Novella one in the new Bridesmaids Series!
They used to call her the Bon-Bon Heiress...Tiffany Bonander (of Bon-Bon Chocolates) grew up in New York with a silver spoon, a heart of gold, and a lifelong supply of sweets. But now her life is falling apart. Recent changes in cocoa supply are threatening the quality of the family's chocolate and sales are down. Add to that Tiff's penchant for falling in love quickly and breaking engagements at the last minute...Now they call her the Bon-Voyage Bride. Can this socialite turn around a cocoa plantation in South America?
Jackson Hardaway is trekking through the Andes in Ecuador as a tribute to a fallen comrade. This wounded warrior didn't expect to meet a beautiful damsel in distress and her three fairy godmothers...er, trio of meddlesome nuns...on his journey. But everything in Ecuador is bigger – the trees, the snakes, the attraction. Is this love? Or just another case made to label Tiff a runaway bride?
Heat level: PG
It was raining. Again.
Tiffany Bonander tried humming a few bars of White Christmas. It was, after all, December 23. Cheer was called for.
But the incessant beat of fat raindrops on the tangled foliage of the Ecuadorian rainforest and on her pink rain slicker, drowned out her cheer.
Or maybe she was just drowning under the pressure of heavy responsibilities.
Ankle-deep water rushed down the steep, muddy road toward Tiff and her precious cargo–thirty pounds of cocoa beans. She couldn’t lose the beans. They were the answer to all her troubles.
Thunder boomed. And boomed again. The downpour increased to a deluge.
Tightening her grip on the wheelbarrow handles, Tiff tried to find purchase with her rain boots, tried to make it to the next rise before the road turned into a river. Tried…and failed. Somewhere above her the river had risen high enough to crest a bank. Water surged toward her.
Tiff’s father claimed they’d abandoned this cocoa plantation years ago for drainage reasons. He should have used the F-word: flood.
Tiff stumbled to her knees, and water rushed into her boots–cute, pink-flowered plastic ones which quickly filled with water and felt as heavy as cement shoes. If not for her grip on the wheelbarrow, she might have been swept downhill. Just last week, she’d heard about a woman who’d been carried away by the cresting river and smashed into a tree. Smashed as in:to pieces. Dead.
That would be worse than being broke and the laughing-stock of the civilized world.
This was karma, plain and simple. She shouldn’t have jilted Chad at their engagement party or left Malcolm at the altar.
The Story Behind the Story
At the beginning of summer, I was asked to participate in a holiday anthology with 13 other sweet romance writers. Last year, I would have jumped up and down for joy. This year, I have 6 writing projects on the table and had deadlines that couldn’t be adjusted. Call me Crazy, I agreed. Only one problem besides squeezing it in the schedule: I needed an idea.