The Magnificent Seven. Cheryl St.John

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      Stories of family and romance beneath the Big Sky!

      What had just happened to her?

      More than once, Heather had found herself looking at Mitch Fielding with preposterously sexy thoughts. She’d never mused in that feverish manner before.

      Remembering the way Mitch’s simple touch set her skin tingling, she closed her eyes and relished the memories. The strength of her reactions frightened her. Looking at him, smelling him…Heather’s heart fluttered.

      She was the almost-thirty-year-old mother of three children. She’d been married. And she’d never had these overpowering feelings toward a man before.

      Her body remembered his touch. His kiss. The intoxicating loss of control and the frantic desire to possess, be possessed. The lack of restraint terrified her.

      And thrilled her.

      The question was, how much courage did she really possess?

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      The Magnificent Seven

      Cheryl St.John

      image www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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       CHERYL ST.JOHN

      A peacemaker, a romantic, an idealist and a discouraged perfectionist—these are the words that Cheryl uses to describe herself. The award-winning author of both historical and contemporary novels says she’s been told that she is painfully honest.

      Cheryl admits to being an avid collector, displaying everything from dolls to depression glass as well as white ironstone, teapots, cups and saucers, old photographs and—most especially—books. When not doing a home improvement project, she and her husband love to browse antiques shops. In her spare time, she’s an amateur photographer and a pretty good baker.

      She says that knowing her stories bring hope and pleasure to readers is one of the best parts of being a writer. The other wonderful part is being able to set her own schedule and have time to work around her growing family. Cheryl loves to hear from readers! E-mail her at [email protected].

      In memory of Carol Backus, aka Suzanne Barclay.

       This book is lovingly dedicated to the newest darling in our family: Elijah.

       I praise God that he is fearfully and wonderfully made.

      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

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      One

       M itch Fielding led his twin six-year-olds, Taylor and Ashley, through the lunch crowd at the Hip Hop Café as though he were guiding them through a minefield. Taylor narrowly missed knocking over a gray-haired gent’s cane that was leaning against a table edge, and Mitch clamped his hand firmly over Ashley’s mouth as soon as he noticed an overweight woman shoveling chocolate-cream pie between her lips.

      He got them settled into a booth and released his breath. “There.” He picked up the plastic-coated menu and scanned for something nourishing the twins would eat without pitching a fit. “They have hamburgers and chicken fingers.”

      “Yuck. I want a chocolate malt and a pickle,” Ashley pronounced.

      “I want skettios,” Taylor said.

      “They don’t have skettios,” he replied to one daughter, then turned to the other. “And you can have a chocolate malt if you eat a hamburger.”

      “Gross. I don’t want a hamburger.” She folded her arms over the front of her Teletubbie T-shirt. “I want a pickle.”

      “You can have a pickle with your hamburger. Taylor, they have spaghetti.”

      “Don’t like spaghetti.”

      “Of course you do. It’s the same stuff that comes out of the cans, only real.”

      “Uh-uh-uh,” she said in a singsongy voice with a shake of her head. “It doesn’t taste the same.”

      He resisted the urge to argue or bargain in public, which always made him feel as if his daughters were getting the upper hand anyway. How long could a child survive on pickles, malts and canned spaghetti? It was his job as a parent to see that they were well nourished, but how did he go about it? Some nights he dropped into bed mentally exhausted, feeling lucky to have gotten several bites of anything into them.

      A waitress appeared at his elbow, and Mitch glanced up to see the slim blonde in a blue T-shirt proclaiming Breakfast Served All Day give him a curious once-over.

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