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Try Just Once More by Kat Henry Doran

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  • After being cleared of murder charges, Maggie McGuire escaped back to her childhood home to rebuild her shattered life. Now, three years later, the past has returned with a vengeance, and it's aimed directly at her kids.

    The nosy Chief of Police is relentless about uncovering her sordid past in order to deal with the present. She once paid a very high price trusting a cop. Is Mike Brandt for real or just another uniformed bully disguised as a smooth-talking hunk? He'll have to walk a very long road before she puts the lives of her precious children in his hands.

    No innocent when it comes to personal betrayal, Mike will have to put aside personal resentments in order to convince Maggie he's worth the effort for her to Try Just Once More.

    (Pages 326) Spicy

    Excerpt:

    The woman had more brass than the Marine Corps band. “Look—Miz McGuire, could we start over?”

    Her demeanor remained aloof, as if she’d just stepped in something foul. “You’re too late, Chief. Much too late.”

    With a nod, she strode away and exited the building. Staff at the desk immediately sought avenues of escape. As two nurses slipped past him, one said, “It’s always a treat watching the Reigning Queen of Man-Haters kick some guy to the curb.”

    “That Maggie,” the other sighed. “She’s my hero.”

    “Hero, my ass,” Mike fumed. After a slow count of three, he bolted for the exit door, following McGuire into the parking lot. Now at a distance, she strutted toward a late model, fire red Saturn, posture military-stiff, hair flowing around her shoulders in a halo of copper. Despite his agitation he couldn’t help but admire her guts. And her fanny.

    “Maggie. Please. Let me apologize.”

    Still moving, she called over her shoulder, “As I indicated before, you’re too late.”

    Bitterness, an emotion tied too closely with his marriage, scalded his throat. “You know something, lady? A couple hours ago, I couldn’t decide if your beef is only with cops or all men in general. Obviously, that’s not the case.”

    She came to a stop, drew her shoulders back, turned. In that queen-to-peon tone she asked, “Who awarded you the right to pass judgment on me?”

    The verbal exchange gave him the time needed to reach her side. To get in her face. “Don’t try to convince me that all men rank as a lower life form with you. Not after I saw you hanging all over Investigator Jackson.”

    She unlocked the car door. “Clearly, my convincing skills need a bit of polishing.”

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