Tuesday, August 5, 2014

RELEASE DAY: Kitra Kaspar "The Greatest is Love"


What happens when city doctor Joey Winters meets country lawyer Brad Freeman? Nothing, because Joey is determined to stay unattached. Rural Freeman, Oklahoma is not in her life plan, which means falling for a handsome small-town lawyer is out of the question. Too bad she forgot to tell her heart. However, when Joey’s painful past haunts her, she realizes she will never have a meaningful relationship with any man unless she battles her demons. She knows she needs help but believes God abandoned her long ago. Add in a gorgeous banker named Evan, and the doctor’s life seems to spin out of control. Can Joey trust in God? Does He even care about her?



A retired teacher/counselor, Kitra has three grown children and lives on a farm in northwest Oklahoma with her husband, two dogs, and one cat. When she’s not writing, she loves to be Mimi to her two grandchildren. Kitra is active in her church and community, but books and words have always been her first love. She is a member of the American Christian Fiction Writers and feels it’s important for inspirational fiction to deal with modern issues and a God who has the power to heal any hurt the modern world can inflict.


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Chapter One: The Tongues of Men

Dr. Joey Winters took one look at the scuffed and peeling linoleum, and her heart sank. If she were the type of woman who cried when misfortune struck, she would be bawling.

All of her life, Joey had dreamed of her first medical practice. She’d envisioned a modern facility in a large city where she could use her skills to improve the lives of thousands of people. Thanks to the Doctors for Rural Oklahoma Program, a decaying building on the outskirts of nowhere was what she got. Not what she’d planned, and yet another example of the bad luck that seemed to seek her out.

Why would any person in her right mind want to live in a town like Freeman, Oklahoma?

Beads of perspiration popped out on her forehead. The room wasn’t much cooler than the ninety plus temperatures outside. Joey swiped at the moisture with one hand and fanned herself with the other. She executed a slow three hundred and sixty degree turn and scanned the room with the thoroughness of any good doctor. Fresh paint mingled with old dust. Wilted, floral wallpaper clung with tenacity to the walls. Water rings, the souvenirs of past rainstorms, colored the ceiling tiles. An assortment of metal chairs huddled in the corner under not-so-white sheets.

The air conditioner rumbled, and a breeze brushed the top of her head. Joey turned her face toward the source of reprieve, soaking in the coolness. As if on cue, the machine sputtered, and the air stopped.

A frown creased her forehead. Could things get any worse?

“Dad, is that you?”

Joey jerked her head toward the sound of a male voice. A tall man entered the room holding a paintbrush in one hand and a rag in the other. Yellow and blue paint speckled his T-shirt and jeans. Thick, dark hair glistened with polka-dots in the same colors. Sweat drew dark circles under his arms. A suntanned face drew her notice. High cheekbones and a strong jaw gave his face a chiseled appearance. His eyes reminded her of a body of water at night—black and fathomless.

The Adonis walked toward her. Joey had to look up to maintain eye contact.

He mopped his brow with a rag and then gave her a smile. “The clinic’s not open yet, but we hope to have it up and running in a week. If it’s an emergency, you’ll have to go to Clinton.”

“No,” Joey said with a wave of her hand. “You don’t understand. That’s not why I’m here.” She paused, trying to get her brain to work. “Well, I guess that is why I’m here, but it’s not an emergency. What I mean is I’m not sick or anything.”

The man had the audacity to grin.

Why did she feel like a pre-pubescent girl in the presence of her favorite teen idol? She had to take back control of this conversation. Her hand shot out. “I’m Dr. Joey Winters.”

The paintbrush went sailing. She jumped back in anticipation of the splatter. With all the grace of a natural athlete, he caught it against his leg. It left a splotch of lemon paint on his jeans and on his hands. “That was close.”

Joey tried again. “I’m the new doctor.”

After laying the brush on the floor, he used the rag to wipe his hands. His gaze never left Joey’s face. “I’m Brad Freeman. Sorry for my clumsiness.”

Recognizing his name from the welcome letter she received a week ago, she let her arm fall to her side.

“I didn’t get paint on you, did I?”

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