Menu Musings

Author : Julie May
Publisher : Unknown
Page : 0 pages
File Size : 51,7 Mb
Release : 2014-11-10
Category : Cookbooks
ISBN : 0990485714

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Menu Musings by Julie May Pdf

Author : Lori Wick
Publisher : Harvest House Publishers
Page : 431 pages
File Size : 54,5 Mb
Release : 2019-03-05
Category : Fiction
ISBN : 9780736976374

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Sophie's Heart Special Edition by Lori Wick Pdf

Lori Wick's Timeless Classic Returns After the tragic death of his wife, Alec Riley struggles to put his life back together. He and his three children are lost in their grief...until Sophie walks unexpectedly into their lives. Having left her native Czechoslovakia, Sophie has discovered the land which seemed so bright with promise is far from her dream. A highly educated woman, Sophie now finds herself keeping house for Alec and his family. How can Sophie find peace in her new job? Will God use her gentle spirit to help heal Alec's broken heart? 25 years after its initial release comes this exquisite silver anniversary edition of Lori Wick's bestselling classic, Sophie's Heart (over 350,000 copies sold worldwide). Get swept up anew in Sophie and Alec's love story with this beautifully designed keepsake version of one of the most beloved Christian romance novels of all time.

Author : John Orlando
Publisher : Xlibris Corporation
Page : 308 pages
File Size : 40,8 Mb
Release : 2009-11-13
Category : Biography & Autobiography
ISBN : 9781469108537

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Late Night Musings by John Orlando Pdf

The wise know that life is not a singular thing; it has many facets. There is family and friends as well as life and death, good and bad, thoughtful and thoughtless, serious and frivolous. However, the rush of daily life doesn’t allow much time to sit back and really think about such matters. Now past his working years, the author refl ects on life and has captured his fi ndings in thoughtful essays. These essays, not available on line, are a collection of some of the best offerings from the author’s blog, latenightmusings.com. In them the author considers the wonders of life and well as its trials and tribulations. The words, ideas, and thoughts may not seem profound or novel at fi rst glance, but once read, they strike home. In some cases the musings suggest conclusions, while in others they simply recognize that living life doesn’t mean there are good answers for all we experience. With over one hundred beautiful, thought provoking and sometimes humorous pieces or musings in this book, it becomes a refreshing breath of fresh air and a pleasure for those seniors who have experienced life and know what is important in living it. They should also give the younger reader a leg up on living their lives. There is defi nitely something for those of all ages who are ready to smile, laugh, reminisce, feel, learn and celebrate. The reader is invited to enjoy the book at their own pace. It can be consumed in one fantastic feast or savored one bite at a time. The menu is varied enough to satisfy everyone’s taste. Come and enjoy – bon appétit.

Author : Roger Wong
Publisher : Page Publishing Inc
Page : 154 pages
File Size : 46,7 Mb
Release : 2021-07-22
Category : Biography & Autobiography
ISBN : 9781662443473

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Muttered Musings and Other True-to-Life Mix Ups by Roger Wong Pdf

Muttered Musings is a fragmented autobiography. The author has led a full, interesting life with experiences, feelings, opinions, mistakes, and mix-ups that will resonate with everyone. The readers will ultimately be entertained, as well as shocked, saddened, amused, and at times will find themselves laughing out loud!

Author : Mark McWilliams
Publisher : Oxford Symposium
Page : 399 pages
File Size : 55,6 Mb
Release : 2016-05-07
Category : Social Science
ISBN : 9781909248496

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Food and Communication by Mark McWilliams Pdf

The papers explored the use of food and cookery to explore the past and the exotic, and food in corporations.

Author : Daniel Medina
Publisher : Wipf and Stock Publishers
Page : 114 pages
File Size : 50,8 Mb
Release : 2018-11-21
Category : Religion
ISBN : 9781625648198

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The Scandalous Menu by Daniel Medina Pdf

The Eucharist is the living parable of the Christian life and story. It embodies every aspiration, teaching, hope, sacrifice, and selfless act of mercy and grace. Christ left it as a memorial in word, presence, and deed. It is love before us as Christ’s very own real presence empowers and wills us to love others as he loved us first. The Eucharist is the multisensory expression of Christ consciousness embodied in matter and in time. Anyone who embraces the real presence of Christ in Spirit and in truth will experience a life transformed. The experience of gathered worship, prayer, study, spirituality, and acts of justice and mercy will never again be the same. Written for the Church universal, The Scandalous Menu is a manifesto for the local church to embrace the supernatural power of the Eucharist and to reclaim the sacrament as the source of meaning and definition for life together as a people of God in Christ. It is the call to reaffirm marriage vows with the bridegroom and for aspiring to be a Eucharistic community in the context and place God has called the local church to be, serve, and do. This book is a call to a life of deep intimacy, a higher experience of God, and an invitation to unending transformation.

