.jpg)
BackCover......
Prosecutor David Owen has fond memories of growing up in small-town Washington State. But he outgrew that place—and his family—long ago and hasn't felt the need to return. Until the day a tragedy shakes the town and calls him back to a community desperate for hope and healing. In the emotional fallout, he never expects to find Acadia Henderson again.For one teenage summer they hovered on the edge of a sweet attraction before she moved away. Now as adults, that same attraction is there… only, hotter and way more intense. This seems like the wrong time to find a connection. But it could be the perfect time to move on…with each other
Written By: Janice Kay Johnson
Publisher: Harlequin
ISBN-10: 9780373718252
ISBN-13: 978-0373718252
ASIN: 037371825X
Disclaimer: : I have received this book from Vanessa Brooke in exchange of my honest review.
A Sneak Peek....
How could she still love someone who was the source of most of her misery and grief? Someone who had ruined her life? Joyce Owen sat behind closed drapes in her living room, the TV flickering but unwatched although Days of Our Lives was on. She had scarcely left the house in two weeks, had become so accustomed to keeping the blinds closed she never noticed anymore how dim the room was. Her world had narrowed gradually as she cut off contact with that hateful Marvella Hatcher first, then the Daleys, Kirk and Marie Merfeld, Alice Simmons, once her dearest friend, the Jurgens…until no one was left. Once she'd enjoyed gardening and talking over the fence with the neighbors to each side, grocery shopping here in town, going to the library, catching up on gossip. It had been years since she'd stepped foot in the Food Emporium here in Tucannon; she drove all the way to Walla Walla now to buy her necessities, just so she didn't have to pretend not to hear the whispers when townsfolk set eyes on her. All because of Robbie, who couldn't help himself—oh, she knew he couldn't—but he had made her life hard. There was no denying that. Two weeks ago, she'd had to tell him this was no longer his home, not if he wouldn't take his medicine. He was her oldest, thirty-four years old and no more capable of taking care of himself than a five-year-old. But she had finally become so frightened of him she couldn't live with it anymore. Since he'd stormed out, she had understood that this wasn't any better. Joyce felt as if a tornado was approaching. The sky was sickly yellow, the stillness absolute, and by the prickling of her skin she knew, knew, that something terrible was coming. She was just waiting to find out what that something terrible was. She slept only in uneasy bursts, every creak of the old house jerking her to wakefulness. Come morning, she did her housekeeping chores out of long habit, hurrying when she had to step outside to water her poor pitiful roses in the backyard or haul the garbage can out to the curb. Then she sat, pretending to watch TV. And all she could think about was what he was doing right now. What he was thinking. How scared he was. She knew Robbie hadn't left town, the way she'd half hoped he would. She didn't answer the phone, but she did listen to messages. Several neighbors had called to complain that they'd caught him sleeping in their garage or under their lilac bushes beneath the front windows. Sounding mad as hell, Wayne Tindall said, "I looked at him down the barrels of my shotgun and told him if he steps foot on my property again I'd let him have it." Of course, Wayne hadn't liked the boys even when they were just normal high-spirited kids. He'd called the police when David hit a baseball through his plate-glass window. As if he hadn't known perfectly well that Pete and Joyce would pay for the replacement and then make David work it off in chores. Joyce just plain didn't like Wayne Tindall. She tried to feel sorry for his wife, Betty, living with a man who lacked even a grain of compassion. Crack. The crack of a gunshot came from so close her entire body spasmed. Joyce dropped to the floor with her heart racing. Oh, God, oh, God, she thought. It had come. Whatever the terrible thing was. Somebody was screaming, a keen of terror. Crack. The second shot, cutting that scream off, was just as loud, just as near, rattling the window glass. It sounded as if it had been fired right outside her living room. Or next door, she realized with a shudder. At the Tindalls'. But she'd heard shotguns fired before, and they didn't sound like this, clean and sharp. Panic squeezed her chest. Whimpering, she crawled a few feet and then lurched to her feet and ran toward the back of the house. She hardly ever went into Pete's den, only to vacuum and dust every week or so. She hadn't emptied out any of his things since he dropped dead of a heart attack near two years ago. She just…closed the door. She had too much grief already on her mind. Now she flung the door open and stared in horror at his gun safe, standing open and empty. The key. Robbie had found the key. Pete's hunting rifles were missing, both of them, and Joyce knew without looking that the handgun he kept in the drawer at the bottom of the safe would be gone, too. Lord have mercy on them all. What had Robbie done? Right that moment, she didn't even care that he might be coming for