Rebel With A Heart. Carol Arens

Rebel With A Heart - Carol Arens

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       “There’s something about you.” Her eyes held him. “I can’t explain it, but you make me feel like … like I’ve been waiting for you forever.”

      Had she waited? He had no right to expect her to have. He had no right to ask.

      “Have you been?”

      “I don’t know.” Her brow crinkled. “What is it that people wait for, Clark?”

      He crushed her mouth with a kiss.

      He whispered, “Lilleth …” in her ear. He kissed her again, this time slowly savouring her.

      “Well,” she murmured at last, when he allowed her a breath. “You’ve just made it clear to me that in some ways I am still a virgin.” She curled her fingers into his shirt. “Come with me into the bedroom, Clark.”


      Are you like I am? Does your heart beat a little faster for a mysterious hero?

      When I was eight years old I sat in front of the television set and fell madly, completely in love with Zorro/Don Diego. The humour of the Don made me laugh, but when the dashing protector emerged I melted. I carried that torch for a few years and, to be honest, there’s still a bit of the flame left.

      Who can resist the lure of Superman/Clark Kent? Or Batman/Bruce Wayne? For me, the hero in disguise is an irresistible character.

      For the longest time I’ve wanted to create one of my own. I hope you enjoy reading about Trace Ballentine/Clark Clarkly, and that just maybe your heart will beat a little faster.

      Three cheers for heroes in disguise!

      Best wishes and happy reading.

      Rebel with a Heart

      Carol Arens

      While in the third grade CAROL ARENS had a teacher who noted that she ought to spend less time daydreaming and looking out of the window and more time on her sums. Today, Carol spends as little time on sums as possible. Daydreaming plots and characters is still far more interesting to her.

      As a young girl she read books by the dozen. She dreamed that one day she would write a book of her own. A few years later Carol set her sights on a new dream. She wanted to be the mother of four children. She was blessed with a son, then three daughters. While raising them she never forgot her goal of becoming a writer. When her last child went to high school she purchased a big old clunky word processor and began to type out a story.

      She joined Romance Writers of America, where she met generous authors who taught her the craft of writing a romance novel. With the knowledge she gained she sold her first book and saw her life-long dream come true.

      Today, Carol lives with her real-life hero husband, Rick, in Southern California, where she was born and raised. She feels blessed to be doing what she loves, with all her children and a growing number of perfect and delightful grandchildren living only a few miles from her front door.

      When she is not writing, reading or playing with her grandchildren, Carol loves making trips to the local nursery. She delights in scanning the rows of flowers, envisaging which pretty plants will best brighten her garden.

      She enjoys hearing from readers, and invites you to contact her at [email protected]

       Previous novels by the same author:




       (part of Christmas Cowboy Kisses anthology)

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      To my daughter, Jennifer Lynne, because sometimes life takes a turn and grants you a miracle.


       Chapter One

       Chapter Two

       Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter One

      Riverwalk, South Dakota November, 1879

      A splinter jutting from the boardwalk pierced Trace Ballentine’s trousers. He cursed his luck. He growled at fate. How could it be possible that he was facing one of the most pivotal moments of his life with a piece of wood stabbing his rump?

      Admittedly, he hadn’t slipped by accident, but he hadn’t intended to take a woman down with him, either. Still, here the lady was, sprawled across his lap in front of the ticket counter at the train depot, with the contents of her valise scattered near and far. Undergarments and shoes, ribbons and hatpins littered the boardwalk, mostly crushed under the stack of books he had been carrying.

      He snatched his shattered spectacles from under his knee and plopped them on his nose.

      Even through a spiderweb of broken glass he knew this woman. Even after sixteen years of foggy memory and change he recognized his one true love.


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