The Road to Rose Bend, Naima Simone [jenna bush book club .TXT] 📗

him. Way too soon, he withdrew from her, and pressed his forehead to hers.

“I love you, baby girl,” he murmured. “So much. Thank you for returning to Rose Bend.”

She covered his hands with hers and smiled against his lips.

“Thank you for showing me I could come home again.”

Look for Wolfgang’s story in The Inn at Rose Bend

Available October 2021!

Dear Reader,

I have a confession. I’m a Hallmark movie junkie. The person who schedules their weekends around the movies coming on TV? Yep. I’m that girl. Whether it’s about the bridesmaid at the summer wedding or the seamstress falling for the undercover prince at Christmas, I’m all in. Of course, it’s the swoony romance that captures me. But just as captivating are the small town settings.

There’s something almost magical about a small town. Yes, the beautiful scenery, the quaint shops, clean streets and cozy homes that often seem untouched, unspoiled by the outside world. But the true magic lies in the people, the community. The love of neighbors—even if that exhibits itself as nosiness. It’s the concern for each other, as if all the members of that town know they need each other, depend on each other, to be happy and prosperous. There’s beauty in that.

In The Road to Rose Bend, Sydney Collins and Coltrane “Cole” Dennison depend on that sense of community, that love of neighbors. I hope you fall in love with the special town of Rose Bend, its residents and with Sydney and Cole.

Naima

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you, foremost, to my heavenly Father for pouring Your creative spirit into me every day. You’ve been my coauthor from day one, and not only can I not do this without You. I don’t want to.

Thank you to my husband, Gary. This journey is as much yours as it is mine, and I thank you for being the wind—sometimes the foot—at my back and the stable, unfailing, never-pitted road underneath my feet.

To my parents, Wayne L. Alston and Connie Butts. Connie, thank you for being my cheerleader and always telling me, “Change how you talk!” You won’t stand for me being negative about myself, and I love you for it. Daddy, thank you for bequeathing me the gift of sarcasm, your advice, insight and for instructing me in all things John Coltrane.

Thank you to my wonderful editor, Stacy Boyd. I am so grateful for your experience, patience, guidance and never-failing enthusiasm with not just this book and series, but with me as an author. I hope you know just how precious that is to me.

Thank you to my amazing agent, Rachel Brooks. You’ve been my advocate, champion, reality checker, encourager... I can just go on and on. Thank you for supporting me in reaching for my dreams and doing your damndest to make sure they happen. As my father says, “We have God and we have Rachel!”

Finally, thank you to Dahlia Rose, Fedora Chen and Kenya Goree-Bell for selflessly lending me your time to read this book while it was in process and making me feel like a sparkly, glittery Nalini Singh unicorn with your words of love and encouragement. You are gifts to me, and I love and appreciate you!

Slow Dance at Rose Bend

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

CHAPTER ONE

GOD LOVED HER.

Oh yes, He did.

Why else would He create such a brutally beautiful man as the one serving drinks behind the bar?

Cherrie Moore peered down into her glass. Only a really good muscat could have her philosophizing about agape love and sinful lust in the same thought.

Seriously though, she mused, sipping more wine and studying the graceful Adonis who turned drawing beers and mixing drinks into a ballet. No, not Adonis. There was nothing pretty or classical about him. Not with those scalpel-sharp cheekbones or the stubbornness in that rock-solid jaw that even the thick, half-past-five-o’clock shadow couldn’t hide. Or that mouth, with its almost-too-full, firm lips.

And don’t get her started on that body.

Atlas. She mentally snapped her fingers even as she downed the last of her drink. He wasn’t Adonis, he was Atlas. A tattooed Titan with inked biceps, thick thighs in faded jeans and shoulders wide enough to carry the weight of the world—or the weight of a bar called Road’s End. Wide enough that they, and a powerful chest, had his black T-shirt screaming for mercy.

Oh yes. This man was definitely God’s handiwork. And sex with him was probably a divine revelation.

“Either you have X-ray vision and are checking to make sure his lungs are clear, or you really, really like how his chest is stretching that shirt.” Belinda Barnes smirked, commandeering the barstool on the other side of Cherrie.

She snorted, arching an eyebrow at her friend. “Careful there, woman. Daryl would be quite interested in why you’re noticing said chest at all.”

“Please.” The lovely older woman flipped her dark hair over her shoulder. “I’m married, not dead. And besides, Daryl doesn’t mind at all if I look. Especially when he reaps the benefits.”

“Oh, Jesus. I can’t unhear that.” Cherrie groaned, clapping her hands to her ears. Unfortunately, the action didn’t drown out Belinda’s lascivious cackle.

As if sensing their attention on him, Daryl glanced from his and Belinda’s daughter to zero in on them. He arched a dark eyebrow, and even with the small dance floor separating them, Cherrie caught the quirk of his mouth despite the thick gray-and-black beard surrounding it.

Beside her, Belinda sighed. “Nearly twenty-five years, and that man still does it for me.”

Cherrie nodded. Daryl, with his big build, long dark hair and handsome features, was a cinnamon roll. Crusty on the outside, but sweet and soft on the inside for his beautiful wife and daughter. Cherrie didn’t need to glimpse his eyes to witness the deep love that shone there. Daryl and Belinda weren’t just true partners in business, as they owned Ride, a motorcycle apparel shop in town, but also in life.

What must it be like to be loved so completely?

To know that a person’s affection, commitment and approval weren’t