Sue Civil-Brown Letting Loose

ISBN 13: 9780380727759

Letting Loose

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9780380727759: Letting Loose

Eden is not all it's cracked up to be...

Jillie McAllister escaped to Paradise Beach to start over somewhere beautiful ... and far away from her philandering ex-husband. But she's already lost her job, run over a mailbox, become embroiled in a heated small-town controversy...and run afoul of the local law in the person of the good-looking Chief of Police Blaise Corrigan.

But with a little love it can be heaven,

Jillie just wants to settle down and open a bookstore.Instead she's raising ire and eyebrows, most notably the Chief's.But the better Blaise gets to know his sometimes saucy, sometimes timid, always disarmingly honest new neighbor, the better he likes her. The caring cop's tenderness and obvious desire for Jillie are like a soothing balm to her battered soul, and a possible cure for all her troubles in paradise-even when her unwanted former spouse reappears to send her life into further turmoil.But Jillie is determined to weather the emotional storm, because her destiny has brought her to this magical place and wonderful new man. And her heart is begging her to stay.

"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.

About the Author:

Sue Civil-Brown has been writing romantic stories since childhood. Now, having published two dozen books under the pen name Rachel Lee and won numerous awards, she is delighted to turn her attention to the light-hearted and humorous in love and life.

Sue lives with her own knight in shining armor on Florida's Gulf Coast, where the weather provides almost as much excitement as her dearly beloved, their children, and their Siberian husky.

Boredom, she says, is never a problem.

Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

Just as Jillie McAllister turned into her driveway, a huge dog leaped out of a shrub right in front of her. Instead of continuing its dash, it froze, looking straight at her, pinned by the glare of her headlights.

Instinctively, she braked and wrenched the wheel to avoid hitting the dog, then heard a sickening thud and clang as she struck her neighbor's mailbox.

"Oh, hell," she swore as her car jolted to a halt. Just what she needed, another bill.

The cause of it all stared at her for a few moments, as if defying her, and calmly lifted its leg to relieve itself on her front tire. Tossing one last look in Jillie's direction, the dog then darted off into the night.

"You stupid animal," she shouted after him, feeling mortally insulted, "if you'd just kept running to begin with, I wouldn't be in this mess! Did you have to pee on my car, too?"

"Who are you talking to?"

Startled by the deep male voice that seemed to be coming from nowhere, Jillie turned and found herself looking at one of the most intimidating figures she had ever seen. Worse, he was a cop.

"Oh, shit," she muttered under her breath. "Oh, shit."

He stepped closer, into the beam of her headlights, giving her the full force and impact of his size and uniform. He loomed over her, his uniform as crisply starched and pressed as if he had just stepped off a recruiting poster.

And he didn't look happy at all. In fact, he appeared to be in a very bad mood.

"Who are you talking to?" he repeated, an edge of impatience in his voice.

"The dog."

"What dog?"

Jillie leaned out her window and waved in the general direction the dog had taken. "He just ran away."

"Turn off your engine and lights, please. I'll need to see your operator's license, vehicle registration, and proof of insurance."

Oh, wonderful! As if life hadn't dealt her enough bad: turns lately, now she was in trouble with the law. Scowling, she did as she was told. Arguing would only cause more trouble. She switched off her lights and ignition.

He had a flashlight, one of those really big ones, and he pointed it in at her, watching as she nervously fumbled in her purse for her license and insurance card. Of course, because she was nervous, her fingers didn't seem to work right, and her wallet kept slipping out of her hands. Finally she managed to find both items and give them to him.

"Registration?" he repeated impatiently.

That was in the glove box, only her glove box was full of gasoline receipts, repair receipts, store receipts and candy wrappers ... and the compartment light out. Piece by piece she pulled papers out of the compartment, peering at them in the near dark, trying to read them. Rapidly a pile of scraps began to build on the floorboards.

"I can't see," she finally said in a burst of utter frustration "I know it's here, but I can't see." She waved a handful of small papers at him. "I couldn't tell the registration from a credit card receipt!"

"I can see why."

She wanted to cringe.

Obligingly enough, however, he came around to the far side of her car, opened the door, and pointed the flashlight right at her glove compartment, revealing the extent of the mess.

"I guess I need to clean this out," she said on a nervous laugh. He didn't say a word, making her even more uneasy.

Finally she found it. Somehow the registration, which was only a few months old, had sifted to the bottom of all the other papers, some of which were three and four years old. God, it was embarrassing. Mutely she handed it to him.

He brought his flashlight to bear on her license and registration, then pointed it at her again. Behind it he was an almost invisible, looming shadow.

"Please step out of the vehicle and keep your hands in plain view."

Oh, God! Was she going to be arrested? For knocking over a mailbox? "Look," she began to babble nervously, "I didn't mean to hit the mailbox. I'll pay for it, I promise. It's just that this dog was sitting right in the driveway and I swerved to avoid it..." She put her hands up helplessly as she stepped out and faced him. "I know I shouldn't have done that. I've heard a million times how you shouldn't swerve to avoid an animal because you could get yourself or someone else killed, but ... it's been a long night. I've been working since four, it's nearly two, and I'm just so tired, I'm not sure I can even see straight..."

Jillie trailed off, suddenly realizing that might not be the best thing to admit under the circumstances. Could you be arrested for driving when you were too tired?

He pointed his flashlight right at her eyes, making her blink rapidly. "Have you had anything to drink tonight?"

"Of course not!" And then, with a creeping sense of horror, she remembered that a customer had spilled a beer on her not one hour ago, just before closing time. God, she smelled like a brewery!

Then she really started to babble. "The beer smell, you mean? Oh, really, I'm working as a waitress and someone spilled a beer on me a little while ago..."

The night was unseasonably cold for this part of Florida, and she began to shiver as she stood on her paved driveway wearing only her skimpy waitressing uniform.

The cop tucked her license, registration, and insurance card under the wiper blade of her car and brought his flashlight to bear on her again.

"How long have you been working as a waitress here, Ms. McAllister?"

"What difference does it make? Do you mean do I come home reeking of beer every night?"

"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.

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Civil-Brown, Sue
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