Jace Constant is in Nevada, doing research for his new book, but he won’t be staying long. As far as he’s concerned, Blake’s Folly is hell on earth. He’s disgusted by desert dust on his fine Italian shoes, and dog hair on his cashmere sweaters. As for snakes, he doesn’t only despise them: he’s terrified by them. He can hardly wait to get back to Chicago’s elegant women, fine dining, and contemporary art exhibitions.
So how is it possible that each time Alice and Jace meet, the air sizzles? That she’s as fascinated by him as he is by her? That they know their feelings go deeper than raw desire? Still, it looks like this relationship is doomed before it even starts.
In need of juicy gossip, the other 52 residents of Blake's Folly have decided Alice has been alone for long enough. The attraction between her and Jace is obvious, so why worry about essential differences? If you trust in love, solutions do appear. But don’t those solutions call for too many compromises, too much self-sacrifice?
EXCERPT
The man turned, stared
up at the house. His expression told her all she needed to know: he wasn’t exactly
sneering, but he still looked incredulous. Okay, the house had no discernible style—not
western, not Victorian, not anything—and some parts did look as though they were
ready to fall to bits.
But there was beauty
in the old place, too, she thought defiantly: large bay windows stared out at a
bleakly beautiful landscape; an ancient rattan settee on the broad, wooden, somewhat
sagging, veranda invited you to sit, relax, slow down. Take the time to look out
at the dusty, bare hills, the endless sky. Think about life, wonder what all the
hustle and noise was about.
Alice shook herself,
chased the silly thoughts out of her mind. Sure, that was the way she’d felt when
she’d come out here, but why would a man like that one notice such things? Just
look at him: tall, his tight muscular thighs were outlined by obviously expensive
jeans, and his broad shoulders stretched out the worn brown leather of his jacket.
He was—yes, she had to admit it—wonderful-looking. He also looked like a man with
things to do, places to go. Definitely not the sort to waste admiration on the scenery
in a one-flea community.
“Come on, boy,” she
heard him say, and watched as he strode up the hard path leading to the wooden porch,
Killer loping behind him with meek resignation.
Just before the man
knocked on the door, Alice saw his eyes catch the sign pinned to the wooden framing:
ROOM TO LET.
He looked amused,
now. Just as she’d known. He thought living out here was a great joke. She sighed.
She even knew why he was knocking on her door. Wasn’t that obvious? He’d brought
his dog, was about to abandon it. Yes, she knew, all right. She’d seen it all before,
heard all the excuses people gave when they wanted to get rid of a loyal pet. Her
house was usually crammed full of these canine rejects—until she managed to wheedle
folks into adopting some of them.
