* * * * *
Ritcherd entered the house to find Daisy busy in the kitchen. She glanced his way and gave a terse, “Hello.”
“Hello,” he said. “Is there something I can do to help?”
“I can manage, thank you.”
Ritcherd wondered if their conversation earlier was the cause for the tension he could feel between them. Or perhaps Kyrah had told Daisy something about him that might have made her dislike him. Impulsively he decided to just say, “I get the feeling at times that you don’t like me.”
She looked momentarily astonished, then she chuckled and returned her attention to the potatoes she was peeling. “On the contrary, Captain, I quite like you. You must forgive me. I’m concerned for Kyrah, and work has not been going well.”
“Problems?” he asked, leaning against the counter and folding his arms.
“I’m just a bit fed up with arrogant British officers. I’d like to give every one of them a bloody nose. They’ve apparently chosen my tavern to unwind, and in my opinion, they’re all a bunch of . . .” She hesitated and glanced at him. “Sorry,” she said. “I forgot.”
“Forgot what?” he asked, testing her.
“That you’re a British officer.”
“Technically, yes,” he said. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’ve known a number of other British officers that have made me want to give them a bloody nose.” He chuckled and was pleased to see Daisy smile. “And I can’t say that I haven’t offended any number of people I’ve encountered in my life. If Kyrah was honest, she’d tell you I’m arrogant and often unkind. And Captain Garret would tell you I have a nasty temper.” She smiled again and he added, “You do know Captain Garret, don’t you.”
“Yes, I know him,” she admitted, her smile deepening. “We’re friends,” she added with a contradictory glimmer in her eyes.
“Friends?” he echoed dubiously.
Daisy sighed. “Now, give me one good reason why I should be telling you about my relationship with some audacious brute like Garret.”
Ritcherd laughed, trying to imagine his friend being an audacious brute. “Because I know him well enough to know that he might be just a little audacious, but certainly not a brute. And I would wager he cares very much what happens to you.”
Daisy looked surprised and sad all at once. “Yes,” she admitted, “you’re right. He cares very much. He’s also afflicted with the same plague that afflicts most of the men who pass through my life.”
“And what’s that?”
“He’s having a passionate love affair with the sea, and he’s married to a cause. I’ve already lost one man to this cause. I won’t be giving my heart to another until I know he’s going to be there for me—every day.”
Ritcherd was so filled with compassion for this woman that he didn’t know what to say. He finally said, “Kyrah mentioned your husband had been killed. May I ask how?”
He guessed from what she’d just said that it was the war, but he didn’t like the way he felt when she said tonelessly, “Shot by a redcoat.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, hoping he knew that she meant it.
“Well,” she laughed as if to ward off the gloom of their conversation, “you didn’t shoot him.”
Ritcherd recognized a mechanical response she’d probably used hundreds of times when others had offered condolences for her husband’s death. But it struck him deeply, and he had to admit, “Maybe I did.”
Their eyes met. She looked so stunned that he almost feared she would slap him—or worse. The knife she was holding took on new meaning. But she only said, “You did what you felt you had to. Just as he did.”
“Yes, but . . . I wonder how much of war is acted out by men who blindly represent their country, with no thought as to what they’re really fighting for. Of course, most men have no choice. As you said, I did what I felt I had to do—to stay loyal to my king and country. I’ve since gained a great respect for what I was fighting against. And my deepest hope is that the colonies will not only succeed, but thrive. I’m certain your husband’s death was not in vain.”
Daisy said nothing, but her eyes revealed that she agreed. “Kyrah was right,” she said, turning her attention back to her work.
“How’s that?”
“She said you were a good man with a good heart.”
Ritcherd chuckled to ward off his embarrassment. He didn’t feel like a good man. He felt more like the current circumstances of his life—and Kyrah’s—were a manifestation of his mistakes. He changed the subject by saying, “And please . . . don’t tell any of those despicable British officers at the tavern about me.”