Author : Robert Hellenga
Publisher : Delta
Page : 386 pages
File Size : 48,7 Mb
Release : 1995-05-01
Category : Fiction
ISBN : 9780385314695

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The Sixteen Pleasures by Robert Hellenga Pdf

Chapter One Where I Want to Be I was twenty-nine years old when the Arno flooded its banks on Friday 4 November 1966. According to the Sunday New York Times the damage wasn't extensive, but by Monday it was clear that Florence was a disaster. Twenty feet of water in the cloisters of Santa Croce, the Cimabue crucifix ruined beyond hope of restoration, panels ripped from the Baptistry doors, the basement of the Biblioteca Nazionale completely underwater, hundreds of thousands of volumes waterlogged, the Archivio di Stato in total disarray. On Tuesday I decided to go to Italy, to offer my services as a humble book conservator, to help in any way I could, to save whatever could be saved, including myself. The decision wasn't a popular one at home. Papa was having money troubles of his own and didn't want to pay for a ticket. And my boss at the Newberry Library didn't understand either. He already had his ticket, paid for by the library, and needed me to mind the store. There wasn't any point in both of us going, was there? "The why don't I go and you can mind the store?" "Because, because, because . . ." "Yes?" Because it just didn't make sense. He couldn't see his way clear to granting me a leave of absence, not even a leave of absence without pay. He even suggested that the library might have to replace me, in which case . . . But I decided to go anyway. I had enough money in my savings account for a ticket on Icelandic, and I figured I could live on the cheap once I got there. Besides, I wanted to break the mold in which my life was hardening, and I thought this might be a way to do it. Going to Florence was better than waiting around with nothing coming up. My English teacher at Kenwood High used to say that we're like onions: you can peel off one layer after another and never get to a center, an inner core. You just run out of layers. But I think I'm like a peach or an apricot or a nectarine. There's a pit at the center. I can crack my teeth on it, or I can suck on it like a piece of candy; but it won't crumble, and it won't dissolve. The pit is an image of myself when I was nineteen. I'm in Sardegna, and I'm standing high up on a large rock–a cliff, actually–and I don't have any clothes on, and everyone is looking at me, telling me to come down, not to jump, it's too high. It's my second time in Italy. I spent a year here with Mama when I was fifteen, and then I came back by myself, after finishing high school at home, to do the last year of the liceo with my former classmates. Now we're celebrating the end of our examinations–Silvia (who spent a year with us in Chicago), Claudia, Rossella, Giulio, Fabio, Alessandro. Names like flowers, or bells. And me, Margot Harrington. More friends are coming later. Silvia's parents (my host family) have a summer house just outside Terranova, but we're camping on the beach, five kilometers down the coast. The coast is safe, they say, though there are bandits in the centro. Wow! It's my birthday–August first–and we've had a supper of bluefish and squid that we caught with a net. The squid taste like rubber bands, the heavy kind that I used to chew on in grade school and that boys sometimes used to snap our bottoms with in junior high. Life is sharp and snappy, too, full of promise, like the sting of those rubber bands: I've passed my examinations with distinction; I'm going to Harvard in the fall (well, to Radcliffe); I've got an Italian boyfriend named Fabio Fabbriani; and I've just been skinny-dipping in the stinging cold salt sea. The others have put their clothes on now–I can see them below me, sitting around the remains of the fire in shorts and halter tops and shirts with the sleeves rolled up two turns, talking, glancing up nervously–but I want to savor the taste/thrill of my own nakedness a little longer, unembarrassed in the dwindling light. It's the scariest thing I've ever done, except coming to Italy in the first place. Fabio sits with his back toward me while he smokes a cigarette, pretending to be angry because I won't come down, but when I close my eyes and will him to turn, he puts his cigarette out in the sand and turns. Just at that moment I jump, sucking in my breath for a scream but then holding it, in case I need it latter, which I do. I hit the Tyrrhenian Sea feet first, generating little waves that will, in theory, soon be lapping the beaches along the entire western coast of Italy–Sicily and North Africa, too. The Tyrrhenian Sea responds by closing over me and it's pitch, not like the pool in Chicago where I learned to swim, but deep and dark and dangerous and deadly. The air in my lungs–the scream and I saved for just such an occasion–carries me up to the surface, and I strike out for the cove, meeting Fabio before I'm halfway there, wondering if like me he's naked under the water and not