Welcome today as we talk to pretty awesome author. Ruth J. Hartman is here, and is a fellow Melange author and cat lover, as she talks about her book Grin & Barrett.
Remmie Grin is a self-sufficient dentist who has her life right where she wants it.
That is, until handsome, flirty Dr. Victor Barrett moves in next door. He constantly bugs her about selling her practice to him—but she’s not budging.
How can she convince him to leave her alone when all she really wants him to do is kiss her again?
Grabbing the sides of the wooden stepladder, Remmie Grin squinted against the bright sunlight. The sign she’d hung in her front window tilted, just a little. Rats. She’d have to climb back up there to straighten it. Did the New Patients Welcome sound too pathetic? Did that sound as desperate as she felt? She’d like to kick the new dentist who was moving in right next door. Hard.
How obnoxious could he be? With all the empty buildings in town, why did Dr. What’s-his-name have to come breathing down her neck? It made her want to spit. She wrinkled her nose. She’d worked her fanny off building her practice. Now she’d have to compete with the new guy. She wanted to claw at his ugly face.
This new dentist wouldn’t know what hit him. When she was through with him, he’d be nothing more than a pile of dirt on the sidewalk. And as for the man’s lawyers, she’d like to take a hunk out of their hide, too. Did they really think that calling her every single day would change her mind about selling her practice to them? Since they’d never revealed the name of the dentist, she’d have to come up with a name on her own. Hmmm. Gargoyle? Tarantula? Nah. Those names were too pretty for someone as repugnant as him. The creep.
A deep velvety voice shot tingles down her spine. She turned and stared. A Greek god with ice blue eyes and salt and pepper hair stared back. Oh my. Would he object if she reached up and tousled that perfect hair? Her gaze traveled down to his massive shoulders. The fabric of his sports shirt straining over hard muscles. He must be a stranger in town because she’d never laid eyes on anyone as pretty as him.
“Thanks.” Her breathing became shallow.
“So, you’re taking new patients?”
“Yep.” She crossed her arms. “Why, are you looking for a dentist?” What she wouldn’t give to have him in her dental chair right now. His luscious lips close enough for her to lean down and….
“Oh.” Drat. She had such dreamy plans for him.
“Just admiring the scenery.”
He turned away from her and headed down the block.
No! She didn’t want him to leave. “Wait, the scenery?” She frowned. It took four seconds for it to sink in that he’d meant her. Yikes. And he’d just walked away? How was that fair? It wasn’t as if she got compliments from handsome men every day of the week. Not even the occasional Tuesday.
She blew out a frustrated breath as she picked up the lightweight stepladder, lugging it back inside her office. She leaned it against her front counter and snapped her hand back. She looked at her palm. A splinter, of course. Picking at the tiny wound only irritated her skin more. Hmmm. Too bad the handsome stranger from the sidewalk hadn’t stayed. She’d gladly let him get out her splinter. Which would involve him holding her hand. Kissing her neck, her face, and her lips. She sighed. But he hadn’t. So, she needed to put on her fuchsia big girl panties and get to work.
The town she lived in was small, so maybe she’d run into him again some time. At the very least, her postal carrier, June, knew everything about everyone. Maybe she would have a clue who the stranger was. If Remmie knew June, she’d have the stranger’s coffee preference, shoe size, and contents of his glove compartment in no time.
Ruth J. Hartman spends her days cleaning teeth, and her nights spinning sweet romantic tales that make you giggle, laugh, and all-out guffaw. She, her husband, and their two cats, love to spend time curled up in their recliners watching old Cary Grant movies. Well, the cats, Maxwell and Roxy, sit in the people's recliners. Not that the cats couldn't get their own furniture. They just choose to shed on someone else's. You know how selfish those little furry creatures can be.
Ruth, a left-handed, tooth-scraping, Jeep driving, farmhouse-dwelling romance writer uses her goofy sense of humor as she writes tales of lovable, klutzy women and the men who adore them. Ruth's husband and best friend, Garry, reads her manuscripts, rolls his eyes at her weird story ideas, and loves her in spite of her penchant for insisting all of her books have at least one cat in them. Or twelve. But hey, who's counting?