Emma Grace Quotes

Emma, who had also been twelve, had not been shy about letting the world know she thought Jace was the handsomest and most amazing person who had ever graced the planet with his presence.

Rubella, Talipes, Amsterdam dwarfism, Austism, Asthma, Eczema, Epilepsy - the Sacred Disease. Moth madness, Papa calls it. Said Daniel. The Epilepsy, Papa used to say I was his little papillon de nuit - because of how I fluttered and got the shakes. Butterfly of the night. It suited him.

If grace was money, you could maybe buy a cookie.

Then let me help you.” She led her to a shelf and withdrew Emma, whose humor made it a particular favorite of Grace’s. “This will have you laughing one minute and sighing wistfully the next.

The moment we walk into the suite, Tommy descends on us. “The Queen’s on the line. On Skype, Your Grace.” Anxiety rings in his voice like the ping of a tapped crystal glass. “She’s been waiting. She does’na like to be kept waiting.” I nod briskly. “Have David bring me a scotch.” “Oh, me too!” Henry pipes up. “He’ll have coffee,” I tell Tommy. And I think Henry sticks his tongue out at me behind my back. I head into the library and he follows, seeming marginally closer to sober—at least he’s walking straight and unassisted now. I sit behind the desk and open the laptop. On the screen, my grandmother looks back at me, wearing a pale pink robe, hair in rollers and a hairnet, gray eyes piercing, her expression as friendly as the grim reaper’s. This should be fun. “Nicholas.” She greets me without emotion. “Grandmother,” I return, just as flat. “Granny!” Henry calls, like a child, coming around the desk into view. Then he proceeds to hug the computer and kiss the screen. “Mwah! Mwah!” “Henry, oh, Hen—” My grandmother swats the air with her hands, like he’s actually there kissing her. And I do my damnedest not to laugh at them. “Mwah!” “Henry! Remember yourself! My gracious!” “Mmmmmwah!” He perches, grinning like a fool, on the arm of my chair, forcing me to shift over. “I’m sorry, Grandmother—it’s just so good to see you

You’ve been menaced.” Ash scowled. “What is that?” “It’s my new signature phrase. A calling card. Still working on the delivery.” Trevor lowered his voice to a sinister growl, then lifted the same eyebrow. “You’ve”—pause—“been menaced.” Emma pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. “Or there’s this way. You’ve been”—pause, eyebrow lift—“menaced.” The boy cocked his head. “What do you think?” “I think,” Ash said tightly, “you should take them both and—” “Alternate between them,” Emma interrupted. “They’re both excellent. Quite memorable.” “Thank you, Your Grace.” Trevor bowed over her hand and kissed it. “Until we meet again.

Like a child, I close my eyes as if they can't see me either. The fire from the kiss broadcasts itself all over me in the form of a full-body blush. Galen laughs. "There it is," he says, running his thumb over my bottom lip. "That is my favorite color. Wow." I'm going to kill him. "Galen. Please. Come. With. Me," I coke out. Gliding past him, my bare feet slap against the tile until I'm stomping on carpet in the hallway, then up the stairs. I can tell by the prickles on my skin that he's following like a good dead fish. As I reach the ladder to the uppermost level, I nod to him to keep following before I hoist myself up. Pacing the room until he gets through the trap door, I count more Mississipis than I've ever counted in my whole life. He closes the door and locks it shut but makes no move to come closer. Still, for a person who's about to die, he seems more amused than he should. I point my finger at him, but can't decide what to accuse him of first, so I put it back down. After several moments of this, he breaks the silence. "Emma, calm down." "Don't tell me what to do, Highness." I dare him with my eyes to call me "boo." Instead of the apology I'm looking for, his eyes tell me he's considering kissing me again, right now. Which is meant to distract me. Tearing my gaze from his mouth, I stride to the window seat and move the mountains of pillows on it. Making myself comfortable, I lean my head against the window. He knows as well as I do that if we had a special spot, this would be it. For me to sit here without him is the worst kind of snub. In the reflection, I see him run his hand through his hair and cross his arms. After a few more minutes, he shifts his weight to the other leg. He knows what I want. He knows what will earn him entrance to the window seat and my good graces. I don't know if it's Royal blood or manly pride that keeps him from apologizing, but his extended delay just makes me madder. Now I won't accept an apology. Now, he must grovel. I toss a satisfied smirk into the reflection only to find he's not there anymore. His hand closes around my arm and he jerks me up against him. His eyes are stormy, intense. "You think I'm going to apologize for kissing you?" he murmurs. "I. Yes. Uh-huh." Don't look at his mouth! Say something intelligent. "We don't have any clothes on." Fan-flipping-tastic. I meant to say he shouldn't kiss me in front of everyone, especially half naked. "Mmm," he says, pulling me closer. Brushing his lips against my ear, he says, "I did happen to notice that. Which is why I shouldn't have followed you up here.

