Stirred Up By a SEAL E-Book

Kait Nolan

• Herausgeber: Take The Leap Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Can a SEAL without a mission and a widowed baker help each other learn to live again?

Jonah Ferguson never wanted to be anything but a Navy SEAL. But after an injury sidelines his military career, he finds himself back home in small-town Tennessee. Opening a bakery with his best friends and daring to re-imagine his life is a whole new mission, but his biggest challenge yet is sticking to the friend zone with the woman who helped give him new purpose.

Two years after losing her husband to a traumatic brain injury, baker Rachel McCleary needs a change. With the proceeds from the sale of her business, she's exploring what a new life would look like. For the short-term, it means helping one of her former students make his fledgling business thrive. And hopefully adding some benefits to the friendship that helped bring her back to life.

All Rachel wants is temporary, and that's the one thing Jonah can give her. But  when the trouble that's stalked his business from the start lands her in its crosshairs--and the hospital--he can't deny that there's nothing short-term about his feelings. Determined to protect her at all costs, he enters into a dangerous race to neutralize the threat before it torpedoes everything he holds dear.

Leseprobe

STIRRED UP BY A SEAL

A SMALL TOWN FRIENDS-WITH-BENEFITS MILITARY ROMANCE

BAD BOY BAKERS

BOOK 3

KAIT NOLAN

TAKE THE LEAP PUBLISHING

CONTENTS

Invite

A Letter to Readers

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Epilogue 2

Sneak Peek Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Other Books By Kait Nolan

About Kait

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A LETTER TO READERS

Dear Reader,

This book contains swearing and pre-marital sex between the lead couple, as those things are part of the realistic lives of characters of this generation, and of many of my readers.

If either of these things are not your cup of tea, please consider that you may not be the right audience for this book. There are scores of other books out there that are written with you in mind. In fact, I’ve got a list of some of my favorite authors who write on the sweeter side on my website at https://kaitnolan.com/on-the-sweeter-side/

If you choose to stick with me, I hope you enjoy!

Happy reading!

Kait

1

“What the hell is taking so long?” Jonah Ferguson paced another circuit of the hospital waiting room, no longer hearing the squeak of his dress shoes. He’d long since abandoned his tux jacket and tie, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt as his only concession to comfort since he’d arrived straight from his best friend Brax’s wedding reception last night. His very pregnant baby sister, Samantha, had thrown everyone for a loop when her water broke right on the dance floor.

Cayla Steele, wife of his other best pal and business partner, Holt, offered a tired shrug. “First babies can take a while. I was in labor with Maddie for fourteen hours.”

Jonah fixed her with a frustrated glare. “It’s been nearly twenty-four. Something has to be wrong.”

His mother, Rebecca, pushed up from her chair and stepped into his path, forcing him to stop or run her over. She laid both hands on his considerably taller shoulders in a gesture she’d been using to soothe him since childhood. “Nothing’s wrong. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll go check on her again.”

He jerked a nod. She patted his cheek and strode back down the hall to the birthing suite. Jonah resumed his pacing.

Holt shoved to his feet, holding out a hand for his wife. “Brother, I hate to do this to you, but we really need to be getting on home to Maddie. Donna has work tomorrow and technically, so do we.”

Work. The bakery. Normal life. “Right. Of course.”

Holt clapped him on the shoulder. “Listen, you stay here as long as it takes. Rachel and I can cover everything.”

Rachel McCleary had completely rocked his world last night.

Jonah’s mind slid to the party he’d left hours ago. His friend and business partner, Brax, had renewed his vows with his once-estranged wife, Mia. That was definitely cause for celebration. Jonah had stood in the shadows with Rachel—his friend, Rachel—watching the dance floor as everybody else got their groove on. He’d wanted to dance with her, wanted her in his arms with her scent surrounding him. Wanted to feel her body moving against his.

And that was exactly why he didn’t ask her. He wished he hadn’t finished the one beer he’d allowed himself. It would give him something to do with the hands that wanted to touch her.