her. No, she hoped he would. This was all her fault. Her legs sagged, and she sank down onto the floor right there, in the doorway where she couldn't look away from the awful sight of those missing guns. Tears streaming down her face, she waited for him. Reeve Hadfield lay on his back on his wooden creeper under the car, Kanye West's "Heard 'em Say" blasting through his earbuds. He wiped sweat from his forehead, not caring that he'd probably smeared grease on his face, then adjusted his light and started to lift the wrench. A glimpse of his watch surprised him. Crap! Walt said he'd probably stop by before one, and it was after that now. He'd have seen that Reeve was under the car, wouldn't he? Walt Stenten owned the Shell station out by the highway. Reeve had pumped gas through high school and after he graduated had gone to work for him full-time. It wasn't like they were friends, exactly; Walt was probably Reeve's parents' age, maybe forty-five or fifty or something like that. He was this short guy built like a box, who kept his hair in a buzz cut and had crinkles beside his eyes from squinting. They hardly talked at all, and when they did it was mostly stuff like, "Start with the oil change, then let's take a look at the brakes on the Hargers' Voyager." Reeve had been working on his own car, a '55 Chevy Bel Air. Not a convertible; that would have been even cooler. This was a sedan, but it was in awesome shape considering. Getting parts was the hard thing. Walt had been helping him with that. Reeve reached down to his waist and turned off his iPod, so he'd hear when Walt did come. The garage door stood open to give him better light to work by, so Reeve knew he wouldn't go to the front door or anything. Talk about timing: he heard footsteps coming up the driveway. Grinning, Reeve laid down the light and his wrench, then gave a push with his heels to send the creeper shooting out from under the side of the Bel Air. He spun on the wheels and, still on his back, zipped out to the front of the garage, the bumper rearing above him. Since his eyes had adjusted to the dim light under the car, the brilliant sunlight blinded him for a moment. All he could see was a dark silhouette against the white-hot background. "Walt?" he said, hearing his own uncertainty. He blinked a couple of times, thinking it was weird that Walt hadn't said anything or moved. One more blink, and he could see again. Only…it wasn't Walt standing there. It was that freak Rob Owen. And—shit!—he had a rifle slung over his back, a pistol jammed in his waistband, and he was holding another rifle loose in his arms. His hair was matted and dirty. Was that blood spattering his face and the front of his T-shirt? He stared at Reeve, his face expressionless except for his dark eyes, which burned. He was crazy, everyone knew that. But this…this was horror-movie crazy. Reeve heard himself start to say, "What the…?" when the barrel of that rifle lifted and took aim at his head or maybe his chest. Owen sighted down it, and, as if time had slowed down, Reeve actually saw a finger tightening on the trigger. I'm dead, he thought incredulously. And then, God, a body flew out of nowhere just as the first deafening boom sounded. Slam! Somebody came down on top of him, pushing the creeper backward. Boom! Another shot. It was deadweight on him. Completely panicked, Reeve shoved the body off him and propelled himself under the car with a scramble of heels and hands. Walt. God, that was Walt, he realized in horror. Walt, with blood spilling from his mouth, and his eyes. Reeve came out the back of the Bel Air and leaped off the creeper, crouching behind the bulk of the car, straining for any sound at all. Nothing. Damn it. Nothing. He measured with his eyes the distance to the door going into the house, and knew he had to try for it. His heart was trying to slam its way out of his chest, and he wasn't sure he could hear over the thunder in his ears. Now! Still crouching, he threw himself forward, up the two steps, turned the knob, yanked the door open and all but fell through, into the kitchen. He didn't hear a gunshot, didn't see anything. Hand shaking, he pushed the stupid-ass little button lock that wouldn't keep out anyone, then ran for the phone. It took him three tries to dial 911. The operator had already answered, her voice faraway and tinny, when Reeve heard another gunshot. Not right out in front; maybe a couple of houses away. "Somebody's shot," he babbled. "God! I think he's dead. My address." "I have your address, sir. Do you see the gunman?" "No!" he screamed. "I don't know where he went! Just…hurry. Tell them to hurry." Then he dropped the phone and ran for the bathroom. He'd pissed his pants. He couldn't let anyone see. No one. Somehow he got himself cleaned up, grabbed jeans from his bedroom and raced for the door to the garage again, still hopping to get the jeans on and buttoned. Somewhere, sirens had started. Not one, but several. God. He wanted to go out and see if Walt was alive, but he was too freaking scared to do it. Walt might be bleeding to death, after sacrificing himself to save Reeve, and he didn't have the guts to go back out into the garage. He'd never learned first aid anyway. Oh, sure. Good excuse. The sirens screamed right outside.....