knowing for sure till we're walking waist deep and he takes me by the shoulders and kisses me and I can feel something bobbing against my legs like a floating cork. We haven't made love yet, but it's won't be long now. O dio mio. The waiting is so lovely. He squeezes my buns and I squeeze his, surprised, and then we splash in to the beach and put on our clothes. What I didn't know at the time was that my mother had become seriously ill. Instead of spending the rest of the summer in Sardegna, I had to go back to Chicago, and then, after that, nothing happened. I mean none of the things I'd expected to happen happened. Instead of making love with Fabio Fabbriani on the verge of the Tyrrhenian Sea, I got laid on a vinyl sofa in the back room of the SNCC headquarters on Forty-seventh Street. Instead of going to Harvard, I went to Edgar Lee Masters College, where Mama had taught art history for twenty years. Instead of going to graduate school I spent two years at the Institute for Paper Technology on Green Bay Avenue; instead of becoming a research chemist I apprenticed myself to a book conservator in Hyde Park and then took a position in the conservation department of the Newberry Library. Instead of getting married and having a daughter of my own, I lived at home and looked after Mama, who was dying of lung cancer. A year went by, two years, three years, four. Mama died; Papa lost most of his money. My sister Meg got married and moved away; my sister Molly went to California with her boyfriend and then to Ann Arbor. The sixties were churning around me, and I couldn't seem to get a footing. I tried to plunge in, to get wet, to catch hold, to find a place in one of the boats tossing and turning on the white-water rapids: the sit-ins, the rock concerts, the freedom rides, SNCC, CORE, SDS, the Civil Rights Act, the Great Society. I spent a lot of time holding hands and singing "We shall overcome," I spent a lot of time buying coffee and doughnuts and rolling joints, and I spent some time on my back, too–the only position for a woman in the Movement. I'd had no sleep on the plane; my eyes were blurry so it was hard to read; and besides, the story I was reading was as depressing as the view from the window of the train–flat, gray, poor, dreary, actively ugly rather than passively uninteresting. And I kept thinking about Papa and his money troubles and his lawsuits, and about the embroidered seventeenth-century prayer books on my work table at the Newberry that needed to be disbound, washed, mended, and resewn before Christmas for an exhibit sponsored by the Caxton Club. So I was under a certain amount of pressure. I was looking for a sign, the way some religious people look for signs, something to let them know they're on the right track. Or on the wrong track, in which case they can turn back. I didn't know what I was looking for, but I was trying to pay attention, to notice everything–the faces of the two American women sitting opposite me in the compartment, scribbling furiously in their notebooks; the Neapolitan accent of the Italian conductor; the depressing French farmhouses, gray boxes of stucco or cinder block, I couldn't make out which. That's what I was doing–paying attention–when the train pulled into the station at Metz and I saw the Saint-Cyr cadet on the platform, bright as the Archangel Gabriel bringing the good news to the Virgin Mary. I'd better explain. Papa did all the cooking in our family. He started when Mama went to Italy one summer when I was nine–it was right after the war–to look at the pictures, to see for herself what she'd only seen in the Harvard University Prints series and on old three-by-four-inch tinted slides that she used to project on the dining room wall; and when she came back he kept on doing it. My sisters and I did the dishes and Papa took care of everything else, day in and day out, and whether it was Italian or French or Chinese or Malaysian, it was always wonderful, it was always special. Penne alla puttanesca, an arista tied with sprigs of rosemary, paper-thin strips of beef marinated in hoisin sauce and Szechwan peppercorns, whole fresh salmon poached in white wine and finished with a mustard sauce, chicken thighs simmered in soy sauce and lime juice, curries so fiery that at their first bite unwary guests would clutch their throats and cry out for water, which didn't help a bit. Those were our favorites, the standards against which we measured other dishes; but our very favorite treat of all was the dessert Papa made on our birthdays, instead of cake, which was supposed to look like the hats worn by cadets at Saint-Cyr, the French military academy. We'd never been to Saint-Cyr, of course, but we would have recognized a cadet anywhere in the world, if he'd been wearing his hat. That's why I was so startled when I looked out the window of the Luxembourg-Venise Express and saw my cadet standing there on the platform–the young man Papa had teased me about, the Prince Charming who had never materialized. He was holding a suitcase in one hand and shifting his