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BUILDING LANE
A Lane Family Novella
ANDIE FENICHEL
Copyright © 2023 by Andie Fenichel

All rights reserved.

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The characters
are productions of the author’s imagination. Locales are fictitious, and/or, are used fictitiously.

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 CONTENTS

Building Lane

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue

Lane Family Series

About the Author
Also by Andie Fenichel
BUILDING LANE
JORDAN
I had a great gig making cabinets for a big developer until the bastard went to jail for
taking more than his share. I moved to Roseville because my friend needed a good
carpenter and I needed the work. So here I am in New Jersey, glad to have something
to hold me over for a few months while I figure out my next move. Not exactly how I
dreamed my life would go. Still, this town is growing on me and the money is good.
After meeting my new boss’s cousin, Faith Lane, I’m not sure I could leave even if I
wanted to. Talk about a lightning bolt.
FAITH
The last thing I ever wanted to do was move home because I failed. Yet here I am,
sleeping in my childhood bedroom after a nasty divorce left me unemployed and nursing
a dark pit where my heart used to be. It’s not that I don’t love my hometown. Roseville
is great. I have a huge family that loves me. It should be the best place to work out
what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.
Only, since my ex spent the last year screwing me out of half of a business I
started, I don’t really know what to do with myself. I’m planning a long bitter life of
misery when my cousin introduces me to Jordan Palmer, the hottest carpenter I’ve ever
seen. Maybe I’m not interested in love, but I’m not going to be celibate for the next
sixty years either. If the carpenter is as good with his hands as he is easy on the eyes,
he might be just the right medicine for what’s left of my heart.
CHAPTER ONE
JORDAN
Roseville, New Jersey was not part of my five-year plan or whatever people make. I was
settled and doing well in South Carolina. I had great gig building cabinets for one of the
big developers. The money was good and the work was steady. Then one of the big
bosses was indicted for embezzling a ton of cash and everything went to hell. Even
though I had nothing to do with the money or the collapse, my association tainted my
name in the area.
I’d still be trying to figure out my next move, or maybe I’d be waiting tables if my
old buddy Denver Lane hadn’t called and offered me a job. So Roseville, New Jersey it
is.
It’s a nice town in the far north of the state. Mountains, rivers, lakes, lots of trees,
and not too far from New York City. Now I’m building custom cabinets in the back of
Denver’s cousin-in-law’s shop. Colin’s a good guy, and it’s nice of him to rent me the
space.
What I’ve learned in the two weeks I’ve lived in Roseville is that Denver has the
biggest family I’ve ever heard of. Like half the town is related to him or married in. The
Lanes make it hard to keep to myself. The weird thing is, I don’t think I’ve ever felt at
home anywhere. Not that I’m quite there in New Jersey, but it’s close.
“Hey, you coming?” Colin calls from the door to my little shop.
“You go ahead. I want to finish this assembly.” I lightly tap the beautiful piece of
ash that’s going to be the side of the island I’m building.
Colin leans on one of the steel posts that hold up the roof of the old building.
“Listen, I know how you feel. I was there once. These Lanes don’t take no for an
answer. So, you were invited to dinner, and if you don’t show, one of them will be back
here in an hour to collect you. You may as well just give in now.”
He’s actually right. I tried to ditch for a barbecue last week and Denver was at my
apartment door thirty minutes later.
“I’ll go home and shower and be over in a few.” I lean the wood against the rest of
the structure.
“Wise man.” Colin laughs as he leaves.
Thirty minutes later, I’m cleaned up and still lamenting my life choices when I walk
around Denver’s house to the gate and head into the backyard. For a Lane gathering,
it’s pretty small. Only about a dozen or so people. Some are in the pool and some are
drinking beer around the patio.
Denver grins and slaps me on the back. “I was just about to come hunt you down.”
“I’m not a kid, Denver. I can manage on my own. You don’t have to keep inviting
me over when this is clearly a family gathering.”
“Nah. Bucky’s not related to me.”
A big man waves from across the patio where two women are chatting him up, and
he’s looking very pleased with himself.
I’m introduced to Bucky, who’s a friend of Colin’s from the army, and another three
cousins I’ve never met before. I say hello to a few siblings and their significant others.
 I accept a beer, sit, and watch from the steps leading up to the porch. I can’t help
wondering how Denver decides which family to invite and whom to exclude. Or is it all
just organic?
Denver approaches me with a woman I don’t know. She’s the most beautiful person
I’ve ever seen. Her mahogany hair lies in waves past her shoulders, and her eyes are
bright blue. She’s wearing white shorts that show off her shapely legs and a yellow tank
top. She looks good enough to eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Denver says, “Jordan, this is my cousin Faith. She’s just come back to town. Faith,
this is Jordan Palmer, he and I went to college together.”
I shake her soft hand. “Nice to meet another of the Lane clan.”
Her grip is firm. “Technically, I’m still a Markle, but I have every intention of
remedying that.”
There’s no appropriate response, so I stay quiet.
“Shit.” Denver’s eyes widen. “My dogs.” He runs back to the grill.
“And that’s how setups work in the Lane family,” Faith says with a hint of a smile.
She clinks the neck of her beer against mine.
It’s impossible not to laugh. “Can I offer you half my step.”
She sits. “Sorry about that. He means well.”
“I know. He and I were roommates for four years. I’m surprised you never came to
visit. It seemed like there were always cousins or siblings coming down to see him.” I
can’t keep my eyes off the slope of her neck. Her hair is pulled to one shoulder and the
exposed skin is calling my name.
“Are you trying to tell me you hooked up with one of my cousins or worse, my sister
Lydia?” She downs the rest of her beer and tosses the bottle into a can not far away.
“No, and no. I didn’t sleep with any relatives. It was a rule back in the day.” I think
for a moment. “I did meet Lydia though. She’s a reporter now, right?”
“Yup. Also married to a famous hockey player. Happily married.” Her voice is full of
derision.
Whatever her issue is, it’s none of my business. Still, I want to know. “You and your
sister don’t get along?”
“We do. I adore her.” She sighs heavily.
“You don’t like Hunter Garrison?” I read about Lydia’s marriage on the Internet.
“He’s a great guy. There’s nothing not to like. My family is all very likable as you
probably know if you’ve been in town for more than three days.” She gets up and I
figure that was the extent of my time with Faith.
I watch as she crosses to the cooler and pulls out two beers. She walks back and
sits, then hands me one.
“Thanks.” I finish my warm beer and open the new one. “I’ve been here two weeks
and you’re right. I haven’t met a Lane I didn’t like.”
“Please don’t say until now.” She takes a long pull on her beer.
“Hot dogs are up. Hamburgers will be ready in five,” Denver announces as he hands
his wife Willa the platter of hot dogs.
I put my beer down. “Do you want one?”
She blinks at me as if trying to decide if I’m sincere. “Sure? I can get it myself.”
 “I’ll get it. Slow down on the beer. I know Roseville is small, but I don’t want to
have to carry you home.”
She laughs hard and her entire face lights up.
I’d give a lot to be the cause of her smile on the regular. What the fuck? Where did
that come from? Shaking it off, I grab two plates and two dogs, then some potato salad
and baked beans. I don’t know what she likes, so I just make her plate like mine. I put
mustard, ketchup and relish on both and head back to the step. I hand her a plate and
shrug. “I guess I should have asked what you like.”
Looking from the plate to me, she blushes.
Is she thinking about sex? Because I am suddenly consumed with how long it’s
been since I had a woman in my bed.
Inspecting the plate, she says, “You did well.”
Okay, so it’s not high praise, but I feel like a conquering hero. “I’m glad. Why would
me carrying you home be so funny?” I take a bite of my hot dog and watch her eat.
She’s not dainty, and I like that. She takes a giant bite and therefore it’s a while
before she responds. “I’m living with my parents. If I got drunk, I’d probably crash in
Denver and Willa’s guest room.”
“I’m going to make a guess based on the whole ‘Markle’ thing you said earlier that
you’re divorced.”
“Yeah. We were separated for a long time, but the divorce came through last week.
I could have stayed on Long Island, but…”
We both eat and don’t talk. It’s not an uncomfortable silence though. I’m waiting
for her to want to say more or not. I don’t want to say anything that chases her away,
but I want to know more about her.
When her plate is empty, she drinks her beer and gets up, takes my empties, and
heads for the trash. She comes back and stands in front of me.
I like how her eyes catch the late-summer sun and her hair shines. The swell of her
hips is enough to drive a man insane. What kind of asshole leaves a woman like this?
“Where do you live?” she asks.
“On the square in an apartment over the coffee shop.” My cock just went on high
alert even though this conversation cannot be going where it thinks it is.
She steps closer so the rest of the gathering is hidden behind her. “I like those
apartments. Denver fixed them up several years ago to revitalize the town center.”
“It’s a nice place.” I’m literally holding my breath like some kid on a first date. But
this isn’t a date. I met this woman less than an hour ago.
“Look, I know how this is going to sound and you can just say no.” She toes the
wood riser of the bottom step. “We don’t know each other.”
This is like my best and worst dreams combined. I can’t speak because I’m afraid if
I say a word she’ll stop or change direction and then never speak to me again.
Strangely, I know I don’t want that to happen.
“I’d like to go back to your apartment and have sex. It’s been a really long time and
I’m attracted to you. In fact, you’re the first person I’ve been attracted to in years.” She
meets my gaze.
My cock is pressing uncomfortably against the fly of my shorts. There’s no way she
doesn’t see it.
 “If you aren’t interested, just stay here. If you might be, then maybe you leave in
the next ten minutes, and I’ll meet you a few minutes after that.” Her cheeks are bright
pink, but her gaze is direct. Clearly, this is not something she does every day.
I let out a breath and clear my throat. “I may need a few minutes before walking
isn’t a problem, Faith.”
Relief washes over her tight expression. Is it possible she thought I would turn her
down? I don’t know many men who could resist an offer like that from a woman like
her. “Okay.” She glances at my lap. The most glorious giggle emerges from her full pink
lips. “Sorry.”
I thread my fingers through hers. “Don’t be.”
“Should I walk away? I mean, so you can.” She waves her free hand in the general
direction of my lap.
Taking a deep breath, I let go of her hand and get myself under control. I have to
admit, I never thought I’d be hard as a rock in my buddy’s backyard, but stranger things
have happened. I look into those eyes of hers and breathe. “I’ll be alright. I’ll meet you
out front.”
Once I’ve made an excuse to Denver and Willa, I head back through the gate. I
cross the street and lean against my pickup truck.
Five minutes later, I’m thinking she came to her senses. The level of disappointment
is acute, but then she walks around the house with a small white purse on her shoulder
and crosses to me. Her cheeks are bright red.
“Do you have a car here?” I point to the line of vehicles along the suburban road.
Shaking her head, she says, “I walked over. My folks only live a few blocks away.”
I open the passenger side door of my truck and watch her ass and legs as she
climbs in.
Any minute she’s going to change her mind, but I’m going to enjoy her company
until that happens.
CHAPTER TWO
FAITH
How can any man look this good? My body went on high alert as soon as he walked into
Denver’s backyard. It’s been so long since I was aroused, I thought I was ill for a
moment.
He pulls around the back of the building on the town square and parks. “Still want
to come in?”
Shit. He’s nice too. I nod and jump out of the truck. “I’m not some kid who’s going
to change her mind and leave you hanging.”
I round the building to the walk-up’s door and wait for Jordan to unlock it. He holds
it open and waits.
As soon as I’m inside, he closes the door and takes my hand, stopping my progress
up the steps. “Listen.” He leans into me, pressing me against the wall. “I appreciate that
you’re not a tease. I really do. I also get the impression that this is not something you
do, and I’m so fucking flattered. You can change your mind at any time. I won’t be mad.
Disappointed, but not angry.”
I brush my fingers through the errant lock of hair that falls on his brow and push it
back. He’s dark blond and tanned like a man who spends a lot of time in the sun. I’d bet
good money that his tan ends at the top of his sleeve. Working men are fucking sexy as
hell. “You’re nice and you look like the best night of my life. What more can a girl want
after three years of celibacy?”
“How long were you separated?” He runs his hand down my waist and settles at my
hip.
Crap, I said too much. Why does he want information about a hookup? “Just over a
year.” Why am I giving it to him?
He stares for a long time. “You and your ex didn’t have sex for two years before
you split?” There’s no pity or disgust. He’s not judging me, just stating back a fact to me
because it’s too fucking crazy to believe.
A swell of emotions rises in me and a tear bubbles over my lower eyelid. “It’s hard
to explain.” That’s a lie. It’s easy to say my husband was getting his pleasure elsewhere.
I just don’t want to say it. More tears follow the first.
He drags me into his strong arms. “I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. Fuck. I’m sorry.”
Picking me up, he carries me up the long flight of steps and settles me in his lap on a
gray couch. Gently, he caresses my back while I cry against his chest. “I’ve got you.”
“I’m sorry. I never cry.” The truth is I didn’t cry a single tear the entire time my life
was falling apart or when the divorce finally came through.
Easing me off his lap, he leaves me sniffling and weeping in his living room.
That’s my cue to go. I grab my purse and look for my phone. There’s no way I’m
walking through town with a swollen nose and red eyes. I’ll call my oldest sister Rachel
and she’ll come to get me.
I’ve got my phone in my hand when he reappears with a towel in one hand and a
glass of water in the other. “I thought you might need these.” He looks at my phone. “I
can drive you home if you want to leave.”
 Putting the phone back, I accept the towel. It’s damp and I’m grateful for
something to wipe my face with. Then I drink half the water and feel slightly more
human. “I figured weeping was enough to turn you off, and I was going to call my sister
to come get me.”
His warm smile stirs a longing low in my abdomen. Why does he have to be so
fucking hot?
Sitting next to me, he thumbs away an errant tear. “I’m not turned off. And if you
want to go, I’ll take you.”
“I don’t want to be some stupid woman who makes a big pass and then ends up
crying in a stranger’s arms about a man who’s not worth a single tear.” I bury my face in
the damp towel.
He chuckles. “Too late.”
I look up, ready to scold him even though he’s right, but he’s too sexy to get mad
at. I shrug.
“You know, everyone has a past and crap to unpack. I’m a big boy. I can stand a
few emotional outbursts without losing interest.” He cups my cheek. “And I am
interested.”
Swallowing down my embarrassment, I close my eyes. “I wish I had come to visit
Denver at school. Maybe we’d have met and my life would have been different.” Oh god,
why did I just say that? It sounded like I’m implying he’d have saved me from a bad
marriage. “I just mean…”
I think he might be blushing. He lowers his gaze. “You’d have been off-limits back
then. However, maybe we’d have broken some rules. Maybe you’d have saved me from
my bad decisions too.”
Now he’s propelled himself into the unicorn category of men: gorgeous, built, kind,
thoughtful, and seemingly smart. Too soon to tell about the last one.
“Maybe.” I shrug and put the towel on a marble coffee table. “Thanks.” I drink the
rest of the water and actually start to feel better.
“Want me to take you home?” His expression is serious but his eyes look
disappointed.
Any guy would be unhappy that the sex he thought he was going to get might be
out the window. “I don’t want to go unless you’ve had enough of me.” I wrap my arms
around myself which is an old habit when I’m feeling insecure.
As if he’s known me all my life, he untangles my arms, then pulls me onto his lap
and leans back against the cushions. His big hand makes slow circles over my back and
his other hand holds mine. “I may never have enough.”
I’m so shocked, I meet his gaze. “You mean that.” My brain cannot compute him
still wanting me and all my baggage when we just met tonight.
“Faith, I never say anything I don’t mean or do anything I don’t want to. Shall I tell
you my sad story and make you feel less awkward?” He kisses my knuckles.
My body responds to his lips, even on my fingers. It’s probably rude to want him to
feel as exposed as me, but I nod anyway.
He gives me a lopsided grin. “After college, I went home to Connecticut and got
engaged to my high school sweetheart. I wanted to get married right away, but she
wanted to wait. Turns out that was because she was dating someone else and playing
us both. Luckily, she came clean before we made it legal. Then I took a job down in
South Carolina building cabinets with a big company, a developer. The CEO stole a
bunch of money and the company folded. After that, I couldn’t get work down there. I
hadn’t done anything besides my job, but my name was mud. Denver and I have always
kept in touch, and he offered me a job here.”
That was way more than I told him. “I feel like I cheated you.”
His amusement is full of joy and the way he looks at me is staggering. “Also, I
haven’t had sex in almost a year.”
“Now you’re just trying to make me feel better.” My words drip with humor and
sarcasm.
Intensity burns in his brown eyes. “I do want to make you feel better. I want to
make you feel wonderful, if you’ll let me.”
My pussy instantly responds to the deep sexy tones of his voice. I wrap my arms
around his neck, thread my fingers through his hair, and lift my lips to his. I suck his
bottom lip between mine, then kiss him.
Gripping my bare thigh, he presses at the crease of my lips, and gentles his way
inside. Our tongues meeting is fireworks and the fourth of July.
I arch my back, needing all of me to touch all of him as he devours my mouth.
Those big fingers slip under the bottom of my shorts.
Even though it’s just my thigh, it somehow feels more intimate. I’m so wet and
sensitive between my legs, it’s like my body is trying to make up for the last few years.
Beneath my ass, his shaft hardens, pressing through our clothes and driving me mad. I
break the best kiss of my life and catch my breath. “The bedroom would be a good idea
now.”
Lifting me, passion fierce in his gaze, he carries me through the open door to our
rear. He eases me onto the neatly made bed with dark-gray bedding to match the rug.
Part of me wants to look around and learn something about this man who has me tied
into knots, but he strips out of his shirt and my mouth goes dry. Nothing in the room will
ever be more interesting than the way his muscles flex and move or the light-brown trail
of hair disappearing below his waistband.
“You’re beautiful.”
Leaning his arms on the bed, hands on either side of me, he presses a hard kiss to
my lips, nips my bottom one, then trails kisses along my jaw to my ear.
I gasp as pleasure shoots from his lips to my nipples and between my legs. I need
to be touched and unbutton my shorts. Lowering the zipper, I push at the fabric but his
arms are in the way of getting naked.
With one more lick of my earlobe, he stands and strips out of the rest of his
clothes. His cock is big and thick. I haven’t seen many, but his makes my mouth water. I
pull my tank top over my head and unhook my bra. I start pushing at my shorts and
panties again. Jordan wraps his big hands around mine.
Kneeling in front of me, he pulls my clothes down my legs, one inch at a time,
never taking his eyes from mine. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Faith.” Progress stops at
my ankles when he has to remove my sneakers. Being cinched at the feet for that
moment gives me the naughtiest thoughts. I’d let him tie me up if he wanted to. At this
moment, I’d let him do anything to make me feel good.
 I spread my knees longing for contact, even if it’s only with the cool air of the
room.
Jordan licks his lips. “So wet and glistening. Is that for me?”
“I need you.” I’m pretty sure that’s the first time those words have ever spilled from
my mouth.
My shoes and shorts are off an instant later. “I’m yours.” He presses my thighs
farther apart with his broad shoulders and tastes me with the tip of his tongue.
“Yes.” Pleasure shoots through my every nerve and I flop back on the mattress.
Moving my knees to fall over his shoulders, he licks every millimeter of my sensitive
flesh. “You don’t even know how good you taste.” He slips one meaty finger deep inside
me.
I gasp and jerk my hips, needing more.
His lips wrap around my clit and suck while his tongue does a wicked dance.
My body trembles as the ecstasy builds low in my abdomen. “Oh, Jordan. I’m
gonna come.”
Sucking harder, finger and tongue moving faster, he looks up my body and our eyes
meet as I tumble into oblivion. Pressing hard with his mouth against my clitoris extends
the orgasm.
I bounce my pelvis against his face, squeezing out every ounce of pleasure. “That
was—” I have to catch my breath. “That was…”
Standing, he lifts me to the middle of the bed. “The most spectacular thing I’ve