If I believed in God, I’d see evidence of his existence in that. In your darkest hour you were held afloat by the human love that was given to you when you most needed it. That would have been true regardless of the outcome of Emma’s surgery. It would have been the grace that carried you through even if things had not gone as well as they did, much as we hate to ponder that.

Good men who believe in God, certainly, and that he sent his Son to save them, but no real passion for it. A sort of long-distance relationship comprised of church once a week and grace at dinner. But ... the good news is, all that can change if a man really loves a woman, which is what happened with Sean. Emma's faith ignited his, and to be honest, Annie, that's what I've been praying for with you and Steven. You have the kind of faith to set Steven's on fire, but it's going to require adherence to God's precepts to do it, which is another reason you have to be strong.

The entire history of asceticism proves this to be only too true. The Church, as well as Puritanism, has fought the flesh as something evil; it had to be subdued and hidden at all cost. The result of this vicious attitude is only now beginning to be recognized by modern thinkers and educators. They realize that “nakedness has a hygienic value as well as a spiritual significance, far beyond its influences in allaying the natural inquisitiveness of the young or acting as a preventative of morbid emotion. It is an inspiration to adults who have long outgrown any youthful curiosities. The vision of the essential and eternal human form, the nearest thing to us in all the world, with its vigor and its beauty and its grace, is one of the prime tonics of life."[1] But the spirit of purism has so perverted the human mind that it has lost the power to appreciate the beauty of nudity, forcing us to hide the natural form under the plea of chastity. Yet chastity itself is but an artificial imposition upon nature, expressive of a false shame of the human form. The modern idea of chastity, especially in reference to woman, its greatest victim, is but the sensuous exaggeration of our natural impulses. “Chastity varies with the amount of clothing,” and hence Christians and purists forever hasten to cover the “heathen” with tatters, and thus convert him to goodness and chastity.

When we pull back into the castle courtyard, James is waiting. And he does not look happy. Actually he looks like a blond Hulk . . . right before he goes smash. Sarah sees it too. “He’s miffed.” “Yep.” We get out of the car and she turns so fast there’s a breeze. “I should go find Penny. ’Bye.” I call after her. “Chicken!” She just waves her hand over her shoulder. Slowly, I approach him. Like an explorer, deep in the jungles of the Amazon, making first contact with a tribe that has never seen the outside world. And I hold out my peace offering. It’s a Mega Pounder with cheese. “I got you a burger.” James snatches it from my hand angrily. But . . . he doesn’t throw it away. He turns to one of the men behind him. “Mick, bring it here.” Mick—a big, truck-size bloke—brings him a brown paper bag. And James’s cold blue eyes turn back to me. “After speaking with your former security team, I had an audience with Her Majesty the Queen last year when you were named heir. Given your history of slipping your detail, I asked her permission to ensure your safety by any means necessary, including this.” He reaches into the bag and pulls out a children’s leash—the type you see on ankle-biters at amusement parks, with a deranged-looking monkey sticking its head out of a backpack, his mouth wide and gaping, like he’s about to eat whoever’s wearing it. And James smiles. “Queen Lenora said yes.” I suspected Granny didn’t like me anymore; now I’m certain of it. “If I have to,” James warns, “I’ll connect this to you and the other end to old Mick here.” Mick doesn’t look any happier about the fucking prospect than I am. “I don’t want to do that, but . . .” He shrugs, no further explanation needed. “So the next time you feel like ditching? Remember the monkey, Your Grace.” He puts the revolting thing back in its bag. And I wonder if fire would kill it. “Are we good, Prince Henry?” James asks. I respect a man willing to go balls-to-the-wall for his job. I don’t like the monkey . . . but I respect it. I flash him the okay sign with my fingers. “Golden.