He tuned back into their conversation. “Do you want to date?” Jonah told himself the answer didn’t matter. He couldn’t let it matter.

“I don’t even know. John and I were high school sweethearts. I’ve never dated as an adult. And the whole idea of navigating that is… exhausting. I signed up for online dating and got so many dick pics in twenty-four hours, I deleted my account.”

What the fuck is wrong with people? “Stay far, far away from the bottom feeders.”

“Believe me, I intend to.” Rachel spun the stem of her champagne flute between two fingers. “That said, I know John wouldn’t have wanted me to be alone and grieving him the rest of my life. I’m working my way around to doing something about it.” She took a bigger gulp of the sparkling wine and sucked in a deep breath. “I was hoping you could help me with that.”

Everything inside him revolted. He’d looked out for her. He’d keep looking out for her. Of course he would. She was his teacher, the master baker who’d given him the skills to make a life for himself after the SEALs. And she was his friend, who’d helped pull him to the other side of the trauma of separating from the life he’d known. But helping her find a new love life? He wasn’t sure he could do that. He worked to keep his face neutral. “You need me to screen some guys? Make sure they’re worth your time? That they’ll treat you right?”

“No, I’ve already done that. He is, and he does.”

Jonah set his jaw. Who the hell was she talking about, and why hadn’t she mentioned him before? Was this asshole good enough for her?

Rachel turned to him, blue eyes searching his face, her own full of something that looked an awful lot like hope and expectation. Except it couldn’t possibly be that.

“Then how can I help?”

Those lovely, smooth shoulders straightened. She tipped back the last of the champagne and set the glass aside with a thump. “Maybe this will help clarify.” And she curved those strong, slender fingers around his nape, closing the distance between them, to lay her lips over his.

Him. The asshole was him. Because apparently, in some past life, he’d done something incredible to deserve the attention of a woman like her.

On a sigh, he slid his arms around her, fitting that long, lean body to his as he angled his head to take the kiss deeper—

“Jonah?”

Blinking back to the present, he shoved aside the rest of the fantasy that had been playing on repeat for most of the last day and pulled Holt in for a back-thumping hug. “Thanks, man. I appreciate y’all sticking around this long.”

“No problem.”

When he stepped back, Cayla moved in, wrapping Jonah in a tight hug. “Sam’s going to be just fine. And as soon as that little bundle of joy gets here, y’all will all forget about this stress.”

“God, I hope so.” Jonah squeezed her back. “Y’all go on. I’ll keep you posted.”

The two of them gathered up their things and headed for the elevator.

And then Jonah had nothing and no one left to distract him from the white elephant of The Kiss.

Surely the incident deserved capital letters. It had shocked the ever lovin’ hell out of him. So much so that, in reality, he hadn’t kissed her back.

He hadn’t kissed her back.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to. Hell, he’d been having fantasies about exactly that, almost from the day they’d met. But when she’d done it, he’d been struggling to analyze the ramifications of giving in to his own desires, when she might simply have been acting on a high of wedding nostalgia and too much champagne. A situation not at all helped by the reduced blood flow to his brain.

Then she’d pull back, and before he could do or say anything, his sister Sam had gone into labor.

Now here he was, almost a full day later, still at the hospital in Johnson City, waiting on the arrival of his new niece or nephew, and Jonah still didn’t know what to do about it.

He’d spent the past two years telling himself to keep his hands off her. His inconvenient attraction didn’t matter a damn. She’d been recovering from major emotional trauma, and he’d been working through his own trauma, physical and otherwise, along with coming to grips with the abrupt end of his career as a Navy SEAL. Neither of them had been in a place where anything more than friendship made sense. So it had been easy to tell himself that he wasn’t what she needed. But now?

What exactly did she want? To date him? That was entirely impractical. His tiny hometown of Eden’s Ridge was twelve hours from Syracuse. Rachel was only here for a few weeks.

