A coincidence is God’s way of staying anonymous.
Buying the 1920s farmhouse south of Phoenix, where the rumors of John Dillinger’s gang hid out in the 30s, is supposed to be Grace Evanheart’s way of escaping an old romance. When she finds an ancient diary with a map under the bedroom’s floorboard, the rumors solidify into fact. She doesn’t know who to trust with the news; Micah Stevens, the handsome deputy and the great grandson of the original landowners with whom she’s attracted, or Jerry, the young historian who seems too intent on learning about her new home?
Micah seems convinced their paths cross exactly at the right time and in the right place for them to fall in love. Now he just has to convince Grace of the same thing before suspicions of his real motive have her running again.
"Debra lives in Southwest Arizona, and has been married to Mike for 36 years. She's the mother of two awesome sons, who married their forever loves, and she's a grandmother to three beautiful grandchildren with one more on the way.
Debra wrote her first novella thirteen years ago just for grins. That brief taste into the world of an author started an undeniable writing obsession rivaling only her love of chocolate. She's an award-winning fine artist, and loves traveling with her husband."
Facts about the Author:
1. When I am not writing, I like to .... do artwork and craft.
2. I am working on ... the rough draft of Window of Darkness, book 3 in the Window of Time trilogy. Since it’s about a serial killer, this is my most difficult piece to date.
Connect with the Author:
Micah leaned his hip against the cabinet, tucking his thumbs into his pockets. “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”
Heat filled my face at his assumption. I opened the freezer compartment and looked inside. “What makes you think I don’t?” Two empty ice trays sat on a small shelf. I grabbed them so I could hide my embarrassment. I felt unworthy of love. Being dumped by David had been hard on my ego.
“It doesn’t really make sense because you’re so pretty, but if you’d had one, he would be here helping you instead of me.”
Even his compliment couldn’t cool the heat of the blush in my face. I twisted the cold-water faucet open, holding the tray beneath the stream, and listened to the clanking and groaning the pipes produced along with the water. “Why don’t I have a boyfriend? Huh, I guess you’d have to ask my ex-boyfriend that question. He . . . sort of . . .”
I took a deep breath, set the tray down in the sink and turned to look directly into Micah’s face. I hadn’t said it out loud since that night back in the apartment, when I’d poured my heart out to Chelsea, and I was curious to see Micah’s reaction. “He dumped me.” His brows went up marginally, and his eyes studied my face. He must have been looking for the hidden warts. “No, I don’t know why,” I said to his unasked question. “But it could possibly be because he didn’t want any deeper commitment than a girlfriend, and I was ready for more.”
I paced across the kitchen floor, the heels of my boots thudding like a hammer with every step. “We were together for two years, and suddenly he just wanted to be friends.” I turned and walked in the other direction. The kitchen wasn’t that big. “When a man says those words to a woman, the woman knows he doesn’t actually want to be friends.” I turned and marched back the other way. “We know what it means.”
“What does it mean?” Micah’s voice was quiet and gentle.
“That . . . that he never loved me.” I guessed at where the kitchen door was. I couldn’t see it through the stupid, self-pitying tears filling my eyes, blinding me. As I rushed outside I said, “I want to bring in the stove next.”
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