A modern retelling of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.
Camille Kelly is in real danger of becoming an old maid—at least by Cherish, Montana, standards. She has all but given up on finding Mr. Right—until her broken laptop leads her to Aiden Peterson, a tall, dark, and handsome computer genius. Camille would never have believed her magic moment was right around the corner, but after two whirlwind weeks, she has a ring on her finger and has happily ever after in sight. However, she soon discovers Aiden is part of a daunting package deal . . .
As the eldest of seven brothers, Aiden has never had a problem living under the same roof as his rambunctious siblings. When he falls for Camille, he is confident she’ll fit right into his family’s already bursting home. He thought wrong. Aiden and Camille’s storybook romance comes to a screeching halt when she discovers her new living situation. Not willing to submit to a life mothering a bunch of grown men, Camille has only one option: she embarks on a campaign to improve her new brothers-in-law and marry them off. And what better candidates for wives than her own best friends?
No one should underestimate the influence of a woman. If Aiden Peterson had realized this a few years ago, it would’ve saved him a lot of grief in his efforts to parent his six younger brothers. Lost in his thoughts, Aiden leaned against the marble countertop in his kitchen while he waited for his dinner to finish cooking. It had been a week since he’d said goodbye at the airport to his baby brother, Grant, who had deployed to Iraq. Watching Grant hug his girlfriend, the woman who’d turned him into a well-behaved man almost overnight, had reminded Aiden of a promise he’d made ten years ago at his parents’ graveside—one he intended to keep.
The timer went off, and Aiden pulled the pan of fish sticks and fries out of the oven. He grimaced when he accidentally dropped the hot pad onto the heating element. Instantly, a corner of fabric disappeared in a small flame. He grabbed a spatula, scooped the burning hot pad onto the floor, and deftly pounded out the flames.
It didn’t bode well if thoughts of dating again had distracted him to the point of nearly burning down his house. While he loved living in a bachelor pad with his brothers, a guy could only live off frozen food for so many years before he cracked. If getting married could change this, dating might be worth it. With a sigh of disgust, he rinsed the charred hot pad under water. He let it drip dry before he opened the drawer next to the oven and threw it in.
“I saw that.” Benson drawled from the other side of the room. Aiden glanced at his brother just thirteen months younger than him, sitting in the family room just off the kitchen. He wished Benson didn’t have an inch on him in height and a broader chest. It had been so much easier to tell his brothers to mind their own business when they were smaller. “When are you going to learn how to cook?” Benson asked him.
“No need when I have you around,” Aiden said. Benson was the only one of the Peterson brothers who knew how to cook, and his meals consisted of potatoes and potatoes.
“What if I get married and leave?”
Aiden’s brow rose. It was ironic how casually Benson had brought up marriage, the topic that kept ringing in his own mind. “You have to learn how to talk to girls before you can get married.”
Benson had a lot going for him, but he was reserved and antisocial. He needed a woman to pull him out of his shell. In fact, all his brothers could benefit from the influence of a woman—a person who could bring light back into their lives, like Amy had done for Grant.
Benson picked at his teeth with a toothpick. “There isn’t a need to talk to girls. They talk enough for everyone.”
Benson’s hang-up with dating was part of the Peterson plague. They’d had to be independent and emotionally guarded for so long, but it didn’t have to be like that anymore. Once Aiden married, the pattern would cycle right down the alphabet. Next would be Benson, then the twins, Cade and Daegan, then Flynn, Easton, and Grant. In fact, Aiden didn’t see why he couldn’t get the older five married before Grant’s deployment ended in a year’s time.
No one else was home, so this was Aiden’s opening to confess his thoughts and gauge Benson’s reaction. “We can work on the talking-to-girls thing. I want you to start dating.” He had Benson’s full attention now. Aiden juggled a hot fish stick back and forth between his hands before setting it back down in the pan with resolve. “Seeing Grant and Amy together got me thinking about Mom and Dad. After the crash, I vowed I’d get us all married and settled down. More than anything, they wanted us to find happiness with our own families. It’s been ten years. It’s time.”
