Since We Fell
by Ann Gimpel
Release
Date: February 20th 2018
Genre: Contemporary
Romance
Love is Sweetest the Second Time Around
The Book Junkie Reads . . . Review of . . . SINCE WE FELL
. . . Well, I must say this was most certainly
different than anything else that I have read from Ann in the years I have been
reading her work. This was anticipated but most of all enjoyed. I found that
her writing, character development, pacing, romance, and more were on point
with the works from before. The major difference was this one was wholly set in
the contemporary romance setting with no supernatural, paranormal, or other.
Juliana and Bric’s second chance at love gives us the elements of romance to
hold on to. We find that they were apart for a time, so this would be their
second chance to make things better/more. How they handle it was the lure of
the romance? How would the reconnect? How would they get pass past hurts? How
would they find that missing piece that allowed for them to separate? All these questions and more were woven in to
the romance that became a high point of my reading this year. Ann Gimpel proves
to all that she can put together a romance in the real world, with real-life
circumstances.
I must admit that I did miss the elements of Ann Gimpel
that had me fall in love with her writing to begin with. I must reset my mind
and see her as a contemporary romance author as well as the supernatural/paranormal
romance that she gives so effortlessly. Since
We Fell will be a romance that I will come back to again. I would love to
hear them in audio. I can envision Sebastian York and Andi Arndt or Traci March.
I’ve loved this introduction to Ann Gimpel’s Contemporary Romance. I highly recommend this for fans of Ann and for those that love a good contemporary romance. Come fall in love for the second time with the only one you ever loved.
BLURB
An idealistic woman.
A naïve man.
A life-shattering mistake.
Juliana is relentless, driven,
focused. An archaeologist, she’s clawed her way to the top of the heap. It’s a
lonely heap, but the only man she ever loved proved men aren’t worthy of her
time.
Discarded by the woman of his
dreams midway through college, Brice never offered his heart again. A
world-recognized expert on lung diseases, he has his work. Usually it’s enough.
It’s almost Christmas, and
Juliana is called home from a dig to see her dying twin one last time. She and
Brice are thrown together after a fifteen-year hiatus. She tells herself
nothing’s changed, but her heart sings a different song. If she listens to it,
there’s only one true love.
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EXCERPT
Chapter
One
Juliana
Wray—Julie to her few friends—slumped against the padded back of a
business-class seat, grateful no one was sitting too close to her. She’d been
on the move for the last fifteen hours, and it would take nearly that before
her over-the-Pole flight landed at Sea-Tac. She’d been unusually lucky securing
a last-minute flight from Cairo to London, and she’d paid through the nose for
the seat on her current plane.
She
sucked dry, recycled air and tried not to think about what might be in it.
Planes had notoriously poor filtration systems. Her eyes felt hot and gritty.
Blinking only made it worse. When she glanced at her hands, she winced at how
dirty they were. Once the captain turned off the “fasten seat belt” sign, she’d
make a dive for the restroom and wash them. Never mind the water on airplanes
rivaled the air for impurities.
Curling
her hands into fists, she focused on inhaling deeply, blowing it out, and doing
it again. Sleep would be a true luxury, but worry ate at her.
“Everything
all right, miss?” A tall, buff flight attendant leaned over her, solicitousness
stamped into his Greek god good looks. Tawny hair fell just past his chin line,
and his eyes were the shade of raw emeralds. He was so perfect, she wondered if
she was hallucinating.
He
consulted a roster in one hand, probably detailing his few business-class
passengers. “Dr. Wray, correct?”
She
managed a perfunctory smile. “Yes. That would be me.”
He smiled
back. “What kind of doctor are you?” Maybe his interest was part of a coffee,
tea, or me gig he tried out on all his female travelers, but it gave her a
momentary break from her worries.
“Not
medical. If there’s an emergency on this plane, you’ll have to look beyond me,
I’m afraid.”
He angled
his head to one side. “Okay. That’s what kind of doctor you aren’t, but it’s
not what I asked.”
“I’m an
archaeologist. Reason my clothes are so trashed is I came straight from a dig
in northern Egypt.”
“Sounds
fascinating. Maybe when we’re a bit further into the flight, you can tell me
more.”
“Maybe
so,” she murmured, aiming for a non-committal tone. The last thing she’d be
doing is sharing details with anyone outside her immediate team about what was
shaping up as the find of the twenty-first century.
