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The Courageous Bride’s Unexpected Family

When Rosie showed up on Jeff’s doorstep, she never expected to find her lost love and a loving family in his home. How can she protect them, when as a figure from their past is coming to take her away?

When the determined and beautiful Rosie Quin saw her one true love and savior leave their town, all her hope was lost. She was left alone at the saloon of the cruel Tobias Cox. When she could take his beatings no more, she ran away.

When the strong and kind Jeff Kiney lost his wife at childbirth, he thought his chance on love was lost too. Having difficulty in connecting with their little daughter, his only saviour is another mother figure.

When Rosie, his old love, turns up on Jeff’s doorstep seeking shelter, they find themselves attracted to each other.

Could Rosie be the blessing that Jeff was searching for and Jeff be the knight in shining armour that Rosie needed?

But now, Tobias comes after Rosie and Jeff for revenge, and it all comes down to one choice.

Will Rosie and Jeff defeat their demons from their past and finally be able to create a loving family, or will Tobias’s fury tears down their hopes forever?

Written by:

Western Historical Romance Author


Brookmeade, Montana


“You have to leave, Rosie. You have to go. Tonight. He’s going to kill you. You understand me? He’s going to kill you…”

Rosie Quin felt the sting in her left eye as a tear rolled down her swollen and raw cheek. Lingering tastes of copper were in her mouth as Tracy dabbed at the cut left behind by Tobias’ golden ring. It had lacerated her once smooth skin which, had now become weathered from the repeated abuse of a man whom she just could not seem to break free of.

“He’s getting worse,” Tracy said. “He cannot stop his drinking. He indulges it more and more every night. You know this just as I do…”

The lantern on the table where they sat emitted a dull glow throughout the otherwise darkened saloon, the blood on Rosie’s cornflower blue prairie dress appearing black in the light. It had been a few hours since last call, and the drunkards still lingering throughout the town were laughing and frolicking outside as the black of night slowly crept toward the first glimpses of dawn.

“I want to see,” Rosie said, tenderly touching her swollen face as she jutted her chin to the hand mirror next to her.

Tracy sighed, shaking her head as she rested her palm on the handle of the mirror. “I don’t think you should—”

“I want to see,” Rosie insisted.

Tracy coiled her fingers around the pearl handle and held it up to Rosie’s face, her lips tightening into a fine line as she looked away from Rosie’s battered and swollen features.

Rosie felt her single tear turn into many as she soaked in her reflection. She wept as the tears fell and peppered the wooden table that had yet to be cleared of the empty bottles. The glasses still sported faint scents of whiskey and beer left behind by the denizens who, like her, were just trying to cope by any means necessary so they could make it through to the next day.

She looked at her face, her fresh, twenty-four-year-old features having seemingly aged five years thanks mainly to Tobias Cox. Her oblong-shaped face was now pulpy on the left side, her lidded hazel-brown eyes now puffy and red, her tanned skin now sporting blotches of purple and black, and her blond hair, usually straightened and kempt, was now tousled and unruly.

She couldn’t look at herself anymore, batting away the mirror and standing up from the table as she lingered toward the window near the locked double doors that led out of the saloon. Tobias never allowed any of his “soiled doves” to leave the saloon after dark or without permission. It was only because he was dead asleep upstairs from (another) night of excessive drinking that she and Tracy were able to indulge in conversing at that very moment.

How far have I fallen? Rosie thought. How in the world did I end up in this place?

There was never a moment of reprieve for Rosie. Ever since she had arrived in Brookmeade six years ago she had been kissed by the curse that loomed over the town like the angel of death—her father took his own life after her mother succumbed to illness. The money that sustained them had quickly depleted not long after. It was only due to her desperation that she sought the help of Tobias Cox to get her through such dire times, and it was a decision that she had come to regret with every waking second that passed and every apprehensive breath she took.

Rosie squinted at the thought of the man’s name. As much as it pained her to do so with a swollen eye, the pain of serving a man like Tobias Cox far outmatched it. There was not a memory in recent time, not a single moment that Rosie could recall where her heart wasn’t racing, and her mind wasn’t wracked with the turmoil of what that man did to her and the other women in his employ. All Rosie did, as the others did, was serve, live in fear, and hope that they would wake up the next day and be able to see it through to the dawn.

