Is a little respect too much to ask at a funeral? Apparently it is for Destiny May. Clay Gallagher is built like a small mountain and far more vocal than is fitting when he shows up late to her mother's "going away party." When it turns out he's not even at the right funeral, Destiny demands retribution in the form of an escape from the day's dreary proceedings. Spending time with a handsome stranger who makes her laugh is more therapeutic than fighting with her overbearing family. Clay finds Destiny beautiful, charming...and intelligent. So why is she stubbornly determined to open a Christian dating service? Clay has little respect for such a frivolous profession, and doesn't think the small, conservative town of Castle Creek will welcome such a progressive business. But when Destiny is threatened by an anonymous caller who deeply resents her and what she does for a living, Clay makes it his business to keep the saucy redhead out of harm's way. Trouble is, spending time in her company weakens his defenses, and Destiny may be the one thing Clay can't escape... if he even wants to.
Delia gives an overview of the book:
The dim porch light revealed her smile. “I had a wonderful evening, Gallagher. Thank you.” Clay’s eyes were fixed on her lips. Could they possibly be as soft as they looked? With a monumental effort, he managed to tear his gaze upward, only to find her green eyes every bit as magnetic. He tugged gently on a loose tendril of hair. “I’m glad, ma jolie dame. Maybe we can do it again?” Lowering her gaze, she spoke so softly he almost missed it. “I’ll look forward to it, monsieur.” Just when Clay thought he couldn’t resist at least a brush of those inviting lips with his own, Destiny’s spontaneous humor—apparently never far from the surface—prevented him from losing control. Her lips parted in an enchanting smile and she shrugged one shoulder. “I’m afraid that’s all the French I know, and I only learned it tonight.” Clay chuckled. So now what? Should he just say good night and go? Should he kiss her? Man, I can’t believe how much I want to kiss her. Shake her hand? He settled for pulling her into a gentle hug, making it possible to drop a feather-light kiss onto her hair. I think I like you far too much, pretty lady. Grinning in the dusky darkness, he decided it was all right to say the words aloud. “Je crois que je vous aime bien trop, la jolie dame.” Stepping back, he took the key from her unresisting fingers and opened the door. With a final touch—the brush of a finger under her chin—he turned and walked away. He almost reached his car door before she called out, just as he’d hoped she would. “Clay?” He turned. “What was it you said?” He sent her a little grin he hoped was mysterious, raised a hand in farewell, then slid behind the wheel and drove away. A fellow had a right to keep a thing or two to himself.
Born and raised in a place called Weedpatch, Delia Latham moved to Oklahoma in 2008, making her a self-proclaimed California Okie. She loves to read and write in her simple country home, and gets a kick out of watching her husband play Farmer John. The author enjoys multiple...