Was she looking for a fling? Jonah couldn’t imagine that. By her own admission, she’d never been with anyone else. Everything about Rachel screamed forever girl. And yet…

The echo of quick footsteps had him swinging toward the hall. His mom nodded at the nurses who’d become familiar faces over the hours they’d been here.

“Is the baby here?”

“Not yet.”

“Damn, this kid is stubborn. Takes after both its parents.”

“It shouldn’t be too long now. She’s finally fully dilated.”

He really didn’t want to think about what that meant.

Rebecca looped an arm through his. “Why don’t you sit down before you wear a literal hole in the floor?” Without waiting for an answer, she tugged him toward a row of chairs.

“I’d rather swim fifteen miles than keep just sitting here.” At this point, it felt like a year since Sam had gone into labor. He couldn’t shake the knowledge that, despite modern medicine, women still died in childbirth. She was his sister. He’d spent his whole life protecting her. But this wasn’t a battle he could fight, and the sense of impotence didn’t sit well.

“You need a distraction.”

“Yeah.” He scrubbed a hand over his hair. “Yeah, I do.”

“Okay. Then how about you tell me what’s up with you and Rachel?”

It took all his considerable training not to tense at the question. “Nothing’s up with me and Rachel.”

“That wasn’t what it looked like to me.”

Jonah didn’t even need to look to know she wore that bland, faintly amused mom expression that said Busted.

So she’d seen the kiss.

It wasn’t like he had anything to be ashamed of. They were both single and unattached. But as he still had no idea what actually was going on with Rachel, he considered answering the question with his name, rank, and serial number.

Running footsteps from up the hall had Jonah shooting to his feet in time to see his brother-in-law, Griff Powell, racing into the waiting room, his face alight with joy, his dark red hair a wild halo around his head.

“It’s a girl! It’s a girl! Ten fingers, ten toes! I don’t know what she weighs yet. They’re putting her on the scale now. Come on!”

Relief loosened his limbs, and for a moment Jonah slumped against his mother, breathing a prayer of thanks. She squeezed his arm, then they both hurried after Griff. They arrived in time to see a tiny bundle swaddled in pink being laid in Sam’s arms. Tendrils of his sister’s dark hair were glued to her face with sweat, the rest of it pulled back into a messy braid. But despite the long hours, she looked wide awake and radiant.

“Eight pounds, twelve ounces. Eighteen inches long. And she got a full ten on the Apgar!” Sam announced the stats with all the pride she might’ve infused in saying the kid was valedictorian. Which she probably would be, with his sister as her mom. “You’re gonna be tall, like your daddy.”

Rebecca’s “Oh!” sounded a tad watery as she moved to the opposite side of the bed to take her first look at her new granddaughter. “She’s beautiful.”

Jonah’s own throat went thick as he studied the baby. She was so very tiny. How could she be so freaking tiny? He swallowed. “What’s her name?”

“Aurora Leigh.” Griff eased a hip onto the bed, wrapping his arm around them both. “We’re calling her Rory.”

Rory. His brand new niece.

Cautiously, Jonah moved over toward Griff, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You did good, man. She’s the prettiest little thing ever.”

Sam nudged the pink hat up a little. “She got his red hair!”

“Your eyes.” Griff pressed a kiss to her brow.

“Maybe. We’ll see how they settle out in a few months. Either way, she’s perfect.” She beamed up at her husband.

As if sensing they were talking about her, Rory opened her eyes and seemed to look straight at Jonah. Those deep dark eyes just about took him out at the knees. She was new family. A new part of his circle to protect. And he vowed then and there that he’d do anything he had to in order to make sure nothing harmed this child or his sister’s family.

Which meant that he had work to do.

Rachel made another restless lap around the house. Jonah’s house. Where she was meant to be staying for the next three weeks because he had two extra bedrooms, since Brax and Holt were now living with their wives.

It had seemed like a great idea when she’d accepted his invitation. She’d save a bundle on lodging while she was here, and it put her in close enough proximity to finally do something about this attraction. Except, after half a magnum of champagne, she’d misread everything.