The remainder of my estate, including twenty-two percent of Barrington Shipping, as well as the Manor House—” Mr. Siddons couldn’t resist a glance in the direction of Lady Virginia Fenwick, who was sitting on the edge of her seat—“is to be left to my beloved … daughters Emma and Grace, to dispose of as they see fit, with the exception of my Siamese cat, Cleopatra, who I leave to Lady Virginia Fenwick, because they have so much in common. They are both beautiful, well-groomed, vain, cunning, manipulative predators, who assume that everyone else was put on earth to serve them, including my besotted son, who I can only pray will break from the spell she has cast on him before it is too late.

pictured a goddess, she’d have looked like Grace Brooks, Emma’s friend, the woman I’d become obsessed with because, whether she knew it or not, her life

Into the clearing stepped a man - or so he appeared to be, except this was a creature of unearthly beauty and grace. His height was immense and he exuded such a presence of power and strength that Sambeth shook with effort of restraining a cry of both terror and delight. She knew him at once and the bile rose in her throat. Altor, Earthborn son of the the Fallen One.

Grace.” I tipped my hat to her. “Where’s Owen?” I expected her to tell me that Emma was looking after him. “Day camp.” “Camp? Since when?” “Since Emma left.” My brain fuzzed out. “Left?” “She didn’t call you?” “No.

Then why do I still make you blush?” Emma felt an even deeper flush creeping up her cheeks. “I may not be able to keep myself from blushing in sympathetic embarrassment at your exceeding arrogance, Your Grace, but don’t think that means I intend to turn tail and run.” Wycliffe lifted an eyebrow. “But I don’t want you to run,” he said softly. “Where would the fun be in that?” Oh, goodness. She needed to attend her own class on rake avoidance again.

Be a swan, darling. Always a swan. Graceful and poised up top but paddling like shit underneath.

you are back in your grandmother’s attic looking at photographs of people you don’t know, ladies in floral print dresses, wearing feathered and veiled hats; men with cigarettes, leaning against automobiles, thumbs through their belt loops; an empty railroad depot, the tracks heading away to a landscape of bare trees, the rail yard littered with handcarts and piles of sooty snow, and you hear your mother calling you to lunch, but you are curious about this missing snapshot, the four triangular corner mounts forming a dark rectangle. Who removed the photo from the album and why? And who is the purloined ghost? And at that moment you realize that secrets lie all around you, that the world is so much larger than you had imagined, and that you are a part of it, and that this is a world of loss, and that all of these people whose names are penned on the borders of the photographs, whose smiles and shadows have been preserved, these people named Eustache and Marie, Walter, Pamille, Theona, Grace, Emma, Cousin Butchie, Big Fred, Little Fred, that all of them were tillers in the garden where the flower of you now blooms.

disowned

The Last Ride of Grayson “Grady” Hale In the heart of the wild west, under the vast expanse of the azure sky, rode Grayson “Grady” Hale, a cowboy known for his unyielding spirit and his trusty steed, Bess. Grady’s life was woven into the fabric of the frontier, a tapestry of cattle drives, campfire tales, and the pursuit of freedom that only the open range could offer. Grady was born to the saddle, learning to ride before he could walk, and to rope not long after. His father, a seasoned rancher, had instilled in him the values of hard work and respect for the land. Grady’s mother, a woman of strength and grace, taught him the gentle touch needed to soothe a spooked calf or mend a broken wing. As the years passed, Grady’s reputation grew. He wasn’t the fastest gun nor the richest rancher, but he had something more valuable—integrity. Folks from miles around would seek his help when rustlers threatened or when a neighbor needed a hand. Grady never turned his back on those in need, and his word was as solid as the mountains framing the horizon. One fateful day, a telegram arrived, calling Grady to a distant town. A band of outlaws had taken over, and the people were desperate. Grady kissed his wife, Emma, goodbye, promising to return once peace was restored. With Bess beneath him, he rode out, the dust of the trail rising like a storm behind him. The confrontation was inevitable. Grady, with a handful of brave souls, stood against the outlaws. Words were exchanged, and then gunfire. When the smoke cleared, the outlaws were either captured or fled, and the town was saved. But victory came at a cost—Grady had taken a bullet. As he lay there, the townsfolk gathered, their faces etched with concern and gratitude. Grady knew his ride was coming to an end. With his last breath, he whispered a message to be given to Emma, a message of love and a promise kept. Back at the ranch, Emma received the news with a stoic heart. She knew the risks of loving a cowboy, the same risks that made her love him all the more. She gazed out at the sunset, the colors painting the sky like the wildflowers of their meadow. And in that moment, she felt Grady’s presence, like the gentle brush of a breeze, telling her he was home at last. Grady’s tale is one of courage, sacrifice, and the enduring legacy of a cowboy who lived by his own code. His story, like the trails he once rode, winds its way into the legend of the west, reminding us that some spirits are as untameable as the land they love.

