The Heart Remembers

The Heart RemembersRelease date: April 28, 2014
Life in Harbor Pines was placid and tranquil. Everything followed its usual pattern; everyone moved peacefully along through life. But one night it all blew up in Shelley Kimbrough’s face, and she was torn from the tracks of her habitual way of living.

That night Shelley learned about the frailties of love—and the strength of another woman’s treachery. It was a night that a triangle turned to tragedy.

by Peggy Gaddis

Classic
Sensuality Level: Behind Closed Doors

Author Bio:
Eroline Pearl Gaddis Dern (1895 – 1966) began her literary career editing trade jouBUY NOWrnals and fan magazines. For thirty years she wrote traditional romances for a single publisher, Arcadia House. For the last ten of those years she wrote principally nurse novels. She also wrote “love novels,” a romance genre invented by lending-library publishers that was considered a bit racier for the times.

 

An excerpt from The Heart Remembers:

The station agent stared at her in frank astonishment.

“There’s only one bus a day to Harbour Pines,” he told her. “That one leaves at nine forty-five in the morning.”

“But it’s only two o’clock in the afternoon now.” Shelley’s voice was a small wail of dismay as she looked uncertainly about the ugly little town clustered haphazardly about the railroad station.

“What do you want to go to Harbour Pines for, anyway?” demanded the station agent with such honest and lively curiosity that Shelley, unfamiliar with the interest and concern of small-town inhabitants for anything and everything outside their daily routine, did not understand his lack of intention to offend.

Her smoke-gray eyes darkened and she lifted her chin.

“I have business there,” she told him frostily.

But the station agent was unabashed and unconvinced.

“You’ve got business in Harbour Pines?” His tone was flatly skeptical as his eyes swept from the gay, silly little hat atop her burnished red-brown curls, over the well-cut gray suit, the smoky, green-gray tweed topcoat that swung from her shoulders. He shook his head. “That I don’t believe!”

Shelley gasped and her eyes were like silver-gray ice.

“Frankly, I can’t see that it’s any of your concern,” she told him sharply. “I merely asked you how one gets to Harbour Pines, since there is no railroad station there.”

The station agent was placidly undisturbed by her anger.

“Must be visitin’ somebody there,” he mused, his eyes taking her in with deep appreciation of her beauty, the smart, expensive clothes, the handsome luggage that surrounded her. “Still, I reckon not. Ain’t heard o’ nobody in Harbour Pines that was expectin’ company that’d look like you.”

And Shelley, realizing that he was as friendly as a puppy, as curious as a child and quite as innocent of any desire to be offensive, laughed and gave in.

“You win,” she told him lightly. “Since it interests you so much, I may as well confide in you. I have bought the Harbour Pines Journal and I intend to publish it.”