Moonlight in Vermont: Modern Mail Order Brides, #11

By Olivia Gaines

Angelis Franklin arrived in New York with one goal in mind, sign the paperwork and secure a mail order bride. The night before the contract signing, in the hotel lobby bar, he met a woman that could derail all of his well laid plans. He offered her one cautionary warning, "Should our paths cross again, you're not going to get away from me. Tonight, consider yourself lucky that this is the wrong place and wrong time."

Fauvette Cassowary arrived in New York on a honeymoon for a wedding that didn't happen, accompanied by her mother, Birdie who was more than a handful. The only glimmer of hope for the trip was a tall stranger she met the night before in the hotel bar. He offered a warning which made her tingle with excitement and wondering what if…

Fast forward to a day later, through a set of odd coincidences, Fauvette finds herself in a match maker's office staring at a computer screen. On the monitor was four men, whom the matchmaker said was her perfect match.

Fauvette's head snapped around when she saw the four images. Two looked pretty much like her ex and she wanted no part of either of them. The third one looked as if he enjoyed clipping the wings off of flies but the fourth one, "Him!" She exclaimed pointing at the screen.

It was the man from the bar last night. There were no such things as coincidences and Fauvette knew, she had matched her meet.

Climb aboard the love train, as we rattle up the tracks for love, laughs and Moonlight in Vermont.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Davonshire House Publishing
• Release date: Oct 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9798223586982

Olivia Gaines

Olivia is a USA Today Best Selling and multiple award-winning author who loves a good laugh coupled with some steam, mixed in with a man and woman finding their way past the words of “I love you.” An author of contemporary romances, she writes heartwarming stories of blossoming relationships about couples not only falling in love but building a life after the sensual love scene. 2015 Swirl Award Winner, Best Erotic Romance, Thursdays in Savannah. 2017 IRAE Award Winner, Best Contemporary Romance, Wyoming Nights 2019 IRAE Award Winner, Favorite Series, The Men of Endurance 2019 IRAE Award Winner, Reader's Choice Award 2019 Nominee, Top Female Authors, The AuthorShow.com When Olivia is not writing, she enjoys quilting, playing Scrabble online against other word lovers and spending time with her family. She is an avid world traveler who writes many of the locations into her stories. Most of the time she can be found sitting quietly with pen and paper plotting more adventures in love. Olivia lives in Hephzibah, Georgia with her husband, son, grandson and snotty evil cat, Katness Evermean. Learn more about her books, upcoming releases and join her bibliophile nation at www.ogaines.com Subscribe to her email list at http://eepurl.com/OulYf Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/olivia.gaines.31 Twitter: https://twitter.com/oliviagaines Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/gaines.olivia/

Book preview

Moonlight in Vermont

A Modern Mail Order Bride- Book 11

Table of Contents

Also by Olivia Gaines

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Chapter One- Harvesting

Chapter Two- Yield

Chapter Three- Produce

Chapter Four- Fruits of Labor

Chapter Five- Gathering

Chapter Six- Collection

Chapter Seven- Vintage

Chapter Eight- Glean

Chapter Nine- Gamer

Chapter Ten- Reap

Chapter Eleven- Crop

Chapter Twelve- Cull

Chapter Thirteen- Accumulate

Chapter Fourteen- Amass

Chapter Fifteen- Assemble

Chapter Sixteen- Convene

Epilogue

Maple Sundaes & Cider Donuts

Chapter One - Gemütlichkeit

Blind Copy

Prologue

Chapter One – Lookalike

About the Author

Davonshire House Publishing

PO Box 9716 

Augusta, GA 30916 

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely a coincidence.

© 2020 Olivia Gaines, Cheryl Aaron Corbin

Copy Editor: Teri Thompson Blackwell

Cover: Corbin Media, LLC

Olivia Gaines Make Up and Photograph by Latasla Gardner Photography

ASIN:   

ISBN:  

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever.  For information address, Davonshire House Publishing, PO Box 9716, Augusta, GA 30916.

