Prejudice Meets Pride by Rachael Anderson
After years of pinching pennies and struggling to get through art school, Emma Makie’s hard work finally pays off with the offer of a dream job. But when tragedy strikes, she has no choice but to make a cross-country move to Colorado Springs to take temporary custody of her two nieces. She has no money, no job prospects, and no idea how to be a mother to two little girls, but she isn’t about to let that stop her. Nor is she about to accept the help of Kevin Grantham, her handsome new neighbor, who seems to think she’s incapable of doing anything on her own.
Fun, compelling, and romantic, Prejudice Meets Pride is the story of a guy who thinks he has it all figured out and a girl who isn't afraid to show him that he doesn't. It’s about learning what it means to trust, figuring out how to give and to take, and realizing that not everyone gets to pick the person they fall in love with. Sometimes, love picks them.
Enjoy an Excerpt from Prejudice Meets Pride
Every part of
Kevin screamed at him not to take it. He didn’t want it or need it. Why
couldn’t she let it go and forget about it? Why wouldn’t she let him ease some
of her burdens? He wanted to—so much. It was killing him how much. But then he
looked from the envelope to her eyes, and in that instant, he knew he couldn’t
turn down the money. She needed him to accept it.
So
he did, though he hated himself for it. To him, forty bucks was pocket change.
To her, it was a weeks’ worth of groceries. “Thanks,” he mumbled.
“Thank
you for loaning it to me.”
“Anytime.”
His eyes captured and held hers. “I mean it, Emma. Anytime.”
“I
know,” she said softly.
That
would have to be enough for now. Kevin fingered the envelope, wishing there was
something he could do. Something she’d let him do. “Would you like to
borrow my lawnmower?” he asked tentatively, worried the question would make her
go all ape on him again. “It works.”
Emma’s
hand covered her mouth, muffling a strangled sound. Was that a sob or a
snicker? Kevin couldn’t tell. Please don’t let her be crying. He never
knew what to say or do when a woman got all weepy.
The
sound came again, and Emma’s eyes filled with suppressed humor. Whew. It was a
snicker. She was trying not to laugh. Did that mean he could press his luck? He
gestured toward his mower. “Or, I could always mow it for—”
“No.”
And just like that, all traces of humor were gone. “I’ll mow my own lawn,
thanks. Then I’ll clean it up, refill it with gas, and return it to you in
better shape than before. Because that’s what you do when you borrow
something.” It sounded rehearsed—a lesson ingrained in her by parents or
someone else. “And then I’ll find a way to repay you for everything else you’ve
done for me. Because I hate—hate—being in your debt.”
Kevin
stepped forward and rested his hands on Emma’s shoulders, still clutching the
envelope. He shook her shoulders lightly until those beautiful gray eyes met
his. “Emma, you don’t owe me anything.”
“Yes,
I do.”
“No,
you don’t.”
“Yes—”
“No,
you don’t,” he said firmly, then held the envelope in front of her face. “As
far as I’m concerned, this makes us square.”
She
didn’t try to say anything this time, only continued to stare at him with eyes
that he could drown in. He lowered his hand from her mouth and shoved the
envelope in the back pockets of his jeans, where he felt another envelope
containing the art gallery tickets.
He
pulled them out. “And speaking of not owing me anything, I happen to have two
tickets for some big art gallery show tonight in Denver. They were given to me
and didn’t cost a dime,” he quickly added. “Would you like to go?”
Her
eyes clouded in confusion. “With you?”
No,
with Sam or even Becky. Anyone but him. He was taking Nicole out tonight,
not Emma. Nicole. If only his heart would stop pounding on his chest to
say, “Yeah. With me.” The words were out before he could stop them. “I can see
if Sam’s available to watch the girls.”
“You
mean like a date?” Emma said.
Did
he mean that? Kevin wasn’t sure. Everything that had seemed so clear moments
before suddenly became murky and garbled. “How about we call it two friends
hanging out? Something tells me you could really use a break.”
The
confusion left her eyes, and she frowned. “Great. So now I’m the charity case
again.”
Worried
that he’d inadvertently turned up the heat on a pot that had only just begun to
simmer, Kevin amended, “I meant a date. It’s like a date.”
Coming Soon...
Author Rachael Anderson
A USA Today bestselling author, Rachael Anderson is the mother of four and is pretty good at breaking up fights, or at least sending guilty parties to their rooms. She can't sing, doesn't dance, and despises tragedies. But she recently figured out how yeast works and can now make homemade bread, which she is really good at eating.
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