A woman sat in the corner, something in her hands as she waved them in front of her in a graceful dance. Her fingers flew over the air before her, as though she were playing some instrument he could not see. Her golden hair fit in with this place, just like the yellow dress she wore. But it was her hair that he could not stop staring at. It was so... elegant. A smooth waterfall of golden color that was pinned in place with some claw shaped device that held all the locks where she wanted them. But he wanted to rip that out of her head. He wanted to see the shiny tumble and to feel if it was as smooth as it looked. His fingers spasmed in the water, a strange reaction considering he also wanted to kill her. She was too small for him to be interested in. His hearts did not beat for someone that would break the moment he first touched them. Not to mention she was so perfect. A little golden statue hidden in the middle of her golden city. So pretty and perfect and wrong for him. A monster would leave smudges on something so lovely as she.

She had fins on her feet. Delicate and thin, like he did, but very narrow and very long. Shocked, he watched as she glided through the water after the metal creature that stomped across the ocean floor. The gills on his neck flared as he watched her swim. She moved with an innate grace that he hadn’t expected. The first time he’d seen her underneath the waves, she’d been shivering and struggling for breath. When he’d breathed into her lungs, perhaps he had given her a part of himself. Because she moved like a fish. Her body slowly rolling, she kept one arm in front of her as she swam, parting the resistance of the ocean as she followed the metal creature. And with the lights on the exterior of her city, she looked like she glowed.

Leaning down, he pressed his lips to that graceful arch of her neck. He let his mouth linger, and then couldn’t stop himself from flicking his tongue against her skin. Her moan vibrated in his ear as her taste burst on his tongue. She tasted so fucking good. Warm and sweet, her pulse throbbing against his tongue where her heart raced as though she knew how much danger she was in. No, not danger. He shoved the haze away from his mind to realize she had arched in front of him. Her back bowing, she presented herself to him like she had no restraint either. A low growl rumbling through his chest. He laved her pulse with his tongue. Slow and methodical, he drew the entire bumpy texture down her neck to her collarbone. Drawing back, he knew his sharp exhale would send cold goosebumps dancing down her flesh. And he couldn’t stop himself now. He’d had a taste, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. Another growl rumbled through him as he curved his clawed hand around her waist. The blanket still separated them, and he didn’t dare move it. The barrier was good. The barrier reminded him that he couldn’t go too far with this, no matter how much they both wished for it.

Mira saw the dark mass out of the corner of her eye just moments before it struck her. She hadn’t expected anything to move that fast through the water, let alone attack her. They’d already searched the area with drones to make sure there wasn’t anything large in the general vicinity. Three other men were joining her. She had the belated thought as she was smashed against the side of the tunnel. She just had to make it until they got here. Mira reached to the belt around her waist and tried to grab her serrated knife. It wouldn’t do much against a shark, but it might keep her alive. Or at least, make the creature think twice. Whipping out the blade, she blindly struck but soon realized that every one of her attempts to hit something vital was stopped by what felt like a... forearm? Twisting, she tried to turn in the water, but the damned deep sea flippers on her feet made that hard. They were built for long, graceful movements.