ever seen. You’re fantastic.” He lies beside me with his hand spread over my abdomen.
It’s possessive and I like it.
The way he looks at me stirs desire inside me again. I never expect to come more
than once, but it has been a really long time. Maybe my vibrator hasn’t been doing the
job these last few years. I wrap my hand around his shaft. “I’d really like you inside me
now if that’s alright?”
CHAPTER THREE
JORDAN
“It’s definitely alright.” It’s half a growl because her soft fingers are tracing a path up
and down my cock.
She’s gentle then rough, and I like it. Gripping me hard, then tickling the sensitive
flesh. “You’ll go slow?”
I don’t like the hint of fear in her voice. “I’d never hurt you.”
“You’re big, and I told you, it’s been a while.” She continues to tease my shaft.
I reach into the nightstand and pull out a condom. “If at any point you’re
uncomfortable, Faith, tell me and I’ll stop.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Any point?”
Rolling on the condom, I kneel between her soft thighs. I place my arms on either
side of her head, notch at her sweet pussy, and kiss her long and slow. Her lips are
magic. Her mouth is heaven. I’m lost in all things Faith Lane. When I break the kiss, I
wait until she looks me in the eyes. “Any point.”
Fingers digging into my shoulders, she lifts her hips to take my head inside.
She’s so wet and warm. I can’t help the moan that escapes. I press inside another
inch.
Her face relaxes and her mouth opens with a cry.
“You okay, beautiful?” I ease back and it’s torture not to fill her with all of me at
once. With painstaking slowness, I push forward and back again.
“You feel so good.” She wraps her legs around my thighs, pulling me in.
Slowly, I fill her. We both cry out. I’m embarrassingly close to coming and have to
hold still for a few seconds to gather myself. “You’re perfect. How can you be this
perfect?”
She wiggles her hips back and forth, gasping and making the most sensual noises.
“Jordan, I’m going to come again. Oh, god.” She arches.
I take one nipple into my mouth and worry it between my teeth gently.
She’s wildly wiggling beneath me. “Oh. Oh. Please move.”
“You feel so good, I’m afraid I won’t last long, but I promise round two will be
better.” I ease out to my head then press all the way in again.
“If it’s any better, you’ll kill me.” She meets my thrust with a lift of her hips.
I fill her again and again. Her body feels as if it were made specifically for me.
She screams and her pussy milks my cock as she sinks her short nails into my
shoulders.
That touch of pain plus her orgasm sends fire licking my balls and I thrust three
times before falling over the cliff to oblivion. I try to catch my breath and press my
forehead to hers. “You really are magnificent.”
“Mmm. It’s you, not me.” She caresses my back as her legs relax and her eyes
close.
Easing out of her makes us both groan. I smile at this relaxed version of Faith and
how sweet and young she looks. “Don’t run away. I’ll be right back.” I hurry into the
bathroom and dispose of the condom.
 Half expecting her to have vanished, I’m thrilled to find her tucked under the
covers, watching me. “If you want me to go, I will.”
I slip under the covers. “I don’t.” Pulling her against my chest, I kiss her hair. “Tell
me everything about yourself.”
She laughs. “You don’t want to know that.”
“Humor me.”
Tracing a path from my elbow to my knuckles, she relaxes her head and sighs. Just
when I think she might not speak, she says. “I’m one of seven children. Since you said
you’ve been in town for two weeks, you know my family is enormous. They also have a
ridiculously good marriage track record. Of all my aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, and
sisters, only Denver has been married twice, and his first wife passed away. I am the
only failure.”
“Just because your marriage failed doesn’t make you a failure.” I can’t even imagine
having a family so big or difficult to live up to.
“In theory, I don’t disagree with you. Still, mine is the only divorce in the last three
generations. My sister did have a very public breakup several years ago, but at least she
hadn’t married that asshole.” She sighs. “I guess, deep down, I think I should have been
able to make it work.”
“Do you still love him—your ex, I mean?” I’m literally holding my breath. It
shouldn’t matter if she loves someone else. This is just a hookup, right? Except it does
matter to me.
“No. Maybe I never did. No. That’s not true. We were young and in love once upon
a time. Then we got married and things were good for a while. We opened a travel
agency and it thrived. We even have a successful app. Well, I have the app, he got the
business.” Her muscles tighten.
I take her hand and massage the palm until she relaxes again. “Why don’t you have
half of the business you started?”
“Because after we split, Nolan made working in the office hell. I tried working from
home, but he even made that place tainted. I left, we sold the house, and he bought
out my half of the business.” She sighs and presses her cheek to my chest. “Now I’m an
unemployed divorcée, with no prospects or plans.” Bitterness rings in her voice.
The sun has almost set. I tighten my arm around her back and caress the swell of
her hip. “It’s a fresh start. You can do anything you want.”
“I’m living in my childhood bedroom, feeling pretty sorry for myself at the moment.”
Her cheeks pinken and her hand clenches as if a fight is coming.
Rolling so I’m half covering her stunning body, I kiss her cheek. “No. At the
moment, you’re in my apartment, in my bed. You may be feeling sorry for yourself, but
if you want, I can make you forget all your problems for a little while.” My cock presses
against her abdomen.
Faith’s eyes widen. “Fast recovery.” She angles up to create a little friction.
“You’re irresistible, Faith Lane. I’ve never met anyone I wanted more after sex than
I did before.” I brush her dark waves out of her face. Her skin is soft and warm.
“I wonder if we would have hit it off when we were young.” Her hands rest at my
waist and her fingers slide up and down my skin.
 “Is that a no to lovemaking?” I can’t take my gaze from her expressive eyes. I’ve
really never wanted anyone so intensely. Would meeting her at twenty have changed
the course of our lives?
“You’re not like other men.” She lets her short fingernails drag lightly along my
back.
“Do you mean, I’m not like your ex? If that’s the case, I’ll take that as a
compliment.”
She lets her legs fall open so my thigh rests between, then she rubs her wet center
against me. “There’s no comparison. Let’s talk later.” She kisses my jaw, then my throat.
Capturing those lips, I dive into her warm mouth and make love with her tongue,
lips, and teeth. Painfully hard, as if I didn’t just come a little while ago, I center myself
between her legs. “Condom.” I reach for the nightstand.
“I want to feel you. I’m on the pill and neither of us has had sex in forever. I want
all of you.” Shifting her hips so I’m notched at her wet, irresistible pussy, she brings me
inside heaven for a moment.
My muscles tense as I hold still and groan. “Are you sure?”
“So sure, but I do have a request?” She takes me a little deeper.
“Anything.” My voice is gruff with restraint and desire. Shit, I’d marry her on the
spot if she asked right now. I’ve clearly lost my mind.
She’s turned the brightest shade of red.
Retreating, I cup her cheeks. “What is it?”
“Would you take me from behind?” She closes her eyes as if that will hide her from
me.
Kissing each of her eyelids, my cock is jumping for joy. “I’d make you feel good any
way you want, beautiful. There are no rules here beyond the ones we set.” I ease my
weight off her and kneel in the center of the mattress.
After a moment, she looks up at me. “Some men don’t like a woman asking for
what she wants or needs.”
I don’t know what kind of asshole she was married to, but I want to erase all her
bad memories. “Show me what you want, Faith.”
Still blushing, she turns over and lifts her smooth round ass. She spreads her knees
and before I’ve even touched her, a long moan pushes from her.
Unable to resist, I smooth my hand over her soft flesh, trace a path down her ass
then back up her inner thigh. Her slit is wet and sensitive. I rim her netherlips, find her
clit, and tease her until she’s crying out and jerking up and down.
“Jordan, please.”
“Please, what, beautiful?”
“Fuck me, please.”
Nothing is as hot as her sweet mouth around a dirty word. Well, if I’m lucky, there’s
another thing her sweet mouth could be around. Still smoothing my fingers along her
pussy, I line my cock up. I lick my fingers. “You taste so good.”
She presses back, and I let her take me inside an inch. “I need you.”
Gripping her hips, I fill her with one slow, smooth thrust. Without a condom, she is
like sinking into silk. “Yes. Faith your pussy is perfection. So tight and soft.”
 Each time I fill her, she screams and calls my name, begging for more, harder,
faster. I give her everything she wants. My orgasm builds faster than I want, but she’s
so fucking hot, and I’m only human. Reaching around to find her clit, I circle with my
fingers until her body tightens around me and she lets out a long keen.
Hard and fast, I let go and come deep inside her. I wish she wasn’t on the pill. I
want all of her. Wait. Where the fuck did that come from?
She collapses on her stomach and the release is more loss than I would expect.
I roll off the bed and go to the bathroom for a washcloth. I wet it with warm water
and return to find her lying on her back, watching. “What are you doing?”
I sit beside her. “I thought you might need a little cleanup.”
She reaches for the cloth.
“Let me?”
For a moment she looks as if she’s going to argue, but then relaxes back and opens
her legs for me. She bites her lip as I clean her inner thighs and vagina. “This is a first.”
It’s a shame there aren’t more gentlemen in the world, but I can’t help liking being
a first at something for her. “I hope it won’t be the last, Faith. Will you stay tonight?”
Her mouth opens and closes several times. “Why would you want me to stay?”
My laugh is ironic more than amused. “You should be asking, why wouldn’t I? I
know we just met a few hours ago, but honestly, Faith, if I hadn’t already been
interested in seeing more of you, I wouldn’t have brought you back here. I’m no player.”
CHAPTER FOUR
FAITH
What is it about this guy that even after mind-blowing sex, he talked me into sleeping
with him, which was so damn nice? Now, it’s two days later, and I can’t get him out of
my head. I should have been satisfied that I got what I wanted—sated after a long dry
spell. The moment I saw him, I knew he was the one to get into my panties. That
doesn’t mean I wanted my heart involved.
He insisted on getting my phone number even after I told him he didn’t need to call
me. That was the only time I saw a hint of anger from Jordan, but he moved on from it
quickly and wore me down until I gave him the number.
Yesterday he texted to make sure I was alright. He’s not like any man I’ve ever
dated, though I’ll admit, it’s been a while since I hit the dating scene. Still, from what
my friends and relatives say, dating sucks.
My mom steps into the kitchen, looking perfect in jeans and a white blouse, even at
seven o’clock in the morning. “What are your plans today?” She pours herself a cup of
coffee and leans against the countertop, eyes on me.
“I guess I’ll look for a job or a place to live.” My chest feels crushingly tight, and I
poke at the scrambled eggs I made but now don’t feel like eating.
Mom stares without expression for the longest moment of my life. It’s always like
she’s looking inside my soul. I shift on the stool in front of the kitchen island.
Feeling like I need excuses, I say, “I don’t want to live here forever. It’s important
that I move on with my life. You and Dad don’t want your thirty-year-old daughter living
with you. I’m not used to being dependent. Of course, I’m going to get a job.”
Her brow goes up and she sips her coffee. “Faith, you are always welcome here.
You’re loved and any thoughts you have of disappointment on our part are in your mind
only, not in your father’s and mine.”
I open my mouth to thank her, but she holds up a palm, stalling anything I might
say.
“Don’t rush into a new job or a new home. Do you even want to live in Roseville?”
“I don’t know.” When Jody Lane is lecturing, it’s advisable to listen and only speak
when a direct question is asked.
She smiles. “Good. Maybe you should think about that before you go looking for a
new place to live. What about work, do you want to work for someone else after being
the boss for so long? Do you think that would make you happy?”
Happy? I never thought about being happy. “I don’t know. I just know that my
money from the buyout and the sale of the house won’t last forever.”
She sips her coffee and studies me. “It’s a good deal of money, though. Maybe you
should consider the life you want, Faith.”
“I had no idea you were so fanciful, Mom. I’ve been dealt a hand and now I have to
figure out how to play it.” I take a big bite of my now-cold eggs.
Mom shakes her head. “It’s not fanciful, sweetheart. You deserve happiness. You’re
too old to tell you want to do, but I think you’ll be unhappy if you let Nolan’s actions
decide the rest of your life.”
Is that what I’m doing?
 She rounds the island, kisses my forehead, and coffee in hand, heads to the back
porch where my father is watching the dogs play in the yard. Mom leans her head on
Dad’s shoulder, and he smiles at her.
My heart tightens. How did my parents get so lucky? The question isn’t answerable
but some others might be. Do I want to live in Roseville? Should I take any job just for
an income? I need to think. In my experience, the best place for me to think is at the
lake. I finish my cold eggs, get out of my pajamas and into a bathing suit, and head
north out of town.
It’s Sunday, so I won’t have the lake to myself, but I know some secret spots. As I
pull into the field where we always parked as kids, my phone rings through the car.
Jordan’s name pops up and my heart pounds while my stomach twists with nerves.
“Hello?”
“Hi. You busy?” His voice is like a balm and my nerves float away.
“I’m at the lake.” Is he asking me because he wants to see me? “Why?”
There’s a long pause. “You mean the one past the old sawmill on 206?”
“Yup. I’m sure it has a real name, but we always just called it The Roses. When I
was a kid, we’d come up here all summer and as a teenager, we’d have dates up here.”
I have no idea why I told him all of that or why I tell him anything. Usually, I keep my
thoughts to myself. Nothing is normal when Jordan is involved.
Another beat of silence. “Are you alone?”
“Yes.” Even I can hear the caution in my voice.
“Do you want to stay alone?” There’s a mix of concern and hope in his strong deep
voice.
My heart is beating really fast and my cheeks are on fire. “Um, do you want to join
me?”
He laughs. “I’d love to. Nice of you to invite me.”
It’s impossible not to give in to his light manner or seduction. I tell him how to get
to my secret spot. Though most of my cousins and siblings have been here. Still, it’s just
me now.
When he hangs up, the giddy anticipation of seeing him again is thrilling. I grab my
towel and bag, then head to the lake. The little cove hasn’t changed at all in the eight
years since I’ve been away. The sounds of people playing on the other side of the lake
make their way to me, but a bluff point hides me as I spread my towel on the grass and
take off my shorts.
There’s a nice breeze to cool the heat of summer. I kick off my flip-flops and run full
speed into the water. When I get to my knees, I dive forward. The cold water is a
shocking wake-up, but I swim out a few hundred feet before rolling onto my back and
floating. This is how I can clear my head. Maybe I won’t decide anything today, but the
water and the sounds of my youth are comforting.
I swim and float for a long time before I hear the splash and lower my feet to look
at the shore. In about five feet of water, I can touch my toes and keep my chin just
above the surface. In the distance, Jordan’s truck is parked next to my car. The water
ripples outward from a point.
Underwater, my nipples tighten, knowing Jordan is close. He appears twenty feet
away with a smooth stroke that brings him within inches of me.
 He stands and wipes the water sluicing down his face. His shoulders are well above
the waterline. “Hi.”
I step back an inch. “Glad you found me.”
The way he grins makes my body respond. He closes the small distance I created.
“Me too. Do you come here by yourself often?”
“Not since before I was married. Most people swim and play on the other side
where there’s a small parking lot and snack hut. I like the quiet.” The water is getting
too deep for me to keep backing up, so I put my hand on his shoulder to stay still.
He wraps one big hand around my hip. It’s possessive.
I like it.
“What did you come here to think about?” He brushes wet hair off my forehead.
“You ask a lot of very personal questions, Jordan.” Feeling awkward, I back away
and swim around him to where I can stand securely.
He stays where he is, but turns to watch me. “I’m actually a pretty private person,
but I want to know you.”
“Why?”
“I like you.” He steps closer. There’s worry in his eyes.
My heart melts, even though I thought it was frozen for good. “If I was going to
like someone, it would be you, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
With a hint of a smile, he floats to his back and slowly paddles closer to me. “How
about if you and I become friends, Faith? If after that, we want more, we’ll talk about it
then.”
I float too. “Talk?”
Eyes closed and face glowing with sunshine, he smiles. “Talk, make love, whatever
you want.”
My body wants the latter. His fingers touch mine and when he holds on, I can’t stop
the connection. It feels so good to have him linked to me. “I came here to decide what I
want from the rest of my life or at least the near future.”
He whistles. “Heavy stuff. Why now?”
“My mom told me not to move out or take a job until I know what I want.” It
sounds childish saying it out loud.
“Jody, right? I met her last week at the grocery store. Denver had told her I was in
town, and she said she wanted to have me to dinner one night. She’s very nice. Sounds
like she gives good advice too.” He toys with my fingers and even that is erotic.
“That’s her. I’m sure your dinner invitation will come soon. She never forgets
anything.” I let go of his hand and take a deep breath before diving underwater and
swimming to the shore. I flop down on my towel and watch Jordan’s strong arms cut
through the surface. He stands and looks like the god of the sea striding toward me in a
black bathing suit that reaches halfway down his muscular thighs. I avoid looking at his
groin since I’m already drunk on him and just warned him off.
Dripping in the grass, he digs in a bag and lays his towel next to mine. He stretches
out on his side and props his head in his hand. “What decisions were you hoping to
make today, Faith?”
“Do I want to work for someone else? What work do I want to do? Do I want to live
in Roseville again?” I close my eyes and let the sun warm me. He’s seen me naked, so I
don’t know why his gaze makes me self-conscious. I’m wearing a one-piece bathing suit
that’s not overly revealing, although it does dip low between my breasts.
He slides his hand over my abdomen, again possessive. “Your cousin told me you
designed the app for your business. How does that work? I always thought you had to
hire someone to create an app.”
Turning to face him, I mirror his head-in-hand pose. “You asked Denver about me?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “I needed permission to date my good friend’s relative.”
“Ha. From me, not Denver.” Still, it’s sweet that he wants to date me when I was
easy the first time we met. “What did Denver say?”
Jordan’s smile is everything. “He said I could date you, but if I hurt you, he’d kick
my ass.”
It’s nice to have family that cares. “Maybe living in Roseville isn’t such a bad idea,” I
say, mostly to myself.
“The app?” He slides his hand to just under my breasts and eases a few inches
closer.
Needing a moment to get my wits, I clear my throat. “It’s called ‘Book Me’ and I
have a minor in computer science. It helped the business really take off. When Nolan
and I split, my lawyer made sure he had to buy the permissions to continue using the
app, and I got the rights. He’ll have to keep paying me an annual fee if he wants to
keep using it.” That irked Nolan so much, I couldn’t help feeling a bit of pride over it.
“So, you could sell the permissions to other agencies?” He cocks his handsome
head.
Thinking about how the code would have to be modified for that kind of application,
I nod slowly. “Yeah, I guess I could, though it was designed specifically for Markle
Travel.”
“Interesting from a business perspective. Your lawyer was smart to get you that.”
He lies back and takes his hand off my middle.
I miss his touch right away. It would be weird if I grabbed his hand and put it back
on me, but that’s exactly what I want to do. I resist, thinking about the designs and
possibilities for selling to other travel agencies. “I could create a link in the format so
agencies could share information. It would give small companies a leg up to compete
with the global giants.”
“Sounds like something worth investigating.” He smiles.
I could drown in this man.
CHAPTER FIVE
JORDAN
“Have dinner with me?” It’s been building all morning while we lazed in the sun. I need
to know I’ll see her again.
“You don’t want to date me, Jordan. I’m bitter and jaded.” She turns to face me
again.
Impossible to keep my gaze from the swell of her breasts or the curve of her waist,
I take it all in before returning my attention to her bright eyes. “I do want to date you
and I don’t see bitter. I see hope.”
She’s struggling to hide her smile which seems like a good sign to me. “I’ll go out
with you on Friday night. That way if you change your mind between now and then, you
can just text me that something came up.”
It occurs to me that I’m not good enough for her. She might not want to date a guy
whose fiancée left him for another man and who had to flee South Carolina in disgrace.
Even if that wasn’t my fault, she might not want complications. Still, she didn’t say no
and I’m not ready to give up. “I won’t change my mind, but I’ll understand if you do.”
What I need is a plan.

