February 23, 2025
It's officially Release Week for Locked on Love's Landing! Only TWO more sleeps before Book #3 is live!
I adored Kit's feisty character as soon as she appeared in That Woman on Thistledown Lane, and I knew she'd get her own love story eventually. Many of you asked for more of her, too, which is always music to a writer's ears. That meant Kit was a character worthy enough to explore and root for and love.
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Here's CHAPTER 1 for a sneak peak. And even though it releases in just two days, you can still preorder so it pops onto your Kindle the minute it releases! It'll be in Kindle Unlimited too.
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CHAPTER 1, LOCKED ON LOVE'S LANDING
If she chose a motto to live by, Kit Wendell swore by the words on a poster that had hung in her high school science lab twenty years ago:
Perseverance Paves the Way to Success.
But perseverance was decidedly not paving the way at the moment.
In fact, she’d skinned a finger with the hand drill while trying to repair a ladder rung on the Dolly Swain, her freshly repainted tug-turned-passenger-ferry, in time for today’s tour. The rustle of leaves skittering across the walking path and the sublime sound of water lapping against the boat’s hull did little to soothe her frayed patience and the chiding of her oldest sister, Rose.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t call someone to help you with that?” Rose’s tone suggested Kit should drop the drill and get on the phone now. She stood over Kit, casting a shadow over Kit’s work area.
Kit caught the screw that popped out of the hole before it fell into the water. “I don’t need to pay someone to do something I can very easily do for myself. People call me to help with this kind of stuff.”
“The ‘easily’ part appears to be a stretch,” Rose said.
She twisted around where she knelt, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked up at Rose.
“Look, thank you for bringing the donuts, but your commentary isn’t helping.”
Rose stood by with an armload of pastry boxes filled with her Apple Hill Farm’s signature cider donuts. If Kit’s finger wasn’t bleeding and the rung was in place, she would have taken the boxes from Rose so her sister could be on her way back to the farm.
That perseverance thing sometimes acted like a curse.
Kit flipped her braid over her shoulder again as she fixed her concentration on the ladder. Setting her jaw, she pushed on the ladder’s base section again, so the gap between it and the rung closed for the umpteenth time. Then she braced her knee against the cold metal to hold the two disconnected pieces in place.
Quickly, before it shifted, she set the screw. The drill whined as the threads disappeared until the screw head was flush with the step.
She shook the ladder to test its strength. Placed a foot on the rung. Gave it a little bounce.
Solid. There.
Rose let out a loud sigh. “Where can I put these? I need to get back to the farm.”
“On the bench behind you, please.”
She pointed with her elbow to the bench alongside the walking path. Her group would meet there for donuts and coffee before climbing aboard for the ride. She’d already picked up the thermoses from Coffee Loft in downtown Greenhaven. Her friend and Coffee Loft owner, Ginger Giatti, had the coffee ready to go an hour ago when Kit arrived at the shop.
“Okay, see you. Hope your day gets better,” Rose said.
“Wait.” Kit set the drill on the ground and hurried over to give Rose a parting hug. “Sorry for being surly.”
Rose rubbed a circle on her back, just like Mom did. It made her smile. They were so much alike. Always coming through in a heartbeat.
“No worries. Happy to help,” Rose said, pulling away.
“Tell Trav I’m looking forward to him acting as my first mate on Saturday.”
Rose chuckled as she backed away, swinging the arm of the sweatshirt she’d tied around her waist. “He hasn’t stopped talking about it.”
“I’m sure the ladies will love him, too.”
Rose’s twelve-year-old son, Travis, had been pestering Kit for months to give him the official title and a chance to help during one of her tours. The perfect opportunity presented itself last month when Mona Jarvis, mayor of Port Chance, booked a tour for her mother’s eightieth birthday. Mona, her mother, and seven friends would spend the morning sipping mocktails and sampling breakfast pastries from Apple Hill Farm’s bakery. She’d keep Travis busy with tending to their needs while she navigated them up the river to Dubuque and back.
