I couldn’t help but shake my head.
“What?” Abby asked.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me,” Abby insisted, her eyes narrowing as she eyed me with a hint of speculation.
“It just amazes how smitten he is with you,” I said.
“Are you saying he shouldn’t be?” she challenged.
Still rocking my son from side to side, I smiled at her. “Abby, I’m happy for you, for the both of you. Only sometimes I cannot help but be surprised at how you guys…work.”
“Work?”
“Yes, your relationship. It’s so different from ours, and yet, it works.”
“Is that bad?”
“No, not at all,” I assured her. “Just… fascinating.”
Before Abby could comment on my latest term to describe her unconventional relationship, the door opened and Nathan stuck his head in. “Did you know that your brother is outside chopping wood?”
Nodding, I looked at him with wide eyes before inconspicuously jerking my head to the left, indicating Abby.
Unfortunately, though, he didn’t catch my drift for he stepped into the living room, his forehead in a frown. “Does he know that there is a truckload of fire wood behind the house?”
“He does,” I said, giving up on trying to communicate the underlying meaning of the situation in mime. With a sleeping baby in my arms, my hands were almost literally tied, which severely limited my options.
“Then why would he…?” he stopped, and his eyes drifted to Abby, who was once again standing by the window, eyeing the white splendor with the same apprehension as before. “Oh,” he exclaimed, his head bobbing up and down, and I laughed.
Then he leaned forward and whispered, “Is this one of those weird things that normal people cannot understand?”
Smiling up at him, I nodded. “Well, look at the bright side: now you don’t have to chop any wood for the next few years to come.”
The corners of his mouth turned up into a grin. “Which frees me up for more important things,” he whispered, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as his arms came around me.
“Careful,” I whispered, glancing down at Noah, still sleeping peacefully. “Don’t crush him.”
Cocking his head to the side, Nathan gently wrapped us in a soft embrace. “Do you truly think I would crush my own son?”
Feeling a bit embarrassed, I glanced up at him. “Of course, not. But I can’t help it. I’m always worried.”
“It’ll pass.”
I chuckled. “I don’t think it ever will.”
“Then we’ll just have to learn to live with it,” Nathan said, planting a soft kiss on my head. “I guess, just like with Abby and Andy,” he whispered, glancing at Abby still staring out the window, “if you’re not in the club you will never understand.”
“What club?”
“The parent club,” Nathan said. “Or in their case, the crazy club.”
I snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think they’ll ever change.”
Nathan shrugged. “Why would they? They seem happy, don’t you think?”
“They do, yes.”
Meeting my eyes, he pulled us closer into his arms. “Are you happy?”
I took a deep breath and for a moment glanced down at our sleeping son before returning my gaze to the man I loved. “Beyond imagining,” I whispered.
He smiled at me. “Then everything else doesn’t matter, does it?” A grin suddenly pulled up the corners of his mouth. “Except that I get to open the first present tomorrow morning.”
I snorted. “You’ll have to fight my brother for that right.”
“Bring it on,” Nathan stated, wiggling his eyebrows at me, “and may the best man win.” Then he turned around and headed toward the kitchen. “I’ll go check on dinner.”
In a low voice, I called after him, “Did you know that although you look rather normal you’re as crazy as the rest of them?”
Stopping in the door frame, he glanced back at me. “Isn’t that why you love me?”
Although I knew he was right, I couldn’t help but shake my head at him. In a way, we were all kooky, and that made us the perfect fit. Glancing down at Noah, I whispered, “I can’t wait to see your crazy side.”
About Bree
Amazon bestselling author, Bree Wolf has always been a language enthusiast (though not a grammarian!) and is rarely found without a book in her hand or her fingers clued to a keyboard. Trying to find her way, she has taught English as a second language, traveled abroad and worked at a translation agency as well as a law firm in Ireland. She also spent loooong years obtaining a BA in English and Education and an MA in Specialized Translation while wishing she could simply be a writer. Although there is nothing simple about being a writer, her dreams have finally come true.
“A big thanks to my fairy godmother!”
Currently, Bree has found her new home in the historical romance genre, writing Regency novels and novellas. Enjoying the mix of fact and fiction, she occasionally feels like a puppet master (or mistress? Although that sounds weird!), forcing her characters into ever-new situations that will put their strength, their beliefs, their love to the test, hoping that in the end they will triumph and get the happily-ever-after we are all looking for.
If you're an avid reader, sign up for Bree's newsletter as she has the tendency to simply give books away. Find out about freebies, giveaways as well as occasional advance reader copies and read before the book is even on the shelves!
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Also By Bree
Historical Romance:
Love's Second Chance Series
#1 Forgotten & Remembered - The Duke's Late Wife
#2 Cursed & Cherished - The Duke's Wilful Wife
#3 Despised & Desired - The Marquess' Passionate Wife
#4 Abandoned & Protected - The Marquis' Tenacious Wife
A Forbidden Love Novella Series
#1 The Wrong Brother (Now Perma-free!)
