Willow Park Romance # 1
By: Sarah Hegger
Releasing 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…
Book Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wnj4IHOhcuU
Link to Follow Tour: http://www.tastybooktours.com/2014/12/nobodys-angel-willow-park-1-by-sarah.html
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 Draper, Utah, 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.
Rafflecopter Giveaway (Including: (1) $20.00 Amazon Gift Card, (3) $10.00 Amazon Gift Cards, Five Print Copies of NOBODY’S ANGEL (Or Digital for Int. winners))
And of course, his pisser of a day would not be complete without a visit from his mother. And Richard knew from the moment he saw her marching toward the front porch, Donna had heard the news.
“Hello, darling.” She gave him that special smile he’d been getting since she fetched him after his first day of kindergarten. Donna was not a beautiful woman, but it was easy to forget that in the charming symmetry of her neat, delicate features. Her eyes were the same as those he saw in the mirror, the sort of clear, impenetrable blue that was not merely a shade of green in disguise.
Her skin was flawless and her bone structure good, if a little too definite for feminine beauty. But it was her smile that drew people to Donna. It appeared as suddenly as the sun through the clouds and was as welcome. She turned that celestial grin on him now, but Richard wasn’t fooled.
“You’ve heard.” He folded his arms over his chest and planted himself in the middle of the Oriental rug Ashley had insisted would give the entrance hall a “pop” of color. Whatever that meant. Beige was good enough for him; it went with the wood and the walls.
“Are we really going to do this tonight?” Richard wasn’t buying the vague thing for a second. Donna was her most penetrating and deadly like this. His mother looked up at him, her smile at half wattage, but just as charming. “I’ve had a living shit of a day, I’m tired and I’m hungry and I don’t feel like playing games.”
“You never did feel like playing games, Richard.” She used the mother voice that took all the starch out of his shorts and made him want to squirm. “Even as a little boy. You were always so serious.” She amped up on the friendly and waved a shopping bag at him. “And I brought dinner with me.”
“What is it?” Richard eyed the bag warily; man enough to know the way to his heart and not too proud to go with it.
“Spaghetti and meatballs.” She had him and her eyes told him so.
“Your spaghetti and meatballs?” He would at least go down swinging.
“Richard Hunter,” she said, taking a menacing step forward. “Have I ever, ever fed you store-bought spaghetti and meatballs?”
“Non, maman, je m’excuse.”
The French got her every time and she melted like a snowball in front of him. Richard could reach out and touch the glory now.
“Verse-moi un verre se vin, espèce d’enfant ingrat.”
Yes, indeed, her ungrateful child would pour her a glass of wine. The prospect of a good feed always made Donna’s boys more malleable.
“So, tell me?” Donna settled on the opposite side of his kitchen table.
More of those “pops” of color in the bright, green flower things on the seats. He didn’t get it. He really hated those cushions, he realized, as he watched Donna get comfortable. He didn’t like flowers and he especially didn’t like flowers that looked like they should be painted on the side of a sixties passion wagon.
Stripes. He dug into his dinner with relish. What he needed in this room was something manly, like stripes. And not in that girly green color either. Blue. Blue stripes. When Ashley came back, he would speak to her about it. Make her see that stripes were a much better option. That settled, he risked looking over the edge of his wineglass at his mother.
Donna looked at him, her eyes unfathomable but full of love, and Richard sighed. Her love wound around him like a spider’s web and he knew she would outpossum him.
He tried for nonchalant. “She’s back.”
Donna, however, had the advantage of having handled him since the day his ass was cracked and she sat perfectly still and waited.
“Aw, jeez, Ma. What do you want me to tell you? Lucy Flint is back.”
“I want you to tell me how you feel, Richard.” Donna took a hefty sip of her wine.
“I am a guy,” he barked at her. “We don’t have feelings. We have urges.”
“Richard, tu me tapes sur les nerf, fais pas le niaiseux et dis-moi ce que tu penses de tous ça.” It all came out in a torrent and he knew he was beat. She was not going to back down and Donna could turn this into the War of 1812 if she chose to.
“All right.” He threw up his hands in disgust. His fork clattered noisily against the side of the bowl. “She’s back and she’s as beautiful as ever. No.” He slashed his hand decisively through the air. “She’s even more beautiful. Leave it to Lucy not to get fat or dumpy looking. She’s smoking hot and just as deadly.”
“And you feel?”