In The Stranger's Arms. Pamela Toth

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      She allowed herself a moment’s indulgence to study him.

      Awareness sizzled through her, followed by a shiver of caution. A man like him bore a warning label as clearly as if he’d had Danger embroidered across his rear in red. She hadn’t noticed that he had turned to watch her over his shoulder, but now his grin was smug.

      She had been wrong about one thing. Being strongly attracted to him wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

      Having him know it was.

      To Frank, my own romantic hero, who supports

       and inspires me each day, and to everyone

       who reaches out to the rest of us with tolerance,

       acceptance, kindness and love.

       PAMELA TOTH

      USA TODAY bestselling author Pamela Toth has written romance for over twenty years. She was born in Wisconsin but has spent most of her life near Seattle, where she’s raised two fantastic daughters, Erika and Melody, and a parade of Siamese cats.

      Pam is married to her school sweetheart, Frank. They live in a home with a view of Mount Rainier. When she’s not writing, she enjoys travelling and antiquing with her husband, reading, quilting and doing counted cross-stitch. She’s been a member of Romance Writers of America since 1982.

      Fans may write to her at PO Box 436, Woodinville, WA 98072, USA or visit her at www.specialauthors.com.

      Dear Reader,

      The Pacific Northwest, where I’ve spent most of my life, has been blessed with some of the most beautiful scenery on earth. One of my favourite places to explore is the Olympic Peninsula, with its craggy mountains and rocky beaches, rain forests and tidal pools. There are Victorian B&Bs and lavender farms, Indian casinos and antique malls, aircraft carriers and car ferries. The coastline is bordered on three sides by an ocean, a foreign country and a crowded metropolis.

      It’s here that I’ve set the small town of Crescent Cove, filled with residents whose stories I hope to relate in this and future books.

      Before I started writing, I was a dedicated reader of romance novels with two growing daughters and dreams of my own. The ways that people with their quirks and imperfections relate to each other, romantically and otherwise, have always fascinated me. When it comes to heroes, Prince Charming was never as compelling as the lion with the thorn in his paw, the beast who must learn to trust and to love.

      My characters are not unlike the people we all know: our neighbours, family and friends. They have hopes and dreams and flaws, needs that must be met, problems that must be overcome and empty spots in their lives that must be filled. It is my pleasure and my passion to tell their stories in order to entertain my readers and, hopefully, to tug at their heartstrings.

       Pam Toth

      In the Stranger’s Arms

      PAMELA TOTH

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

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      Chapter One

      Pauline Mayfield tossed and turned in her darkened room as the late spring storm howled outside her house. The Victorian structure had withstood similar storms for more than a century, she reminded herself silently, and it would stand up to this one, as well. As the rain battered her bedroom windowpane like pellets from a shotgun, she pulled the covers over her head and tried to sleep.

      Suddenly there was a loud cracking sound from outside, followed by an explosive crash. Her eyes flew open and she sat bolt-upright, afraid to breathe, but all she could hear was the wind and the rain.

      Heart thudding, she hurried to the window. Her breath fogged the glass, making it impossible to see into the night. Worried that a tree might have flattened her SUV, she threw on her bathrobe. When she reached the hall, another door opened and an elderly woman poked her white head out from her bedroom.

      “What was that horrible noise?” she demanded, her British accent more pronounced than usual. “For a moment I thought I was back in the blitz.”

      “It’s okay, Dolly.” Pauline barely paused to give her a reassuring smile. “I’ll check outside.”

      “Take an umbrella so you don’t get soaked,” Dolly replied before she shut her door.

      When Pauline reached the laundry room, she thrust her bare feet into a pair of rain boots. Muttering a quick prayer, she flipped on the outdoor light. From the back porch, she saw her undamaged SUV, but her relief was short-lived.

      She grabbed the flashlight from its hook inside the door and clumped down the steps, clinging to the porch railing so the boots wouldn’t trip her.

      The strong wind blew open her robe, and the rain soaked the front of her thin nylon gown. The wet fabric pressed against her bare skin, chilling her as she belted her robe. Shivering, she fumbled with the latch on the backyard gate.

      Her boots threatened to slip off her feet with each step she took, and the wind blew her wet hair into her eyes as she aimed her flashlight beam at the garage. A fallen limb from the towering cottonwood tree lay sprawled on the roof.

      Pauline felt as though a ball of yarn had risen into her throat. Swallowing hard, she told herself that the damage to the former carriage house might not be as bad as it appeared.

      Assessing the damage or tarping the roof before morning was more than she could manage. Meanwhile, she was getting soaked for nothing. Fighting back tears of frustration, she returned to the house, where she struggled with dripping hair and stubborn boots.

      Dolly appeared in the kitchen doorway and handed Pauline a towel. “Could you see anything?” she asked.

      Thanking her, Pauline wrapped the towel around her head. “A limb fell onto the garage roof,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’ll call Steve Lindstrom in the morning and see if he can check it out.”

      “You’re soaked,” Dolly exclaimed. “Go take a hot shower while I make you some tea.”

      Pauline doubted she could swallow anything, but she didn’t want to be rude. “Good idea,” she replied. “Thanks.”

      To Dolly, tea was a sure cure for just about anything. But Pauline just wanted to wake up and find out this was all a bad dream.

      Early the next morning Pauline stood in her driveway and shielded her eyes against the May sunshine that seemed to mock her with its brightness. She watched as her contractor buddy, Steve Lindstrom, stepped down off the ladder he’d propped against her garage. He’d come right over when she’d phoned him even though he must have gotten a dozen other calls.

      “I hope you’re going to tell me the damage isn’t as bad as I thought and that it won’t cost me a big bag of money,” she implored, exhausted from her sleepless night.

      Steve picked up his clipboard and straightened, towering over her in his heavy boots. His solid build might have been intimating if she