Nationalité : États-Unis
Né(e) : 1947
Né(e) : 1947
Biographie :
Cassie Miles est le pseudonyme de Kay Bergstrom, auteure de nombreux romans sentimentaux publiés chez Harlequin.
Cassie Miles est le pseudonyme de Kay Bergstrom, auteure de nombreux romans sentimentaux publiés chez Harlequin.
Source : http://www.romancewiki.com
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« Emily. » As soon as he spoke his daughter’s name, Cole transformed from a hard-edged federal agent into a fuzzy teddy bear with a badge.
The whole idea of a pre-nup didn’t make sense to him. Maybe he was old fashioned, but he thought marriage should be about love and partnership and spending your life together. He supposed premarital agreements were prudent, like looking for the emergency exits when you got on a plane. Not that the escape route mattered if you were going down in flames.
“They need to know that pranks using guns won’t be tolerated.”
“A hard lesson. Guns are part of life around here.”
“And Montana gun laws are practically non-existent,” she said.
“You have an opportunity to mend fences. Don’t build a wall instead.”
“A hard lesson. Guns are part of life around here.”
“And Montana gun laws are practically non-existent,” she said.
“You have an opportunity to mend fences. Don’t build a wall instead.”
From a purely physical standpoint, this should have been a fairly easy delivery. The basis of Dee’s suffering was emotional. Everybody experiences pain differently, and Dee was so scared that the slightest twinge sent her screaming over the edge.
Not only was he driving home, but he wanted to keep his wits about him. Leaning back in his chair, he tried not to scowl. There was nothing like being the only sober person in the room to make sure you had a dandy time.
Kelly was a reader. During the long hours when her clients were in labour, it was always handy to have a book. Though she used a digital tablet for convenience, she preferred the feel of printed pages in her hand.
Though it was chilly, he put down his window and inhaled the mountain air. Even if they didn't find a clue, he was glad they'd come here. The mountains fulfilled a primal need in his soul.
“I got my daisies,” she said, “even though Neil wanted orchids.” That made sense. Orchids were hothouse flowers, expensive and delicate. Angela was a daisy person—cheerful and bright.
“I wish there was something I could do to help. With all this activity swirling around, I feel like a bump on a log that’s stuck in the middle of the river. All I can do is watch.”
Time and again, he’d said that he didn’t want her to crawl into the grave beside him. If he died, he wished for her to honor his memory by living life to the fullest.
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