In Morgan Valley, two wary loners discover they’re perfect together . . .
Beth Baker can tell that her summer tenant wants to be left to himself, and that suits her more than fine. Conner O’Neil is a brooding, retired Navy SEAL whose only friend seems to be his pet half-wolf, Loki. But Beth becomes concerned when Loki turns up on her doorstep, demanding she follow him back to Conner’s cabin . . .
Ailing, Conner would rather stay holed up like a wounded animal than allow anyone to nurse him back to health. But he quickly learns that resisting Beth is futile. Another discovery: they have more in common than he expected. She’s an irresistible blend of strength and gentleness, and soon enough, Conner wants to show her it’s okay to trust him, because he’ll never let trouble reach her side again . . .
*Previously appeared in the anthology Lone Wolf
Release date:
July 26, 2022
Publisher:
Zebra Books
Print pages:
96
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
Beth Baker groaned inwardly, released her grip on the door handle of Maureen’s General Store, and turned to face the owner. Maureen was a lovely woman, but she did like to chat, and Beth had been hoping to get away without the usual friendly, weekly, interrogation. Not that she minded sharing her business with Morgantown, but there were still things she was reluctant to talk about, and Maureen had a way of extracting information that was almost magical.
“Sure!” Beth smiled. “What’s up?”
“That man.” Maureen looked at her hopefully. She wore a red T-shirt that clashed with her bright auburn hair, jeans, and well-worn cowboy boots. “The grumpy one.”
“You’re going to have to be more specific, Maureen,” Beth said. “There are quite a few grumps in Morgantown, let alone in the whole valley.”
“The one in the cabin.”
Beth considered the options. “Do you mean Conner O’Neil?”
“Yes.” Maureen nodded eagerly. “Definitely that one.”
Beth couldn’t disagree with Maureen’s description. Her first, and second, impression of the guy who’d come to rent a cabin on the far edge of the Garcia Ranch where she had her day job, was that he was a miserable old grump. Not that he was old. She’d guessed he was in his late thirties like Jay Williams, the friend who had recommended he come to live in the valley for a while.
Beth had met Conner at the Garcias’, given him a detailed map of the local area and directions to the cabin, a radio in case the cell network went down, and a week’s worth of provisions to get him started. He’d barely said a word to her, so she’d ended up petting his huge dog and chatting to fill the silence while his expression closed down even more. He probably thought she was an airhead. She hadn’t bothered to correct that impression on their subsequent meetings because if the gods were kind, after summer ended, she’d never have to deal with him again.
Except now there was obviously a problem and, as the entire Garcia family were away, she was in charge of the ranch and its one isolated guest.
“What’s wrong with him?” Beth asked warily.
“He didn’t pick up his weekly supplies.”
“Maybe he’s just been delayed?” Beth suggested hopefully. “It must be hard to keep track of time in the middle of nowhere.”
She visited the cabins on a regular basis to keep them clean and aired, and they were pretty basic. They were also about as far away from the town as you could get in Morgan Valley. Conner probably viewed that as a feature, seeing as he didn’t like to communicate with anyone—or maybe it was just with her.
“This is the second time he hasn’t shown up,” Maureen said. “I tried to call him, but I couldn’t get through.”
Beth frowned. Whatever she thought of the way-too-hot-for-his-own-good grump, that was worrying.
“Do you have the supplies ready to go?”
“Yes, of course.” Maureen brightened considerably. “Can you take them up to him? I hate driving out that far with my bad eyesight and ability to get lost in my own backyard.”
“I don’t see why not,” Beth said. “He is our guest, so I am partially responsible for him.”
She’d just come back from an early morning visit to the ranch and had been expecting to spend the rest of the day with her kids. There were hands hired to keep an eye on the cattle, but she was definitely in charge of the house. She valued her job and liked her employer way too much not to turn around and go back again.
Maureen went to retrieve the supplies, added fresh milk from the refrigerator, and ice packs to make sure everything stayed cool, and handed the box over to Beth.
“Thank you, dear. Now, make sure you let me know if he’s okay, or if you need anything, all right?”
“Will do.” Beth picked up the box, went through the door Maureen held open for her, and put everything in her car. “I’ve got to go home to see the kids, but I’ll be up at the ranch again by this afternoon. If Conner calls in before I go, can you text me?”
“Sure.” Maureen nodded. “Take care now and thank you.”
Beth made sure the passenger door was firmly shut and went around to the driver’s side. Her car might be ancient, but having a brother who was a mechanic meant it was still going strong. Not that it would get very far on the roads toward the cabins, which were described as “off the beaten track” for a reason. When she reached the Garcia Ranch, she’d have to borrow one of the trucks.
She drove home, which only took a couple of minutes, and took a left past her family-run gas station to the new homes Ted had built the previous year. There was one for him and Veronica, and one for Beth and her boys. Their father, Kevin, lived in the apartment above the mechanics shop. She insisted on paying Ted rent, which he reluctantly accepted. Her ex might not be sending her money, but she had a housekeeping job up at the ranch caring for Juan Garcia, her private physical therapy clients, and she worked the occasional shift at the gas station when Ted was shorthanded.
Life was good—even with two teenage boys to feed and help navigate through life. She parked around the back of the house and went in through the gate, wrinkling her nose at the smell of burning fat as she opened the kitchen door.
“Oh crap!” Wes, her almost-son, jumped like he’d stuck his fingers in an electrical socket, which was totally something he would do. “You’re back early.”
“What are you burning?” Beth looked at the frying pan.
“I’m not burning anything.” Wes rushed the smoking pan over to the sink and threw it in, making Beth wince. “It’s just a little browner than I meant it to be.”
She followed him over and watched as he frantically squirted dish soap into the pan and turned on the hot water.
“What was it before you cremated it?”
“French toast.” Wes sighed. “It was going really well, and then I got a text, and I forgot about it.”
As Wes lived on his phone, Beth wasn’t surprised.
“You’d better clean that up properly,” she warned. “Or you’re buying me a new pan.”
“Like I have any money,” Wes grumbled even as he filled the pan with cold water and set it to soak.
“You earn money,” Beth pointed out. “You have a full-time job as a carpenter’s assistant, and you’re always busy.”
Originally Wes had found the move to a small town from the city suburbs hard. After a series of unsuccessful career choices, he’d ended up working for Kaiden Miller as an apprentice carpenter. Not only did Wes enjoy the work, but Kaiden had managed to knock a bit of sense into his head as well. Wes was now a full-time employee and Beth couldn’t have been prouder.
“Where’s Mikey?” she asked.
Wes pointed up the stairs. “Sleeping, I think.”
“He’d sleep his life away if I let him.” Beth sighed. “I need to talk to you both, so don’t go anywhere.”
“That sounds bad,” Wes said as he scrubbed energetically at the pan. “And I’m going to say upfront that whatever it is, it’s all Mike’s fault.”
Beth couldn’t help but smile as she climbed the stairs. There was only a year between Wes and Mikey, who shared the same father—her ex—but had different mothers. She’d taken Wes in after the court case that had left him without both his parents. At first he’d been angry and resentful, but years of patience and understanding had paid off, and he was wel. . .
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