Printed in the United States of America

1  2  3  4  5  6  7  10  9  8

First Davonshire House Publishing October 2020

Moonlight in Vermont 

A Modern Mail Order Bride- Book 11

OLIVIA GAINES

Also by Olivia Gaines

The Men of Endurance Series

A Walk-Through Endurance: Olivia Gaines & Siera London

A Return to Endurance By Olivia Gaines & Siera London

The Art of Persistence By Olivia Gaines

Intervals of Love

Enduring Emily

An Enduring Christmas – Winter 2019

The Technicians Series

Blind Date By Olivia Gaines

Blind Hope By Olivia Gaines

Blind Luck By Olivia Gaines

Love Thy Neighbor Series

Walking the Dawg: A Novella 

Through the Woods: A Novella 

Life of the Party: A Novella

Modern Mail-Order Brides

North to Alaska

Montana

Oregon Trails

Wyoming Nights

On a Rainy Night in Georgia

Bleu, Grass, Bourbon

Buckeye and the Babe

The Tennessee Mountain Man

Stranded in Arizona – September 2019

The Zelda Diaries

It Happened Last Wednesday 

A Frickin' Fantastic Friday 

A Tantalizing Tuesday 

A Marvelous Monday 

A Saucy Sunday 

A Sensual Saturday 

My Thursday Throwback 

Slivers of Love Series

The Deal Breaker  

Naima's Melody  

Santa's Big Helper  

The Christmas Quilts  

Friends with Benefits  

The Cost to Play  

A Menu for Loving  

Thursdays in Savannah  

DEDICATION

For Tracy, on her very special birthday...

"Easy reading is damn hard writing."

-  Nathaniel Hawthorne

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To all the fans, friends and supporters of the dream as well as the Facebook community of writers who keep me focused, inspired and moving forward.

Write On!

Chapter One- Harvesting

Sadness covered her emotions like bad ideas competing for space in her head, attaching itself to her heart and weighing down any lightness in her soul. Time and again she’d been warned and even cautioned about loving too fast, trusting too much, and giving of herself too freely, but what was a girl to do—she was in love. Or at least she had been until less than nine months ago the bottom fell out of her world; a world filled with cattlemen who wore big belt buckles, shiny toe tipped boots, and smiles big enough to warm the chilliest town in Texas.

Fauvette Cassowary, one of the most prized veterinarians in the greater Houston area, bristled at the chill when it first began to settle into her bones. Men of means made decisions based on the information she provided on the health and well-being of their cattle. America’s sources of beef and pork shipped on her words. Why she left Houston was a mystery to all those around her, but she moved to Oklahoma, following her heart and the word of a man who professed to love her like no other.

After three years of hot and heavy make-out sessions, and nine months away from marriage, she gave him her best medical advice on his cattle. He ignored it based on the word of his father, who felt Fauvette had ulterior motives. The rest, she could say, was for the local history books. It had rolled out nine months prior like a slow-moving train she couldn’t outrun. Tonight, she found herself in a hotel bar in Mid-Town New York on what was supposed to be her wedding night. Instead of being in the arms of the man who professed to love her like no other, she was sharing the honeymoon suite with her mother, who was sprawled out in the king-sized bed littered with rose petals. Fauvette found herself downstairs at the bar, nursing a watered-down order of Bourbon on the rocks. The rocks were salty like her heart, and now, dwindling floating pebbles in a circular pond of regrets.

Looks like that drink is getting pretty watered down there, a strong male voice said. Would you like me to order you a fresh one?

Fauvette looked up to see the dark eyes of a very tanned man with a gentle smile, who asked to take a seat. She had nothing else to do other than head upstairs and watch her mother slobber on a pillow as she slept with her mouth and legs wide open. Three or four more watered down drinks would be more interesting than dealing with her mother snoring and sounding like a grizzly bear happy at the start of salmon spawning season. She made eye contact when she responded.

No, I like them watered down. It prevents me from making bad decisions, Fauvette replied, I can, however, buy you another beer if that’s your fancy.

My fancy is a pretty lady to chat with while I sip a warm beer and wonder what in the world a man like me is doing in New York at the hotel bar, he replied.

The same thing I am, not wanting to be alone but too cowardly to pull the trigger on more daring adventures, lest all involve shall die a slow painful death, she answered.

Good grief, are you sure no one came along and squirted a little pee in that glass? he asked, frowning in distaste.

Fauvette found herself smiling, something her lips had refused to do in the last nine months. The pain was too deep. The hurt bored through her soul. The motion of retracting her lips to form a semi-circle at the bottom of her face was agonizing.

Jesus, Darling, what in the hell happened to you that a smile seems as if your bowels have constricted and the doc has to slip a few fingers in there and pull out a thick one? he asked her.

She couldn’t help herself; she laughed. It was such a random medical action used by veterinarians in the toughest cases of bowel obstruction that very few people understood. It had been so long since she’d spoken with medical professionals in her field since she’d been shunned, that even talking about animal constipation uplifted her spirits.

Are you a vet?

No, but I’ve worked a few summers on a farm here and there, doing some seasonal work. I’ve gotten to know a few calves, ponies, and other animals who have eaten things that didn’t agree with them, he told her, offering a smile. Normally, this wouldn’t be the first line of conversation I had with a woman, but you, there’s something about you.

