Ready to Run - Lauren Layne (ang.)

Ready to Run is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. A Loveswept Ebook Original Copyright © 2017 by Lauren LeDonne Excerpt from Runaway Groom by Lauren Layne copyright © 2017 by Lauren LeDonne All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York. LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC. This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Runaway Groom by Lauren Layne. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

Ebook ISBN 9781101885116 Cover design: Okay Creations Cover photograph: Poznyakov/Shutterstock randomhousebooks.com v4.1 ep

Contents Cover Title Page Copyright

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 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Epilogue Dedication Acknowledgments By Lauren Layne About the Author Excerpt from Runaway Groom

Chapter 1 “Simon, unless you want to die on the side of a Montana highway, I strongly suggest you find another song to sing along with.” Simon broke off mid-chorus of “Eye of the Tiger” and gave her a disappointed look. “You’re never going to get your guy with that sort of attitude.” “Oh, I’ll get my guy,” Jordan muttered. “I didn’t cross two time zones to not get him.” Even as she spoke the confident words, she lifted a hand and rubbed her forehead, which had started aching at 32,000 feet, over one of the Dakotas, and had turned into a throbbing migraine by the time she and her colleague had loaded into their Ford Focus rental car at Missoula International Airport. That had been nearly an hour ago, and Simon had been singing Survivor’s power anthem for at least half that. Her friend lifted a water bottle from the middle console, unscrewed the cap, and held it out to her. “Told you you should have let me drive.”

Jordan snatched the water bottle and gave him a wry look before fixing her attention back on the two-lane road. “Do you even have your driver’s license?” “Are you telling me I look young, baby doll?” “No, baby doll, I’m telling you that you look like someone who hasn’t left the island of Manhattan in two decades and thus hasn’t been behind a wheel in at least that long.” “It’s only been one decade,” he corrected. She choked on her water and looked at him again. “Seriously?” Simon laughed and grabbed the bottle, took a drink. “Don’t be ridiculous, Carpenter. You know I take a trip to Bali every year.” “Yeah, well…Bali this is not,” she said, glancing out at the wide-open spaces around them. “No,” he agreed, looking out the passenger window. “Pretty, though.” “Don’t get attached,” she muttered, picking up her phone and glancing at the in-progress route to see how much farther they had. “I’m not planning to spend more than a night here.” He lifted his eyebrows, which were better shaped than hers, thanks to his weekly—yes, weekly—grooming sessions. But, then, that

was Simon for you. Perfectly coiffed wavy blond hair down to probably pedicured toes. “You think you’re that good, huh?” Jordan grabbed the water bottle back. “If I were that good, I’d have been able to wrangle Luke Elliott over the phone rather than having to drive to the literal middle of nowhere to recruit the bastard.” “I still can’t believe he never replied to a single email or voicemail,” Simon mused. “Believe it. Either he didn’t get the messages or there’s actually a single man on this planet who doesn’t think getting paid to have twentysomething bikini-clad babes draped all over him sounds like a good gig.” “Maybe he’s gay.” She gave her colleague a look. “Don’t sound so hopeful. Jilted needs this guy a hell of a lot more than you do.” Simon lifted a finger in objection. “I resent that. I’ll have you know it’s been two and a half months since I last had relations.” “Oh gosh, really? Here, hold the wheel while I cry on your behalf.” Simon reached over and chucked her under the chin. “Poor Jordie. How long has it been for you?”

Eleven months and counting. She pulled her phone out of the console and tossed it to him. “The GPS doesn’t know where the hell we are. Can you guide us there the old-fashioned way?” “Oh, sure. Let me just get my compass, lick my finger, and stick it in the air….” “Hey, you’re the one who insisted on buying cowboy boots for this little adventure. At least try to earn some country cred.” Simon sighed dramatically, but he took the phone, zooming in and out on the map and cursing until finally declaring, “Straight, for another thirty minutes, give or take a cow or twelve.” “So, for real, what are the chances that this guy’s gay?” Simon asked, turning down the radio. “It’d make sense, right? I mean, why else would he leave three women at the altar and then refuse to answer any questions about it?” Jordan pursed her lips and pondered the very dilemma that had Simon and her driving through Nowhere, Montana, in the first place. Luke Freaking Elliott, runaway groom extraordinaire, and hopefully the savior to Jordan’s career. If she could get the guy to even talk to her.

As to Simon’s assessment that he was gay… maybe? It was a good explanation for Luke Elliott’s complicated romantic history. As Simon said, there had to be a reason he’d been the groom in three weddings that hadn’t happened. But her instincts said that wasn’t the case, not here. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Jordan’s career needed Luke Elliott to be very much into women. Specifically, she needed him to be into twenty-five women, who would compete on national television to coax him down the aisle in a fairy-tale wedding, also on national television. Forget The Bachelor. Jordan’s network had taken the hit reality show and raised it a notch, focusing not just on sexy bachelors but runaway grooms—men who’d gotten darn close to saying vows, only to escape at the last minute. To Jordan’s bosses’ thinking, a runaway groom represented the ultimate challenge. And, thus, being the one woman who could finally get a ring on his fourth finger represented the ultimate fairy tale. As associate producer to the woman who’d

pitched the TV show, Jordan had been tasked with candidate recruitment. Trouble was? While there were plenty of douchebags who ditched women at the altar, not many of them were redeemable. Or even appealing. Jordan had spent the past six months looking for a runaway groom who wasn’t a grade-A asshole, an immature jerk, or suffering from some substance-abuse or mental issues. Luke Elliott was her best shot. She’d read about the guy in a tiny local Montana newspaper. He was a thirtysomething firefighter who’d left three women at the altar over the course of the last decade and yet somehow had still managed to maintain his status as his small town’s darling. The details had been sparse, but she hadn’t needed details. Just the picture. Granted, the photo had been black-andwhite and grainy, but there’d definitely been the promise of attractiveness. It was all the encouragement needed to stalk the man. Or at least she’d tried to. He wasn’t on

Facebook or any of the usual social media suspects. She’d found what she was pretty sure was his email address but had gotten nowhere with that. She’d even sweet-talked her way into obtaining his phone number. Nothing. Not a single response in three weeks. And so…here she was. Out in the middle of nowhere, hoping that a face-to-face meeting would convince this guy that he’d be the perfect star for the inaugural season of Jilted. As far as how she felt about that? Somewhere between pissy and freaked out, landing somewhere in the middle zone of irritated. Thank goodness for Simon’s company. In the four years she’d been working at CBC, he’d become both good friend and valued colleague. Simon was on the network’s legal team, known as their “on the ground” lawyer. He worked mainly with the network’s reality shows and was the guy they sent to answer contract questions from possible candidates, as well as to identify red flags and wild cards to be avoided. Jordan sighed, and Simon shifted in his seat

to study her, his blue eyes assessing. “What’s with you? You’ve been edgy ever since JFK. Is it because Starbucks was out of hazelnut syrup?” She let out a little laugh. “We’d better hope that’s not the reason. There’s no hazelnut syrup where we’re going.” “Yeah, no Starbucks in Lucky Hollow. I checked.” So had Jordan. But it didn’t matter, because she had a plan: She’d get in, get out, and be back to her SoHo apartment by the weekend. “For real,” Simon said, reaching over and poking her cheek to keep her attention. “What’s up?” Jordan pursed her lips. “I just hate leaving the city.” “You leave the city all the time.” “Yeah, for other cities,” Jordan countered. “Big ones. Los Angeles and Lucky Hollow aren’t exactly the same thing.” “So?” She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “It’s just, small towns sort of weird me out.” “Because of the lack of Starbucks?” She laughed again. “God, no. Okay, sort of.

But because…it reminds me that I haven’t been home. Not in a long time.” “Ahhhhhhh,” Simon said, acting as if he’d achieved enlightenment. “Ahhh, what?” “The mysterious Jordan Carpenter finally shares a sliver of her past.” She frowned. “I talk about my past.” “Um, no. Not in the four years I’ve known you. For all I know, you came into this world as a fully hot twentysomething, delivered to Manhattan by spaceship.” “Have you been binge-watching Battlestar Galactica again?” “The guys are hot, but don’t change the subject,” Simon said. “Where’s home?” She swallowed. “Kansas.” “More detail, please.” “You’ve never heard of the town.” “Try me.” “Keaton.” “Never heard of it.” Jordan rolled her eyes. “Okay, so, small town?” Simon nudged gently. The smallest. “The population is less than

most New York neighborhoods.” “And you haven’t been home in…” “A couple years,” she muttered. Twelve. He studied her. “Why?” “Because there’s nothing left for me there.” “No family?” Jordan’s stomach lurched. “Okay, new plan,” Jordan said, reaching out and turning on the radio. “We’re not talking about this.” He shrugged and leaned forward, squinting out the windshield. “Just as well. Looks like our road trip is coming to an end.” “What? You said thirty minutes.” “I also told you I couldn’t read maps.” He pointed to the sign. LUCKY HOLLOW. POPULATION 2,314

For now, Jordan thought. By the time she seduced Luke Elliott with the idea of hot women, household fame, and a fat paycheck, the town would need to update its sign to 2,313.

Chapter 2 “Just the one night, cutie pies?” Simon leaned on the counter and smiled at the middle-aged blond woman behind the front desk of the motel. “Let’s say we end up needing to stay a few extra nights. Will that be a problem?” “Gosh, no,” the woman said with a smile. “We’re almost never booked to capacity, except during the county fair.” She leaned forward too. “We’ve the best fair for miles around; everyone knows it. It’s in just a couple weeks if you want to stay.” Yeah, that’s a no. Still, Jordan would give the motel credit for being adorable. She’d assumed motel would mean a tiny, rundown building meant to put a roof over the head of the occasional passerby, with maybe a vending machine and not much more. Instead, Maeve’s Motel had a decidedly homey, bed-and-breakfast feel to it. A quaint little house, painted pale pink, right down to the picket fence in the yard. The lobby area smelled like freshly baked cookies because

there were freshly baked cookies, alongside a crystal pitcher of lemonade. Still, no matter how charmed she found herself, Jordan had no plans on staying longer than she had to. She slid her corporate credit card across the counter. “Just the one night. Two rooms please.” The woman’s smile didn’t dim. “No problem, sweetie. I just love your hair, by the way; how’d you get it to do that beachy look? Mine just goes straight to frizz unless I wrestle it into submission with a flatiron.” Jordan resisted the urge to touch her shoulder-length blond hair self-consciously. “Oh, it’s this…stuff. A saltwater spray. I can get you the name.” It was also embarrassingly expensive for what was probably literally salt and water, but Jordan didn’t mention that part. “I’d love that. I’ll be here all day and tomorrow morning, but if you come by tomorrow afternoon, just leave a note; tell April to give it to Vicky. That’s me!” Jordan smiled. “Will do.” The other woman hummed happily as she slowly typed their information into the ancient-looking computer system, her long

pink fingernails clacking the keyboard one key at a time. Vicky was in her early sixties, pleasantly plump, with a wide face and even wider smile. Today was apparently one of the days where she’d beat her blond bob into submission, because it swished happily against her chin as she grooved to the music in her head. “Okay, here we are,” Vicky said, sliding two plastic key cards across the counter. “Rooms nine and ten, right across the hall from each other on the second floor.” “Perfect,” Simon said. “Which one’s bigger? That’ll be mine.” “Same size. But nine has a view of Main Street, which can be a bit noisy, so if you want quiet, pick ten.” “I could go for a bit of quiet,” Simon said, reaching for the key to 10. “I could get you a room on the same side,” Vicky told Jordan. “If you want quiet too?” “I’ll take my chances with Main Street. I’m guessing it’ll be quieter than where I’m from.” “Oh, where’s that?” “New York,” Jordan answered, deliberately interpreting the question as where she was from now, not where she was from originally.

Years of dodging her past had taught her that the more confident your tone, the less likely people were to listen too closely for what you were hiding. Vicky gasped in delight. “No. Really? New York City?” Jordan smiled and took the key card. “No wonder you’re so pretty and fancy,” Vicky said. “Although I always thought it was just a stereotype that New Yorkers wore all black.” Jordan glanced down at the black halter top, skinny jeans, and basic black pumps. Black purse. Black suitcase. Black bangles at her wrist. Not all black, but close. “Not me, though, Vicky,” Simon was saying, holding his arms to the sides. He was the very definition of flamboyant pretty boy. Tall and lean, short blond hair with just the right amount of product, white jeans, purple shirt, and shoes that cost more than Jordan’s entire wardrobe. “No, not you,” Vicky said with a happy laugh as Simon spun in a slow circle. “I’ve never see a man wear lavender paisley before.” The utter disbelief on Simon’s face had Jordan biting back a smile.

She touched his elbow before he could launch into a lecture about how paisley was in right now. Jordan reached for the handle of her suitcase, then turned back to Vicky with her friendliest smile. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know where I could find Luke Elliott, would you?” Vicky’s wide brown eyes blinked for a moment. “Well, gosh, what’s today—Monday? He should be down at the firehouse, I’d guess. Thursdays and Fridays are his days off.” Simon scratched his cheek in bemusement. “Exactly how tiny is this place that everyone knows everyone else’s work schedule?” Vicky laughed. “Welcome to small-town life, sweetheart. But I have a better sense than most. My husband owns Tucker’s Tavern, and I help out some nights. I know when I’m most likely to see Luke. And most everyone else,” she added with a wink. Jordan pushed aside a stab of disappointment. A bar would have been the perfect place to make her initial pitch, but no way was she sticking around until his off-day on Thursday. “Thanks for the help,” she said with a smile to Vicky, reaching once more for the suitcase.

“Anytime, doll. You know Luke?” The question was unapologetically nosy, but Jordan didn’t take offense. She knew firsthand that in small towns like this one, there was no such thing as somebody else’s business. Everybody’s business was everybody else’s. Still, she hadn’t spent the first eighteen years of her life in a tiny town for nothing. She knew precisely how to evade without ruffling feathers. “Not yet,” Jordan said with a saucy wink at Vicky as she backed up. “But I plan to soon.” Vicky’s brown eyes lit with friendly curiosity, but Jordan turned away before the older woman could pry further. “I’ll bring the name of my hair stuff down in a bit,” Jordan called, wheeling her bag toward the staircase. No elevators in Maeve’s Motel. “So what’s the plan?” Simon asked, coming up beside her and nudging her hand away from her suitcase, lifting both of their bags to trudge up the steps. The guy might be lean, but he was diligent about his daily workouts, and it showed. “We take five, freshen up, and give you a chance to get your hormones all tamped down and tucked away.” “Vicky’s a delight, but she’s not my type,”

Simon whispered. “We’re not sticking around here,” Jordan explained. “We’re about to storm a firehouse.” Simon rested a hand across his chest. “Oh sweet Jesus, I think I might faint. Do you think I could talk one of them into wearing just the suspender things, no shirt?” “You talk to whomever your loins want you to,” Jordan said, wheeling her bag toward Room 9. “I’ll only be talking to one elusive Luke Elliott.” — The rest of the town was every bit as adorable as the motel, like pure Americana perfectly cared for and tied up nice and tidy with a red, white, and blue bow. Not that it was brand-new or glamorous, but, then, that was part of the charm. A handful of buildings that had seen better days, and there was no shiny new Starbucks, no fancy frozen-yogurt chain. But even the most tired of buildings were adorned with tidy potted petunias or friendly fuchsias dangling from hanging baskets and clinging to the last bits of summer. The lawns were mowed, the paint fresh, the streets free of litter. There was an American flag in every yard, a welcome mat

on nearly every porch. Everything about it was lovely and hit Jordan with a wave of homesickness so strong and unexpected that her eyes watered. It had been so long since she’d been in a town where drivers waved and smiled at other drivers instead of honking. A place where residents took simple pleasure in the process of getting somewhere, rather than focusing solely on the destination. A place where people cared enough about something other than themselves to give a curious smile to a newcomer. Keaton, or at least what she remembered of her hometown, was a touch less picturesque, maybe a bit less postcard worthy. But the important stuff, the essence of the towns, was the same. She’d been trying to avoid this for so long— the familiarity that reminded her of everything that she’d lost. But now that she was here, she didn’t have the sadness she expected. If anything, she had the sense of connecting with a part of herself that had been dormant for a long time. Too long? Damn it. See, this was why she hadn’t wanted to come here. Jordan and small towns

had unfinished business, and she wasn’t at all liking that she was already feeling the pull. “You okay?” Simon asked, doing a double take when he saw her expression. She forced a smile. “Totally. Just trotting down memory lane.” “You know,” he mused, “considering we’re on actual Main Street right now, I wouldn’t be surprised if this town did have a Memory Lane. I feel like I’m on a movie set.” Jordan pulled the rental in front of their destination, and Simon gave an extra-dramatic gasp at the firehouse. “You see what I mean? Movie set. That firehouse belongs on Leave It to Beaver.” “That’s a TV show.” “Whatever, Carpenter. It looks exactly like it should, am I right?” He wasn’t wrong. Jordan took in the square brick building, noting the shiny red truck, the American flag waving gently in the breeze. The only thing missing to make it officially like a 1950s postcard was a Dalmatian. “Buff eye candy, here I come,” Simon said, climbing out of the car. And Luke Elliott, here I come. Neither of them got their wish.