#2 A Brilliant Rose
#3 The Forgotten Wife (Coming December 29, 2016)
Suspenseful Contemporary Romance:
Where There's Love Series
#1 Remember Me
Middle Grade Adventure:
Airborne Trilogy
#1 Fireflies (Now Perma-free!)
#2 Butterflies
#3 Dragonflies (Coming 2017)
Paranormal Fantasy:
Crescent Rock Series
#1 How to Live and Die in Crescent Rock
#2 How to Love and Hate in Crescent Rock (Coming 2018)
Dear Reader,
The journey of Jena and Nathan is one that I particularly enjoyed writing. The idea for their story came to me a long time ago, and I spent many waking hours imagining what it would be like to find yourself trapped in your own memories. What is it like to be in a coma? Can those who are truly perceive us? How do they feel?
I do not believe there is one right answer, however, this story is meant for those who sit at a loved ones bedside, and I can only hope that it helps them believe that their presence really is making a difference.
Love can form a strong connection between two people, a connection that can even overcome the most trying obstacles. Remember Me is only the first in this series that seeks to explore what is possible when love is involved.
So, stay tuned.
I am only now starting to write more in the contemporary romance genre, but have several historical romance books out. If you're interested, I've added the first few chapters of The Wrong Brother - A Regency Romance to the end of this novel (Don't worry! The complete book is availble for
free on Amazon).
I just have one quick request before you move on to the sneak-peek of The Wrong Brother.
If you enjoyed this story, would you mind leaving an honest and fair review?
Would it help if I said pretty please with a cherry on top?
In all honesty, reviews and recommendations are so important for attracting new readers, especially for indie authors like me. I would greatly appreciate your support! Thanks so much for reading!
Here is a direct link to the book page on Amazon. (Click me! Click me! Click me!...Okay, I'll stop now!)
All the best to you,
Bree
Read a Sneak-peek of 'The Wrong Brother'
Prologue
England 1802 (or a variation thereof)
“Argh!” Robert screamed, raking his hands through his hair. “This is agonizing! Why do we have to study Latin if it’s a dead language?” Shaking his head, he stared at the pages before him.
“Because it’s the language of scholars,” Charles replied. “Latin and Greek are at the root of every modern language and help us decipher history long forgotten.”
“Ugh!” Robert exclaimed, crinkling his nose as he looked at his younger twin. “You sound just like Mr. Punham.” Pushing back his chair, he sat sideways, eyes intent on his brother. “But you know what? There is a reason why history is long forgotten, and that’s because it is of no importance. What good will knowing Latin do?”
Putting down his quill, Charles turned to his brother. Although they shared the same coppery brown hair and hazel eyes, the smirk that usually decorated his twin’s face spoke volumes of the differences in character they couldn’t seem to overcome. “It allows us to read ancient texts and discover how people lived thousands of years ago, what their form of government was, what science they had and−”
“As I said,” Robert interrupted, “it is nothing but a waste of time.” Lifting his eyes, a longing smile came to his face. “We should be out there.” He gestured to the window and the open fields beyond, running all the way to the horizon, only bordered by a thick-growing forest to the east of Bridgemoore Manor. “That’s the real world. Adventure awaits out there. This,” he gave his book a hard shove so that it went over the edge of the table and hit the floor with a loud thud, “this is just boring.”
Shaking his head, Charles leaned down and picked up his brother’s book. “If you don’t study, Father will not let you come to the exhibit at the British Museum.”
Robert sighed. “Well, I’d say that would be good news…although going to London would be something. I bet there is a lot going on there apart from dusty museums and such.”
“But they have the Rosetta Stone on display,” Charles objected, feeling excitement bubble up in his veins. “It is the key to deciphering−”
“Why would I care about some old stone?” Robert whined. “Charles, the world is not only what you find between the covers of your books. It is out there.” Rising from his chair, he strode over to the window, an awe-filled expression in his eyes as he gazed at the stretch of green leading from the home he had been born to and the title he was to inherit to adventures unknown. “Let’s go,” he said, then turned and grabbed his brother’s arm.
“Go where?” Charles protested, trying to pull his arm free.
Dragging his brother behind him, Robert yanked open the door then peeked down the corridor. “Let’s shoot some arrows,” he whispered. When the coast remained clear, he proceeded down the corridor, still holding on to his brother’s arm.
“Arrows?” Charles gasped, trying to free himself. “But Father said we were too young. He said−”
“He did when he was our age,” Robert objected. “And besides, what could happen?”
“We could get hurt.” Unable to wrench himself from his brother’s tight grip, Charles reluctantly followed him outside. “How would you know what to do? Have you ever even held a bow and arrow?”
Turning his head, Robert winked at him.