Now she was dying in this awkward limbo, expecting him to get home any minute, not knowing what to say to him when he did. But it had been a full day since The Incident, and as far as she knew, he was still at the hospital, awaiting the birth of his sister’s first child. Not that she’d dared text him to ask. Opening up any channel of communication seemed like the pinnacle of bad ideas under the circumstances. Instead, she’d paced the house like a lunatic, wrestling with the horror that came with reclaimed sobriety.

She was never drinking champagne again.

When her phone rang, she yelped, leaping away as if it were a poisonous snake. Calling herself an idiot, she edged closer to check the readout.

Audrey Graham.

On a shaky exhale, she scooped up the phone and answered the friend she’d put on a plane in Knoxville earlier today. “Hey.”

“I just wanted to let you know I made it home to Syracuse.”

“Oh, good.” Her voice came out an octave higher than usual.

It didn’t take Audrey’s certified genius brain to figure out something was off. “Rach, what’s wrong?”

She’d opted to say nothing to Audrey this morning, but after having the whole day alone with her thoughts, Rachel knew she had to spill or she’d explode. Dropping onto the sofa, she buried her face in her lap and groaned, “Everything. I kissed Jonah last night.”

“Ah.” The simple, one-syllable answer was so much Audrey’s non-judgmental therapist response it had Rachel’s temper sparking.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Her tone was calm and placating, as ever. “I just wondered when that was going to come to a head.”

“You knew?” What was she saying? Of course, Audrey knew. Even before all the graduate degrees, she’d been a natural observer. She saw everything. It was part of what made her a gifted clinician and researcher.

Instead of answering, Audrey came back with a question of her own. “How was it?”

Despite the fact that her friend couldn’t see, Rachel covered her face with both hands. “Awful. He didn’t kiss me back.”

“Oh.”

Audrey’s legitimate surprise only compounded Rachel’s mortification. “I just… We’ve gotten to be such good friends, and he’s the first guy I’ve found really attractive since John died, and I thought it would be easier to take that leap with someone I care for and respect, just to get over the hump. But he didn’t kiss me back, and then he was gone to the hospital with Sam. And of course he should have gone with her. But now I’ve had time to sober up, and, Audrey, what the hell am I going to do for the next three weeks? How can I face him? I’m staying in his house!” The words spilled out in a flood, laying out everything she’d been spinning over since last night.

“He’s not home yet?”

“No.”

“Hang on a sec.” Her voice got muffled for a moment as she murmured to someone else. “I’ll be off in a little while.” A low, male voice answered, ending on a low chuckle. Because, of course, Audrey’s husband, who happened to be Rachel’s cousin, was right there.

There was a click that might have been the closing of a door.

“Okay, I’m back.”

“Please, dear God, tell me Hudson’s not listening in.”

“Nope, I sent him to unpack and get the laundry started.” Audrey sighed, and Rachel could picture her settling into the comfortable reading chair in her study, massaging the legs that had been rebuilt of pins and titanium after the catastrophic car accident years before that had first crossed her path with Hudson’s. “Now, it seems to me you have two choices. You can either pretend it was a drunken mistake and laugh it off. Or you can talk to him about it while you’re sober.”

“If I could talk about it sober, I wouldn’t have had to drink half a bottle of champagne to get up the guts to kiss him in the first place.” Why, oh why, had she thought that was a good idea?

“You and Jonah talk about everything.”

“Not everything.” Not how she’d been having dreams about him. How his hands were the ones she was imagining on her body now. It was disconcerting. And it was thrilling to know that part of her hadn’t died with John. Or it had been before she’d all but expired from mortification on the spot at the reception.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Are you seriously asking me that question?”

“Yes.”

Rachel blew out an exasperated breath and tried to come up with a coherent answer. Fear had become so much a part of her life since John’s accident. She’d gone from knowing who she was and where she stood, absolutely, to questioning almost everything in her life. It was why she’d sold her bakery. Why she’d spent the past couple of years as an instructor for Audrey’s experimental baking therapy program for military veterans struggling with anxiety, depression, and PTSD, where she’d met Jonah and the other guys.

