Her Phoenix Heart
"One of the best contemporary romances I have read this year. The only thing that I felt was missing is the recipe for Tyler's Pizza Soufflé "It sounds scrumptious!"
~Tracy Farnsworth, Romance Reviews Today
"Using the legendary phoenix bird as her theme, Cindy Hiday offers a story of a young woman trying to start over...Rise above it all and follow Her Phoenix Heart to a second chance at romance."
~Brenda Gayle for The Write Lifestyle
Preface
THE PHOENIX is a sacred bird of great beauty, as large as an eagle, yet unique, with feathers of crimson and gold and purple, a long, sweeping tail and jeweled eyes. Stories of the mythical bird have appeared and reappeared through the centuries, the details of its death and rebirth taking on different forms from one account to another. But from its ancient beginnings, the phoenix has always been likened to the sun, ending its day in a crimson fireball and rising golden the following morning.
In the most common of these tales, the rare bird is fabled to live five hundred years in a garden of splendid flowers and crystal springs. As its wings become heavy with age, it builds a nest of spices and herbs high in a date palm, where the heat of the sun sets the twigs afire. With wings outspread, the old phoenix is consumed in the flames. From these ashes, a young phoenix rises with the dawn to welcome a new life. The cycle of death and rebirth is repeated through all eternity. Most revered of mythical birds, the phoenix is a symbol of resurrection and renewal of the human spirit, of rebirth after defeat or desolation.
The phoenix has also been used to describe a person of matchless beauty and goodness.
Chapter One
BETH GAZED out the window of the limousine at the rain-drenched streets of downtown Portland. There was something about Oregon's 'City of Roses' at night that appealed to her, especially around the holidays. It was two days after Thanksgiving, but Christmas had already made its appearance with the arrival of the seventy-foot Douglas fir at Pioneer Courthouse Square. She was looking forward to seeing the tree decked out in its hundreds of white lights. She could tolerate the man sitting next to her that much longer, she told herself, glancing at him from the corner of her vision. Ian Heller, a plastic surgeon from Chicago, his eyes glassy and an unhealthy ruddiness to his plump cheeks from several gin and tonics, winked at her.
"What do you say we skip the scenic tour and finish our business in my hotel room?"
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