Professional runner, Ryan Grant, blows out his knee training for another attempt at the Boston marathon and the dreaded Heartbreak Hill. Ryan retreats home, not looking for anything more than a fast recovery, but he finds solace in the arms of his tax preparer, Tara Mansfield.
Tara’s cheerleading career ended abruptly and she faces an upward climb beating the stereotype as dumb blonde in her new calling as an accountant. Framed with defrauding the IRS during the last weeks of the tax season, Tara’s tentative confidence is shaken, but Ryan coaches her in ensnaring the true perpetrator. She cheers him on in discovering his identity as a coach rather than an athlete.
With the help of the junkyard king and a mechanical bull, can Tara and Ryan find the courage to climb Heartbreak Hill together?
A portion of my proceeds from Climbing Heartbreak Hill will be donated to the One Fund Boston to help those injured at the finish line of the 2013 Boston Marathon. https://secure.onefundboston.org/page/contribute/default
Contact Links:
Email: joselynvaughn@gmail.com
Website: http://joselynvaughn.com
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Buy links:
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Climbing-Heartbreak-Hill-ebook/dp/B00CX20YLI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1369156247&sr=8-1&keywords=climbing+heartbreak+Hill
Astraea Press: http://astraeapress.com/#!/~/product/category=662245&id=23861577
Bio:
I live in the Great Lakes state with my husband, three rambunctious children and two barking Beagles (I suppose that is redundant.) When not suffering the woes of potty training three toddler/preschoolers, I enjoy reading, running (sometimes it's fleeing the craziness at home), reconstructing clothing, thrift store shopping and surfing Pinterest.com. (I spend way too much time there and am getting all kinds of exciting ideas for projects for my husband to do. He is less than thrilled by this.)
I love writing romance because I enjoy stories where everything works out all right in the end and the main characters have a happily ever after. My stories are set in small towns with quirky characters that take on a life of their own.
Excerpt:
A lanky, sandy haired man on crutches elbowed his way through the door, alternating between pushing the glass door open and inching his crutches forward. He wore a red windbreaker with Lakeshore Track Club embroidered on the chest. Clutched between his left hand and the handle of his crutch was a wad of papers. It wasn’t the worst presentation of receipts she’d seen in the last three months, but it would make the top ten. She experienced a brief wave of déjà vu. A flash of his face laughing in the dark. Had she seen him before somewhere? His physique didn’t match any of the football players she had been in contact with. Surely the strange bend in his nose would stand out enough in her memory. It gave him a reckless air she found appealing.
“Let me help you with that.” She hurried over to the door and kicked the stopper down to hold it open while she relieved him of the fistful of paper. A quick scan of the parking lot told her
Mark’s truck hadn’t arrived yet. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Your sign said walk--‐‑ins were welcome.” His voice had a pleasant timbre. Tara didn’t miss the once--‐‑over he gave her. She was used to those. It was one of the side--‐‑effects of having breast implants not written in the tri--‐‑fold brochure from the plastic surgeon: every male and one in three females will stare at your chest. At times, Tara wanted to wear a name--‐‑tag that said ‘and yes, they are fake'ʹ under her name.
“Walk--‐‑ins are always welcome. We have a small break in the rush right now, so why don’t you have a seat by my desk?” Tara released the door then made her way around her desk and righted her chair.
The man put the two crutches together and gingerly lowered himself into the seat. He kept his left leg extended, and Tara could see the outline of a brace around his knee through his warm--‐‑up pants. She dropped the pile of receipts into the middle of her desk and opened a new client file on her computer.
“Have you been here before?” When he answered in the negative, Tara said, “Okay. Then we’ll need to go through the basics first. I’ll need all your vital stats.”
“Excuse me?”
“Name, address, phone number, etc.”
“Oh, I thought you meant age, weight, heart rate, and blood pressure. Guess I’ve been to too many doctors lately. Ryan Grant.”
He rattled off an address she recognized as one of the Ladies Night Out members. Had Yvonne been holding out on her? They owed her a favor after she had helped them get Leslie and Mark together.
The last names matched so he must be family. Perhaps Yvonne’s son?
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