Just My Joe. Joan Elliott PickartЧитать онлайн книгу.
Excerpt Letter to Reader About the Author Title Page Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Copyright
What Strange Spell Was This Refreshing, Lovely Woman Weaving Around Him?
You’d better watch your step, Dillon, Joe told himself. He usually had his guard up automatically when he was in the company of single women.
But with Polly? She was so open and honest, so far removed from the social set he was accustomed to. He found himself relaxing, just being himself, Joe Dillon, exactly as he was.
Oh, yeah. He most definitely had better watch his step in regard to Polly Chapman. He was treading on foreign turf, where lurking in the shadows there was danger of losing his heart before he knew what hit him....
Dear Reader,
Spring is in the air—and all thoughts turn toward love. With six provocative romances from Silhouette Desire, you too can enjoy a season of new beginnings...and happy endings!
Our March MAN OF THE MONTH is Lass Small’s The Best Husband in Texas. This sexy rancher is determined to win over the beautiful widow he’s loved for years! Next, Joan Elliott Pickart returns with a wonderful love story—Just My Joe. Watch sparks fly between handsome, wealthy Joe Dillon and the woman he loves.
Don’t miss Beverly Barton’s new miniseries, 3 BABIES FOR 3 BROTHERS, which begins with His Secret Child. The town golden boy is reunited with a former flame—and their child. Popular Anne Marie Winston offers the third tide in her BUTLER COUNTY BRIDES series, as a sexy heroine forms a partnership with her lost love in The Bride Means Business. Then an expectant mom matches wits with a brooding rancher in Carol Grace’s Expecting.... And Virginia Dove debuts explosively with The Bridal Promise, when star-crossed lovers marry for convenience.
This spring, please write and tell us why you read Silhouette Desire books. As part of our 20th anniversary celebration in the year 2000, we’d like to publish some of this fan mail in the books—so drop us a line, tell us how long you’ve been reading Desire books and what you love about the series. And enjoy our March titles!
Regards,
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269 Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Just My Joe
Joan Elliott Pickart
About the Author
JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART is the author of over seventy novels. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys watching football, knitting, reading, gardening and attending craft shows on the town square. Joan has three all-grown-up daughters and a fantastic little grandson. In September of 1995, Joan traveled to China to adopt her fourth daughter, Autumn. Joan and Autumn have settled into their cozy cottage in a charming small town in the high pine country of Arizona.
For Dana, a woman of courage
beyond measure. I love you, dear friend.
One
“Call the cops. Call the cops.”
Polly Chapman rolled her eyes heavenward as she heard the scratchy-voice command.
“Hush, Jazzy,” Polly said, then pressed on the brake as she came to a red light The ancient van she was driving shuddered and shook as it idled. “We have no need for an officer of the law.” She glanced quickly around the shabby neighborhood. “Well, not at the moment, anyway. Hold that thought, though.”
“Call the cops,” Jazzy squawked.
“Oh, brother,” Polly muttered, starting off again as the light turned green. -
She shot a glare at the talkative creature in the passenger seat. Jazzy was a brightly colored and definitely opinionated macaw that was traveling in a large, bellshaped cage. His feathers were glossy, vibrant shades of green, orange, red and yellow, and he was perched on a swing in the middle of the cage, as though determined not to miss seeing anything that might be happening.
At the next red light, Polly shifted in her seat as much as the seat belt would allow, making certain that all the doors of the vehicle were securely locked.
It had taken over an hour to drive from the northwest section of Tucson to the far south side. Now with each passing block, bleak poverty seemed to shout at her from all directions.
The buildings were old and many were decorated with sprawling graffiti, the message not always discernable. Some of the windows of stores were boarded, others whitewashed, then suddenly there would appear a store with a faded Open sign hanging on the door.
Polly frowned in dismay as she saw several people curled up in doorways, either sleeping or simply ignoring the dismal world around them. A few people strolled along the trash-cluttered sidewalk, obviously in no rush to get where they were going.
She’d heard of south Tucson, of course, but she’d never had any reason to come into this area. It had a reputation of a high crime rate, gangs on the prowl and danger. Now that she was there, she most definitely wished that she wasn’t.
She glanced quickly at the map drawn on a piece of paper next to her on the seat, then began to look for street signs, many of which were missing from the metal poles.
With a sigh of relief, Polly found the street she was seeking and turned right, the map indicating that she should go five blocks to reach her destination.
A cloud settled over the sun, dropping a gray curtain on the area and emphasizing the dreary aura of the residential neighborhood she was now driving through. The houses were small, some exhibiting an attempt at pride of ownership, others seeming to shout the message of a total lack of caring.
Polly shivered, partly from the cool temperature of the overcast November day, and partly