Fate or luck or maybe it’s just the Lanes that are on my side, because on Tuesday I
receive an invitation to dinner at Jody and Michael Lane’s home. At six o’clock sharp, I
step up to the front door of Faith’s parents’ house. I don’t care how old she is, anytime
you’re meeting the folks of the woman you’re interested in, it’s stressful.
The man that opens the door has salt-and-pepper hair and bright blue eyes, exactly
the same as Faith’s. He shakes my hand. “It’s surprising we haven’t met yet, Jordan. I’m
Michael Lane.”
“Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you for the invitation. Denver and Willa have felt
obligated to feed me more often than not. First time I’ve lived in a small town and I
can’t complain about the hospitality.”
Michael laughs. “I think Denver probably feels responsible for luring you here and
doesn’t want you to starve on his watch.”
I rub my stomach that’s showing slight evidence of the meals since moving to New
Jersey. “I think there’s little chance of that. I’m going to have to start running again.”
“Was that the doorbell? Who…” Faith’s smile morphs into a surprised gape-mouth
when she sees me. She’s adorable in jean shorts and a white t-shirt. “Jordan. You’re
here.”
“Your mother called me and asked me to come to dinner.” It’s hard to tell if Faith is
happy to see me or not.
“She didn’t tell me.”
“I see you two know each other already.” Michael grins. “I’ll see if Jody needs a
hand. Join us in the kitchen?”
“Yes, sir,” I say, but hang back with Faith in the foyer. “Is it alright that I’m here?”
“Of course. My mother invited you.” She worries her fingers together.
 “You know that’s not what I mean.” I disengage her hand-wringing and massage
the back of one. “I can make an excuse and leave if you want me to.” It’s not what I
want, but I don’t want her to be uncomfortable either.
She blinks several times before pulling her hand away. “No. You should stay. We’re
all adults.”
If that’s the case, why do I feel like I’m getting permission to take her to the prom?
The discomfort doesn’t last since Michael and Jody are both charming hosts and the
food is delicious sausage and peppers served over penne pasta.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten, Mrs. Lane.” I stuff the last of it in my mouth.
Beaming, she says, “It’s Jody and it’s a family recipe. Lane family, that is.”
“But yours is the best,” Michael assures her.
Faith shakes her head but grins at her mother and father. “I’ll do the dishes.” She
gets up, taking her plate and mine with her.
Her mother stands and starts clearing too. “No. Your dad and I will clean up. You
two should walk to the square and get some ice cream. The New Scoop Shop just
renovated and it’s so cute.”
I stand and help clear. “I haven’t been to the shop yet. Is it good?”
“Best ice cream you’ll have.” Michael picks up the salad bowls, then takes his
position behind the sink. “You two go. I’ve got this.”
Faith looks from her parents to me and shrugs. “Do you want to go?”
Clearly, she has not gotten the memo that says how much I like her, despite how
hard I’ve tried to let her know. “Sure.”
“Let me put some shoes on.” She hurries out of the room.
I thank the Lanes for dinner and wait in the foyer.
She comes back down the hall in sneakers, looking embarrassed. “You know, you
don’t have to take me for ice cream.”
How is it possible that she doesn’t know how precious she is? I thread my fingers
through hers and open the front door. “I know.”
It’s a few blocks to the square at the center of town. She relaxes with each step.
“My parents like you.”
“They’re nice people. I was flattered to be invited.” I want to know every moment
of her life in the two days we’ve been apart, but I don’t want to spook her. “Do they
know we slept together?”
She stumbles a step, and I hold on while she steadies herself. “Um. I didn’t tell
them, if that’s what you’re asking. However, I’m sure the Lane rumor mill noticed that
we left only a few minutes apart at Denver’s on Friday. Who knows who might have
seen us go into your apartment and I didn’t come home that night. It’s likely, they
know.” She shrugs.
“Does that possibility bother you?”
Her lip twitches. I want to bite that lip. Good lord, this woman is fantastic.
She says, “I don’t generally discuss my sex life with my folks, but if they know, I’m
not upset. I’m thirty years old, and I was married for eight years. Well, really six. The
last two were just the divorce. Also, we were hardly married the year before we split.”
She shakes her head and stops talking.
 I really never thought I’d feel this way again. Honestly, I don’t know if I ever felt
this way before. I loved Donna, and I would have married her, but this is something
different. Faith makes me feel alive for the first time in a long time. “I’m glad you’re not
embarrassed or worse, ashamed.”
“No.” She squeezes my hand as we arrive at The New Scoop Shop.
On the window is their slogan, Come in for a treat and a chat. Gossips welcome.
It’s cool and cozy inside with three round tables of three and a long counter with
barrels of ice cream under the glass.
I order a double-chocolate cone and Faith gets a cup of dulce de leche. We step
back out into the summer evening. There are two wrought iron tables outside on the
wide sidewalk.
Faith stops near the first. “Do you want to sit or walk?”
“Either is fine.” I lick the drips of sweet chocolate delight.
Her gaze shifts to my tongue.
That small look makes my cock wake up. Is she thinking about where else I might
put my tongue? Lord, I want to lick every inch of her.
Walking past the tables, she cleans caramel from her spoon. “I sat most of the day,
so if you don’t mind a walk…”
We circle the square. Even on a weeknight, the town is busy. Several people say
hello to Faith and she waves.
“It’s the nicest town I’ve ever lived in.” I save a drip before it reaches my fingers.
“Yeah. Roseville is friendly. Though anonymity has its advantages too. I lived on
Long Island in the suburbs and since Nolan and I never had children, I wasn’t part of
the mommy club. No one really bothered with me. I kind of liked not being ‘one of those
Lane kids.’”
“If you don’t mind my asking, why didn’t you have kids?” I hold my breath because
maybe this is going too far.
“We tried when we first got married and it never happened. My doctor said that my
uterus is tilted and getting pregnant would be difficult.” She shrugs. “It turned out to be
for the best.”
“This is really personal, but you said you were on the pill, and if you can’t get
pregnant…” My cheeks get warm. Holy shit, when was the last time I blushed? Maybe
never.
“I told you about my uterus, it doesn’t get much more personal than that. Besides
all that stuff I told you about my life the other night…I haven’t told anyone most of that.
You seem to bring it out of me.” She laughs but there’s no humor. “I am on the pill
because my periods are heavy and irregular without it.”
At the trash can near town hall, I dispose of my napkin and wait for Faith to wipe
her mouth and drop her cup in. “I’m honored that I’m that person for you.”
She swallows and my need to kiss her throat is overwhelming. “I should head
home. You don’t need to walk me. You live right there.”
“You don’t want me to walk you home?” I’m more heartbroken than I should be.
She puts her hand on her hip and leans. “You’re very nice. A real gentleman, but
we agreed to just be friends, and I’m not in danger walking the two blocks home.”
 I put my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out and dragging her into a
hug. “If that’s what you want, beautiful.”
She nods then lifts on her toes and kisses my cheek.
Autopilot kicks in and I wrap a hand around her waist. Our gazes meet, and I swear
my heart leaps in my chest like a cartoon.
The way she gapes at me, I think she feels it too. She leans in and kisses my lips.
Her breasts rise and fall with quick breaths.
Time stands still.
Blinking, she steps back. “Thanks for the ice cream.”
“My pleasure.” I stare at her back and the sway of her hips as she walks toward
home. Riveted to the spot, I don’t take my eyes off of her until she turns the corner.
It’s going to be a long night.

