Desertion and
death of her family leaves Jillian Russell alone in the world. A medical
diagnosis takes away her performance career. Starting over in Charlotte, North
Carolina, she opens a ballet company which takes all her resources and leaves
no time to build new relationships.
Trauma surgeon, Alan Armstrong, is determined to fix Jillian’s life before he moves on to set up a rural community clinic that had been the top priority in his life, until he met Jillian.
Will their undeniable connection cause them to change their ambitions so they can be together? Or will they walk away from each other to continue on the paths they had chosen before they met?
About the Author:
In 1977 Rachel earned her Bachelor of Arts degree in Music Education and taught music for ten years. After the birth of her second child, she returned to school and in 1991 earned her Associate of Applied Science degree in Nursing and passed the state boards for registered nurses. She has been a labor & delivery and antepartum nurse since that time.
Trauma surgeon, Alan Armstrong, is determined to fix Jillian’s life before he moves on to set up a rural community clinic that had been the top priority in his life, until he met Jillian.
Will their undeniable connection cause them to change their ambitions so they can be together? Or will they walk away from each other to continue on the paths they had chosen before they met?
About the Author:
In 1977 Rachel earned her Bachelor of Arts degree in Music Education and taught music for ten years. After the birth of her second child, she returned to school and in 1991 earned her Associate of Applied Science degree in Nursing and passed the state boards for registered nurses. She has been a labor & delivery and antepartum nurse since that time.
Anticipating her
retirement from healthcare, Rachel decided to write her first novel at age
fifty-seven. For years she had experienced scenes of heroes and heroines rambling
about in her thoughts and spilling into her dreams. So it was a no-brainer that
she should attempt to capture these thoughts on paper.
Rachel resides
in a suburb of Atlanta, Georgia with her husband of thirty-seven years. She has
three adult children, who help spoil their Labrador retriever. She is a member
of Georgia Romance Writers, Southeastern Writers Association and is a PRO
member of Romance Writers of America.
Now available on
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Excerpt:
Chapter
One
Jillian opened and closed her eyelids
several times, taking in the darkness accompanied by an eerie silence. She
dragged her head from side to side, trying to clear away the fuzziness
surrounding her consciousness. Her head hurt. How long had she been knocked
out? A minute? Ten minutes? Feeling something warm on her cheek, her fingers
followed the sticky trail up to her right temple, touching the gash that caused
blood to spill down her face. Without moving, she listened to pieces of refuse
falling to the floor around her, making thumping sounds. She shifted her body,
and tiny bits of confetti-like debris sprinkled down around her, creating a
powdery film of dust on her skin. With guarded motions, she touched her arms
and torso, assessing for other injuries. Moving her legs, she let out a sigh of
relief when she discovered it was not painful. A ballerina with injured legs
couldn’t be a ballerina.
What in the world had happened? She had
stopped at Mancini’s to pick up some takeout for a late lunch and decided to
run into Goodwin’s Pharmacy next door for toilet paper and shampoo. “God,
please help me,” she prayed as she lay on the floor in the dark.
She called out, “Is anyone there?”
Someone moaned. “Over here — I’m hurt.”
The woman took in short breaths as she
began to sob. Jillian struggled to shift her body, crying out in pain. She
moved her right hand over her left shoulder and discovered something protruding
from her shoulder blade. Her initial reaction was to pull it out, but instinct
guided her hand to move away before she acted on impulse. Taking a deep breath
and gritting her teeth, she moved to a sitting position. Attempting to keep her
voice even, to sound braver than she felt, she called out, “I’m Jillian, what’s
your name?”
“Cathy — Strickland. There’s something
heavy on my right leg. I can’t move it.”
Holding her left arm immobile, Jillian
stood up on trembling legs. With caution, she moved in the direction of the
voice, but the scattered rubble surrounding her blocked her path.
“Oh — I just felt a gush. I think my
water broke.”
“It’s okay. I’m sure someone will come
for us soon.” Working hard to keep the sob in her throat from escaping, she sat
down on the floor. Her head pounded as she held her arm close to her body. She
couldn’t focus on the pain; she had to remain calm.
The crying gnawed at Jillian’s heart as
she tried to assess their situation. And then Cathy screamed, claiming her full
attention.
“What’s wrong?”
Cathy sobbed. “That was — a hard
contraction. I can’t go into labor here.”
In an authoritative voice she had used
many times with her students, Jillian took command of the situation. “You’ve
got to calm down.”
“It — hurts so much.” She screamed
again.
“Take some deep breaths for me.” Jillian
wanted to go to her but it was too dangerous
to move around in the dark.
“My baby’s too small.”
Jillian wanted to cry but knew she had
to take hold of her emotions and figure out a plan. Hearing a loud sound in the
distance, she jerked her head up from its bowed position, her eyes following in
the direction of the sound as muffled voices reached her ears.
“Listen! Someone’s coming. I told you
someone would come.”
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