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Dear Reader,
I think we’ve all experienced the agony of unrequited love sometime in our lives. You know…that boy you were too scared to speak to and whose smile made your day just that little bit brighter. For my Kate that “boy” was Gideon Manser.
I hope you ache for her—for them both—because life has hit them hard. In reality things do not always work out the way we would wish, but in my story Gideon and Kate have the happy ending they richly deserve.
The Isle of Wight, where this book is set, is a real place. My husband worked on it for a couple of summers, and my family and I escape there whenever we can. If you stand at the bottom of England and look out to sea, you will see it. Just twenty-three miles by thirteen miles, it’s a truly magical place. I can’t think of many places more perfect to live out a “happy ever after.”
Much love,
Natasha
Harlequin Romance® is thrilled to bring you another sparkling new book from British author
Natasha Oakley
Her poignant and emotional writing will tug on your heartstrings.
Books by Natasha Oakley
HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®
3838—FOR OUR CHILDREN’S SAKE
3854—THE BUSINESS ARRANGEMENT
A Family To Belong To
Natasha Oakley
MILLS & BOON
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NATASHA OAKLEY told everyone at her primary school she wanted to be an author when she grew up. Her plan was to stay at home and have her mum bring her coffee at regular intervals—a drink she didn’t like then. The coffee addiction became reality, and the love of storytelling stayed with her. A professional actress, Natasha began writing when her fifth child started to sleep through the night. Born in London, U.K., she now lives in Bedfordshire with her husband and young family. When not writing, or needed for “crowd control,” she loves to escape to antique fairs and auctions. Find out more about Natasha and her books on her Web site www.natashaoakley.com
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
THE wind tasted salty on her lips and the ice-cold rain pitted her cheeks. Kate Simmonds stared out at the slate-grey sea and felt her hair flick painfully around her face.
She was coming home.
Too late.
Aunt Babs was dead.
She lifted one shaking hand to push back her hair. A week ago everything had been so different, or had seemed that way. Then there’d been time. She had known she’d make the trip back home some time—just not yet. She wasn’t ready. Even now. And Aunt Babs had understood. She really had.
But now it was too late.
Kate leant against the metal bar of the upper ferry deck and looked out to sea. An immense grey vastness stretching out before her. It put everything into perspective somehow. Made all her bitter angst seem rather unimportant and petty. She should have made time.
Aunt Babs had given her a home. She’d taken an awkward, angry little ten-year-old into her house and loved her as though she’d been her own. A foster mum in a million. Kate knew she’d deserved more from her than the weekly phone call and the occasional trip to London. It was just one more regret to add to the pile she was accumulating in her life.
It must be almost six years since she’d made this trip. She’d not meant to stay away so long. Six years! So much had changed in that time. She had changed. She was barely recognisable from that twenty-two-year-old Katie. She’d passed through Katie, Kay and Katherine before becoming Kate. Reinvented. Kate Simmonds. Poised. Elegant. In control of her life.
If only that were true. Inside she still lived with the same cankerous uncertainties and a desperate desire to belong. Still carried the scars of rejection. And now, of course, there was something more. Something even deeper. A more recent pain that seared like a branding iron. She pushed her hands deep in the pockets of her long black coat and turned away from the overwhelming greyness of the March sky.
Just a handful of tourists had ventured outside to eagerly watch the Isle of Wight appear in the distance. They stood clustered together under a canopy of clashing umbrellas. Dimly she was aware of a questioning glance directed at her, then a half-smile as though the elderly lady in the red anorak thought she might know her.
Kate looked away. She didn’t. It was an illusion—like so much of her life.