He must
have picked up on her withdrawal because his smile lost a few lumens. “What can
I bring you from the drink tray?”
“Juice.
Mineral water. Maybe something to eat.” A dinging bell overlapped her words,
and the “fasten seat belt” sign winked out. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to
wash up before I eat anything.”
“Of
course, Dr. Wray. I’ll have a snack prepared for you by the time you return.”
“That
would be lovely. Thank you.”
Juliana
waited until he moved to the next passenger two rows back before unfastening
her seat belt. She lurched upright and closed the short distance between her
seat and the restroom. Once inside, she sluiced water over her hands. Dirt made
tracks down the ivory porcelain sink, so she pumped extra soap and wished she
had a brush to do a more thorough job scrubbing beneath her nails. Once her
hands were as clean as they were likely to get, she went to work on her face.
She’d tried to wash up on the Egypt Air flight, but the lavatory was so dirty
she hadn’t made it past the threshold.
One
glance in the small mirror convinced her not to look again. Her dark hair hung
in lank strands to the middle of her back. She’d scooped it into a ponytail
somewhere between Cairo and London, but over half had escaped. Circles ringed
her eyes, and she had the haggard look of someone who’d missed one too many
meals, which wasn’t far off the mark. She’d never acclimated to the food at the
dig site, so she hadn’t eaten much to stave off stomach problems.
“Thirty-five
years old,” she muttered. “If I look this bad now, where will I be at fifty?”
The
question was rhetorical. She didn’t bother answering it, but she did redo her
ponytail before walking back to her seat. True to his word, the flight
attendant—Richard, according to his name badge—had arranged a snack tray on her
small pull-down table.
Julie ate
mindlessly. The food on her Egypt Air flight hadn’t smelled very fresh, and she
hadn’t had time at Heathrow to do anything beyond head for this one at a dead
run. As it was, they’d shut the doors right behind her. One of the other flight
attendants, a middle-aged woman, had given her a disapproving look for being
late.
She
washed down crackers, cheese, and shrimp with bottled mineral water. Somewhat
fortified, she replayed the last day-and-a-half. She and her team, University
of Washington faculty and graduate students, had set up shop in the Nile Delta
not far from Ismailia. Reports of bone fragments had drawn them, but Juliana
hadn’t expected much more than a dry hole. Archaeology was like that.
Chasing
rainbows, as it were.
A few
days into what she’d expected would be a one-week excursion, they’d unearthed
the remains of a town. Even so, she’d held her excitement in check until
preliminary tests yielded data dating the town back to two thousand B.C,
placing it somewhere between the Middle and Old Kingdoms.
The university
had flooded her project with money and people. She’d spent ten months living in
a tent next to the Nile and wouldn’t have left if it weren’t for Sarah. Her
twin was sick again. Never healthy, Sarah had gotten the short end of the stick
while they were in utero and developed cystic fibrosis as a child.
That
she’d lived this long was little shy of a miracle, but her time may have
finally run out. Julie squeezed her eyes shut against a gush of hot tears.
She’d asked about gene splicing, bone marrow transplants, anything to give her
sister’s lungs a new lease on life. She’d even offered to help with part of a
lung for transplant surgery, but Sarah told her not to bother. The CF was
systemic. New lungs would eventually become infected just like her current ones
were.
The tears
she’d tried to hold back dripped down her cheeks, and she swiped them with her
napkin. Life was desperately unfair. Her sister had tried to finish medical
school but lacked the stamina. Undaunted, she’d turned her sights to a nursing
degree. She’d worked in clinics and hospitals until a couple of years back when
her inhalers and treatments grew less and less effective.
Julie had
considered moving Sarah into her home, but she wasn’t there enough. The
compromise had been her parents, who’d redone a bedroom to accommodate oxygen
and the array of equipment Sarah used each day. Julie checked in weekly, but
she’d been so wrapped up in each pot shard and bone fragment they’d unearthed,
she’d missed a week or two along the way.
Misery
washed over her in waves as she huddled in her seat. She flipped her light off
and hoped no one would bother her.
Come on,
Sarah, she urged. You’re my twin. Hang on until I get there.
Her
parents hadn’t wanted to bother her unnecessarily. By the time they’d patched
through an emergency call, Sarah was on a ventilator and couldn’t talk with
anyone.
Julie
pulled the blanket out of its plastic cover and wrapped it around herself.