First you tell me I look as if I require a couple of fingers jammed up my ass to release a blockage that’s hindering my ability to smile, and now you declare there’s something about me, she said, scowling a bit. Smooth. Really smooth.

He leaned back in the chair, lifting the brown bottle of booze to his mouth, sipping deep, and lowering the container back to the table. His dark eyes remained on her face. Full lips drew him in and before he knew it, he was reaching for her, pulling the lady into an embrace.

I’m going to kiss you, and afterwards you’re probably going to slap my face, but I never go half ass, so I’m all in, he said, moving slowly to give her time to react, pull away, or protest. The odd thing was she didn’t fight his advance, but allowed the moment to unfold between them. Her mouth tasted of cherries, the bit of brown liquor she swallowed, and all kinds of promises.

Fauvette didn’t fight the exploration of his tongue into her mouth. If she were to be honest, and most times she was, it felt nice to be touched again. It felt nice to be desired and wanted. It felt, nice.

The kiss ended when she pulled away. Her fingers, showcasing neatly trimmed nails painted a neutral blush color came to her mouth. The lady’s cheeks warmed under his scrutiny.

I’m sorry, but it looked like you needed that, he said.

Evidently I did since I didn’t fight you, she countered, lowering her gaze to the glass. She drank a bit more to remove the taste of the beer left by his exploration of her mouth. Fauvette’s eyes went back to his face, waiting for his next move.

I’ve got time if you want to tell me about it, he offered, leaning back again in the seat.

My sadness already has a home; I see no need for it to move in with you too.

The man, who thus far hadn’t bothered to give a name, offered a moment of levity in a life filled with leaden weights. As much as Fauvette knew change was required in her world, the will to fight and make the difference was gone. Nine months of backlash and hatred had given her those trinkets to wear about her wrists like handcuffs of shame. He wouldn’t understand therefore she saw no need to share it with him.

You don’t have to remain sad. Life is going to present you with an opportunity as it always does. Either get on the bus and see where it leads, or sit at a dark hotel bar in the middle of New York staring into glasses of watered-down bourbon hoping it will get better, he said. It doesn’t get any better. We have to be better than the circumstances.

I tried being better, but no one else got the memo. Everyone else decided to remain assholes and point the finger at me, she said solemnly.

Then fuck’em, he said, as she looked up with wide eyes at a man using such street language in the presence of a lady. Yeah, I said fuck’em. Those people have no rights to how you feel about yourself, and they have no right to try and make you feel less than them or less than the wonderful person I assume you are under all that sadness.

Yet you made a move on the sad lady, hoping to get lucky.

Naw, if I were to be with you, Darling, you’d need to be on your best game to roll with all of this, he said, chuckling. Ain’t no way in hell I’mma lay out my best back breaking, bootie thumping, ass slapping, Daddy’s home action for a lady who’s going to lay under me and squeak like a chew toy.

Her mouth dropped open. Squeak like a chew toy?  she replied, almost squeaking when she said it.

Yep, you seem like the type. Too pretty to work up a sweat and get that afro all moist. You’d lay there until I was done, squeak and say, ‘Oh my ghhherrrd, you are so big and so good. I can’t take no more,’ he offered, bursting into laughter. He used his hands to simulate squeezing a large ball while making squeaking sounds that mimicked, eeekee, eekeee, eke. Fauvette was laughing at his antics.

You’re full of shit, that’s what you are, she said, laughing along with him. Does this approach actually work for you? Women follow you back to your room, trying to prove they are not in fact squeaking toys when the big bad dog bites into their hocks.

Oh, so you like to be bit, do you? This is getting interesting, he said, leaning forward and twisting his mouth as if he were about to deliver closing arguments in a federal case and had just been handed pejorative evidence.

Wow! Just wow. This is your play. I have officially heard and seen it all. I’m not going back to your room with you, she said, shaking her head.

Good because I didn’t ask you to; I’m just stating the obvious, Chew Toy, he said.

And you need to retract your teeth, Bite Boy, she replied, staring again into his dark eyes. The chemistry was there. It would be the perfect story about the night she stopped being sad, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t her way.

Teeth and everything else have been sheathed, he said, arching one eyebrow. Besides, I can’t. It wouldn’t feel good to my soul to do such a thing, considering why I’m in town. Plus, I’m not that kind of man.

Glad to hear it because I’m not that kind of woman, even at times like this. I wish I could be, just to be able to feel again and go with the flow, she answered.

Lord knows there is a flow to follow and the energy between us is enjoyable. Haven’t felt this in a long time, he said, looking at his watch. I have a mid-morning flight and a meeting first thing. Do you want me to escort you to your door?

