THE REVOLVING BOOK TUESDAY EDITION IS BY ANNA DYNOWSKI
POSTED: Tuesday March 27, 2012
TITLE: The Write Honor, Book 5 of the Harmony Village series
GENRE: Contemporary Inspirational Romance
... PUBLISHER: Write Words, Inc.
Ebook - ISBN: 978-1-51386-039-7
Trade Paperback - ISBN: 978-1-61386-038-0
WHERE TO BUY THE BOOK:
Amazon Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cq99l3q
Though she's a romance author, Krysia Barciniak has no illusions about love and romance and a happily-ever-after for herself. Or about seeing her child again. One taste of love six years earlier is more than enough for her. She already has a scarred heart. Thank you very much! Then melancholic Connor Tiernay, the new museum curator, arrives in Harmony Village, with his five-year-old daughter in hand and a proposal of marriage on his lips. And Cupid Cat, with his indomitable reputation in the matchmaking projects, rubs his paws together. Will Cat's predictable success and their inevitable surrender be validated?
“****The best one yet. Everyone will love this one—Christians, readers, and writers alike!” --Arline Chase, author of Ghost Dancer
“Another wonderful installment to the Harmony Village series…there were splashes of humor and fun…Cupid Cat is always great with his uncanny match-making ability…you’ll want to pick up this next installment.” 4.5 Ticket Rating --Sherry Kuhn, love2readnovels.blogspot
“You know I can’t resist Cupid Cat.”--Sandra Stiles, Reviewer for The Musings of a Book Addict
READ AN EXCERPT: http://www.writewordsinc.com/writehonor.html
AUTHOR BIO: Anna’s belief that love never fails (I Corinthians 13:8 NIV) and her passion for God, has led her to write what’s in her heart—love—and what’s in her soul—faith in God. Her heartwarming stories of love, romance, and Christian faith are designed to encourage and entertain.
She makes her home in Toronto, Canada, with her husband of 27 years, and her cat, Misha.
Readers may contact Anna at: email@example.com or visit her website at http://www.annadynowski.com/
CONNECT WITH ANNA ONLINE:
A mirror reproduced a person’s face.
But if one wanted to know, really know a person, really know what she was like, really know what her character, her integrity, her honor were like, all one had to do was scrutinize her family, study the friends she’d chosen, and one would have a pretty accurate sketch of the person in question.
That was Connor’s motivating factor for coming to Harmony Village.
To scrutinize Krysia Barciniak’s family. To study Krysia Barciniak’s friends.
His theory contained one flaw.
Krysia Barciniak herself, he admitted with some reluctance.
When his gaze had first connected with hers, something indefinable had passed between them. The power of that instant in time had left him breathless. Speechless. Unnerved.
Although her parents and friends all appeared small-town friendly, possessing small-town friendly countenances and small-town friendly manners, it was the woman herself, standing before him with her mother’s arm draped over her shoulders and encircled by her friends and neighbors, that bore the most accurate sketch of Krysia Barciniak.
Her cheekbones were high, her jaw strong, but her eyes… Her eyes, blue like sapphires, blue like his daughter’s, told the story her lips never would. Her eyes, so dark, so full of thoughts and secrets and pain, especially when she glanced down at Brenna, revealed her vulnerability.
With the promptness of the panicked, Connor eased his features into an impassive expression when he saw her raise those eyes to him. And once again, felt shivers of awareness ripple down his arms.
Don’t go making a forest out of a twig, he admonished himself, stomping down on the intrusive yet inexplicable sensations swirling through him.
Don’t go jumping to any conclusions here. He pushed his free hand into his pants pocket and balled it into a fist.
You’re here to observe her, to determine, with no margin for error, if she is trustworthy to let into Brenna’s life. There can be no margin for error, he reminded himself, planting his linen-clad legs wide and locking his spine.
He would protect Brenna at all costs. She was his daughter and he would protect her and no amount of vulnerability and pain scratched into the blue eyes staring at him now would soften his resolve. Would not soften him at all if he detected the merest possibility of a corrupt character.
Time would tell.
And he had plenty of it.
“I’m sure you and your daughter will settle down nicely here. Harmony Village prides itself on being a great place to raise children. It’s safe enough to walk alone at night and leave your doors unlocked,” Krysia said, her voice precise and professional and pried into his thoughts. “It is a Harmony Village tradition to always make newcomers and visitors feel like family. If I can be of any assistance—”
Family. The word reminded him of his dead wife. The word made his chest feel tight. The word made his voice sound curt. “I’m certain we’ll be just fine.” He shrugged with the words. Seeing the puzzled hurt on her face, he cursed himself and felt obliged to add a belated, “Thank you.”
She gave him a bright smile, but it was strained around the edges, and he felt his heart give a quick, catchy sigh. He would do well to remember he was a man on a mission. And that mission did not include antagonizing the one person, the one woman, the one…mother…Brenna had left in this world.
Connor closed his eyes. A year after Missy’s death, he still grieved as though it had happened only yesterday. Brenna still grieved as though it had happened only yesterday. His eyes lifted to Krysia’s and he made a sound somewhere between throat clearing and sighing.
“Brenna and I are pleased to be here, aren’t we honey?” His fingers tightening in encouragement, he winked at his daughter. “And we’re looking forward to making new…friends.”
Once again, his eyes lifted to Krysia’s. When their gazes met and melded, she gave him a careful smile. His skin prickled with awareness and he found himself catching his breath.
Though she wasn’t as pretty as Missy, she wasn’t…unattractive.
The thought struck him hard and fast. The pain it produced shocked him.
How could he—his gut twisted—see another woman, any woman, but especially this woman, even for a few seconds, and notice her looks, be drawn to her…looks? It’d only been a year since Missy died. Dropping his gaze, he frowned at the toe of his shoe.
The guilt kicked in.