Spotlight & Giveaway: The Bright Spot by Jill Shalvis

Today, HJ is pleased to share with you Jill Shalvis’s new release: The Bright Spot

New York Times bestselling author Jill Shalvis returns to Sunrise Cove with a heartwarming story about the choices we make and the love we let into our lives…

Luna Wright is a lot of things, but sweet and trusting isn’t on the list. However, she’s a sucker for the underdog and a hard-luck story. Adopted at birth, with scant knowledge of her biological family, she’s created her own inner circle, a motley crew which includes her bestie Willow, to help her run the struggling but charming Apple Ridge Farm.

With a farm-to-table café as well as a menagerie of rescued animals (complete with a baby goat who keeps escaping to the pantry to eat the secret stash of decidedly not organic potato chips), it’s the best home she’s ever known. But when the owner Silas, who they secretly call The Grinch, passes away, Luna discovers the farm is now under control of his investment manager, the enigmatic Jameson Hayes….and her. And that Silas had many, many secrets.

Now Luna’s carefully controlled corner of the world is threatened and she—along with some help from her friends—has to dig deep to find true strength and the real meaning of love and fa

Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from The Bright Spot 

Luna Wright awoke to someone nibbling her toes—troubling since she’d gone to bed alone. Well, except for Sprout, her half-deaf, fifteen-year-old rescue mutt, snoring behind her. Cracking open one eye, she lifted her head, eyed her early morning visitor, then sighed and plopped back down. “Dammit Ziggy, we talked about this. It’s still dark out.” She closed her eyes again, but the bed jiggled impatiently.
With a groan, she sat up. As the manager of Apple Ridge Farm, a small, charming, and let’s face it, struggling tree farm and botanical gardens, it was her job to oversee . . . well, everything.
“Bleeeat.”
Including their rescue animals, like Dammit Ziggy, their two- month-old orphaned “kid,” currently eyeing her with adoration.
“Ugh, you’re too cute for your own good.” Nudging him aside, she got out of bed. “Stay. I’m just going to the bathroom.”
His hooves clicked on the wood floor as he trotted along after her, his expression dialed to: I’d-feel-more-comfortable-if-we- went-together.
A few minutes later they exited the bathroom—still together— freezing in unison as a noise came from her kitchen. Not the still snoring Sprout. A watchdog he was not. She quickly snatched up her phone.
“Bleeeat.”
“Shh!” She got 911 teed up with one hand, the other over DZ’s mouth. Please don’t be a bear. “Who’s there?” she yelled.
“Shep.”
Her farmhand, and she nearly collapsed in relief.
“Is DZ here?” Shep called out. “He ate through the fence again and got out. You’re usually his first stop.”
Luna eyed Dammit Ziggy, aka DZ, who nuzzled against her calf. She looked up when Shep appeared at the end of her hall. “He ate another post?” she asked.
He nodded. “And then ran straight to you, his mama.”
She had to laugh, but it was true. The baby rescues were her favorite part of this job, and she had a soft spot for DZ, which the kid—both the goat and Shep—knew.
Emergency averted, Shep’s gaze caught on Luna’s pj’s—a soft, thin camisole and short boy shorts—and he immediately slapped his hands over his eyes. “Oh shit. I mean crap. I’m sorry, ma’am.” Taking a step back, he tripped over his own feet and fell on his ass, hands still over his eyes.
He was twenty-one to her almost thirty, so she at least wasn’t corrupting a minor, but his horrified reaction had her turning back to her room to pull the throw blanket from the foot of her bed and wrap it around herself. Shep was a good guy and a great farmhand, able to handle whatever she threw at him, but it’d taken her six months to get him to call her by her given name and not “ma’am.” “Did you hurt yourself?”
“No.” He got to his feet with his hands still over his eyes, his Adam’s apple bouncing as he swallowed hard. “So ” He gestured vaguely toward the door. “I’ll just ”
“Go? Yes, please, and take DZ with you. DZ!”
The goat was eating one of her favorite sneakers. She snatched it back. “Preferably before he eats anything else.”
Shep, who looked like the snowboarding bum that he was whenever he wasn’t working for her—lanky, lean, rock star hair to his shoulders, long-sleeved T-shirt advertising ski and board wax, high-top work boots unlaced—nodded like a bobblehead.
“I’m pretty sure it’s not that bad,” she said dryly.
