Redemption is live!
Redemption
A Fallen Angels Paranormal Romance Collection
Perfection is impossible, even for this collection of angels.
Once esteemed immortals find themselves banished from the heavenly realm and condemned to a life on Earth amongst the mortals, unless they find a way back through the veil.
Before they can find redemption they must first learn how to navigate their new life.
Will they find a new appreciation for humanity and choose this life over the one they were created for?
Grab this limited edition collection now before it disappears beyond the veil.
Includes the Angels in the Afterlife Story, Christmas Angel.
Blub for Christmas Angel:
Being fully transparent is good for a relationship, right? Well, maybe not when it’s literal.
Christmas Angel is a second-chance, holiday romance with a celestial twist. Jake’s been sent back to earth to mend fences with his ex. Or has he? Certainly Tony doesn’t seem to think that's the case.
Tony might have ninety-nine problems—and then some—between dealing with his meddlesome family AND running the family business (a Christmas tree farm in rural Texas) but he's pretty sure that playing catch-up with his ex-husband isn’t supposed to be one of them.
It’s a little hard to imagine what kind of future the two of them could have when only one of them is alive.
I do love grumpy heroes. And Christmas Angel has TWO of them! Here's Tony:
Just to be clear, I never asked for this job. Cedar Lane Farms is and always was my parents’ dream; not mine. But when the dad who sacrificed his whole life for you and your siblings gets sick, and when your entire family’s future livelihood depends on someone being willing to step in and keep the farm running while he’s laid up…well, you do what you have to.
And when you also find out, in that self-same moment, that the person you thought would always be there to support you is a heartless, self-centered prick, you don’t even think twice.
Still, it’s been five years. Five years since I closed the door on the life that I thought I wanted and the marriage that was supposed to have been forever. Five years that I’ve been working here without a single break. It’s kind of a lot.
Quiet settles around me as I set about closing up shop for the night. Tthe sense of being alone is like a weighted blanket, heavy on my shoulders in a not-in-the-least-bit-comforting kind of way. I should be used to this, or getting used to it, by now.
I should man up, stop whining and just count my blessings. Starting with the fact that it’s a beautiful evening. Golden Hour. That time of day when the setting sun gilds everything in its path. And yes, my allergies are acting up like they do every winter—cedar fever kicking my butt as per usual. But still…I’m home. And for all its faults, the Texas Hill Country is still my favorite place in all the world to be.
And maybe it’s been a tough year—the latest in a string of tough years. But even with a lack of rain and record heat waves, we’re doing okay, you know? The new programs and events I’ve developed have finally started to pay off. Projections for next year are looking good, better than anything we’ve seen in a while. I’m even starting to think that maybe I do have what it takes to be a farmer after all.
Good thing, too. Because with my father’s neuropathy still flaring up from time to time—like it’s doing right now, for example—he’s not taking the reins back any time soon. If ever. And, speaking of my father, while I hate to see him in pain, I can’t lose sight of the most important thing, which is that his cancer is still in remission.
The rest of the family is also doing well. My mom, my sister, her husband, their kids are all in good health and reasonably happy. And, hallelujah, my little brother will be heading off to college in the fall. Can I get an Amen?
Lord knows, I love that kid to pieces, but we’ve been at each other’s throats since I moved back home. A little time apart can only improve our relationship.
But despite all the good things in my life, I’m still feeling down. Because, you see, I have this vision in my head of what my perfect Christmas would look and feel like. And every year that misses the mark, leaves me more and more depressed. The fact that my dream Christmas is based on the memory of a real Christmas only makes it worse.
Honestly, I think I’d feel a lot better if I could convince myself that the whole thing had never happened, that falling in love that Christmas was a fantasy. Or failing that, a goal for the future, something that I could still forward to, not something I had once and lost.
After finishing up at the shop, I lock the door and head back across the parking lot toward the rustic white farmhouse where I grew up. But then the low, rumbling growl of a powerful engine turning off the highway catches my attention and slows my steps.
“Who the fuck is this now?” I mutter as I stop to watch the showy, big-ass motorcycle cruise up our lane. The fancy paint job—metallic red and creamy white, Santa Claus colors—is right on point for the season. All that’s missing is a wreath between the handlebars. Which, I guess, must be what he’s here for since no one in their right mind would attempt to carry a Christmas tree home on a bike, not even a super-sized, full-dress tourer like this one. Then again, considering that biker Santa is wearing a red and white stocking cap in lieu of a helmet, who’s to say that he is in his right mind?
He’s a ginger. His hair, what I can see of it beneath the hat, gleams copper in the sunlight. He’s got the kind of rangy build I tend to fall for, a dark, scruffy beard; and my heart clenches at the sight of him. Even though I know it’s just my imagination playing tricks on me, like it tends to do this time of year, I’ll be damned if this jerk-off doesn’t remind me of my ex.
Except for the beard and the longish hair. Those are totally out of character. And…wait a minute. Is this dickhead smoking a cigar? Yes, he sure as fuck is. Which clinches the matter. I’ve never known anyone more dedicated to the preservation of his own health and well-being than my former husband. So, this must be some sort of Christmas-memory induced madness messing with my senses—more gravy than grave, as Scrooge would have it. Because Death-Wish Dude here can’t be Jake.
Except… Holy Guacamole. As he slows to a stop, close enough for his eyes to meet mine, I realize that this is, in fact, my very own Ghost of Christmas Past. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jake. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Whoa. Nice language,” Jake scolds. “You sing Christmas carols with that mouth?”
“Do I what?”
“You know: ’Tis the season, and all of that? What else are you gonna do with your mouth this time of year?”
“Well, I can think of a few things, actually,” I’m goaded into replying. And then immediately regret it when I catch sight of the twinkle in Jake’s eyes. It’s a very familiar twinkle and it hits me like a punch in the gut.
“Oh, I’m sure you can.”
“Fuck. You.”
“That an offer?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Also, don’t make me ask you this a third time, either. Why. Are. You. Here?”
Jake spreads his hands in a what-can-you-do gesture. “Wasn’t my idea. I’m here because you want me to be.”
“I do not!”
“Beg to differ. Apparently, I’m the answer to your prayers.”
“The hell you are.”
“Okay, could we please not mention the burny place? You asked for a Christmas miracle, right? Well, that’s me.”
“But I— No. Stop!” I hold up a hand. “Do not get off your bike, Jake. I mean it. You’re notstaying.”
Of course, he ignores me. Because I guess some things really never do change. He swings his leg over the bike, sets the kick stand and then, cigar still in hand, saunters over to where I’m waiting with my arms crossed, still glaring at him in helpless fury.
“Look,” Jake says. “I don’t make the rules, all right? My best guess is that someone up in Heaven has a twisted sense of humor, because when you asked for help, they decided to send me.”
“I did not ask for help. And if I had, it wouldn’t have been from you. I know better’n that by now. Been there, done that, burned the bridge.”
“So not how that saying goes.”
