By Susan Mallery
Former lingerie version became entrepreneur Clay Stryker has enjoyed, tragically misplaced and vowed that he'll by no means hazard his center back. After making his fortune, the youngest of the rugged Stryker brothers returns to Fool's Gold, California, to place down roots on a ranch of his personal. yet he's annoyed to find that even in his place of origin, humans see him just for his world-famous…assets.
Firefighter Chantal (Charlie) Dixon grew up an unpleasant duckling beside her delicately appealing mom, a sense strengthened in the past via a guy who left soul-deep scars. Now she has solid buddies, a pretty good task and the itch to begin a family—yet she can't movement towards the longer term whereas she's haunted through painful memories.
Clay unearths an unforeseen best friend, and unforeseen temptation, in tomboyish Charlie, the single one who sees past his incredible attractiveness to the genuine guy underneath. but if Charlie involves him with an indecent idea, will they have the ability to conquer their pasts and discover a love that lasts past one awesome summer season?
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Extra info for All Summer Long (Fool's Gold)
Quinn examined Van’s profile. In repose her friend’s features were classically long, rather somber. Stanley liked to call her his Modified Modigliani. But when she smiled, particularly at him, the angular lines of her face lifted and two faint dimples appeared beside her mouth, making her seem vulnerable and girlish. “Hey, Mallory,” Stanley said. ” “Oh, you’d make a great nun,” Van laughed. “It’s never been mentioned,” Quinn continued, “but I think they’d appreciate a Catholic, preferably Irish.
It had pleased her to think of them as comrades. “We were just kids, for Christ’s sake,” she continued. “Don’t swear, dear,” Ann said. , Mom. ” “She chews them out too, don’t think she doesn’t,” John said. “And Tom Flanagan behaved like a dog. You know, I found out from Father Riley that the Flanagans were first cousins to the O’Roarkes. Not the Dublin O’Roarkes, the farmers. My great-grandfather on the Madden side got fleeced by old man O’Roarke when he bought that pitiful little shed near the river.
In April the trees wore a hopeful tender green veil, but they soon blackened with soot from the nearby shoe factory where John Mallory worked. In summertime the tiny front lawns were overgrown with weeds, and in September the leaves made no final dazzling display of predeath defiance; rather, they just curled into defeated husks and fell to earth beside the shabby wood-frame houses, most of which, like the Mallorys’, were divided into two sections and shared with another family. Now, in late November, the ground was a bleak crust of brown with an occasional splotch of frozen slush.
All Summer Long (Fool's Gold) by Susan Mallery