I head to the coffee shop on Wednesday morning so I can see Faith again. I know it’s a
little stalkerish, but I want to know how she’s feeling. Denver told me he sees her there
every morning when he passes by on the way to the job site. Besides, it’s under my
apartment. If she really wanted to avoid me, she’d get her coffee somewhere else.
I see her shapely legs and cute butt in tight shorts. She’s wearing a pink hoodie
even though it’s nearly seventy.
The shop has a pickup window or seats inside.
I stand next to her in line at the pickup window. “Your cousin told me you come
here even though your mother makes coffee that’s the best.”
At first sight of me she smiles, but she immediately turns it into a frown. “Did you
come here to say that or is there more?”
“I wanted to see you.” Pitiful.
“Why? Are you canceling our date on Friday?” She steps forward and stuffs her
hands in the pockets of her hoodie.
“No. Why would you think that?”
She shrugs. “Because this is public with a lot of people who would make it less
likely that I’d make a scene when you decided you’d rather not take me out.”
It takes me several beats to put all of that together and in the meantime, she’s
moved up a place in line. I catch up physically, but my mind is still whipping through her
bad opinion of me. “I don’t see you as much of a scene maker and even if you were, I’m
a big boy. If I had bad news, I would deliver it in private. Since we don’t know each
other that well, let me give you another option for why I might have dragged myself out
of my apartment so early. Maybe I just really wanted to see you and Friday isn’t soon
enough. Did that possibility occur to you?”
She blinks at me. “No. Not really. I guess I’m conditioned to expect certain things.”
We reach the window, and she orders her iced coffee with extra whipped cream.
We step to the side where another woman is waiting for her order.
The woman smiles. “I heard you were back in town, Faith. Who’s your friend?”
“Hi, Amber. This is Jordan Palmer. He’s an old friend of Denver’s.” She smiles at
Amber, though the expression in her eyes says she’s not a fan.
 Amber is blonde and big chested. She smiles at me as if she’s about to devour me.
“Nice to meet you, Jordan. You should come by Billy’s Mill Taproom on Friday night.
We’d have a good time.”
“I’ll have to see what my date for Friday wants to do. Thanks though.” I give her
my best smile and then shift my gaze to Faith.
Frowning, Amber collects her coffee. “Maybe I’ll see you around, Jordan.” She walks
away, exaggerating the swing of her hips.
Faith has her arms crossed over her chest. “You should meet Amber. I’m sure she’d
be a lot of fun.”
“I’m not interested in Amber.” I step closer.
The widow opens behind her. “Faith,” the barista calls out.
Spinning away from me, she grabs her coffee. Once she has it, she faces me again
for a moment, then walks down the street toward her home.
I follow.
“I’m just saying that if you wanted to date other women, you can. You don’t owe
me anything. After all, I lured you away from my cousin’s house for sex. There’s no
obligation for more.” She licks her whipped cream.
I stop walking.
After a few steps, she stops and turns back. “You’re angry?”
Relaxing my clenched fists and jaw, I close the distance between us. I skim my
knuckles down her jaw. “Do you like me, Faith?”
“Um…” Her eyes are wide. “I… Yes, I like you, Jordan.” Her throat moves with a
swallow.
“Good.” I feel like a huge anvil was removed from my chest. “I like you too. I knew
I liked you the moment we met, and I’ve tried to make it clear to you in so many ways
in the past few days. But you’re right, we have only just met. So, I’d like to take you out
on Friday night and as many other nights as you’ll let me so we can see if this thing
between us is something more.”
Gaping at me, she’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
I touch her chin and then her bottom lip. “I’ll see you Friday.”
“Oh? Okay.”
I can’t help smiling as I walk toward the jobsite on the other side of the square.
CHAPTER SIX
FAITH
I’ve spent the last few days trying to figure out the logistics of making my app work for
the masses. My brain is out of focus with thoughts of Jordan Palmer beating their way in
every few minutes.
Somehow, I was sure when I gave him ways out of seeing me again, he would take
them, but he didn’t. In fact, he finds reasons to see me.
When he came to the lake, I was sure it was for sex, but then he didn’t push the
issue. He took me for ice cream. My parents like him and obviously that was a setup. I
don’t even mind the interference, which isn’t like me.
Now it’s Friday afternoon, and I’m excited to see him again. It’s like being a kid
again, except now I’m older, wiser, and bitter. I sigh.
My mother’s voice in the hallway snaps me out of my thoughts.
The familiar male voice belonging to the object of my daydreams sends me out of
my chair. My room hasn’t changed since my sister Lydia and I shared it all those years
ago. Two twin beds, two white desks, and walls painted light pink.
Heading for the door, I check the mirror. No makeup, but otherwise, I suppose I
look alright. Get a grip, Faith.
I step out of the bedroom and peek into the bathroom. “Hello?”
My mom and Jordan are standing, looking at the vanity, both with serious
expressions.
Smiling, Jordan says, “Hi. Just getting some measurements for new cabinets.”
“I decided to redo this bathroom. It’s needed it for a long time.” Mom looks only
slightly embarrassed by her obvious ruse to get me and Jordan in the same room.
Jordan smiles and shrugs. “We were just talking about style, Faith.”
“Any thoughts, sweetie?” Mom asks.
It seems like long lengths to go to when I’m already going out with Jordan tonight,
but my mom doesn’t know that. I give the 90s red oak cabinets a long look. “Something
clean like ash, maybe a gray stain and shaker style. I mean, if it were my house, that’s
what I’d do. But, Mom, what do you want the vibe to be? This is your guest bath.”
“Stained gray? Huh. I wouldn’t have thought of that. Jordan, can you show me
samples of what Faith is describing?” Mom looks around at the tile and fixtures.
“Of course.” He takes his tape measure from his belt and gets to work. “I’ll work up
a price on the millwork, then you can go over the rest of the reno with Denver.”
“Perfect. Faith, maybe we can go look at some tile next week if you have time?”
“Sure, Mom.” I’m surprised she wants my input. Maybe this isn’t some ploy. “When
did you decide to redecorate?”
She runs her hand over the old dinged-up faucet. “When you came home. I realized
this part of the house hasn’t had much love since you kids grew up. We renovated the
kitchen, living room, and our bed and bath, but we have four children’s bedrooms and
no kids living here.” Her smile is sad. “It might be time to sell this old place and
downsize.” A tear rolls down her cheek and she brushes it away.
Jordan clears his throat. “I’ll get you an estimate, Mrs. Lane.” He passes me on his
way out of the bathroom. “See you later?”
 I nod. “Where are we going?”
“I made reservations for the Old Mill Inn if that’s okay?” His eyes are soulful and
kind.
I want to lose myself in him, but I’m so terrified of being hurt again. I draw a deep
breath to try to push back my fear. “That’s fancy. Thank you.”
A quick smile and a peek back at my mom, then he says to me, “I’ll pick you up at
seven.”
My heart feels full and that’s not something I’m used to. Once he’s gone. I hug
Mom. “I didn’t know you liked my taste in design.”
“I didn’t know you have a date with Jordan Palmer.” She laughs.
“Maybe we should talk more.”
Arm in arm, we leave the bathroom and head for the kitchen. “Maybe so, sweet
girl. How about a cup of iced tea on the patio.”

