Meryl's Commitment

Description
My experiment in romance novels in the style of Harlequin Romances but with a dose of southern flavor. A predictable happy ending, of course (that's what romances are all about) and a quick read to boot for escaping the everyday when you need a break.


After meeting a man dubbed by her colleagues as “Mr. Drop Dead Gorgeous”, Meryl Chamblee is in danger of failing in her solemn commitments to family and career.  As she struggles to prove herself in the competitive field of architectural design and desperately tries to preserve her family home, she must face new emotions and opportunities.  

Meryl can’t decide whether the handsome real-estate executive has ulterior motives or whether he’s the answer to her prayers. He professes   to be drawn to her, but is he really, or is he just after her family's property.  How can she be sure?

Published April 2012

My experiment in romance novels in the style of Harlequin Romances but with a dose of southern flavor. A predictable happy ending, of course (that's what romances are all about) and a quick read to boot for escaping the everyday when you need a break.

EXCERPT

From where she stood, Meryl Chamblee could see that the dark car with tinted windows had stopped just outside the gate that marked the driveway to her home.  The house was barely visible from the road, nestled as it was among the oaks and palmettos that grew along the Satilla River.  The river drained the southeastern corner of the state into what the locals referred to as the “low country”.  It passed near St. Clair, the small south-Georgia town where she had grown up, and fed the marshes near the coast before it spilled into the Atlantic Ocean.

Her family home, which she had inherited after her mother died, was a one story, wood-framed house covered in cedar shingles.  She had given it the name “Little Moss”, in jest, after the neighboring grand estate named “Great Moss”.  It was a simple house, not one accustomed to limousines parking at its gate.  They must be lost, she thought.  Or, maybe, as the roadway was barely wide enough for a single vehicle, they were only using the driveway to turnaround.  She had seen others do the same, thinking the home was unoccupied.  It often was.

Meryl did not think the driver or passengers had seen her, half-concealed as she was by the tall evergreen shrubs that lined the side of her home.  She watched and waited.  The car made no move in any direction.  It sat idling where it had stopped. 

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