SUPERROMANCES: DUNDEE, IDAHO
 A
Home Of Her Own
Dundee, Idaho #4
If it weren't for bad luck, she'd have no
luck at all...
When Lucky Caldwell was ten, her mother, Red —
the best-known hooker in Dundee, Idaho — married Morris Caldwell,
a wealthy and much older man. It didn't last, of course, but Morris's
kindness was the highlight of Lucky's life.
 Mike
Hill, Morris's grandson, doesn't feel too well disposed toward
Red or her kids. He believes they alienated Morris from his family.
Even Morris's Victorian mansion, on the property next to the Hill
ranch, wasn't inherited by one of his grandchildren. Instead the
house went to Lucky, who left it sitting empty for years.
Now that Red and Morris are both dead, Lucky's finally
come back to Dundee. She plans to restore the derelict place —
and to look for her real father, who has to be one of three men
named in her mother's diary.
That means that Mike has a new neighbor. One he
doesn't want to like...
Read Chapter One |
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Chapter 1
The vacant house looked haunted. Large and imposing,
with a full moon hanging immediately behind, the old Victorian
cast a grotesque shadow across the snow, and the windows shined
like so many eyes.
Ignoring the gooseflesh that prickled her arms,
Lucky Caldwell stood on the ornate porch, braced against a chill
wind as she pushed the heavy front door open a little wider. She
didn't really want to venture inside now that it had grown so
late. The house had sat empty long enough that rats, possums,
raccoons or other crawling things could easily have taken over.
Or maybe she'd find some mass murderer taking refuge in one of
the rooms....
If she were anywhere else, she'd head into town
and get a motel for the night. As soon as anyone in Dundee spotted
the distinctive strawberry blond hair she'd inherited from her
mother, word would spread all over town that she was back. And
she didn't want to alert anyone to her return just yet. She needed
to get her bearings. Coming here was a risk, a huge risk,
and she'd never been as lucky as her name.
The floor creaked as she stepped across the threshold.
Instinctively she reached for the light switch, but then paused.
Somehow waltzing inside and lighting the place up like a torch
seemed far too brazen. She didn't belong here; she'd never
belonged here.
But she didn't belong anywhere else, either.
Marshalling her nerve, she flipped the light switch
anyway.
Nothing happened. The pace of life in Dundee was
maddeningly slow but, evidently, not so slow that Mike Hill, executor
of the Caldwell Family Trust, hadn't gotten around to having the
utility company shut off the electricity. Which didn't come as
any big surprise, after six years. She'd inherited this rambling
Victorian when her stepfather died and hadn't been back since.
During that time, she'd received a couple of calls from Fred Winston,
the town's only real estate agent and a man she remembered as
wearing a cheap brown toupee. He'd told her the paint was peeling
and the porch was sagging and asked if she wanted to sell. But
she knew who wanted to buy and the answer had been and still was--no.
At least, not yet. She had unfinished business here in Idaho.
She set her backpack on the dusty floor and searched
out her flashlight. Unfortunately, it was already on when she
found it and had been, from the weak beam, for several hours.
Lucky considered returning to her car for the extra
set of batteries. But she was afraid she'd lose her nerve if she
turned back now. Better to forge ahead...
She hefted her backpack to her shoulder, trained
what was left of the light in front of her and left the door open
in case she encountered something or someone she'd rather not
meet.
Stepping into the formal living room, she quickly
swept the light around the perimeter. Nothing moved--but the familiarity
of the place evoked bittersweet memories. As bad as her childhood
had been, for a few short months in this house she'd been truly
happy, especially that first Christmas after her mother had married
Morris.
In the dark, cob-webby corner to her left, she could
easily imagine the giant, splendid tree that had once stood there,
proudly bearing a thousand twinkling lights and an abundance of
shiny gold balls. That was the first Christmas her family had
possessed enough money to buy a tree any taller than a token three
or four feet. And to have it flocked with fake snow and decorated
so elegantly was really an extravagance. Since she'd become an
adult, Lucky bought as big a tree as her current abode would allow
and flocked it every year, on principle. But she'd been living
off the money she'd inherited from Morris, which was barely enough
to get by, considering she gave most of it away. In order to keep
traveling, she'd had to cut down on expenses. The places she'd
been renting, for a few months here and six weeks there, had low
ceilings and generally weren't the nicest. Which meant she'd never
been able to duplicate the opulence of that damn tree.