But it wasn’t always like that. There was a time that Rosie recalled being … happy. Only one person, only one man was responsible for bringing a shred of a smile to her face during what had to be the most oppressive of times she had ever experienced in her short time in existence: Jeff Kiney.

Rosie felt her frown turn into a slight beam as she thought of Jeff. What could have been? she thought. What kind of life could we have had?

She shook her head. It didn’t matter. Jeff had moved on. There was a time, perhaps, when the prospects of what could have been between them were a real possibility, but those times were no more. Jeff had his own life, his own wife, his own child, and though Elle Kiney had passed just a few years ago in childbirth, Rosie knew that Jeff had mentally moved far and away from Brookmeade and any lingering notions of love he felt for Rosie, even if he was just ten-miles shy of the town’s limits. It wasn’t deliberate. Jeff didn’t run away. It was … well, it was just the way that life had played out.

But I still love him, Rosie thought. And I always will. He saved me that day. He prevented Tobias from carrying through with what would have certainly been my demise…

It had been high noon—typical time for a scuffle in this day and age. The ruckus started when Rosie inadvertently knocked over a tray lined with shots of whiskey, the copper liquor spilling onto the lap of a pugnacious gentleman with leathered skin by the name of Gus.

“Hot damn, lady!” Gus said. “Ain’t you got eyes? What in the hell is wrong with you?”

Rosie was prepared to offer up her apologies—but she felt the backhanded sting of Tobias knocking her clear to the floor, her vision filled with stars as the less-than-standup gentleman around her began to laugh with smoke-filled cackles.

Tobias hit her once, then twice, then a third time for good measure, nearly shattering her jaw as the patrons around them watched with amused expressions. Tobias grabbed Rosie by the throat, pinning her against the edge of the tobacco-stained bar counter and choking her with all the might he could muster. “I told you, girl,” he seethed, “what would happen if you spilled more of my inventory on the floor…” He balled up a fist, ready to strike her a good one clear across the jaw—but Rosie fell to the floor, her vision returning to its full clarity as the sturdy frame of Jeff Kiney stood in and planted a punch right in Tobias’ gut.

Jeff  pummelled Tobias good for the next few moments—a solid hook to his jaw, a knee to his groin, and a finisher that entailed Jeff throwing Tobias into a table filled with gentlemen in the middle of a round of poker. It was the first—and perhaps the last—time that Rosie saw Tobias on his knees, bleeding from every orifice as Jeff stood over him and said: “You touch her again… I’ll kill ya.”

“Rosie…” Tracy’s voice called out from behind her, beckoning her to return to the present.

Rosie turned around, gently wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her sleeve. She shrugged, stepping toward the table as the glow of the lantern illuminated the battered side of her face. “What can I do?” she asked Tracy. “Where could I possibly go, Tracy? I have no money. I have nowhere to hide. There’s not a place I can run that Tobias will not find me!”

Tracy pressed a finger to her cupid-shaped lips, her eyes darting toward the stairs to her left and hoping—praying—that Tobias was still passed out and not picking up on their conversation. “Quiet, now,” she said in hushed tones. “We don’t want to wake that…” She lowered the volume of her voice. “We don’t want that vile pig to hear us…”

“What I said still stands,” Rosie said, gesturing to the window looking out at the center of the town. “There is nowhere I can go. How far could I possibly flee before Tobias finds me? And what then? If you think that what he did to me tonight is bad…” The tears started to return. “I cannot even fathom what will happen to me.”

Tracy pushed away from the table, tucking loose strands of her auburn hair behind her ears as she walked up to Rosie. “You don’t have a choice! Ever since the day that Jeff came to your aid, Tobias has had it out for you.”

Rosie laughed, gesturing to her bruises as she replied, “I’m well aware.”

“Then you know you have to leave.” Tracy took Rosie’s hands and cradled them. “I fear that you will not make it through another day if you don’t do something, anything, to try and break free.”

Rosie shook her head. “And what will Tobias do to you if I leave? Who will he take his anger out on if he finds out that his favored little dove slipped free of his grasp?”

“You cannot worry about the rest of us. We can take care of ourselves. You cannot live in fear of what may happen to your friends if you don’t try to run. Now. No more thinking, Rosie. No more waiting. You have to go. Tonight.”

