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Ainsley McCullough has been running from her past for a while. When she stumbles across an abandoned farm house, she thinks that maybe things will start to look up. Getting a job in the small Texas town, she's surprised to learn the man who owns her home is in jail.
Braedan O'Connor was falsely accused of a crime and has spent the past year in jail. He's anxious to get home and see what kind of damage has been done to his home.
When Braedan enters his home and smells homemade apple pie, he's surprised to say the least. Spotting the woman responsible for the mouth watering smell, all of his senses come alive.
Ainsley hadn't expected to get caught in the man's home. Face to face with the handsome stranger, she isn't sure what to expect. Knowing he was in jail frightens her, almost as much as his good looks turn her on. What price will she have to pay for invading his home?
Editorial Reviews:
From Talk About My Favorite Authors
Paige Warren delivers yet another wonderfully romantic romance short story that will keep you reading from start to end wondering what will happen next for Ainsley and Braeden.
From Night Owl Romance
I loved that what started out as a lie blooms to something wonderful and beautiful. This is a great romance to read and won't be the last from a talented author like Paige Warren.
From Manic Readers
Paige Warren has written a rather short but also quite moving tale of two strangers who come together because of a lie and then end up finding each other.
From Dark of kNight Online Magazine
Paige Warren has a way that makes it very easy to relate to her characters. She takes their weakness and strength and makes it come together for a perfect hero and leading lady. I would suggest this book to all readers who love a book that has hardships but love makes it worth it in the end!
Excerpt:
<b>Prologue</b><br>
Blood stained hands gripped the steering wheel of the old truck, the knuckles white from the death-like grip. A storm raged outside, rain beating against the steering wheel, wind trying to force the truck off the road. Following the winding country road, Ainsley searched for a place to take shelter for the night.<br>
She paused on the road, staring down a long drive to an old farmhouse. No lights shown from within and no cars were in sight. The peeling paint and overgrown yard gave it an abandoned feel. <br>
Turning the wheel, she pulled down the bumpy drive, hoping her truck wouldn’t get stuck in the mud.<br>
Pulling to a stop in front of the ramshackle house, Ainsley killed the engine. She grabbed the small bag on the seat beside her and opened the door. Making a run for it, she dashed through the mud and rain to the front porch.<br>
The front door was crusted with dirt, the window cracked. Ainsley knocked on the door. When no one answered, she tried the knob. It stiffly turned in her hand, rust rubbing off on her skin. She leaned into the door until it popped open with a groan.<br>
Closing the door against the violent weather outside, she looked around. Dust and cobwebs clung to nearly every surface. The banister on the stairs looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. Stepping into the small sitting room, Ainsley ran her hands over the cloth covered furniture. The sofa and chair loomed like ghosts in the dark room, the lightning outside the only illumination in the house. Curtains hung from the windows in tatters.<br>
Ainsley walked to the wall and flicked the light switch on, hoping for a miracle. Nothing happened. She hadn’t really expected the lights to work, but it would have been nice.<br>
Turning from the room, she walked up the stairs, the ancient boards creaking under her feet. She took her time, testing the boards as she went, not wanting to fall through if any were weak or broken. When she reached the landing, she walked into the first room on her right.<br>
An old brass bed hugged one wall, a dresser across from it. The linens on the bed were dusty and aged. The wallpaper was peeling off the walls, brittle in spots.<br>
Walking back to the landing, she pushed open the door to the next room. A small bathroom lay before her, its black and white checked tile grimy. A claw foot tub sat against the left wall, dirt encrusted, a rust stain around the drain. The sink fared no better, cobwebs dangling from the rim. <br>
Holding her breath, Ainsley stepped into the room. She turned the knob on the sink, a bark of laughter breaking free when the water came on. It oozed out, brown and rusty at first, but after another minute began running clean and clear. She could bathe! With another glance at the tub she grimaced. Well, she could clean the tub then she could bathe.<br>
Dropping her bag on the floor, she turned on the water in the tub. Kneeling on the dirty floor, she used her hands to wipe the grime from the tub. An old fashioned shower head hung above her. She only hoped it worked.<br>
Once the tub was relatively clean, she opened the bathroom cabinet in hopes of finding towels. They were a little dusty, but had been rather well preserved by the airtight space they were stored in. Pulling out a dark towel, she placed it on the floor to use as a bath mat.<br>
Unbuttoning her top, she eased it from her body, wincing as her wounds pulled, reopening a few. She kicked off her boots and shimmied out of her jeans. Turning on the shower, she waited for her skin to become numb to the cold water.<br>
Ainsley stepped into the tub and let the water wash away the blood and dirt from the past twenty-four hours. She sank to her knees in the bottom of the tub and cried, her tears mingling with the water running down her face.<br>
“Why Andrew?” she whispered. “Why did you do it?”<br>
Her boyfriend had attacked her when she’d come home from work the day before. Shoving her against the wall, he’d threatened to kill her if she didn’t confess to an affair she hadn’t had. Andrew had always been possessive, but it had gotten worse and worse over the past year.
Talking to him hadn’t been an option. When he’d hit her, she’d defended herself as best she could. Their skirmish had landed them in the kitchen, where Andrew had procured a knife, slashing at her with a mad light in his eyes. She’d sustained cuts to her arms and torso. When he’d lunged at her, trying to stab her in the chest, she’d done the only thing she could – she’d grabbed the skillet off the stove and brought it down over his head, knocking him unconscious. Or at least she’d thought he was unconscious. When she’d felt for a pulse, she hadn’t found one. Terrified of being arrested for murder, she’d run.<br>
Now here she was, in some small no account Texas town, in a rundown farmhouse with no food, no electricity, and no hope.
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