She wrinkled her nose at the musty smell and glanced
back at the open door before moving deeper into the house. The
moon filtered through the bare, thick-paned windows, painting
silver squares on the hardwood floor and, together with the faint
beam of her flashlight, made it possible for her to see.
The Georgian-style staircase swept up in front of
her. A large office with double doors jutted off to the right,
along with what used to be an impressive library. Lucky waved
a cobweb out of the way and poked her head into the library, then
the office, relieved to find them both vacant of scurrying animals
and--thank God--anything larger.
She continued her search, pausing to listen carefully
here and there, until she reached the kitchen and family room.
Situated off the back of the house, these rooms were more like
one big room with impressive floor-to-ceiling windows that curved
into a semi-circle and looked out over the pond at the bottom
of the hill.
Unfortunately, most of the windows were broken now.
Bending to retrieve a small rock lying among the glittering shards
of glass on the old cobblestone floor, Lucky tossed it up and
caught it again. So much had changed. Morris was dead. Her mother,
too. Her brothers, Sean and Ken, who were both older than she
was, had sold the land they inherited and moved elsewhere. But
the feeling of being unwelcome here, the resentment of this small
community seemed to linger.
Lucky tossed the rock away, watched it skitter across
the floor. So much for the hope that coming back would be easier
than she'd anticipated. Owning a house didn't make it a home.
Considering the state of the Victorian, she wondered
whether she should sleep in her car. A metallic blue '64 Mustang,
it was fully restored and beautiful. But sitting out in her car
would be as cramped as it was cold. She'd be better off inside.
Despite the creepy feel of the place, she hadn't seen anything
more threatening than a few spider webs. Discarded trash here
and there indicated that others had been inside the house since
it had been shut up, but nothing showed recent activity.
Her tension easing, Lucky delved inside her backpack
and retrieved her supplies. Ten tall, fragrant candles. Three
Presto-logs. Matches. A jug of water. Trail mix. And barbecue
flavored sunflower seeds. Her suitcase, cleaning supplies and
bedding were still out in the car.
With its stone floor and broken windows, the kitchen
was colder than the front of the house. But the family room portion
had a wood-burning stove and provided the most natural light.
Come morning, Lucky planned to make the place livable. For now--she
blew on her hands to warm them--she just needed to get through
the next six or seven hours.
She lit the candles, then arranged them on the marble
countertop. They created a dim, ethereal glow and gave off a comforting,
familiar scent that helped dispel the dank odor of neglect. Building
a fire didn't take long, either, thanks to the Presto logs. When
Lucky was a senior in high school and Morris had divorced her
mother and moved back in with his first wife, Red had stripped
the place bare, taken everything of value down to the drapes,
the stained glass window on the second floor landing, even the
expensive knobs on the cupboards. But, thankfully, she hadn't
bothered carting off the wood by the stove. Lucky used the last
of the split logs to build up her fire, welcoming the infusion
of heat and hoping it would last for a few hours. Then she moved
gingerly back, her feet crunching over the broken glass from the
windows, which was thickest by the stove, to watch the smoldering
orange flames catch and grow.
The fire seemed symbolic somehow--her first step,
a beginning. But the settling noises of the old house reminded
her that she still needed to explore the upstairs, just to be
sure she was as alone as she thought she was.
After tapping her failing flashlight, to no avail,
she went outside to retrieve the sack of items she'd tossed in
the backseat of her car. She replaced the batteries, left the
front door standing open again for reassurance, and climbed the
stairs to the five bedrooms and three bathrooms she knew she'd
find there.
A dark spot on the landing showed water damage.
Clearly, the wind and rain had pushed through a flap in the plastic
her mother had used to cover the hole when she took the stained
glass window. Lucky frowned at the stain, disappointed that she
hadn't stood up to Red that day. Red hadn't had any real use for
the window. She'd ended up sticking it in a closet of the mobile
home she'd moved into when she remarried.
But Lucky wasn't sure, even now, that it would've
done any good to fight her mother. Red had been determined to
take absolutely everything she could loosely interpret as "furniture"--because
that was all she'd been awarded in her and Morris' divorce, and
she wasn't happy that ten years of marriage to one of Dundee's
wealthiest old ranchers hadn't netted her more.