At six fifty-nine, the doorbell rings.

My heart is pounding out of my chest.
From the other side of the kitchen island, Mom raises an eyebrow. “He’s very
prompt.”
Standing, I head toward the foyer. My cheeks are pink but I breathe deep to try to
shoo away my blush before I open the door.
Jordan is gorgeous when he’s in shorts and a t-shirt, and yesterday in his work
clothes, he made my mouth water. However, standing on my parents’ stoop in black
slacks and a white button-down shirt, he’s breathtaking. He scans my little blue dress
and white strappy sandals before meeting my gaze. “You’re stunning.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.” I grab my purse from the table in
the foyer. “I’m ready if you are.”
Offering his hand, he grins. “Our first date awaits, Ms. Lane.”
His fingers wrap around mine, warm and calloused. Who knew rough hands would
be such a turn-on? My body instantly responds to him. “It feels like a second or third
date.”
He opens the passenger door of his truck for me. “We haven’t exactly done things
in a standard order.”
I get in and wait for him to round the front and join me. “Maybe that’s because
we’re not average people.” I swear I just heard hope in my voice. Where the fuck did
that come from?
Taking my hand, he backs out of the driveway and heads out of town.
The Old Mill Inn is a fancy restaurant on the river. On the way, we don’t say much,
but he doesn’t let go of my hand until we pull into the parking lot.
When he does, I instantly miss the warm caress of his fingers.
As soon as we’re out of the truck, he places his hand low on my back so gently that
if his warmth wasn’t flowing through me, I might not feel the touch.
The restaurant was built on the side of a seventeenth-century mill. The waterwheel
spills water in a soothing pattern back into the river. A line of people look over the railing
at the water. The sun is still high enough to sparkle on the surface.
 “This is nice.” Jordan waits for two couples to head inside and guides me to the rail.
“It is. My parents always took us here for big celebrations.” The happy memories fill
me with nostalgia.
“Did you and your mom have a good talk this afternoon?”
Shock doesn’t cover it as I stare at him. “How do you know what my mom and I did
today?”
He runs his thumb over my bottom lip and looks at me as if I’m the entire world.
“I’m only surmising based on the tears in your mom’s eyes and all the memories
remodeling a family home can conjure.”
“Huh.” I look back at the river. “We did have a nice talk. I told her about our date,
but not about picking you up at Denver’s house.”
He lets out a long breath. “I’m glad to hear that. I don’t want to be unwelcome
back to dinner.”
“I don’t think that will happen. They like you.” My cheeks are on fire. It’s silly to
keep fighting how much I like him. “Should we go inside?”
With a nod, he takes my hand and we head in.
The hostess seats us at the back of the dining room with a wonderful view of the
river. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Jordan asks, “Do you like wine, Faith?”
“Love it.”
He orders a bottle of cabernet like he knows what he’s talking about and the
hostess smiles.
“I’ll have your waiter bring that right over.” She bats her eyelashes at Jordan before
sashaying away.
I watch her go. In my entire life, I’ve never flirted with a man who was with
another woman. At least he didn’t respond to her. No warm smile for the pretty hostess,
just a thank you and his attention back on me. “Does that happen a lot?”
“What?” His gaze is direct.
I can’t remember the last time Nolan gave me his full attention. Maybe never. “Do
women openly flirt with you often?”
Shrugging. “I don’t know. I’m only focused on one woman and frankly, she’s the
first woman I’ve been interested in for a long time.” His stare is intense and full of
admiration.
My body instantly responds to his declaration. Jordan is everything Nolan is not.
A shadow crosses the table and Nolan is there as if I conjured him with my
thoughts. “Faith?”
“What the hell are you doing here?” My voice rises.
Several people in the restaurant turn to look.
As if it’s perfectly normal, Nolan says, “I was going to come and see you tomorrow.”
My gut is in a knot. I glance at Jordan, who watches silently. I keep my voice soft.
“Nolan, why are you in New Jersey?”
“This is a very good place to eat.” He spreads his arms in a gesture that’s meant to
indicate that it should be obvious to me why he’s in a restaurant less than an hour from
Roseville.
 It’s not easy but I hold my temper. “Please don’t bullshit me. Remember we were
married for eight years. You didn’t fight rush hour traffic on a Friday to drive here when
you have plenty of good eateries in the city or near your home. Why are you here?”
He runs his fingers through his blond hair. Still, not one strand is out of place. His
tie is perfect, and he doesn’t look as if he’s rumpled from a long drive. So aggravating.
Giving Jordan a first look, he asks, “Who is your new friend?”
There’s a debate inside of me. I want to tell him that it’s none of his business and
that he should go fuck off. But making a scene is not my style and it would make Jordan
even more uncomfortable. “Jordan Palmer, my ex, Nolan Markle.
Perfectly calm and looking disinterested, Jordan nods once.
Rather than give Nolan an opportunity to say something rude, I add, “Where’s
Ashley?”
“Oh, um, just over there at our table.” Finally, he looks ashamed.
I turn to find the young blonde who worked for us and whom Nolan seduced. I
force a smile.
Ashley is twenty-three but has the courtesy to look embarrassed.
The waiter comes over with the bottle of wine. He takes out his corkscrew. “I’m
Blake and I’ll be your server. You’ve ordered a great bottle—”
Jordan stops Blake from opening the wine. He looks at Nolan. “I assume you’ll be
rejoining your guest.”
Nolan’s eye twitches as it does when he’s annoyed. He looks from me to Ashley,
then back again. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Faith.”
“I’m busy tomorrow. You should have called in advance or maybe whatever you
want can be sent in an email.” I don’t know what he wants but it can’t be good if he
thought he needed to ambush me.
“I’ll call you. Maybe we can talk on Sunday.” He gives Jordan a nod and returns to
Ashley, who doesn’t look too pleased.
Blake raises a brow. “Should I open the wine?”
“What do you think, Faith? Should we take it to go?” Jordan’s eyes are warm and
full of concern.
“Would you mind?” The idea of eating across from my ex and his girlfriend has
already ruined my appetite. I’d hate for it to ruin our first date.
The way he smiles at me is heart-melting. “Blake, can you make up our bill for the
wine and meet us at the bar.”
Blake is in his late twenties. He’s probably seen it all because he never misses a
beat. “Not a problem. I’ll get a bag for the wine and your bill. I hope you’ll join us
another evening for dinner.”
Rising, Jordan holds my chair, then my hand. “We definitely will.” He kisses my
fingers. “After all, what are the odds of your ex showing up more than once?”
Suddenly, what I thought was a ruined night is sweet. “Thank you.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
JORDAN
“Has your ex ruined the evening, or should we carry on with plan B?” I rub her palm
with my thumb, hoping she’ll relax.
“Why are you so nice?” She still doesn’t get it.
“I told you. I like you, Faith.”
“We could go to Billy’s Mill or the dinner on 206.” She turns toward me as far as her
seatbelt will allow.
I get the feeling she’s looking for some negative reaction to her idiot ex’s behavior.
“Billy’s Mill sounds good. Maybe I can convince you to dance with me. We can save the
wine for another time.”
“I might be talked into a dance or two.” She’s lovely, and I want to know everything
going on in that head of hers. The blue dress gaps in the front, teasing me with just
enough flesh to make my mouth water.
It’s tempting to just take her home and feed her spaghetti from my pantry.
I don’t mind the quiet thoughtfulness between us but I’m curious. “The young
woman, Ashley. She and Nolan had an affair?”
She pulls her hand away and crosses her arms over her chest. “She worked for us.
She’s young, just twenty when she and Nolan started sleeping together. If I’d been
paying attention, I probably would have noticed sooner. It was going on for almost a
year before Tim, another employee, pointed out how close they’d become. He clearly
knew how clueless I was, and his little information drop when we were all out at a bar
after closing a big deal with a corporate client, opened my eyes.”
“What did you do?”
She laughs but there’s no humor in it. “I watched and denied it for a week and then
I asked him. He said it was true and that he had no intention of stopping the affair.
When I asked for a divorce, he looked at me as if I had three heads. He actually
thought I’d be fine with us staying married and him continuing his affair. After all, we
hadn’t had sex in over a year. What did I care if he was unfaithful?”
“But he was wrong.” I want to hold her and tell her I’d never betray her, but she’s
not ready to hear it.
“He was wrong, but I think I had left the marriage long before he and Ashley got
together. Who knows how many other women there were? Who knows how long I
would have stayed unhappy in my marriage if Tim hadn’t clued me in? Maybe I’m not
made for long-term romance.”
I turn into Billy’s Mill on the edge of town. It looks like a run-down roadhouse, but
it’s actually a pretty nice neighborhood bar with decent burgers and good drinks. I ease
apart her clutched hands and kiss her fingers. “I think everything happens for a reason,
and I’m glad your life brought you back to Roseville now. When I first got here, I
thought I’d hit bottom, but now I see how lucky I am to have a job, a nice place to live,
and a hot date.”
She giggles. “I do like you, Jordan Palmer. You always know just the thing to say to
make me feel better.”
 Kissing her fingers, I look into her eyes. “Let me feed you and whirl you around the
dance floor for a bit and maybe you’ll do me the honor of letting me do things that will
make you feel wonderful.”
Passion burns in her blue eyes. “I’m counting on it.”
Before I have a chance to react, she’s out of the truck with a wink.
My cock didn’t miss anything and it’s now difficult for me to join her. Once I
manage, I pull her against me and we’re both grinning as we head inside the busy bar
where it feels like half of the Lane clan is there to greet us.

