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Albert Camus

Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.

Monday, July 6, 2015

a second-chance that could be the best mistake she ever made - Nobody's Angel (Willow Park #1) by Sarah Hegger

In this evocative new series from author Sarah Hegger, a woman returns home after a long absence--and wonders if two wrongs really can make a right...


Description:

Release Date: March 31st, 2015

In this evocative new series from author Sarah Hegger, a woman returns home after a long absence--and wonders if two wrongs really can make a right. . .

Nine years ago Lucy Flint ran away to Seattle, taking her friend's boyfriend and leaving her high school sweetheart without a word of explanation. Now she's back in Willow Park, Illinois, to help care for her ailing father--and it's no surprise that her ex, Dr. Richard Hunter, is still angry. 

Still, she's a different Lucy now. Sober, wiser, ready to make amends to the long--make that very long--list of those she mistreated during her wild younger days. Falling for Richard all over again would mean wreaking havoc in both their lives and possibly squandering her opportunity for redemption. But here, in the place where everything went wrong, is the one person who always felt right, and a second-chance that could be the best mistake she ever made. . .

In Sarah Hegger's latest Willow Park Romance, long-held crushes and past frenemies reunite--and wonder if there's ever a second chance to make a good first impression. . .

Holly Partridge had no plans to return to Willow Park, Illinois, until her troubled younger sister Portia fled her home and aimed herself straight at Holly's high school nemesis--too-gorgeous-to-be-true Josh Hunter. Riding a manic bipolar high, Portia's only a danger to herself, but Holly needs to find her before she crashes. That means asking Josh for help. 

The ultimate love 'em and leave 'em lothario, Josh was never good for anything but a broken heart. But now he's lending a hand when Holly needs it most--and revealing surprising generosity and compassion. Has Josh shed his bad boy ways? Or is Holly suddenly grown up enough to acknowledge her own mistakes? Trusting Josh could be a disaster--or the first step in banishing the past to make way for a future happier than Holly ever imagined. .

EXCERPT



Silence hung heavily over the phone lines. “Lucy? Lucy, are you all right?” “Um, I am.” Lucy peered into the gathering gloom nervously.

Her heart sank. Nothing outside the car had changed. The dark thing spread across the snow was definitely human shaped. The object near the human thing, wheels spinning senselessly, was the bicycle it had been riding. Riding, until someone had opened their door on it. And that someone was her. “I’ve gotta go.”

“What was that noise?”


“I doored a cyclist.”

“You what?” There was nothing dulcet or dreamy about Mads and her smoky vocal chords now.

“It seems I doored a cyclist. I’m going to have to go now.”


“Is the cyclist okay?”


“It’s moving.” Lucy stepped from the car, shut her door, and took a ginger step forward.

A soft noise rode the steady sibilance of the wind. “And I think that’s it groaning.” She held the phone out nervously at the bipedal stain in the snow. “Can you hear it?”

“I can’t hear anything but this howling noise. That’s not it, is it?”

“Nope.” Lucy was reasonably sure on this point. “That’s the wind.”

“Fuck, Illinois.”


“I know, right?” Lucy took a half shuffle closer. “I think it’s a him.”

“How do you know it’s a him? Can you see its face?”

“Nope.” Lucy blinked away a sloppy snowflake. “But it’s either a man or a very large woman, with a butt that looks like a man.” And she certainly noticed the taut, muscular lines of his thighs and ass. She tilted her head to the side to get a better look. Those were male and not too bad, current situation aside. The Thinsulate pants could not be doing much good against the cold, because they left very little to the imagination. The figure on the ground moved again and rolled carefully onto his back. Yup, that was very definitely a he and not a she.

“Uh-huh, it’s a him,” she clarified for Mads without taking her eyes off the cyclist. “Excuse me? Are you all right?”

The cyclist cursed softly.

Lucy inched a little closer, ready to launch a heroic retreat into her childhood home if the injured party got pissed at her, the front steps of which loomed tantalizingly close. Coward. Lucy tried to master her yellow streak. “Should I call nine-one-one?”

“Does he look like he needs an ambulance?” Mads asked.

“I’ll ask him.” Lucy raised her voice. “Are you hurt? Should I call nine-one-one?”


The man on the ground moaned and struggled into a sitting position.

Her victim didn’t look all that injured or dangerous, yet.

He stretched out his legs with a hiss.

“I think he’s getting up,” Lucy whispered into the phone.

“Then he can’t be too badly hurt, right?” Mads sounded hopeful. “Any blood? Exposed bones? That sort of thing?”


“I don’t see any blood.” Lucy leaned forward and peered. Now that the cyclist was moving she didn’t want to risk getting any closer. “No bones either. I think that means he might be all right.”

“I can hear you,” he spoke.

“He can hear me,” Lucy reported to Mads. “Oh.” She stopped talking and stared.

“That’s good.” Mads kept it positive.

“I think he’s going to be okay,” Lucy whispered.

The cyclist ignored her and started unbuckling his helmet.

“It’s a good thing he wore a helmet,” Lucy reported into her phone.


“Why?” Mads whispered back.

“Because it’s sort of . . . busted up.”


“And his head?”


“Seems fine.” Lucy stood on her toes for a better look. “Are you sure you’re all right?” Her voice shook slightly as she risked speaking to the cyclist.

“No thanks to you.” The man examined his helmet. He shook his head angrily.

“I didn’t see you.” Lucy kept her tone conciliatory. “You came out of nowhere.”

“Then perhaps you should stop talking on the phone and concentrate on what you’re doing.”


Lucy froze. She knew that voice. “Ah shit.”


The cyclist whipped off his goggles and tucked them into his helmet in short, angry movements.

“This is going to get ugly.” She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until Mads replied.

“Well,” Mads huffed, outraged on her behalf. “Okay, I know you hit the guy with your door. But for the love of God, what kind of dork rides a bike in a snowstorm?”


The wind dropped just then and Mad’s voice squawked out of Lucy’s phone loud and clear. The cyclist jerked his head up and Lucy swore again. All the way west in Seattle, Mads had no idea. Lucy ignored the steady stream of rationalizations coming through the phone as her stomach sped south, into her boots.

“Bye,” she whispered and hung up.

The man in the snow had gone dead still. His gaze locked on her like a heat-seeking missile. And Lucy knew he knew that she knew and he knew that she knew he knew. Or something. Her mind went blank. There must be something to say in situations like this, but she had nothing. She stared at him and he stared right back.

“What the hell are you doing here?” All things considered it was a very reasonable question.





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About the author:
Who am I?

Born British and raised in South Africa, Sarah Hegger suffers from an incurable case of wanderlust. Her match? A hot Canadian engineer, whose marriage proposal she accepted six short weeks after they first met. Together they’ve made homes in seven different cities across three different continents (and back again once or twice). If only it made her multilingual, but the best she can manage is idiosyncratic English, fluent Afrikaans, conversant Russian, pigeon Portuguese, even worse Zulu and enough French to get herself into trouble.

Mimicking her globe trotting adventures, Sarah’s career path began as a gainfully employed actress, drifted into public relations, settled a moment in advertising, and eventually took root in the fertile soil of her first love, writing. She also moonlights as a wife and mother.

She currently lives in Littleton, Colorado, with her teenage daughters, two Golden Retrievers and aforementioned husband. Part footloose buccaneer, part quixotic observer of life, Sarah’s restless heart is most content when reading or writing books.

She loves to hear from readers and you can find her at any of the places below.


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