Big Girls Don't Cry. Brenda NovakЧитать онлайн книгу.
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Praise for Brenda Novak
“Novak perfectly captures the feel of small-town life, and her powerful story of two lonely, fragile people who find another chance at love is a sweetly satisfying and richly rewarding romance.”
—Booklist on Stranger in Town
“This story should appeal to readers who like their romances with a sophisticated touch.”
—Library Journal on Snow Baby
“A one-sitting read! Kudos to Brenda Novak for an insightful and emotional story that tore at my heartstrings.”
—The Best Reviews on A Baby of Her Own
“Once again, Brenda Novak delivers a stunningly magical performance.”
—Wordweaving on A Family of Her Own
“Novak’s story is richly dramatic, with a stark setting that distinguishes it nicely from the lusher world of other romances.”
—Publishers Weekly on Taking the Heat
“Readers will be quickly drawn in to this well-written, multi-faceted story that is an engrossing, compelling read.”
—Library Journal on Taking the Heat
“Cold Feet left me breathless. Any book by Brenda Novak is a must-buy for me.”
—Reader to Reader Reviews
“Brenda Novak spins a taut, spine-tingling story with imagery so vivid it leaves you breathless.”
—New York Times bestselling author Christine Feehan on Every Waking Moment (HQN Books)
Dear Reader,
Little did I know when I set out to write this story that I was plunging myself into such a complex situation. But then, I must like getting in over my head. Those of you who’ve read my other stories can probably attest to the fact that they occasionally stretch the boundaries of series romance. Anyway, poor Reenie has her hands full in this book—but don’t worry, I manage to make it up to her in the end. Not everyone deserves a guy like Isaac.
Of all the books I’ve written, I have to admit that I’m probably most curious about reader response to this one. I wonder what people will think of Keith—crucify him or forgive him? And Elizabeth—does she deserve her own happily ever after? Then there’s the old conflict between Gabe and the half sister he never knew….
I always enjoy returning to Dundee. I hope this has become a comfortable place for you, too…a bit like returning home.
If you have access to a computer, don’t forget to visit my Web site at www.brendanovak.com and enter my Contest Bonanza, where you can win one of several fabulous prizes, including autographed books, See’s Candies, Waldenbooks gift certificates, dinners at Chili’s Bar & Grill—and a $500 shopping spree at the store of winner’s choice! Also, I love to hear from readers, so feel free to e-mail me from my Web site or write to me at P.O. Box 3781, Citrus Heights, CA 95611.
Until next time,
Brenda Novak
Big Girls Don’t Cry
Brenda Novak
To my editor, Paula Eykelhof, who has been instrumental
in making the Harlequin Superromance line what it is today. I’m sure I speak for all the authors you’ve worked with over the years when I thank you for your willingness to take a few calculated risks, for your commitment to good quality writing and meaningful stories, and for being such a pleasure to know. On a more personal note, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the confidence you’ve had in me and the support you’ve given me. We’ve already done nineteen books together, but I’m looking forward to at least twenty more!
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER ONE
Los Angeles, California
KEITH O’CONNELL WAS LYING. Isaac Russell could tell.
Surprised, he slowly lowered his fork while studying his brother-in-law’s face. Keith wouldn’t meet Isaac’s eyes. He wouldn’t look at Elizabeth, either. And there were other signs. The way he hunched his shoulders and kept fidgeting with his hands, constantly moving through the stack of mail near the telephone as if he hadn’t gone through it twice already. The slowness of his responses. Even the irritation in Keith’s bearing bothered Isaac, because it indicated that he didn’t like being questioned.
And yet the subject was so innocuous….
“From the sound of it, the accident was horrendous.” Elizabeth seemed oblivious to her husband’s discomfort as she added another pancake to Isaac’s plate. “I was surprised that you didn’t mention it.”
Isaac was too full to eat any more, but he said nothing. He waited for Keith’s answer, hoping that he was somehow misinterpreting his brother-in-law’s body language.
“What?” Keith finally glanced up as though he’d lost track of the conversation in his preoccupation with the mail. But it was obvious—at least to Isaac—that every word had registered.
“That forty-five-car pileup in Sacramento,” Elizabeth responded. “You never said a word about it.”
“Oh…well, they had it mostly cleared away by the time I came through,” he said, his voice low and noncommittal.
Isaac saw the confusion in Elizabeth’s hazel eyes. Carrying her own plate to the table, she scowled at her husband. “But the paper said it took the better part of a day before they could open the freeway. How did you get through? Traffic was stopped for miles. I saw a picture.”
Another strained silence, then he muttered, “It must’ve happened before I got there, honey.”
Isaac was tempted to look away to avoid what he was seeing. If his sister was having problems in her marriage, he didn’t want to know. He wanted to continue to believe she’d met the man of her dreams and would live happily ever after.
But he couldn’t ignore the warning signs. Elizabeth was his only sibling. He’d taken care of her through the dark years after their mother had died, when he was fourteen and she was eleven. They’d gone to live with their father and Luanna, the woman he’d married, and Luanna’s son, Marty, who was younger and far more spoiled than they’d been. Isaac was the one who’d hurt for Elizabeth when the other girls made fun of her long, spindly legs and uncoordinated movements. He was the one who’d bought her tampons when she started her period and tried to explain how to use them. He was the one who’d gotten her a date for her sophomore homecoming dance. The following year, once she turned sixteen and lost that coltish look, he didn’t have to worry about twisting anyone’s arm to generate male interest. The boys were standing in line by then. But that only meant he’d