One thing I noticed about my girl is she’s not a big drinker. She had one drink all night
and since I was driving precious cargo, I had one beer when we first arrived and then
switched to water.
She’s quiet when we go up to my apartment.
“You know that I’d take you home if you wanted, right? You seem pensive.” I sit
next to her on my couch.
“I’m just worrying about whatever it is Nolan came up here for. It’s never good
news with him.” She lets go of a heavy sigh.
I pull her into my lap. “He wants something, but he brought his girlfriend with him,
so it’s nothing too terrible. You can handle him.” I kiss her cheek.
“I don’t want to have to anymore. I want that part of my life to be in the past.
Since Nolan and I don’t have kids, I figured I’d never see him again. I know I said I
could put him aside, but now my brain has gone into overdrive.” She may be thinking of
leaving, but her body relaxes against mine, and she rests her head on my shoulder.
“I’d be happy to keep you busy tomorrow so you don’t have to see him.” I slip my
hand under the hem of her dress and caress her thigh. She’s so soft and strong. The
way I’m falling should terrify me, but I can’t back off.
“What would we do?” She toys with the first fastened button on my shirt, slips it
through the buttonhole, and traces a path along my chest.
Cupping her cheek, I nibble on her bottom lip. “There are so many options.”
She unbuttons two more and toys with my nipple, sending lust directly to my cock.
“Tell me about some of them.”
Pulling the zipper tab at the nape of her neck, I work it downward until I reach her
bra fastening. I make quick work of it, leaving her smooth contoured back exposed to
my exploration. I kiss her throat and along her shoulder, pushing fabric aside and
continuing one inch of soft flesh at a time. “We could drive up to the park with a picnic
lunch and go for a hike. We can head down to the beach and walk on the boardwalk.”
Reaching her breast, I cup it and suck her nipple into my mouth.
She arches against my face and threads her fingers in my hair. “Those are good
options.” She gasps.
“We can stay in here all day and make love.” I lay her back on the couch, then pull
her dress over her hips exposing blue lacy panties. There’s no stopping my groan of
desire. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, Faith.”
“I like that idea as well, but can we talk about it later?”
 Kissing between her sweet breasts to her abdomen, I hum against her skin in
agreement. I love every inch of her perfect body and the scent of her desire has my
shaft fighting to get out of my pants.
“You should let me undress you.” She arches her back and makes the most
wonderful noises as I skim along her lace underwear. Her thighs part.
“I promise as soon as you come, beautiful, I’ll get naked and you can have your
way with me. I just need to see you come apart first.” As much as I need my next
breath, I long for her pleasure.
“You say the sexiest things.” She relaxes into the couch cushions, her head propped
on a pillow, and her eyes full of longing.
As gorgeous as she is in the little lacy bit, I need to taste her. I draw it down her
legs, and she bends her knees to help. Tossing it over with her discarded dress, I take in
her perfectly soft skin and the long lean muscles of her trim body. “Do you run or is it
something else?” I cup her ass and push her thighs apart with my shoulders as I kneel
on the floor.
Her pussy glistens, and I blow a puff of air along her slit.
She gasps. “Running and yoga.”
Still holding her ass, I let my thumbs spread her lips and dip one inside. “So pretty.”
“Jordan.” She closes her eyes and pushes herself so she’s taking my digit deeper.
“Please.” She clutches her tits, pulling on her nipples.
I might come before I’m even inside her. She’s so fucking hot. Lowering my mouth,
I suck her clit and pump my thumb inside her. Everything about her is perfection. Every
noise she makes forces my desire higher. Licking and sucking until I find all the spots
that she likes best is my first priority. Learning everything she likes will be my life’s goal.
I need to keep Faith Lane with me.
She comes apart with a long scream. Her body pulses around my thumb. Crying my
name, she grips my hair to the point of pain, and I love it.
As she relaxes, I lick up every drop of her sweet nectar. “You’re the most amazing
woman I’ve ever known.”
“You did all the work.” She laughs and her body is completely limp.
I crawl forward, wrap my arms around her back and lift her as I stand. “I’d like to
do that every day for the rest of my life if you’d let me.”
Wrapping her legs around my hips and her arms around my neck, she studies me.
“Don’t make bedroom promises, Jordan. You’ll only regret them tomorrow.”
Her mouth is mesmerizing and I kiss the worried look off her face as I carry her
into the bedroom. She wiggles against my thick cock.
As soon as I deposit her on the edge of the bed, I strip out of my clothes.
Licking her lips, she reaches out and runs her hand from the base of my shaft to
the head.
I moan as the pleasure rises inside me. “It may take a little while for you to
understand, beautiful, but I never say anything I don’t mean.”
Her eyes light, but rather than respond, she lowers her mouth to my cock and
sucks me deep.
It’s so good. My balls tighten, and I press a little deeper.
 Opening her throat, she takes all of me before sliding me free and taking me again.
Her soft hands skim over my ass and she digs her nails in my flesh every time my cock
hits the back of her throat. Again and again, she sucks me hard and lets me go.
My legs shake and fire licks at my balls. I grip her head. “Faith, love, you need to
stop or I’m going to come.” I pull back, but she clutches me tighter.
Sucking harder and faster, she widens her knees to bring me closer and deeper.
Unable to hold on any longer, I fuck her mouth hard and fast and have the most
amazing orgasm.
Faith moans as my cum fills her throat. She releases me and swallows. Her gaze
locks with mine in a mix of passion and worry. “I wanted to taste you.”
I pull back the blanket and top sheet. “It was amazing. Will you let me hold you for
a while and maybe come again inside you a little later?”
She slides into my bed and once I’m beside her, she rests her head on the pillow
facing me. “You want to hold me and you don’t want to go to sleep?”
Dragging her against me, I wrap my arms around her. “There’s plenty of time to
sleep and I’ll never get enough of you.”
“Men always say that when the sex is new.” She relaxes her cheek against my
chest.
There’s truth in what she says, but I don’t know how else to convey what I feel. “I
know they do. I know you doubt me based on your ex’s actions, and I don’t blame you
for being skittish.” I search for the right words. “Don’t freak out, but I’m sure I’m in love
with you, Faith. I’ve never actually been more sure of anything in my life.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
it,” concludes an anonymous writer.[99] The account of Mary
Johnston’s adventure given by this writer is as unsatisfactory as
secondhand versions of a mystical experience must necessarily be.
Miss Johnston may or may not write the story; Emerson said that
“the highest cannot be spoken,” and, most certainly, it cannot with
adequacy be written. Miss Johnston has made some attempt to put
her adventure on paper, but the result so far discourages her. In
what follows I am merely trying to convey the quality of her strange
experience. I have not her sanction for what I say; I had rather not
make the trial. But there is really no escape. If we are to understand
the growth of the writer we must have some notion of the thing that
befell.

ii
The child was not strong, and her Scots grandmother first, an aunt
afterward, taught her. She grew up in the village of Buchanan,
Botetourt County, Virginia, still in the 1870’s a place of canalboats
and the stagecoach. Major John William Johnston was a
Confederate veteran, a lawyer and ex-member of the Virginia
Legislature. Naturally the house was not without books. Mary
Johnston found the histories particularly engrossing. Then the family
moved to Birmingham, Alabama, and this daughter was sent to
school at Atlanta. She was then sixteen. In a few months her health
compelled her to return home where, a year later, her mother died.
As she was the eldest of several children the direction of the
household fell to her. She suffered intermittently from illness for
many years. In her twenties and while living in a New York apartment
she began a romance of colonial Virginia in the seventeenth century,
writing much of it in a quiet corner of Central Park, so as to be
outdoors. She had been writing short stories which editors sent back
to her and which she burned on the first rejection. It is said that the
late Walter H. Page, at the time with Houghton Mifflin Company,
discovered her.[100] The historical romance, Prisoners of Hope
(1898) became her first book and was successful; her second novel,
To Have and To Hold (1900) was a record-making best seller and
had literary merits most exceptional in the flood of historical fiction
then running. Miss Johnston traveled considerably in Europe in
quest of better health. After the death of her father she lived for
some time at 110 East Franklin Street, Richmond. Then she built a
home, “Three Hills,” near Warm Springs, Virginia, where she has
lived since. Knowing that her Civil War novels, The Long Roll and
Cease Firing, owe much to Major Johnston’s analyses and
recollections, some Southerners have said that Mary Johnston’s
father was at least equally responsible with her for the splendid
performance in her earlier novels. They quite misunderstand the
nature of the inspiration he undoubtedly gave her. Of direct help—
which is what these people really have in mind—he gave much, as
she has acknowledged; it was, however, unimportant. Direct help
can as well be got from books. If today you tell Miss Johnston how
well you liked such a novel of hers as Lewis Rand (1908), she will
probably respond: “Of course you realize that the picture of those
times is idealized.” In other words, although hers is one of those
natures which must seek the ideal, possess and be possessed by it,
the conception of the ideal has completely changed. Where once
she found it in the bright glints of an earlier American day, now she
finds it in our day and every day, past or present or to be—the pure
silver of the human spirit that runs in a deep if irregular vein through
the worn old rock of human destiny.
For she is like silver herself, like old silver choicely patterned. The
small, oval face and pointed chin are serene in expression beneath a
fine forehead and crisp hair with a great deal of its blackness still in
it. Her manner is reposeful, friendly, unaffected and sympathetic. She
talks readily about anything and everything but you have a feeling
that she is also, at moments, somewhere else—this quite without
any sacrifice or lessening of her hereness and attentiveness. I now
come to the personal experience which, to be intelligible to most of
us, must be put in a crude and simple kind of paraphrase.
If one has suffered much from illness and pain, one is very likely to
have occasional moments in which one returns to life newly-washed,
like the world in trembling freshness and sunlight on a morning after
storm. If one stands on a Virginia hill, or a hill anywhere, one may
sometimes have a distinct awareness that the length and breadth
and depth round about and below are only a kind of length and
breadth and descent to a creature measuring them with his legs;
even the eye seems to declare that genuine dimensions are
elsewhere. Stand on the hill one day, return to it one, five or ten
years afterward, standing in the same place. It is quite possible that
nothing has changed in the scene about you. A certain time has
passed, but you, to yourself, haven’t changed. You have grown a
little older, but the essential you is not anybody else. Suddenly you
realize that time is not a dimension, either, any more than the length
and breadth round about or the drop to the valley below; and that as
long as you are you and no one else, the day, the year or the century
would make no genuine difference. The only distance or direction
lies between the unchanging you and somebody else. You are really
no farther from Balboa discovering the Pacific from a Panama
summit than if you were standing beside him now sharing the
discovery; the direction is from your spirit to his, from his to yours,
and the distance is neither lessened nor increased by race,
nationality, religion, leagues or centuries.
That is, instead of merely acquiring the notion of the fourth
dimension of mathematics, you have come to see that all the so-
called dimensions, length, breadth, height, time and imaginable
others are merely conveniences of earthly existence, or necessities
of earthly existence, like eating and breathing.
As you stand on the hill, you are alone and yet not alone. The
physical you is alone, as always; but the unchanging you is one of a
company whom you can identify only to the extent of what you may
have read or heard about them. In the company will be Francis of
Assisi, Joan of Arc, Spinoza, Ludwig van Beethoven, Cardinal
Newman, William Blake, Walt Whitman—to mention a few of various
times and countries—as well as countless others.
Then will follow the strangest part of the experience and the part
most difficult to put in words. It is, however, something of which
some intimation comes even to the humblest pair of lovers, just as it
is the passionate fulfillment of the great, the immortal lovers of
legend.
 There is a feeling so intense that it can find coherent expression
only in poetry which holds it securely in the rigid mold of metre and
rhyme; there is another feeling, or degree of feeling either more
intense or more delicate which can communicate itself only in a
language of cunningly-related sounds which we call music. And
there is even a pitch of feeling greater than these, higher and very
tranquil and most piercing in its intensity and loveliness. This feeling
has only one expression—love. The object of that love is immaterial
to it. That object may be, outwardly, the body of the beloved. It may
be a person or an idea. It may be anything. The effects of this feeling
are almost infinitely various. You will find some of them described in
William James’s Varieties of Religious Experience. The feeling itself
is a religious feeling but it may not expend itself on a religious object.
The feeling made Francis of Assisi the Clown of God. It brought
visions to Joan of Arc and put her at the head of a victorious army.
Under its influence Beethoven wrote symphonies, Blake made
pictures, and Whitman wrote Leaves of Grass. Sometimes, when the
effects are tranquil, we say that the Lover has found peace—to
which has sometimes been added a phrase of further description,
“the peace that passeth understanding.”
Nearly all these aspects of a continuous human experience came
to Mary Johnston. There was the not unusual preliminary
circumstance of invalidism. There was the loss of a father, much-
loved. There were the Virginia hills she walked upon and there was
frequent solitude. The sense of passing the boundaries of time and
space was facilitated by two things: first, her devotion to history, and
second, her strongly-developed novelist’s imagination. Shortly after
she was forty, therefore, she came to a day when, for an hour or part
of an hour, she had access to a state of knowledge, of sympathy, of
understanding which is so sane that it infuses its sanity into every act
of living and so joyous that those to whom the experience is
vouchsafed can throw aside every lesser joy. After that first
experience Mary Johnston waited for it to renew itself, and gradually
what had come as a miracle remained as a human faculty; so that
since then she has acquired the apparent power or privilege of
leaning out from the gold bar of Heaven, of letting earth slip without
loosing herself from earth. You know how your mind will pass behind
the stars while your feet yet continue to tread firm soil as you go on
walking. That is a feeble likeness to the thing.