The door downstairs slammed closed, and Lucky bit
back a startled scream.
"Hello?" she called, pressing a calming
hand to her chest. Only the keening wail of the wind rushing through
the eaves outside answered.
She gripped the flashlight tighter, her heart pounding
as she listened for footsteps. She heard nothing but couldn't
help imagining ghosts. She certainly wouldn't blame Morris if
he'd decided to stick around and haunt this old place. After all
he'd done for her mother, for the whole family, he'd been treated
pretty shabbily in the end. It had been his first wife who'd come
through and nursed him once his health turned.
But Morris had been a good man. Certainly he had
better things to do in the afterlife, Lucky thought wryly. Chances
were far greater Red would be the one rattling chains and roaming
the grounds....
"There's not much left here, Mother,"
she muttered as chills rolled down her spine. "You took everything
except the sheetrock and two-by-fours."
Silence settled on the house like a fresh layer
of dust as Lucky leaned over the banister and shined her flashlight
into the corners below. She saw bird droppings, an old rug that
looked as if it had been chewed on one end, a broken chair. Lucky's
brothers, who'd stayed in Dundee a little longer than she had,
had once told her that Morris had never moved back in or fixed
up the place after Red left--and they were obviously right.
Finding nothing of particular concern, Lucky moved
on more slowly, still apprehensive as the plastic flapped noisily
behind her.
She found bedrails in two of the bedrooms, an old
mattress with no bedrails in a third. The master had a retreat
which had been lovely. But the mirrored doors on the closets and
the mirror over the vanity were now cracked. Graffiti covered
the walls. "Bitch!... Whore!... Killer!... May you rot in
hell!"
A searing pain in Lucky's stomach--her ulcer acting
up--made her feel as though she'd swallowed acid. She forced herself
to turn away from those nasty words and think about practical
matters. That was the trick, wasn't it? To grow a thick skin like
her brothers and not let the legacy of shame and embarrassment
her mother had left behind bother her?
There was so much else to think about, so much work
to be done.
She glared over her shoulder at the graffiti. Maybe
she'd start by painting. After a few months, when she had the
place fixed up, she'd finally sell out and put Dundee behind her
forever.
Just as soon as she found what she was looking for.
#
Mike Hill brought his Cadillac Escalade to an abrupt
stop in the center of the road and squinted toward the property
next to his ranch. He couldn't tell for sure, but a light seemed
to be burning in the big Victorian. From the dim glow, he thought
it might be candles. Kids in these parts loved to visit his grandfather's
old mansion. Occasionally, they broke in to make-out or vandalize
it. On Halloween, he'd caught a group of teenagers trying to spook
themselves by holding a séance, although they were too
drunk to take anything seriously. He knew this because he'd done
his best to scare the hell out of them so they'd think twice about
coming back, and they'd simply laughed and fallen over each other
as they piled out.
He grinned at the memory. Mike didn't mind a few
fun and games; he'd never been a saint himself. But he was afraid
some poor kid would accidentally burn the place down, possibly
injuring someone in the process. And he couldn't bear the thought
of losing the house. Mike had grown up spending his weekends there,
with Grandpa Caldwell. He loved the Old Victorian, had always
been told he'd inherit it one day. That hadn't happened as it
should have. Instead, his grandfather had left all his grandchildren
equal shares in a large ranch located in Eastern Utah, which they'd
since sold. But whether the house belonged to him or not, Mike
couldn't stand by and allow it to be destroyed.
Shoving the transmission into reverse, he made a
quick, three- point turn and started bouncing down the long, rutted
drive to the house. A set of car tracks cut through the crusty,
week-old snow, confirming that at least one other vehicle had
recently passed this way.
The tracks led to a vintage Mustang parked behind
the silly fountain Red had bought and placed in the front yard.
Mike didn't recognize the car as belonging to any of the young
people he knew--and in a town of only 1,400 people, most folks
knew each other. But it could easily belong to someone from a
neighboring town.
Grabbing the cowboy hat sitting on the passenger's
seat and jamming it on his head, he parked behind the Mustang
and stomped the snow off his boots as he approached the door.
He listened but didn't hear any noise coming from inside--no music
or voices--so he doubted anyone was tearing up the place. More
likely it was a pair of young lovers borrowing the old mattress
he'd seen in one of the upstairs bedrooms.