While there was no shortage of good-looking men at the firehouse, none seemed inclined to take his shirt off. And none of them was Luke Elliott. “You sure I can’t help you with something, Miss…?” “Carpenter,” Jordan said. “I’m Simon Nash,” Simon butted in, even though he’d already introduced himself. Twice. Jordan nearly rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t blame Simon for his crush. The firefighter in front of them held plenty of appeal. Square jaw, friendly smile, and the way his broad shoulders stretched the navy LHFD T-shirt across a sculpted chest didn’t hurt either. Not that it mattered for Jordan or Simon. Ryan Henderson wore a simple gold wedding band. “You know when Luke will be back?” she asked. The man’s eyes narrowed just slightly, hands finding his hips as he studied her. “What’d you say you wanted him for?” I didn’t. Still, the man’s caution improved her

impression of him. It signaled that he was a friend first, gossip second. “I’d prefer to discuss my business with Mr. Elliott directly,” she said. “I can wait until he returns.” Ryan gave her another once-over, his eyes lingering on the high heels that she already knew were out of place in a small town where cowboy boots and tennis shoes were more the norm. He finally relented. “Might be a while,” he said. “He’s got a thing down at the school. Fire safety day.” “Elementary school? High school?” Ryan scratched his cheek and looked thoughtfully at both of them. “Luke’s a friend. Been a friend since we were kids. Can’t say I’ve ever been in the habit of selling him out to two fancy city slickers who won’t say what they want.” “City slickers? Really?” Simon muttered under his breath. “I get it,” Jordan said, meeting Ryan’s gaze. “I’m from a small town myself. We protect our own. But I’m going to find Luke Elliott with or without your help.” Simon shot her a quick glance, probably surprised by her admission. He’d just found

out about her small-town roots today, and here she was letting a stranger in on the secret. It had to be done, though. Small-town residents tended to instinctively distrust “city folk.” If she wanted to break in, she needed to establish herself as one of them, just for a while. Her ploy didn’t work. Ryan’s smile was wide and just slightly unfriendly. “It’ll have to be without my help, then.” Fine. Jordan smiled pleasantly at Ryan, even as she turned on her heel to head back to the rental. “No problem!” She’d find Luke on her own. It couldn’t be hard to locate a school in a town this tiny. Jordan was halfway to the car when she heard Simon open his big mouth. “We’re from CBC. We’re hoping for your boy to be the star of a new show.” Jordan spun around. “Simon!” Ryan gave an incredulous laugh, then stilled as he looked at the two of them again. “Wait, seriously?” Jordan shrugged in confirmation. He’d find out eventually.

“Well, hell,” he muttered. “What kind of show?” Simon glanced at Jordan expectantly, and she sighed. “We want Mr. Elliott to consider being a candidate on a show called Jilted. Basically, The Bachelor but for runaway grooms.” “Runaway grooms,” Ryan repeated skeptically. “Three failed weddings? I’d say he qualifies,” she said, daring him to argue with the facts. Ryan’s arms were crossed, his expression intent, and she braced herself for a scathing get the hell out of my town lecture. Instead, he surprised her with a wide and genuine smile. “Oh man, this I’ve got to see.” She blinked. “You’ll tell us where he is?” Ryan smiled wider. “Better. I’ll take you there myself.”

Chapter 3 “All right, kids, any questions?” Luke Elliott asked, surveying the twenty or so first-graders staring up at him. A tiny girl in a pink dress and a crooked ponytail shot her hand in the air. He nodded and pointed at her, prepping to go over the nuances of stop, drop, and roll. Again. “Let’s hear it.” The girl’s hand fell and she opened her mouth. “Can I pet the dog?” A dozen other kids nodded enthusiastically, and Luke heard his partner give a snort behind him. Luke’s gaze lifted over the top of the kids’ heads to their teacher, a pretty blonde who’d been a year behind him in school and had married one of his old football buddies. Millie Taylor rolled her eyes good-naturedly and nodded. Luke looked back at the kids before gesturing to where the station dog sat obediently next to the fire truck. “Sure, yeah. Oreo loves the attention.”

“I love Oreos!” one of the kids shouted as they moved as a mob toward the dog. “Hey, hey, don’t crowd him!” Millie said, charging forward and taking control of her class as dozens of little hands reached out to pet the eager-for-attention Dalmatian. Charlie Bander clamped a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Nice work there, bro. Clearly they really picked up the important parts of your speech.” “Didn’t see you chiming in,” Luke said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, I did the stop, drop, and roll demonstration. You owe me,” Charlie said, pulling out a stick of his ever-present bubble gum, unwrapping and folding a piece into his mouth. “And, look, don’t take it personally. Oreo always steals the show at these things.” Too true. “I think Deb Bryant is checking me out,” Charlie said around a bubble. “Verify.” Luke rolled his eyes but scanned over his friend’s shoulder. The pretty third-grade teacher had brought her flock out to recess, and, sure enough, her attention seemed to be on Charlie’s backside. “You angling for short ginger kids?” Luke asked.

The petite redheaded teacher’s bright hair matched Charlie’s almost exactly. “Hell yes,” Charlie said, blowing a bubble. “We’ll be taking over the world someday. And I’m short only compared to a giant like yourself.” Luke grunted as he began picking up the gear he’d brought out to show the kids. At six feet tall he was hardly a giant, but he definitely had a couple of inches and a bit of brawn over Charlie’s wiry five-foot-eight frame. “You wanna go strike out with the teacher?” Luke asked, hauling a tank onto his shoulder. “I can clean up while you crash and burn.” “Hold that thought,” Charlie said. “Looks like Henderson’s bringing us a hot blonde instead.” Luke turned, intrigued. Not because Charlie had dubbed someone hot—he thought anyone with breasts and legs qualified—but because it was an unidentified blonde that his friend didn’t know by name. Lucky Hollow had lots of things. Newcomers weren’t often one of them. A little girl broke free of the group surrounding Oreo, flinging herself at Ryan Henderson’s legs. “Daddy!” Luke’s fellow firefighter and lifelong friend

scooped up his daughter and gave her a smacking kiss on both cheeks. It was a familiar scene, and Luke absorbed it all in his peripheral vision even as most of his attention went to the unfamiliar. Damn. Charlie hadn’t been lying about the hot blonde. The woman walking straight toward him was all tight jeans, high heels, and confidence. And hot. Very, very hot. Charlie muttered something admiring under his breath, and Luke’s gaze flicked to the man beside the woman. Tried to place him. Couldn’t. Not too many guys around here wore lightpurple shirts and white pants with the same easy comfort that Lucky Hollow residents wore jeans and flannel. No doubt about it—neither was from around here. Not by a long shot. The man was a half step behind the woman, and Luke assessed that the woman was calling the shots. His eyes narrowed as he realized that she hadn’t once wavered in her approach. She knew what she was after: Him.

She got closer and Luke saw that the face matched the body. Wide blue eyes, full lips, sassy shoulder-length blond hair that was just tousled enough to make a man wonder how it had gotten that way—and to want to be the one to muss it. Her gaze flicked over him, and Charlie whistled and muttered under his breath. “She just checked you out, man.” She had indeed, but Luke was far from flattered. It hadn’t been the assessment of a woman checking out a man so much as a predator evaluating its prey. As though she was evaluating him for…something. Blondie stopped in front of him, and the second her blue eyes locked on his, Luke felt a little jolt of attraction and was irrationally annoyed. It had been a long time since he’d been quite so aware of a woman. Once, he’d enjoyed the feeling—sexual chemistry was almost the perfect combination of pain and pleasure. A subtle punch in the gut that you wanted to experience again and again. These days, though, he was having a hard time getting past the pain part. The shitty parts had outweighed the good parts just one time too many. Now he mostly settled for

casual hookups with a divorcée a few towns over who was even less interested in commitment than Luke was. He had zero use for attraction to a pretty, bold woman in high heels. Luke noticed that for a sheer moment she had a slightly off-balance look, as though she too had felt the annoying zip of arousal when their eyes met, but she recovered quickly. Pasting a sunny, generic smile on her face, she stuck out her right hand. “Luke Elliott. I’m Jordan Carpenter. This is my colleague, Simon Nash.” Good manners had him setting down his equipment and extending his own right hand toward hers even as his brain caught on her name. Familiar, and… Shit. Shit! He managed to stop from jerking his hand back, but just barely. Instead, he gritted his teeth, gave her hand a perfunctory shake, and then fixed her with a glare. “You’re wasting your time, Ms. Carpenter. And mine.” Blue eyes narrowed. “Aha. So you did get my emails.” Those. The voicemails. The letters. “Sure,” he said with a nod, shoving his

hands in his pockets. “Just like I suspect you got the message that I didn’t want to be a part of your show.” Charlie looked from the woman to Luke and back again. “Show?” Ryan ambled over, his shit-eating grin telling Luke that this damn woman had already spilled the beans on why she was here. “Luke’s gonna be a national heartthrob.” “International,” said the blond guy in the purple shirt. Jordan Carpenter didn’t look at her companion, but all three firefighters did. The other man gave the sort of easy smile that probably had him making friends easily. Luke didn’t want a new friend. Especially not one who wanted to use his shitty romantic past for the sake of TV ratings. The fancy blond guy smiled. “CBC’s big time, and they’re putting all their resources behind Jilted. It’ll be in international markets.” “Oh, well, in that case,” Luke grumbled sarcastically. Jordan hadn’t looked away from him. Not once. “There’s money. Not a lot to start, but enough.” “Not interested.” He picked up one of the

oxygen tanks to take it back to the truck. “Save your money.” “You could give the money away,” she said, her voice stopping him. “You may not want or need it, but what about the firehouse? The school? Surely someone in your town could benefit from the check.” He gave her an incredulous look. “Is this how they do things in New York? Using charity as a bargaining tool?” She had the decency to flinch. “All I’m saying is hear me out. You’re saying no without knowing any of the details.” “Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” Charlie asked. Luke just shook his head and walked away. The kids’ interest in the dog had waned, their attention shifting to their teacher, who was promising snack time of apple slices and string cheese. Millie caught Luke’s eye and directed the kids’ attention to him. “Okay, guys, let’s say thank you to Firefighter Elliott and Firefighter Bander!” “Thank you, Firefighter Elliott. Thank you, Firefighter Bander,” they chorused obediently. Luke ruffled the hair of a pint-size blond— Joey, the youngest son of the town vet.

“Anytime, kids.” “Can I ride in the truck with the siren on?” Joey asked, looking up at him. “Maybe next time.” Luke held up his hand, and Joey’s much smaller palm slapped his. “Awesome.” Luke started to load up the gear and, realizing he was doing it alone, glanced over his shoulder to see where the hell his partner was. Unsurprisingly, his friend was chatting up City Girl. Neither Charlie nor Ryan seemed to mind in the least that these two fancy-pants had swooped into their town to capitalize on Luke’s past. What was more surprising was that Jordan Carpenter was chatting right back, her smile seemingly genuine, her laugh real. Luke ground his teeth. He couldn’t say he’d put much thought into the woman behind the name as he’d unceremoniously deleted her emails and voice messages, but if forced to assume, he’d have guessed aggressive shrew. He suspected he was wrong there. Because while there was no mistaking the ambition in the woman, it wasn’t the cutthroat, ballbusting kind.

Her lean body might be all angles and long lines, but there was a softness to her as well. The way her hair did its own thing. The easiness of her smile, the quick laugh. The small but pert breasts. Damn. He was staring. He slammed the door shut. “Bander!” he shouted across the lawn at Charlie. “Let’s clear out!” Charlie leaned into Jordan, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh, before walking away with a last wink. Luke rolled his eyes. Really? This was happening? “Hey, Elliott!” Ryan called. “You want to come over for a barbecue tonight?” Luke crossed his arms and studied his friend suspiciously, waiting for the catch. “Who’s on the guest list?” He saw Jordan and her purple-shirt friend exchange a look. Well, that answered that question. Damn. Ryan never had been able to resist the urge to stir up trouble. “It’s no problem if you don’t want to join us!” Jordan called out, lifting her hand to shield the afternoon sun from her eyes. “I’m

sure your friends here can fill me in on everything there is to know about Luke Elliott.” All about Luke Elliott’s romantic history was more like it. City Girl wasn’t even pretending to be coy about the reason she was here. All former positive thoughts about her evaporated. Only the worst sort of human would use another’s failed relationships to advance her own career—for entertainment. Luke turned away without another word, hauling himself into the driver’s seat of the truck as he waited impatiently for Charlie to get done shouting goodbye to every single person within earshot. He drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel, refusing to even think about going to the BBQ tonight. If his friends wanted to cause trouble, they could do so without his cooperation. As for the two New Yorkers, they’d flame out all on their own. Weren’t East Coasters known for being impatient and fast moving? Surely they’d be off to find some other glory-seeking asshole if he ignored them. One of the other guys could play the role for all he cared. As Charlie hauled his ass up, Luke started

the truck, his eye catching on Jordan Carpenter, who was watching him with a stubborn, determined look on her pretty face. Damn it. She’d make all sorts of havoc unless he ran interference. Luke pulled out his phone to text Ryan. I’ll be there. Have beer. Charlie leaned over, unabashedly reading Luke’s iPhone screen. “Ha. Knew it.” “What?” Luke glared at his friend. Charlie grinned wider, gesturing over his shoulder. “You’ve got a boner for the hot blonde.” “Are you kidding me with this? She wants me to be the next bachelor.” How were Ryan and Charlie not getting the absurdity of this? Charlie shrugged. “So? Maybe it’d be good for you.” Luke stared at his friend for a moment longer before putting the truck in drive. “The only thing that would be good for me is to push you out of this truck.” Charlie was waving goodbye to Jordan and Simon. “See you tonight!” Luke ground his teeth harder. He was already dreading the BBQ, but not going

would only make matters worse. Clearly he needed to have a very blunt conversation with Jordan Carpenter.

Chapter 4 Jordan was more than used to surprises in her line of work. Heck, television was nothing but one surprise after another. Surprise hits, surprise cancellations. Surprise pregnancies, surprise hissy fits, surprise hookups. Hell, surprise was pretty much the currency of reality TV. But somehow Jordan hadn’t been prepared for Luke Elliott being a surprise. She’d been so damn sure she’d had him pegged from 2,500 miles away. She’d thought he’d be good-looking but not as good-looking as he thought he was. Figured he’d be cocky as heck, but label it charm. He was supposed to be irresponsible and a little reckless—with his life, his choices…with other people’s emotions. But based on her first impressions of the man? She’d never been so wrong. Jordan took a sip of the white wine her hosts had poured her and tried not to be obvious as she studied Luke across the deck.

