Welcome Erin! #contemporary #romance #amreading #amreadingromance

Award winning author, Erin Bevan writes small town Americana romances straight from the heart.

Born and raised in rural South Arkansas, she uses her past experiences to enrich her stories while infusing the right amount of heartache and humor to see her readers through until the end.

With the perfect blend of sweet to steamy, Erin Bevan has something for every romance reader. Erin loves to hear from her readers at erinbevanwrites@gmail.com

For more information, you can visit her WEBSITE

Recently divorced and down on her luck, Lesley DeLoach is determined to make a new life for herself. When she inherits her great aunt’s estate, Rosalyn Manor, her future seems to be heading in the right direction—until she sees the home’s crumbling skeleton.

Widower John Hambrice is barely keeping his construction company afloat and his children fed, so when he’s offered a job restoring the Rosalyn Manor he can’t turn it down. But the big city client with the high falutin’ lifestyle reminds him too much of the last time he was burned by big money.

As the summer temperatures rise, so does their attraction. He learns there’s more to the city girl than he expected, while she learns the country boy’s gruff exterior hides a heart of gold.

But each has lost so much in love already . . . is the chance of another broken heart worth the risk?

John Hambrice sat in a stiff, beige hospital chair next to his wife’s bed. The chair he’d come to know as the seat of angst had a permanent indention of his ass. Every day for the past two months, he’d planted his body right between Sandra and the large wall-to-wall window covered with the most sterile blinds he’d ever seen.

The humdrum sound of machines buzzing and beeping all around him had become a sort of music, a bittersweet symphony, letting him know she was still alive, leaving him another moment to kiss her, hold her, and let her know he loved her.

He turned his head toward the window as sunlight dared to peek through the crevices of the blinds, causing a reflective glow against the floor. Pretty soon, just like every morning for the past eight weeks, the sunlight would creep oh-so-slowly up the pale green wall—a paint color that was supposed to help soothe, a nurse had once told him.

What a crock.

Paint couldn’t soothe a man’s heart as it shattered bit by bit while he watched his wife’s soul leave her body a little every day. A paint color couldn’t grow her hair back, find the cure for cancer, or even help her keep food down one meal at a time, one day at a time.

No.

Paint didn’t soothe. That was just some lie the home improvement stores told their customers. He should know. He was, after all, a contractor.

Yet, out of everything he had constructed and rebuilt to its former glory, the one thing he couldn’t repair was Sandra’s body. A husband was supposed to protect his wife, his family…and he was failing her. Failing them all.

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