Love is a Battlefield (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers #1) - Whitney Dineen Page 0,3

I’ve already booked our flights. We have a beautiful suite being gifted to us by my client.”

“The flights were on frequent flier miles. You won’t lose those, and your client will surely invite you back another time.”

“No, Mom. Just no.”

“And yet, a promise is a promise. I’ll call Ruby and tell her we’ll be there Friday afternoon. I’m so grateful to have such a lovely and helpful daughter.”

Ignoring her blatant attempt at manipulation, I demand, “How in the world can you make up for missing a trip of a lifetime?”

Instead of answering my question, she says, “You won’t regret going to Oregon. Trust me.”

She knows how I feel about the Pacific Northwest. She knows I’d rather walk over broken glass followed by a stroll through a nest of cobras before returning to the scene of the incident—the final nasty prank in a long line of practical jokes that traumatized me for all further outdoorsy activity, short of a nice, sedate horseback ride or lying on a beach drinking rum cocktails, that is.

Libby Cooper has something else up her sleeve and I don’t want to know what it is. Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s any way to avoid it.

Chapter Two

The Mothers

“Well, how did it go?” Ruby Cavanaugh demands the moment Libby answers the phone.

“She’s not happy, but she’ll be there. How’s it going on your end?” Libby wonders.

“I’ve started acting preoccupied whenever I talk to the boys. It won’t be much longer before Brogan shows up wondering what’s wrong.”

With the cell phone wedged between her shoulder and ear, Libby pours half a bottle of white wine over her freshly roasted herb chicken before putting it back into the Viking oven. “Maybe we should just set Addie up with James. He lives right there in Spartan. Hang on a second,” she says as she places her phone on the counter and hits the speaker button.

“Addison has always hated Brogan way more than James. And you know what they say about love and hate. Don’t forget Shelly Smitton and Zane Cox.”

“We were surprisingly good matchmakers in college,” Libby agrees. “I just never anticipated we’d be doing it with our own kids.”

“It’s not like we haven’t given them plenty of time to figure out their own love lives. Let’s face it, once you hit your thirties, a motherly intervention is past due.”

“I can’t wait to see you, Rubes!”

“Me too, my friend. It’s been too long.”

Brogan

“Yo, Bro, have you talked to Mom lately?” James asks by way of greeting.

I closed the blackout curtains before going to bed, which leaves me lying here trying to figure out if it’s day or night.

“Brogan, are you there?” my brother persists.

“What time is it?” I croak as I sit up looking for the bottle of water I keep on my nightstand.

“Dude, it’s six o’clock in the morning. The day’s a wastin’.

“James, I didn’t go to bed until after two. As far as I’m concerned, it’s still the middle of the night.”

“What were you doing up so late?” he wants to know. “Did you have a hot date?”

I wish. “I promised my publisher I’d send some preliminary notes for the sequel to Crime Garden. They signed me on for two more books once it hit the New York Times Bestsellers list.”

“Props, man, congratulations!” James is way the hell too cheerful for me right now.

“Thank you. Now why are you calling at this ungodly hour?”

“I wanted to know if you’ve talked to Mom. She’s not acting like herself.”

“I’d be surprised if something wasn’t out of whack. Dad’s only been dead for a year.”

“I don’t think it’s that. She started behaving strangely about a week ago.”

“She’s got a lot on her plate with the lodge. I’ll call her later,” I tell him.

“Maybe she’s working too hard.”

“It’s good for her to have a distraction,” I say.

“Just check on her. Then call me back.”

“I’ll do it as soon I wake up. I’m going back to sleep for a few hours.”

“Don’t forget.”

I hang up without replying. Then I turn off my ringer. I lie still for a few minutes hoping sleep will take over, but once my writer brain turns on, it’s off and running.

I love my job. It’s the perfect occupation for a person who likes a quiet life. The only problem is that I regularly lose track of time, which can make interacting with the rest of humanity a bit challenging.

My mind drifts to my mom as I get out of bed to grab a couple of aspirin. She’s only sixty, nowhere near