MY HIGHLAND LOVER – On sale March 24, 2015
About the book –
Maeve Greyson unleashes a thrilling tale of magic and desire as a feisty Southern gal falls into the arms of a rough-hewn Highland chieftain.
As the proprietor of a homeopathic store in rural Kentucky, Trulie Sinclair knows that her neighbors think she’s strange—but they have no idea how strange she really is. Trulie was born in Scotland in the thirteenth century to a line of time-traveling Highlanders. When Trulie’s grandmother convinces her to return to their homeland, Trulie jumps back in time, right onto the powerful chest of Gray MacKenna. Just as his steely good looks send ripples through her body, their fierce attraction will send ripples through the ages.
After his parents murdered, Gray is consumed by thoughts of revenge. As the new chieftain of the MacKenna clan, he has reason to believe that there’s a traitor in his midst, and nothing—not even the bonny lass who suddenly drops from the sky—can distract him from his single-minded pursuit of the culprit. But when Gray learns that this sassy beauty possesses gifts beyond the sparkle in her eye, he allows his gaze, and his heart, to linger. While he hunts for the murderer, Gray finds in Trulie a precious companion—and a timeless love.
Trulie eased down into the crowded truck bed, gingerly stepping through the mess with outstretched arms. Lovely. Just what she planned on doing tonight. Tiptoe through shattered glass and skate across a truck bed made slicker than goose shit with ruined essential oils. The farther she slogged through broken bottles and overturned cardboard boxes, the lower her spirits sank. Eye-watering fumes filled the night air. The bed of the pickup reeked with puddles of eucalyptus, peppermint, and patchouli concoctions. A month’s work gone in seconds. Just because Granny was determined to permanently settle in the past.
A cloud skittered past the swollen moon, bathing the peaceful backwoods in blue-white light and shadow. The thick, dark wood hedging in the river across the way seemed to swallow up the path. Well, crap. She should’ve brought the flashlight to see how badly the truck was damaged. Trulie huffed out an irritated breath. She would just have to make do. She was in no mood to plow back through the mess in the back of the truck, and Granny needed to get back in the cab until Trulie figured out what to do next. “Would you please get back in the truck?”
Granny didn’t grace her with a response. Head bowed and focused on her footing, Granny inched a wrinkled hand down the side of the truck as she picked her way through the ditch.
Trulie resettled her ball cap farther back on her head and scanned up and down the deserted stretch of roadway. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just the usual muddy path, with a hump of new spring grass greening up between a pair of pothole-ridden ruts. She tilted her head to one side and strained to hear any out-of-the-ordinary sounds.
The singsong chirrup of spring peepers cree-creeked up from the riverbank, echoing through the night. A light wind whispered through the fluttering tops of newly leafed-out trees, and in the distance, an owl hooted the age old who-cooks-for-you call for a mate.
“I told you, you didn’t hit him, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Granny shook a finger above her head as she slogged through the water-filled ditch. “One day you’ll learn to listen to me, gal.” Granny picked up speed as she cleared the muddy water and made her way up the embankment. She dusted both hands against the seat of her baggy jeans then fisted them atop her narrow hips. “That man was a shadow, Trulie Elizabeth, and you know the truth of it. Have you forgotten everything I’ve taught you?”
Trulie sagged forward and scrubbed the heels of her hands against her temples. She was too tired to be lectured tonight. Granny needed to let up. “No. I have not forgotten a single word you’ve drilled into me for the past twenty-seven years. But right now, Granny, keeping a roof over our heads and food in our bellies is kind of my primary concern.”
Granny’s mouth flattened into a disapproving line. “Don’t you dare take that tone with me, little girl. You know better.” Waving a hand toward the spot in the road where the battle-ready man had just been, Granny continued in a lecturing drone. “It’s time we returned to where we began. Listen to me, Trulie Elizabeth Sinclair. We have tarried here long enough, and I’m sick to death of arguing with ye about it.”
Oh Lordy. The full name treatment. And a “ye” thrown in for good measure. Granny had really worked herself into a snit. Trulie hopped off the tailgate, down to the ground. She scrambled up the slippery bank of wet leaves and tangled honeysuckle vines, stomping globs of wet muck off her boots as she stepped into the road. “We’ve had this conversation more times than I really want to go over right now. You know my answer. Now call Kismet. We’re going to have to walk the rest of the way home. I’ll call William in the morning to pull the truck out of the ditch.”
About the author –
No one has the power to shatter your dreams unless you give it to them. That’s been Maeve Greyson’s mantra since she was a girl. When she’s not at the full time day job at the steel mill, Maeve’s writing romances about sexy Highlanders and the women who tame them. Tucked away in a five acre wood, Maeve listens to the wind singing through the trees and hears her characters telling their stories. Her work is proofed by her sharp-eyed dog, Jasper, and her greatest supporter is her long suffering husband of over thirty-five years who’s learned not to throw away any odd sticky notes filled with strange phrases.
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