Not that she really needed to be sly. The impromptu BBQ had been under way for nearly an hour, and Luke hadn’t made eye contact with her once. Every now and then, Jordan could swear she felt his gaze on her, but the second she looked his way, he was back in conversation with someone else. Anyone else but her. Well, not anyone. Luke was avoiding Simon too, which was impressive, considering her friend had taken the dinner party by storm. Jordan considered herself to be a friendly, likable sort. It’s why she was so good at her job. But next to Simon, she was a reserved wallflower. She leaned against the railing, only halflistening as Simon regaled the group on the one and only time he’d ventured into Times Square on New Year’s Eve to watch the ball drop, standing in the freezing rain for seven hours, only to lose his spot when he had to leave to go to the bathroom. Jordan had heard it a dozen times, but the dinner-party crew was new to it and ate up every New York moment. She felt something nudge her wineglass and glanced down to see it being topped off. Jordan met the friendly dark gaze of Bree

Henderson, Ryan’s wife. “Looked like you could use a bit more,” Bree said, adding a little more to her own glass before shoving the bottle into a bucket of ice beside her feet. “You’re a skilled hostess,” Jordan said with a smile. Bree clinked her glass against Jordan’s. “I am, aren’t I?” “Especially since you had, what, a couple hours’ warning? I still feel so awkward we just showed up like this. Ryan assured me it was no problem, but—” “Because it is no problem,” Bree insisted. “It’s hardly the first time we’ve done a lastminute gathering, and the kids are at the grandparents’ tonight. Plus, in case you haven’t guessed, the fare’s not going to be fancy, and that’s if Ryan ever finishes whatever the heck he’s doing to the steaks.” She paused in the process of taking a sip of wine. “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?” Jordan bit her bottom lip. “Um—” “Ah crap,” Bree said, before turning her head toward the grill. “Ryan! Add some of those big mushrooms I got yesterday to the grill.” Ryan looked at his wife, tilting back the bottle of beer to his mouth. “Mushrooms?” He

made it sound like a dirty word. “What the hell for?” Bree tilted her head toward Jordan. “Vegetarian here. Simon, what about you?” Everyone had stopped chatting now, and Simon gave their hostess a wide smile. “I eat everything, ma’am; I’m sure whatever you serve will be absolutely delicious.” Jordan gave him a dirty look, before obviously mouthing traitor and making the group laugh. Well, most of the group. Luke didn’t crack a smile. He did, however, meet her gaze when she glanced out of the corner of her eye, and just as with that first time this afternoon, Jordan felt it straight in her belly. He was so…intense. Not surly intense. He smiled—a great smile, although it was rarely directed at her. He laughed easily, although it sometimes seemed just a touch forced. But there was a quiet energy to him, as though he had boiling emotion on lockdown deep inside and tried to hide it with good-guy ease and a backward cap. “One giant mushroom coming right up, along with a side of judgment,” Ryan called,

winking at Jordan before he headed into the kitchen. “Has everyone had enough to drink that we can finally get to the good stuff?” Bree asked the group. “Anyone else dying to know more about this show Jordan and Simon are trying to recruit our boy for?” The half dozen or so Lucky Hollow locals nodded enthusiastically. Jordan tried to evade. “I really should discuss it with Luke first….” “Not interested,” he said, ambling forward and pulling another beer from the bucket. “Ah, come on, Lukey,” Bree said, giving his butt a playful tap. “We all want to see you hand out roses to pretty, crazy women.” “Wedding invitations, actually,” Simon said. Everyone’s attention snapped to him. “Come again?” “Well,” Simon explained, setting aside his gin and tonic to free his hands for their usual waving-while-explaining antics. “Our thought is that Jilted will be the same general premise as The Bachelor but kicked up a notch. Our bachelor will still be a bachelor, but instead of merely being single, he’s someone who’s gotten close to the altar but dodged it multiple times.”

Jordan quickly scanned the group, trying to figure out if anyone would take offense to bringing up Luke’s romantic history. Everyone seemed amused, as though his failed weddings were both old news and fair conversational game. Even Luke didn’t look particularly bothered by the topic, although she supposed that could have just been self-protecting. But she couldn’t tell. She couldn’t get a read on the guy, which normally wouldn’t be a problem, except she needed to figure out his deal ASAP if she was going to convince him to be their guy. “Okay, so what’s with the wedding invitations?” asked Hailey Withers, a sweet, curvy brunette with a big laugh. During introductions, it had come out that the very likable Hailey had graduated from high school with Luke and had known him basically forever. Hailey’s husband was every bit as friendly, also born-and-raised in Lucky Hollow, although he’d graduated a few years ahead of Hailey and Luke. Simon was rubbing his hands together, preparing for showtime. “Well…” Everyone leaned in, and Jordan goodnaturedly rolled her eyes. Simon really had missed his calling. Forget the legal thing—he

totally should have gotten a job in sales. Or the theater. “It’ll go like this,” Simon said. “Our runaway groom will visit with all the ladies, looking for the love of his life. At the end of each episode, every woman is given a glass of champagne and an envelope.” The group was enthralled. Jordan glanced at Luke to see if there was even a nugget of interest. But once again she felt a surge of frustration, because his face and body language betrayed nothing. He must have felt her gaze, because he glanced over, only to look away again, as though completely indifferent to her presence. “What’s in the envelopes?” Bree asked eagerly, sipping her wine. “Well, if you’re not the one, you get a wedding invitation. To the groom’s future wedding. To another woman.” “Burn,” Hailey said reverently. Simon shot a finger pistol at her. “Right? That part was our girl Jordan’s idea.” Everyone looked at her, and she gave a finger waggle of acknowledgment. She thought she heard Luke snort.

“Okay, so you get a wedding invitation, you’re out,” said Tim Withers. “What do you get if you’re still a contestant?” Hailey flicked her husband’s arm. “Look at you, being all interested.” He draped an arm around her shoulders. “Just exploring my options for when I leave your sorry ass.” “You love my ass.” He kissed her temple. “Maybe. Still want to know what my options are.” Simon grinned. “Well, Timmy my friend, if our groom decides you might be the love of his life and wants to get to know you better, you get an invitation to spend more time with him. A dinner date, champagne tasting, a walk on the beach—” “I do love a nice beach,” Tim mused. “Oh, Luke, you have to do this,” Bree said, linking her arm in his. “You’ll be the talk of the town.” “The talk of the country, really,” Jordan said. Luke cut her a look. “Fantastic. That’s always been a big goal of mine.” “What’d I miss?” Ryan asked, coming back out with a plate of mushrooms.

Charlie Bander followed close behind. “Sorry I’m late, but I brought beer, so nobody gets to be mad. Did we convince Prince Charming to be a superstar yet?” “He’s resisting,” Hailey said with a sigh. “Really?” Luke asked. “You guys can’t be serious. It’s not just my life that would be cracked wide open. I’m guessing my entire past would be under scrutiny. Am I right?” he said, flicking a look between Jordan and Simon. Simon subtly shifted into lawyer mode. It was why he was here, to explain exactly what was involved so there were no nasty surprises —or lawsuits—later. “We tell the groom’s backstory, yes. The women whose hearts he broke.” Someone snorted, but Jordan took over from Simon, her eyes on Luke. “Preferably interviews with the exes directly, if they’ll let us. From friends and family if the ladies aren’t inclined to talk to the camera. “And then there’s the hometown episode,” Jordan continued, wanting to be completely transparent with these very kind people. “Near the end of the season, the final contestants would come home with Luke—or whomever— to his hometown, see where he’s from, where

they’d be living after the wedding.” “The wedding,” Charlie said with a laugh, flicking the cap off his bottle and clinking it against Luke’s beer. “One of your favorite hobbies, buddy! You hearing all this?” “Yeah, I’m hearing it,” Luke said, tilting the bottle back and taking a sip. “And it’s like I told Ms. Carpenter here, there’s not a chance in hell I’ll go along with this circus.” “Actually, you didn’t tell me that,” she said, leaning back on the railing and crossing her feet at the ankle as she studied him. “You ignored every single message.” “Luke. That’s rude.” Hailey swatted his hand. “So’s chasing down a man who doesn’t want to be found,” he muttered. Jordan felt a surge of panic alongside her frustration. She’d known Luke would be a challenge, but she’d thought the expected enthusiasm from his friends would at least intrigue him. Not so much, apparently. She exchanged a quick glance with Simon before pushing upright again and taking a sip of wine. “Luke, can I speak with you a moment? Alone?”

“You’ve got five minutes,” Ryan called over his shoulder. “Then food’s up.” “I only need two,” Jordan said. “Sounds like what I’ve heard about Charlie in the bedroom,” Tim said, earning a goodnatured middle finger from the red-haired firefighter. Jordan ignored all this, her attention on Luke. She touched his arm. “Please. I’ve come a long way to talk to you.” “That’s your problem,” he grumbled. “Luke.” It was Hailey who spoke, saying his name both softly and with command, and Luke glared at his pretty brunette friend for several moments before swearing under his breath and jerking his head toward a swing set on the far side of the Hendersons’ yard. “Two minutes, City Girl.” She followed him, wanting to retort that she hadn’t always been a city girl, but the way her stiletto sank into the damp grass weakened the sentiment. So Jordan said nothing, carefully tiptoeing her way across the lawn to where he stood, leaning against the pole of the swing set. He took another swig of the beer before lowering his arm to his side, letting the bottle dangle loosely between long, strong fingers. For a moment, Jordan felt blindsided by a

pang of homesickness—a longing for a normal life where the men sipped beer from bottles, and women didn’t count carbs, and where comfortable cowboy boots were perfectly acceptable footwear for all occasions. “Okay, here’s the thing,” Jordan said, taking a deep breath. “You don’t like me. You don’t like the idea of this show. I get that. But as tawdry as the whole thing sounds from your perspective, you have my word that the women will be handpicked to be potentially compatible with you.” “Handpicked,” he said sarcastically, taking another drink of beer. “You don’t say. Handpicked by whom, you?” The precise grammar caught her off guard, and she realized this was no country hick to be steamrolled with sweet talk. She quickly shifted her stance to her ace in the hole. Her boss had insisted it be a last resort only, a lastditch effort to get their guy, but Jordan read people for a living, and her read on this guy told her there wasn’t a romantic bone in his body. So she took the other tack. “We’ll double the original offer.” He didn’t even blink. “Twice as much,” she said.

“Yes, I’m aware what ‘double’ means.” “It’s a lot of money,” she said. “And like I said earlier, if money’s not important to you, just think what it could do for the town, should you decide to donate it.” Luke took a sip of beer and said nothing. Her eyes narrowed. “Do you even remember what the first offer was?” “Didn’t forget, I just…never read it in the first place.” She scowled. “I spent a lot of time on those emails.” “Well, you wasted your time. I never made it past the second sentence.” “But—” Luke moved so quickly she gasped when he stepped toward her, crowding her space. Her surprise had her rocking backward, her spike heels sinking all the way into the grass and throwing her off-balance. He reached out quickly, a palm against her back. His touch steadied her stumble even as it sent her heart racing. “I’m only going to say this once more, City, so listen up,” Luke said in a low growl, his breath warm on her face. “I don’t care how much money’s on the table. I don’t care if your

‘handpicked’ women are all Victoria’s Secret models with degrees in neuroscience who run charities in their spare time. I’m not, nor will I ever be, interested in being a part of your show. So you can prance your high heels and your tight ass right back to New York City and leave me and my town in peace.” He released her so quickly she nearly stumbled again, although she was pretty sure her unsteadiness had more to do with the thrum of her awareness of being so close to Luke than it did the stilettos. Jordan should call a gracious defeat. She knew that. Knew that she could go back to the drawing board, find a contestant for Jilted who wasn’t so damn stubborn and resistant, and yet… It was exactly that stubbornness, that pentup resentment, that didn’t just make him the ideal candidate—it made him the only candidate, at least as far as Jordan was concerned. There was nothing more appealing than the idea of taming the man who couldn’t be tamed. The more forbidden fruit their contestant appeared, the more viewers would be salivating for him to fall in love. This show might not have been Jordan’s idea. She could even admit to herself that it

was ridiculous, but she also knew she could make it a hit, and the key was Luke Elliott. The very stubborn reluctance that was a pain in her ass right now was exactly what would make the show work. It would make women fall in love with him—not only the twenty-five contestants but the millions of women who’d watch him from the comfort of their living rooms. Luke Elliott’s gruff hesitation was the stuff of instant ratings successes. And the moment when he fell in love on national television? The stuff of fairy tales. “Hey, Country Boy,” she called after him. He stopped and turned, his large frame illuminated by the twilight. She smiled, then grinned outright when she saw his eyes narrow. “This city girl’s not going anywhere,” she said with a wink. His eyes flicked over her, lingering on her stilettos. “Well, then. Best get yourself some better footwear. At least be comfortable while you waste your time.” Luke turned away again, but Jordan didn’t follow, not right away. He was probably right. Proper shoes wouldn’t hurt, but it also wasn’t her biggest concern right now.

Step one? Find a place to stay. She had a month to land her guy before her boss started getting pissy, and she needed someplace to set up shop other than the tiny motel room. Step two? Infiltrate every corner of Luke Elliott’s life. And then some.

Chapter 5 “So? What do you think?” Jordan ran a hand over the white tile counter of the sunny kitchen before turning to face the real estate agent. Stacey Stine was a spunky, small bundle of energy, with gorgeous black hair, bright blue eyes, and the cutest dimples Jordan had ever seen. She was also impeccably put together, her hair styled in big curls, her mascara tastefully applied but definitely present, her nails perfectly polished. Still, she struck Jordan as the type who’d merely laugh and curse if she chipped one of those nails, and the combination of dolled-up but laid-back made her extremely likable. As the only real estate agent in town, Stacey had been the first person Jordan called that morning, after a mostly sleepless night of mentally planning how to temporarily relocate her life from Manhattan to Lucky Hollow. Her boss had been instantly on board, but, then, Raven Cleary would say yes to just about anything if it meant making Jilted a success. Raven was the brains behind the show, but

due to contractual obligations on another show, which was in its final season, much of the early stages of Jilted had landed on Jordan’s plate. Whatever you need, Jordie. Just get our guy. Simon came into the kitchen and gave Stacey a kiss on the cheek, having already made her an instant best friend, the way he did with everyone else. “You were right, darling. The master bath is to die for. That claw-foot tub!” “Is mine,” Jordan said, opening the fridge, which she was delighted to see looked brandnew. Simon pouted. “Says who?” She gave him a look. “You’re not seriously thinking of staying here with me?” “Says the girl who just yesterday told me she’d be back on a plane to JFK by now. There’re two bedrooms. Big one for me, little one for you.” She laughed. “Have you run this by Dean?” Jordan and Simon worked closely together, but they weren’t technically on the same team and thus didn’t have the same boss. Or the same budget. And the legal side of the business was a bit more stingy with their budget than

the talent acquisitions side was. “Working on it,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Told him you need me. I mean, who else is going to convince all these lovely locals that we’re going to turn them into stars?” He made jazz hands as he said it. “So it’s true?” Stacey asked, resting her elbows on the counter and looking intrigued. “I didn’t want to pry, but I heard that you’re trying to get Luke Elliott to be the next bachelor?” “Sort of bachelor,” Jordan said. “But he’s… resisting.” Stacey laughed. “Yes, he would be.” “You know him?” The other woman’s eyes twinkled. “Honey, it’s Lucky Hollow. Everyone knows everyone.” “Sure, but I mean, you know him,” Jordan said, fairly confident that she was right on this. Stacey hesitated just a moment. “Yes.” Simon’s eyes went wide as he picked up on the exact same vibes Jordan did. “Oh my,” he said, matching Stacey’s posture and bumping her hip with his. “Jordie’s right—you know him. Ex-boyfriend?” The other woman’s laugh was a little wary but genuine. “Yes. We dated.”

Jordan was annoyed as heck by the tiny sliver of jealousy that ran through her. She shoved it aside and reminded herself why she was here contemplating renting a house in Montana to recruit a guy who didn’t want to be recruited. She needed all the information she could get on everything about Luke Elliott. Time to pry. “So, the way I understand it, Luke’s first non-wedding happened when he was nineteen, the second when he was twentynine, the third when he was thirty-two,” Jordan said. Stacey merely smiled. “You make it sound like baseball stats.” Simon shuddered, as he usually did at the mention of anything related to sports. “I confess, I’m a little short on details,” Jordan said, smiling back at Stacey. “I read this article in the Tanner Gazette, but it was stingy about the women and what actually happened.” “Did you try asking Luke?” Jordan gave her a look. “Right.” Stacey laughed. “Well, the first thing to know is that the article in the newspaper was a guest post—by a high school student. Some kid a couple towns over had journalism

aspirations, came into Lucky Hollow with one of those little reporter notebooks and everything. Nobody told him much.” “To protect Luke?” “More like this kid was annoying as crap. Luke doesn’t mind people talking about his past so much. Water under the bridge and whatnot.” That might be true generally speaking, but Jordan was betting he sure as hell didn’t want anyone discussing it with Jordan and Simon. “So were you a rebound?” Simon asked Stacey in a whisper that invited girl talk. “From one of the weddings?” “Welllllll…” Jordan’s eyes went wide at the other woman’s playful evasion, then she slapped her palm against the counter. “Holy crap. You were one of them! You were an abandoned bride!” Stacey winced and straightened. “First, I’m not loving that moniker. Second, don’t tell Luke I was the one to tell you. He’ll kill me.” “Which one were you?” Simon said. “I want all the scoop. Spare no details on the dress design either. I’m thinking sweetheart neckline?”

Stacey blinked in surprise. “How’d you know that?” “Great boobs,” Jordan answered for him. “You were smart to show them off.” Stacey gave a little shimmy of thank-you. “You’re flattering me into talking, and it’s working. I was bride number two. As for the scoop…there is none. It was just a relationship that didn’t work out, which we didn’t realize until it was almost too late.” “But he stood you up. On your wedding day,” Simon persisted. “How the heck are you so calm?” “Simon,” Jordan chided. They had to have some boundaries. “No, it’s okay,” Stacey said. “It makes for a good story, I get that.” “But you’re not going to tell us the whole story. Are you?” Jordan said with a little smile. The other woman winked. “Maybe someday. If you buy me a drink first.” “How about I buy a house first?” Jordan countered. “Or at least rent one?” “Really?” Stacey said excitedly, clapping her hands, clearly not in the least perturbed that a woman determined to unearth her secrets was planning to settle into her town.