Rosie opened her mouth to offer up a retort—but Tracy gently placed two fingers on Rosie’s lips and shook her head. “No more,” Rosie said. “No more talk. You need to leave now. Understand?”

Rosie felt herself on the verge of crying once again, but she remained firm, held her head high, and heeded her friend’s words perhaps for the first time ever. “Okay,” she said in a hushed tone. “I will go. I will go tonight … but how?”

Tracy rested her palms on Rosie’s shoulders and squeezed. “Come with me. I have been thinking about this for a spell … I think I have an idea.”


Tracy and Rosie ascended the steps to the second floor with a mouse’s grace, each step they took planted with careful precision in the hopes of avoiding stirring up any kind of noise. The third step in—the boards creaked under Rosie’s weight, and she and Tracy stopped dead in their tracks as they heard the unmistakable sounds of Tobias turning over in his bed.

They froze, petrified They waited for what felt like an eternity before Tracy nodded and motioned for Rosie to continue following her up the staircase.

They arrived at the top, a hallway with four doors in front of them, Tobias’ room resting on the far left. A dull glow from the lamp inside trickled out from underneath the frame. Rosie’s heart felt like it was beating through her chest as Tracy looked from left to right before heading toward the center door.

They slipped inside the room serving as Tobias’ office. Aa large desk was seated in the middle and surrounded on all sides by a bookshelf filled to the brim with all sorts of literature that no one in Tobias’ employ had ever seen him read.

“What are we doing?” Rosie whispered.

Tracy held a finger to her lips as she scanned the shelves, searching for a specific text that she located near the middle—Iliad and the Odyssey. Tracy cracked open the book; resting in the middle and nestled right in-between the spine was a small brass key.

Down the hallway, the sounds of Tobias adjusting his weight on the spring-supported bed began to increase, and Rosie was all but certain that they were moments away from hearing his booted feet storm down the hallway to give them both what would surely be the final beating of their short lives.

Tracy, a bit more urgency in her movements, turned to Tobias’ desk, inserted the key into the top drawer, twisted and opened it. Inside was a black ledger, worn and weathered with a band binding the cover. Inside rested a wad of folded bills that added up to an amount that neither of them had ever seen before.

Tracy took the cash, placed the ledger back in the drawer, and slapped the money into Rosie’s hand. “Here,” she said. “Take it. It’ll get you the fresh start you need. You’re going to slip out the window behind me. Tobias left his horse hitched to the post just outside the porch. Take it and run. Get as far away from Brookmeade as possible. You hear me, girl? You understand?”

Rosie was trembling, her gaze shifting from the cash to Tracy in quick succession. “Tracy—”

Tracy grabbed Rosie by the shoulders and looked her dead in the eye. “Go, Rosie! You can’t wait any longer. Get out of here. Now!”

Rosie felt the tears returning. She was shocked that she still had enough left in her to produce. She stuffed the cash in her pockets, looked her dearest friend in the eye, and said, “Come with me.”

Tracy closed her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t … I just can’t.”

“Why not?”

Tracy opened her mouth, her palms still resting on Rosie’s shoulders as a curious glint crossed her face, one that Rosie had seen before, one that indicated that Tracy was holding back something she just could not bring herself to say.

“What is it, Tracy?” Rosie said. “What aren’t you telling me?”

But Tracy stayed silent. She merely forced a smile, brought Rosie in for a quick but firm embrace, and escorted her over to the window resting behind Tobias’ desk. “Down there,” she said as she discreetly opened the window. “The horse is right there. It’s a quick drop down. Go. Now.”

Tracy assisted Rosie onto the sill, practically pushing her out as Rosie held on to the ledge for dear life. “Don’t come back,” Tracy said. “I mean it now. Go far. Far and away.” She gently brushed a few loose strands of hair away from Rosie’s cheek.

Down the hallway, they heard Tobias clearing his throat—the signal that the man was preparing to rouse himself from his slumber.

“Go,” Tracy said. “Get out of here.”

Rosie smiled, drew a breath, and dropped from the window. She landed with a soft thud on the dirt, Tobias’ horse just a few feet away from her. With her adrenaline at peak levels and forcing her to move as quickly as her feet could carry her, Rosie mounted the horse, held on tight, and rode off to the east out of town under cover of darkness.


