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Welcome to Tumble Creek, Colorado!
Tumble Creek is a lot like any other town nestled between the peaks of the Rocky Mountains. The winters are cold, the streets are steep and the scenery is unbelievably beautiful. But there is something a little different about Tumble Creek…
My first idea for this story came years ago, when I was visiting Aspen, Colorado. A road sign pointed the way toward a mountain pass, but warned that the road was “closed in winter.” And “winter” lasts at least a good seven months at those altitudes! I wondered what it would be like to spend part of the year only a few minutes from all the amenities and luxuries of Aspen and then spend months completely isolated by the snow. And what would it be like to spend that cozy winter with a really hot man keeping you warm?
The pieces of Tumble Creek began assembling themselves in my mind at that moment years ago. First the little hometown bar appeared, where all the residents—even the respectable ones—hang out on frigid winter nights. Then came the sweet Victorian gingerbread houses, painted blue and pink and yellow, marching up the steep hills. Then that sexy policeman I mentioned above. Everything in Tumble Creek was set up perfectly—a quaint and quiet little mountain hamlet…until I decided to let Molly Jennings return.
I can’t tell you how much fun I had watching Molly wreak havoc on her old town and on her old crush, Ben Lawson. Molly might be the girl next door, but she’s not the innocent girl Ben remembers. She’s something even better.
I hope you love Tumble Creek and its inhabitants as much as I do.
Happy reading!
Victoria Dahl
Talk Me Down
Victoria Dahl
MILLS & BOON
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This book is dedicated to Jennifer, who convinced me
I could—and should—write this story. I honestly couldn’t
have done it without you, Jif. Thank you.
Considering the support I’ve received for this book, I have a lot of people to thank. First, a huge thank-you to my agent, Amy Moore-Benson, who asked me to write this story. You were right. I’ve never had so much fun writing a book. Thanks for giving me the excuse and opportunity to spread my wings.
And to Jennifer Echols…Thank you for holding my hand through the first three hundred pages or so. You’re an outstanding writer and a wonderful friend, even if you don’t like my monkey jokes. More important, you always come up with the perfect book title. Priceless.
I wouldn’t be writing these acknowledgments if it weren’t for my editor, Tara Parsons. Thank you for taking my characters (and me) under your wing. You clearly go above and beyond the call of duty. Your enthusiasm rocks my world!
As always, my family has supported me every single day of my writing life. Thank you, Bill, for laughing in the right places, even if you don’t do it out loud. You’re my strong, steady hero, and you’d make a great police chief. Or sheriff.
And thanks to Adam and Ethan for understanding why I can’t play Star Wars every time you ask. You make me proud. I love you.
Lastly, I want to thank the incredibly generous romance community. Romance writers are the most supportive colleagues anyone could hope for. Thank you, specifically, to Connie Brockway for reading another of my unedited manuscripts. And thank you to all my online writing friends for creating such a great community.
Romance readers are, of course, the most generous readers in the world. You’ve welcomed this new writer with open arms, and I can’t tell you how good that feels. I hope you enjoy this new story!
CONTENTS
Dear Reader
Acknowledgments
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MOLLY JENNINGS STOOD frozen in dismay, staring over the tiny coffee section of the tiny Tumble Creek Market. Folgers, Sanka and a few brands she’d never heard of. And not a dark espresso roast in sight.
Instant coffee mixed with the smell of laundry detergent when she drew in a deep, sad breath. She’d forgotten all about small town markets. They didn’t carry whole beans or special roasts, though a lonely can of French Vanilla Kreemer lurked at the back of the shelf. Molly shuddered.
Thank God for the Internet or she’d never have a homemade latte again. Or a Hostess Fruit Pie. Molly threw a scornful look at the so-called snack section near the registers. She was holding out hope for the gas station across the street, because she was pretty sure they were legally required to carry All Things Hostess. And CornNut.
“Ooo, CornNuts,” Molly murmured, suddenly perking up. She hadn’t had those since high school. She