Caleb's Bride. Wendy Warren

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       “You haven’t changed, Gabby.”

      Her stomach plunked to her feet.

      “I resent that.”

      “Why?”

      “Why?” Since Cal had left town, she’d shaved off twenty pounds and had grown out the curly hair she used to control by keeping it shaped like a spongy football helmet around her head. Sadly she was missing a fashion chromosome, so her wardrobe had transformed only to the extent that she now bought smaller size jeans and tucked in the blouses she wore to work. Still, she had made a true attempt this past decade and a half to look better, and it was beyond frustrating to discover that her makeover made no impression at all on someone who hadn’t seen her since shortly after she’d turned in her high school cap and gown.

      “No thirty-three-year-old woman wants to be told she seems the same as she did at eighteen.”

      Cal walked toward her. “I liked you fine at eighteen.”

      He kept coming until they were inches apart, and Gabby felt every nerve sizzle.

      Dear Reader,

      Many of the characters in the HOME SWEET HONEYFORD series are based on my own family. You may recognize them!

      My Uncle Henry had a new joke every day. From him I learned: Life is hard, now go play. Henry Berns and Poppy Max of Caleb’s Bride share a lot in common with him.

      From my father I learned that some men will go the extra mile to ensure their families are safe and well cared for. Caleb Wells is like that. Committed to giving his daughter the childhood he never had, Cal moves back to Honeyford, where no dream is too broken to be put back together again.

      My mother, Laura Lea, taught me that nothing has to be perfect to be beautiful—not a body, not a relationship, not a life. It’s a lesson Gabby Coombs must learn before she can grab the beautiful life awaiting her with Cal and his daughter.

      Enjoy your stay in Honeyford, where life is, perhaps, just a little bit sweeter!

       Wendy Warren

      About the Author

      WENDY WARREN lives in the Pacific Northwest with her actor husband, their wonderful daughter and the assorted four-legged and finned creatures they bring home. A two-time recipient of Romance Writers of America’s RITA^® Award, Wendy loves to read and write the kind of books that remind her of the old movies she grew up watching with her mom and now shares with her own daughter—stories about decent people looking for the love that can make an ordinary life extraordinary. When not writing, she likes to take long walks under leafy trees, lift weights that make her sweat and her husband laugh, settle in for cozy chats with great friends, and pretend she will someday win a million dollars in a bake-off. Check out her website for more information on Honeyford, some great recipes from the townsfolk and other fun stuff. www.authorwendywarren.com.

      Caleb’s Bride

      Wendy Warren

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

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      For Libbi

       My daughter and teacher, in-house comic relief and

      dream come true.

       I need only to think of you to feel blessed

      beyond words.

       “Mom” is the best name ever.

       Prologue

      Dear Diary,

      It’s official: I’m in LOVE.

      Lesley and I went to the pharmacy after school to get root beer floats because it was like record degrees out and also because I wanted to see DEAN. Hideous Len, who was hanging around the soda fountain doing nothing as usual goes, “Maybe you should make that diet root beer for Flabby Gabby.”

      Caleb Wells was there and he hit Len so hard Len fell off the stool. Then Caleb picked him up and shouted, “Apologize, Imbecile!”

      Lesley thought that was the most romantic thing ever. I thought he looked like a gladiator—his arms got really muscley this year—but Caleb Wells is like practically my brother, so it wasn’t r-o-m-a-n-t-I-c.

      But then DEAN…DEEEEEAAAAAAN…comes over and goes (I am quoting, he said it exactly like this), “Guys. Let’s work it out without punching, okay? Len, apologize to Gabrielle, because that was a really ignorant remark.”

      That was what he said (plus also he smiled at me sooo sweetly!) and that completely put Len in his place, and after he apologized Dean looked at me a reeeeaaaallly long time and said, “You look nice in pink, Gabrielle.” OH. MY. GOD!!!!!!

      Dean Kingsley is the most mature, most gentle, most WONDERFUL boy in this entire town, and I LOVE him.

      I will never love Anyone. Else.

      Yours truly,

      Gabby—age thirteen, which is old enough to know THIS IS NOT A CRUSH.

      P.S. I am on a diet as of right NOW, but NOT because of Hideous Len. Just because I probably should be and also I want to make Dean feel proud when he’s with me.

      P.P.S. The fact that he is two years older than me is absolutely perfect according to Lesley, who says older men make the best lovers.

       Chapter One

       “Just when the caterpillar thought life was over, it became a butterfly.”

      —Anonymous

       Twenty years later …

      “You can do this.” Perspiration dotted Gabrielle Coombs’s forehead as she aimed her fountain pen at the papers on the desk in front of her. “You have to do this.”

      Clutching the pen so hard her knuckles turned white, Gabby forced her shaking hand toward the real-estate document that would put her business, Honey Comb’s Barbershop, up for sale. Her heart quaked as much as her hand. She’d only worked in one place her entire life, and it was right here in this century-old, brick-walled storefront.

      “‘One cannot look into a bright future if her eyes are filled with tears from the past,’” she quoted aloud, pressing the quivering ballpoint to the signature line, but her fingers refused to move.

      Spouting insights was easy. One of the signs in her window read “Haircuts—$10. Wisdom—priceless.” Her grandfather Max had started the custom of sharing philosophical quotes with his customers over fifty years ago. When he’d passed Honey Comb’s to Gabby, she’d gladly picked up the torch. She must have had hundreds of quotes packed into her brain by now. But talk was cheap unless action backed it up. Action—that