The water rushed in, sweeping her body back against the wall and pinning her there until the entire world turned into slow motion. Everything floated. Her welder, her hair, the undine who glided toward her with so much grace it made her eyes sting with tears. Oh, wait. That was the saltwater. He moved closer to her, those sharp teeth flashing, and she wondered if this was when she would die. It would be nice to not be awake for whenever he took a bite out of her body. Instead, he moved closer and then sealed his lips over hers. Oh, he was cold. That was her first thought. And she was surrounded by deep, icy ocean water that already squeezed her chest and made what little air was in there come out. Mere minutes and she’d go into hypothermic shock, if she somehow managed to breathe. Somehow, his lips were colder than all that, but smooth as they slid over hers. His tongue swept out, licking at her lips and she was so shocked that she opened them without thinking. Maybe he was giving her some kind of mercy before she died? His clawed hand came up and pinched her jaw, forcing her to open wider, and then he breathed into her. Her lungs sucked up the air, and she scrabbled at his arms, his shoulders, anything she could hold onto to suck in that air she desperately needed. Again he exhaled, and she inhaled even more before wrenching away from him, coughing into the water as her lungs tried to remember what to do with air.

You were right, Emma.” He sounded slightly stunned. “Really, darling, one would think you would be used to it by now,” Mama said.

She let him help her into the water, gracefully sliding her legs into the depths before hissing in a sharp breath. “So cold.” “I will carry you,” he murmured, wrapping one of his arms around her back and drawing her closer to him. “Let me keep you warm, Mira.” A soft smile crossed her features before she yanked down the first of her face coverings. Magnified eyes stared up at him, blinking a few times and overly large. “Sexy, right?” The translator she’d attached to his ear wasn’t helpful for the first word. But he could guess by the rounded sounds and the way she quirked her lips before putting the device over her mouth. And oh, it made all the colors in his body flare bright. Was she... interested in him? Surely not. They were two very different species and that wouldn’t work. They didn’t fit. But then she swam a little closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and slotting her feet back into the fins at his hips that were always a little warmer. Warm to keep his offspring safe should he wish to mate with someone. A position he was certain she did not know was so tempting that it made his hips buck forward.

When I first saw you, I was certain you were monstrous. Your people are so different from my own kind. With your two tails and your strange, white eyes, there was nothing I thought I could find tempting about you. But then, every day that you have been with me, I have found something new to admire.” He swallowed and froze when she stroked her hand down his arm. He stopped moving forward, keeping her hovering where it was warm enough for her. And here he was, boiling alive. “The graceful sway of your hips. The way your eyelids widen and then droop halfway closed when I do something you like. I wish to touch all of you. To find every part of your body that makes you gasp or hiss. I want to know the sounds that come out of your mouth when I pleasure you. When you realize that the ocean itself would guide me into you, and set a pace that neither of us could deny. My people believe that lovemaking is the purpose of the sea.

Ashley, Berk, Grace, Peter, Emma, Beth, and Luke are Nannie’s

Other than God’s grace, I don’t know. It was just there when I needed it, that’s all.” “You don’t know.” Mary shook her head in quiet amazement. “Well then, it’s a gift. That’s the only explanation.” In her heart Rachel was thrilled and terrified at being filled with a sense not her own. That Gott had given her that sense at the very moment when Emma needed her was indeed a gift.

Emma set the tray across his lap, he made no move to pick up his spoon or fork. “It’s been a long day,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I’m not sure I want to make the effort to eat.” She sank into the chair beside the bed. “But you must eat,” she replied. “You’ll never get your strength back if you don’t.” Steven lifted one shoulder in a dispirited shrug and looked away. After drawing a deep breath and letting it out again, Emma reached for his fork, stabbed a piece of Daisy’s meat pie, with its thick, flaky crust, and raised it to Steven’s lips. He smiled wanly and allowed her to feed him. In fact, it seemed to Emma that he was enjoying this particular moment of incapacity. The experience was oddly sensual for Emma; she found herself getting lost in the graceful mechanics of it. When Steven grasped her hand, very gently, and lightly kissed her palm, the fork slipped from her fingers and clattered to the tray. Her breasts swelled as she drew in a quick, fevered breath. Steven trailed his lips over the delicate flesh on the inner side of her forearm until he reached her elbow. When his tongue touched her at the crux, the pleasure was so swift and so keen that she flinched and gave a soft moan. His eyes locked with hers and he told her, without speaking aloud, that there were other places on her body he wanted to kiss. Places he fully intended to explore and master. Emma took hold of the tray with a hasty, awkward movement and bolted to her feet, feeling hot and achy all over. “Well,” she said with a brightness that was entirely false, “if you’re not hungry any longer…” “I didn’t say that, Miss Emma,” he interrupted, his voice as rough as gravel. “It’s just that it isn’t food I’m hungry for.” Only her fierce grasp on the sides of the tray kept Emma from dropping it to the floor—plate, cup, leftover food, and all. “What a scandalous remark!” Steven smiled and stretched, wincing a little at the resultant pain. “I can think of plenty of ‘scandalous’ remarks,” he said, “if you’d like to hear more.” Emma was painfully conscious of the pulse at the inside of her elbow, where Steven had kissed her. A number of other fragile points, such as the backs of her knees and the arches of her feet, tingled in belated response. “Good night, Mr. Fairfax,” she said, with feigned dignity. And then she turned and walked out of the room.