Jordan tried to ignore the surge of nervousness at the thought of settling down here, even if only for a few weeks. Sure, she’d sort of settled into her New York apartment for the long term, but that was different. It was New York. Sure, it was the place where people went to find themselves and be somebody. It was also the place where people could go to hide in plain sight, if even from themselves. The busyness of the city meant that if you wanted, you never had to sit still for too long, think about too much, feel too much. Small towns were different. They could reach inside you and demand everything. But a job was a job. And this job demanded she figure out how to survive in Lucky Hollow for as long as it took. “I think I have to rent it,” Jordan said, snapping her attention back to Stacey and Simon. “It’s cute, it’s clean, and it’s furnished, so it’s more affordable and practical than staying in the motel for the long term.” “As in long, long term,” Stacey said. “Because as someone who knows Luke, I should tell you that there’s exactly zero chance he’ll say yes to this.” “Would you mind if he did?” Jordan asked. Stacey shrugged and pushed back a stray

piece of hair. “Nah. What happened between us is old news.” “News that I want to hear about,” Jordan said, picking up her water bottle and pointing it at Stacey. “What night’s good for you? Drinks on me.” “My my, you’re forward.” Stacey fluttered her eyelashes. Jordan fluttered hers back. “I know what I want.” The other woman laughed. “I like you.” “Well, that’s good. Your ex doesn’t.” “Eh. Luke can be…” “Stubborn? Rude? Irritating?” “Hot,” Simon added to the list. “Well, yes to stubborn and hot,” Stacey said. “But I’ve never known him to be rude.” Jordan winced. “Probably because you’ve never tried to coax him into falling in love on national television.” Stacey pulled a pink lipstick out of her purse and applied it as she thought this over. “You know, I sort of wish he would do it. Not so much for the fame-and-fortune thing, that’s not really Luke, but…it’d be good for him to find someone.” “Seems to me he’s already found three

persons,” Simon said in a loud whisper. “Yes, well.” Stacey pressed her lips together and dropped the lipstick back into her purse. “I can assure you that tiny article you read on Luke didn’t give you the full story about any of the brides, myself included.” “Will you?” Jordan asked. “Tell me the full story?” Stacey studied her for a moment. “TBD, hun. Now, what do you say we get you back to my office, sign some paperwork?” “Only if you agree to have drinks with me.” Stacey was already moving toward the front door. “Someday maybe, but I’ll warn you I’m unlikely to put out.” “Can I come?” Simon asked, trailing after Stacey. “Of course you can, pet. And once I get a few drinks in you, I’m going to need to know every little secret you have on how you get your skin looking so fabulous.” “He doesn’t need the drinks for that,” Jordan called after them. Sure enough, Simon had already launched into a lengthy description about his lifelong journey toward his miracle-worker aesthetician.

Jordan started to follow them out of the house, turning back once more to take in the sweet little kitchen that would be her home for the next…week? Month? It was cute. Comfortable. The kitchen was her favorite part. Her apartment back in New York had a great bohemian feel to it, but, as in most Manhattan apartments, the kitchen was mostly useless, tucked into a back corner with barely enough room to open the oven. This one had a new full-size fridge and freezer, a shiny dishwasher, plenty of counter space, and, best of all, south-facing windows that promised plenty of sunshine. The rest of the house was small but adorable. Two upstairs bedrooms plus a little alcove that begged for a desk, and as Simon mentioned, the fabulous surprise tub in the master bathroom. And while the downstairs living room was cozy to the point of feeling crammed, the fireplace looked like the perfect spot to curl up with a book and a glass of wine. She followed Stacey and Simon out into the driveway, where Simon told her to get her ass into the car so the three of them could go get a bite of lunch. Apparently she was in the process of

befriending the town’s realtor. Who was also Luke’s ex. “Coming,” she called, shoving aside the tiny stab of panic at the thought of living the smalltown life again…. And of the bad memories that it stirred up.

Chapter 6 “Scrambled eggs, huh? I see you’ve really advanced your cooking skills since junior high, when you used to make…oh yeah, scrambled eggs.” Luke didn’t bother to look up from the firehouse stove as he cracked another egg into the bowl and tossed the shell in the trash. “I’ll have you know I’m adding cheese and mushrooms. I’ve upped my game.” His sister came up beside him, going up on her toes even as she pulled his face down to kiss him on the cheek. “And mushrooms, you say? It’s a wonder the Food Network hasn’t swooped in here and put you behind a camera.” She dropped back on her heels, snapping her fingers. “Oh, that’s right. You’re going to be a different kind of reality star.” Luke pulled a whisk from the old coffee can that had been repurposed to hold kitchen utensils. “Is there anyone in town who doesn’t know about it?” Tawny snorted and snagged a sliced mushroom off the cutting board. “What do you

think?” He sighed. His sister, younger by three years, studied him as she nibbled the mushroom. “Want to talk about it?” “Yeah, absolutely. But first, do you think you could put on some Céline Dion? Someone who can best express what I’m feeling in a nice ballad?” “Don’t tempt me. I have an Adele album in my car.” He glanced over. “Tell me you didn’t tell Mom about this.” “I didn’t tell Mom,” she said, the inflection making it clear that their mother knew anyway. Luke groaned. Jane Elliott had moved to Northern California a year earlier. After twelve years as a widow, she’d met “the second love of her life” in Las Vegas. She’d gone down with a couple of friends to celebrate their sixtieth birthdays and come home with a wedding ring on her finger. She’d moved to be with her new husband a month later, since he had a daughter from a previous marriage still in high school. Luke was happy for her, but any hopes that the distance would keep her from meddling…no

luck thus far. “Oh, come on,” Tawny said with a grin. “Exactly how long do you think Vicky lasted before calling Mom and telling her that city folk were sniffing around for you?” “City folk?” Tawny shrugged. “Heard the girl wore Louboutins and the guy’s shirt was purple with pink cuffs.” “Lou-bu-what?” “Fancy shoes,” Tawny explained. Hot shoes, Luke amended silently. Just about everything on Jordan Carpenter was hotter than sin, but those ridiculously impractical shoes had resulted in some very dirty thoughts the past few nights. Luke shoved the memory aside and set a pan on the stove, flicking on the burner. The guys at the firehouse all rotated kitchen duty, and breakfast was Luke’s least favorite. Yeah, sure, eggs were simple, but they weren’t like lasagna or sub sandwiches, which could be made ahead of time and left in the fridge. No decent breakfast food was make-ahead. Unless you counted quiche, and Luke absolutely did not. “Rumor has it she’s also gorgeous,” Tawny

said. “Very big city.” “Who?” She threw a mushroom at him, which he caught and popped in his mouth. “Be useful. Grate some cheese.” Tawny narrowed hazel eyes that matched his own. Actually, everything about Tawny matched him, except smaller, more feminine. Same greenish eyes, same light brown hair—or dark blond, depending on whom you asked— same straight nose, stubborn chin. His sister was one of his best friends, as was her husband, Bill, but if she kept talking about Jordan Carpenter and the damn TV show, the status would be short-lived. “If I grate this cheese, will you tell me what the heck you said to the TV girl that made her sign a monthlong lease on the Buckley house?” Tawny asked. “Did you goad her? What am I even saying—of course you goaded her.” Luke froze in the process of pouring eggs into the hot pan and turned to face her. “She rented a fucking house?” “Yup. Signed the lease yesterday afternoon, and you know what that means.” “That I need to join the witness-protection program?” he muttered, irritably dumping the eggs in the pan and tossing the metal bowl and

whisk in the sink with a clatter. “It means that not only is she here to stay for a while but she’s met Stacey.” “Stace won’t talk,” he said, giving the eggs a swipe with the spatula. “But—” “Tawny,” he said, before pointing his spatula at her. “Grate faster; the eggs are nearly done.” “Seriously? You need more?” She used the back of her hand to push back her sandy-blond bangs, as her other hand pointed the grater at the mound of cheese. “That’s, like, half the block.” He made a rolling more motion with his finger. “Maybe I should start running five miles a day if it’ll help me eat like this,” she muttered. “Six. I run six miles a day.” “I hate you. Everyone does. Just thought you should know.” He merely grinned at her, and a minute later he flicked off the burner, stirred in the cheese and mushrooms, and pulled out the plate of toast and bacon he’d cooked earlier and left to warm in the oven. “Do I even want to know how many loaves of bread are on that plate?” she asked, taking a

triangle from the top of the stack and nibbling the corner. “Doesn’t Bill feed you?” he asked. “No, I feed him. Although don’t tell him you guys eat like this here, or I’ll never get him to continue choking down the turkey bacon I’ve been pushing lately.” Luke set the food on the table, along with a stack of plates and a roll of paper towels to serve as napkins, before pushing open the kitchen door and ringing the bell that served as the Food’s up notice. “You have less than a minute to tell me what you’re after before the wolves descend.” “Hey, I come by at least once a week on Bill’s day off to say hi!” his sister said, punching his arm. “Sure, but you never agree to grate the cheese,” he said, picking up a piece of bacon— not the turkey kind—and devouring it in two bites as he pulled a carton of OJ out of the fridge. “What’s up?” “I think you should do it. The show,” Tawny announced. Luke couldn’t withhold the wince. His own sister wanted him to sell out? “Jesus, Tawny.” “Just hear me out,” she said in a rush. “It’s

not for the spectacle of it, although for the record, how cool would it be?” He gave her a warning look, and she held up an appeasing hand, her eyes darting to the door as the sound of hungry male voices came closer. “I think it’d be good for you. You haven’t been the same since Eva—” “No,” he interrupted, voice curt, even for him. His sister knew full well that while he was pretty easygoing talking about his first two failed weddings, the third was off-limits. “Will you at least talk to the New York girl?” “Have you even met her? She’s a complete pain in the ass. She’d step on anyone and anything to get what she wants.” The door shoved open, Charlie first, as he generally was. Luke’s friend made a beeline for Tawny, scooping her up and hugging her as though he hadn’t seen her in months and wasn’t likely to run into her at the grocery store or the gas station or Tucker’s any day of the week. “Why’s he so grumpy?” Charlie asked, grabbing a plate and jerking his chin toward Luke. “I’m not grumpy.” “You look grumpy,” said Hank, one of the older firefighters, setting a handful of bacon

between two pieces of toast and taking an enormous bite. “Well, shit, I am now,” Luke mumbled into his coffee. “Heard the hot New Yorker is staying awhile,” Ryan said, strolling in and giving Tawny a kiss on the cheek. “She won’t last through the end of the week,” Luke said, picking up a plate and spooning a pile of the eggs onto it. “How do you figure?” Charlie asked, dropping into his chair and picking up a fork. Because I’ll lose my mind if she doesn’t leave by then, that’s how I fucking figure.

Chapter 7 Simon twirled into Jordan’s room. Literally twirled. Arms out, spinning in a wide circle before flopping down on the newly delivered bed with a happy sigh. “I fell in love today,” he proclaimed, linking his hands together and laying them across his flat stomach. “Oh yeah?” she asked, hanging up a cream blouse and putting it into the closet. “You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror again?” He rolled onto his stomach. “His name is Dale. He owns this adorable little bakery.” “Thought you said you were giving up carbs,” Jordan said, deciding she was bored of unpacking and, going to the bed, shoving him over so she could belly flop beside him. “I’ve decided this guy would be worth the paunch,” he said with a waggle of mangroomed eyebrows. “Uh-huh. Did Dean call you back?” Simon gave a defeated sigh. “Yes. The boss needs me in the office on Friday, but he agreed

that I might be needed to talk to the locals while you work your magic, so I’ll be back.” “Yeah, I’m sure that’s all about helping me land our guy and nothing to do with your baker.” He grinned. “The way I see it, this will give you plenty of time to figure out my baker’s romantic inclinations.” “Sure. I’ll just be all I’ll have a cruller, and by the way, are you gay?” “If he knows what a cruller is, he’s definitely gay,” Simon pointed out. Jordan sighed and rolled onto her back. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me in a tiny town all by myself.” “I’m not even a little bit worried about you. These people already adore you. I know, because I asked.” “I’ve barely even talked to them.” “Yeah, but they can smell your small-town roots.” Her nose wrinkled. “Yuck. And they’re just friendly. They like you, and you’re from San Francisco.” “They like me because I’m irresistible. They like you because you’re one of them.” “Um, hello?” Jordan said indignantly, lifting

her leg to display the completely impractical red suede pump. Simon shoved her leg down. “Even Jimmy Choo can’t disguise your roots.” “You make it sound like I’ve gone around chewing hay.” “Don’t get cranky. I just meant that you’re nice, that’s all. You’ve always been nicer than us New Yorkers.” “Most New Yorkers are transplants from somewhere else. Like you.” “Yes, but you’re a transplant from Krypton, Ohio.” “Keaton, Kansas.” He waved a hand. “Keaton, Kansas; Krypton, Ohio; Lucky Hollow, Montana— they’ve all got the same vibe; the people all speak the same language.” “Hick?” He turned his head, his expression growing a bit more serious. “You really hate your hometown that much?” “What?” She glanced over at him in surprise, then turned away again to look up at the ceiling. “I don’t hate it at all, it’s just…as a teenager, I was so determined to leave it behind completely. And it’s weird looking back

as an adult, all of a sudden realizing—” “That you miss it?” “I don’t know if I do,” she said. Simon rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I love you, Carpenter, but you’re being super weird about this.” She let out a little laugh because he was right. So right. But how to explain that her panic wasn’t so much that she didn’t want to be here but that she felt oddly…comfortable. From the moment she’d learned that she got the cross-country scholarship to Tufts, Jordan had started planning on how to lose herself in her future. First it had been college, then it had been applying to the best internships, then it had been job searching in New York. Then she got to New York, and the chaos was exactly what she’d needed—the city’s constant energy meant that she was always on the go, always looking at the next thing. She liked that. Jordan was happy, successful…. And if something was missing, so what? “Maybe I should take a lover when we get back to New York,” she mused. Simon gave a surprised laugh. “I’m sorry, what? Take a lover? Are you a nineteenth-

century widow? But, yes, hun, you are absolutely overdue to get laid.” Her mind veered toward Luke Elliott and his big hands and rough voice, and… Nope. Not happening. She swung up into a seated position. “You want a drink? I picked up some wine when I was running errands.” “Absolutely,” he said, standing and offering her a hand. “Don’t suppose you picked up any Saint André?” “Yeah, that’s a no on the über-fancy cheese,” she said, heading out of the bedroom. “How do you feel about Alouette in a plastic tub? Garlicand-herb flavor.” “Did you get an English cucumber? I could slice it up, make low-calorie chips?” he asked, detouring into her bathroom. “You’re eating the cheese on a cracker like a human being,” she called back. “Your baker would want it that way!” “Gluten makes me puffy,” he called, before shutting the bathroom door. Jordan rolled her eyes and wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if he planned to use the claw-foot tub he was so in love with before he headed back to the city tomorrow

evening. She hadn’t had a chance to buy decent sheets, much less figure out a sound system, so she settled for playing Lady Antebellum on her iPhone with the volume cranked up as she pulled a bottle of chardonnay out of the fridge. She was still digging through the various bags from the day’s shopping haul, looking for the corkscrew, when there was a knock at the front door. “Simon, can you get that?” she called. Nothing. As she headed toward the front door, she heard the sound of running water and realized that the weirdo really was taking a bath. Joke was on him. The new towels were still in the dryer. Apparently forty-eight hours of being back in a small town had completely undone eight years of living in New York City, because she opened the front door without seeing who it was first. A mistake. Not because she didn’t want to see him—he was the entire reason she was here in the first place. No, it was a mistake because she would have preferred a moment to compose herself,

to prepare herself for the jolt of his… Glare. “Hey!” she said, smiling up into the scowling face of Luke Elliott. He was wearing the only thing she’d ever seen him in—jeans and a blue LHFD T-shirt and scuffed work boots, backward blue cap. A far cry from what the guys in her usual orbit wore, but…appealing. Very, very appealing. She couldn’t have designed a more perfect contestant for Jilted. At least, that was what she told herself was the motivation behind her appreciation. Luke lifted one hand to the doorjamb, gave her a once-over, eyes lingering on the shoes, almost resentfully, before he met her gaze. “So it’s true. You’ve moved in.” She crossed her arms and prepared for battle. “Yep, and I’ve got your ex to thank for it. Stacey’s a doll, by the way; you totally screwed up by leaving her.” His face revealed nothing, but, then, she hadn’t really expected it to. “I was just opening a bottle of chardonnay,” she said. “You want a glass?” There was a loud thump upstairs, and Luke’s eyes flicked toward the doorway,

eyebrows raised when he glanced back at her. “That would be Simon,” she said. “He’s…You know, you don’t even want to know.” “You guys a thing?” he asked. “What?” she asked with a little laugh. “No. He’s…not interested in me.” Luke merely lifted a chin in acknowledgment, and Jordan sighed. “If you’re trying to scare me off with the rudeasshole routine, it’s not going to work.” He scratched his cheek. “Gathered that. Seems my attempt to do exactly that on Monday at the barbecue had the opposite effect.” She spread her arms to the side. “I’m a female. We’re ornery. Tell us one thing, we’re pretty much guaranteed to do another. Do you want a glass of wine or not?” “Got any beer?” “Yeah, but it’s probably not cold yet.” “I’ll take my chances.” Jordan stepped aside, and he entered the house. Just an hour earlier, Jordan had been thinking how roomy the rental home felt compared to her SoHo apartment. But with Luke Elliott in the foyer, the house felt immediately smaller, the air warmer.