Rose walked into the parking lot and got into the farm truck. The engine rumbled to life before the noise faded as Rose drove away from Love’s Landing.
Kit disassembled the drill and tucked it and the other tools she’d scattered on the dock into her tool box before hoisting it over the ladder and onto the deck. She hopped aboard, then grabbed the small folding table and a duffle of supplies that Rose collected for her. She’d convinced Kit that the pre-tour gatherings were a ripe opportunity to make a good first impression.
You have to look like you care about giving guests the full experience instead of just a boat ride, Rose had said.
Kit thought her clients were paying for an experience on the river, not a table with fancy accoutrements like overpriced napkins and molded plastic cups trying to pass as crystal. But Rose was the brand master behind making Apple Hill Farm the go-to destination in the Quad Cities. If she thought Kit’s new business venture could benefit from fancy picnic ware, who was she to argue?
She climbed down the ladder, set the table and bag at her feet, then tested the rung one last time with a few bounces. It held fast.
“Hey there, Kitty Kat.”
Confusion made her freeze.
She hadn't heard that nickname since her youth. But the voice? Its teasing drawl mixed with the deep, masculine tone she’d heard all too recently—at Will Alexander's wedding a few months ago to be exact. She'd hoped it would be a single occurrence, never to be repeated. Holden Berne left Port Chance years ago, leaving her broken heart in his wake. He didn't belong here anymore. In Port Chance, and especially not standing on her dock.
When she stepped off the ladder and turned, Holden, all six-foot-something of him, braced himself on the rocking pier with a wide-legged stance. His grin broadened now that he had her attention.
“Bet you haven’t heard that in a while,” he quipped.
A gusty breeze pushed an ample amount of dark hair over his forehead. With a shadow beard tracing his jawline, Holden was barely recognizable as the lanky version of his younger self. The surprise at seeing him slowly ebbed. In its place, the old feelings of longing and defensiveness crept up. Kit steeled herself against both.
“Not since I reached maturity. Guess that means you haven’t?” She crossed her arms as she tapped her bare foot, which felt less intimidating without her shoes.
He snorted. “Still slinging insults as deftly as you threw a ball, I see.”
She lifted a shoulder, looking out across the water. She’d been less surprised to see him at the wedding than she was now. People who had left Port Chance behind sometimes popped up again for one reason or another. Like at weddings or homecoming games. But on her dock?
“It’s a gift I don’t take for granted.”
Holden smiled and shook his head as he stepped closer. This time the breeze caught the citrus scent mingling with the woodsy base of his cologne, and she wrinkled her nose. Not only did he look older, he even smelled different. Good different.
“We didn’t get to catch up at the wedding,” he said.
Not sorry about that. “It was a busy night.”
“It was.” He shrugged. “But, here I am.”
“You’re here to catch up now? The wedding was months ago.”
“Better late than never,” he said as he pulled his hands out of his pockets and turned his palms up in apology. “It’s been a busy summer.”
“Exactly. And a busy fall, so I’d better get back to work if you don’t mind.” It was so like him to come and go as he pleased, expecting his desires to fall into place when convenient.
“Busy night. Busy fall. I’m getting a hint of a hint here,” he said with another flash of a smile.
“You’re quick to catch on.”
His expressive brows, which had always displayed his every emotion, pulled together.
“Seriously, now. Let’s cut the banter, Kit. I can come back another time, but I really want to find out what you’re up to these days.”
She took a step back with a firm shake of her head. “There’s really no reason for that—
“Kit, I wouldn’t do that.” He reached for her even though she wasn’t close enough to grasp.
“You have a lot of—WHOA!”
Holden’s eyes bugged out as her foot found nothing but air when she took another step back. Her arms pinwheeled for a desperate second before her other foot lost contact with the dock, and she toppled over backward into the water.
Coldcoldcoldcold
Seconds after hitting the water, her heels sank into the silty river bottom.
