Can a wily old ghost help two fractured hearts find love?
When widower Rich Redman returns to Pennsylvania with his young daughter to sell his deceased grandmother’s house, he discovers Grandmother Gertie’s final request was for him to find a missing relative and a stash of WWI jewels.
Torrie Larson, single mom, is trying to make her landscape center and flower arranging business succeed while attempting to save the lineage of a rare white rose brought from Austria in the 1900s.
Together, the rich Texas lawyer and poor landscape owner team up to rescue the last rose and fulfill a dead woman’s wishes. But in their search to discover answers to the mysteries plaguing them, will Rich and Torrie also discover love in each other’s arms? Or will a meddling ghost, a pompous banker, and an elusive stray cat get in their way?
EXCERPT – Four White Roses
When Torrie stepped up to grab the notes from Rich’s hand, he scooped her into his arms and, without warning, planted a light kiss squarely in the center of her forehead, oblivious to the dirt on her face from working at the landscape center. Before she could react, he shoved the notes and phone in her hand, spun her around, and nudged her toward the steps. “Now go pluck the local flowers and bamboozle all those poor unsuspecting customers. I have work to do.” He smiled an arresting smile.
“Bamboozle?” She turned toward him and gave him a perplexed look. Seriously? Isn’t that a word to better describe your occupation, counselor?” Forcing herself to suppress a grin, she clambered down the steps and called over her shoulder, “Don’t forget to feed the cat. Have Lulu teach you.”
She slid into the driver’s seat and tossed the phone and notes onto the passenger seat. But before she could pull away from Gertie’s house, her phone rang. This time it wasn’t her usual ringtone. Rich Redman had changed her tune from I Love the Flower Girl to the Yellow Rose of Texas.
“The audacity of that man! What a blockhead,” she sputtered aloud. How dare he toy with her ringtone? Her mother had suggested the 60’s song when she first started floral arranging at the landscape center. She reached for the phone and answered more sharply than she normally would, “What? What do you want now, Richard Lee Redman? I’m driving. I can’t talk.”
There was a pause on the other end of the phone, and Torrie hoped he wasn’t going to say you—or his Friday outing with her was going down the drain.
Instead, he merely said in his low and sensual voice, “You know you have dirt on your face, don’t you?”
Torrie hung up on him.
A word about the author…
Judy Ann Davis began her career in writing as a copy and continuity writer for radio and television in Scranton, PA. She holds a degree in Journalism and Communications and has written for industry and education throughout her career.
Over a dozen of her short stories have appeared in various literary and small magazines and anthologies, and have received numerous awards.
When Judy Ann is not behind a computer, you can find her looking for anything humorous to make her laugh or swinging a golf club where the chuckles are few.
She is a member of Pennwriters, Inc. and Romance Writers of America, and divides her time between Central Pennsylvania and New Smyrna Beach, Florida.
Visit her on:
Her blog: www.judyanndavis.blogspot.com
The web: www.judyanndavis.com
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