The Thoughts of the Reviewer...
I have not yet put up this section in any of my reviews. But this book compelled me to do so. I took a long time to read this book. Literally. I read it twice before starting my review. I was in a dilemma. How do I rate this book? The topic is raw, current and something which under no circumstance can I sympathize with. Forget sympathizing, I can't begin to understand. Something which shook United States of America to the very core. Something which made us question where humanity is landing? When I came across this book, I felt repelled at first and I could not put it down at the same time. For a light Harlequin Romance, this book was nerve cracking.
Of course it's a romantic tale but the coming of the protagonists is the result of a schizophrenic's action. So, I decided not to review this book as I generally do by introducing the HE and the SHE and talk about their Love Story. Here the love story is overshadowed by a more powerful story.
The Story....
David and Acadia are neighbors who had gone their separate ways only to come back to their hometown Tucannon due to a tragedy. But they did not belong to the same side of the tragedy. David's brother Robbie was a schizophrenic who needed to be curtailed but due to the System the parents could not do so. They had to pay a heavy price for it. My fingers are itching to type what had actually happened since I know many of you would love to discuss the pros and cons of the incident. But it will be taken as a spoiler and I cannot do that to the author.
The author, Janice Kay Johnson, on her part has beautifully depicted the characters surrounding Robbie. The love story between David and Acadia is simple and honest, without much drama except their emotional conflicts. But I must say here that Acadia is one character I would love to have as my daughter in law but not my daughter. [ Sorry Janice] But such openness and forgiveness are a divine qualities that I am yet to see in a person. A person who has such a big heart is very rare.
For me relating to Acadia is very difficult but Joyce yes. I could understand the conflict of a mother. She sounded a person with all human faults and that is fine. But to say that I have to forgive and live happily ever after, being a victim of a crime of such a big magnitude, doesn't work for me.
Another character Reeve puzzled me. What the heck was he doing there? If he wanted to say that he is one character whose life changed after the incident, then why was he coming in bits and pieces and how was he related to David and Acadia. They even did not have a scene together. [Or did I miss anything after two reads? ]
If something made me really angry in this book was the sting of sympathy I felt for Robbie. I don't want to feel sympathy for such characters. I hate them. Period. I don't want to know what happened to them, I don't want to know what they were good at. And I don't want to sell anything they have done for any cause- especially after the incident has taken place. I am sorry but such beings should not be depicted as humans after the incident.
Rating...
The three stars are the for the author who has depicted the characters so beautifully. It is a beautiful novel with lots of issues being handled. But for me as a reader the backdrop of the story became predominant and it took me away from the love story.[ since this is a book of the romance genre] I hated Robbie and I hated the fact that I felt something akin to sympathy for him. I really would love to know what the other readers feel about this novel.
Janice Kay Johnson is the author of sixty books for children and adults. Her first four published romance novels were co-authored with her mother, also a writer who has since published mysteries and children's books on her own. These were "sweet" romance novels, the author hastens to add; she isn't sure they'd have felt comfortable co-authoring passionate love scenes!
Janice graduated from Whitman College with a B.A. in history and then received a master's degree in library science from the University of Washington. She was a branch librarian for a public library system until she began selling her own writing.
She has written six novels for young adults and one picture book for the read-aloud crowd. Rosamund was the outgrowth of all those hours spent reading to her own daughters, and her passion for growing old roses. Two more of her favorite books were historical novels she wrote for Tor/Forge. The research was pure indulgence for someone who set out intending to be a historian!
Janice is divorced and has raised her two daughters in a small, rural town north of Seattle, Washington. She's an active volunteer and board member for Purrfect Pals, a no-kill cat shelter, and foster kittens often enliven a household that already includes a few more cats than she wants to admit to!
Janice loves writing books about both love and family — about the way generations connect and the power our earliest experiences have on us throughout life. Her Superromance novels are frequent finalists for Romance Writers of America RITA® awards.
You can buy the book here:
Amazon
