Professional runner, Ryan Grant, blows out his
knee training for another attempt at the Boston marathon and the dreaded
Heartbreak Hill. Ryan retreats home, not looking for anything more than a fast
recovery, but he finds solace in the arms of his tax preparer, Tara Mansfield.
Tara’s cheerleading career ended abruptly and she faces an upward
climb beating the stereotype as dumb blonde in her new calling as an
accountant. Framed with defrauding the IRS during the last weeks of the tax
season, Tara’s tentative confidence is shaken, but Ryan coaches her in
ensnaring the true perpetrator. She cheers him on in discovering his identity
as a coach rather than an athlete.
With the help of the junkyard king and a mechanical bull, can Tara
and Ryan find the courage to climb Heartbreak Hill together?
A portion of my proceeds from Climbing Heartbreak Hill will
be donated to the One Fund Boston to help those injured at the finish line of
the 2013 Boston Marathon. https://secure.onefundboston.org/page/contribute/default
Buy Links:
Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/climbing-heartbreak-hill-joselyn-vaughn/1115383380?ean=2940016558783
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/318504
Contact Links:
Email: joselynvaughn@gmail.com
Website: http://joselynvaughn.com
Twitter: @joselynvaughn
Facebook: http://facebook.com/joselynvaughn
Bio:
I live in the Great Lakes state with my husband, three
rambunctious children and two barking Beagles (I suppose that is redundant.)
When not suffering the woes of potty training three toddler/preschoolers, I
enjoy reading, running (sometimes it's fleeing the craziness at home),
reconstructing clothing, thrift store shopping and surfing Pinterest.com. (I
spend way too much time there and am getting all kinds of exciting ideas for
projects for my husband to do. He is less than thrilled by this.)
I love writing romance because I enjoy stories where
everything works out all right in the end and the main characters have a
happily ever after. My stories are set in small towns with quirky characters
that take on a life of their own.
Excerpt:
A lanky, sandy haired man on crutches elbowed his way
through the door, alternating between pushing the glass door
open
and inching his crutches forward. He wore a red windbreaker
with
Lakeshore Track Club embroidered on the chest.
Clutched between
his left hand and the handle of his crutch was a wad of
papers. It
wasn’t the worst presentation of receipts she’d seen in the
last three
months, but it would make the top ten.
She experienced a brief wave of déjà vu. A flash of his face
laughing in the dark. Had she seen him before somewhere? His
physique didn’t match any of the football players she had
been in
contact with. Surely the strange bend in his nose would
stand out
enough in her memory. It gave him a reckless air she found
appealing.
“Let me help you with that.” She hurried over to the door
and kicked the stopper down to hold it open while she
relieved him
of the fistful of paper. A quick scan of the parking lot
told her
Mark’s truck hadn’t arrived yet. “Do you have an
appointment?”
“Your sign said walk--‐‑ins were
welcome.” His voice had a
pleasant timbre. Tara didn’t miss the once--‐‑over he gave her. She
was used to those. It was one of the side--‐‑effects of having breast
implants not written in the tri--‐‑fold
brochure from the plastic
surgeon: every male and one in three females will stare at
your
chest. At times, Tara wanted to wear a name--‐‑tag that said ‘and yes,
they are fake'ʹ under her name.
“Walk--‐‑ins are always welcome. We have a small
break in the
rush right now, so why don’t you have a seat by my desk?”
Tara
released the door then made her way around her desk and
righted
her chair.
The man put the two crutches together and gingerly lowered
himself into the seat. He kept his left leg extended, and
Tara could
see the outline of a brace around his knee through his
warm--‐‑up
pants. She dropped the pile of receipts into the middle of
her desk
and opened a new client file on her computer.
“Have you been here before?” When he answered in the
negative, Tara said, “Okay. Then we’ll need to go through
the
basics first. I’ll need all your vital stats.”
“Excuse me?”
“Name, address, phone number, etc.”
“Oh, I thought you meant age, weight, heart rate, and blood
pressure. Guess I’ve been to too many doctors lately. Ryan
Grant.”
He rattled off an address she recognized as one of the
Ladies Night
Out members. Had Yvonne been holding out on her? They owed
her a favor after she had helped them get Leslie and Mark
together.
The last names matched so he must be family. Perhaps
Yvonne’s
son?