Daisy laughed softly. “Your secret’s safe with me.” She glanced at him again and added, “You are a lot like Garret.”
“How’s that? I’m not married to a cause. I just quietly carry my opinions. I’m not having a passionate affair with the sea.”
“No,” she said, “but you’re a turncoat and proud of it—even if you’re smart enough to know which people you won’t admit it to.”
“Yes,” he laughed, “I’m a turncoat and proud of it. But I can do a great deal more good for this cause by keeping what’s mine and staying alive.”
“Well put.”
The baby started to fuss and Daisy hurried away, wiping her hands on her apron. He followed a few minutes later and leaned unobtrusively in the doorway, watching as Daisy finished diapering the baby and gave her to Kyrah to be fed. He glanced away until she had the baby situated, and looked up again when Daisy passed by him on her way back to the kitchen. For several minutes Ritcherd just watched the woman he loved, soaking up her presence. Her tenderness with the baby brought back the gratitude he had felt in the yard. “Thank you, God,” he whispered, marveling that he could be so blessed in spite of his numerous shortcomings.
Kyrah glanced up and smiled. “Did you say something?”
Ritcherd shook his head and sauntered toward her. He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over the baby to kiss her. “I love you,” he murmured and kissed her again. He saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes before he kissed her again. She pressed a hand into his hair, and their kiss became breathless and warm.
“I love you,” she whispered, pressing her brow to his.
“Everything’s going to be all right, Kyrah,” he said.
“I want to believe that, but . . .” She left the sentence unfinished, but it clearly expressed how Ritcherd felt, too. He wanted to just bury himself in her arms and cry like a baby. He wanted to demand to know what had happened and get it all in the open—once and for all. But he swallowed his impatience along with his emotion and just held her close.
It was the following morning before he and Kyrah had a chance to really talk again. While Daisy was at the tavern and the baby slept, Kyrah became restless and frustrated with being confined to bed. Ritcherd sat close beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes before she said, “I want to hear about your adventures at sea.”
Ritcherd didn’t consider any of it an adventure, and he didn’t particularly want to talk about it. But he knew he had to talk if he expected her to. He told her some details he’d skipped before, of how he’d acquired second-hand clothes and gotten his ear pierced in order to avoid being pegged as an aristocrat. He told her of the friendship and trust he’d developed with Captain Garret, and the way George was always driving everybody crazy by bursting into rooms without knocking, and constantly teasing his shipmates. He talked about Garret teaching him to fight with his left hand, which had greatly increased his confidence after losing much of the use of his right hand in the war. He told her about Patrick, the ship’s doctor who had come to check on her while she’d been in labor, just before the Phoenix had sailed. Ritcherd had also developed a friendship with the doctor, who had put a great deal of time into teaching Ritcherd to hone his fencing skills. He also told her about Patrick being an excellent magician, continua
lly entertaining the crew with trivial feats of magic performed with everyday items. And he felt a deep gratitude as he told her how he’d learned to write better with his left hand by working at it daily in the journal Garret had given him.
Ritcherd felt the poignancy of his time at sea return as he repeated the setback of being caught in a storm, and how they’d had to go to Jamaica for repairs and supplies. He told her about the albatross following the ship, and how he’d considered it a symbol of luck. Fascinated as she was with any bird, she was enchanted with the legend he’d heard concerning the albatross—that if it followed a ship and was able to feed from the scraps thrown overboard, good luck would abound for the crew.
When he told her how it had taken several attempts to get their smuggled goods into the right hands, and the spans of time in between, she became suddenly sad. He wondered what had happened during that time, just as he wondered what exactly had spurred her to wed another man. He was just searching for the words to ask when she changed the subject.
“Why did the Phoenix have to leave so quickly?” she asked, settling her head against his shoulder.
“There was rumor that the redcoats would be in the area. Garret didn’t want to take any chances.”
