A moment to dance

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A Moment to Dance

A teacher, a cowboy firefighter, his young nephew and a sweet puppy…

Teacher Ella Morgan is moving to Whistle Stop for a chance to start over. She’s inherited a mountain cabin—in dire need of renovation—as well as a sizable tax bill. Her teaching job isn’t going to cover the accumulated debt. She needs cash, and soon.

Firefighter Tony Granger has returned to his hometown in order to take over the family ranch and be the guardian of his orphaned nephew. But being a single parent isn’t coming easy, and he’s worried he won’t succeed with his plan to adopt the boy, especially if Johnny’s grades don’t improve. He needs a break, and fast.

When Ella finds out Tony doesn’t have a partner for the Dancing with the Firefighters’ benefit contest—which is offering a large cash prize—and he asks her to tutor Johnny, it looks like their problems might be solved. But when a rescued puppy leads them into danger, they find their greatest strengths.

Note: This book contains closed door love scenes.

HEAT LEVEL: Two Cupcakes closed door love scene

Book Teaser


“Author Jennifer Faye writes a wonderful small town romance that entwines complicated lives, everyday issues and extraordinary danger into a fabulous tale of finding love and healing each other. It’s twisty, uniquely romantic and an incredibly enjoyable read.” The Reading Cafe

Also in Whistle Stop Romance series:

  • A Moment to Love
    A Moment to Love
    Book 1
  • A moment on the lips
    A Moment on the Lips
    Book 3
  • A moment to cherish
    A Moment to Cherish
    Book 4
  • A moment at Christmas
    A Moment at Christmas
    Book 5

Read an Excerpt



A new town.

A clean slate.

And a chance to begin again.

Ella Morgan stepped out of her car onto the quiet street of Whistle Stop, New Mexico. The April sunshine rained down on her as she lifted her smiling face to bask in its warmth. After the whirlwind of settling into the cabin she’d recently inherited and learning the ropes to her new teaching position at the local school, she was plain worn out. All she wanted to do was grab a few items for dinner at Marty’s Market and head home.

She stepped onto the curb to put money in the parking meter when a young boy in a white T-shirt and denim shorts darted in front of her, causing her to teeter to a halt. Ella shook her head in disbelief before dropping a quarter in the meter.

A gentle breeze tickled across her skin, carrying with it the aroma of grilled burgers. She sucked in a deep breath, and her stomach rumbled. She glanced up the street at the white block building with the red and white awning—Benny’s Burger Joint. She sighed, remembering how her grandparents had treated her to one of Benny’s huge green-chile cheeseburgers smothered in melted Monterey Jack cheese while on summer vacation. That was back in the good days—back before it all went so wrong.

She swallowed her craving and started toward the little market, anxious to put some distance between herself and the diner. No sense daydreaming about a dinner she couldn’t afford. At this point, she had to keep track of every penny—

A swift movement caught her attention. The same young boy dodged between two parked cars. He stepped into the street and came to a stop. What in the world was he doing? Juggling something in his hands? A small animal?

The hum of an approaching vehicle had her peering down the road. A red pickup at the other end of the block barreled toward them, going far too fast.

Her heart clenched.

“Hey! Move!” she screamed, waving her arms in the air.

The child didn’t budge.

Had he heard her? Did he have any idea of the danger he was in?

An angry horn blast sent adrenaline surging through her body. With her long skirt hiked up, she raced the short distance to the boy.

The squeal of tires sounded as she lunged forward. Her fingers clenched in the boy’s shirt. With every ounce of strength, she yanked. The force threw them both back between the two parked cars.

The jolt of the child’s body bumping into her and the unevenness of the pavement caused her to stumble. Her free hand flailed through the air. With a thud, her backside landed hard on the asphalt. Her back teeth rattled together. The boy, with his heavy backpack, landed on her legs. In a fraction of a second, the tractor-trailer rumbled past. A gust of warm air rushed over her as pain ricocheted from her hip down her leg. Thank God, they were safe.

The child yanked forward, struggling to free himself from her hold. He didn’t appear to be more than nine years old. And lucky for her, he was skinny.

“Let. Me. Go. You’re ruining my shirt.”

Not realizing she still had her fingers clenched on the back of his shirt, she loosened her grip while still keeping an eye on him. This child was too young to be left to his own defenses, as was evidenced by the near-miss with the truck.

“Where are…your…parents?” She struggled to get the words out between ragged breaths.

The boy pulled away from her. “I don’t have any.”

“What’s your name?”

He backed away from her toward the sidewalk while still cupping something in his hands. “I’m not telling you. You’re a stranger.”

Not only had she risked her own neck and most likely ruined her favorite skirt to save him, but now he refused to be cooperative. She frowned at him. If he wouldn’t give her a straight answer, surely one of the town’s residents would stroll by and let her know where he belonged.

In answer to her thoughts, she heard a vehicle slow to a stop. A door opened, followed by rushed footsteps. Good. Someone was here to help sort things out.

“What’s going on?” a deep male voice bellowed.

If the man’s thunderous tone was meant to gain attention, it did the job. The boy rushed over to the man, obviously familiar with him. Ella straightened and dusted herself off. She frowned when she detected a long rip in her skirt. She might be able to mend it, but it’d never be the same.

With a resigned sigh, she turned her attention to the man. She had to crane her neck to see the man’s face. My, he was tall, probably six-four, if not more. Her line of vision drifted down to his navy T-shirt, which was pulled snug over his broad chest. Her gaze lingered, taking in the white insignia of the Whistle Stop Volunteer Firefighters in the upper left corner with Station House 87 printed below it. She wondered if he was in fact a fireman. By the looks of his hefty biceps, he certainly was strong enough.

“I’m waiting for an answer,” the man’s voice boomed.