“I’m afraid of everything. Of ruining our friendship. Of being rejected. I’m terrified that the idea of a friends-with-benefits arrangement will insult him somehow. This seemed easy through the veil of champagne. It made sense. But now? I don’t know.” And the not knowing was killing her.

“Well, you can’t undo the kiss. So you have to decide whether you want to make excuses, or whether to actually go for what you want. And you might want to make that decision soon, because Sam just texted. The baby’s here, so Jonah will probably be on his way home shortly.”

She so wasn’t ready for that conversation.

“What did they have?”

“Girl. Aurora Leigh. They’re calling her Rory.”

As Audrey reeled off the rest of the expected information, Rachel smiled through the pinch around her heart. She and John had been trying for a baby the year he’d died, and a part of her had been devastated not to have a piece of him to carry on. But it didn’t dim her legitimate joy for Sam and Griff. She didn’t know Jonah’s sister well, but she’d heard plenty about her through Audrey, as the two had taught at the same university for a while, before Audrey had reconnected with Hudson.

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing lots of pictures. Thanks for listening.”

“Any time. Do you know what you’re going to do?”

“Not a damned clue. But I’ll figure it out. I don’t have any other choice.”

She sat in silence for several minutes after hanging up the phone. Did she want to take the risk of talking to Jonah openly about what she wanted, or was it better to take the out of alcohol-impaired judgment and cling to the friendship they’d built? The answer wasn’t simple. Neither option had a flashing neon sign saying, Pick me!

The truth was, he’d been up for something like forty hours by now. In all likelihood, he’d want to sleep in tomorrow. She needed to be up early anyway to get things rolling at the bakery so they could open on time at seven. The best option right now was to avoid him. Maybe after another night’s sleep, she’d know what to do.

She scribbled a note and left it on the kitchen counter for him to find. Then, like the coward she was, she took herself to the guest room he’d given her and went to bed.

2

Jonah shook a little as he slid out of his truck. The wake of Rory’s birth wasn’t unlike the peculiar mix of exhaustion and adrenaline that hit him after a mission. A healthy dose of anticipation pumped up the buzz as he let himself into the house. Relieved of the worry over his sister and the baby, his mind had been full of Rachel on the near hour’s drive home. He needed to see her. To set her at ease. Because in all his ruminating, he remembered the distress in her eyes when she’d pulled back. She’d probably imagined all kinds of horrible reasons he hadn’t responded, and none of them would be the truth.

More than anything else, he just wanted another chance to kiss her back. To satisfy this craving. Because now that he’d had even the smallest taste of her, he couldn’t turn it off as he’d been doing for all these months.

The under-counter lights were on in the kitchen, along with several lamps in the living room.

“Rachel?”

He moved through the house, automatically angling his head to listen with his good ear. But he heard no reply. She wasn’t curled up with a book or watching TV. Neither was she napping on the sofa. And why should she be? It was after ten. She’d probably gone to bed a while ago in anticipation of the early hour she’d be up for work in the morning.

Jonah found confirmation in the form of a note on the kitchen counter.

Headed to bed. Audrey told me the baby was here. Congrats, Uncle Jonah! You’ve been up forever and a day, so sleep in tomorrow. Holt and I have the bakery covered.

She’d signed her name in the familiar looping scrawl he’d memorized in the commercial kitchen where she’d trained him.

Before he could think better of it, Jonah found himself standing outside the door of her room, his hand inches from the panel. But he stopped himself before knocking. No matter what had happened last night, she was here to do them a favor. Waking her for this conversation wasn’t smart or kind. Laying a hand against the door, he sighed with a mix of regret and resignation. It would keep. He just needed to wake up when she did to go in tomorrow morning. He’d set an alarm.

