Happily Ever Afters for the Holidays
(A 5-Book Collection)
by: Heather Blanton
Genre: Christian fiction historical and time travel
A romantic, snow-filled collection of Christmas love stories varying from Western
Romance to Time Travel—and all best-selling, highly rated stories from Heather
Blanton. Grab a steaming cup of hot chocolate and settle in. Over a thousand
pages to keep you up at night after night swooning over the heroes...
Hang Your Heart on Christmas (Brides of Evergreen Book 1) -- A marshal
tormented by a thirst for vengeance. A school teacher desperate to trade fear for
courage. They have nothing in common except a quiet, little town built on
Grace be a Lady -- Banished and separated from her son, city-girl Grace has to
survive in a cowboy’s world. Maybe it’s time to stop thinking like a lady...and act
like a man.
Love, Lies, & Typewriters -- A big city reporter who wants to be a serious
mystery writer is tapped to promote the concocted romance of a war hero and a
cowgirl. When he falls in love with his heroine, though, the show couple's staged
Christmas wedding forces him to risk his career and make his own cowboy-style
For the Love of Liberty (Timeless Love Series Book 4) -- The memory of a man
she’s never met haunts her like a Christmas ghost.
In Time for Christmas -- Is she beyond the reach of a violent husband who
hasn’t even been born yet?
Amazon - https://amzn.to/2RGKtoI
Hang Your Heart on Christmas
U.S. Marshal Robert “Dent” Hernandez signed the voucher and slid it back across the desk to the sheriff. “That’ll do it.” Two down ... how many more to go?
Sheriff Ben Hayes leaned back in his chair and regarded Dent with that familiar, pitying expression. “Son, aren’t you tired?”
Dent held his breath to keep from sighing. Ben, with his barrel-chest and graying hair, was a good man, but he was too eager to share his thirty-years of lawman wisdom. “No, sir.” Dent swiped his hat up off the desk. “Bringin’ ‘em in is my job.”
“You know that’s not what I’m talkin about. Your pa wouldn’t want you throwing your life away on his account.”
Dent dropped his hat on his head. “If the men I arrest don’t have a chance to kill somebody else’s pa, that’s not a waste.” He touched the brim in good-bye. “I’m gonna go get some lunch. I’ll head out with the prisoners after.”
He stepped out on the now-sun-washed main street of Evergreen and flinched at the mud. Six straight days of autumn rains had turned the normally dusty street into a quagmire. Off to his left, four men, covered head to toe in the muck, sweated and cursed the mess as they worked to pry their wagon loose. Mules strained and tugged. The sucking sound from the wheels drowned out the noise from the rest of the mud-weary traffic.
“Dent,” Ben stepped up beside him, “you don’t take a day off. You don’t rest. You swing through town once in a blue moon, and then you’re gone again. You got roots in this town and they’re dying.”
“That would be a tragedy.”
“You could attend a dance every now and then.” Ben wiggled his eyebrows. “Git your arms around a pretty girl. Bid on a sweet apple pie.”
Dent didn’t care to reply. He continued watching the men mired in the mud. Most excitement this town has seen in a decade.
“That hate’s gonna eat you up, son. One day you’ll wake up fat, old, and alone–like me–and wonder what it was all for.”
That last part surprised Dent. “You’re a good lawman, Ben. You don’t think it’s been worth it? Think about who you’ve helped put in jail.”
Ben sighed and swiped his hand over his face. “You’re missing my point. You can do your job, and have a life, too. I know that now. I didn’t when your pa and I were young.”
The fire that burned in Dent’s belly didn’t agree. One day he would get the final clue. One day he would arrest the men who had shot his father. He could wait. He could be patient. He could not, however, waste time attending dances and sampling pies. “I thank you for your advice, Ben. You know I respect your opinion.”
Grace be a Lady
“Grace, you are too beautiful and gentle to be trapped in a loveless marriage with a man like Bull Hendrick.”
Alone with her photographer in the parlor, Grace allowed Seth Lattimore to slip his hand on top of hers. She should have stood up, or at least slid further down the settee, but the young artist’s eager green eyes held her perfectly still. Like a flower in need of water, her heart had thirstily drunk in Seth’s rain of compliments and flirtatious remarks. Their hours together as she posed for his portraits had left them too much time to talk, to move toward one another.
“I would treat you like a princess,” he whispered, grasping her hand. “I would never raise my hand to you . . . and, I swear I would never cheat on you.”
Grace felt herself give in a little. Seth pulled her hand to his cheek and held it there, as if it were the hand of a queen, the queen he cherished.
In six years, Harry “Bull” Hendrick hadn’t touched her with such reverence or affection, not once. Nor had he said a kind word to her. The very moment they’d married, he’d changed into a monster. He’d gone from gently wooing her in fancy restaurants to lording over her like a slave owner, the change as sudden and severe as the outbreak of a summer thunderstorm.
He bellowed, grabbed, shoved, controlled.
Seth, with his smoldering jade eyes and boyish grin, was kind, supportive, and dangerously sympathetic. The perfect temptation. Now, Grace sat squarely in a moment from which she should run.
You’re not happy in your marriage, a voice whispered. Bull hasn’t been faithful . . .
The warmth of Seth’s hand on her cheek, and the reverent way he touched her shoulder could almost make her weep. He moved closer and Grace closed her eyes. She felt so empty and dry.
Just one drop of water . . .
Just one kiss . . .
The doors to the parlor burst open. Bull exploded into the room like a thunderbolt.
I grew up in the mountains of Western North Carolina on a steady diet of
Bonanza, Gunsmoke, and John Wayne Westerns. My most fond childhood
memory is of sitting next to my daddy, munching on popcorn, and watching
Lucas McCain unload that Winchester! My daddy also taught me to shoot and,
trust me, I can sew on buttons with my rifle.
I love exploring out West, especially ghost towns and museums. I’ve walked
parts of the Oregon Trail, ridden horses through the Rockies, climbed to the top
of Independence Rock, and even held an outlaw’s note in my hand. Now, that’s
living the dream!
I live on a farm just outside Raleigh, NC with my husband and two teen boys
(Lord help me.)
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