The shock of falling had barely registered before a tidal wave of water was displaced beside her and a pair of gorilla arms wrapped around her middle, tugging her toward the reedy bank. She sputtered and spit out a mouthful of swampy river water.
Gripping vegetation to pull herself up the bank, she finally got her feet underneath her. Behind her, Holden was having less luck gaining his footing. Cobbles tumbled into the water as he pulled himself out of the river, grunting with the effort.
She looked down at herself, drenched to the bone. Her group would arrive within a half hour, and she looked like a wet rat. All this happened because he couldn’t take a hint.
Nothing’s changed.
“Are you alright?” he asked when he stood, taking a fistful of his long-sleeved polo to wring the water from it. He wasn’t even looking at her, more concerned with his appearance than her. His sodden shoes made sucking sounds with each step as he walked toward her.
“No, I’m far from all right!” She brushed futilely at her water-logged clothes.
He puffed out his chest. “Look on the bright side. If I hadn’t saved you, you might be in worse shape,” he said with a cheerful note.
“Saved me? The water is waist high.”
He stopped balling the fabric in his fists.
“People can drown in a cupful of water,” he added.
She shook with irritation, but also from the unexpected bath. The air temperature was near seventy degrees, but the breeze made her teeth chatter.
“Listen, I have a tour group coming soon, and I get to welcome them aboard like this, thanks to you.” She grabbed the hem of her wet shirt with the Muddy Bottom Tours logo emblazoned across the front and peeled it over her head, tossing it against his chest with a wet thud. “Great first impression. Thanks.”
She was too mad to worry about discretion, or the fact that Holden stared at her, mouth agape, while she stood there in a tank top which left little to the imagination. Just like old times, his presence threw her completely off kilter, to the point she'd walked backward off her own dock, and he barely seemed to notice.
Holden’s interest in her attire turned to frustration. “I’m sorry, but you were the one—”
She pointed a finger at him to shut him up. “Don’t even turn this back on me.”
“But if you weren’t so hostile to begin with—”
She stomped over to the boat and pulled herself aboard to find her wallet.
Why did Holden care to save her in the first place? She’d spent almost two decades reconciling the fact that he’d left town without a word. Seeing him after all this time brought all the hurt rushing back. She didn’t want to think about this now, yet what choice did she have?
“This is how you’re going to make it up to me,” she called over her shoulder, fishing out some cash, then hopped off the boat again. She walked up to Holden and pressed the bills against his chest.
“You’re going to go to Happy Heart Collective right now and bring me back a pair of pants and a sweatshirt as fast as you can. Got it?”
He glanced down at the twenties she held against him as if his brain was slow to connect the dots. “Happy Heart Collective?”
“That’s what I said.” Did the river seep into his brain? Why does he look so dazed?
“All right,” he drawled finally.
“Size eight, medium. It’s a few doors down from the church.” She tossed him a towel she’d grabbed from a compartment underneath the padded benches on the boat. “You’ll need this.”
Holden stared at the towel as if he’d never seen one before.
“Now, please.” She snapped her fingers a few times to hurry him along. Anything to make him disappear so she could collect her thoughts. There was also the real possibility that her heart—her traitorous heart! —might leap from her chest to flop around on the dock like a beached fish. Holy bells, did he look good.
He jumped and ran-walked across the dock, down the sidewalk, and hopped the curb to cross the street, leaving a thin trail of water behind him.
She twisted the single braid that dripped over her shoulder like a leaky hose. A puddle gathered around her feet. Thank goodness she’d kicked off her shoes and left them on the deck, or he’d be buying her shoes, too.
Holden.
What compelled him to come back to annoy her after all this time? She smiled despite the bad timing and the water content of what little she wore now. He was just as drenched as she was, yet she’d sent him shopping.
Still feeling every micro beat of her pulse, she nodded decisively to his retreating figure across the street.
Serves him right.
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Preorder here so you can read about how Holden gets out of this pickle and into Kit's good graces again!
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