He went beet red. “No, it’s definitely not bad. I mean, you’re put together right nice—” He grimaced. Swallowed again. “Uh, I’m not trying to say you’re hot, because that’d imply I—”
“Shep.”
“Yeah?”
“Goodbye.”
“Right!” He had to come toward her to get Dammit Ziggy, one hand still over his eyes, the other reaching out in front of him.
Oh, for the love of— She passed him, heading for the shower.
Sometimes she did YouTube Pilates before work, but well, she hated every minute of it and she wasn’t even sure it was working anyway, which made it easy to skip. “I’ll see you later.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Luna,” she called back.
“Right. Luna. Ma’am.”
With a sigh, she shut the bathroom door. She turned on the shower and hopped into the lukewarm water, not waiting for the sixty-second blast of hot, which was all she’d get. Since much of her day was spent outside—that being in the Sierra Mountains in April—she needed that blissful minute. Chilly air or no, spring was in full bloom in Tahoe. It’d been a drought winter, their second in a row, so the snow was mostly gone, the lake already too low, and here at Apple Ridge Farm, they were doing their best to keep the orchards and gardens thriving since their livelihood depended on it. Twenty minutes later, she was dressed in her usual jeans, boots, and staff sweatshirt. At her side, Sprout wore his usual happy-to- still-be-kickin’ attitude, ready to make their morning rounds to ensure everything was as it should be before they opened to the
public.
Even when Luna knew everything was not as it should be.
A week ago, the owner of the farm, her boss Silas Wittman, had suddenly and unexpectedly passed away. He’d lived eight hours south of Tahoe, in Los Angeles—a fact that had suited everyone since he’d been known as the Grinch, but she couldn’t imagine what might happen now.
Five years ago Silas had coaxed her away from a job that had been simply a means to a paycheck. He hadn’t been an easy man to work for, long-distance or not, but she’d never regretted taking the position she’d come to love more than anything she’d ever done. Silas had shown up without fail once a quarter to terrify everyone, and had also called Luna bimonthly. He’d been far softer with her than anyone else, answering questions, letting her know she was on track. It’d been . . . comforting, despite his gruff nature. Having him gone rattled her. She’d honestly believed him too tough to ever die.
Would whomever Silas had left the farm to allow them to continue status quo? Or would there be a big shake-up? She had a meeting with the estate attorney later, where she’d no doubt get answers to all her questions good or bad, but at the moment, she felt like that one time she’d gone rock climbing with friends and had gotten stuck a hundred feet above the ground, twirling in the wind.
At her side, Sprout was already wheezing because of his asthma. Heart melting, she scooped up the forty-pound roly-poly sweet- heart. “How about a lift?”
He licked her chin and cuddled in for the free ride, the way he had every day since she’d taken him home from the shelter so he wouldn’t die alone. That had been two years ago now, and he was thriving.
But now she was the one wheezing as she walked because forty pounds was forty pounds. She adjusted his weight and
kept moving, getting another sweet little lick on the chin for her efforts, ensuring she’d carry him forever if need be. Apple Ridge was one hundred and fifty acres, every last corner of the land in use. The wild Sierras circled them in a continuous chain of mountain ranges forming the western “backbone” of the Americas. It was a mix of thick forests, austere rock faces, and lush valleys, and their small corner of it was no exception. The farthest part of the land butted up against a creek. It was there, within hearing distance of the rushing water, that they had seven small cabins—emphasis on small.

Excerpt. ©Jill Shalvis. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
 
 

Giveaway:  A print copy of THE BRIGHT SPOT by Jill Shalvis 

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Meet the Author:

New York Times bestselling author Jill Shalvis lives in a small town in the Sierras full of quirky characters. Any resemblance to the quirky characters in her books is, um, mostly coincidental. Look for Jill’s bestselling, award-winning novels wherever books are sold and visit her website, jillshalvis.com, for a complete book list and daily blog detailing her city-girl-living-in-the-mountains adventures.

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