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. He really didn't
want to walk in on something like that. But there was the issue
of the candles. And he felt fairly confident, if a couple had
to drive all the way out here for privacy, there was a mother
somewhere who'd thank him for rousting them out.
"Damn kids." He tried the door and found
it unlocked. Probably the boy had climbed through a window around
back and let his girlfriend in the front. That was how they usually
did it.
Rusty hinges protested as he poked his head inside,
but a rich vanilla scent greeted him immediately. The light came
from the kitchen. Heat seemed to emanate from that part of the
house, as well. Evidently someone was trying to make
things cozy....
"Hello?" Mike banged on the door as he
entered to give warning of his presence. "If you're undressed,
cover up. I'm comin' in."
He heard rustling at the back of the house. Then
a flashlight snapped on and the beam hit him right in the face,
blinding him before he could take another step.
"Stop right there!"
He put up a hand to block the light. "Or?"
"Or...I'll shoot."
He could tell by the voice that it was a woman.
He had no idea where her boyfriend might be, but she seemed to
be alone for the moment. "You have a gun?"
he said incredulously.
"What do you think?"
Mike couldn't remember anyone ever being shot in
Dundee--unless it was in some kind of hunting accident. But he
supposed anything was possible. "What kind of gun is it?"
"Does it matter?"
"Just curious." He was still doing his
best to protect his eyes.
"One that will put a hole in you," she
said. "Happy?"
"Not particularly." The quiver in her
voice told him she was probably lying about the gun, which he'd
suspected from the beginning. He could understand why she'd feel
a bit intimidated with a six foot two, two hundred and ten pound
stranger barging in on her. What bothered him was the light--that
and the question of what she was doing here. "Who are you?"
"I could ask the same of you," she said
warily.
"Mike Hill. I own the ranch next door."
Mike had grown up in these parts. Most everyone
knew his family. But if she recognized his name, she didn't say
so.
"What are you doing here, Mr. Hill?"
"Do you mind?" He scowled at the light
as she stepped closer.
"You're the one who walked in uninvited. Why?"
She had to be alone, or he would've heard someone
else by now. "I came to tell you that you'd better put out
those candles and hightail it out of here before I call the police.
You're trespassing on private property."
"Is it your property?" she asked.
"It should be."
"But it's not, is it?"
He didn't like her tone. The fact that he'd lost
the house, of which he had so many fond childhood memories, to
a gold-digger and her children still bothered him. The fact that
he'd been robbed of the time he could have spent with his grandfather
in the last ten years of Morris Caldwell's life rankled even worse.
"What happens here is none of your business,"
she went on briskly. "Please go."
Mike had no intention of leaving. No one was going
to chase him out of his grandfather's house--especially with nothing
more threatening than a flashlight. "Get that damn light
out of my eyes."
"Or?" she said, coming back at him with
his own line.
Mike welcomed the challenge. "Or I'll take
it away from you."
"Then I'll--"
"Shoot? You don't even have a gun. If you did,
you wouldn't need to blind me."
She hesitated, but Mike didn't give her a chance
to decide, just in case he was wrong about the gun. With two quick
steps, he caught her around the waist and pressed her up against
the closest wall.
The flashlight fell and rolled away as he pinned
her hands out to the side. But he'd moved her close enough to
the light in the kitchen that he could barely make out a straining
chest covered by an overlarge sweatshirt, a pale oval face, and
a thick halo of long curly hair that, if he had to guess, was
blond. She was young, all right; but older than he'd thought.
Certainly not a teenager. She looked small, perfect, porcelain--like
an angel. But the glint in her luminous eyes had nothing to do
with innocence and everything to do with red-hot fury.
She began to raise her knee, but he managed to keep
hold of her and protect his groin at the same time. "Let
go of me you, son-of--!"
"Whoa, calm down, little lady!" He used
his body weight to press her more firmly against the wall, until
she couldn't move, so she wouldn't try to knee him again.
"Little lady?" she bit out, breathing
so hard he could feel every intake of breath. "I suppose
you think that kind of condescending bullshit passes for manners
out here, huh, cowboy?"
Mike blinked in surprise. What was wrong with little
lady? "My manners are a hell of a lot better than anything
I've seen from you," he snapped.
"I'm not the one who came barging into your
house!"
That took him back. "What?"