I’m not lying to Grace.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest and began tapping her foot. I swear, this girl was acting way mature for her age. At twenty-two, she had more smarts and strength than any woman I’d ever met. When I was her age… Nope, I wasn’t going to pull that crap. I was her age only three years ago.

Fatal Desire

People won’t always know how to communicate love in the way you need to hear it. So tell them how to love you out loud.

Me: I have a constant pit in my stomach and my shoulders are all tied up in knots Universe: Those are the two best ways I have to remind you that you’re still doing my job. Instead of yours.

The question is never why is this happening to me? The question is – what are you being pushed towards and how are you being asked to change? Look, this life hands out some damn hard things. I get it. But it just doesn’t make mistakes. And I can’t tell you why it has to happen like this for you – but I can tell you that your job is simple. Figure out how to use what you’re being given. I mean it. Figure out why life thinks you need to have this experience. Right now. At this moment. And then focus on that. You will get your answers one day. Trust me. Time is the wisest and greatest teacher there is. And she always explains. Always.

Look – changing a life is a big thing. It’s not like a “wake up on the right side of the bed” kind of choice. It takes work – hard work. And time – a lot of it. But you want to know the hardest part? Beginning. The absolute hardest part about changing your life is convincing yourself that it is worth doing. Forcing yourself to get it out of your head and into the world. So do me a favor. Start by SAYING IT OUT LOUD. That thing. I mean it. Speak it into existence. Write it on a mirror in lipstick. Stick it to the dashboard in your car. Hell, tattoo it on your writs if that’s your thing. But the trick is, you keep that thing CENTRAL to everything you do and are in this life. And love, I promise you that your life will change. Your life is only a series of habits that are formed from the choices you make – and continue to make – every single day. So if you want something different, teach yourself to do something differently. It’s both that simple and that complex. Because getting what you want begins with knowing what you want. And then working every day on progress.

It’s ok to have a heart that is soft, but tired. Tired of fighting back. Of being string. Of rebuilding. It’s ok to have a heart that is tired of hoping. Of helping. Of searching for positive in the never ending chaos. That doesn’t make you weak, love. Or negative. Or lost. It just makes you real. You know you can’t be strong forever, right? That’s just not how it works. We all have a breaking point – a point we start to need something else. Someone else. May be its time. May be its time away. May be its simply words that finds us, and remind us that tired hearts are the beautifully simple evidence that love had led us. Is leading us. That we followed what we believed and chased what we want and believed like hell in the things this crazy old world told us were impossible. So let that beautiful, kind, tender heart be a little tired if it needs to be. Let it rest, if it wants to. Time will heal those pieces you think are broken, love. It always does. It always will.

Embrace the life you have while you build the life you want.

Grace gave Emma's arm a gentle squeeze and curved her mouth into a thoughtful smile. "That's what God does for its, honey; He takes its just as we are, no matter how sinful or vile. Nothing we do will ever make its worthy of Him, but that's the good news. We don't have to be worthy. Christ paid the ultimate sacrifice for our sins when He died on the cross, so the worst is over. All that remains is for us to ask Him to forgive its and believe that He does. There's nothing more to it than that.

