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“How come you’ve never—”
Radar, intuition, whatever he wanted to call it, Leif knew exactly what she was asking. “Remarried? Because I can’t imagine ever replacing her. I don’t see how anyone can ever measure up. No woman wants to settle for replacement status.”
“So your alternative is to keep yourself locked up in this gorgeous prison of a house.”
He didn’t like where this conversation was going. “I have a job. I go out every day. I’m hardly locked up here.” Why did he feel so defensive?
“True, but not convincing.” Marta leveled her gaze to his, and he wanted to squirm out of it. “The difference between you and me is that I’ve never turned my back on love. Loving comes easily for me. It always has. Isn’t that the point of being on this planet? We’re here to share love with each other.”
He wanted to get angry for her broaching a tough topic at the drop of a hat, but instead he fought that constant urge to comfort her, to wrap her in his arms and let her know she didn’t have to be alone.
* * *
Home in Heartlandia: Finding home where the heart is
Falling for the Mum-To-Be
Lynne Marshall
LYNNE MARSHALL used to worry that she had a serious problem with daydreaming—then she discovered she was supposed to write those stories! A late bloomer, Lynne came to fiction writing after her children were nearly grown. Now she battles the empty nest by writing stories that always include a romance, sometimes medicine, a dose of mirth, or both, but always stories from her heart. She is a Southern California native, a dog lover, a cat admirer, a power walker and an avid reader.
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This book is dedicated to my readers. Thank you for giving a new author a chance. I’ve poured my heart and soul into the Home in Heartlandia series and loved writing the Whispering Oaks duo before that. I have felt so fortunate to be a part of this wonderful line over the past five books, and to be introduced to loyal readers like you.
Contents
The last place Leif Andersen wanted to be was the Portland airport. An avowed loner, he didn’t look forward to sharing his home—his sanctuary—with a stranger. But that was what he got for owning the biggest and emptiest house in Heartlandia, and it was the imposition he’d accepted on behalf of the town mural.
The absolute last thing he expected to find was this woman sporting a female version of a bolero hat, black gaucho boots and a sunset-colored wrap waiting beside the baggage claim. That had to be her—who else could it be? In all honesty, what should he have expected from an artist from Sedona? She was probably dripping with turquoise underneath that poncho, too.
Attitude adjustment, buddy. This is for the greater good. You volunteered.
Approaching the conspicuous woman, he called out, “Marta Hoyas?”
She turned her head and nodded demurely. All business, or plain old standoffish—he couldn’t tell from here. Maybe she thought he was a chauffeur, but he worried about a long and awkward ride home in either case.
He approached
