Sea Glass Sunrise
The Brides of Blueberry Cove # 1
By: Donna Kauffman
Releasing May 26, 2015
Zebra
Sea Glass Sunrise
The Brides Of Blueberry Cove Series
In seaside Blueberry Cove, Maine, friends are just another word for family, and big-city politics take a backseat to local pride. But the real treasure on these shores is always love…
When D.C. lawyer Hannah McCrae heads home for her brother’s wedding, she’s dragging a lot of baggage along with her—and she doesn’t mean suitcases. Betrayed personally, and humiliated professionally, the last thing she wants is a new man. That’s fine with square-jawed, rugged contractor Calder Blue. He and Hannah may be wildly attracted to one another, but all he wants is to build the town’s hotly contested new yacht club and mend a centuries-old family feud. Yet thanks to resentments old and new, day after day the pair wind up tangled in each other’s business—and maybe soon in each other’s arms.
Every bride needs something “blue”…
Calder
Blue wasn’t sure if the woman still strapped in the driver’s seat
of the banged-up Audi was waving at him or blocking the sun from her
eyes, but he didn’t wave back. He also didn’t take his eyes off
her, though he couldn’t have said exactly why.
She
wasn’t his type. On first glance, she was all money and status and
high maintenance wrapped up in the veneer of fierce independence. She
hadn’t wasted any time making sure he knew she was perfectly
capable of taking care of herself, despite glaring evidence to the
contrary. In his experience, women like that always ended up being
the clingiest, the neediest, though they’d deny it to their dying
breath. They shoved that fierce independence front and center like a
thick, impenetrable wall, then all but begged a man to batter his way
through it. In reality, that wall would always turn out to be a thin,
barely held together smokescreen designed to hide things like
deep-seated insecurity, massive self-doubt, and low self-esteem. When
that wobbly facade came tumbling down—and it always did—the
real-world light would then shine into all those hidden neurotic
nooks and crannies.
Give
him a down-to-earth, capable woman who didn’t waste time labeling
things or shoving anything in anyone’s face, but simply took care
of business because that was how the world turned, offering a hand
when she could, taking a hand when she needed one. A smile, a wave of
thanks, or you’re welcome was all that was needed. No endless
analysis of every little thing. Not giving a damn what anyone else
thought of her. That, to him, was true independence.
And
yet, he didn’t look away. From the once-shiny car, or the tailored
clothes and tasteful, understated jewelry she wore. Her sleek, dark
hair was pulled neatly back in an expensive-looking gold clasp. Hair
that hadn’t dared get even a little mussed up despite an exploding
air bag. Her face . . . well, for the moment, that was a different
story. It was going to be a little tender for a while. He didn’t
think her nose was broken, just lacerated, but he wouldn’t be
surprised if she was sporting a pair of shiners by this time
tomorrow. Even with the cut to the bridge of her nose, the partly
swollen lip, and the slightly wild look in those dark blue eyes of
hers, she was an elegant, cool beauty. A stunner, actually, in every
sense of the word. Lord only knows the issues you’ve got,
sweetheart, but I bet most men wouldn’t think twice before trying
to breach your walls.
Given
the way she’d coolly instructed him to be on his way, despite very
clearly not being anywhere close to fine, he’d bet her walls were a
little more solidly constructed than most, probably from years of
practice. Well, he wasn’t most men, and those thick walls didn’t
represent a challenge so much as a screaming red flag. One he was
more than happy to accept at face value.
So
no, he didn’t wave back. He did curse under his breath, however,
when he realized he was checking her raised hand for a wedding ring.
“Jesus, Blue, don’t you ever learn?” he muttered to himself,
then turned his back to her as he slid his phone out of his pocket.
Before
he could dial for help, the sound of tires spitting gravel had him
turning around again. What is it with the folks in this town? He
caught sight of a little green Prius swerving from the middle of the
intersection to the side of the road where he’d parked his truck,
barely missing clipping the front bumper before it came to a stop,
half on the road and half off. Can’t anyone here read a damn stop
sign?
A
woman of shorter-than-average height with a compact, curvy frame
popped out of the car. She had a wild mass of dark curls sprouting
every which direction and was wearing a—what the hell was she
wearing? It was a fulllength formal dress, rose colored and shiny,
really shiny, as if it was made out of satin. On crack. There was
some sort of off-the-shoulder thing going on and a hideous, mutant
flower made of the same unnatural material, only a few shades darker,
attached to the other shoulder. The whole of she was a good half
dozen years or more past prom age.
Carrie:
The Reunion, he thought, somewhat morbidly fascinated.
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