- Author: Susan Wiggs
Book online «Fireside Susan Wiggs (best free ebook reader for android .txt) 📖». Author Susan Wiggs
Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author
“With the ease of a master, Wiggs introduces complicated, flesh-and-blood characters into her idyllic but identifiable small-town setting, sets in motion a refreshingly honest romance…and even finds room for a little mystery.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Winter Lodge (starred review, on Best Books of 2007 list)
“Wiggs is one of our best observers of stories of the heart.…She knows how to capture emotion on virtually every page of every book.”
“Wiggs explores many aspects of grief, from guilt to anger to regret, imbuing her book with the classic would’ve/could’ve/should’ve emotions, and presenting realistic and sympathetic characters…another excellent title [in] her already outstanding body of work.”
—Booklist on Table for Five (starred review)
“Rich with life lessons, nod-along moments and characters with whom readers can easily relate. Delightful and wise, Wiggs’s latest shines.”
—Publishers Weekly on Dockside
“Susan Wiggs writes with bright assurance, humor and compassion about sisters, children and the sweet and heartbreaking trials of life—about how much better it is to go through them together.”
—Booklist on The Winter Lodge
“[A] delightful romp…With its lively prose, well-developed conflict and passionate characters, this enjoyable, poignant tale is certain to enchant.”
—Publishers Weekly on Halfway to Heaven (starred review)
“A human and multilayered story exploring duty to both country and family.”
—Nora Roberts on The Ocean Between Us
TABLE FOR FIVE
SUMMER BY THE SEA
THE OCEAN BETWEEN US
HOME BEFORE DARK
PASSING THROUGH PARADISE
SNOWFALL AT WILLOW LAKE
THE WINTER LODGE
SUMMER AT WILLOW LAKE
Chicago Fire Trilogy
A SUMMER AFFAIR
HALFWAY TO HEAVEN
THE HORSEMASTER’S DAUGHTER
THE CHARM SCHOOL
This book is for my friend Lois, with love.
Thanks to my own personal brain trust—Anjali Banerjee, Carol Cassella, Sheila Roberts, Suzanne Selfors, Elsa Watson, Kate Breslin, Lois Faye Dyer, Rose Marie Harris, Patty Jough-Haan, Susan Plunkett and Krysteen Seelen—wonderful writers and even better friends.
Thanks to Mr. David Boyle, president and co-owner of the New Haven County Cutters, for information regarding Independent Baseball and the Can-Am League.
Thanks also to Margaret O’Neill Marbury and Adam Wilson of MIRA Books, Meg Ruley and Annelise Robey of the Jane Rotrosen Agency, for invaluable advice and input. Thanks to my publisher and readers for supporting the Lakeshore Chronicles and for coming back to Avalon again and again.
With every word I write, I’m grateful to my family—the reason for everything.
There are many ways to make a family, and that’s really the essence of the LAKESHORE CHRONICLES books. As each story ends, a new one unfolds. The one element they all have in common is the key ingredient that makes everything hold together—love. I deeply appreciate the readers who have been so supportive of these books.
Later this year, Christmas comes to Avalon in a new hardcover novel. In Lakeshore Christmas, bad-boy rocker Eddie Haven teams up with Maureen Davenport, the town librarian, to direct the annual Christmas pageant. Please look for Lakeshore Christmas in bookstores in October 2009.
The dark glasses didn’t hide a thing, not really. When people saw someone in dark glasses on a cloudy day in the middle of winter, they assumed the wearer was hiding the fact that she’d been drinking, crying or fighting.
Or all of the above.
Under any number of circumstances, Kimberly van Dorn enjoyed being the center of attention. Last night, when she’d donned her couture gown with its scandalous slit up the side, turning heads had been the whole idea. She’d had no idea the evening would implode the way it had. How could she?
Now, at the end of a soul-flattening redeye flight, she kept her shades on as the plane touched down and taxied to the Jetway. Coach. She never flew coach. Last night, however, first class had been sold out, personal comfort had taken a back seat to expediency, and she’d found herself in seat 29-E in the middle of the middle section of the plane, wedged between strangers. Sometimes the need to get away was more powerful than the need for legroom. Although her stiff legs this morning might argue that point.
Who the hell had designed coach class, anyway? She was convinced she had the imprint of her seatmate’s ear on her shoulder. After his fourth beer, he kept falling asleep, his head lolling onto her. What was worse than a man with a lolling head?
A man with a lolling head and beer breath, she thought grimly, trying to shake off the torturous transcontinental night. But the memories lingered like the ache in her legs—the lolling guy with a snoring problem, and, on her other side, an impossibly chatty older gentleman, who talked for hours about his insomnia. And his bursitis. And his lousy son-in-law, his fondness for fried sweet potatoes and his dislike of the Jude Law movie Kim was pretending to watch in hopes of getting him to shut up.
No wonder she never flew coach. Yet the nightmare flight was not the worst thing that had happened to her lately. Far from it.
She stood in the aisle, waiting for the twenty-eight rows ahead of her to deplane. The process seemed endless as people rummaged in the overhead bins, gathering their things while talking on mobile phones.