“So, Stacey is sweet,” she said, deciding to rip that Band-Aid off sooner rather than later. She opened the fridge and reached for the sixpack of some local microbrew that had caught her eye. She wrapped a hand around the bottle. Not all the way cold, but cool enough. “Yup.” Jordan rolled her eyes, started to hand him the bottle, then wrinkled her nose. “Oops. Forgot that I don’t have a bottle opener. I mean, I do, but it’s…” She gestured toward the dozen or so bags that held the few items the house hadn’t come equipped with; there was a corkscrew and bottle opener somewhere in the mix. Luke took the beer, his fingers brushing hers, his eyes meeting hers at the contact. He looked away and, reaching into his back pocket, pulled out some sort of guy-ish gizmo. A second later the cap was off, and Jordan was suitably jealous. “Don’t suppose there’s a corkscrew on that?” she asked, half joking. Luke didn’t say a word as his thumb flicked something, a corkscrew appearing out of nowhere. “Now, that’s handy,” she said reverently, as he reached for the chardonnay she’d left on

the counter. “My ex liked wine.” “Which one?” He glanced at her. “Third bride.” Eva. There’d been the least amount of information about her in the article. “She still live in town?” Jordan asked, going to the cabinet and pulling out a wineglass, which Luke filled. “Nope.” “She moved away after you—after the breakup?” Luke picked up his beer bottle, hazel eyes boring into hers. “Not doing this with you, City. In fact, it’s the very opposite of why I’m here.” Ah. So peacetime was over. She felt strangely disappointed, for reasons that had nothing to do with Jilted. “Let me guess.” She took a sip of her wine. “You’re here to tell me that I’m a horrible human being because I’m in your town, offering you a buttload of cash and a chance to fall in love with a beautiful woman, handpicked for you.” “I already tried that approach,” he said with a flicker of a smile. “Seems it backfired.”

“It did indeed,” she said with an answering smile. “So what’s plan B?” Luke held her gaze. “Thought I’d ask you something.” “Sure, I’m an open book,” she said with a friendly grin that she knew from experience put people at ease. “How would you feel?” he asked. Jordan blinked. “Sorry?” He set his beer aside and braced both palms on the counter. “How would you feel if I came to New York? Hunted you down even after you’d ignored all my emails and phone calls? Moved in down the street, stalked all your friends—” “I’m not stalking—” “You got any ex-boyfriends, City?” Jordan nodded. She was thirty years old—of course she’d been through a couple of frogs by now. “What if I called them up? Dug into all the dirt on what went wrong.” “It’s different,” she said. “I wasn’t engaged to any of my exes, and—” “That’s my business,” he snapped. “Mine and those three women. Not yours. Not this town’s—”

Jordan stood up straighter. “That’s what’s bugging you the most, isn’t it? Not that I’m here but that your town’s welcomed me with open arms. That they’re on my side.” “They don’t even know you.” “But they’re hardly chasing me off, are they? They’re not telling me to get lost. Why do you think that is, Mr. Elliott?” His jaw worked in irritation. “Maybe if you hadn’t come in here with your fancy looks and promises of fame—” “That’s crap. I mean, sure, they’re intrigued by the idea of knowing someone that could be famous, but they don’t want you to do this show for them; they want you to do it for you.” “Spare me the psychobabble,” he said. “I care about these people, but it’s not about what they want. It’s about what I want, and I’m telling you that I don’t want to do this show. Why do you want it so damn badly, anyway? You get a promotion if I say yes?” She opened her mouth to deliver a tart response, only to realize…she had nothing. Why was she doing this? It was her job, yes. Her boss had told her to, yes. But was that what she was? A puppet who merely did someone else’s bidding? The truth was even more uncomfortable.

What if she was doing this because she had nothing else to do. What if she was just going through the motions of her own life? Jordan shook the thought aside and directed her attention back toward him. This was about Luke, not her. She studied him over the rim of her glass. He was angry, definitely. She didn’t blame him. He was absolutely right that she’d pursued him hard, and if the situations were reversed she would have felt hounded. But there was something else lurking behind his hazel eyes, and it wasn’t just anger, it wasn’t just resentment. Pain? But that didn’t make sense. He’d been the one to leave those women. He was the bad guy here. And that, right there, was the very reason she didn’t feel that guilty over invading his life. A man who’d left three women at the altar wasn’t the hero of the story. It bothered her that he dared to play the victim card when, from where she was standing, he was very much the villain. Wasn’t he? “If I ask you a question, will you answer

honestly?” she asked, breaking the silence. “If I answer honestly, will you quit asking me to do this damn show?” She nodded, and his eyes narrowed as he gave her the same thorough study she’d just given him. “Yes. I promise.” “All right,” he finally said. “Ask your question.” “Did you really walk away from those three women on your wedding days?” He didn’t break eye contact. “Yes.” Jordan felt her stomach drop in disappointment. She didn’t know why she’d so desperately wanted it to be a different answer, but she had. “Okay,” she said quietly. “So you’ll get out of town?” Jordan pursed her lips. “Why would I do that?” His eyes flared. “You promised, City.” “To stop asking you about the show. I never promised to leave town.” He straightened, visibly pissed. “You little—” There was a thump, followed by Simon’s shout from upstairs. “Jordie! Where the fuck are your fucking towels? My balls are dripping water on this gorgeous flooring.”

She rubbed her forehead. “I’ll be right back.” “Don’t bother,” Luke snarled, taking a last sip of his beer before setting the bottle on the counter and striding across the kitchen toward the front door. “I’m out of here.” “Wait, Luke.” He paused but didn’t turn around. “You know I’m right about everyone wanting you to do this show. Why is that?” His shoulders tensed even more than they already were. But the only answer she got was the slam of her front door shutting behind him.

Chapter 8 “The pleasure I’m getting from this grilled cheese should be illegal,” Jordan said, taking another bite of the perfectly buttered, crispy concoction. “Me having to watch you eat it should be illegal, and I’m not even straight,” Simon muttered around a reluctant bite of his own turkey club—he was still smarting over the lack of gluten-free bread options. It was Simon’s last day in Lucky Hollow, and Jordan had taken him out for a farewell lunch at the Café, so named because it was apparently the only one in town. From the outside, it hadn’t looked like much. More of a convenience store than a restaurant. Inside wasn’t that much better. A handful of uncomfortable-ish tables and chairs, one too many horse pictures on the pink-wallpapered wall, and a cash register that looked far older than Simon and Jordan combined. The girl behind the counter had been more interested in her cellphone than in her customers, much to the chagrin of the older woman in the kitchen, who kept

hollering, “iPhones don’t make sandwiches.” Once the sandwiches had been put in front of Jordan and Simon, however, none of the rest had mattered. “What did they do to this?” Jordan asked, studying the perfect blend of cheese between the slices of bread. “My theory? The bread’s from my boy’s bakery.” “Oh yes, have we gotten any more info there?” Jordan asked, taking a sip of her Diet Coke. “No, that’s going to be your job while I’m gone.” Simon reached across the table and stole one of her homemade chips, even though he refused to touch his own for calories’ sake. “So you think you’re coming back?” “Depends,” Simon said, wiggling his eyebrows. “On whether or not you land your man and need my help on the particulars.” “Oh, I’ll land him.” Simon crossed both his arms on the table and studied her. “You want this badly. Why?” Jordan had been about to take a bite of the grilled cheese but set it aside irritably at his question. “Why do people keep asking me that?”

Simon’s head tilted curiously. “Who else asked you that?” “Luke,” she muttered. “Interesting.” Simon managed to turn the word into about ten syllables. “What did you tell him?” “That it’s my job,” she said, her voice a bit testy in an effort to end the conversation. But Simon knew her too well. He waggled a finger at her. “Nope. Don’t get me wrong, you’re good at your job, but you’re not cutthroat, Carpenter. In fact, you know as well as I do that you’re frequently the one letting your boss go too far. So why are you pushing so hard for a guy who clearly wants no part of this?” It was a fair question. A good question. She just wished she had a good answer. She took another bite of grilled cheese as she considered, following it with a chip while Simon patiently waited. Finally, Jordan sighed and gave it her best shot. “He gets under my skin.” Simon merely smiled, telling Jordan he’d known all along. And his silence had the exact effect he probably intended. Jordan kept talking.

“I’m not used to being ignored,” she admitted. “Having to tell the team that I had no response was more embarrassing than telling them I got a no. Then they sent me here, and he’s been nothing but a jerk, and—” “And you like him.” “No,” she said quickly. “Fine. He intrigues you. Is that safer for your commitment-phobe self?” Jordan frowned. “I’m not a commitmentphobe. I’ve had plenty of relationships.” Simon reached across the table. “I know, sweetie. You just don’t let people in is all.” “What does that have to do with Luke Elliott —” Jordan broke off as a commotion outside the window caught her attention. The Café was just off Main Street, on a primarily residential road that had been quiet when they’d arrived. It wasn’t quiet now. A crowd of people had gathered outside the house across the street, and the unmistakable sound of a siren was getting closer. “What do you know—not so unlike New York after all,” Simon said, as the wail of the siren grew deafening. A moment later a red fire truck came into view. Jordan’s heart gave a thump as she saw Luke drop down out of the driver’s seat the second it came to a stop,

running to the back of the truck along with the rest of the crew. Wasn’t he supposed to be off today? “Jesus,” Simon muttered. “That is one hot firefighter.” She pushed her plate aside as she watched the scene unfold. “Tell me that wasn’t a deliberate pun.” “No, but…oh Jesus. Every last one of them belongs on a naughty calendar.” She gave him a look with a raised eyebrow. “If you don’t get ahold of yourself, they’re going to have to turn the hose on you.” Still, she had to admit that her mouth was a bit dry, her pulse a bit faster than it should be. And not just because of all the excitement, but because of… Luke Elliott. He and his crew were like a perfectly designed machine as they unloaded their equipment, and it seemed to her that he was at the heart of it. She watched as he calmly shouted orders to his men, watched as he gestured for the crowd to back up and give them room to work. People responded to him immediately, sensing he was in charge, trusting him to make sure everything would work out.

He yelled something at Charlie, who was hooking up the hose to the fire hydrant. Charlie gave Luke the go-ahead wave, and Luke and his men disappeared behind the crowd, charging toward the fire. Toward danger, she realized. It hit her all at once that this wasn’t a movie, and this wasn’t just a bunch of hot guys worthy of being on a calendar. Without a word, she and Simon ditched the rest of their sandwiches to join the crowd outside, although Jordan remembered to toss a few bills on the table, tip included. The grilled cheese had warranted it, even if the girl who’d brought it to her hadn’t. The group was even bigger by the time Jordan and Simon joined the periphery, everyone straining to see the smoking house in front of them. “That’s Magda’s house,” said a woman with a toddler on her hip. “You don’t think she’s in there…?” “Her car’s not parked outside.” Jordan didn’t know Magda, but her heart pounded anyway. Partially for the woman who lived there, partially for anyone else who might be inside. Partially for the firefighters who’d

disappeared inside the house. The crowd was silent as they waited. The small stream of smoke from the back of the home persisted, but it didn’t seem to be getting worse, and Jordan couldn’t see any flames. Simon reached down and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. Five minutes passed. Then ten. The smoke seemed to be diminishing—that was a good sign, right? A moment later, a figure came out of the front door. Too short to be Luke…The firefighter raised both hands to the crowd. “All clear.” She felt the sag of relief; Simon squeezed her hand once more, then released it. The firefighter turned his head, and she recognized Charlie, even with his helmet. He was making back-up motions at the crowd. “Go home, kids. We’ve got it under control, and if we hadn’t, your gawking would have made it worse.” “What caused the fire?” someone shouted. “Was Magda home?” “Not your business, and, no, the house was clear,” Charlie said. He turned his head slightly, caught sight of Jordan, and gave a small blink of surprise before winking. She couldn’t bring herself to wink or smile back. She was too busy watching the front door,

waiting for Luke to come out…. A second later he did, his broad shoulders unmistakable even beneath the heavy uniform. He turned his head toward one of the other guys, smiling at something his friend said, and finally, finally, Jordan could let herself breathe. Which was ridiculous. She had no reason to care more about him than about any of the others, but…Nope. There was no denying it. Though she was glad everyone was safe, it was Luke she was the most aware of. As though sensing her stare, his gaze swung around until it locked on hers. He gave the same jolt of surprise as Charlie had, but there was no friendly wink, just an angry glare. “Oh, honey,” Simon muttered. “You are in so much trouble, and I mean that in the best way possible.” She barely registered her friend’s words. She was too busy focusing on Luke. The angry firefighter marched toward her, wrapping fingers around her arm before dragging her away from the dwindling group of gawkers. She was acutely aware of his grip on her arm, of the way it took him a second too long to release her. “What are you doing here?” he demanded,

his hand falling away from her arm slowly, almost reluctantly. “Same thing as everyone else,” she said, crossing her arms. “I wanted to make sure everything was okay.” He shook his head. “They get to do that. They live here. Know Magda. You, on the other hand—” “Still care about people,” she snapped. “I was across the street having a heavenly grilled cheese; we saw the commotion and came over, because that’s what decent people do when there’s a fire truck. We worry.” “We?” he asked. “Simon and I.” Was it just her imagination, or did his eyes flicker in relief? “What, you thought I’d somehow found a boyfriend in the few days that I’ve been in town? Seduced one of your own with my city wiles?” “I didn’t say that,” he grumbled. Neither did he say that she’d seduced him. Which she hadn’t. Nor did she want to. It was just… “Nobody was inside?” she asked. He shook his head. “Nope.” “Not even a pet?” He gave a little smile. “You were hoping to see me save a cat?”

“Have you?” She smiled back. “Saved a cat?” He winced and looked away and she gasped. “Oh my gosh, you have, haven’t you? You’ve saved a freaking cat. You couldn’t be more perfect if you tried.” His eyes locked on hers, and Jordan backpedaled. “Not perfect for me. I meant for the show….” It was the wrong thing to say. His smile disappeared. “Get out of here, City. It was a tiny fire caused by a candle Magda left burning. No tragedy to help the ratings of your show.” “That’s not—” She clenched her jaw in frustration. “I’m glad everyone’s okay.” Jordan turned on her heel, scanning the crowd until she found Simon, who was chatting with an older couple she didn’t recognize. He broke away from the conversation as he saw her. “Everything okay?” “Sure,” she said, even though she could still feel Luke’s glare burning into her back. “We should get going if you’re going to make your flight on time.” “You sure you don’t want to come with me?” he said. “They have pretty good grilled cheese in New York too. We can find another guy for the show..”

“Trust me, I’m tempted,” Jordan muttered as she stalked toward her car, pulling open the driver’s side door. But despite her words, she found herself glancing up, doing a quick scan of the crowd until she found the guy she was looking for. Luke was shrugging out of his oxygen tank, but he stilled as though sensing her stare and met her gaze. A silent, mutual communication passed between them. We’re not done here. And neither one of them was talking about the TV show.