iii
It was bound to affect her writing, and perhaps the first traces of it
are in The Witch (1914), but it was clearly apparent in Foes (1918),
where, as I have said before this, “upthrusting through the surface of
a stirring historical adventure, we had the evidence of the author’s
breathless personal adventure.” It is one thing to be by temperament
a mystic; quite another to become, as Miss Johnston had now
become, a mystic by the witness of some inner illumination. In some
cases the change has brought with it a proselyting spirit of great
fervor; in Miss Johnston’s there was a complete absence of any such
missionary zeal. All the same she could not go on writing novels in
which the picture of some bygone time was idealized simply for the
sake of a charming picture. Foes has been correctly described as “a
dramatic story of eighteenth century Scotland with a lasting feud, a
long chase, and a crescendo of hatred and peril.” But it is also a
story of sublime forgiveness, as much so as John Masefield’s The
Everlasting Mercy. In Michael Forth (1919) and Sweet Rocket (1920)
there was, as in certain novels of Herman Melville’s, notably Pierre,
more transcendentalism than story. It was inevitable that she should
be inarticulate for a while, but it was only for a while. For in 1922
appeared her story, Silver Cross, a tale of England in the time of
Henry VII. and of two rival religious establishments. Silver Cross was
both beautiful and intelligible. For the prose style I like best Stewart
Edward White’s word, “stippling.” It has also been said of what was
to be her mode of utterance for a book or two: “Written in a clipped
sort of prose stripped of ‘a’ and ‘an’ and ‘the’ and other particles as
well as articles, the text is a highly mannered English replete with
cadenced sentences and animated by nervous rhythms. The very
diction bears poetic surcharges, and the whole effect on the reader
is to distill in his soul a delicate enchantment or else to exasperate
him to death.”[101] The core of the tale is irony, irony directed at
religious bigotry and religious intolerance; it lies there at the base of
the flower and from it the reader may make his own bitter honey. Or,
if he have no stomach for that, he may take his satisfaction and
pleasure in the rich sound of ecclesiastical trumpets, the green
England, the pageant of a simple world unrolled before him.
In the same year with Silver Cross Miss Johnston’s 1492 was
published. The book is, of course, the story of Columbus, told with
the accurate historical coloring and the poetic feeling one would
expect of the author; but it uses a technical device which, while not
novel, is deserving of attention from the analyst of fiction. This is the
employment as narrator of the story of Jayme de Marchena, a
fictional person, represented as a Jew who has been banished from
Spain under the decree of exile promulgated by Ferdinand and
Isabella. Miss Johnston makes of him a man of philosophical mind,
an “obscure Spinoza” whose thoughts are a constant commentary
on the voyage from Palos and the succeeding voyages. Thus,
without distorting history or creating an imaginary portrait of the
Genoese sailor and discoverer, the book (in form a novel) gives us
one of the great events in human affairs in a perspective that neither
history nor biography affords. Again what we have is the vision of
one standing on a hilltop, alone and yet not alone—of one who is at
the same instant standing in the night watches on the deck of a
caravel and listening to the cry from the man on lookout....

iv
Slow turns the water by the green marshes,
In Virginia.
Overhead the sea fowl
Make silver flashes, cry harsh as peacocks.
Capes and islands stand,
Ocean thunders,
The light houses burn red and gold stars.
In Virginia
Run a hundred rivers.[102]
 The fine opening of Miss Johnston’s poem might serve as an
evocation, except in the detail of the lighthouses, for her novel,
Croatan (1923). The mere fact of her return to the Virginia of colonial
days must have served to entice many readers to this book—who
were held, I think, by the tale itself, once they had begun it. The
legend of Raleigh’s lost colony of Roanoke and of a first white child
born in Virginia, “Virginia Dare,” is skilfully utilized for a romance
quite the most perfect Miss Johnston had imagined. The story of the
three young people who grew up together in the forest—English girl,
Spanish boy and Indian youth—is one of many overtones deftly
sounded. Is Miss Johnston proclaiming a creed of racial tolerance
and interracial understanding? Then the proclamation is made
pianissimo and with muted strings, not with brass instruments. And
the forest scenes—what delicious notes from oboes!
It is very natural to contrast Mary Johnston and Ellen Glasgow,
both Virginians and both novelists of distinction as well as
contemporaries. Their very agreeable personalities are, however,
markedly different. Miss Glasgow is a product of her background and
her time, as much so, for example, as Edith Wharton; Miss Johnston
has a great deal more likeness to, let us say, Miss May Sinclair.
Where Miss Glasgow tends to concern herself with Virginia of the
last half century, Miss Johnston, from going back to the beginnings
of her State, is quite as likely to plunge effortlessly forward into the
farthest imaginable future. For a witness of what she can do in that
direction one does well to read such a short story as “There Were No
More People,”[103] dealing with the extinction of man and the slow
emergence of “a creature who must be classed among aves. He was
small, two-footed, feathered and winged.... Slowly, taking aeons to
do it, he put out, in addition to his wings, rudimentary arms that grew,
taking a vast number of generations to accomplish it, into true arm
and hand. At the same time he began, very, very slowly, to heighten
and broaden his skull. Man would have thought him—as he would
have thought man—a strange looking creature.... It took time, but at
last there dawned self-consciousness. The old vehicle for sensation,
emotion, memory and thought that had been called man was gone.
But sensation, emotion, memory and thought are eternals, and a
new vehicle has been wrought. It is not a perfect vehicle. In much it
betters man, but it is not perfect. The new Thinker resembles the old
in that he knows selfishness and greed and uses violence.... It
remains to be seen if he can outwear and lay aside all that and
remain—as man could not remain.”
MARY JOHNSTON

Copyright, E. L. Mix.
 v
Carl Van Doren’s words about Miss Johnston, in his Contemporary
American Novelists, 1900-1920, that she brings to the legends and
traditions of the Old Dominion no fresh interpretations, have been
made obsolete by Croatan, and are, of course, so far as they are
made applicable to legends in general, denied by her last half dozen
novels. It is most true, though, that Miss Johnston is an historian and
a scholar in her tastes. To the series of fifty volumes interlocking to
form a complete American history, and published by the Yale
University Press under the general title, The Chronicles of America,
Miss Johnston contributed the volume on Pioneers of the Old South.
The book deals with Maryland, the Carolinas and Georgia as well,
but Virginia is, of course, the principal subject. The period is 1607-
1735 and Miss Johnston’s short account is an admirable piece of
writing, concise, accurate, uncontroversial; alive with crisp human
portraits and touched with poetry and imagination in its occasional
descriptive passages.
Miss Johnston’s new novel, to be published late in 1924, under the
title, The Slave Ship, is a story of the American slave trade in the
eighteenth century. David Scott, a prisoner after the battle of
Culloden, is sold into slavery on the American plantations. The
cruelty with which he is treated hardens his conscience, so that
when he escapes he goes without much hesitation or scruple into a
slave ship and then into slave trading. The novel follows with
intensity and compassion the career which takes him from this most
abominable traffic to an understanding of what it means. The novel
is, therefore, a story (like Foes) of one who journeyed on the road to
Damascus. But I recall no story which pictures with more vividness
and power the Middle Passage of infamous memory. The Slave Ship
is notable, too, for the greater suavity of Miss Johnston’s prose style;
the “a’s,” “an’s,” and “the’s” are recovered and there are less tangible
changes—all for the better.
“Nothing can be done but by being greater than the thing to be
done” is a piece of wisdom uttered in Miss Johnston’s fable, “The
Return of Magic.”[104] A writer is, or should be, capable of growth in
two directions—as an artisan and as a source of emotion to be
communicated in terms of beauty. The number who show growth in
either fashion is not large; the number who grow both ways is very
small. Five years ago I had occasion to survey the work of thirty-five
American women novelists, three of whom have since died. One or
two others have produced no new work in the period since. With the
most liberal disposition toward the thirty or so others, it does not
seem to me that more than a half dozen show growth either as
writers or artists. Possibly three have produced work in these five
years indicative of a mind enlarging as the hand serving it has grown
more certain. Mary Johnston is one of the three.[105]

BOOKS BY MARY JOHNSTON

1898 Prisoners of Hope.

In England: The Old Dominion
1900 To Have and To Hold
In England: By Order of the Company
1902 Audrey
1904 Sir Mortimer
1907 The Goddess of Reason. Poetic drama.
1908 Lewis Rand
1911 The Long Roll
1912 Cease Firing
1913 Hagar
1914 The Witch
1915 The Fortunes of Garin
1917 The Wanderers
1918 Foes
In England: The Laird of Glenfernie
1919 Michael Forth
1920 Sweet Rocket
1922 Silver Cross
1922 1492
In England: Admiral of the Ocean-Sea
 1923 Croatan
1924 The Slave Ship