Kyrah looked up at him, still trying to adjust to the changes in him. “Would that be redcoats, like unto the one you have hanging in your wardrobe back home?”
Ritcherd smiled. “The very same; although it’s now folded in a trunk.” He lifted his brows and added, “But I’m not a redcoat anymore. I’m a turncoat.”
He said it proudly and Kyrah had to say, “Just because you sailed on a privateer to come and find me doesn’t make you a turncoat.”
“No, but I’m not certain the British government would see it that way. And I own the Phoenix.”
“Still,” she said, “that doesn’t make you a turncoat.”
“No,” he drawled in a voice that heightened her curiosity.
“What are you saying?” she asked when he said nothing more.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I dearly love my homeland, and all that I have there. And I would not easily give it up. But in my heart I have come to believe in what the colonists are fighting for. And I will continue to aid their cause.”
“Ritcherd?” she said, wishing it hadn’t sounded so shocked. “You fought against the colonists. You were nearly killed—more than once.”
“I know,” he said.
“I don’t understand.”
“There is a great deal that I don’t understand as well,” he said. “But I do know this. The Americans believe in a society that is not governed by social distinction. They believe that all men—and women—are created equal. If you and I were Americans, Kyrah, the difficulties between us never would have existed. How can I possibly say that I can’t understand what they’re fighting for?” He took a deep breath, and his eyes sparkled with intensity. “What little I have done to aid their cause was only an indirect way of fighting against the injustice that separated us to begin with.”
Kyrah took a minute to drink him in. A new intensity hovered in his eyes, and it moved her. But it was evident they had crossed many bridges during their time apart. “You’ve changed,” she said, feeling a glimpse of the enormity of what lay before them.
“Yes, I have,” he said. “But the way I feel about you hasn’t changed—and it never will.”
Kyrah put her head to his shoulder again, not wanting him to see how easily her emotions came to the surface. She squeezed his hand tightly and murmured, “I love you, Ritcherd—more than ever. Thank you for coming to find me.”
“I only wish I’d gotten here sooner,” he said, hoping to turn the conversation to her reasons for marrying another man—and the horrors that had resulted.
Kyrah fought to keep her tears silent as his words urged her emotion into the open. She was in no mood to discuss the reasons that she wished he’d gotten here sooner.
Ritcherd felt Kyrah tremble only a moment before the fabric covering his shoulder turned damp. He eased back enough to look at her, but she turned away. She whimpered when he touched her chin and forced her to face him.
“What is it?” he asked. She shook her head, but he could see that she was practically choking on her tears. “Talk to me,” he insisted, trying to recall the last thing he’d said. When he did, his heart plummeted. What had happened to her that might not have happened if he’d gotten here sooner? He knew the answer—at least a good part of it. But there was still so much he didn’t understand.
“Kyrah!” He held her face in his hands and whispered intently. “Tell me what happened. I have to know,” he insisted.
Kyrah knew she had to tell him sooner or later. Knowing it couldn’t be avoided, she swallowed hard and steeled herself to just say what she had to say. As the words gathered, fresh pain came with them and she squeezed her eyes shut, unable to look at him.
“I didn’t want to marry him,” she cried. “I knew it was wrong. I knew I was being a fool. But I was just so afraid . . . and I couldn’t see any other way. I was all alone in this horrible place. I had no way of knowing if you would come for me—or if you could find me if you did.”
“It’s all right,” he murmured, easing her head to his shoulder again. The intensity of her emotion made it difficult for him to press her any further. He sighed deeply and reminded himself as well as her, “We’re together now. And everything’s going to be all right.”
He felt her nod as she started to cry again. He just held her and barely managed to keep from crying himself.