Chapter 9 Jordan spent more time debating what to wear to Tucker’s Tavern on a Thursday evening than she ever had prepping for a Saturday night out on the town in Manhattan. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out whether she wanted to fit in with the friendly people of Lucky Hollow or ensure that she didn’t. In the end, her lack of options did her a favor. She’d need to find a way to get a few more of her things shipped to her, but until then she had only the handful of outfits she’d packed when she thought she’d be in Montana a day or two at most. She settled on skinny jeans, an off-theshoulder blue sweater, and the same black pumps she’d worn the first day. Jordan used a curling iron to twirl her hair into its usual tossed style, added some depth to her blue eyes with a Chanel eye-shadow quad, and finished the whole thing off with a dash of tinted moisturizer, bronzer, and a swipe of neutral lip gloss. Her rental home was an easy walk from the

town’s main bar. Perhaps the only bar, although she hadn’t verified that. As Tucker’s came into sight and the sound of Toby Keith hit her eardrums, she smiled. She’d never admit it to her friends back in New York, but she missed country music. Missed the down-home cheerfulness—the moody sad songs too. Still, as she drew closer, she felt a little stab of regret that Simon wasn’t here. She understood, of course. The network needed Simon on site only if they were in actual negotiation talks with a potential candidate, and they were so far from that with Luke Elliott. To that end, she also felt mildly guilty for not being entirely up front with her boss about the firmness of Luke’s refusal. She’d told Raven only that Luke was reluctant, and she’d received her boss’s usual take-no-prisoners response: Break him. Raven was being hyperbolic—at least, Jordan was pretty sure. She had no intention of breaking Luke. Or even breaking her promise to stop asking him. But if she was going to lose the top contender for Jilted’s starring role, she at least needed to be able to look her boss in the eye

and say she’d done her best. The producers who made it big around CBC were the ones who’d spent months in subSaharan Africa to get their reclusive poacher, the diehards who’d spent a full year on a navy submarine to determine whether or not there was enough material to warrant a reality show on life under the sea. If Jordan wanted to make it as a TV producer, she couldn’t go running off because Luke Elliott was stubborn as hell. Taking a deep breath, she hopped up the three steps to Tucker’s. It must have been a home at one point, because the worn-wood structure had a wraparound porch, with patio tables tucked against the wall, out of use until summer came around again. A few hanging flower baskets were clinging on for the remaining days before autumn settled in to stay. She opened the door to a wall of sound and laughter. It was more crowded than she expected for seven on a Thursday, but there were a couple of spots at the bar. Jordan started that way, thinking she could nurse a glass of wine and scope out the scene to figure out who might have the inside track on what made Luke Elliott tick.

Maybe even see the man himself, if Vicky from the motel had been correct about his Thursday and Friday routine of stopping by the bar. She was pulling out a tired-looking barstool when she heard her name. Turning, Jordan saw Luke’s second almostbride waving at her from a table. Stacey grinned and called her over. Jordan headed that way, pleased to see that there were a couple of other familiar faces at the table besides Stacey’s. There was Bree Henderson, the friendly hostess from the BBQ the other night, as well as pretty, feisty Hailey Withers. The other two weren’t familiar—a willowy redhead, and a cute sandy-haired woman. “Damn, Jordan, can you please stop making us look so dumpy?” Bree said, pulling a chair from the table behind them and shoving Hailey over to make room. “Oh, I don’t want to intrude—” Hailey reached up and tugged Jordan’s hand until she plopped down into the middle of small-town girl talk. “You like sauvignon blanc?” Stacey asked, holding up a bottle of white. “You know what,

you do now. Izzie, tell Benny we need another glass here.” The redhead caught Jordan’s gaze and rolled her eyes, but she smiled and went to the bar, not bothering to ask “Benny,” instead just leaning forward until she could snag one of the clean glasses from the rack. “So,” Bree said, as Stacey filled a wineglass and shoved it at Jordan. “Stacey was just telling us that you’re here to stay, and we’ve decided it’s fabulous.” “Um—” “Don’t mind her,” said the woman with smiling hazel eyes and adorable freckles. “Although, for the record, we totally think it’s fabulous. You’re even hotter than my brother let on, by the way.” “Your brother?” Hailey made the introductions. “Jordan Carpenter, meet Tawny Danvers, formerly Tawny Elliott.” “Oh! You’re Luke’s sister.” They looked alike, Jordan realized, especially the color and shape of the eyes. Although Tawny’s were a good deal friendlier than her guarded brother’s. “And this is Isobel Keating,” Stacey was

saying, pointing to the redhead. “Best friend since first grade.” “Nice to meet you,” Jordan said. Isobel smiled in acknowledgment. Her smile was friendly enough, if a bit more reserved than those of the rest of the women. “So what did Luke say to you when he stopped by the rental house the other day?” Bree asked curiously. Jordan laughed into her wine. It was sweeter than she usually liked, but she needed a little something to deal with the enthusiasm of this group. “Does everyone know everything?” “Your rental’s right across from June Christiansen’s house. You think this town is nosy, she’s basically the mother of the gossip chain. She saw you and Luke, quote, set off serious sparks when you opened the door. Left about ten minutes later, looking pissed.” “I’m pretty sure that’s just his face,” Jordan muttered. Everyone laughed, and Stacey pointed a mozzarella stick at her before taking an enormous bite. “I like you.” “Even though I’m trying to drag your exfiancé into a reality show where all his dirty laundry will be aired?”

And yours? “Well,” Stacey said thoughtfully, swiping at a string of cheese on her chin. “We’ve all talked about it. Decided it’ll be good for him.” “He doesn’t agree.” “Well, no, he wouldn’t,” Bree said. “He’s been on emotional lockdown ever since she left.” Jordan sat up a little bit straighter, helped herself to an onion ring, and tried to play it cool. “She?” “Eva,” Bree said, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Bride number three,” Tawny explained, her tone indicating she was no more fond of the mysterious Eva than was Hailey. “Total bitch.” “Tawny!” Hailey scolded. “She was going to be my sister-in-law, so I’m allowed to say that.” “But he left her…right?” Jordan clarified. “Yeah. Because she was a bitch, like I said,” Tawny muttered. “We don’t know what happened there,” Hailey admitted. “Not like we did with the first two weddings.” Jordan noticed that Stacey and Isobel exchanged a glance at this before both looking

at the table, and she wondered if Stacey and Luke’s breakup wasn’t quite as amicable and simple as it seemed. One bride at a time. She refocused on this Eva woman. “What happened to her?” Hailey shrugged. “Disappeared after Luke was a no-show. Nobody’s seen her since, but we’re assuming she went home.” “She wasn’t from around here?” Stacey shook her head and topped off glasses with what was left in the bottle. “Nope; from Texas. Passed through town on a road trip or something. Came into this bar, sat at that very stool.” Stacey pointed. “She met Luke, and just…never left,” Tawny added, her tone making it clear that she did not love this fact. “Well, at least until he got smart and stopped things before I do.” “And nobody knows what happened?” They all shook their heads no. Even his sister. “Is that why he’s so…” “Closed off? Emotionally barren?” Bree said with a smile. “Yeah, he was different after that.” Hailey nodded. “He’s always been a little

quiet. Gruff more often than not, but he used to know how to be fun. He could be sweet.” Stacey nodded. “She ruined him. Then with what happened with Gil, happening so soon after she left…” The sadness at the table was palpable, so though Jordan had no idea who Gil was, she didn’t think it was her place to ask. “Okay, enough sadness,” Hailey said, shaking her head. “Let’s help Jordan figure out how to get Luke to say yes.” “So you guys do want him to do this?” “Absolutely,” Tawny said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think the chance of him meeting his one true love is, um, nil. But the guy needs to be woken up in a big way, and it’s not going to happen when he’s hiding out here in Lucky Hollow.” Jordan sat back and studied their eager, caring faces. “An odd stance for a small town. Aren’t you usually trying to figure out how to get your people to stay?” “Spoken as a small-town girl who didn’t stay?” Bree asked, lifting her eyebrows. Jordan laughed, realizing that Simon had been right. These people did seem to smell the small town on her.

“That was different,” she said, deciding there was no point in denying her past. “The big city called to me ever since I was a kid and thought I wanted to be a Broadway star, then a supermodel, then a CEO, and so on. I don’t get the impression Luke feels the same.” “No, definitely not,” Tawny granted. “And we’re not saying that we don’t fully expect and want him to come back someday; it’s just…” She glanced around the table, looking for help. “He’s broken,” Isobel said, speaking up for the first time. “Luke’s been just a little bit broken for the past couple years, and we’ve all been patient, but whatever’s going to fix him… it’s not here in Lucky Hollow.” “Maybe not yet,” Stacey mused. “Um, what?” Hailey asked her friend, stuffing an onion ring into her mouth. “Whatever’s going to snap Luke out of his zombie state hasn’t been in Lucky Hollow yet,” Stacey said, leaning forward and lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. Bree mimicked her stance. “Explain.” Stacey’s smile was slow and victorious. “Well, our boy just walked in, and the minute his eyes locked on the back of Jordan here? Let’s just say he looks the most alive I’ve seen him in years.”

The group of women spun around to get a look, but Jordan resisted the urge. Barely. She didn’t, however, manage to stop herself from asking Stacey for a bit more information. “When you say he looks alive…” Hailey patted her hand sympathetically. “She means that he looks ready to kill you, dear.” “Or screw you,” Bree added thoughtfully into her wine. “Yeah, that too.”

Chapter 10 “She’s pretty. Real pretty,” Gary James said, sliding a beer across the bar to Luke. Luke didn’t have to ask whom the bartender was referring to. He’d felt Jordan Carpenter the very second he walked into Tucker’s. Was there any part of his life this woman wasn’t going to infiltrate? She was buddybuddy with his friends. Chumming it up with his sister, from the looks of it. Even Ken down at the hardware store hadn’t been able to shut off about her pretty manners when Luke had stopped in to pick up the pieces for the new railing he was looking to build. And now even his damn bar felt full of the sassy blonde. Luke had thought he’d be safer choosing Gary’s side of the bar over Benny’s. The aging bartender had been happily married longer than Luke had been alive, whereas Benny was twenty-something and chased after anything with tits and a smile. “Gary, you looking for a tip tonight, or you gonna talk to me about stuff I don’t want to talk about?” Luke asked, tipping the bottle to his lips.

The older man laughed in understanding and held up his hands in surrender. “Won’t say another word.” Luke nodded in thanks, but not talking about Jordan didn’t stop him from thinking about her. What he should have been doing was walking right out the front door, after first giving the people who’d known him an entire life lectures for siding with an outsider instead of him. But, hell, that wasn’t really what was eating at him. These people cared about him, were doing what they thought was best in their meddling, clueless way. What was really bothering him was that he wanted to know what the hell shoes Jordan Carpenter was wearing tonight. If they were another of those sexy stilettos that put her nearly at eye level with him. Even more alarming, he wanted to know if her slim thighs were as toned as they looked. Most alarming of all, he wanted to feel those thighs around his waist, sexy shoes still on, as he tangled his fingers in that hair as he shoved inside her…. “Looks like you’re just about the only one who’s not a fan,” Gary said. Luke let out an exasperated breath. “I

thought we just agreed not to discuss her.” Gary shrugged as he untwisted a screw-top cap from a bottle of white wine. “You think someone should tell her to steer clear of Travis?” “Ah hell,” Luke muttered, glancing over his shoulder. Sure enough, the group of women had scattered, as was their pattern after an hour or so of girl talk, when they decided it was time to mingle with spouses and cousins. But it had left Jordan alone and vulnerable to the attentions of Travis Olander, the town’s resident douchebag. Travis had been a year ahead of Luke in school, and back in high school, girls hadn’t quite figured out that he had exactly zero respect for females or fidelity. By the time he graduated, his reputation as a sleaze was well known, and smart women avoided him. But the man was clever, in a dirty, conniving kind of way. He knew that his best shots at a hookup were with women who didn’t know better—either because they’d had a drink or two and were maybe inclined to forget that he was a jerk behind all the skilled compliments… Or because they were newcomers.

Jordan was leaning against the pool table, glass of wine in hand, laughing at something Travis said. Clearly nobody had warned her whom she was dealing with, but she looked happy. Not threatened in the least. Luke turned back to the bar. The last time he’d rescued a sexy newcomer from the attentions of Travis Olander, he’d ended up engaged to the woman. And look how that had turned out. Luke took a sip of beer and willed some other Good Samaritan to step in and rescue Jordan. He glanced over his shoulder. Shit. Jordan was still against the pool table, and Travis had moved closer, his hands just inches from Jordan’s hip. He was making his move. Luke moved off his barstool before his brain could start to list all the reasons why he didn’t like Jordan Carpenter and why, if she wasn’t smart enough to see that Travis Olander was a one-night stand, probably with a side of herpes, that wasn’t his problem. “Jordan,” Luke said in a low voice, when he was within hearing range. She looked over, pretty blue eyes blinking in surprise that he was acknowledging her. “Hey, Luke.”

“Got a minute? Need to talk to you.” Luke didn’t acknowledge Travis. The two men hadn’t bothered to pretend to like each other since Luke had snagged the starting-QB position from under Travis’s nose. Travis had retaliated by unsuccessfully attempting to seduce Luke’s then-girlfriend, and they’d more or less ignored each other ever since. “Um, sure,” Jordan said with a smile. “It was really nice to meet you, Trevor.” “Travis,” the other man corrected in a slightly irritable tone. “Right, so sorry,” Jordan said. Luke had to hide his smile, because he’d bet serious money that Jordan knew exactly what Travis’s name was all along. Perhaps she hadn’t needed rescuing after all. He gestured for her to precede him to the bar. Told himself that it was to prevent Travis from checking out her perfect, denim-clad ass, then hypocritically checked it out himself. She turned toward him in question as they reached the bar, and Luke unceremoniously pulled out the barstool next to his and pushed her down onto it, before reclaiming his own seat and beer. “So—”

“Shut up,” he muttered. “Just shut up.” She didn’t, of course, instead leaning forward. “So here’s something I’m wondering….” Luke reached across the bar and grabbed one of the plain, no-fuss white square napkins. “Got a pen in your purse? Write your thoughts there.” “And then you’ll read it?” Luke stared straight ahead, sipped his beer. “Then I’ll burn it.” She merely laughed. “Says the firefighter. But, okay, here’s what I’m wondering: how you got three different women to be interested in you much less agree to marry you.” Luke was surprised to hear himself laugh. “This is the thanks I get, huh?” “Thanks for what? Dragging me away from a decent conversation to a nonexistent one?” He turned to glare at her. “By all means, feel free to make your way back to Olander.” “Nah. You’re right,” she said, sipping her wine. “He had player written all over him. And for the record, I had zero intention of going home with him. But between the two of you, he was a better conversationalist.” “Yeah, well, most men will be chatty enough

when they want to get in a woman’s pants.” “Should I be insulted?” she said with a little smile. He cut her a look, then glanced away. “You’re not my type.” It was both true and…not true. Jordan was tall, athletic, and blond, whereas Luke generally gravitated toward dark-haired women with soft curves. However, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t given some serious thoughts to Jordan’s lean curves, imagined digging his fingers into that hair as he explored every corner of her mouth. His comment had been meant to put some distance between them, but she merely laughed and turned to face him more fully. “Enlighten me. What’s your type?” “What’s it matter?” “It matters so that when you agree to do the show, I can tell the casting director what sort of candidate to focus on.” Her voice was light and teasing, but he saw right through it. She was trying to coax him into a conversation he didn’t want to have, based solely on her charms. He didn’t bite. Luke lifted his finger to Gary for another

beer. Then glanced at Jordan’s near-empty wineglass, nodded for another for her as well. “Thought we agreed you weren’t going to ask me to do the show,” he said. “I didn’t ask. I’ve decided to just start treating it as an eventuality.” Luke shifted to study her. “Word games, City? Would have thought you were better than that.” Jordan merely lifted an eyebrow. “Would you really have? Because the way I see it, you’ve seemed determine to dislike me since the moment you met me.” “Convince me otherwise.” “You won’t even give me a chance.” Her voice was soft, and for some reason that bugged him more than if she’d been pushy and demanding. He didn’t want her to be soft and beguiling; he wanted—needed—her to piss him off so that he could keep her at a distance. “Is this your new ploy?” he muttered. “Sweet-talking people into doing your bidding?” “More like coaxing people to do things that scare them.” The hell… Luke glared. “That’s bullshit.”

Her straight gaze was a challenge. “Is it? Look at me and tell me that the thought of putting yourself out there again doesn’t scare the crap out of you.” Gary slid a beer and a glass of wine their way, then hurriedly backed away even before they could say thanks. “Go back to Travis,” Luke snapped at Jordan. Her fingers touched his arm, and he had to stop himself from shaking her off—from letting on that though the touch was causal, his response was anything but. “Your friends and family are worried about you.” “Says the girl who’s known them all of what, three days?” “Are they right to be?” she asked, ignoring his sarcasm. “Worried?” “Don’t pretend you give a shit about me, City. We both know your interest in my mental stability has everything to do with the ratings of your show. You’re little more than a vulture in high heels.” The words were out faster than Luke could stop them, and the undisguised hurt on Jordan’s face told him she felt the full force of their cruel bite.

