Cover image for When lightning strikes
Title:
When lightning strikes
Author:
Hannah, Kristin.
Personal Author:
Edition:
First edition.
Publication Information:
New York : Ballantine Books, [1994]

©1994
Physical Description:
371 pages ; 18 cm
General Note:
"A Fawcett gold medal book"--T.p. verso.
Language:
English
ISBN:
9780449149089
Format :
Book

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Summary

Summary

During a magical storm, romance writer Alaina Costanza is hurled back in time, into the Western world of her latest novel. There she is kidnapped by her own character, a ruthless outlaw known only as Killian. Thrown together by fate, Alaina and Killian will discover a love too magnificent to last a single lifetime. But even magic has a price, and time is running out. For the sake of Alaina's child, they must risk it all and fight for a future than depends on lightning striking . . . twice.


Author Notes

Kristin Hannah was born in Southern California in September 1960. Before becoming a full-time writer, she worked in an advertising agency and practiced law in Seattle.

Hannah and her mom began writing a novel together when her mother was suffering from cancer. When her mother died, she put the draft away and continued to practice law. While pregnant with her son, and on bed rest, she took out the draft that she and her mother had written and began to write in earnest. Her draft was done by the time she gave birth. In 1990, she became a published writer and has been writing ever since.

She has won numerous awards including the Golden Heart, the Maggie and 1996 National Reader's Choice award. In 2004, she won the Rita Award for Best Novel: Between Sisters. Her title Winter Garden made the New York Times Bestseller List for 2011. Many of Hannah's other titles have made the New York Times Bestsellers List since then including: Night Road, Home Again, Home Front, Fly Away, The Nightingale, Comfort and Joy, and True Colours. She has written a series entitled Girls of Firefly Lane which includes the books, Firefly Lane, and Fly Away.

Two of her books are being made into feature films, The Nightingale, and Home Front.

(Bowker Author Biography)


Reviews 2

Publisher's Weekly Review

Romance author Alaina Costanza is propelled backward in time to the Wild West by a lightning bolt and comes face to face, not with the hero of her work in progress, but with its villain, Killian. Sexier than she'd imagined him to be, Killian is in the midst of holding up a bank in a town Alaina knows only too well, for she created it. Certain that she's dreaming, Alaina soon realizes she's trapped in a world of her own making-with a man who refuses to keep to the script she's written for him. Unfortunately, Hannah takes this promising premise and, after a hilarious first few pages, goes nowhere with it. Alaina's tough-talking, wise-cracking jibes quickly wear thin, especially since they're centered around 20th-century references that miss their mark with Killian. The author misses a golden opportunity to make the most of her setting and plotline by ignoring the history going on around her characters. Surprisingly, Alaina, author and history buff, never once comments on 19th-century life or costumes, which would have intrigued historical romance fans much more than the uninspired love story offered instead. (Nov.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved


Library Journal Review

Tough, outspoken, and deeply lonely, romance writer Alaina Costanza collapses over her computer one stormy night only to wake up 100 years earlier in Fortune Flats-a cow town that she has created in her latest novel. When she ends up being kidnapped by the outlaw villain and falls in love with him rather than with the sheriff "hero," she realizes something is terribly wrong-and then the fun begins. Hannah (A Handful of Heaven, Fawcett: Ballantine, 1991) has combined straightforward dialog and realistic description with a poignant, timeless love story and tied it all up with a healthy dash of magic. Well written and involving, this book should appeal to all romance readers. Hannah is a writer to watch. Readers who enjoy her work might also like to try the historicals of LaVyrl Spencer and Dorothy Garlock. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.