Kyrah’s exhaustion quickly became evident, and Ritcherd encouraged her to rest. He left her and the baby sleeping while he wandered the little house, contemplating the turns their lives had taken. Just as he had hundreds of times before, Ritcherd recounted the events that had led up to this horrible separation. How he wished that he’d listened to Kyrah when she’d suggested they leave the country together and get married! How he wished he had stood up to his mother more firmly! How he wished he had never allowed Kyrah to leave with the constable that night! And most of all, he wished he had minded his manners and not allowed his passion to override his judgment, leaving Kyrah to face such horrible desperation. There were so many things he’d done and said through those days that he regretted. He felt angry with himself for his own foolishness and arrogance. And yes, he had to admit, he felt angry with Kyrah for giving up on him and marrying some other man. He recalled so clearly telling her: I will see us through this. No matter how long it takes, don’t you forget that. But obviously she had forgotten. He wondered where this other man was, and felt like tearing him to pieces—whoever he might be. The horror of what he’d done to Kyrah only fueled his bitterness. But regret and anger would not undo what had been done.
Daisy came by in the evening. Ritcherd watched with anxious curiosity as she bathed the baby. He wanted to be able to help, but she was so tiny he felt he might break her. Daisy put his concerns to rest when she set the blanketed infant into his arms and left the room as she announced, “I’m going to help Kyrah get cleaned up. I’m sure you’ll manage.”
Before Ritcherd could think of a protest, the bedroom door slammed shut. He walked carefully into the parlor, relieved that the baby seemed content and relaxed—for the moment at least. He’d heard enough of her crying to know that he preferred she save it until he was not in charge. He slowly sat down and situated the baby against his arm. She was so tiny—and so beautiful. He could see a hint of Kyrah in her face, but her hair was the color of his. The reality that he had fathered this child was difficult to comprehend. Not wanting to think too deeply about that, he gathered courage and touched the soft little face and downy blonde hair.
Ritcherd dozed off until the baby began to fuss. By holding her against his shoulder and patting her back, as he’d seen Kyrah do, he managed to keep her quiet until Daisy emerged from the bedroom to rescue her from Ritcherd’s incompetence.
Through the next few days, Kyra
h mostly slept when the baby did. And she was kept preoccupied with the baby when she was awake. Daisy came in twice a day to see that they had everything they needed, and in Daisy’s absence, Ritcherd did his best to help Kyrah enough that she wouldn’t have to get out of bed. Observing Kyrah with the baby, Ritcherd felt like an outsider. He thought of the endless months he had spent searching for her, constantly worried for her welfare and aching with loneliness, wanting only to be with her and see her cared for. Well, they were together, and he couldn’t deny his relief in being able to care for her. But he knew she was struggling to feel well since the birth, and her countenance made it evident that she had suffered immensely in his absence. He felt certain her emotional well-being was ailing at least as much as her body. And in spite of their being together in the same house, he was admittedly lonely. So much had changed that he could hardly start a conversation with her that wasn’t difficult. They had talked through much of what had occurred through their separation, but somehow the emotions related to those events had been avoided. And he knew there was something she hadn’t told him. With or without the knowledge of what Daisy had shared with him, her behavior made it evident that she was keeping something from him. He felt as if he hardly knew her, when they had once been so close that they could practically read each other’s thoughts.
When Kyrah began to feel better and stay awake more, he noticed that she seemed nervous, but she avoided his attempts to inquire over the reasons. As her anxiety increased, he sat down to face her and asked outright, “What is it that has you so tense? Out with it.” She said nothing and he added, “We have to get beyond this, Kyrah. We have to learn to talk to each other again. We will never heal and build a life together if we don’t.” He softened his voice, “Now, please, tell me what’s wrong.”
Kyrah looked away as she asked, “When will the Phoenix be coming back for us?”
“I don’t know exactly, why?” She said nothing and he repeated, “Why?”
She spoke without looking at him. “He said that . . .” Ritcherd’s nerves bristled, but he kept a straight face. He knew that by he she meant her husband. And he hated the way the bare acknowledgment of this other man in her life cut him to the quick. Knowing what the man had done to her was almost unbearable.
