April 19, 2010
A new contract - A GIFT BEYOND ALL MEASURE
A Gift Beyond All Measure
Arriving home for Christmas, the last thing Jacob Scott expects in his house is a sexy, shotgun-toting stranger. Worse, his attraction to her bothers him even more than the gun. Still reeling from the deception of his long-time girlfriend, he’s not looking for romance.
Tessa Jones has learned one hard lesson, when everyone in your life has failed you, the only one you can trust is yourself. Still, facing the whispers of the townsfolk and an arson charge, Tessa unexpectedly finds herself trusting Jacob with more than her legal troubles.
Struggling between the promise of the present and the hurts of the past, can these two lost souls overcome their pain long enough to discover a gift beyond all measure?
Jacob Scott raised a brow, then broke away from her hypnotic stare to glance at the shotgun pellets embedded in his wall. “You could have killed me.”
“You broke into the house in the middle of the night.”
He reached into his jeans’ pocket and pulled out his keys. “I didn’t break in. I have the damn key to my own front door.”
She put a hand on her hip and cocked her head. “And how was I to know it was you making all that noise? You’re not supposed to be here.”
Irritation boiled inside his gut. She was treating him like a criminal for entering his own home.
“Well, I am here and this is my house. And just who are you?”
She drew in a breath and glanced to her left. “Tessa Jones,” she mumbled.
The name rattled around in his brain. It was familiar. She was familiar, but he didn't think he'd actually met her before. He sure would have remembered that thick auburn hair and lush body if they'd been introduced. So, why did he know the name?
Not that Tessa Jones.
“Tessa Jones? The cook for Baxter’s Diner who burned down half of Spencerville after she started a kitchen fire last month?” Thrusting a hand through his hair, he shifted his weight “What are you doing in my house?”
Her face reddened as she glared at him. “I’m the cook for the cowboys here on the Triple H.”
What was Christina thinking? Hiring an arsonist as a cook?
What he thought must have shown on his face, because the hand on her hip fisted, bunching the flannel and inching it up to reveal more of her lovely thighs. Fire blazed in her eyes. “You know, things aren’t always what they appear to be.”
With that, she strode down the hallway to a bedroom and slammed the door behind her.
Anna Kathryn Lanier
Where Tumbleweeds Hang Their Hats