Too wired to sleep himself, and suddenly ravenous, Jonah retreated to the kitchen to scrounge up some food. The vending machine fare and hospital cafeteria options hadn’t done much to hold him over. He found a container of leftover chicken noodle casserole Rachel must’ve made. Not wanting to risk waking her with the microwave, he shoveled in bites cold as he leaned against the counter.

The talons of a headache dug into his skull, squeezing just hard enough to remind him he’d pushed himself too far, too hard, and if he didn’t get some proper rest, he’d be leveled with another of the debilitating migraines that were the bane of his existence. He’d had a lot fewer since he’d come home, but there were still regular enough aftereffects from the post-concussion syndrome he’d wrestled with for months after the accident that he couldn’t feel fully normal. By rote, he lifted his hand and rubbed two fingers over the ridge of tissue on the back of his skull. His hair had grown back, covering the scar, but he’d never forget it was there, even if he couldn’t clearly remember how he’d gotten it. Having read the mission report, that was probably a blessing.

Dropping his hand, his gaze fell on the clunky old radio shoved back into a corner beneath the upper cabinets. He didn’t know why he kept the damned thing. A relic from the seventies, the sound quality was barely adequate, and it took up more than a reasonable amount of counter space. Maybe he hadn’t tossed it because it was one of the few good memories he had of his dad. They’d taken the thing apart just to see how it worked. But it had been Jonah who’d put it back together. Because Lonnie Barker had not been a man who repaired things. He only broke them. It was what he’d done to their family, walking away when Jonah was eight years old, leaving him to take care of his mom and sister. It was a job he’d never shirked. Family was everything, and Jonah had spent his life trying to make up for the deficiencies of his deadbeat father. Living his life with honor.

Lonnie had died more than a year ago now and surprised the hell out of all of them when he’d left everything to Jonah and Sam, the kids he’d had nothing to do with in years. Not that everything had been much. The contents of his house and the decrepit bar he’d devoted his life to for the past twenty-odd years. They’d done the bare minimum. Jonah had boxed up the contents of the house, donating most of the furniture and putting the rest in storage until they felt like dealing with it. Sam would’ve been content burning it all, including the bar itself. But Jonah had looked at the building and seen possibilities. So much so that he’d dragged Holt and Brax down to Tennessee to start their own bakery once they’d graduated from Dr. Graham’s program.

It hadn’t been all smooth sailing. The project had been plagued with problems from the beginning. Vandalism. Theft. An attack on Mia, who’d been their contractor for the renovation. Multiple crimes that they’d attributed to other things. But at this point, Jonah was pretty sure they’d been wrong about all of it. At the end of the day, he suspected that all the trouble that had come to their door could be laid at Lonnie’s feet because of something he’d been involved with before he’d died. Jonah had always suspected his dad of something shady.

And before anyone else got hurt, he was determined to get to the bottom of what it was.

Having been a professional baker all of her adult life, Rachel was accustomed to keeping early hours. Being up well before the sun suited her most of the time. But that was with coffee and the freedom to move around without having to worry about waking anyone. When not on shift at the firehouse, John had slept like the dead. Jonah’s training as a SEAL meant he tended to be alert and awake at the slightest noise, so she hadn’t even tried to start coffee, and she’d carried her shoes with her to the door, figuring she’d walk softer in bare feet. It felt like doing the walk of shame. As if she were sneaking out of his bed, instead of just his house.

His truck was in the drive when she eased down onto the front steps to put on her shoes. She hurried through the process, expecting the porch light to go on at any moment. When she made it to the car without interruption, she heaved a sigh of relief. Now if he’d only sleep through the starting of the engine, she’d be home free. At least for a few more hours. That’d be hit or miss, depending on whether his good or bad ear was aimed toward this side of the house. And that just sent her brain on a merry little trip wondering how he slept. On his back? On his side? On his stomach, with those long, strong limbs spread out like a starfish?

Focus, McCleary.

She cranked the engine and eased out of the driveway, keeping her eyes on the house in the rearview mirror as she slowly rolled down the street. No lights came on to indicate she’d woken him.

