Alice Treemont has given up hope of meeting the right man and falling in love. Living in depopulated Blake’s Folly, a quirky community of rusting cars, old trailers, clapboard shacks and thirsty weeds, she spends her time cooking vegetarian meals, rescuing unwanted dogs and protecting the most unloved creatures on earth: snakes. What man would share those interests? Certainly not Jace Constant whose life in Chicago includes elegant women, fine dining and contemporary art.
Jace has come to Nevada to research the new book he’s writing, but he won’t be staying; as far as he’s concerned, Blake’s Folly is hell on earth. He’s disgusted by the desert dust on his fine Italian shoes, the dog hair on his cashmere sweaters and by the desert’s bleakness. As for snakes, he doesn’t only despise them: they terrify him.
So how is it possible that each time Alice and Jace are together, even the air starts shimmering? That she’s as fascinated by him as he is by her? That their feelings go deeper than raw desire?
Nonetheless, it looks like this relationship is doomed before it starts: Jace won’t be around for long, and Alice wants to avoid the heartbreak of a short fling.
In need of some juicy romantic gossip, all the other 51 residents of Blake's Folly have decided Alice has been alone for long enough. The attraction between her and Jace is obvious to everyone, so why worry about essential differences? If you trust in love, solutions do appear. But won’t the solutions call for too much self-sacrifice, too many compromises?
August 12, 2013
An ebook available from
On January 22, 2014,
All About Charming Alice
was given the RRM Award (Romance Readers Magazine) for Great Reads
The back seat of Jace’s car looked like it needed a shave.
“Can’t you dogs keep your hair on?”
The huge black animal only wagged its tail, a look of simple adoration in its eyes. Jace sighed. His day was going all wrong. He didn’t like dogs, didn’t like dog hair, and didn’t like being late. Yet here he was, late for his appointment, busy driving a shedding mutt around the ramshackle, one-horse town of Blake’s Folly. Town? No one in his right mind would call this a town. Or a village. Or a community. It was simply a jumble.
Yes, that was the right word for it: a jumble of shacks, rundown wooden frame houses, beat up trailers, car wrecks, weeds and dust. Hard to imagine that a hundred years ago Blake’s Folly had been a wild community—a Gomorra—a name that brought terror into the hearts of honest men and women; but also a refuge in a harsh, hostile wasteland.
Times had changed, all right. Nowadays there was nothing appealing, nothing welcoming and nothing threatening about the place. It was definitely a has-been.
“Jeez!” muttered Jace. “Why would people want to live in a mess like this?” As if in response to the question which was of course, merely rhetorical, the dog sighed.
Jace threw the creature a sour look in the rear view mirror. “The last thing I need is a dog with all the answers.”
The dog was large—very large. Its bulbous head seemed to sway on a sagging neck. Its legs were long, knotted, spindly, and its ribs wanted to punch through a dull, ratty looking coat. Yet, ugly though it was, the damn thing still had appeal.
But was that a reason to talk to it? Jace had never had a conversation with an animal in his life; folks who did were either nuts or absolute fools. “And there’s no way I’m sliding into one of those categories!” he stated with definite emphasis.
The animal’s tail thumped a mocking denial on the seat. Jace sighed. It was all the fault of the dry Nevada air. “Doing strange things to my brain,” he muttered. “I need the city, with big city dirt, pollution and noise. Spend a few more hours in the desert with this beast, and I’ll find myself explaining the theory of relativity to it.”
He turned, moaned. The amount of dog hair on the back seat had reached disaster proportions. He had to get rid of this animal, and fast.
Suddenly, the rutted track came to an abrupt end. Jace slammed his foot down on the brake and the car skidded to a dusty stop. Now what? Ahead of him, the countryside stretched out in beige desert monotony: endless, lifeless, treeless.
The man at the gas station had told him to take this dog to the last house in town: a yellow house. A house belonging to a woman called Alice Treemont—how was that for a moniker? Certainly seemed appropriate for a woman who lived in the desert and took in stray dogs. He could just picture her too: hair dyed ruby red, cigarette hanging out of a corner of her mouth, her body molded by leopard latex. Or else a mean-lipped witch, one who hated every male on earth.
Jace stared at the structure on his right. It was a building of sorts. High, rickety- looking, made out of wood, it looked like the typical haunted house found in amusement parks when he was a kid. Could this be what he was looking for? Impossible. He peered out at the landscape: left, right, behind, ahead. Nothing else. Just this place.
“A yellow house,” he groaned. “This is what locals call yellow?” Sure, it must have been yellow once. Probably around eighteen seventy-five.
Opening the car door, he stepped out onto the soft, brown dust that, to his great disgust, instantly covered the fine Italian leather of his boot.