Tracy, watching through the window as her best friend fled from the tyranny that was Tobias Cox, closed her eyes as the door to the office was kicked open behind her. She didn’t bother turning around. She knew full well who it was. The booted footsteps approached her with a calculated rhythm and sent shockwaves through her spine the closer they came.

“What did you do, girl?” the gravelly voice of Tobias inquired.

Tracy turned and faced the man, her lips quivering as his gaze shifted to the still open desk drawer were his wad of cash had once been stored. Within minutes, Tobias had sounded the alarm, Tracy was given a beating, and Tobias’ men began searching the town for any trace of his most favored soiled dove.

Chapter One

Avie Kiney was smiling. It was the same smile her mother sported—slightly crooked at the left corner, glimpses of her canines showing through and her nose scrunching up in that heart-warming fashion that once left Jeff Kiney with a heart full of love and optimism.

But it wasn’t like that anymore. That smile did not bring any joy, it did not bring any feelings of elation. It only brought pain. Pain and a reminder that the woman he loved was no longer with them.

Jeff closed his eyes, wiping his soot-covered hands with a rag, blisters covering his palms from the amount of aggression he exerted placing up the last of the poles for the fence he had just erected around the property.

He took a glance around the ranch; all twelve acres nestled in a valley over ten miles from the town. It was close enough that it was just a few hours ride to fetch supplies, but far enough away that he didn’t have to be close to the noise, the madness, and the … sinners that dwelled there. Jeff hadn’t returned since Elle had passed. He had made it a point not to. Heck, he wasn’t sure if anyone there even knew of her passing. He kept to himself, to the ranch, keeping his hands and mind as busy as humanly possible—but sometimes to no avail.

“Avie!” Crissie’s voice called from the porch behind Jeff. “Come here now! Time to wash up!”

Jeff turned as his mother-in-law walked out of their green one-story house and removed her apron, no doubt having finished the preparations for their morning meal just moments before.

Avie, wearing that nearly adolescent scowl that all two-year-olds tote when given an authoritative command from their elder, pushed aside the letter blocks she had been playing with—forged at the hands of her grandfather, Buck—stood up and kicked at the dirt.

“Come on,” Crissie said from the porch, hands on her hips. “We ain’t having none of those tantrums now. Come here. Come on now.”

Avie ran past her father as he leaned against the post he had just erected, coiling her arms around his leg and pressing her warm little face into the leg of his pants that had managed to survive his fight for the North not so very long ago.

“I go help Gandma!” Avie said with delight, her scowl blossoming into a smile.

Children, Jeff thought. If only we could possess their endless optimism…

“Go on then,” Jeff said, finding himself forcing a smile. “You go on in and help.”

“Love you!” Avie broke the embrace and scurried inside.

As the door to the front screeched shut, and the voices of Crissie and Avie filled the kitchen like a choir of elated angels—Jeff started to feel that familiar tug at his heartstrings. He ran a hand through his slicked back chestnut hair as the sun beat down his neck. His jade green eyes were starting to water. Knowing that he was on the verge of tears, he pushed off of the post and decide to take a walk around the property so the thoughts of love and loss would have the proper time to subside.

Jeff took a right, not daring to allow himself to walk toward the barn. He rarely went that way. Even glimpses of Elle’s tombstone from a distance conjured up the most potent of emotions. He was a man who had always been soft-spoken, reserved, and kept mostly to himself his entire life—his love of Elle was the one thing that consistently brought him to his knees.

Hands in the pockets of his union trousers, Jeff puffed his chest as the memory of the day they first met crept out of the recesses of his mind that played back in vivid colors:

“You need a hand with that, miss?” Jeff asked at the time, straddling a horse and coming to a stop outside of the general store in Brookmeade.

Elle’s flaxen hair caught the light, her steely blue eyes squinting. THe proverbial smile that would soon be passed down to her daughter flashed at him as she tied a sack full of pencils and papers to her saddle.

“I think I’m getting along just fine,” Elle had said. “But thank you kindly.”

Jeff gestured to her horse. “Lot of writing materials you got there. You an author?”

Elle shook her head. “No. I’m a teacher. I’m opening the new school in town. You know, the one just above the mill near Old Man Crawford’s place?”

Jeff smiled. “Oh, right. I heard you were coming into town.” He swallowed his fears, extending a hand covered with a faint scar he sustained from a bayonet attack during the war before saying, “I’m Jeff Kiney. Pleasure to meet you.”