“What?” he asked when she hesitated, wishing it hadn’t sounded so terse.
“He said he would be back after the baby came. She was born a little early, but . . .” She finally turned to meet his eyes, and the fear he saw there cut him even deeper. “We have to leave before Peter gets back. If the Phoenix doesn’t come soon, we need to go somewhere else to stay and—”
“What did you say?” Ritcherd interrupted, feeling a little sick to his stomach.
“I said if the Phoenix doesn’t—”
“Before that.” She looked confused so he clarified, “Did you say . . . Peter?” He studied her eyes. His stomach tightened and his palms sweat. “You don’t mean Peter Westman.” He shook his head but kept his eyes focused on her. “Please don’t tell me you’re talking about Peter Westman.”
She turned abruptly away, but not before he saw the truth in her eyes. “Heaven help us,” he murmured. Through the following silence, Ritcherd felt something change inside himself. In a matter of seconds, the tragedies of his life paraded through his mind. From his childhood with stony, uncaring parents, to having the woman he loved deported—and now this. He felt like the branch of a tree, continually weighted down with one heartache after another. He had bent and bent and bent and bent with each new event that had eaten away at his confidence and disheartened him further. And now . . . now he had to face a horrible new reality. And something inside him snapped. It was as if a lifetime of suppressed hurt and grief had been neatly bottled away, and now the cork had blown from the pressure.
“Is that all you have to say?” Kyrah asked when the silence grew unbearably long, and Ritcherd’s expression made it evident that he was not taking this well.
“What would you expect me to say?” he retorted in a voice so caustic that Kyrah began to tremble. She suddenly felt as if the world would come crashing down around her. The moment she had feared was upon her. Ritcherd had told her they could overcome anything as long as they were together, but she doubted he’d had any comprehension of what they were up against when he’d said it. He said nothing more, but she could feel a silent anger emanating from him that frightened her. Unable to face him any longer, she struggled to come to her feet, ignoring the pain and weakness. She felt certain that if she didn’t get out of the room, the walls themselves would smother her.
Ritcherd forced himself to his senses when it became evident just how upset Kyrah was. He reminded himself that he had to think of her well-being. He shoved his torrent of emotions back to a point where he could deal with the present and not go mad. But he doubted they would be willing to stay there for long.
“Where are you going?” he demanded when Kyrah moved gingerly toward the door, visibly trembling.
“I need some fresh air,” she insisted.
“Not at the risk of hurting yourself, you don’t,” he said and scooped her into his arms.
“Put me down!” she snapped. “I just want to get some fresh air—”
“You just want to get away from me, is what you mean,” he said, carrying her through the kitchen and out the back door.
“If that’s the kind of attitude you’re going to have, yes.”
He sat down and kept her on his lap, his arms firmly around her. “So, maybe it’s time we got all of this out in the open. Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened before you start criticizing my attitude?”
“Why should I tell you anything when you’re already angry?”
“And why shouldn’t I be angry?” he snarled, holding her tighter to keep her from squirming away. “How am I supposed to feel? The woman I love is not only married to another man, she’s married to a lowlife, snaky imbecile.”
“You don’t have to tell me what kind of man he is,” she growled with an edge of self-recrimination. “Would you prefer that I had actually grown to care for someone? Would you want me to be running from a kind and decent man who had given everything to save me?”
“No, of course not, but . . .” he growled and bit his tongue from saying that at least a kind and decent man wouldn’t have beaten and abandoned her.
“But what? Why don’t you just say what you’re thinking and get it over with!”
He sighed again. He couldn’t tell her what he was really thinking, so he forced the anger out of his voice and simply asked, “Why, Kyrah?”
“I already told you why.”
“You were in trouble. You were alone. But . . . why Peter Westman? Did he threaten you?”
“No,” her voice became distant, almost cold, “what he did was far worse.” She turned to look at him. “He made me believe that he actually cared.”
Ritcherd tried to think that through, but he had to say, “I don’t understand, Kyrah.”
