"Gorgeous insecure hunk kind of sounds like an oxymoron doesn't it"
Reviewed by Sandra Wurman
Posted August 19, 2010
Romance
Sometimes there is no one left to trust or one's sense of
betrayal is so intense that leaving yourself vulnerable by
creating new relationships is out of the question. For a man
it seems even more devastating than for a woman since any
sign of vulnerability is viewed as weakness. So what is a
man supposed to do when faced with a life threatening
illness that also puts an immediate halt to his career. What
can a man do when his family turns their back on him instead
of supporting him through this crisis. There is no easy
solution and that is what Rufus Miller has to face and face
alone. Moving to his family's cabin in the wilderness of the small
town of Sentinel Pass he quickly becomes known as the towns
recluse and his interaction with townspeople is only for
necessities. As an outlet for his energy and creativity he
builds miniature houses of twigs, mud and berries -- anything
he finds and forages in the woods surrounding his cabin.
Enter Rachel Grey. Rachel has just been let go from her bean
counting job just another casualty of the economy but she
sees it as an opportunity to do something far more creative
which is designing websites and helping startup
entrepreneurs. A newcomer to Sentinel she is steered in
Rufus' direction as a possible client. She is at first
unsettled at this bear of a man who speaks like a mountain
man and between his beard, long hair and taste in clothing
seems to be in hiding or hibernation to say the least.
Little does she realize Rufus has been in a state of
hibernation but he sees something in Rachel that speaks to
him and as he spends more time with her she becomes
important. Rufus begins to feel that Rachel can be someone
he can trust and in time they share moments of their pasts
that had left each feeling insecure and unloved. And with
trust inevitably comes the moment when they realize the
sense of kinship and passion could lead to something much
more if only they are willing to take a chance. Taking a
chance means exposing themselves to the possibility of being
rejected but not taking the chance -- well that price would
be too high. Don't expect a little fluff piece with this book by Debra
Salonen. Rachel & Rufus' story is heartwarming and at the
same time blunt when confronting family issues. She drives
home the point rather eloquently that not everyone is lucky
when it comes to parents and sibling issues. Trust plays a
key role in the family dynamic between parents and children
and when that trust is broken it plays havoc with future
adult relationships. Enjoy.
SUMMARY
Rufus Miller is a mystery. It's the one fact the
entire town of Sentinel Pass can agree on. And Rufus has no
intentions of solving the riddle. He likes his privacy. His
cabin and his work suit him just fine, thanks. Then Rachel
Grey shows up. The energetic entrepreneur has decided
Rufus is her ideal client and is full of marketing ideas to
make him a household name. And he's tempted. Not by her
impressive strategy, but by her. Suddenly the guy
least likely to answer a direct question wants to open up.
Wants to share his space with her. Wants her to know all the
skeletons in his closet. And that urge to be with Rachel so
completely is the biggest mystery of all.
ExcerptSell the Porsche.Rachel Grey clutched her chest theatrically. "Mother,
I'd sell you into white slavery before I'd sell the Porsche.
It's the only thing I'm taking away from my marriage. A
marriage you pushed for, I might add." "The fact that you and Trevor never found the common
ground necessary to make your marriage a success is not my
fault," her mother stated imperiously. A recently
retired bank V.P, Rosaline Treadwell was a master at passing
the buck. "The car is completely impractical." "That's what I like best about it." Rachel crossed
her arms in a way her mother would recognize from the many
childish rebellions Rachel had fought—and
lost—over the years. She wasn't losing this
one—childish or not. "Forty thousand dollars could provide you with enough of
a cushion that you could stay in Denver and find a real job.
