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“Do I scare you that much?” Simon asked.
“You don’t scare me one bit,” Shanna replied, her hands on her hips. “But I’m pretty sure I scare you. We all scare you. You know, you could be a good example to these kids. Come on out and play with us sometime, maybe?”
“I don’t know about that.” Simon patted the dog at his side.
She nodded, then cooed at the dog, Shiloh, the sound of her gentle words making a funny little shiver do its own two-step down Simon’s backbone. “You can send Shiloh over anytime.”
The dare was back and he couldn’t resist it. “And what about me? Am I invited back for s’mores next time you have a picnic?”
She seemed shocked, her expressive eyes widening. “I thought you’d rather not share in our little picnics out here. Or any other part of our happenings here, for that matter.”
She had him there. He’d made it pretty clear he wanted to be left alone. “I’d rather not have to put out another fire, but I like hot dogs.”
She smiled.
LENORA WORTH
has written more than forty books for three different publishers. Her career with Steeple Hill Books spans close to fourteen years. Her very first Love Inspired title, The Wedding Quilt, won Affaire de Coeur’s Best Inspirational for 1997, and Logan’s Child won an RT Book Reviews Best Love Inspired for 1998. With millions of books in print, Lenora continues to write for the Love Inspired and Love Inspired Suspense lines. Lenora also wrote a weekly opinion column for the local paper and worked freelance for years with a local magazine. She has now turned to full-time fiction writing and enjoying adventures with her retired husband, Don. Married for thirty-five years, they have two grown children. Lenora enjoys writing, reading and shopping…especially shoe shopping.
Hometown Sweetheart
Lenora Worth
MILLS & BOON
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My foot has held fast to His steps; I have kept His way and not turned aside.
—Job 23:11
To my nephew Jeremy Smith, a true cowboy in spirit.
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 Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Letter to Reader
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
Chapter One
What was that infernal noise?
Simon Adams winced as he lost concentration yet again. Turning from the pair of boots he’d been working on for the last three hours, Simon grunted. That famous country singer in Nashville would just have to wait a while longer to get his handmade boots.
Right now Simon had to go outside and find out what was going on across the fence in what used to be a vacant vacation cabin. A cabin nestled in the riotous spring beauty of the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Georgia near the little river town of Knotwood.
There it went again. The banging and knocking, the giggling and shouting.
People.
Simon didn’t like people.
His brother’s dog, Shiloh—he really didn’t like the dog either—followed Simon out the double doors of his workshop, barking at the unusual noises echoing over the woods and trees. Obviously Shiloh was more excited about this intrusion than Simon. They both enjoyed the quiet of the countryside, but the dog craved company.
“Quit your whining,” Simon said to the big golden retriever. “We don’t need company today.”
Stalking up to the fence line, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Someone was moving into the big, sprawling cabin next to his. Okay, maybe a hundred yards from his, but still too close for comfort.
Shiloh barked again, a friendly let’s-go-see-who-it-is kind of bark.
“No,” Simon told the dog. “Why didn’t you go into town with Rick anyway?”
Shiloh appeared sheepish then turned to stare at what looked like an army of people in all kinds of sizes and shapes lining up in front of the house to unload a big passenger van. Small people.
“Great. Kids.” Just what he needed. He didn’t really like kids, either.
Shifting on his old work boots, Simon ignored the fresh spring air filled with the scent of honeysuckle and the sound of birds chirping in a church choir harmony. He pushed thoughts of his deceased wife Marcy out of his mind. He’d never hear his own children laughing. And he didn’t want to hear these particular children—seven of them at last count—next door to his studio day in and day out for who knew how long. They only reminded him of what he would never have.
“This