Excerpts

Excerpts

Chapter One NEW YORK PRESENT DAY "So, Ms. Costanza, how much sexual research do you do?" Even now, almost four hours after the Geraldo interview, Lainie winced at the offensive question. She played and replayed it in her mind, every time coming up with a witty, stinging retort. So, Geraldo, how much research did you do before you blasted Capone's basement on prime time? Of course, she hadn't said anything that clever or intelligent. Oh, no. Not her. She'd let anger get the best of her-again-and spoken without thinking. "Could you ask a stupider question, Geraldo? Really, inquiring minds want to know." She winced at the memory. She should have known better than to respond so bluntly. He was much too skilled an interviewer to let some historical romance author make a fool of him on national television. He'd seen right off that she was hostile, so he'd adroitly cut her off in midsentence and gone on to another guest. A woman who did as she was supposed to-blush and squirm and apologize for the books she worked so hard to create. He'd also been smart enough not to come back to Lainie. He hadn't asked her another question for the remainder of the hour. She'd sat there, pinned to her uncomfortable chair like a dead insect, barely listening to what was going on around her, waiting desperately to be let loose. God, it had been awful. It wasn't until now, hours later, in the anonymous, vast open space of John F. Kennedy International Airport, that she'd finally begun to relax. She glanced sideways at the woman beside her. Judith gave her a tense, irritated smile, and Lainie knew immediately that she shouldn't have made eye contact. Her editor was still spitting mad. "Did you have to look at your watch so often?" Judith snapped. Lainie lit up a Marlboro. Dropping her purse on the pile of cheap powder blue luggage heaped beside her left ankle, she glanced at her editor. "I only take that kind of shit from men I'm in love with." Judith shoved a well-manicured hand through her blunt-cut, Clairol-blond hair. Behind her, a steady stream of people pushed through the security check-point. "But it was so . . . hostile. You practically told America you thought you were wasting your time." "I was." "The publicity director worked damned hard to get you on that show. National exposure isn't easy." Lainie rolled her eyes. "The next time someone says the words 'national media tour,' I'm going to projectile vomit. Maybe that'll get my point across." Judith almost smiled in spite of herself and shook her head. ... I know I shouldn't have picked your manuscript out of the slush pile. I should have taken that one about the cross-dressing pirate. Now, that was a book." Lainie smiled at the familiar complaint. It was the same thing her friend had been saying for ten years. Back then, Judith had been a hungry young editorial assistant, and Lainie a dreamer. Now Jude had her own imprint, and Lainie was a New York Times best-selling author. "And especially relevant for today's readers." "I don't think you're cut out for television interviews. You were so . . . testy." Lainie laughed. "I'm a testy kind of gal. Ask anyone." Judith snatched the cigarette from Lainie and took a long drag, blowing the smoke out in a hurried puff. "Why should I bother to verify the obvious? You spend more time alone than anyone I know. If I hadn't personally seen you in the daylight, I'd swear you were a vampire." Lainie shrugged. "I like being alone. I don't need anyone besides Kelly." Judith took another drag and handed the cigarette back. " Your daughter's a nice kid-in a prepubescent coil of hormones sort of way-but she's not enough, Lainie. You've got to get out of the house." Lainie snorted. "Who do you think I am . . . Madonna? I get out of the house every day. I go to the grocery store, the mailbox, the . . . " Judith gave her a knowing look. "Uh-huh." Lainie extinguished her cigarette in a nearby ash can. "I'm fine, Jude. Don't worry about me. Okay?" "I wouldn't waste my time worrying about an author. You're all a bunch of self-absorbed, undisciplined media hogs." Lainie cracked a smile. "Yeah, be sure and book me on the Howard Stern show as quickly as possible. I'm on a roll." Judith gave her an arch, knowing look. "You need a roll . . . in the hay, if you get my drift." "It would be hard to miss, Jude. But there's not a lot of hay in Seattle. Especially not healthy, heterosexual, single hay. But if I find myself a bale, I'll give it a good roll." Jude hesitated. "I mean it, Lainie. You know how you get when Kelly's gone." Lainie flinched. "She'll be back in two weeks." Judith started to reach out to Lainie, then checked the impulse. Reluctantly she drew her hand back and pressed it to her side. "Why don't you stick around for a while? Les and I would love to have you over." Lainie looked into her friend's eyes, wishing, just this once, she could relax enough to let someone care for her. ...Thanks, Jude." Her voice was embarrassingly husky. "But I've got to learn how to cope with this. Kelly's getting older. She'll be leaving . . . more." "I know, hon." Lainie cleared her throat and reached down for her mismatched luggage. "Well, I'd better run or I'll miss the plane." Judith gave her a sad, understanding smile. A look that said too much from a woman who never would. "Don't forget, kiddo, if anyone asks you who you are on that plane, make up a name. We don't want your readers to know that Alaina Costanza is a foulmouthed, spike-haired, tattooed slob with a carton of Marlboro Lights sticking out of her handbag." Lainie grinned at the familiar advice, knowing it was only half a joke. Her downtown, tough-girl look was a far cry from the media image of a romance writer. Oversized sweaters, holey Levi's and cowboy boots weren't exactly the outfit du jour. "'Bye, Jude." Jude's smile dipped a fraction; her gaze turned serious, maybe even a little sad. "'Bye, hon. I'll be waiting for the Lightning manuscript." The two friends stared at each other for longer than they should have; perhaps it was only a second too long, but Lainie knew instantly that it was a mistake. She sighed. Christ, she hated good-byes. She stiffened and tossed Jude a half-assed smile. "Not long, you won't." "Safe flight. Don't drink too much." Lainie made a harsh, defiant sound that was meant to be laughter, but even to her ears sounded more like a snarl. "Is that possible?" Jude's attempt at a smile made Lainie feel even worse. "Take care of yourself these next two weeks. Don't fall so deeply into your book that you don't have a life." "I wish to hell that I could fall that deeply in, Jude." Judith reached for her. "Oh, Alaina . . . " Lainie lurched backward before Judith could touch her. Resettling the garment bag's wide nylon strap on her narrow shoulder, she gave Jude a cocky grin. "Well, gotta run. 'Bye, Jude." "'Bye, Lainie." Lainie straightened and headed toward her gate. Excerpted from When Lightning Strikes by Kristin Hannah All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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