“Well, I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
Ritcherd wanted to protest, but he reasoned that they should stick to the matters at hand. “So, where is he now?”
“I have no idea. But he told me he’d be back . . . when the baby was no longer a problem.”
“He said that?”
“Something to that affect. He told me he had a pretty good idea when it would come, and then he’d be back.”
“Well, then we’d better get packed,” Ritcherd said, forcing his mind away from his desire to kill Peter Westman with his bare hands.
“Where will we go?” she asked while he carried her back into the house and set her on the edge of the bed. “How will Garret find us when he comes back?”
“He’ll find Daisy. She can tell him. We’ll get some rooms at a boarding house. I have no intention of letting that man anywhere near you—ever again. And while Daisy’s here this afternoon, I’m going into town.” If nothing else, knowing what he knew now gave
him enough information to get started on something that he’d been aching to do since the moment she’d told him she wanted a divorce—even before the baby was born.
Kyrah was surprised when he asked her some specific questions about when and where she’d been married. She sensed his purpose but had to ask, “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to talk to a lawyer,” was all he said.
Kyrah supervised from the bed while Ritcherd gathered her things and helped pack them. She tallied all she had and what she might need for the trip, making a list that Ritcherd took with him when he went into town.
Kyrah didn’t realize how nervous she’d become until Daisy startled her. “Good heavens, honey. Are you really that scared he’ll come back?”
Kyrah had to admit, “I have this feeling . . . just like the feeling I had before I was arrested and deported. We just have to get out of here. That’s all I can say.”
“Well, that’s all fine and good,” Daisy said, “but you’ve got to stop being so afraid of him. I thought you’d gotten past that.”
“I thought I had, too,” she admitted. But it was as if giving birth had made her more vulnerable—or perhaps simply more aware of her vulnerability. The experience had made her feel so completely helpless, and her recovery had been slow and painful. Beyond that, the love and responsibility she felt for her daughter made her feel all the more penetrable. She couldn’t put her feelings into words enough to explain them. She only knew that she never wanted to see Peter face-to-face again as long as she lived. In her view, they couldn’t get out of this town quickly enough.
Ritcherd was gone for several hours, but he returned with everything that Kyrah had asked for and more. Along with some beautiful ready-made clothes he had bought for the baby, he tossed a packet of papers onto the bed.
“What is this?” Kyrah asked.
“I had some papers drawn up for your divorce. There’s a waiting period, but he’s got everything ready for it to be finished up once we get to England. I’ll get my solicitor on it as soon as we get back.”
Kyrah sighed deeply and closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, trying to comprehend the relief she would feel to be free of Peter.
“And then I’ll adopt the baby,” he said.
Her eyes flew open. She resisted the urge to let her jaw fall. “What do you mean you’ll adopt the baby?”
“If you’re married to another man, the baby’s name will be the same as his. I want her to be a Buchanan.”
“Of course,” Kyrah said, unable to define the uneasiness she felt from his statement—or perhaps it was more his attitude. He’d been kind and supportive with the baby, but there was something subtly unnatural in his attitude toward her. She reasoned that it would take time for him to adjust to the idea of being a parent. She’d had several months to be prepared; she had to allow him the same.
“What are you going to name her?” he asked, attempting to lighten the mood.
“I had an idea that I was a bit skeptical about,” she said, “but now that I’ve gotten to know her, I’m convinced it’s right.”
“What is it?” he asked when she seemed hesitant.
“Avocet,” Kyrah said, and Ritcherd chuckled.
“It’s, uh . . . certainly . . . unique.”
“If you don’t like it . . .”
“No, it’s fine,” he said, trying to keep an open mind. “But where did you come up with a name like Avocet?”
“An avocet is a shore bird,” Kyrah explained. “I watched them every day while I was waiting at the pier, and they gave me hope that you would find me.”
