The Men of Thorne Island

The Men of Thorne Island
Cynthia Thomason

When Sara Crawford arrives on Thorne Island, she discovers that her inheritance is nothing like the photo in the glossy brochure the lawyer presented. For a start, the dock's about to collapse into the lake. And The Cozy Cove Inn, so charmingly depicted in the pamphlet, is in desperate need of a paintbrush and a vacuum.Another detail–not mentioned in the advertising or in her aunt's will–is the fact that the island has four longterm inhabitants, each with an unbreakable lease. Three intensely private, cantankerous recluses who want no part of Sara's improvement plans. And one cynical, sexy man with a secret who is equally opposed to change.But Sara's never backed away from a challenge. And Nick Bass is the most attractive challenge she's met in a long time!

“If you’ve come to kill me, you’ll have to use a gun.”

When the full impact of the man’s statement registered, Sara didn’t know whether to laugh or run from the room. “What a horrible thing to say,” she commented.

His ancient office chair squeaked as he slowly turned to face her. “Not to someone creeping around my house, it isn’t.”

“I wasn’t creeping,” Sara responded. “What would be the point of creeping after riding in that boat with the earsplitting motor? Don’t tell me you didn’t hear us arrive?”

“Of course I heard Winkelman’s boat. I just figured Winkie had forgotten the toilet paper or something and was dropping it off. I sure never thought he was leaving behind a snooping female.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “So now I’m creeping and snooping?”

He raised his hands as if he was stating the obvious. “Look,” he said. “You came into my place without so much as a hoot or a holler and tiptoed up to my room like a typical nosy woman.”

“Let’s get one thing straight. This is my place and I’ll walk around in it any way I please!”

That seemed to get him. His eyes registered the shock of bad news, then narrowed with irritation.

Sara couldn’t help noticing that those eyes were a startling shade of gray.

Dear Reader,

I’ve spent most of my life fixing things. As a teacher, I strove to improve young minds. When I became a licensed auctioneer, and my husband and I bought an auction house, my penchant for mending and refreshing became more tangible. I polished silver until it gleamed, and viewed every old piece of furniture and flea-market find as a potential heirloom.

It was only natural that the heroine of my first contemporary novel would be a fixer, too. But when Sara Crawford inherits a run-down inn and a neglected vineyard on a Lake Erie island and resolves to renovate, she doesn’t know she’ll have to fix the island’s four inhabitants, as well.

I hope you enjoy sharing Sara’s determined and sometimes humorous efforts to bring joy and purpose back to the lives of the men of Thorne Island. And when her persistence clashes with one sexy, stubborn man with a secret, she learns that her own priorities could use a little revamping themselves.

I’d love to hear from you. E-mail me at cynthoma@aol.com. Visit my Web site at www.cynthiathomason.com, or write me at P.O. Box 550068, Fort Lauderdale, Florida 33355.

Cynthia Thomason

The Men of Thorne Island

Cynthia Thomason

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

To my son, John, whose strong opinions matter, and whose artistry with the English language has always made me proud.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER ONE

SARA CRAWFORD entered her office at precisely eight-thirty on Monday morning, walked halfway across the plum-colored carpet and stopped dead. “Whatever that is, it can’t be good,” she muttered. “Especially this close to tax deadline.” The red-and-white Federal Express envelope on top of her desk had all the appeal of a hurricane warning flag on a Fort Lauderdale beach.

Tossing her purse and briefcase on a chair, she headed for the chrome credenza lining one wall. Before she could even think about tackling the contents of the package, she needed to deal with the coffee machine.

A crusty brown stain in the bottom of the glass pot did more to irritate her than her assistant being late again. Sara carried the pot into her bathroom, dribbled a few drops of detergent over the burned-on mess and filled the pot with steaming hot water.

Then she sat at her desk and picked up the cardboard envelope addressed to Sara Crawford, CPA. It wasn’t particularly thick, so maybe it didn’t contain a late-filing client’s tax records. Nor was the return address familiar: Herbert Adams, Attorney, Cleveland, Ohio. Puzzled but relieved, she reached for her letter opener.

“Oh, hell! Look at the time.”