weight back and forth from one foot to the other, as if he had to go to the bathroom, and his parents were talking at him so intensely that I thought for a minute he was going to miss the train. And his hat! I couldn't believe it was a real hat and not a frozen mousse of chocolate and egg whites and whipped cream with squiggly Italian meringues running up and down the sides for braids. That hat stirred something inside me, made me feel I was doing the right thing and that I ought to keep going, that things would work out. Just to make sure I closed my eyes and willed him into the compartment, just as I had once willed Fabio Fabbriani to turn and watch me plunge feet first into the sea. As I was willing him into the compartment I was willing the American women out of it–not making my cadet's appearance contingent on their departure, however, because I was pretty sure they weren't going to budge. I kept my face down in my book and waited, eyes closed lightly, listening to the noises in the corridor. I was, I suppose, still operating, at least subconsciously, on a fairy-tale model of reality: I was Sleeping Beauty, or Snow White, waiting for some prince whose romantic kisses would awaken my full feelings, liberate my story senses, emancipate my drowsy and constrained imagination, take me back to that last Italian summer. The train was already in motion when the door of the compartment finally opened. I kept my eyes closed another two seconds and then looked up at–not my Prince Charming but the Neapolitan conductor, an old man so frail I'd had to help him hoist the American women's mammoth suitcases onto the overhead luggage rack. These suitcases were to luggage what Burberrys are to rainwear–lots of extra pockets and straps and mysterious zippers concealed under flaps. I asked him about the Saint-Cyr cadet. "The next compartment," he said. "Not your type. Too young. You need an older man like me." "You're already married." He shrugged, putting his whole body into it, arms, hands, shoulders, head cocked, stomach pulled in. "Better tell your friends"–we were speaking in Italian–"that the dining car will be taken off the train before we cross the border. You need to reserve a seat early." I nodded. "Unless," he went on, "they have those valises stuffed with American food. Porcamattina." He glanced upward at the suitcases, tapped his cheekbone with an index finger and was gone. I felt for these American women some of the mixed feelings that the traveler feels for the tourist. On the one hand you want to help, to show off your knowledge; on the other you don't want to get involved. I didn't want to get involved. They weren't my type. These were saltwater women–sailors, golfers, tennis players, clubwomen with suntans in November, large limbed, confident, conspicuous, firm, trim, sleek as walruses in their worsted wool suits. They reminded me of the Gold Coast women who used to show up around the edges of CORE demonstrations, with their checkbooks open, telling us how much they admired what we were doing, and how they wished they could help more. All fucked up ideologically, according to our leaders at SNCC: "They think their shit don't stink." As far as they knew, I was a scruffy little Italian–I hadn't spoken a word of English in their presence, and I was reading an Italian novel–and it was too late to undeceive them. I had heard too much. I knew, for example, that they'd met the previous summer at some kind of writing workshop at Johns Hopkins University and that they'd both jumped into the sack with their instructor, a novelist named Philip. I knew that Philip was bald but well hung ("like a shillelagh"). I knew that neither of them had done it dog fashion BP ("before Philip") and that they were traveling second class because Philip had told them they'd get more material that way for the stories they were going to write now that they were divorced. Part of their agenda, I gathered, was to notice things, to pay attention. Maybe they were looking for signs, too, maybe not; in either case they seemed to be trying to impress the details of European railroad travel onto the pages of their marbled composition books by sheer physical force. Nothing escaped their notice, not even the signs, in French, German and Italian, warning passengers not to throw things out the window and not to pull the cord on the signal d'alarme. All the details went into their notebooks–the fine of not less than 5,000 FF, the prison term of not less than one year. And when one noticed something, the other did, too: the instructions on the window latch, the way the armrests worked, the captions on the faded views of Chartres Cathedral that hung on the walls of the compartment above the backs of the seats. (I was tempted to look at them myself, but I didn't want to give myself away or interrupt their game.) I kept my nose in my book–Natalia Ginzburg's Lessico famigliare. It was a strenuous hour, and I was glad when, simultaneously, panting like dogs after a good run, they closed their notebooks and resumed their conversation.