Anneka Walker is an award-winning author raised by a librarian and an English teacher turned judge. After being fed a steady diet of books, she decided to learn about writing. The result was a bachelor’s degree in English and history. When she isn’t dreaming up a happy ending for a story, she is busy living her own with her husband and adorable children.
Lady Jane Everard cannot abide the new Earl of Hadley. The unmannered Scot is a menace to genteel ladies everywhere, what with his booming laugh and swishing kilt and endless supply of ‘ochs’ and ‘ayes.’ Jane wishes Lord Hadley would behave as an earl should and adhere to English rules of polite conduct.
Andrew Langston, the new Earl of Hadley, knows that the English aristocracy think poorly of his lowly Scottish upbringing. This is hardly new. History is littered with the English assuming the worst about Scotland. By living up to their lowest expectations, he is simply fulfilling his civic duty as a Scotsman.
Jane sees Andrew as an unmannered eejit. Andrew considers Jane to be a haughty English lady. But, as the saying goes, . . . opposites attract.
And what if beneath his boisterous behavior and her chilly reserve, Andrew and Jane are not nearly as different as they suppose? Can Scotland and England reach a harmonious union at last?
Andrew spread his hands wide. “It’s a problem for all us Scottish men, tae be honest. Our cross tae bear.”
Lady Jane opened her mouth. Shut it. And then shook her head. “I am sure you are both quite delusional.”
“Nae, the lasses cannae help themselves,” Andrew said.
“Aye. A man strolls by in a kilt, and the lasses go all shoogly in the legs.” Kieran sagged in his chair, mimicking the motion of a lady swooning.
“That is simply ridiculous.” Lady Jane shook her head.
“’Tis the Lord’s own truth, Lady Jane.” Andrew pressed a hand over his heart.
“Aye,” Kieran chimed in. “They dinnae call a kilt the passion pleats for nothing.”
“Passion pleats?!” Peter hooted, slapping his knee.
“Dinnae mock a fine kilt, Peter. The kilt swish is no’ tae be underestimated.”
“The kilt swish?” Lady Jane’s tone dripped with scorn.
“It’s a well-known fact that the lasses appreciate watching a man’s passion pleats swish as he walks.”
“Particularly from the backside,” Kieran helpfully clarified.
“Aye, allow me to show ye.” Andrew stepped away from the table, walked to the door with extra swagger in his step, turned, and strode back to the table. His kilt swinging like a bell back and forth with every step.
He spread his hands wide. See what I mean.
She shook her head. I’m not convinced.
Andrew motioned to Kieran. He stood with a grin.
“Watch carefully,” Andrew said.
Side-by-side, he and Kieran walked to the door, shoulders back, head high. Andrew’s kilt bumped his knees as it swung. He could practically feel the intensity of Lady Jane’s eyes drilling him between the shoulder blades.
Turning around, Andrew held Lady Jane’s gaze as he walked back. She tried to maintain a demur posture, but Andrew knew she had been looking.
Rare was the woman who could resist a braw Scot in a kilt.
Lady Jane pressed her lips together, clearly not wishing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
Andrew was having none of it.
He wanted Fiery Jane.
Folding his arms across his chest, he angled forward. “Now, I dinnae want to argue with ye, Lady Jane, but I have noticed ye eyeing the kilt swish a time or two. Not just tonight.”
“I have done no such thing, Lord Hadley.” Lady Jane’s brows drew down, while a hot flush crept up her neck, challenging her denial. “Precisely how much whisky have you imbibed this evening?”
“I willnae allow you tae change the subject, Lady Jane.”
“I am hardly changing the subject.” Lady Jane surged to her feet. “I am merely pointing out that you are wrong, my lord—”
“I’m no’ wrong.”
“—and furthermore, calling a kilt the passion pleats is the most absurd phrase—”
“Accurate. Ye mean the most accurate phrase.”