Ritcherd smiled, albeit sadly. “I should have known,” he said, “that you’d name your baby after a bird.” Kyrah shrugged and he went on, “It’s a nice enough name, but isn’t it a bit long for such a little girl?”
“I was thinking we would call her Cetty.” Kyrah touched the baby’s face then looked up at Ritcherd. “Is that all right with you?”
Ritcherd smiled and said, “Yes, that’s fine with me.” He bent and kissed Cetty’s little head before he looked into Kyrah’s eyes. For a moment her fears and concerns fell into perspective.
“I love you, Ritcherd,” she whispered and touched his face.
“And I love you,” he said before he kissed her.
Kyrah could almost feel his love pour into her through his kiss. And she felt a step closer to reconciling what the past months had put between them when he added, “And I love Cetty, too.”
END OF SAMPLE. To purchase Captive Hearts, please visit your ebook store. Or continue to the next page to read more about the author and her books.
About the Author
Anita Stansfield is the author of more than fifty novels, and her work has received many awards. Her books range from contemporary to historical and cover a wide gamut of social and emotional issues, woven into unique plots with unforgettable characters. She is also the mother of five. Look for her at AnitaStansfield.com or on Facebook.
BOOKS BY ANITA STANSFIELD
Byrnehouse-Davies & Hamilton Contemporary Series
First Love and Forever 1994
First Love, Second Chances 1995
Now and Forever 1996
By Love and Grace 1996
A Promise of Forever 1997
Home for Christmas 1997
Trevor Family Saga, Contemporary
Return to Love 1997
To Love Again 1998
When Forever Comes 1998
A Christmas Melody 1998
For Love Alone 1999
Byrnehouse-Davies & Hamilton Historical Prequel Series
The Gable Faces East 1999
The Three Gifts of Christmas 1999
Gables Against the Sky 2000
Gables of Legacy, Six Volumes, Contemporary
(Continuing Story of Byrnehouse-Davies & Hamilton Family)
Volume I, The Guardian 2002
Volume II, A Guiding Star 2002
Volume III, The Silver Linings 2003
Volume IV, An Eternal Bond 2003
Volume V, The Miracle 2003
Volume VI, Full Circle 2005
The Buchanan Saga, Four Volumes, Historical
The Captain of Her Heart 2004
Captive Hearts 2004
The Captain’s Angel 2004
Hearts Crossed 2005
Dance Series (Keane-Morrison Family), Contemporary
Timeless Waltz 2005
A Time to Dance 2006
Dancing in the Light 2006
A Dance to Remember 2006
Barrington Family Saga, Four Volumes, Historical
Volume I, In Search of Heaven 2007
Volume II, A Quiet Promise 2007
Volume III, At Heaven's Door 2007
Volume IV, Promise of Zion 2008
The Jayson Wolfe Story, Five Volumes, Contemporary
The Sound of Rain 2008
A Distant Thunder 2008
The Winds of Hope 2009
Shelter from the Storm 2009
The Silence of Snow 2009
The Dickens Inn Series, Five Volumes, Contemporary
Volume I, The Best of Times 2009
Volume II, A Far, Far Better Place 2010
Volume III, A Loving Heart 2010
Volume IV, Tranquil Light 2010
Volume V, Every Graceful Fancy 2010
Shadows of Brierley, Four Volumes, Historical
Volume I, The Wanderer 2011
Volume II, A Far Horizon 2011
Volume III, A Distant Shore 2011
Volume IV, In the Valley of the Mountains 2011
Other Historical Titles
Towers of Brierley (Prequel to Shadows
of Brierley Series), 2000
Where the Heart Leads, 2001
When Hearts Meet, 2001
Emma, Woman of Faith: A Biographical Novel, 2008
Passage on the Titanic, 2012
Other Contemporary Titles
A Star in Winter, 2000
Someone to Hold, 2002
The Wishing Garden, 2012
Nonfiction
Reflections, A Collection of Personal Essays 2002
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends