never met a man like Cole Bishop? That doesn’t seem fair, does it? I know there are men like Cole—rough and stern on the outside, passionate and loving in private. I just haven’t met my Cole...yet.
Here’s the other thing I want to know—how come I can’t be more like Lily Garrett? She’s a pistol, that Lily, and I do admire a woman who isn’t afraid to say what’s on her mind.... Oh, wait. My friend (who’s reading over my shoulder) tells me I shouldn’t lie to my nice readers. I do say what’s on my mind. In fact, no one can stop me from sharing my two cents. That’s true, I guess, but Lily has such class, such flair, and she’s so darn quick! I usually think of the perfect thing to say about two hours after the conversation is over.
Here’s what I know for sure—there’s magic involved in writing a novel. Oh, there’s plot and character and dialogue and all the usual stuff, but sometimes, if I’ve been very, very good, the book will take wing and soar, and all I have to do is hang on for the ride. The Cowboy Wants a Baby was like that. It will always have a special place in my heart, and I hope, dear readers, that it will be a special book for you, too.
I love to hear from readers! http://www.joleigh.com.
Jo Leigh
The Cowboy Wants a Baby
Jo Leigh
THE TRUEBLOOD LEGACY
THE YEAR WAS 1918, and the Great War in Europe still raged, but Esau Porter was heading home to Texas.
The young sergeant arrived at his parents’ ranch northwest of San Antonio on a Sunday night, only the celebration didn’t go off as planned. Most of the townsfolk of Carmelita had come out to welcome Esau home, but when they saw the sorry condition of the boy, they gave their respects quickly and left.
The fever got so bad so fast that Mrs. Porter hardly knew what to do. By Monday night, before the doctor from San Antonio made it into town, Esau was dead.
The Porter family grieved. How could their son have survived the German peril, only to burn up and die in his own bed? It wasn’t much of a surprise when Mrs. Porter took to her bed on Wednesday. But it was a hell of a shock when half the residents of Carmelita came down with the horrible illness. House after house was hit by death, and all the townspeople could do was pray for salvation.
None came. By the end of the year, over one hundred souls had perished. The influenza virus took those in the prime of life, leaving behind an unprec-edented number of orphans. And the virus knew no boundaries. By the time the threat had passed, more than thirty-seven million people had succumbed worldwide.
But in one house, there was still hope.
Isabella Trueblood had come to Carmelita in the late 1800s with her father, blacksmith Saul Trueblood, and her mother, Teresa Collier Trueblood. The family had traveled from Indiana, leaving their Quaker roots behind.
Young Isabella grew up to be an intelligent woman who had a gift for healing and storytelling. Her dreams centered on the boy next door, Foster Carter, the son of Chester and Grace.
Just before the bad times came in 1918, Foster asked Isabella to be his wife, and the future of the Carter spread was secured. It was a happy union, and the future looked bright for the young couple.
Two years later, not one of their relatives was alive. How the young couple had survived was a miracle. And during the epidemic, Isabella and Foster had taken in more than twenty-two orphaned children from all over the county. They fed them, clothed them, taught them as if they were blood kin.
Then Isabella became pregnant, but there were complications. Love for her handsome son, Josiah, born in 1920, wasn’t enough to stop her from grow-ing weaker by the day. Knowing she couldn’t leave her husband to tend to all the children if she died, she set out to find families for each one of her orphaned charges.
And so the Trueblood Foundation was born. Named in memory of Isabella’s parents, it would be-come famous all over Texas. Some of the orphaned children went to strangers, but many were reunited with their families. After reading notices in news-papers and church bulletins, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents rushed to Carmelita to find the young ones they’d given up for dead.
Toward the end of Isabella’s life, she’d brought together more than thirty families, and not just her orphans. Many others, old and young, made their way to her doorstep, and Isabella turned no one away.
At her death, the town’s name