I’m sorry for taking so long.” Tori straightened her shoulders as if readying herself for battle, then traipsed down the steps to the street. “I had a few last-minute details to see to.” Ben hurried around the back of the wagon to meet her and had opened his mouth to offer assurances that the delay was no problem when Lewis popped his head up. “About time! Sheesh, Ma. You took for-ev-er.” Ben cast a warning glance at the boy. “I’m sure whatever your ma was doing was important.” He turned back to Tori and gave her his most charming grin. “She’s worth waiting on.” Her lips tightened at that, but into a shape that looked more like disapproval than appreciation of a compliment. So much for his charm. “Yes, well . . . I suggest we delay no longer.” Tori lengthened her stride, giving him no chance to assist her into the wagon. She scrambled up the wheel spokes and onto the bench before he could even think about fitting his hands to her waist and hoisting her up. Unfortunate, that. Ben shrugged off his disappointment and moved forward to give his team a final check before climbing into the driver’s seat. Emma handed a large basket up to Tori and wished her farewell while Grace Mallory waved from behind the store railing. As he clucked to his Shires and set the wagon in motion, Ben grinned to himself. One of the best parts of this plan to call on area homesteaders was the sheer number of times they’d be required to enter and exit the wagon. Tori might have escaped him this time, but he’d have a couple dozen more chances to wrap his fingers around her slender waist.

You, my friend, are a wise woman. It takes a lot more strength and courage to forgive someone than to harbor animosity. It’s also easier to forget someone than forgive them. I admire your resolve.” “It’s actually a bit selfish on my part. I’m not going to waste my energy or happiness on any hatred for Maggie. I’m going to do what I can to help her without being too involved. I’m not sure how it’s going to work, but I know in my heart I can’t get too close again.” “I know she’ll be happy to see you. I think she’s given up,” said Regi. “If you want to go over this afternoon, I can handle the shop,” offered Izzy. “You can get it over with and enjoy the rest of your week. This hanging over your head only adds to your stress. What you’ve told us makes perfect sense. I think you’re on a roll and need to address her while all your good lines are fresh in your mind.” “That’s a good idea. How about we have a bite of lunch and then I’ll head over there?” Regi packed up Emma’s things and gave Kate a long hug. “You’ll do fine. I hope I’m half the woman you are when I grow up,” she said, releasing Kate and wiping her own eyes. * * * Kate stood in front of Maggie’s door and adjusted her blouse before knocking. She waited several minutes

When the time comes for you to marry, we’ll find you a good, greedy man.” “Greedy?” “A greedy man will appreciate you for the wealth and power you give him. And because he’ll want to stay in your good graces, I’ll know he’ll treat you well.

His cool fingers were under her chin, tilting her face up to his. "You dance very well," he said, but instead of the usual mockery, there was a faintly husky note in his voice, and his eyes were intent on her. "You have the gift of grace." She stared up at him, caught in his gaze. And then, almost without volition, she turned her face, pressing her cheek against his hand. His fingers cupped her long, cool fingers and his thumb feathered her lips, lightly. She opened them beneath the faint pressure, and she knew she was trembling, captured in a moment of magic and wonder, with his hand on her mouth, their eyes caught, and she waited, breathless, knowing that the world was about to change. He bent down, blotting out the light, and she closed her eyes the moment before his mouth touched hers, his lips warm, damp, open against hers, and the shock of it sent her senses reeling, and she was falling into a hot velvet mass of glorious confusion. She was falling toward the hard parquet floor. His mouth left hers, almost before the brief kiss had begun, and his hand wrapped around her wrist, hauling her to her feet before she could collapse entirely. "A word to the wise, dear Emma," he said in a voice as cool and unmoved as the frozen ground outside. "When you engage in a dalliance on the dance floor, remember to keep your balance. It's better not to let your partner kiss you while you're still in a curtsy." "I wasn't expecting to be kissed," she said swiftly, hating him. "Weren't you? Another lesson, my dear. Always expect to be kissed. You have the mouth for it.

The disparity of their desserts was beyond anything Emma could have imagined. Blinking back tears, she put a raisin in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed—repeating the process until the gross, sticky box was empty, her disgust rendered bearable by the feeling that struck in situations of unfairness: a feeling that her life was a movie and the audience was God, and a faith in knowing her grace and fortitude in this moment would not go unnoticed.

Just before it hit the surf, an arm shot out of the waves. Graceful fingers caught the hilt of the sword, holding it aloft for a few moments before sinking back into the depths.

Emma had had lots of time since then to research true narcissism and now understood how slickly a person could be fooled by one. Narcissists, according to what she’d learned, were charming, engaging, and as long as the narcissist’s needs and desires were put first, above all else, things could go well in a relationship. Tad had groomed and manipulated her from the beginning to please him. She was pretty, dressed and behaved gracefully, which all served him. She adored him and fell into feeding his ego