Hell on earth, that’s what this part of the world was. He was really looking forward to getting out of here, going back to crowded Chicago, to art galleries, concerts, the theater— all of those places— and being in the company of one of the beautiful, sophisticated women he knew.
“Seems to me every female needs a male around the house,” Pa Handy declared in his usual know-it-all tone of voice.
Know-it-alls drove Alice to distraction. She might be a tall, deceptively fragile- looking woman, but she was rarely cowed. She glared belligerently at the potbellied man in front of her. “Seems to me we have differing opinions on that subject.” Her voice was dangerously low.*
Not in the least threatened, Pa stared right back with complacency. “Seems to me one of us is sure to be wrong. Take this broken down water heater, for example. Now if . . . ” “Male or no male, appliances wear out,” Alice interrupted, hoping to bring this utterly worn out subject to a definite end, although trying to stop Pa from giving unwanted advice was harder than blocking a flash flood. Yes, he meant well. But he was nosy and interfering. Just like everyone else here in Blake’s Folly.
Shaking his head dolefully, Pa scrutinized the scramble of nuts, bolts, and rusty screws curled into the palm of his gnarled left hand. “Sure they do but it’s mighty nice having.
someone around to put things back together again. I bet Brad Mace would’ve fixed this water heater up in no time. If you’d just let him in through your front door, that is. Got all sorts of odds and ends out on that ranch of his, Brad does.”
“I have no intention of asking Brad for anything,” Alice countered tersely. The very last thing on earth she could do was ask Brad for help. He’d interpret the request as a mating call. He would read deep, dark, hidden meaning into it. Seduction. Invitation. As far as Alice could judge, Brad had been alone out on that ranch of his for too long now.
“Seems a shame to me, Brad out on that ranch,” Pa pursued, as if reading her thoughts. “You here in town. Both of you on your own. Both of you lonely and single . . . ”
“Brad is definitely not the man for me.”
“How do you know if you don’t make an effort? He’s a good man, Brad.” Pa nodded in stubborn confirmation of his own opinion. “Nice place he’s got out there too. All he needs is a good woman to take care of it for him.”
Was she really going to let herself be dragged into this conversation? Obviously she was. If only to put all thoughts of a burning romance between herself and Brad Mace out of Pa’s mind for once and for all. If only to click off the matchmaker’s gleam in his little half-moon eyes.
“Pa, I really hope with all my heart Brad finds the good woman he needs. But that woman doesn’t happen to be me. I didn’t come to Blake’s Folly to get married. I came here to be alone. I also came here because I love snakes, I love writing about them, photographing and protecting them. As you well know, Pa, it’s my profession. I’m a herpetologist. And you also know Brad Mace hates snakes. Brad Mace kills snakes. Brad Mace is too damn stubborn to accept that snakes have a very necessary role in our ecological system.”
Even she noted how her voice had risen. It always did when talk came around to this particular subject. Snakes: the most unloved creatures on earth. And she felt it was her duty to save them all; to educate others to appreciate them as much as she did.
Pa shook his head. “Snakes. Not a fit thing for a woman to be interested in, if you ask me.”
“Okay, Pa. Subject closed.”
So what if she sometimes felt lonely? So what if she sometimes thought it would be nice to share life, hopes and ideas with someone she loved, someone who loved her? There was no way on earth she’d admit that to Pa Handy. Or anyone.
What was the point? What were the chances of finding a man who shared her interests out here? Zero. That’s the way life went. She’d taken the risk when she’d decided to come to Blake’s Folly, flee her disastrous marriage to a successful Hollywood film director and inveterate womanizer, abandon her own career as an actress, step out of a lifestyle that had been making her miserable for years.
She’d come to live in this ramshackle Nevada home built by her great-grandfather in the eighteen hundreds, and had found the peace she’d craved. For the last ten years, she’d been trudging over the desert’s barren beauty with the stray dogs she rescued, and she’d never felt healthier or stronger. But that didn’t stop her from—sometimes—dreaming about love. On the other hand, she refused to give up the things she believed in, her principles, just so she wouldn’t be alone anymore. And that’s exactly what a relationship with Brad Mace would have meant.
“Pa? Can you fix the water heater or not?”
Pa shook his grizzled head, waved the heavy wrench in his right hand. “Dunno. Gotta fuss around with it a bit before I decide. Tricky things, these old heaters.”
Well, it didn’t sound that hopeless did it? There was a chance he could do something. Buying a new heater would cost her good money, and in Blake’s Folly, money was a commodity scarcer than rainfall.
Although not quite as difficult as finding the right man to love.
All About Charming Alice
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