Elle offered up her dainty hand. “Elle Vincent. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kiney.”

It was, as the saying went, all downhill from there. Jeff didn’t court Elle too long before he asked her to marry him and move to the ranch that he had been building with the money he had collected from his time in the war. Back then, there wasn’t much on the property, just the frame of the house and the piles of wood that would end up serving as the materials that he and Buck, Elle’s father, would use to erect the barn, corral, and fences for the cattle.

Buck Vincent was a good man. Jeff couldn’t have asked for a better father-in-law. He wasn’t as possessive or hardheaded as most men were. No, Buck Vincent possessed more of the softer side that Elle had inherited. Crissie was the stubborn one. As much as Jeff didn’t appreciate her attitude at the time, it had served well in rearing Avie after Elle had passed in childbirth.

Jeff stopped in his tracks a few yards from the corral resting adjacent to the dirt road that curved left and linked up with the main road that fed into Brookmeade. The memory of Elle passing during childbirth was just as potent now as it was two years ago. He had witnessed many men die during the war, his own brother included, but something about that moment, when Elle’s pupils dilated and her skin took on an ashy shade, stuck with him and forever changed him to a degree he never thought possible.

“Jeff!” Buck called out from the corral, snapping Jeff out of his daze. “Need your eyes for a moment, son!”

Jeff cleared his throat and removed the red handkerchief from his pocket as he moved toward Buck. He dabbed the sweat that had collected on his Grecian-shaped nose, approaching Buck with a tight-lipped smile as the stench of cattle and mud invaded his nostrils.

“What’s going on?” Jeff said, his Southern twang still as thick as ever.

Buck, chewing on a piece of hay and removing the Stetson from his head, gestured to one of the calves as he leaned against the wooden fencing. “Right there,” he said. “Look at that youngin’.”

Jeff squinted as he looked at the brown-and-white calf sticking close to his mother. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s got a limp, I think. I think maybe he done snagged one of the nails on the posts you put up.”

Jeff examined the calf from hoof to neck. “I don’t see no blood.”

“Hmm.” Buck scratched his head. “I thought I did…”

 “He ain’t limpin’, Buck.”

“He sure as heck looks like it.”

Jeff looked again. “I don’t see nothing, old man. Sure the sun ain’t playing tricks on you?”

Buck placed his Stetson back on top of his silver head as he glanced at the sky. “I don’t know. Maybe. I haven’t had a drink of water since dawn.”

“That’s no good. Don’t need you passing out on us. Crissie will have my head if you fall down out here.”

“Crissie will have both our heads regardless, one day. I love the woman. But hot dang if she ain’t a handful to deal with. Thinks she’s God’s gift to the world, you know?” He smiled, only half-meaning the words that he spoke about a woman he loved just as much as he did the day they said “I do.”

Jeff took a look over his shoulder back at the house, the outlines of Crissie and Avie in the kitchen visible even from this distance. He couldn’t help but smile at that moment, a genuine one. Ever since the day that Elle died and Crissie and Buck help tack up the slack, it served Jeff to a degree that would not have been possible if he had been left to his own devices. He loved Avie. Without question. But something had happened to him the day that his wife died. Every time he looked at Avie, he saw Elle’s face staring right back. It tormented him, tearing him in two as he felt equal parts love and dismay every time that he looked his daughter in the eyes.

Am I a bad man? he thought. Am I a bad father?

He didn’t understand. He couldn’t comprehend how a man of his standards, a dutiful man of his hard-working, never-give-up nature instilled in him and his brother from youth, could have become so compromised.

“You don’t dwell,” he recalled the words of his father when he was a boy. “You don’t quit. Something bad happens—you move on. You hold your head high. You don’t cry. You don’t live in the past.”

It was wisdom he had abided by for years. But the moment that Elle passed, it was as if all the words had become utterly meaningless.

“You all right, boy?” Buck inquired, catching on to Jeff’s lax stare.

Jeff blinked several times to shake off the memory. “I’m all right. Just need to eat, I think.”

Buck forked a thumb in the direction of the house. “Then get on in there. I can smell those biscuits Crissie’s been cooking from a mile away.”

Jeff nodded. “Think I’ll do just that.” He turned on his boot, heading in the direction of the house.

