Never Tell. Karen Young

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      Dear Reader,

      What would you do if everything you held dear in the world was suddenly gone? Would you have the courage and sheer grit to pick up the pieces and build a new and different life for yourself?

      Intriguing questions like this seemed to fuel my creative engine when I began to think about the plot for this book. In Never Tell, as always, I’ve plunged my heroine into a kind of hell where she’ll need courage, self-reliance and, yes, sheer grit just to survive. I promise that her plight will touch your heart, and her struggle to overcome the truly dreadful hand she’s been dealt will leave you feeling that there is always hope after tragedy. There are enduring friendships to be treasured. And there is always love to be found in the world…if we just open our hearts to receive it.

      I hope you enjoy this book as much as I enjoyed writing the story. I would love to hear from you! If you would like to be part of my mailing list, please write me at P.O. Box 141, Pearland, Texas 77588-0141. Or visit my Web site at www.authorkarenyoung.com.

      Happy reading!

      Karen Young

      Also by KAREN YOUNG

      IN CONFIDENCE

      PRIVATE LIVES

      FULL CIRCLE

      GOOD GIRLS

      Never Tell

      Karen Young

       www.mirabooks.co.uk

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      I owe thanks to several people for their generous support and suggestions during the development of this book. To Emilie Richards and Erica Spindler for the brainstorming session in Santa Fe. To Joanna Wayne and Gloria Alvarez for one of those “why-didn’t-I-think-of-that” ideas. To Barbara Colley for keeping me focused. To Jon Salem for…well, he knows why.

      Warm and loving thanks to Alison Simmons for her generous donation of time and ideas on a part of this business of writing that seems to come naturally to her, but not to me. Thank goodness she works cheap! And finally, to my editor, Valerie Gray, whose thoughtful insights are always right on.

      In loving memory of Linda Kay West

      Contents

       Chapter One

       Chapter Two

       Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Chapter Twenty-One

       Chapter Twenty-Two

       Chapter Twenty-Three

       Chapter Twenty-Four

       Chapter Twenty-Five

       Chapter Twenty-Six

       Chapter Twenty-Seven

       Chapter Twenty-Eight

       Chapter Twenty-Nine

       Chapter Thirty

       Chapter Thirty-One

      One

      The telephone shrilled the fourth ring, but Erica Stewart resisted coming fully awake. Let it go to voice mail, she thought, while a part of her still struggled to finish the dream. The phone rang again and Willie, her cat, nudged her hand with his head. Purring loudly, he climbed on her chest and pawed at the blanket. With a sigh, she raised herself on one elbow and looked at the caller ID, then groggily reached over and picked it up. “What?” She knew she sounded grumpy, but she wasn’t at her best before coffee and all her friends knew that.

      “Good morning, sunshine.”

      “This had better be good, Jason,” she grumbled, falling back against her pillow. “It’s Sunday. You know it’s the only day I can sleep in.”

      “You’ll forgive me when you hear this,” her business partner and quintessential morning person said. “Have you seen the Sunday Chronicle?”

      “You woke me from a sound sleep, Jason. I’m still in bed. And thanks to you, Willie’s now meowing to be fed. So, no, I haven’t seen the newspaper.”

      “Wait’ll you see the article in Zest, sugar. It’s fantastic. It’s gonna mean success with a big S for us. Get dressed,” he told her. “I’m coming over.”

      “Can’t you just—” She stopped, realizing the line was dead. Grumbling, she threw off the covers and glared at Willie, who was wailing now. “I’m up, I’m up.”

      When Jason knocked on her door fifteen minutes later, she’d barely had time to brush her teeth and throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He had a bakery box in one hand, a newspaper under his arm and a cardboard tray holding two cups of Starbucks coffee in the other. “Here, straight house blend, no frills, just the way you