Exhaustion dragged her into blackness, and she must have passed out because the
next thing she heard was a cheery voice advising they’d be landing at Sea-Tac
in thirty minutes.
More food
had materialized. She ate quickly, not tasting anything, and drank another
bottle of water.
“I didn’t
want to bother you while you were sleeping, Dr. Wray.” Richard loomed over her.
“Thanks.
I really needed some rest.”
“I
figured. Don’t take this wrong, but you look beat.” He offered his million-watt
smile again, the smile that probably lined his bed with hundreds of willing
women.
“Yeah.
Still am.”
“I’d be
happy to take you out to dinner once we land. You can tell me more about your
anthropology project.”
“It’s
archaeology,” she corrected him automatically, not bothering to add it was a
common misperception and that people frequently confused the two disciplines.
He
shrugged. “See? I need guidance.”
I’ll just
bet you do, honey.
She bit
off the temptation to verbalize a tart rejoinder. “Sorry, but my parents are
meeting me. We have to get to Overlake Hospital.”
“Someone’s
ill?” He quirked a brow.
“Very. My
sister.”
“Well, I
hope she feels better soon.” Richard edged away. Discussions of illness
probably made him uncomfortable. Death wasn’t contagious, but people shied away
from anything that smacked of mortality as if it brought bad luck to delve too
deeply.
She’d
devoted her life to assessing the remains of people’s lives, what they’d left
behind. Death was where she lived most of the time, but it didn’t make losing
Sarah any easier.
Come on.
Buck up. She’s not gone yet. I hope.
The plane
swooped out of the sky and bounced twice as it connected with the runway. She
flicked on her phone as soon as she could, scanning for the message that would
kill hope.
It wasn’t
there. Lots of well wishes from her dig team and a terse one-liner from her
mother saying they’d meet her at the gate. Julie stood as soon as she could and
dragged her duffle from the overhead, slinging it across one shoulder. The door
opened, and she bolted through it, walking fast.
Halfway
to customs, a tall, spare uniformed officer, complete with a full weapons belt,
caught up with her. “Dr. Juliana Wray?” His dark hair was cut short. Shrewd
green eyes probably didn’t miss a whole lot.
“Yes?”
“I’m here
to expedite your way through customs. Passport, please.”
She dug
in a pocket and handed it over. “Did my dad send you?”
Instead
of answering, he pasted a sticker in her passport, stamped it, and handed it
back. “Come with me. A car is waiting.” Turning, he marched about twenty feet
to a gunmetal-colored door and tilted his chin to activate a retinal scanner.
The locking mechanism whirred, and the door popped open.
Julie
followed him, afraid to ask any more questions. Maybe he’d know about her
sister. Maybe not, but she did not want to hear the words, “I’m so sorry, but
she passed on…”
She
latched her jaws together to hold emotion inside. She’d have her whole life to
cry. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart.
The
officer stopped long enough for a second scanner to recognize him and pushed
open a door leading outside. Gray murk typical of the Pacific Northwest
surrounded her under skies spitting rain. She’d lost track of time after
leaving Cairo, but it must be around noon since that was when her plane was
slated to touch down.
Noon in
mid-December looked pretty much like dawn and dusk. Gloomy. Dark. Short days
that merged into long, damp nights. What a contrast to hot, dry Egypt.
“This
way.” The officer motioned. “We’re headed for that limo.”
A long,
black car was parked about fifty feet from them. “It— It looks like a hearse,”
she choked out.
The
officer shot her a surprised look. “It’s a limousine, Dr. Wray.”
And then
her father was running toward her. A retired Marine general, he was tall and
spry, despite being in his late sixties. Silver hair was shorn close, and his
blue eyes—eyes just like hers and Sarah’s—crinkled with pleasure at seeing her.
The
officer stood tall and saluted. Chris Wray saluted back. “Thank you,
Lieutenant. Dismissed.”
Julie did
a double take. Her escort was a Marine. How could she have missed something so
simple as the markings on his uniform?
Her
father wrapped his arms around her. “Welcome home, princess.”
Julie
hugged him in return and reared back so she could look at him. “Sarah. Is she—?”
“She’s
still with us, honey. Come on into the car, and I’ll let your mom fill you in.
Here. Give me that duffle. Is that all you have?”
“Yeah,
Dad.” She handed it over and trotted to the car with him. Joy mixed with hope
speared her. Sarah was alive. It was all that mattered.
