I am thankful to call Taylor Dean my friend. She is a wonderful author and a sweet soul. I’ve read all of her books so far except this one which is on my list! If you search my blog for Taylor Dean, you can find the book reviews I’ve done of her other books.
Stone Silence is part of a three book series.
One: Stone Silence, Spencer’s Story
Two: Jailbird, Mia’s Story (Releases 12/1/2017)
Three: Hothouse Flower, Shay’s Story (Releases 1/1/2018)
Each book has a happy ending and there are no cliffhangers. They are not standalones and should be read in order.
Stone Silence by Taylor Dean
Great big beautiful love.
Does it really exist?
Everyone tells me it does. They say, “Spencer Elliott, don’t worry, you’ll find it one day. You just have to find the right man and when you do, it will surprise the heck out of you.”
I’m still waiting for that heck of a surprise to hit. It has proven to be elusive thus far. I’m pretty sure the entire world is lying about love and the joke is on me.
I know I want a man in my heart and in my life. Unfortunately, most men immediately push my OFF button and I lose interest quickly.
Feeling pressure to prove I’m trying to find my soulmate, I finally give in and agree to a date. Huge mistake. Afterward I find myself abandoned in the middle of nowhere, in desperate need of help.
That’s when I meet Stony by chance.
He’s a silent and unsmiling man who intrigues me with his ability to keep going after life has knocked him down. Suddenly the abstract notion of love becomes tangible and within my reach. Once I experience it, I wonder how I ever lived without it.
That’s when I stay with Stony by choice.
But when Stony’s hidden past and present-day reality collide, his silence is broken. And the truth about his life nearly brings me to my knees. I can’t compete with ghosts from the past.
I refuse to fight for a man’s love. He either loves me or he doesn’t. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.
My only hope is . . . he does.
“He kicked me out of the car. I’ve been walking for hours. Please, if you could just . . .”
“No,” he says emphatically with a raised voice. Then again it’s as if he’s quietly speaking to himself. “I can’t do this. I’m not ready.”
“No?” I ask, feeling unbelief. If he’ll just let me finish a sentence, I’ll ask him for water and be on my way. “I just want a . . .”
“Roby’s just up the road,” he interrupts.
“Please, just a . . .”
“Someone will help you there,” he says with finality.
There’s a reason this guy lives all by himself in the boondocks.
He’s about as friendly as a rabid dog. I doubt there’s a prince hiding underneath his stern demeanor. Only a beast.
Our eyes lock for a few moments. I implore him for help and I’m met with an unyielding gaze. I feel like I just ran into a rock wall. Hard.
Help is not here. Help is not anywhere. Despair engulfs me and I feel utterly defeated. I war between begging and my pride. My pride wins and
that’s my downfall. “Never mind,” I whisper as my voice cracks. The impending rain will save me. I’ll cup my hands and drink to my heart’s content. I’ll find someone else to help me. Surely there’s another house down the road.
If there isn’t, it doesn’t matter. If I’m going to survive, I have to save myself.
There’s no sign of compassion in this man. I cast a longing-filled glance at his motorhome and wonder if I can make a run for it and attack his faucet before Mr. Unfriendly even has the chance to get down from his ladder.
I know I don’t have the strength, so I turn to leave.
My gait is wobbly and I falter. The buzzing in my head increases in volume. My head feels as though it has turned into one huge pulsing heartbeat. I don’t want to die out here. It strikes me as odd that I might die in the middle of the heartland because I couldn’t find anyone to help me. So much for friendship being the Texas state motto. Maybe they should remind their residents to act accordingly.
I hear a deep sigh from behind me. I don’t know how I hear it above the roar in my head. It sounds as though it’s miles away and yet whispered in
my ear. Then the man says something unintelligible under his breath as his conscience gets the best of him. I hear that loud and clear.
“Wait,” he says. “I’m sorry. Of course I’ll help you. Please come back.”
Slowly, I turn to face him, ready to express my gratitude. The clouds roll in at that very moment and the sky darkens. A few raindrops land on
my face and I instinctively turn my head toward the heavens, hoping moisture will inadvertently land in my waiting mouth.
Instead, the simple act of moving my head leaves me reeling and the lights go out as I fall to the ground in a crumpled heap.
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