Damn it. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t the jerk that hurt women. Not intentionally… “Jordan—” She shook her head and held up her hand. “Don’t worry about it.” The hell he wouldn’t. He’d been raised better than to speak to a woman that way, even the most vexing of women. “I didn’t mean—” “Sure you did, Mr. Elliott. Please don’t apologize for speaking your mind, as I’ve done the same ever since I got into town.” Jordan smiled as she stood, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She pulled her wallet out of her purse, tossed down a couple of bills. “Drinks on me tonight.” She walked away without meeting his eyes. He felt the smallest twinge of relief that she walked out the front door instead of resuming her conversation with Travis Olander, but it did little to dull the regret. Nor did it ease the absurd wish that he and Jordan Carpenter had met under different circumstances. She’d accused him of speaking his mind—of meaning what he’d said. But she was wrong. He hadn’t meant it. Jordan was a pain in his side, yes, but not a bad person.

Most alarming of all, Luke felt the strangest pang of regret at the thought of sending her back to her big city. It’d been forever since someone had bothered to shake up his life—since he’d bothered to allow it. Luke lifted the beer to his lips as he stared absently at her mostly full wineglass, wondering just what the hell he wanted to do about the most alluring woman he’d met in a long time.

Chapter 11 Jordan slammed her laptop shut and drummed her fingers atop the MacBook. Two. That’s how many new potential Jilted candidates she’d come up with after six hours of Internet research. One was a beefcake from Miami, who, if Facebook could be believed, had four ex-fiancées. He was good-looking, definitely, but he also went by Flash. No last name. And he seemed to have an obsession with his own abs. Six-packs were always a bonus for reality TV, but for this type of show, it’d work much better if the guys at least pretended to have some humility. They already had a strike against them with the runaway-groom thing. A huge ego might be too hard of a sell. The other candidate wasn’t much better. Jeff Marx from Philadelphia had a last name, so that was something, but he had six ex-fiancées. How was that even possible? There was something just not right about a guy who put an engagement ring on a half dozen different fingers. Even more damning, the guy had his

own YouTube channel, where he liked to ramble on about the vixens who had proven unworthy of his love. Frankly, it creeped her out. Jordan glanced at the clock. Two P.M. Too early for wine, so she poured herself a glass of iced tea and picked up her cellphone to call one of her colleagues. Dana Munos was another of Raven’s minions. She and Jordan weren’t besties or anything, but they got along, helped each other out when one had hit a wall. Jordan had so hit a wall. “This is Dana.” Jordan blinked a bit at the brusque greeting. Maybe she’d been in Lucky Hollow too long, because the quick impatience in Dana’s tone caught her off guard. She’d grown accustomed to the more friendly greetings of the people of Lucky Hollow, who called her dear and sweetheart and approached every conversation as though they had all the time in the world. “Hey, Dana, it’s Jordan.” “Hey! Sorry. The damn phone’s been ringing nonstop today; I’m not even looking at caller ID anymore. What’s up? You back in New York yet?”

“No, still in Montana. Which is actually why I’m calling. Got a sec for some advice?” Jordan said, taking her tea into the living room and plopping onto the couch. “Sure,” Dana said, her voice curious. “Hit me.” “So, this candidate I’m trying to recruit—” “The hot firefighter.” “Yup. He’s, um…not interested.” “The good ones rarely are,” Dana said. “You know the rule. Always go with the candidate whose friend applied for him, not the guy who applied himself.” “Yeah, well, that’s sort of the problem. This guy didn’t apply at all.” “How’d you find him?” “Google.” “Nice.” Was it? It felt a bit more like…stalking. “At what point do I back off?” Jordan asked, pulling a throw pillow onto her stomach and tugging at a loose thread. “Hmm. You’re sure he’s the right guy?” “On paper, yes. And he’s got this…quality. A quiet reluctance that I think viewers are going to swoon over.” There was a moment of silence. “Are you

swooning over him?” “Of course not,” Jordan scoffed. She and Dana weren’t nearly close enough for Jordan to confide her kinda-sorta crush on Luke. “And he hates me.” “Nobody hates you. You’re too nice.” “He called me a vulture in high heels,” Jordan blurted out. She hadn’t meant to say it, but it had been on her mind, and apparently she needed to tell someone. “Ouch,” Dana said with a little laugh. Yeah. Ouch. It had…well, it had hurt. Not only because the description was unflattering but because it had felt true. Jordan didn’t want to be that woman. The one who was so focused on her own goals that she steamrolled right over other people’s wants. But she didn’t want to give up either. Not just because of professional pride; her gut was telling her there was some sort of unfinished business here. That if she didn’t see this through, she’d always…wonder. “What’s your deadline?” Dana asked. “End of the month.” “Three weeks. That’s workable. What about seducing him?”

“Dana!” The other woman laughed. “Come on. It wouldn’t be the first time.” “It would for me!” Dana sighed. “Fine, okay. How’s the backupcandidate list?” “Short and shrinking,” Jordan replied glumly. The list had only had six viable guys, and two of them had gotten back to her yesterday with thanks but no thanks. “So tell Raven you’ll have to open it up to applications.” Jordan groaned, and Dana made a sound of understanding. “I know, I get it. It means thousands of weirdos to weed through, but it does widen the pool.” “Raven’s gonna be pissed.” “Probably,” Dana agreed. “She’s been wanting to keep this whole thing under wraps so the other networks don’t know what we’re up to. Our sneak attack goes out the window once we do applications. But, Jordan, if your guy’s a no-go…” “I’ll think about it,” Jordan said, pulling harder at the thread on the pillow. “Thanks for the help.” “Anytime,” Dana said. “Call if you want to

talk through anything else.” “Definitely.” They made small talk about the lingering New York humidity, about the wine bar that had opened up around the corner from the office, about the Lady Gaga concert at Madison Square Garden, then said their goodbyes. Jordan hung up and waited for the pang of homesickness for New York. It didn’t come. She closed her eyes and, resting her head back against the cushion of the couch, let herself admit what she hadn’t been able to say aloud to Dana—or to anyone: She wasn’t still in Lucky Hollow because she thought Luke was close to caving. She was still here because she wanted to be —because for the first time in a long time, she felt… Home. The thought was terrifying. — Lucky Hollow had two grocery options. The first was the adorable little corner store in town that had exactly one brand of eggs, one type of butter, four cracker brands, six

assorted cheeses, and so on. Or there was the big box store. Nearly a forty-minute drive outside of town, but at the bar last night the women had assured Jordan that it was a necessary evil to stock up on staples. She didn’t mind. After her run-in with Luke, she needed a breather away from Lucky Hollow. Away from Luke. You’re little more than a vulture in high heels. The memory stung. She didn’t know exactly what she wanted Luke Elliott to think about her, but it wasn’t that. Then again, she couldn’t really blame him. She’d invaded his hometown, for God’s sake. Infiltrated his group of friends, chatted with his sister, buddied up with his ex-fiancée—one of them, anyway. Jordan blew out a breath as she dropped a bag of spinach into the cart, followed by a carton of mixed greens and baby carrots. She was in the dairy department, trying to do the math on which Greek yogurt special was a better deal, when she heard her name.

Jordan smiled when she saw Hailey Withers approaching. “Hey!” The petite brunette was dressed in an adorable yellow sundress that flattered her generous curves. Hailey ditched her basket and gestured forward for a hug. “Bring it in, Blondie.” She glanced in Jordan’s cart as she pulled back. “Dang, no wonder you’re so skinny!” The woman picked up a package of quinoa and gave Jordan a look. “Really? Please don’t look in mine. Would you believe me if I lied and said that the Lucky Charms are for the kids and that I’d never eat the Kraft Mac and Cheese I’m planning to buy in bulk?” “Don’t judge me too harshly,” Jordan said with a smile, gesturing at her mostly healthy cart. “I ran track in high school and college, and I guess I’m used to fueling my body accordingly.” “Great, you eat vegetables and you’re a runner. You’ll understand if I decide to dislike you?” Hailey asked good-naturedly. “Absolutely. If you ever see me running by your house, I give you my full blessing to throw tomatoes.” “Rocks, Blondie. If I see you running, I’ll be throwing rocks. Have you been running since

you moved here?” Moved here. She hadn’t moved here. She was just here for work…. “Not as much running as I’m used to,” Jordan replied, dragging her mind back to the conversation. “I tried running around outside the rental, but…not a lot of places to go.” Hailey laughed. “No, not really. You can only loop around the bakery and Tucker’s so many times, right? You should take a run by the lake. That’s where the high school track team practices.” “Oh, I’d forgotten there was a lake nearby.” Hailey nodded. “Ten minutes or so from your place. I mean, it’s not a fancy path or anything, but it’s pretty in its way.” “And it’s open to anyone?” “Eh. Technically? Private property. But nobody minds. Here, give me your phone. I’ll text myself, and then later I’ll message you with the best place to park your car to get down to the trail.” “That’d be great,” Jordan said, as she handed over her phone so Hailey could enter her info. “Okay, I should get my junk-food-mobile

out of here,” Hailey said, giving the phone back. “My mother in-law is with the littles today, but if I’m gone too long, she’ll start promising them ice cream for dinner, and I’ll be the bad mom who has to say no.” “How old are they?” “Beau is six, meaning he loves bugs and dirt and all the usual boy stuff. Ann is three and likes bugs and dirt even more than her brother does. They’re monsters, but they’re my monsters and all that.” Jordan smiled. “I’ll let you get back to them. It was really nice seeing you!” She meant it. Hailey was impossible not to like. “Add some chocolate to this mess or I’ll have to break up with you,” Hailey said, waving her finger over Jordan’s cart as she started to move away. “Oh, hey, actually, speaking of chocolate…you have plans tomorrow?” “Other than working on casting my net to catch Luke so I can drag him back to New York? Not really.” Hailey laughed. “Bait him with Cool Ranch Doritos. He’s got a crazy weakness for them. But anyway, a bunch of us are meeting for book club tomorrow. You should join.” “I’m a fast reader, but not sure I can read

whatever the book for discussion is by tomorrow,” Jordan said regretfully. Hailey waved her hand. “Nonsense. We hardly ever discuss the book. It’s more an excuse to get the guys to babysit while we all drink wine. Talk about boys.” “Okay, then,” Jordan said. “I’d love to.” “Perfect. Then you can tell us what you and Luke were fighting about at the bar.” Jordan snorted. “I’ll give you three guesses, and you only need one.” “Keep working on him,” Hailey said. “The guy needs someone to push his buttons, snap him out of his funk.” “Can you please tell him that?” “Oh, he quit listening to me a long time ago,” Hailey said. “But he did once?” Jordan asked, a little puzzled. Hailey didn’t reply; instead, she blew Jordan a kiss. “I’ll text you about the runningtrack and book-club deets. But only if you promise to add something non-organic to your cart, ’kay?” Jordan waved goodbye to Hailey, then did an eenie-meenie with the Greek yogurt she’d been debating, going for the one with honey

and almonds mixed in. She was nearly to the checkout stand when she made a snap decision, backpedaling to the frozen section, where she stopped in front of the ice cream display. Jordan hesitated only a second before reaching for a carton of chocolate peanut butter cup. Then went to grab a bag of Doritos. Just in case.

Chapter 12 Hailey’s directions to the lakeside running path had come in the form of a picture message, complete with a hand drawing of where to park and the big rock where she could cut through the property of summer people who were gone for the season and didn’t mind the locals borrowing the edge of their property. At six A.M., dressed in a long-sleeve white running top, black leggings, and her favorite running shoes (special-ordered in neon orange, although she always changed up the color when she got a new pair), Jordan followed Hailey’s instructions, careful to stay in the wooded section and not trounce on the neatly maintained lawns. — The second the lake came into view, Jordan inhaled in delight. The scenery was breathtaking, and not just from the perspective of a Manhattanite starved for a whiff of nature.

The morning was cold, crisp, and cloudless, the water deep blue and clear. The lake wasn’t particularly large, but the houses surrounding it were far enough from its edge to give the illusion of pristine perfection, as though you could run forever with nothing but the trees for company. Rolling her eyes at her own whimsy, Jordan made her way forward until the path Hailey had mentioned became clear. Not a path precisely, but it was obvious that hers wouldn’t be the only running shoes to wind their way around the water. She started off at an easy jog, smiling at how good the cool air felt in her lungs. Unsurprisingly, the air felt fresher here than it did in New York. A nearly forgotten memory assailed her—of her high school days, when she’d run with her cross-country team across wide-open spaces. There wasn’t a lake in Keaton, but there were fields and wooded areas. There were no taxis to dodge, no strollers to wind around, no hotheaded businesspeople screaming into their cellphones. Jordan slowly picked up her pace, moving from a warm-up jog to a steady run, twigs and freshly fallen leaves crunching beneath her shoes.

She ran past plenty of homes. They were all elevated, probably to better enjoy the view. She didn’t look too closely, not wanting to invade the privacy of anyone enjoying the solitude of a morning cup of coffee, but she found it a pleasant surprise that most of the homes were modest. Well maintained, but cozy instead of ostentatious. More cabin style than mansion. She ran by a dozen houses, then two dozen, not seeing a single soul besides the birds. She’d been running a good twenty minutes or so before she saw another person. A fellow runner, several feet in front of her. A man, judging by the height and shoulders, dressed in loose gray running pants and a long-sleeved black shirt. A gray beanie was pulled low, covering his hair. He had good form, she noted. Good speed too. Definitely not a beginning runner. She picked up her own speed, just a little, but he didn’t turn around. Probably wearing headphones. She never did when running outside, because of the whole dangers of a woman running alone, but she supposed it was different for men. One of life’s petty little injustices, that women couldn’t listen to early Madonna while jogging on a secluded path.

Jordan jogged behind the man for a couple of minutes, matching her pace to his, assessing. He was in great shape, but so was she. And it had been a long time since she’d had a chance to indulge in her competitive side. She slowly increased her speed, fully intending to overtake him, just for the thrill of passing. If she got really lucky, maybe he’d engage, give her the thrill of a race. Jordan’s shoes moved faster as she gained on her unsuspecting mystery rival. She was a few feet behind him when he finally heard or sensed her presence, his head whipping around. As expected, white earbuds were tucked under the cap, but that was where the expected ended and the shock began. A familiar hazel gaze locked on hers, widening in surprise before narrowing in suspicion. Her mystery runner was none other than Luke Elliott. Of course it was. Jordan gave a quick roll of her eyes, as though to say, Calm down, I’m not freaking following you.

And then she kicked it into high gear, racing by him without a single word. She kept her ears tuned for the telltale sound of footsteps gaining on her. At first there was nothing, and she stifled the surge of disappointment that his determination to avoid her even extended to this. Then she felt the air change, heard his footsteps, heavier than hers but just as fast. No. Faster. Before she could register what was happening, Luke breezed by her without so much as a glance her way. Only when he’d passed her did she give in to the grin. Game on. She let him open a lead on her, just for a second, lulling him into complacency, hoping he’d burn up his energy before he learned what she was made of. Then she picked up her speed, relishing the way her body thrummed, her blood pumping, breath coming just a bit quicker as she exerted herself to pass him. The look of surprise on his face as she pulled even was worth the strain of her underused muscles, the slight burn in her lungs. Jordan was fast, but it had been years since she’d gone all out, and Luke, being a man

in excellent shape, was a more-than-worthy opponent. Luke increased his speed to match hers, and for several minutes they ran nearly neck and neck, each pulling ahead for short periods of time, only to have the other draw even. Her muscles started to scream and she felt a surge of irritation. She really hadn’t planned on losing. But just when she would have slowed to a jog, conceded his victory, he tugged his earbuds free and bunched the cord in his hand even as he kept up the near-sprint. “To the fence post?” His words came around harsh pants, revealing that she wasn’t the only one straining, and it was precisely the encouragement she needed to push through. “You’re on,” she managed. Jordan put every ounce of her training, every bit of her competitive spirit (and, okay, maybe a little lingering anger about Luke’s cruel words at the bar), into those last several feet. She ran all in, body and soul. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him stay even with her, not falling behind but not pulling ahead either.

Four feet. Three feet. Two… The fence-post finish line passed in a blur out of the corner of her left eye, and she gradually let her body ease up, allowing straining muscles to slow to an easy run, then a jog, then finally a walk. Hands on hips, she caught her breath and turned to face her opponent. Luke had stopped a while back, hands on knees as he sucked in big gulps of air, eyes locked on the ground between his feet. She started to walk back toward him, and when he lifted his face, she felt his grin like a punch in the gut—it was the first real smile she’d seen from him. At least the first directed at her. It made her feel warm in a million ways that had nothing to do with the fact that she’d just run her heart out like she hadn’t in years. He slowly straightened. “Gotta say, City. Think that’s the first time a woman’s ever given me a run for my money. You didn’t let up, not even once.” “Neither did you,” she said. “You’re in good shape.” He gave her a once-over. “I’m in great shape, and you still beat me by a half step.”

