ROBIN'S REWARD
by June McCrary Jacobs
Just when it seems Robin and Jeff might have a future, Susan Stinson, whose cruel taunting has plagued Robin since they met as young teens, decides Jeff should be hers, not Robin’s. Susan’s anger and jealousy escalate dangerously. Her vindictiveness threatens the foundation of Jeff and Robin’s young relationship.
Robin’s journey through the peaks and valleys of her life meanders along the twists and turns of new challenges. Is a relationship which began with both parties harboring secrets destined to survive? Can they move past their troubles and the obstacles in their path to find love and happiness together? When their pasts rear their ugly heads, Jeff and Robin must use their faith to remain strong and true. But will it be enough for them to embrace a life of love, trials, and blessings . . . together?
Endorsement:
"Robin's Reward, a sweet romance with great characters, is as refreshing as a walk among flowers." -
Author Rebecca H. Jamison, Sense & Sensibility: A Latter-Day Tale.
June is giving away TWO autographed copies of Robin's Reward-
Click HERE to enter to win :)
About the Author
June’s original sewing, quilting, and stitchery designs have been published in over one hundred books, magazines, and blogs in the past few years. When she’s not writing, reading, or sewing, June enjoys cooking, walking, and visiting art and history museums. She also enjoys touring historic homes and gardens and strolling around the many historic Gold Rush towns in the Sierra Nevada foothills. In the summertime you can find June at a variety of county fairs and the California State Fair admiring the sewing projects, quilts, and handiwork other inspired seamstresses, quilters, craftspeople, and artists have created.
CONNECT WITH THE AUTHOR:
June enjoys connecting with readers, authors, aspiring writers, bloggers, designers, sewers, quilters, and crafters. Please connect with June at the following platforms:
Excerpt
Chapter One
"I’m as hot and sticky as the center of a freshly-roasted campfire
marshmallow, Miss Praise.”
Perspiration trickled past Robin’s sunburned neck, under her
collar, and down her back. Her blouse was plastered to her skin.
“I’m not feeling very feminine or lady-like in this condition, if you catch my drift. This
brings us to my next question. What was I thinking starting up with this garden renovation
project on the hottest March afternoon ever recorded in Bonita Creek? Am I nuts? Wait—don’t
answer that.”
Some sympathy from Miss Praise, like purring or even winding herself around Robin’s legs,
would’ve been comforting. Instead, the elderly tabby was dozing comfortably in her cozy quiltlined
basket on the shaded porch. Robin was drained from tangling with her vintage hydrangea
bush for the past four hours.
She’d read gardening was great exercise, but it gave Robin’s thoughts too many chances to
wander. She dreaded those dark, dreary spaces in her mind permanently occupied by unhappy
memories and heart-wrenching regrets. Since she wasn’t accomplishing much anyway, she
released her shovel to take a break with a refreshing glass or two of her favorite iced tea. She
straightened up and stretched her aching arms over her head.
“I’m parched, how about you? Want something cold to drink?” She spoke in the direction of
the faded gray cat. Apparently, Miss Praise had heard enough of Robin’s whining. The cat
yawned, stretched, flicked her tail, and hopped daintily out of her basket. She lumbered down the
brick path to seek refuge in the peaceful back garden. Naturally, Robin hadn’t expected Miss
Praise to respond, but talking to the cat helped her feel connected to her Grandma Estelle. The
older woman had passed on a few years ago and Robin still ached for her grandmother’s
presence. She kneaded her fatigued lower back with her knuckles and sighed deeply.
As she untied the ribbon of her straw hat and shook out her damp curly hair, Robin sensed
someone’s gaze. A prickly feeling caused her to rotate her body where she came face-to-face
with an unfamiliar—but attractive—man. A hint of amusement lit up his clean-shaven face as he
stood on the walkway in front of her garden gate. When the stranger chuckled, Robin’s damp
cheeks flamed scarlet. She wondered how long he’d been standing there listening to her grunt
and groan and, well, whine.