"You heard me. Whether you think this place
should belong to you or not, I own it, so let me go."
Mike didn't budge. The last time he'd seen Lucky
Caldwell she'd been a pudgy eighteen-year-old with more than her
share of acne. She'd worn her reddish hair in a tight ponytail
and waited for the school bus out front every morning, hugging
her books to her chest and glaring daggers at him whenever he
drove by. "I don't believe you," he said.
"Your grandfather told your whole family that
my mother tried to kill him by giving him too much insulin. She
claimed it was an accident, but he divorced her and cut her out
of his will. Would I know that if I was just some squatter?"
"Pretty much everybody knows that," he
pointed out, trying to see her more clearly. "At least around
here."
"Okay, you bought the land next door from Morris
when I was ten and you were somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty-five.
Josh was a couple years younger. You and he started a stud service
with a black stallion that had a white star on his forehead and
white socks."
At his surprised silence she added grudgingly, "That
horse was beautiful. I used to bring him sugar cubes and apples."
Slowly, Mike let go of her and eased away, wondering
why his stallion hadn't keeled over if she'd been feeding it food
from her evil mother's pantry. Now that he could see her a little
better, he couldn't help noticing that she wasn't wearing anything,
other than maybe a pair of panties, beneath that baggy sweatshirt.
The hem hit her almost at mid-thigh; bare, shapely legs extended
from there.
"It's cold. Where're your pants?" he asked.
"In case you haven't noticed, it's late. I
happened to be in my sleeping bag when you so kindly broke into
my house and ruined my night. Forgive me for not dressing more
modestly."
With that biting edge to her voice, he could tell
she still had plenty of spunk. But she'd certainly changed in
other ways. Mostly, she'd grown up. Although she had large breasts,
especially for such a small woman, the fat had melted away, and
her hair was long and curly and tumbled around her face almost
to her waist. With the light from the kitchen acting like a halo
behind her, he could now see that it was more red than blond.
Mike bit back a whistle and couldn't help wondering
whether she would've looked that good six years ago if she hadn't
pulled her hair back every day. If so, she might have commanded
a little more positive attention from the boys in town. As it
was, she hadn't been particularly attractive. Nor, with her unpleasant
personality, did she have anything else to recommend her.
"Why didn't you tell me it was you?" he
asked.
Her hands curled into small fists. "Maybe I
appreciate my privacy."
More likely she enjoyed being caustic. He remembered
Lucky clinging to Morris's arm the day Morris had invited Mike
over to meet his new wife and children. Because of his grandparents'
divorce and the quick second wedding, it had been a difficult
year for Mike's whole family, but particularly for Mike, since
he'd always been closest to his grandpa. Everyone else had refused
to acknowledge Morris's invitation to come to the house, but Mike
had shown up, hoping that everything he'd been hearing was a lie,
or at least not as bad as it seemed. He'd thought he knew his
grandpa. He'd thought his grandpa would never change. But Morris
had been swept away in the excitement of his new relationship
and was never the same after falling in love with Red. Mike had
known he was in trouble when Morris hugged Lucky close and introduced
her as "his new girl." "This one's a little doll,"
he'd said, but the moment he turned his back, Lucky stuck out
her tongue at Mike and ran away.
Mike blinked, wondering what had finally brought
Lucky back to Dundee. After Red died, his mother had finally stopped
talking about how "that woman" and "those children"
had stolen Morris's love and attention, as well as his money,
then left him, when he was old and sick, for those who really
loved him to care for him. She'd finally quit telling Mike, every
chance she got, that it was Red who'd caused his grandmother to
die shortly after Morris did. The doctor's say it was heart failure.
Of course it was. Her heart broke when she found out about Daddy's
affair with Red. She was never the same after she left him and
moved to town. Finally, the scandal had slipped into the background.
Mike hated to see the whole issue resurrected. "Are you here
to stay?" he asked.
When Lucky threw her shoulders back and brought
up her chin, he knew he hadn't done a very good job of concealing
his hope for a negative answer. But then, he couldn't imagine
her expecting anyone to be happy about her return, his family
least of all.
"I might stay for a while," she said.
"You don't have any problem with that, do you?"