Author : Jen Lynn Bailey
Publisher : Unknown
Page : 32 pages
File Size : 54,7 Mb
Release : 2022-03-22
Category : Juvenile Fiction
ISBN : 1772782424

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This Is the Boat That Ben Built by Jen Lynn Bailey Pdf

Young Ben explores the northern river ecosystem, witnessing some animal hi-jinks in a humorous take on the house-that-jack-built trope. Eight pages of information about the animals encountered and key concepts for ecology conclude the book.

Author : Frances Itani
Publisher : HarperCollins
Page : 284 pages
File Size : 40,5 Mb
Release : 2020-08-18
Category : Fiction
ISBN : 9781443457545

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The Company We Keep by Frances Itani Pdf

On Tuesday nights in the backroom of Cassie’s café, six strangers seek solace and find themselves part of a “Company of Good Cheer” Hazzley is at loose ends, even three years after the death of her husband. When her longtime friend Cassandra, café owner and occasional dance-class partner, suggests that she start up a conversation group, Hazzley posts a notice on the community board at the local grocery store. Four people turn up for the first meeting: Gwen, a recently widowed retiree in her early sixties, who finds herself pet-sitting a cantankerous parrot; Chiyo, a forty-year-old fitness instructor who cared for her unyielding but gossip-loving mother through the final days of her life; Addie, a woman pre-emptively grieving a close friend who is seriously ill; and Tom, an antiques dealer and amateur poet who, deprived of home baking since becoming a widower, comes to the first meeting hoping cake will be served. Before long, they are joined by Allam, a Syrian refugee with his own story to tell. These six strangers are learning that beginnings can be possible at any stage of life. But as they tell their stories, they must navigate what is shared and what is withheld. Which version of the truth will be revealed? Who is prepared to step up when help is needed? This moving, funny and deeply empathic new novel from acclaimed author Frances Itani reminds us that life, with all its twists and turns, never loses its capacity to surprise.

Author : Nicole Webb
Publisher : Unknown
Page : 288 pages
File Size : 49,6 Mb
Release : 2020-09
Category : China
ISBN : 0648905306

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China Blonde by Nicole Webb Pdf

From being a TV newsreader in Sydney to a hotelier's wife in the heart of China - this is a true story of reinvention, love and finding your place in the world.Nicole Webb and her husband, James, are always up for an adventure, so when James is offered a job in the ancient city of Xi'an in north-west China, they jump at the chance. Nicole, James and three-year-old Ava fly into a world they know nothing about - a place where they know no one.Touching down, culture shock hits Nicole head on. It feels as if all eyes are on her and Ava, the only blondes in the jam-packed arrivals hall, two foreigners so far from home.With honesty and humour, Nicole takes us on a journey of daily life in the Middle Kingdom at a time when the whole world is looking towards China. We follow her search for friendship and acceptance where she discovers, no matter what your culture or background, we're connected the world over by the common thread of humanity. CHINA BLONDE gives us a very personal insight, told with a journalist's eye view, into the lives of those who embraced Nicole with open arms. Her experiences along the way will resonate with anyone who's ever built a life in a new home - be it across the city or across the world.

Author : Mary Morgan
Publisher : Xulon Press
Page : 144 pages
File Size : 48,6 Mb
Release : 2011-10
Category : Religion
ISBN : 9781619044265

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Musing Of A Nursing Home Resident by Mary Morgan Pdf

I moved into a nursing home after my sister, Martha had died. I was living alone. I have FSH muscular dystrophy that isn't fatal. The disability itself requires a live in a care giver, whom I could not afford. The other residents enjoy reading my poems so I decided to write more and make them into a book. I believe there is a "book" in each of us. We all have life stories to tell, but residents of nursing homes seem to be forgotten numbers in our society. We all need love, company and laughter in our lives. This is a place to live and be cared for. While I am glad to have a home, improvement is needed in its image. If my poems can have help improve this image, then I will have succeeded.

Author : Corey Finkle
Publisher : Henry Holt and Company (BYR)
Page : 21 pages
File Size : 43,8 Mb
Release : 2021-04-13
Category : Juvenile Fiction
ISBN : 9781250834126

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Your Future Is Bright by Corey Finkle Pdf

Celebrate the boundless possibilities of the future with this uplifting picture book about the potential in every child, perfect for fans of Oh, the Places You’ll Go! and The Wonderful Things You Will Be. Today is a triumph! It’s awesome! You’re great! The things you’ve accomplished are truly first rate. Your efforts have made you stand out from the crowd, So, puff out your chest—you deserve to feel proud. Follow a group of children as they dream about what the future might hold. As they spin their passions into opportunities, they learn that adventure awaits any and all who put their hearts and minds into something. Told in Corey Finkle's touching rhyming verse and paired with gorgeous watercolor illustrations by Shelley Couvillion, Your Future Is Bright is an inspiring ode to self-confidence, kindness, and dedication, and makes for the perfect gift for any occasion, including graduations, baby showers, birthdays, and more.

