Ruth J. Hartman spends her days herding cats, and her nights spinning sweet romantic tales that make you smile, giggle or laugh out loud. She, her husband, and their three cats, love to spend time curled up in their recliners watching old Cary Grant movies. Well, the cats, Maxwell, Roxy and Remmie, sit in the people’s recliners. Not that the cats couldn’t get their own furniture. They just choose to shed on someone else’s. You know how selfish those little furry creatures can be.
Ruth, a left-handed, cat-herding, Jeep driving, farmhouse-dwelling romance writer uses her goofy sense of humor as she writes tales of lovable, klutzy women and the men who adore them. Ruth’s husband and best friend, Garry, reads her manuscripts, rolls his eyes at her weird story ideas, and loves her in spite of her penchant for insisting all of her books have at least one cat in them. Or twelve. But hey, who’s counting?
Augustus Sinclair has a broken heart. His betrothed has dropped him for his best friend. Former best friend. When he meets Anne Balfour, though, he questions whether he’d ever really been in love with his fiancé. Some of Anne’s reactions to what he considers everyday activities are puzzling, but that doesn’t stop him from falling head over heels for the first time in his life.
Anne Balfour is amazed to be a guest at the Shrewsbury’s, one of Mayfair’s most well-to-do families — even if the circumstances are less than ideal. Still, she can’t help but get caught up in the excitement of society life. Especially when in the company of Augustus Sinclair. He makes her believe in love and romance, even if she is just the dustman’s daughter.
“You seem to like cats, Miss Balfour. Do you have any?”
“Yes, I have Kitty and her four kittens. They’re at home.”
“Oh? And where is home?”
Anne’s mouth went dry. Why hadn’t she thought about that question sooner? How naive to think there wouldn’t be at least one person to ask. She couldn’t say London, of course. She blurted out, “I… Scotland.”
Bother. “No… no. My father and I moved to Gretna Green a few years ago. I’m English.”
“I didn’t think you had the brogue, but I’ve been mistaken in the past.”
“No, while we lived there I had the… brogue, but I lost it, that is, it fell away somewhere.” She sounded like an idiot!
He raised his eyebrows. “Fell away? Should we look for it in the street somewhere?”
“No, I don’t think it would—”
“Perhaps in slipped into the Thames after you reached London?”
“You see, I—”
“Or is floating in the wind, still hovering somewhere above a chapel in Gretna Green?” A huge smirk appeared.
Anne laughed, which startled the kitten. She cupped her hand over its face and comforted it, rubbing her thumb over the bridge of its nose. Since she didn’t want Augustus to continue that thought, she needed to steer the subject away from her. Time to ask her own questions. “Do you like cats, Mr. Sinclair?”
Augustus nodded. “Yes, very much. I’ve loved them since I was a boy. Do you suppose it would be acceptable for you to call me Augustus?”
“I would like that. Very much. Augustus.” She’d known his name since the previous night, yet saying it out loud to him gave her chilblains. As if it wasn’t real until she voiced the word. “And I am Anne.”
a Rafflecopter giveaway