You wouldn't be reduced to working as a clerk in a tourist
trap." Her mom made a sweeping, all-encompassing gesture
that would have caused Rachel to die of embarrassment if the
establishment's owner, Char Jones, had been present. "Native Arts isn't a tourist trap. It's more of an art
gallery than a store. The local artists are amazing and I
love working here. The energy is…electrifying." Rosaline would never be so crass as to roll her eyes in
public, but Rachel could tell her mother had no interest in,
or respect for the creative process. She'd never forget an
argument they'd had her senior year of high school. "I've been accepted at a design school on the West
Coast, Mom. Isn't that great?" "Not if you plan to pay for it using the money I put
into your college fund. Accounting might not be as glamorous
as advertising, but it's a lot more predictable. Death and
taxes are never going out of style." That had been the beginning of a month-long battle. In the
end, Rachel had opted to stay in Denver, live at home and
graduate from business school with an emphasis on accounting
and statistics. The chief lesson Rachel learned from this
was the person whose hand controlled the purse strings had
the most pull. Too bad the same was true about love. The
person who pulled the most strings controlled the
pocketbook—broken marriage vows or no broken marriage
vows. "The nature of this business isn't the point, is
it?" Rachel asked, shifting impatiently from one
well-broken-in UGG boot to the other. "Even retail might
be acceptable if the high-end designer boutique were back
home, right? Please don't take this the wrong way, Mother,
but I'm moving to the Black Hills to get away from Denver." "Away from me, you mean." Rachel heaved a sigh and shook her head. "I knew you'd
take it the wrong way. Mom, I need a fresh start, a clean
break. Why can't you see that and support my
decision—even if it's the wrong decision? Just this
once." Her mother's carefully painted lips pressed together in a
way Rachel knew all too well. Rosaline Treadwell would have
made a fabulous wartime general. "Never lose sight of
your goal," she'd admonished so often in Rachel's
childhood, Rachel had threatened to have it engraved on her
mother's tombstone. What Rosaline couldn't understand was
she and her daughter had different ideas about what
constituted a goal. Mom held up one perfectly manicured hand and listed her
complaints, finger by finger. "My daughter is moving to
a new state with no job, no real home and only a vague idea
of what she wants to do with her life. And I'm supposed to
be happy about that?" "And a forty-thousand-dollar sports car," Rachel added. Her mother's eyes narrowed. "In the dead of winter,"
her mother finished, waving her pinkie for emphasis. "I
honestly don't understand you, Rachel. Are you certain you
don't want to try therapy?" That subject had been covered at length in a recent
e-mail that had included links to several outpatient clinics
in the greater Denver area and one in Taos, New
Mexico—so no one from the bank would hear about her
daughter's collapse, Rachel assumed. Rachel didn't bother trying to repress her sigh. "I'll
make you a deal, Mom. If Sentinel Pass doesn't work
out—if I'm flat broke and miserable a year from
now—I'll move home and see any doctor you want. Okay?" There was a pause of a heartbeat or two before her mom said,
"Are you absolutely certain you're not here to try to
meet a man? Maybe an actor from that silly TV show,
Sentinel Passtime? My friends are concerned that
you've become addicted to the glamorous lifestyle you had
with Trevor and can't give it up." Rachel's shudder came from deep inside. "Are those the
same friends who pushed you to introduce me and Trevor in
the first place? I promise you I'm done with pretty-boy
prima donnas." She paused. "Wait. Can a man be a
prima donna? Wouldn't that make him a prima Donald?" Her mother's slow, dramatic inhale made Rachel rush to get
back on topic. "Mom, I married superficial charm once in
my life, and once was enough. If I ever fall in love again,
it's going to be with a plain, down-to-earth,
what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of man. Homely, hook-nose,
bald, whatever. Looks only count in advertising. I learned
that the hard way." Her mother didn't seem convinced, but she set aside the
topic of love and returned to the one of location.
"Please explain why you chose this town, Rachel. A
small, flash-in-the-pan overnight sensation. I know you and
your brother are close, and I will admit that Kat has grown
on me. I understand your wanting to help plan their wedding,
but surely you can do that from Denver." I could, but that's not the point. "Mom, face
it. There's nothing for me in Denver. The big, beautiful
house that Trevor was so quick to get listed on the
celebrity home tour is as good as sold. Thanks to the crazy
economy, my dependable accounting job is history. Last
hired, first fired." A job her mother got for her and
Rachel had never really liked, although she had, toward the
end of her employment, found ways to make it her own. "I
like this place." Rosaline didn't reply. "I like the people. I love my future sister-in-law and
her sons. I can't wait to be part of the Wine, Women and
Words book club. Char is a gas. We bonded when she came back
from her trip to California, and I feel as though we have a
true friendship blossoming. I need that." "Fine. Do what you want. You always have." It took every bit of self-control Rachel possessed not to
scream, "What are you talking about? I usually do what
you want. And always have." True, mother and daughter had butted heads most of Rachel's
life. But in the end, her intelligent, opinionated and
strong-willed mother almost always got her
way—Rachel's father had insisted on it when he was alive. Rachel wasn't sure what was fueling her current rebellion.
Maybe Jack's unexpected too-early-for-midlife crisis was the
catalyst. Her straight-arrow, look-before-you-leap brother
shocked everyone when he bought a motorcycle, rode to the
Black Hills and fell in love with Kat, a single mom with two
sons. Rachel felt a little sheepish trailing after her big brother
this way, but Jack knew about her secret dream to open her
own Web design and online marketing company. Probably a
foolish plan given the fact she lacked any real training or
experience, but she'd dabbled in Web design for years. In
fact, the mock-up she'd done for Trevor the day after they
met at her mother's big charity golf event had impressed him
so much he'd asked her out. He claimed to have been blown
away by her innate ability to grasp the inner Trevor Grey.
The man behind the public persona. She'd been flattered. He'd played to her ego and swept her
off her feet. When he asked her to marry him, her instincts
told her to slow down and see how they gelled over time. But
her mother had berated Rachel's cold feet. "Only a fool
would pass up a fine catch like Trevor Grey," Mom had said. So, Rachel ignored her misgivings and let herself become
swept away by the energy and craziness of planning her own
wedding. Afterward, her mother walked around for weeks with
a copy of InStyle's Celebrity Bridal edition to
show her friends. Unfortunately, Trevor wasn't good at math. He didn't
understand that one plus one was supposed to equal two, not
three or four or as many meaningless trysts as he wanted.
