That Summer Place: Island Time / Old Things / Private Paradise. Сьюзен ВиггсЧитать онлайн книгу.
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PRAISE FOR THE AUTHORS
DEBBIE MACOMBER
“Popular romance writer Macomber has a gift for evoking the emotions that are at the heart of the genre’s popularity.”
—Publishers Weekly
“One of Macomber’s great strengths is her insight into human behavior—both admirable and ignoble.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
SUSAN WIGGS
Wiggs writes “a flawless story touched by real emotions.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Susan Wiggs is a superb storyteller.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
JILL BARNETT
“Barnett has a rare knack for humor. Her characters are joyously fresh and her style is a delight to read—a ray of summer sun.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Five Gold Stars! This is one delightfully funny read with witty, witty dialogue.”
—Heartland Critiques on Surrender a Dream
That Summer Place
Old Things
Jill Barnett
Private Paradise
Debbie Macomber
Island Time
Susan Wiggs
Also by Susan Wiggs
The Lakeshore Chronicles SUMMER AT WILLOW LAKE THE WINTER LODGE DOCKSIDE AT WILLOW LAKE SNOWFALL AT WILLOW LAKE FIRESIDE LAKESHORE CHRISTMAS The Tudor Rose Trilogy AT THE KING’S COMMAND THE MAIDEN’S HAND AT THE QUEEN’S SUMMONS Contemporary HOME BEFORE DARK THE OCEAN BETWEEN US SUMMER BY THE SEA TABLE FOR FIVE LAKESIDE COTTAGE JUST BREATHE All available in eBook.
CONTENTS
Old Things
Jill Barnett
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
Epilogue
Private Paradise
Debbie Macomber
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Island Time
Susan Wiggs
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Old Things
Jill Barnett
Dear Reader,
Have you ever visited a place you’ve never been to before and found that you felt as if you were home? That’s what happened to me the first time I came to the Pacific Northwest. It doesn’t seem that long ago that I stepped off a ferry and found a paradise.
A few months later I’d bought a house overlooking a lovely harbor where the eagles fly and the sailboats drift by, where there is a sense of utter peace and quiet. Although I was born and raised on the West Coast, for me, my small chunk of this wonderful island is the most beautiful place I’ve ever lived.
Writing about an area that has captured my heart so completely has been very special for me. Oh, I’ve written about islands before. I’ve set four books on small islands and have even joked that I must have been an island in a past life. But this is my first contemporary work of fiction, and it’s set in a place where I live.
I feel so fortunate to have the opportunity to write for a collection with two fabulous and talented Northwest writers, who are now my good friends. Both Susan and Debbie welcomed me here with open arms and graciousness.
So I hope, as you read the stories, you will see a little of what we get to see every day—trees so lush and tall they can block out the sunshine, water so still you are afraid to breathe, and sunrises so perfect you think you must have dreamed them.
Enjoy!
Jill Barnett
c/o Rowe Enterprises
P.O. Box 8166
Fremont, CA 94536
To the readers who wanted an older couple,
particularly to Barbara,
who wrote and sent me one of the
funniest poems I’ve ever read.
One
San Francisco, 1997
Catherine Wardwell Winslow spent a week last winter at a time management seminar where the experts stood up on a big stage and told her that Wednesday was the slowest day of the work week.
They lied.
Catherine rested her chin in her hand and stared at her phone. It was a Wednesday, barely nine in the morning, and already four of the five phone lines were frantically blinking. She didn’t know which one to answer first. So she didn’t answer any of them.
Her life would be so much easier if she were one of those robots you see in the cartoons, the kind with slot machine eyes, a ball-bearing nose, and those spindly metal arms and slinky legs that jerk with every movement.
Like Rosie the Robot in The Jetsons.
But Catherine wasn’t in a space-age home that looked like the Space Needle. She was in her San Francisco office on the third floor of a restored Victorian. The building was just one of many candy-colored, gabled houses on a steep and narrow street that now held offices for dentists, attorneys and other professionals.
The last line buzzed obnoxiously and began to blink like the others.