No, I’m good, she told him.

He stood up. Fauvette got to her feet as well. The man was every bit of six feet tall with a narrow waist, thick thighs, and broad shoulders which almost made her lick her lips. Instead, she pressed them close together and stared into his chest. She knew beyond a practical doubt that his chest was more than likely hairy, and in a second, he would walk away and her fingers would never know the feel of pressing her nails into the soft skin.

Darling, I just read every nasty thought in your head as it ran across your face, he said, shaking his head like he’d been rain soaked in a downpour. Should our paths cross again, you’re not going to get away from me. Tonight, consider yourself lucky that this is the wrong place and wrong time.

Your wife is a fortunate woman to have such a loyal guy, she replied facetiously.

He held up large hands, lifting her own into his. The touch was electric, sending bolts of currents to her lady parts. She was in danger in the best kind of way, but the answer was still going to be no.

Look, no ring. No marks of a ring which means that all of this hunk is single. I know. I know. I find it hard to believe as well, but my journey in this life needs more than just a squeak toy, he offered.

She didn’t have time to resist, nor did she wish to, as he lowered his head and provided a parting kiss.

I want to ask your name, get your number, and find you again, but if I do, what is next for both of us will get sidetracked. I can’t afford any distractions right now, he said.

Me, a distraction?

I’m distracted as hell and it’s taking everything in me not to go all caveman, throw you over my shoulder, and drag you back to my dark hole to have my way with you, he explained. You don’t deserve that, not from me or any man.

Thank you, she retorted, smiling at him. I’ve never been threatened with assault in such a way that I thought it was a compliment.

The handsome man stood there for at least three minutes as if he were memorizing everything about the lady. She wasn’t his type. Everything about her read wrong and not right for the next trek up the mountain he was doomed to climb, but she felt good. In his arms, when he spoke to her, the quick wit and come backs, and the kisses were enough to make him change his mind, but he couldn’t.

I pray you find peace, and if not peace, contentment.

Good luck on filling your dark cave with treasures for you to sink your teeth into on cold nights, she said with a wink.

Woman, you’d better stop playing with a grown man, he told her, reaching for her and pulling her into an embrace. Everything about you feels so damned right.

Or you’re just horny as hell, she said, squeezing him in the embrace.

Yeah, that could be a factor, he said, releasing her and stepping back. I’m only going to say this once more, Darling. If our paths cross again, I’m not letting you get away from me.

If our paths should cross again, I’m going to unpack and stay awhile. Only if you promise me one thing, she said, patting his chest.

What’s that?

You make sure the bite marks are not easily visible, she offered, taking her watery drink from the bar. She clicked it against the beer bottle he was now holding and made a small toast. Should we meet again, we will know.

We will know, he replied, providing a tender kiss to her temple and walking away.

Later, after she let herself into her hotel room, she was faced with the sound of a grizzly bear turning over and snarling at the salmon it was unable to catch. The loud snores of her mother reverberated against the walls. In some ways, she wanted to tell her mother of the nice man who made her feel alive again after nine months of pure hell, but she didn’t see a need. The trip to New York should have been her honeymoon. Instead, she shared a king-sized bed with her mother, who snored too loudly and took up all the covers. How that was even possible in a king-sized bed was beyond Fauvette’s imagination, but this is where she sat.

She’d never been the kind of woman to fling caution to the wind, even for a man as sexy as the one in the bar. It wasn’t who she was and no amount of loss or disappointment was going to turn her into that kind of woman, for any reason. Tomorrow, if the weather was willing, they would sightsee, and have lunch at a little bistro her mother had been dying to try, and she would get on with her life.

Tomorrow was a new day.

SHE DIDN’T WANT TO go to lunch. Fauvette pouted all the way to the Bistro on Avenue of the Americas which was filled with Wall Street types in expensive suits and too much arrogance. They’d arrived early enough to snag a table for three. At any moment, she expected some New Yorker to ask is this seat taken, take the chair, and move it to another table. The crowd was thick and a woman, middle aged with green eyes and a brown bob haircut, held a tray of food while looking for a place to sit. All the chairs were taken except the lone one at their table.

Over here, she heard her mother Birdie, say to the woman. You’re not going to grow any taller trying to eat standing up.

Thank you, the woman replied, maneuvering through the crowd to take a seat. It normally isn’t this packed on a Tuesday. I appreciate this.

Fauvette looked at her mother in shock. Her mother constantly bitched and moaned about not trusting people, yet she had invited a random stranger to sit at the table and have lunch with them as if it were an everyday occurrence. It all seemed to be going well, but then it got weird, followed