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To Celebrate both the cover reveal and my birthday today I am having a bash on my Facebook page There I am giving away fun gifts and posting fun things. Here, I would like to give you a little peek at WHITE

WATER PASSION. Hope you enjoy!

“If you can’t give me a reason, I will put you on the next train down

the mountain. The camp is no place for a lady. You’re going home.” He grabbed her hand, tugging her toward the trail.

“Someone’s trying to ruin the company!” she blurted out. Blast. She showed her hand, but if that’s what it took to stay, she’d let him in on all her secrets. Well, most of them.

He hesitated and turned to her. “What?”

“I overheard someone at the platform after Simon got home from the pre-season meeting with you and the big bugs. Someone’s out to destroy Big Mountain. I know who he is.”

Garrett stiffened. “Who.”

“He has a deep drawl.”

“You said you knew who he is.”

“I do. I saw him,” she lied. “But I don’t know his name.”

Beth chewed on her bottom lip as the lump in her throat dropped to the

deepest pit of her stomach and made it ache. He had to let her stay. The more she got to know him, the more she wanted to bring the saboteur to justice. He loved this company as much as her brother did.

“If I could meet everyone—see who they are—I’m certain I can identify the culprit.” She dropped her shoulders and tilted her head, a silent plea that always worked on her brother. “Please, Garrett. I need to stay. I promise. I’ll take care in the future. I won’t get into trouble. You’ll be there to watch me.”

Garrett pressed his palms over his eyes and then jerked his head back up and threw his hands to his sides. “You can stay, but you will remain with Aunt June as camp cook.”

“No. The men already think I am a Devil May Care, and I won’t meet anyone in the Bonner camp if I’m hidden in the cookhouse. I’ll stay in the bateau during the drive. I promise.”

“What do you plan to do once you find the traitor? You can’t even heave an ax properly let alone take on a riverman.”

“I’d planned to tell Simon.”

“Why didn’t you do that to begin with?”

“I didn’t want to risk his life.”

“No?” Garrett scoffed. “Just your own, right?”

“Please? I need to do this. Do you realize what will happen to Bonner

if they lose the mill? So many children will be without homes, without the means to buy clothes. If I can help to keep even one baby fed, alive, I will move this mountain to do so. Can’t you understand?”

“I can.” He stood silent and fixed his gaze on her. “You would stay here to help save a company you don’t have any connection with, other than your brother, for the prosperity of others?”

“For the lives of others. This place is important to Simon, and you. Why would I not help out if I knew something was amiss?”

With a deep inhale, he inched closer. He reached up with hooded eyes, and pinched a stray lock of her spiked hair between his fingers. The heat from his hand made her vision blur and all she could see was his face.

Silence stretched as the air seemed to thicken.

“You have a good heart, Elizabeth Sanders.” He lowered his head closer until she could feel his breath mingle with hers. Was he going to kiss her? She stared at his lips, hovered over hers. They squeezed together mere seconds before he stepped away, and cold air replaced the warmth of his breath—a cold she felt down to her soul.

He cleared his throat.

“Uh...this is a place we can go to get away,” Garrett said and motioned to the small abode in the center of the flowers.

“A cottage?” She turned to the small house. “How did you find this?” “Your brother and I made it our first spring here. Quaint, is it not?” “What is it called?”

“Called?” Garrett shook his head in confusion.

“It seems a little too whimsical to not have a name. Don’t you think?”

Garrett dipped his chin a fraction of an inch and gave her a stare that made her stomach flip. She swallowed harder than she’d expected, her tongue dry. He waved toward the abode. “We never bothered naming it. Would you like to do the honors?”

“Hmmm.” Beth cocked her head to one side and stared at the building, partly to break away from the growing need to radiate toward him, and part to judge the entirety of the scene. “It feels as though a fairy tale could take place in this meadow. How does Mother Goose’s Cottage sound?”

“Like a princess would be welcome to grace the bed within.” The tenor in his voice wove the words like silk over a velvet carpet. The thought of both sinfully pleasant fabrics brought visions no decent woman should possess—especially since Garrett stood like a conqueror, square in the center of said visions.

Loggers do not wear silk.

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