Title: Tumble (Dogwood
Lane #1) by Adriana Locke
From USA Today bestselling author Adriana Locke comes a
witty romance about first love and second chances. This is a standalone,
small-town, blue-collar love story.
Synopsis:
After being burned by her
dream job in New York City, sports journalist Neely Kimber suddenly finds
herself jobless and paying a long-overdue visit to her hometown in Tennessee.
Her plan? Relax, reset, and head back up the corporate ladder. There’s just one
unexpected step. Neely’s back in Dogwood Lane for barely a day when she sees
the man she ran from nine years ago: the bad boy next door who was her first
kiss, her first love, and her first heartbreak.
Devoted single dad Dane
Madden knows he hurt Neely in the worst way. He’s got a lot to make up for. And
as passionate as their reconnection is, it’s a lot to hope for. Having her back
in his arms feels so right. But falling in love all over again with a woman who
wants to live a world away is bound to go so wrong.
What’s it going to take
for Neely to give him—and Dogwood Lane—just one more chance?
Preorder Tangle, Book
#2, for just $3.99: https://amzn.to/2GTJQXV
Pro Tip:
If you own the ebook, you can add the
Audible narration for just $1.99.
Audio Features:
Narrated by the talented Aiden Snow and Summer Morton, this
audio will rock your socks!
Giveaway: http://bit.ly/2TQRgwK
Snippet:
Splat!
The sound of the hammer crushing
my thumb—swung with more force than was necessary, to boot—ricochets across the
front lawn. The tool falls from my hand, striking against the sawhorse, and
flips into the soft grass with a gentle thud.
“Son of a...!” My hand shakes,
the top of my thumb threatening to explode. I tilt my head to the sky and try
to find some peace in the clouds.
I come up empty. “Matt!” I call
to my younger brother. “I’m taking ten.”
He nods from halfway up the
ladder leaned against the side of the house.
Wrapping my good hand around my
thumb, I head toward my truck. Sounds of construction ring out behind me. It’s
usually music to my ears, the lifeblood of the Madden name. But each cut of a
sawblade, buzz of a power drill, and swing of a hammer feels like a distraction
this morning. I have a throbbing thumb to show for it.
Beads of sweat cluster along my
forehead. I remove my hat with my good hand and run the back of my forearm along
my brow.
“Damn it.” Everything feels
sticky. Mildly irritating. And the progress on the project that usually
energizes me has failed me epically this morning. I just don’t want to be here. Not that I have a better place to
be. Quite frankly, I have a lot of places I shouldn’t be, and with Neely, or
thinking about Neely, is one of them.
I would’ve recognized her
anywhere. Same gray eyes that glimmer like she’s about to tell you a secret.
Full lips that spread into a smile so infectious you can’t help but feel your
own mouth following suit. The hint of floral perfume, the golden hair that may
as well be silk, and the aura about her that’s just as strong as the day she
left Dogwood Lane and me—it’s all the same. It’s like time forgot to age her.
She somehow has become more beautiful, sexier, stronger.
The world hates me. I’ve
postulated this for a long time, but it’s obvious today.
The tailgate of my truck lowers.
Scooping a handful of ice from the cooler in the bed into a bandanna, I wrap it
around my injured digit. The relief lasts only a few moments.
“What are you doing down here?”
Penn rests his forearms over the side of the truck, the tattoos carved in his
skin like mini masterpieces on full display. He eyes my makeshift bandage.
“What happened to you?”
“Hammer,” I groan, adjusting the
ice.
“That’s interesting.”
“How you figure?”
“Never knew you to hit yourself
with a hammer before. I find that interesting.”
“If that’s interesting, you need
a hobby. Or you could work like I’m paying you to do . . .”
“I have a hobby, thank you, and
you should’ve seen her last night,” he says, smacking his lips together. “Lord
Almighty, she’s a—”
“Penn.”
“Yeah?”
The tip of my finger sticks out
of the bandanna. It’s bright red and hot to the touch despite the ice packed
around it. “All your escapades really sound the same at this point.”
“Is that jealousy I hear?” He
cups his hand to his ear. “I thought so. Not my fault you’re in a dry spell.”
Leaning against the truck, I
look at him. “Jealousy isn’t how I’d describe it. But if that makes ya feel
good, go for it.”
“My hobby makes me feel good.” He moves his lips around, like he’s
fighting the next words trying to pop out. He does this when he knows he
shouldn’t say something but can’t quite convince himself not to. “From the
looks of you, I’d say you’re more than jealous. I’d say you’re . . . tempted.”
My tongue presses on the roof of
my mouth. “Tempted to what?”
He leans against the truck, too,
the gold St. Christopher’s medal he’s worn since elementary school clamoring
against the side. The corners of his lips nearly touch the corners of his eyes.
He knows.
“Word travels fast, huh?” I say,
prodding around to see if my guess is right.
He slow blinks. Twice.
“What?” I ask.
“That’s all you have to say
about Neely being back in town? ‘Word travels fast.’ What’s wrong with you?”
We don’t have time for that conversation.
I sigh. “What do you want me to
say?”
“I’d love to have been a fly on
the wall for that little run-in.” Penn snickers. “Did you stutter around like I
imagine? Or did you not manage to say an entire sentence?”
Working my jaw back and forth, I
point a finger his way. “You better stop while you’re ahead.”
He reads me correctly, and his
animation drops a notch. “Really, though. How’d it go? But before you answer
that, let me toss out there that I heard sparks were flying all over the diner
so hot Claire had to call the fire department.”
I shake my head. “Shut up.”
“Just telling you what I heard.”
“The firemen were there to order
food, you idiot.”
He thinks he’s onto something.
There’s a glee in his face that means only one thing: it’s going to be a long
day around here.
“So, what happened?” he asks,
resting his arms over the truck bed.
“You know, sometimes I think you
should’ve been a girl with all the gossiping you do.”
“This isn’t gossip,” he contends.
“This is Neely-freaking-Kimber, man. Every memory I have of my entire
adolescence has her in it. She bailed me out of jail when I was too scared to
call my dad and you and Matt were passed out on moonshine. Remember that?”
My chuckle is so hard, it causes
my thumb to throb. “I forgot about that. She was pissed.”
“Neely came through, though.
God, I miss her.”
Those last words echo through my
mind.
I have shoved her out of my head
for the last few years. Took over Dad’s business, took care of my business.
Trudged forward without her because that was the only choice I had. I hardly
even think about her anymore unless someone brings her up in conversation.
So why do I itch to crawl into
the truck and hunt her down?
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