Finally relaxing, her mind shifted to recipes as she headed toward town. Though it had been more than a year, her brain clicked into planning mode automatically, mentally reviewing the contents of the walk-in cooler and storeroom she’d perused on Friday, and calculating what different things she could juggle to best maximize oven capacity and the time she had before the bakery opened. She realized she’d missed this, missed the anticipation of the work and the challenge of beating the clock. For the first time in a long time, she felt like doing things again. That was another little sign of healing. She’d finally reached a place where she could celebrate those small milestones instead of grieving them.

No one else was on the road. She enjoyed being awake when everyone was asleep. No one was giving her looks of pity or asking questions in that hesitant, careful way. No one was checking on how she was doing, eying her as if she were seconds away from falling apart. That had been the recurrent theme of her life since John died, and she was beyond tired of it. She’d loved her husband, and she’d grieved him. But her life wasn’t over, and it was past time for her to start living it again. She just didn’t think she could do it in Syracuse, where memories slapped her in the face on every corner.

That was part of what this stint in Tennessee was about. Testing out the small-town life, seeing if it was something she could be happy with. She liked the idea of it. Of becoming part of a smaller community. Somewhere she could learn the locals and where they could get to know her as her, not as that poor, young widow.

Eden’s Ridge was a cute little town—emphasis on the little. Downtown consisted of about three blocks along Main Street, with a handful of other streets running crossways and parallel that hosted a variety of businesses. She drove past several on the way to the bakery, which was, itself, on the outskirts of town. The two-screen movie theater. The grocery store, Garden of Eden. Gift shops. Jonah’s mom’s salon. Crystal’s Diner of the famed grilled mac and cheese sandwich, which she had yet to try. All shuttered and dark at this hour. But later on, the sidewalks would be filled with people moseying about their day. Her “Yankee sensibilities”, as Jonah would say, couldn’t consider the speed at which Southerners seemed to go about life as bustling. But she liked the slower speed. Liked the fact that people here felt as if they had the time to stop and talk to their neighbors and friends. It felt more personal. Not that she didn’t have those connections back home. But she had them because it was home. Starting over somewhere entirely new seemed less intimidating to do in a small town.

She’d thought maybe of doing it here. Not because of Jonah—or, at least, not entirely because of him. But because of all the guys and their wives. Because she legitimately liked the town. But after The Incident, she’d probably screwed that up as a possibility. She didn’t want to analyze the fresh surge of grief she felt at the idea that she’d taken that choice away from herself. Those were thoughts for after coffee. She’d brew a pot when she got inside, and start on dough for some cinnamon rolls.

Gravel crunched under her tires as she pulled into the bakery’s driveway. She drove up the little hill and parked in front of the building. The original structure had been an uninspiring cinderblock rectangle. She hadn’t seen it in person, but Jonah had sent pictures when he’d asked for her opinion on converting it into a bakery. Brax’s wife Mia had done the design, gutting the inside and covering the outside with siding now painted a rich forest green. A wide porch wrapped around three sides, and a bright tin roof accented the whole. It was woodsy and masculine and absolutely fit the three men who’d opened Bad Boy Bakers. The teacher in her was beyond proud of what her students had accomplished.

Mind on the coffee to be brewed, Rachel climbed out of the car and strode toward the rear entrance that led into the kitchen, one hand groping in her purse for keys. Okay, seriously, where the hell were they? She really had to clean out all the receipts and other garbage in here. No one who wasn’t a mom should have a purse with this much crap in it.

A scraping sound had her head whipping up, her feet coming to a halt. Gooseflesh erupted along her arms, all the hair standing up.

I shouldn’t be here.

The certainty of it was immediate and visceral, even before she spotted motion by the back dumpster. Was it an animal digging for food? Shit, they had bears here. But the shape she could make out against the dark blue of the dumpster wasn’t an animal. It was very definitely human.