Charles’ eyes bulged. “You have? When? Father said−”
“Father is just as much a bookworm as you are,” Robert snapped. “I taught myself.”
After retrieving a bow as well as a quiver with arrows from a hiding place in the stables, Robert dragged his younger twin toward the tree line, always ducking behind bushes and running from tree to tree so as to stay out of sight.
“Is this truly your idea of fun?” Charles heaved, trying to draw in a deep breath, his face flushed with exertion.
Frowning at his brother, Robert shook his head. “You sound like Aunt Patty, always wheezing as soon as she takes a single step. You should really pull your head out of your books more often and join me in the real world.”
Proceeding deeper into the forest, Robert finally stopped at a fallen log. “This is where I come to practice.”
Staring at him dumbfounded, Charles shook his head, wondering if this boy, who was just now fitting an arrow into the bow, could truly be his brother.
“This is how you do it,” he instructed, eyes concentrated. Never had Charles seen him so focused on anything. “Don’t clench your hand. Then pull back the arrow as much as you can, aim a little higher than the target you have your eye on and…,” he took a deep breath, “release!”
The arrow shot forward, sailing through the air, and hit its mark−feathers and string tied into a circular pattern hung up in a tree at least fifty yards away.
“Yes!” Robert cheered, hopping up and down in a victory dance. “I told you I could do it!” Then he turned to his brother, and Charles knew that something was up. “Do you want to try?”
Eyes wide, he shook his head.
“Just once,” Robert said, holding out his bow. “If you try it, I promise I’ll study all afternoon tomorrow.”
“Really?” Charles whispered, eyeing the bow and his brother suspiciously. “Only once?”
“Only once.”
Reaching out his hand, Charles reluctantly took the bow, surprised how light it was. Then he accepted the arrow his brother offered him and stepped up to the mark. Taking a deep breath, he followed Robert’s instructions, carefully fitting the arrow onto the string. Bracing himself, Charles let it slide over his hand as he pulled back the string and took aim.
Beside him, his brother grinned, and Charles felt goose bumps crawl up his back. What had he gotten himself into?
“I promise I’ll study with you,” Robert said, eyeing his brother with a satisfied grin.
“All right,” Charles said and pulled back the arrow as far as he could, feeling beats of sweat pop up on his forehead. His fingers began to tremble with the exertion.
“But only if you hit the mark,” Robert whispered into his ear.
“What?” Startled, Charles spun around, staring at his brother, who instantly ducked as the arrow was released and shot past his head through the thicket of the forest.
Staring after it, both brothers winced when a pained howl reached their ears mere moments later.
“Drat!” Robert exclaimed, his hand once more closing around his brother’s arm. Dragging him forward, he found his way through the thicket and out of the forest. When the meadow came in sight, voices echoed over from the stables, and they found their tutor, Mr. Punham, lying in the grass, hands wrapped around his left calf, face distorted painfully.
“I hit him,” Charles whispered, staring at the arrow protruding from his tutor’s lower leg. Blood seeped from the wound, staining his stockings as well as the grass.
***
Waiting in their father’s study, Charles couldn’t get the image of Mr. Punham’s distorted face out of his head. “I shot him,” he whispered for the millionth time. The man had taught him Greek and Latin, opened up the world to him of the beauties of ancient societies, and now, he lay bleeding in the downstairs parlour.
“He will be all right,” Robert whispered beside him, his own cheeks a slightly paler colour as well. “After all, it is only a flesh wound.”
Staring at
him, Charles shook his head. “How can you say that? How can you−?”
The door opened, and both boys shot to their feet.
Never had Charles given his father cause for displeasure, and so when the man’s stern eyes fell on him, Charles felt tears stinging his eyes. “I am so sorry,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the floor.
Coming to stand before them, their father shook his head. “I am severely disappointed in you.” His voice rang cold, not resembling the kind-hearted man Charles knew him to be. “I might have expected such behaviour from you, Robert, but Charles, what in the devil’s name has gotten into you? Shooting an arrow at your tutor?” Again, he shook his head, disbelief darkening his eyes. “I thought you to be a responsible, young man, not a reckless child.” Sighing, he closed his eyes. “I suppose I was mistaken.”
His gaze shifting from one son to the other, Viscount Norwood crossed his arms, and Charles knew that he was about to find out what punishment he was to receive. “Since I cannot trust that you will display appropriate manners when in London, I am afraid I have no choice but to leave you here.” Charles gasped, feeling the blood rush from his head. “You are to stay at Bridgemoore under Mr. Punham’s strict supervision−should he decide to stay on−and spend your summer reviewing the appropriate behaviour of a gentleman. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Father,” Charles whispered as stars began to dance before his eyes and the breath caught in his throat. “I am so sorry.”
“Well, it is a bit late for−”
“Father!” Robert interrupted, taking a step forward. “Charles is not at fault here; I am.”