Political journalist Aiden McCabe is used to interviewing presidents and world leaders. On a night out with friends, Aiden has a chance encounter with a handsome, enigmatic young man who leaves a lasting impression. Soon after, Aiden is assigned to travel to Utah, where he’ll interview Orson Jensen, a prominent Mormon politician and Republican presidential hopeful. While the Jensens’ faith and values couldn’t be more opposite to Aiden’s urbane, Manhattan disposition, he can’t help but be charmed by the friendly clan… until the stranger Aiden met in the club reappears, and this time with a startling revelation—one that could tear the Jensen family apart, destroy Orson’s political career, and change Aiden’s world forever.
States of Love:Stories of romance that span every corner of the United States.
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Cat gives this one 3 Meows...
Prophets Pass is another tale n the States of Love Dreamspinner exclusive series. Each book features a different state. I admit when I read this blurb I didn't hold high hopes but I wanted to read it for the line.
Prophet's Pass is about Utah and the Mormons. The story is very political and religious. I was hoping for more in the way of romance but it just never really got there.
Aiden is a political Journalist and sent to Utah to interview Orson Jenson, a candidate for the Senate. He met Hunter in a club one night in New York but had no idea who he was until he walks in the door of the Jensens'. Hunter is a pilot in the airforce and on leave, He has a secret to hide and when he sees Aiden he thinks he is there to expose him and cause trouble for his dad.
The descriptions of Utah are lovely. The story is okay just too political and religious for me. I was hoping for more romance to tie the story together. It isn't a bad story just slow and not my cup of tea,
If you like Mormons, Utah, politicians, journalists and a slow story with not much sex at all this is for you.
Excerpt...
AIDEN MCCABE clicked off his tape recorder. Air Force Two was coming in to land, the sparkling Potomac and sprawling Virginia suburbs spooling out beneath the wings. The vice president of the United States pursed her lips expectantly. The weak autumn sun tracked its way through her cabin windows as the plane banked, golden circles moving across the wall, glowing at the edges of her hairdo.
“Is that it?” she asked, like a naughty child waiting to be dismissed after a scolding. Politicians hated giving up information, even when they tried to be genial about it. They lived in fear of saying too much or knowing too little. Aiden made a show of checking down the list of topics scribbled in his notebook.
“I think so…,” he said, the pen in his hand landing on the one question he really wanted to ask her. He’d scrawled a box around it several times. He clicked the recorder back on. “Just one thing. Owen Gateley. Does he still enjoy the confidence of the administration?”
She shifted in her skirt suit. “I think the governor’s situation is obviously very unfortunate. Clearly, the woman in question—”
“—Marcia Flores.”
“… Marcia Flores… has made these allegations, and it’s right that Ms. Flores should be heard, and based on the evidence, I think—”
“But does he have the administration’s confidence?”
“The president has made clear—”
“But you, ma’am. As a woman, do you have confidence in Governor Gateley to represent your party?”
She paused. He could always see that moment someone was hanging between what they wanted to say and what they thought they should. It was something in the eyes. Aiden smiled encouragingly. His gift had always been tipping the balance.
She sighed. “The governor needs to spend time with his family and consult his conscience. And if there’s truth to what’s been said, then, yes. I think Governor Gateley should consider his position in the party.”
Aiden made a note. “So you think he should resign?”
She smiled carefully. “I think he should consider his position.”
The seat belt sign came on, and with it the voice of the pilot, calm and steady: “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re beginning our final approach to Andrews Air Force Base. Please stow your belongings and return to your seats in preparation for landing.”
The vice president fastened the lap belt in her chair. “Saved by the bell,” she joked. Her aides hovered in the doorway. Another of Aiden’s reporter skills was knowing when his time was up. He stood and shook her hand.
“Thank you, Madam Vice President.”
“Thank you,” she said, loosening up now the recorder was safely put away. “Did you enjoy the trip?”
“I did,” Aiden said as the Secret Service stepped in to usher him out. “Thanks for having me.”
“My pleasure. And Aiden?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
She smiled that airy, Southern, twice-elected-governor-of-North-Carolina smile of hers. “Off the record?”
“Sure.”
“Owen Gateley’s a dirty dog, and it’s past time someone cut his balls off.”
Aiden chuckled. “Thank you, ma’am.”
A slab of a Secret Service agent escorted Aiden back to his seat in the press section. By the time the wheels hit the runway at Andrews, he already had a draft going in his head. Quick baggage claim was one of the many perks of flying with the Air Force, and within an hour he was on the train back to New York. Aiden pulled out his laptop and started to type.
“Is that it?” she asked, like a naughty child waiting to be dismissed after a scolding. Politicians hated giving up information, even when they tried to be genial about it. They lived in fear of saying too much or knowing too little. Aiden made a show of checking down the list of topics scribbled in his notebook.
“I think so…,” he said, the pen in his hand landing on the one question he really wanted to ask her. He’d scrawled a box around it several times. He clicked the recorder back on. “Just one thing. Owen Gateley. Does he still enjoy the confidence of the administration?”
She shifted in her skirt suit. “I think the governor’s situation is obviously very unfortunate. Clearly, the woman in question—”
“—Marcia Flores.”
“… Marcia Flores… has made these allegations, and it’s right that Ms. Flores should be heard, and based on the evidence, I think—”
“But does he have the administration’s confidence?”
“The president has made clear—”
“But you, ma’am. As a woman, do you have confidence in Governor Gateley to represent your party?”
She paused. He could always see that moment someone was hanging between what they wanted to say and what they thought they should. It was something in the eyes. Aiden smiled encouragingly. His gift had always been tipping the balance.
She sighed. “The governor needs to spend time with his family and consult his conscience. And if there’s truth to what’s been said, then, yes. I think Governor Gateley should consider his position in the party.”
Aiden made a note. “So you think he should resign?”
She smiled carefully. “I think he should consider his position.”
The seat belt sign came on, and with it the voice of the pilot, calm and steady: “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re beginning our final approach to Andrews Air Force Base. Please stow your belongings and return to your seats in preparation for landing.”
The vice president fastened the lap belt in her chair. “Saved by the bell,” she joked. Her aides hovered in the doorway. Another of Aiden’s reporter skills was knowing when his time was up. He stood and shook her hand.
“Thank you, Madam Vice President.”
“Thank you,” she said, loosening up now the recorder was safely put away. “Did you enjoy the trip?”
“I did,” Aiden said as the Secret Service stepped in to usher him out. “Thanks for having me.”
“My pleasure. And Aiden?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
She smiled that airy, Southern, twice-elected-governor-of-North-Carolina smile of hers. “Off the record?”
“Sure.”
“Owen Gateley’s a dirty dog, and it’s past time someone cut his balls off.”
Aiden chuckled. “Thank you, ma’am.”
A slab of a Secret Service agent escorted Aiden back to his seat in the press section. By the time the wheels hit the runway at Andrews, he already had a draft going in his head. Quick baggage claim was one of the many perks of flying with the Air Force, and within an hour he was on the train back to New York. Aiden pulled out his laptop and started to type.
Chapman Brown was born in the United Kingdom but drifted across the Atlantic a decade ago and hasn’t looked back. When not writing something or another, he enjoys cooking, traveling, and exploring the wonderful, beautiful, and occasionally confusing landscape of America. He lives in New York City.
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