age target="_blank" rel="nofollow" href="#fb3_img_img_54a30c20-0544-5c10-97d7-e5a644d1c0e1.png" alt="cover"/>
Selected praise for
LINDA LAEL MILLER
“It doesn’t get better than this.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Deadly Gamble
“The Last Chance Café delivers powerful romance flavored with deep emotional resonance.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“Linda Lael Miller provides a terrific western romance.”
—The Best Reviews on McKettrick’s Choice
“Miller’s intimate knowledge of the wild west sweeps you into a story as realistic as it is romantic. She paints a brilliant portrait of the good, the bad and the ugly, the lost and the lonely, and the power of love to bring light into the darkest of souls. This is western romance at its finest.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on The Man From Stone Creek
There and Now
New York Times Bestselling Author
Linda Lael Miller
Go back in time with New York Times bestselling author Linda Lael Miller
THERE WAS NO TURNING BACK
Seeking refuge, Elisabeth McCartney returned to her centuries-old family home, never dreaming stepping over the threshold would take her one hundred years into the past-and into the sweet, sensual embrace of Dr. Jonathan Fortner. He wants forever, but she knows forever is the one thing they don’t have. Because even if she can prevent the tragedy she knows will strike him, they are separated by two worlds, denied by destiny.
Unless love can find a time of its own.
The daughter of a town marshal, Linda Lael Miller is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of more than one hundred historical and contemporary novels, most of which reflect her love of the West. Raised in Northport, Washington, the self-confessed barn goddess now lives in Spokane, Washington. Linda hit a career high in 2011 when all three of her Creed Cowboys books—A Creed in Stone Creek, Creed's Honor and The Creed Legacy—debuted at #1 on the New York Times bestseller list.
Linda has come a long way since leaving Washington to experience the world. “But growing up in that time and place has served me well,” she allows. “And I'm happy to be back home.” Dedicated to helping others, Linda personally finances her Linda Lael Miller Scholarships for Women, which she awards to those seeking to improve their lot in life through education. More information about Linda and her novels is available at www.LindaLaelMiller.com. She also loves to hear from readers by mail at P.O. Box 19461, Spokane, WA 99219.
For Darlene Layman, the best darn secretary ever,
and her very nice husband, Lloyd.
Contents
Chapter One
Elisabeth McCartney’s flagging spirits lifted a little as she turned past the battered rural mailbox and saw the house again.
The white Victorian structure stood at the end of a long gravel driveway, flanked by apple trees in riotous pink-white blossom. A veranda stretched around the front and along one side, and wild rose bushes, budding scarlet and yellow, clambered up a trellis on the western wall.
Stopping her small station wagon in front of the garage, Elisabeth sighed and let her tired aquamarine eyes wander over the porch, with its sagging floor and peeling paint. Less than two years before, Aunt Verity would have been standing on the step, waiting with smiles and hugs. And Elisabeth’s favorite cousin, Rue, would have vaulted over the porch railing to greet her.
Elisabeth’s eyes brimmed with involuntary tears. Aunt Verity was dead now, and Rue was God only knew where, probably risking life and limb for some red-hot news story. The divorce from Ian, final for just a month, was a trauma Elisabeth was going to have to get through on her own.
With a sniffle, she squared her shoulders and drew a deep breath to bolster her courage. She reached for her purse and got out of the car, pulling her suitcase after her. Elisabeth had gladly let Ian keep their ultramodern plastic-and-smoked-glass furniture. Her books, tapes and other personal belongings would be delivered later by a moving company.
She slung her purse strap over her shoulder and proceeded toward the porch, the high grass brushing against the knees of her white jeans as she passed. At the door, with its inset of colorful stained glass, Elisabeth put down the suitcase and fumbled through her purse for the set of keys the real-estate agent had given her when she stopped in Pine River.
The lock was old and recalcitrant, but it turned, and Elisabeth opened the door and walked into the familiar entryway, lugging her suitcase with her.
There were those who believed this house was haunted—it had been the stuff of legend in and around Pine River for a hundred