He had a problem with it, all right, but he'd already
done all he could about Lucky. As soon as he'd learned that his
grandfather had never legally adopted her and her brothers as
they'd all thought, he'd sued her for the house. And lost. Then
he'd tried to buy it from her, several times. But she'd refused
to sell. Bottom line, Lucky legally owned the place his grandfather
had always promised to him; she could stay as long as she liked.
"What you do is your decision, of course,"
he said, his tone as curt and formal as hers.
"My thoughts exactly." She clasped her
hands in front of her. "Now, if you don't mind, it's late,
I'm nearly naked, and it's cold."
He leaned sideways to gaze through the short hallway
to the kitchen. Aside from the candles, and the crackle of a fire,
she didn't seem to have many comforts in there. Surely, staying
in such a barren, filthy place had to be miserable, especially
for a young woman. But he didn't want her to be too comfortable,
did he? Then she might prolong her visit.
"Is there anything else?" she asked when
he hesitated.
Letting his breath seep slowly between his lips,
he stooped to retrieve his hat, which had fallen off when he'd
"disarmed" her. "No."
She moved to the front door and opened it expectantly.
If she'd been anyone else, he would've
said something neighborly, something like, "If you need anything,
I'm right next door." Because she was a woman, and young
and alone, he had a tough time not saying it. But she
wasn't just any woman. She the daughter of the most selfish, grasping
woman he'd ever met, someone he'd never liked to begin with.
"Good night," he said coldly and walked
out, carrying his hat. If Lucky had turned out as much like Red
as he suspected, she could certainly take care of herself.
Reviews
4-1/2 Stars & "Top Pick" from
RT Bookclub Magazine
"...It's a given that romances have happy endings,
but with the carefully crafted and seemingly insurmountable odds
stacked against Lucky, Novak's phenomenal tale kept me on the
edge of my seat, Kleenex in hand, totally enthralled to the last
page. This is a forget-about-dinner-just-order-a-pizza kind of
read!"
--Christine Merrill
B+ from All About Romance
"A HOME OF HER OWN is the kind of series romance
that's increasingly rare: a well-written, character-rich and deeply
emotional read. ...In many ways, it's the best series book I've
read all year. From the very first page, the author's writing
is strong and evocative...This is a poignant story full of genuine
feeling. Anyone hungry for a good story, series or otherwise,
should check out this complex and involving tale."
--Leigh T.
4.5 stars from CataRomance Reviews
"Brenda Novak has penned a poignant love story
about two unlikely characters in A HOME OF HER OWN. The dramatic
story unfolds gradually, giving the reader a tender glimpse of
a love that grows into something beautiful. Ms. Novak ended her
tale with a cliffhanger that has me waiting with baited breath
for STRANGER IN TOWN, the continuation of this series in May 2005.
I am very sure you will not want to miss a single book in the
Dundee series!"
--Donna Zapf
4.5 Blue Ribbon Rating from Romance Junkies.com
"Mike Hill finally gets his own story, and
wow, what a story. Ms. Novak cleverly weaves several different
plots in this tale while keeping the emotional tension very high.
The love between Mike and Lucky seems destined to fail, but yet,
Ms. Novak manages to keep the denouement very believable and very
romantic. She also sets up the next story in the series due to
be released in May 2005. This reviewer highly recommends reading
A HOME OF HER OWN. Lucky and Mike's story will have you enthralled
from the first page to the very last, with plenty of surprising
twists thrown in to make for an amazing story."
--Sarah W.
Falling Into Autumn Book Reviews
"This book is FANTASTIC!!!!!!! I can see it
on TV so easily. After reading this book I can't wait for Gabe's
story. A HOME OF HER OWN is a perfect Holiday Stocking Stuffer.
This book was perfection from the first sentence."
--Jai
Reader to Reader Reviews
"Reading a book by Brenda Novak is pure heaven...
A HOME OF HER OWN is a wonderful love story you just can't put
down... A super secondary cast makes the book top notch... Brenda
Novak is an outstanding author who never disappoints her readers."
--Suzanne Coleburn
Romance Reviews Today
"A HOME OF HER OWN is strong, romantic, and
heart-warming... I definitely recommend it and plan to read the
next chapter in this city's colorful story."
-- Carolyn Chrisher
Awards
Winner of the Winter Rose
Finalist in the Holt Medallion
Finalist in the Writer Touch Reader's Award
Winner of the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence
Nominated for RT BOOKclub Reviewer's Choice Award
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