“Hey,” Buck called after him.

Jeff turned.

“You sure you’re okay, son?” Buck asked, his tone like that of Elle’ s—concerned and warm all at the same time.

Jeff nodded, forcing the same smile that he sported when his daughter told him she loved him. “I’m good, Buck,” he said. “I’m good…” He continued walking toward the house, stuffing his handkerchief back in his pocket.

“Wipe your boots on the mat,” Crissie said as Jeff opened the door.

“Almost forgot.” Jeff kicked off the dirt that had accumulated on his heels.

Avie, perched on top of a stool, pointed to the bowl of steaming biscuits emitting a robust aroma that Jeff couldn’t help but associate with thoughts of home.

“I help Gandma made these!” Avie said.

Jeff came up behind his daughter and kissed her on the crown of his head. “Did you now?”

Avie nodded repeatedly. “I want one.”

“Ask your grandmother first.”

Avie turned her head up to Crissie. “Can I have one, Gandma?”

Crissie smiled. Nodded. “Of course you can. You’re all washed up. Now go and fetch a plate for you and your father and we’ll eat.”

Avie scurried out of the kitchen and into the dining room resting directly adjacent. Jeff headed toward the porcelain bowl that Crissie had set out filled with water, dipped his hands in and removed the grime that had collected on them.

“Is Buck all right?” Crissie asked, her tone shifting from that of paternal grandmother to that of an inquisitive in-law.

“He’s all right,” Jeff said, reaching for the wool towel to his left to dry his hands. “Needs to take a break though. He’s been out there all night staring at one of the calves.”

Crissie rolled her eyes. “He thinks it’s got a limp. Poor old man keeps rambling on about it.”

“He just needs to take a rest. He’s fine.”

Crissie squinted. “Are you?”

Jeff felt a ting of anger well up inside of him. How many times are people going to ask me that? “I’m just hungry,” he said, waving his hand. “I’ll be fine once I get some food in me.”

“Well,” Crissie said, checking that her silver hair was still secured tightly in the bun that she always sported, “food we’ve got plenty of. Also—did you or Buck leave the dang door to the barn open again? Thing is flapping in the wind…”

Jeff glanced out the window and saw the door to the red-painted barn was, indeed, open. “No,” he said. “It was closed last I checked…”

“Well, close it again. Don’t need no foxes getting in there and ripping apart the chickens.”

Jeff said not a word more as he moved toward the door leading out. If he didn’t close the dang thing, Crissie would just keep griping on about it. But something about the door being ajar felt off. Something in the darker parts of his mind told him that something was out of place, so on his way out the door—he fetched the lever-action rifle he had stowed on top of the bookshelf in the living room just for his own peace of mind.

With his rifle in one hand, Jeff cautiously approached the barn, the front door flapping to and fro and slamming into the side in a timed pattern—one, slam. Two, slam.

That door is always closed, Jeff thought. No one opens it but me…

He secured the rifle with both hands, chambering in a shell as he nuzzled the butt into his shoulder and carefully peeked inside. It was dark inside the barn, the scent of chickens and wood slapping him in the face as he stepped inside and looked around.

Jeff remained quiet, his eyes scanning and his brain returning to the same state of hyper-alertness that it had become accustomed to during the war—on the lookout, always vigilant. He took a look at the chickens in their roost to the right. Then the bales of hay to the left, working his way toward the back of the barn with the barrel of his rifle scanning the perimeter.

He slowed his pace as he came to the back, the stable section, concealed by a piece of wood that Buck had lodged in place the summer before. Drawing a breath, Jeff curled his finger around the trigger, rushed forward, and aimed the rifle into the empty space where the horses usually stood.

His face went slack. His eyes went wide. His golden-toned skin briefly took on a pale shade as he laid eyes on someone that he had not seen in years. Her hands were held high, her face was purple and swollen, her eyes were soaked with moisture as she looked up at Jeff pleadingly and whispered, “Please … please help me…”

Jeff slowly lowered the rifle, his heart racing, and knees feeling weak as he got down, looked the woman in the eyes. He fully processed the fact that he was staring at none other than the soiled dove he once saved from certain death who went by the name of Rosie Marie Quin.

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  • Can’t wait to read and see what happens to Jeff and Rosie. From what I have read it seems like a book that will be hard to put down.

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