Besides feeling angry and humiliated, Rachel slowly came to
realize her self-confidence had suffered the biggest blow.
She'd failed to trust her instincts. What if she made the
same mistake again? That mistrust was one reason she was moving away from
Denver. Away from her mother. Mom had made it clear a long
time ago how much stock she put in creative endeavors. The
less she knew about Rachel's current plans, the better. At
the moment, Rachel and Jack had agreed to let Mom believe
that she was here temporarily to plan his wedding and do
some fill-in jobs until Jack's new dental office was up and
running. "I need to start setting out the Christmas displays for
Char," she said, gesturing toward a stack of boxes.
"And you don't want to get caught in traffic when you
reach Denver, right? Drive carefully and call me when you
get home, okay?" Rachel could tell there was a lot more that her mother
wanted to say, but Rosaline managed to contain herself by
pressing her lips together for several seconds before she
gave Rachel a quick, perfunctory hug then walked away. Rosaline paused at the door of her Cadillac Seville but
didn't wave at Rachel. Instead, she scowled at Rachel's
small, midnight blue payoff for a quick, quiet divorce. Her mother was right, of course. They both knew it. Rachel
would have been smart to sell the car months ago, before the
economy took a downward spiral. But as long as she was
driving the Porsche she could pretend that she'd come out of
her marriage ahead. That her spirit was strong and vital
like the perfectly tuned engine under the sleek, sexy hood.
That she wasn't damaged goods, someone to be pitied. Or
worse, such a lousy wife she couldn't keep a husband. If Rachel were a bigger person, she would have admitted that
she'd listed the car online last week and had several very
promising responses, including one from a guy in Denver. She
planned to meet him next week when she returned home to
finish packing her stuff. A trip her mother knew nothing about. Rachel felt an uncomfortable pressure on her chest as she
watched the Caddie pull out of the gravel parking lot onto
the highway. Bad daughter, she silently castigated.
But she had her reasons for keeping mum on both subjects. For one, if her mother knew exactly how precarious Rachel's
finances were, Rosaline would have felt compelled to offer
Rachel a loan. Or worse, an advance on her inheritance.
Either way, the money would have been one more blow to
Rachel's pride. Secondly, Rachel didn't want her plans to interfere with
Rosaline's golf getaway to Florida. With any luck, Mom would
be so charmed by the weather, she'd become a snowbird like
several of her friends. Which probably sounded like a
terrible thing for a daughter to think, but, at the moment,
distance sounded like the best way to keep her mother out of
her business. Was she crazy to risk everything on an unproven business in
a remote corner of the world? Mom would certainly say so.
But Rachel knew that the Internet didn't care where you
lived, if you were good at your job. But was she? That
remained to be seen. She could crunch numbers with the best of them, but could
she blend that left-brain functionality with her right
hemisphere's love of art, color and composition? She fished a bright, glossy business card out of the front
pocket of her jeans. WebHead—Designed to Sell, Rachel
Treadwell Grey, owner. She would have given one to her
mother if she thought for a moment that Mom would have been
happy for her. Despite their differences, Rachel loved her mother, and
wishing things were different between them was a waste of
effort. She set her card on the counter, intending to leave
it by the register for Char after she finished unpacking the
dozen or so boxes. She grabbed the retractable box cutter and was poised to
slice into the largest of the designated boxes when her cell
phone started playing "Red, Red Wine"—the ring
tone she'd given Char. "Hi. How's Spearfish?" Char had gone to the northern Hills town to register for
classes at Black Hills State College. "It would be
better if I'd called first—as you suggested. The
registrar's office is closed for Thanksgiving break, for
heaven's sake. What's wrong with me?" Rachel smiled. "You're in love. And you're excited about
starting a new phase of your life. I understand completely
since I'm doing the same thing." She coughed. "Well,
not the going-back-to-college or falling-in-love parts,
but…" She let out a small howl of frustration.
"You know what I mean." Char's laugh was inclusive, not mean-spirited. "I do. I
truly do. And, trust me, Sentinel Pass is the perfect place
to reinvent yourself. Worked for me." That was true. Char Jones had started with very little,
built a business, created a diverse network of friends and
reconnected with the love of her life—and the son
she'd given up for adoption. And, thanks to Rachel's
tweaking of the Native Arts' Web site, Char's online sales
had doubled from this time last year. A fact that encouraged
Rachel to believe she was on the right track, career-wise. "So, are you coming straight back?" "No. I drove to Sturgis to see Damien and Eli. It's such
a nice, clear day we've decided to hike to the top of Bear
Butte for a picnic." Rachel leaned sideways to look out the large picture window
at the front of the store. A small amount of snow remained
in piles near the edge of the highway, but the bright winter
sun seemed to hold a special sparkle. "Cool," she
said. "Some might say chilly." "Some already have," Char returned, a laugh in her
voice. "Damien is such a California kid. His blood
hasn't had time to acclimate, but Eli bought him some new
boots and heavy wool socks. He'll be fine." Spoken like a true mother. A supportive,
your-kid-can-do-no-wrong kind of mother.
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