The
driver, also a Marine, took her duffle and held the back door for her and her
father, who followed her inside.
“Juliana,
sweetie.” Her mother enveloped her in a hug, her familiar lilac scent washing
over her. Ariel Wray kissed her forehead before letting go. Her black hair was
shot with silver, and her brown eyes glowed with pleasure. “You were gone for a
long time.”
“Yes, I
was. Tell me about Sarah.”
Ariel
nodded briskly. Five years younger than her husband, she’d been a Marine
colonel and battle strategist until she retired after the last Iraq conflict.
The car
lurched forward. Julie resisted the urge to pepper her mother with questions
and waited for her to begin speaking.
Ariel
drew her dark brows together. “Up until two days ago, I was certain I’d
summoned you home for your sister’s funeral.” She tilted her chin up, nostrils
flaring. Used to deployments and death, her mom was one of the toughest women
Julie had ever known, and she wouldn’t mince words or sugarcoat anything.
“Sarah
was drowning in her own fluids. There wasn’t much left to lose, so we trolled
through the university’s medical school for another pulmonologist, someone
younger. It pissed our doctor off, but he couldn’t stop us. In any event, we
found a doctor who was willing to try something unproven—”
“A
non-FDA-approved treatment,” her father cut in.
“Yes,
Chris. Sorry if I missed the exact nomenclature.” Ariel blew out a noisy
breath. “We gave our permission.”
“And it
seems to be working.” Her father couldn’t keep optimism out of his voice.
“Indeed,
it does.” Ariel chimed in. “She’s off that damned ventilator. God but she hated
it.”
“If
things continue as they have been, we’ll get to bring her home in time for
Christmas,” Chris said.
All the
pent-up emotion Julie had suppressed since her mother’s call summoning her home
hit her in the gut, and she bit back a sob.
“Aw,
princess. It’s okay.” Her father gathered her close; she gave in and clung to
him as she cried, great, choking sobs that made it tough to breathe.
Her
mother patted her back and smoothed her tangled hair. “It’s okay, Juliana.
We’ll keep her with us for a little bit longer. Oh, I didn’t mention it, but
you’ll remember the miracle-working doctor.”
“I will?”
Julie lifted her head from the wet front of her father’s jacket. “Who is he?”
“Brice
McKinnon,” her father answered, reminding her how her mom and dad tag teamed
conversations.
The name
slammed home, along with a slew of nasty memories. “Oh God,” she moaned. “I
mean, I’m glad he saved Sarah, but he is such a bastard. At least, he used to
be.”
“Be
nice,” her mother warned and handed her a bunch of tissues.
Juliana
blew her nose. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be the soul of nice.”
“Dry your
eyes,” her dad advised, as always oblivious to things he didn’t find worthy of
attention. “We’ll be at Overlake in about fifteen minutes.”
Fifteen
minutes.
She
dabbed at her streaming eyes. Only a quarter hour before she’d come face to
face with the two-timing slime ball who’d seduced both her and her sister. And
ruined her life because she’d loved him.
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Author Info
Ann Gimpel is a mountaineer at heart. Recently retired from a long career as a psychologist, she remembers many hours at her desk where her body may have been stuck inside four walls, but her soul was planning yet one more trip to the backcountry. Around the turn of the last century (that would be 2000, not 1900!), she managed to finagle moving to the Eastern Sierra, a mecca for those in love with the mountains. It was during long backcountry treks that Ann’s writing evolved. Unlike some who see the backcountry as an excuse to drag friends and relatives along, Ann prefers solitude. Stories always ran around in her head on those journeys, sometimes as a hedge against abject terror when challenging conditions made her fear for her life, sometimes for company. Eventually, she returned from a trip and sat down at the computer. Three months later, a five hundred page novel emerged. Oh, it wasn’t very good, but it was a beginning. And, she learned a lot between writing that novel and its sequel.
Around that time, a friend of hers suggested she try her hand at short stories. It didn’t take long before that first story found its way into print and they’ve been accepted pretty regularly since then. One of Ann’s passions has always been ecology, so her tales often have a green twist.
In addition to writing, Ann enjoys wilderness photography. She lugs pounds of camera equipment in her backpack to distant locales every year. A standing joke is that over ten percent of her pack weight is camera gear which means someone else has to carry the food! That someone is her husband. They’ve shared a life together for a very long time. Children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out their family.
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