Author : Sylvie Perry
Publisher : Crooked Lane Books
Page : 304 pages
File Size : 45,5 Mb
Release : 2021-12-07
Category : Fiction
ISBN : 9781643857930

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The Hawthorne School by Sylvie Perry Pdf

For fans of Riley Sager, The Hawthorne School is a twisty psychological suspense about the lengths one mother will go for her child, inspired by present-day obsession with cults and true crime. Claudia Morgan is overwhelmed. She's a single parent trying the best that she can, but her four-year-old son, Henry, is a handful--for her and for his preschool. When Claudia hears about a school with an atypical teaching style near her Chicagoland home, she has to visit. The Hawthorne School is beautiful and has everything she dreams of for Henry: time to play outside, music, and art. The head of the school, Zelma, will even let Claudia volunteer to cover the cost of tuition. The school is good for Henry: his "behavioral problems" disappear, and he comes home subdued instead of rageful. But there's something a bit off about the school, its cold halls, and its enigmatic headmistress. When Henry brings home stories of ceremonies in the woods and odd rules, Claudia's instincts tell her that something isn't quite right, and she begins to realize she's caught in a web of manipulations and power. The author's work as a psychotherapist, with a focus on narcissistic manipulation and addictive power dynamics, guides this exploration of a young mother wanting to do the best for her child.

Author : Kathy Hunt
Publisher : National Geographic Books
Page : 0 pages
File Size : 40,9 Mb
Release : 2021-12-07
Category : Cooking
ISBN : 9781682686614

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Luscious, Tender, Juicy by Kathy Hunt Pdf

Cooking methods for mastering the perfect, satisfying texture each and every time. Succulent shrimp, juicy steak, vegetables bursting with fresh flavor—the secret to cooking exceptional food is keeping it luscious and tender. In this technique-focused guide to delectable dishes, Kathy Hunt delivers recipes for global appetizers, mains, sides, desserts, and sweet baked goods. Written for novice and accomplished cooks alike, this masterclass in texture inspires an appreciation for the skills needed to craft exquisite mouthfeel, an often overlooked facet of cooking. From stir-frying noodles and sautéing fish to grilling delicate vegetables and roasting hearty meats, Luscious, Tender, Juicy covers a wealth of preparation techniques. Hunt explains how to keep food tender and flavorful, an essential aspect of delectable food. The final two chapters, “Luxurious Cakes, Pies, and Puddings” and “Velvety Cookies, Pastries, and Breads,” focus on sweets that wouldn’t be enjoyable (or even edible) if they weren’t fluffy, molten, or gooey.

Author : Calle J. Brookes
Publisher : Lost River Lit Publishing, L.L.C.
Page : 371 pages
File Size : 45,9 Mb
Release : 2016-12-22
Category : Fiction
ISBN : 9781940937137

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The Price of Silence by Calle J. Brookes Pdf

SHE'S ALWAYS BEEN THE PROTECTOR. —THAT WILL NEVER CHANGE. Former homicide detective Melody Beck has always taken care of her younger sisters. But lately…that was the one area in which she’d failed. Her younger sister has just barely escaped a band of vicious killers. And the threat wasn’t over yet. Melody is still searching for answers. All signs now point to the richest man in Texas being the mastermind behind the attacks. That billionaire is still out there. Watching. Watching them all. Melody is going to see he pays for what he did… Except there is one small complication she hadn’t told her family about. The billionaire’s son. The one man she couldn’t forget. The man she had loved before. HIS FATHER ISN'T A KILLER. —HE NEEDS A WAY TO PROVE IT. Houghton Barratt knows there is no way his father would have harmed an innocent family. The only way Houghton can fix this is by going after the woman accusing his father and convince her to tell the truth to the media outlets. Even if his own plans for her older sister aren't exactly on the up and up. A different Beck sister is Houghton’s real target now. MELODY IS COMING WITH HIM. —WHETHER SHE WANTS TO OR NOT. He has a daring plot to fix everything. And it all hinges on Melody. Houghton is right there in front of her before Melody can even begin to escape. Now, she is a hostage, a pawn in his game. A game he intends to win. But as Houghton tangles with Melody, the real mastermind is getting closer. Closer than they could imagine. Only this time the killer’s focusing on Melody—and the sisters she'll do anything to protect. Houghton makes Melody a vow he would willingly die to keep: Melody will never be the price Houghton pays for his father…