Holt’s truck wasn’t here, so it wasn’t him. Lights weren’t on inside, and he would’ve called out, anyway. Heart pounding, she began to back away. She needed to get to the car and call Jonah. Or 911. Something. But she had to get to the car first. Turning to run, she cursed when she bumped into one of the tables set outside for customers who wanted to enjoy the view.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

Footsteps sounded behind her, and the acrid taste of fear coated her mouth and throat as she stumbled on a chair, nearly going down. But she caught herself and lurched forward in an awkward run, digging for some more speed as she neared the corner of the building. Someone cursed and then a weight hit her square between the shoulders. She screamed as she lost her balance, flying forward toward the rail. Then the world exploded in a shock of white and pain before everything went dark.

3

Rachel had snuck out early. At least that was Jonah’s assumption when he woke with his alarm to find her already gone. She had to be avoiding him. There was no other reason for her not to ride in with him. At least he’d have a chance to talk to her alone when he got to the bakery. He’d texted Holt last night, telling him to wait to come in until his usual time after getting his daughter off to the summer art camp she was doing this week. Or was it vacation Bible school? Jonah had lost track.

His brain felt like it was cotton soaked with Jell-O. The four hours of sleep he’d managed weren’t nearly enough, and chances were, he’d be paying for it later. But he needed to clear the air with Rachel and set things back to rights. Whatever that was going to look like since The Kiss. That was largely going to depend on her and the specifics of what she wanted. Regardless of his own wants, he’d do what was best for her. But he needed more information to determine what that was, and that meant hauling his ass to the bakery.

According to the app on his phone, the security system still showed as set, so she couldn’t be that far ahead of him. Dragging on jeans and one of the Bad Boy Bakers T-shirts that constituted their uniform, he grabbed his keys and stumbled out to his truck. At least there was no traffic at this hour, and nobody to bust him for breaking a few speed limits on the way.

Her car was parked out front, but the lights inside weren’t on.

Maybe she was around the corner of the porch, unlocking the door.

Jonah slid out of the truck and went instantly on alert. Something wasn’t right. He didn’t know what tipped him off and didn’t stop to analyze. His Glock 19 was in his hand without a second’s thought as he edged toward the steps. With everything that had happened over the past six months, none of them were ever unarmed. He climbed the two steps to the porch, moving like the ghost he’d been trained to be. His eyes scanned the area for something amiss. Only having full hearing in one ear left him feeling at a stark disadvantage, and he’d yet to fully adapt. The damned ringing in his bad ear drowned out everything but the loudest of the night insects.

When he spotted the body sprawled facedown on the porch, his heart all but froze in absolute terror. He knew the dark wet stain on the porch boards was blood even before he dropped to his knees beside her. Fingers shaking, he checked her throat for a pulse, sending up a desperate prayer of thanks when he felt the flutter of it beneath his fingers. Training warred with instinct, but in the end, he rose and quickly checked the rest of the area for her assailant. Finding no one, he unlocked the door long enough to disarm the alarm and switch on the lights, and rushed back, cursing himself eight ways from Sunday as he stabilized her head, neck, and shoulders and carefully rolled her over.

“Rachel. Rachel, baby, wake up.”

But she didn’t rouse as he checked her over for other injuries. There didn’t appear to be anything else, but the head injury was bad enough. Blood flowed freely from a gash on her temple. He carefully probed the edges, not feeling any obvious sign of skull fracture, but he didn’t risk a more thorough examination. She needed medical attention, and she needed it now. The nearest ambulance would be nearly an hour out, and he didn’t know how long it might take to rouse any EMTs from the volunteer fire department. He wasn’t risking the wait. Clutching her carefully to his chest, he carried her to the truck, settling her in the front seat and buckling her in before leaning it back. Yanking the first aid kit from the center console, he dug for sterile gauze pads, gently pressing them to the wound. They soaked through in seconds. Swearing, he opened more, doing what he could with more gauze to secure them in place. Then he raced around the front and dove for the driver’s seat.

His tires spit gravel as he reversed, heading for the road.