SOURCES ON MARY JOHNSTON

Besides those referred to in the text of the chapter and in
footnotes, the following are suggested:
The Women Who Make Our Novels, by Grant Overton. Moffat,
Yard, 1918, 1919, 1922; Dodd, Mead, 1924. There is a chapter on
Miss Johnston.
“Silver Cross, by Mary Johnston.” Circular published by Little,
Brown and Company, 1922.
Carl Brandt, Brandt & Kirkpatrick, 101 Park Avenue, New York, N.
Y.
 FOOTNOTES
[1] Unwritten History, by Cosmo Hamilton. Page 3.
[2] Adventures in Journalism, by Philip Gibbs. Page 84. Harper.
[3] Adventures in Journalism. Page 113.
[4] Adventures in Journalism. Pages 245-246.
[5] “The Doomdorf Mystery” is the opening story in Mr. Post’s
book, Uncle Abner, Matter of Mysteries (1918).
[6] Aristotle in his Poetics.
[7] Walter Pater.
[8] The quotations from. Mr. Post are collated from the chapter
on him in Blanche Colton Williams’s Our Short Story Writers
(Dodd Mead).
[9] See Gilbert Murray’s Euripides and His Age in the Home
University Library (Holt).
[10] Blanche Colton Williams in the chapter on Mr. Post in Our
Short Story Writers.
[11] The Evening Telegram, New York, 21 October 1923, page
20.
[12] Identified by a correspondent of the Boston Herald (18
October 1923) as Dago Frank, Lefty Louie, Whitey Lewis, Gyp the
Blood—figures in the Becker case.
[13] “Tammany ruled through the corner saloon,” Farnol is
quoted as saying, in an interview appearing in the New York
Tribune, 19 October 1923. “Dear me, yes, we used to vote ever
so many times. I always went out with my Hell’s Kitchen gang,
and we voted for Tammany as often as we were told, changing
our coats and going in time and time again. That was when we
were voting against Jerome.
“I’ve surprised my American friends by saying I thought
prohibition was a good thing. I’ve seen too much tragedy and
sordidness, too many babies born of drunken parents. I used to
love my cups as well as anybody, and I used to say that
regeneration could not be forced on a drunkard by law, but now I
think the law will help give him his start anyway.”
[14] Interview in Boston Herald, 18 October 1923.
[15] Interview in The Sun, New York, 21 October 1911, page
16.
[16] “‘B’gad, no!’ Yes, Mr. Farnol talks that way. He has had his
characters do it for so long that it comes to him naturally and is in
nowise an affectation.”—The Evening Telegram, New York, 21
October 1923, page 20.
“Glasses are a part of his expressive equipment, as much as
‘dammit man’ is, and probably more so than a vest which seems
to have acquired a habit of coming unbuttoned.”—Interview by
John Anderson in The Evening Post, New York, 23 October 1923,
page 12.
[17] R. L. Stevenson: A Critical Study, by Frank Swinnerton.
Pages 189, 190.
[18] The Book News Monthly, Philadelphia, November, 1915.
[19] A writer in the London Times, quoted in the Boston
Evening Transcript, 24 November 1915.
[20] “The Romance of Jeffery Farnol,” by J. P. Collins. The
Bookman, New York, July, 1920.
[21] Quoted by Henry C. Shelley in his article, “Jeffery Farnol
and ‘The Broad Highway,’” in The Independent, New York, 7
September 1911.
[22] Rudyard Kipling was 23 when Plain Tales from the Hills
was brought out in Calcutta; recognition came a few years later.
Mr. F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote This Side of Paradise at 23. William
De Morgan was well past sixty when Joseph Vance made its
success.
[23] Interview in the Boston Sunday Globe, 28 May 1912
(London correspondence printed without a date line).
[24] The Honourable Mr. Tawnish (1913).
[25] “A better selection than Mr. Farnol the Daily Mail could not
have made,” said W. B. (“Bat”) Masterson, in The Morning
Telegraph, New York, 24 July 1921. “Mr. Farnol’s narrative was
not only interesting, but for the most part extremely thrilling. I
would like to give the whole story as Mr. Farnol wrote it.” He does,
however, quote the salient passages of Farnol’s story.
[26] Interview by John Anderson in The Evening Post, New
York, 23 October 1923, page 12.
[27] Interview in The Evening Telegram, New York, 21 October
1923, page 20.
[28] “An Attic Salt-Shaker,” by W. Orton Tewson in The Public
Ledger, Philadelphia, 3 November 1923.
[29] Interviews in The Evening Telegram, New York, 21 October
1923, page 20; in The New York Tribune, 19 October 1923; in The
Boston Herald, 18 October 1923. The Definite Object (1917) is
laid in New York.
[30] Interview by Fay Stevenson in The Evening World, New
York, 24 October 1923.
[31] “Jeffery Farnol at Home,” by Henry Keats, The Book News
Monthly, September, 1911.
[32] Several of the prime favorites among authors of books for
boys and girls are discussed in Chapter 14.
[33] See Chapter 2.
[34] See On the Margin, page 32, bottom, et seq. and page 150
et seq.
[35] On the Margin, page 166 et seq.
[36] See Antic Hay, page 8.
[37] See Crome Yellow, page 121 et seq.
[38] See When Winter Comes to Main Street (Grant Overton),
page 34 et seq.
[39] Antic Hay, page 305.
[40] Letter of Samuel Roth, 500 Fifth Avenue, New York, 28
June 1922.
[41] American Nights Entertainment (Grant Overton), pages 34
and 35.
[42] Mr. F. Scott Fitzgerald.
[43] Mr. Henry L. Mencken.
[44] The New Republic.
 [45] Mr. John V. A. Weaver.
[46] The London Times, 3 May 1923.
[47] Literary news note in The Indianapolis Star, 20 March
1922.
[48] Gods of Modern Grub Street, by A. St. John Adcock.
(Stokes.) Page 267.
[49] Interview in The Evening Post, New York, 1922 (3 March?)
[50] “E. Phillips Oppenheim,” by Himself. Brentano’s Book Chat,
April, 1921.
[51] The New York Times, New York Herald, and The World,
New York, 5 March 1922, reporting a Lotos Club dinner to Mr.
Oppenheim.
[52] Page 266.
[53] “E. Phillips Oppenheim,” by Himself. Brentano’s Book Chat,
April, 1921.
[54] In Boston Evening Transcript for 23 February 1922.
[55] “Mental Photo of E. Phillips Oppenheim,” in The New York
American for 6 March 1922.
[56] “E. Philips Oppenheim,” by Himself, in Brentano’s Book
Chat for April, 1921.
[57] “Fiction and Prophecy,” by E. Phillips Oppenheim, in The
New York Times, Sunday book or magazine section (March,
1922?)
[58] “E. Phillips Oppenheim,” by Himself, in Brentano’s Book
Chat, April, 1921.
[59] Dr. Hall married twice.
[60] “The Foremost Woman Novelist in Spain,” in The Boston
Evening Transcript for 12 April 1924.
[61] Pages 153-154.
[62] “In a spirit of youthful independence, I had lopped off my
father’s patronymic.”—Unwritten History, by Cosmo Hamilton,
page 8. The father, Mr. Gibbs, had opposed Cosmo’s literary
ambitions. See also the chapter on Philip Gibbs in this book.
[63] Unwritten History, by Cosmo Hamilton, page 89.
 [64] As long ago as 1916, writing of Lucas’s work, Mr. Llewellyn
Jones, literary editor of The Chicago Evening Post, said: “It
sounds incredible, but Mr. Lucas has put his name—as author,
editor or introducer—on about 108 titlepages.” See pamphlet, “E.
V. Lucas: Novelist, Essayist, Friendly Wanderer,” published at the
time by George H. Doran Company, New York.
[65] See pamphlet, “E. V. Lucas: Novelist, Essayist, Friendly
Wanderer,” published in 1916, the excerpt being taken from Mr.
Llewellyn Jones’s article therein.
[66] “The metal bar, cold or lukewarm, will do anywhere, but
heat it to melting-point and you must confine it within the rigid
limits of the mold or see it at length but an amorphous splash at
your feet.” This vivid metaphor of Mr. Pritchard’s is surely one of
the most inspired explanations and justifications of poetic form
ever set down. It can hardly be cited except by the supporters of
traditional verse forms, as in a preceding sentence of his eloquent
passage Mr. Pritchard speaks of “rime” and “metre” as well as of
rhythm.
[67] Books and Persons, page 153. The notice first appeared in
The New Age, London, 7 October 1909.
[68] See pamphlet, “E. V. Lucas: Novelist, Essayist, Friendly
Wanderer.”
[69] “Of Slang—English and American,” in Cloud and Silver.
[70] “The True Wizard of the North,” in Adventures and
Enthusiasms.
[71] “Thackeray’s Schoolfellow,” in Adventures and
Enthusiasms.
[72] In Adventures and Enthusiasms.
[73] Men and Books and Cities, by Robert Cortes Holliday,
pages 196-197.
[74] See also “Stories and Humorists,” in Roving East and
Roving West, page 136 et seq., and also “Chicago,” in the same
volume. Mr. Holliday’s full account is in Men and Books and
Cities, pages 196-203, inclusive, and also page 206.
[75] Books and Persons, pages 153-154. First appeared as a
notice of Mr. Lucas’s One Day and Another in The New Age,
London, 7 October 1909.
 [76] A writer in John o’ London’s Weekly, London. Reprinted in
the Boston Evening Transcript of 3 March 1923.
[77] Article by Anne Carroll Moore in The Bookman for
November, 1918. Reprinted in her Roads to Childhood.
[78] See Chapter 12 for an account of Clyde Fitch and His
Letters, by Mr. Moses and Miss Gerson.
[79] See Chapter 11.
[80] See Chapter 12.
[81] Yes, in These Charming People; but it is a remarkable
coincidence that the identical mot appeared conspicuously in
Donald Ogden Stewart’s Perfect Behavior, published in America
in autumn, 1922. (These Charming People appeared in England
in early summer, 1923.)
[82] See Chapter 14.
[83] “Animals Love, Hate and Become Angry, Just Like Human
Beings, Says Expert.” Interview by Jane Dixon in The Evening
Telegram, New York, 23 January 1922.
[84] W. T. Hornaday, curator of the New York Zoölogical
Gardens, is quoted in Lions ’n’ Tigers ’n’ Everything as saying:
“Casey was a mystery. I am frank to say that I could not put my
finger on his exact classification. Of course, he was an ape. But
just what kind—that is the question.”
[85] “He’d Make a Man of a Monkey—and in Four
Generations.” Feature article in The Gazette Times, Pittsburgh,
Pennsylvania, 7 May 1922.
[86] See the chapter on Mrs. Wharton either in Authors of the
Day or American Nights Entertainment (both Grant Overton).
[87] The quotations are from the first two pages of The Old
Maid.
[88] The Age of Innocence.
[89] In New Year’s Day.
[90] “I admit most fully that I myself proceeded with Lord
Carson to great lengths—and would even have proceeded to
greater—in order to prevent the forcible inclusion of the Northern
provinces in a Parliament sitting at Dublin.”—The Earl of
Birkenhead in America Revisited (1924) page 40.
 [91] Where Are We Going? (1923), by the Right Hon. David
Lloyd George.
[92] The Genesis of the War (1923), by the Right Hon. Herbert
H. Asquith.
[93] See Chapters 1 and 11.
[94] See Chapter 12.
[95] Quoted from the article, “Progress of Frank L. Packard,” in
the Argosy-Allstory Weekly for 3 February 1923.
[96] See article, “Progress of Frank L. Packard,” in the Argosy-
Allstory Weekly for 3 February 1923.
[97] The Adventures of Jimmie Dale, page 20.
[98] “The Story—The Precious Corner Stone,” by Frank L.
Packard in The Photodramatist for November (1923?)
[99] “The Literary Spotlight: Mary Johnston,” in The Bookman
for July, 1922. Reprinted in The Literary Spotlight (book published
1924).
[100] “What You Should Know About American Authors: Mary
Johnston,” in the New York Herald for 21 June 1922 (book
section).
[101] See “The Literary Spotlight: Mary Johnston” in The
Bookman for July, 1922. Reprinted in The Literary Spotlight (book
published 1924).
[102] Opening lines of “Virginiana,” by Mary Johnston, in The
Reviewer for February, 1922.
[103] In The Reviewer. Reprinted in The World Tomorrow for
February, 1924.
[104] In The Reviewer for April, 1922.
[105] It must be premised that “growth” in an artist is a term
upon which agreement as to definition is probably impossible.
Nevertheless it is loosely used by all of us to denote a certain
progression in the work of such a writer as Henry James or
Thomas Hardy. It may or may not, I suspect, mean greater or
more enduring work, but it almost invariably must mean work of a
more marked idiosyncrasy, more stamped with the personality of
the author, and probably written with a noticeable idiom of style.
Subject is hardly a safe test.
 INDEX OF PRICES
NOTE: Prices given are net and are subject to change. Inquiry
should be made of a bookseller for titles not listed.

Addington, Sarah,
Round the Year in Pudding Lane, $2.00
Adler, Felix,
The Reconstruction of the Spiritual Ideal, $1.50
Alcott, Louisa M.,
Little Men: Life at Plumfield with Jo’s Boys, $1.50
Little Women: or Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy, $1.50
Alexander, Elizabeth,
Rôles, $2.00
Allen, Lucy G.,
Choice Recipes for Clever Cooks, $2.00
Table Service, $1.75
Altsheler, Joseph A.,
Apache Gold, $1.75
Border Watch, The, $1.75
Candidate, The, $1.75
Eyes of the Woods, The, $1.75
Forest Runners, The, $1.75
Forest of Swords, The, $1.75
Free Rangers, The, $1.75
Great Sioux Trail, The, $1.75
Guns of Bull Run, The, $1.75
Guns of Europe, The, $1.75
Guns of Shiloh, The, $1.75
Herald of the West, A, $1.75
Hosts of the Air, The, $1.75
 Hunters of the Hills, The, $1.75
In Circling Camps, $1.75
Keepers of the Trail, The, $1.75
Last of the Chiefs, The, $1.75
Last Rebel, The, $1.75
Lords of the Wild, The, $1.75
Lost Hunters, The, $1.75
Masters of the Peaks, The, $1.75
My Captive, $1.75
Quest of the Four, The, $1.75
Riflemen of the Ohio, The, $1.75
Rock of Chickamauga, The, $1.75
Rulers of the Lakes, The, $1.75
Scouts of Stonewall, The, $1.75
Scouts of the Valley, The, $1.75
Shades of the Wilderness, The, $1.75
Shadow of the North, The, $1.75
Soldier of Manhattan, A, $1.75
Star of Gettysburg, The, $1.75
Sun of Saratoga, The, $1.75
Sun of Quebec, The, $1.75
Sword of Antietam, The, $1.75
Texan Scouts, The, $1.75
Texan Star, The, $1.75
Texan Triumph, The, $1.75
Tree of Appomattox, The, $1.75
Young Traders, The, $1.75
Arlen, Michael,
The Green Hat, $2.50
These Charming People, $2.50
“Piracy,” $2.50
Asquith, Herbert Henry,
The Genesis of the War, $6.00

Baker, S. Josephine, M.D.,