Since he couldn’t possibly have seen Miss Praise, he probably assumed Robin had been
talking to herself. Swell. Just another example of the truckload of awkward moments in life when
Robin wished she could vanish on demand. Speaking through clenched teeth, she attempted to
use humor to cover up her self-consciousness.
“Instead of breaking your neck staring at me, how about making yourself useful by helping
me dig up this stubborn hydrangea?” Her embarrassment grew when the stranger’s sole response
was a chorus of boisterous laughter. Lord, please get me out of here—now! Robin’s humiliation
took over her common sense, and her sole goal was to flee. Grabbing her garden hat, she
slammed it onto the gate post as she wrenched off her work gloves and tossed them on the
ground near her birdbath. The sound of the man’s hearty laughter echoing in her ears brought her
lifelong dislike of being the object of teasing and taunting racing to the surface.
Like most school children, she’d suffered through her share of teasing and even some
bullying. Truth be told, she was still occasionally bullied by a former classmate, Susan Stinson,
almost ten years after they’d graduated. Robin had expected—and hoped—in her current stage of
life, halfway between twenty-five and thirty, she would’ve overcome this affliction. The
scorching feeling in her cheeks told her otherwise. I so do not want to deal with this guy.
Attempting to give the illusion of self-confidence, Robin lengthened her spine and held her
chin high as she stalked toward her cottage. In the safety of her cottage’s interior she’d find the
solace and peace she was seeking. Far too often in the past she’d allowed her pride and
confidence to be battered by a male. Okay, one male in particular. She vowed to handle her
reaction in the current situation differently. She was determined to spare herself one more
millisecond of humiliation. Today I’m going to stand up to my tormentors. All right, so maybe
this stranger isn’t exactly tormenting me. Still, everyone knows laughing at a lady isn’t polite.
Robin wasn’t going to stand there and let some stranger, however handsome he might be—
and this guy was definitely above-average in the looks department—laugh at her in her own
garden. Hot, briny tears stung her eyes. Time seemed to slow down, and she couldn’t make it to
the front door fast enough. Embarrassing incidents from her not so distant past charged to the
forefront of her mind as she made her way up the front porch steps.
~*~
At the front gate, Jeff froze. He’d offended her. His body felt as if he’d just finished running
five miles at a training pace, as it had been since he’d first happened upon the woman. His heart
thundered in his ears when he’d first seen her, his vision honed in on a lovely brunette. She was
hard at work in her garden on such an oppressive afternoon. He’d never seen anyone so focused
on one task. She appeared to be in a frenzy, trying to free the roots of a bush from the sun-dried,
hardened soil.
He had to admit, she looked as if she were accustomed to hard work. Strong, fit arms and
legs peeked out from her short-sleeved blouse and khaki shorts. She sported a wide-brimmed hat
and appeared unafraid of hard work if the sweaty sheen covering her neck and face were any
kind of evidence. Smudges of dirt adorned her elbows, knees, and—he couldn’t help but
notice—shapely calves.
He’d been walking through the streets surrounding his rental home. Historical architecture
was one of his hobbies, and he was checking out the architectural styles located on the streets in
this older section of Bonita Creek, California. He’d already identified Craftsman, Victorian,
Italianate, Tudor, cottage, ranch, and bungalow style homes. His mind, locked on his thoughts,
was jarred when he heard a frustrated voice asking why she was trying to renovate her garden on
this hot afternoon. The voice held such conviction he stopped to see if the speaker was seeking
his personal opinion. When he realized the sun-kissed gardener was alone in the garden, he
became enthralled by her movements and the timbre of her voice.
Unsure of how long he’d been staring, Jeff was jerked out of his trance when the woman
turned around and challenged him to come into the garden to help her dig up the bush.
Embarrassed he’d been caught staring, his natural reaction was to laugh. Now the woman rushed
away from him toward the door of the cottage dominating the center of the property.
This scenario was not unfolding as he wanted. He blamed his complete lack of
understanding of women and their mysterious ways for this latest gaffe. Now you’ve done it. You
are clueless, Clarke. He needed to come up with something witty and wise to redeem himself.
Otherwise, he’d lose a chance to meet this fascinating gardener who had his curiosity.
~*~
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