Join the authors at #MFRWHooks here http://mfrwbookhooks.blogspot.com for some great excerpts Mine found at http://wwweclecticwriter.blogspot.com features a hidden child and a renewed romance
A chance photograph sends Mark Blakefield to Vermont to find something he lost and didn't know about. He has a son. He also has a way to find the woman he fell in love during his last year of college. Her disappearance when he went to pick her up for dinner puzzles him. Though he searched for Christa Parsons for months and never found her. The photograph taken by one of his writers for Good Travelin' shows an inn in Vermont. He rushes off to solve the mystery and claim his son.
Christa Sommers runs the family inn left to her by her mother. Besides making the inn successful, she is raising her nine year old son, Davy. She has to deal with her younger, selfish half-sisters and she has reached the end point of her patience with them.
When Mark arrives she is stunned. Now she has to explain who she never told him about Davy. Part of the reason was her attempts to find him were foiled by a secretary and the other was being swamped by work. One sight and she fears falling in love with him or losing custody of her son.
Can Mark figure why he was looking for someone with the wrong name? Can he persuade Christa he has loved her for all those years and convince her to share her life and her son with him?
Mark Blakefield sat behind the desk in his office. He listened to his senior writer describe his
New England vacation. “Found the Green Mountain
Inn on our last day of exploring places for a feature in Good Travelin’.
“Impressive was it?” Mark asked.
“Owned by a single mom. Been in her family for generations. Lots of history. An inn for all seasons. Fabulous food. Scenic vistas. Spring, leaf peeping, lake with boats, fishing, hike and riding trails. Snapped a bunch of photos.” He slid a stack across the desk. “Have a look. Owner’s easy on the eyes.”
Mark stared at the stack. Why did Jonas insist on using a camera with film when phones and digital cameras were available? Mark tapped the desk. “What did your wife say?”
The older man winked. “She liked the idea of you heading there.”
Mark rolled his eyes. “The pair of you on another match-making junket?”
Jonas shrugged. “She thought you would like the lady.”
“I’ll check the photos and see if the place deserves a feature.”
“And I’ll wait to hear.” Jonas strolled to the door.
Mark turned the photos over one by one. The leaves on the hillside had just begun to turn. Another showed a lake shimmering in the sunlight. He studied several shots of a large inn. Another showed a garden, a two story house and several cottages. Buried near the end of the stack he found a picture of a boy around nine or ten mugging for the camera. He stared at the next picture. A woman stood beside the boy. Mark’s jaw clenched.
“Damn her.” What was Christa Parsons doing at this inn? Mark opened his laptop and started a search for directions. Was the woman really Christa? Could he be mistaken? Had he forgotten what she looked like? Not possible. Her face and her body were engraved in all his cells. He printed the directions. With the photo of the boy in one hand and his laptop in the other he strode to the door. He stopped at his secretary’s desk. “I’ll be out of town for several days. Maybe a week.”
“Where should I say you are?”
“Just a phone call, a text or an email away.”
He didn’t wait for the elevator but took the stairs to the basement parking garage. He sped from his spot into a traffic nightmare. Honking horns, screeching brakes and raised fists and middle fingers sent him on his way until he reached the saner major highway. When he reached his condo he felt as if he’d fought a war. He dashed inside, packed and settled at the kitchen table. After zapping a frozen burger he headed to the living room and removed a picture form the photo album on the coffee table.
Back in the kitchen he stared at the two pictures. Had to be. Why hadn’t she told him? He intended to learn the answer to that and to a dozen other questions. He tucked the photographs in his jacket pocket, grabbed a six pack and a tin of cookies. With the burger in a hand he loaded everything in the trunk of his silver sports’ car. He slid behind the wheel. Christa Parsons had some explaining to do.