“I most certainly do not!” Lady Jane hurled the words at him.
As they spoke, Andrew found himself leaning toward her, fists pressed against the tabletop, his entire body angled. For her part, Lady Jane motioned widely, all pretense of decorum forgotten—gray eyes flashing, chest heaving, auburn curls framing her fine-boned face.
Fiery Jane, at last! Utterly freed and snapping with life.
She was magnificent.
It had taken nearly ten days of constant harassment, but Andrew had finally broken through her reserve.
Nichole Van is a writer, photographer, designer and generally disorganized crazy person. Though originally from Utah, she currently lives on the coast of Scotland with three similarly crazy children and one sane, very patient husband who puts up with all of them. In her free time, she enjoys long walks along the Scottish lochs and braes. She does not, however, enjoy haggis.
Title: A Christmas Love Song Author: Andee Reilly Genre: Contemporary Christmas Romance
He gave her a song. She gave him Christmas.
Once a huge pop star, Jake Wilder hasn’t written a hit song in over ten years. Stuck playing small-time venues where only his most dedicated fans remember him, a comeback seems improbable. But even those gigs are quickly drying up, and if Jake doesn’t do something soon, he’ll slide into permanent has-been oblivion. In a twist of fate, a record executive with a soft spot for retro artists, holds a competition in search of pop musicians to write a new Christmas classic.
Longing to become a serious and respected journalist, Mackenzie Stone scoffs at her latest assignment to write a profile about a washed-up pop singer. She would prefer to cover hard news rather than light stories assigned by her editor who seems unwilling to give her a chance. Determined to write a noteworthy story and at the same time prove herself, it’s up to Mackenzie to help inspire Jake to compose a Christmas classic.
As Jake struggles to overcome his anxieties and write a great song, Mackenzie digs for a story of substance. Together they find love while also discovering the true meaning of Christmas.
Being on stage was as natural as breathing. When audiences rejected Jake for the next one-hit wonder, he had been devastated. He’d lost his purpose, a dragon slayer without a dragon to slay. That was when the stage fright took hold.
He glanced outside to clear his mind. Every time he started composing, bad memories crushed the good ones. Frustrated and annoyed, he let the unpolluted white field of snow become a metaphor for the clean slate that could be his mind.
Jake stretched his legs to get the creative juices flowing. From his pocket, he unfolded a piece of paper. It was probably a note he was supposed to give to Bodhi. To his surprise, the scribbles turned out to be a melody Jake had written in the middle of the night. Having woken from a dream hearing music, he wrote it down and stuck it into his pants pocket so he’d find it the next day. He’d completely forgotten about it.
Not half bad. He hummed the tune and tapped it out on the piano. His mind scrolled through the Christmas song canon like a jukebox filliping through its record selections. Settling on “Silent Night,” he played the world’s most popular Christmas song. He remembered his piano teacher told him in Austria, the song’s birthplace, “Silent Night” was only played on Christmas Eve to preserve its sacredness.
Next, he played “White Christmas,” hearing the words. “Just like the ones I used to know,” he whispered the lyrics. The song was sad, melancholic, and full of longing. Did he want to create that sort of mood?
Then there was Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You,” a fun, pop song about the love and happiness Christmas could bring. He had a terrible experience in that particular department and pushed the thought aside before he gave up completely.
Jake accidently kicked the pedal. The old discouraging feeling of defeat snaked through his body. A throbbing big toe and a bad attitude does not a Christmas song make.
He needed fresh air and found a jacket, heavier than the vegan leather one Mackenzie made fun of and a pair of gloves. Careful not to lock himself out, he unlatched the door and went outside.
Andee Reilly was born and raised in Los Angeles. She received her MFA in Creative Writing from the University of California, Riverside, Palm Desert. After many years of teaching writing and literature at California State University, Channel Islands, Andee moved to Maui to pursue her dream of teaching at the University of Hawaii, writing full-time, and surfing the beautiful waves of Hawaii. To learn more, visit www.andeereilly.com