She grinned, pleased by the acknowledgment of her victory, even though she wasn’t at all sure who’d passed the fence post first. “I ran cross-country in high school. Got a scholarship to college.” They’d thought she’d have a shot at the Olympic team, but she didn’t say that. She’d missed the cutoff, just barely, and though she tried not to have regrets, the disappointment still stung a bit. He nodded in understanding, and there were several moments of silence with only the sounds of the cheerful birds and their own uneven breathing. Jordan lifted a hand to push a sweaty strand of hair back behind her ear. “You come here to run often?” “Every day. I live on the lake.” He flinched as though realizing he’d just given the enemy way too much information. “It’s lovely here,” she said, hoping to ease his worries. He shrugged. Jordan gave in to the urge to roll her eyes at the blatant dismissal. “Well. I’m sorry for ruining your solitude. See you around.” She started to pass him, fully intending on a long, slow jog back to stretch her muscles and

ease her temper, but he caught her arm as she went by, drawing her to a halt. Luke frowned, looking surprised. “You’re shorter than I realized.” “Haven’t yet figured out how to run in my stilettos,” she said, easing her arm out of his grip. “Oh, wait. We vultures fly, right? Not run?” He had the decency to wince. “Jordan,” he said sharply, when she was about to start running again. “What?” Her voice was a little testy, and a smile flickered across his face, as though pleased by her reaction. “I live a couple miles back,” he said, nodding his head toward the way they’d come. “Congratulations.” Another smile, a little less reluctant this time. “How about I make you a cup of coffee.” She narrowed her eyes and said nothing. “Be good, and I can throw in a glass of water.” Jordan pursed her lips. His easy smile was unexpectedly charming. Or perhaps not so much unexpected as inconvenient. This would be so much easier for both of them if they could simply be at odds—him the

aggrieved victim, her the ambitious…vulture. “Don’t you have to work?” “Don’t have to be in until noon today.” She itched her nose, tried to think of another evasion. “I’m all sweaty.” Luke smiled and held his arms to the side. “Same.” “Look, Luke—” “Think about it,” he said, interrupting her. “You’ve got a couple miles to figure it out.” Without another word, he took off. Jordan had the childish urge to throw a stick at him, just for being so…complicated. One day he was making it clear he couldn’t stand her very existence; the next he was inviting her over for a cup of coffee. An offer she very much wanted to accept, which had nothing to do with Jilted. She’d say no. Jordan was already dangerously close to having a conflict of interest where he was concerned. Best to call her boss, see if they couldn’t sweeten the deal on why he should accept the offer… She tightened her ponytail and started off after him. His pace was slow and steady, an obvious cooldown jog, and once she caught up, she matched his pace to run several feet

behind him. There was something a little too intimate about running side by side with another person. He apparently disagreed, because he stopped abruptly to allow her to catch up, resuming his jog only when they were shoulder to shoulder. Yup. Intimate. But not unpleasant. Not at all. It had been a long time since she’d run with another person, and she’d forgotten the pleasant camaraderie of it. The sound of their breath, the thump of their footsteps falling alongside yours. The comfort of another person who understood that running could be magic and not just hideous exercise. It was over far too soon for her liking. Without warning, Luke peeled off to the left, jogging up a slight incline toward a house—his house, she realized. Jordan ordered her feet to keep running, but instead she stopped, watched as he made his way toward the back door. The home was bigger than she’d expected, and newer. Not fancy, but modern and inviting, with plenty of windows facing the water, and a large deck that begged for sipping

rosé on a warm summer evening. Her feet began moving again, but not in the direction she’d intended. Before she could fully grasp the implications of what she was doing, Jordan followed Luke.

Chapter 13 The landscaping of Luke’s lakeside home was basic but intentional. There were no fussy flowers, no manicured lawn, but there was a relatively tidy path marked by gravel zigzagging up the small slope. Her footsteps faltered a little at the sight of a wide two-person swing, nestled off to the side between two trees. It was an unexpected bit of whimsy for a man who was all beer, grunts, and stubbornness. Probably the previous owner, she figured, turning and jogging up the last few steps. He’d left the door open for her, and she rapped a knuckle lightly against the wood to announce herself before stepping inside. Frantic barking greeted her. Luke had a dog. A big one, judging from the sound of the bark. “Winston,” he shouted irritably, a second before a golden retriever launched himself at Jordan. Luke came into the doorway, looked at her as he tugged his hat off, and ran a hand

through his messy hair. “You okay with dogs?” “Definitely,” she said, bending to pet the very friendly Winston, whose tail was wagging in happy, soft swishes. When Jordan glanced up, Luke had disappeared back into the kitchen, a white cat in his place. She blinked. The big friendly dog she could see. The small white cat? Not so much. “Hey there, pretty,” Jordan cooed, holding out one hand, as she continued to pet the dog with the other. The cat gave Winston a disdainful look but made her way over to Jordan. At least, Jordan was guessing she was a girl. There was a haughtiness to the cat that seemed distinctly feminine. “Aren’t you beautiful,” she said, as the cat rubbed her face against Jordan’s fingers. Winston huffed as though dismayed to have competition. “You too,” she said, giving the dog a kiss on the head before standing, picking up the cat as she did so. Jordan glanced around, didn’t see any sign of Luke’s shoes, but she kicked hers off just in case, because they were a bit muddy and his home was…

Lovely. Again, not fussy, not fancy, but clean and well designed and lovely. And masculine. Very, very masculine, from the enormous TV over the enormous fireplace, right down to the enormous leather sectional. There were no throw blankets or area rugs to soften the room, but the space worked. The wood floors led to wood walls that led up to wood-beam ceilings. The fireplace was made of stone, the mantel holding exactly zero knickknacks. Save for the Kindle on the coffee table and the TV, the house could have been built yesterday or fifty years ago. The sound of a coffee grinder jarred her out of her snooping, and she headed toward the noise. The kitchen was larger than she would have expected for a single man. Though its floor plan wasn’t open to the rest of the space, it was roomy and welcoming in its own right, with a table tucked against the window, and a wide counter covered in granite. Jordan ran a hand over the smooth surface before leaning on her elbows, as she watched him pull down two mugs from a cabinet. He froze when he turned and saw her

holding his cat. “Seriously, Luna? Traitor much?” Jordan bit her lip to hide the smile. “You have a small white cat named Luna and a big friendly golden retriever named Winston. You do understand why I at least have to try to recruit you, right? It’s too much.” He merely pointed at the cat. “She barely lets me pet her, even though I rescued the homeless wench from a fire.” Jordan went still. “Please tell me you’re joking. You saved Luna from a fire? And then kept her?” He shrugged as though it were no big deal. “You wouldn’t know it from the way she treats me.” “What happened to her owners?” “They moved into an apartment a few towns over after their house burned down. No pets allowed.” “And you took her home,” Jordan mused, stroking the purring cat. “Oh, shut up,” he muttered, opening a back door toward a garage. “Hold on, have to grab the extra bag of coffee beans from my truck.” “Not gonna lie,” Jordan said, when he came back in. “I sort of had you pegged as an

instant-coffee kind of guy, although the truck’s spot-on with expectations.” He shrugged at her comment, running a hand over hair that was too short to really get properly mussed by the hat. “One of the side effects of nearly being married three times to three coffee snobs. It rubs off on you.” She widened her eyes in mock surprise. “Are you actually discussing the events with…the enemy?” “Figure you might as well hear it from me,” he said. “Wouldn’t put it past my blushing former brides to embellish for the sake of a good story.” She opened her mouth to ask more, but he cut off her off. “Milk or cream?” “Splash of milk, if you have it. And are you finally ready to tell me why you left those poor women at the altar?” “Nah,” he said, pulling a milk carton and water filter out of the fridge. “Think I’ll just hold on to that one for a while.” “Just to be difficult?” she guessed. “Leverage. Information’s a valuable currency, City.” “You know I could ask just about anyone and get an answer.”

“You’re assuming anyone else actually knows the answer. And even if they did, I didn’t see a cellphone in those tight pants,” he said, pouring them each a glass of water and downing his even before she’d reached for hers. “A gentleman wouldn’t comment on the tight pants.” “He would if he had the pleasure of being behind you during your run.” “Pervert,” she muttered, but she smiled into her water glass as she said it. The coffeepot’s happy Done! beep sounded, and he filled two mugs, handing her one and nudging the milk across the counter, along with a spoon. She set down the cat and added milk to her cup—he took his black—and then there were a few moments of companionable silence as they enjoyed their first few sips of caffeine. “Your home’s gorgeous. How long have you lived here?” she asked, wandering to the window and looking out at the early morning sun glinting over the lake. “Few years. Bought the property a while back for way less than I should have. Planned to build a house, live here with Stacey. The relationship didn’t work out, but the house

did.” “Whoever designed it knew what they were doing,” she said, turning back to him. “It’s got a very timeless feel.” Something flickered across his face, an emotion she hadn’t yet seen from him. Sadness? Regret? “My best friend, Gil, drew up the plans. I wanted something custom, but firefighters aren’t exactly known for their big paychecks. Gil always said if firefighting wasn’t in his blood, he’d have been an architect, so I told him to practice with me. He came up with this. We had a licensed architect review the blueprints, and then I had it built.” Gil. The same name the girls had mentioned at the bar the other night. Jordan took a sip of coffee. “He’s very talented. He still designing houses, or did he stick with the firefighting thing?” “He’s dead.” Luke’s harsh announcement echoed through the kitchen. “I’m sorry,” Jordan said softly. He lifted a shoulder. “We all know it’s a risk.”

“He died while working?” Luke took a sip of coffee, stared absently over her shoulder. “Last year. There was a fire at an abandoned house outside town. Some kids using it as a place to smoke. Ceiling caved in, and…” Luke’s eyes came back to hers, cool and distant. “He didn’t make it out.” Jordan swallowed at the raw pain he tried so hard to disguise. “Luke, I—” “Don’t bother,” he interrupted. “Just file it away for my big TV debut. Better if I have a tragic backstory, right?” “Don’t be an ass,” she snapped, walking toward him. “Just because I think you’re a great candidate for the TV show doesn’t mean I’m an inhuman monster who sees someone else’s personal tragedy as my professional gain.” “You—” “Shut up,” Jordan said impulsively. “Just shut up. I’m not perfect, but at least I don’t offer someone a cup of coffee only to lure them closer as a punching bag.” “That’s not—” “It is,” she said, setting her mug on the

counter and moving closer to him, until she could push a finger against his chest. “It’s absolutely true. You’re miserable and you’re hurting, and you have plenty of reason to be, but find someone else to take it out on.” “You’re hardly a victim, Jordan.” “No, I’m not. But I’m also not acting like one. I’m acting like an ambitious thirty-yearold woman whose boss has given her a job to do. And more than that, I’m smart, with good instincts, and I can tell you right now that me thinking you’re the right man for the job is as much about you needing to start living your life again as it is the fact that half of America’s likely to fall in love with you.” He leaned into her, chest pushing hard against the finger as he glowered. “You don’t know me, City.” “Well, that makes two of us, Small Town. Because you don’t know yourself either. Enjoy your solitude and your attitude problem.” She pressed once more with her finger against his chest for emphasis, before whirling away and marching toward the door. Jordan had thought her body was spent after their race, but she was wrong. It was thrumming again, her blood pumping, fists clenching.

“Damn it. City!” His voice was a loud command, clearly one he was accustomed to people adhering to. Jordan had no intention of listening. In fact, she wanted nothing more than to be out the door and away from this man and all the frustration she couldn’t explain, but unfortunately she’d given him the courtesy— undeserved, by the way—of taking her shoes off. Cursing under her breath, she bent, reaching for the orange sneakers. A second later, a large male hand smacked the shoe out of her hand, sending it thudding pathetically against the wall. She reared up, ready to tell him exactly what she thought of his caveman tendencies. But before she could get a word out, she was against the door, sandwiched between the cool, hard wood and his hot, hard body. Luke leaned into her, one hand braced above her head, the other coming to circle her throat. Not threateningly—she had zero fear that he’d hurt her. But her heart was pounding all the same, at the anger in his eyes, at her own answering anger.

His thumb brushed along her collarbone. In warning? In promise? Jordan’s hands lifted to his chest, intending to push him away—to tell him that she had no intention of being manhandled. But the second her fingers brushed against the soft fabric of his running shirt, she sucked in a breath, her intentions shifting. Soft as the shirt was, the man beneath was anything but. His chest was a solid wall of sculpted muscle, and her mouth was watering at the thought of having him pressed against her. Jordan managed to stop short of caressing him—barely. But neither did she push him away. Instead, she stayed perfectly still, eyes squeezed shut, her palms against his pecs, his thumb continuing its taunting caress along her neck. The dog barked, but they both ignored him. Slowly, Jordan opened her eyes. Lifted them to Luke’s. The anger was still there, but it was no longer the dominant emotion. Somehow, mad had tangled with desire, and judging from the pissed-off confusion on his face, he didn’t know what to do with it any more than she did.

“I should go,” she whispered. “Yeah.” His voice was husky. There was a moment of stillness, and then they both moved. His mouth came down on hers, and Jordan was more than ready for it, her lips welcoming his as though she’d waited a lifetime for exactly this moment. There was nothing shy about Luke’s kiss. His hand slid behind her neck, tilting her face up so his lips could nudge hers apart, his tongue claiming hers in an intimate assertion that had a breathy moan escaping her throat. Luke answered by pushing closer, his body pressing hers to the door as her arms went around his neck. His hair was too short to hold on to, so Jordan gave in to the urge to scrape her short nails against his scalp, and she felt his growl of response from head to toe and all the most sensitive places in between. Luke pulled back just long enough to utter a harsh damn it against her mouth before kissing her again, slower this time, as though if he took his time they could somehow get control of the situation. They couldn’t. The more they touched, the more they wanted, the longer they kissed, the

harder it was to stop. And it had to stop. This was… Luke’s mouth moved from her lips to trail down her neck, and her head fell back with a gasp. Madness. This was madness and irresponsible, and… Career suicide. Luke’s hand was on her waist, sliding up over her rib cage…. Jordan grabbed his wrist. “Stop.” He let out the smallest of groans, forehead resting on her shoulder for a moment, but he did as she asked, pulling away slowly until his hands dropped to his sides and there were a few inches of space between them. Enough for her to clear her head. Sort of. “I should go,” she whispered. Translation: We are so not talking about what just happened. Luke was apparently in agreement, because he simply nodded and stepped back even farther, giving her the space to retrieve her shoes. After she’d hurriedly tied the knot on the second one, she reached for the door handle, wanting nothing more than to run away

without having to say a single word. Then she remembered she was an adult. Jordan fixed a smile on her face and turned back to him. “Thanks for the coffee.” The corner of his mouth tilted in amusement. “You’re welcome.” There. Perfectly civil, as though they hadn’t just devoured each other. Jordan was out the door before she could do what she really wanted to—kiss him all over again and beg him to show her to the bedroom. She didn’t look back until she’d reached the running path, but when she did, Luke Elliott was on his deck, leaning on the railing as he watched her. She didn’t wave. Neither did he. Perhaps because they both knew this was hardly goodbye.

Chapter 14 Book club was at Bree’s house, and Jordan was relieved that it was at a home she’d been to before. It somehow made her feel a little less like the outsider crashing the party of friends who’d known one another since childhood. Nobody made her feel like an outsider, though. From the second she’d been scolded for knocking on the door instead of just entering like everyone else, to the moment a glass of wine had been shoved into her hand, she’d felt welcome. Almost as comfortable with these women as she did with her girlfriends back home. Not that she wasn’t homesick—she’d spent over an hour that afternoon catching up on social media and replying to text messages she’d neglected. She’d chatted with Simon, wanting to get the scoop on the atmosphere around the office. Luckily, nobody thought it strange that she’d stayed in Montana longer than planned. In fact, there was apparently a good-natured bet on how long it would take Jordan to get her

man. Into bed, or onto the show? No. No. She wasn’t even going there. The kiss had been a onetime thing, not to be repeated, and… “What?” she asked, realizing that Hailey had been talking at her and she hadn’t heard a single word. Hailey waved a carrot stick at her. “I was asking how your run was this morning. Did my crayon map help?” “Yes!” Jordan said, too loud. “Yes, so much. Thank you.” Hailey laughed a little in surprise. “You’re welcome. I suppose I’d be as skinny as you if I was that excited about finding a running path.” “It was nice to get some fresh air,” Jordan said. “The lake’s beautiful.” Hailey nodded. “It is. Most of the property’s been snatched up as vacation homes for people from the bigger cities, but a couple locals have done well for themselves. Luke actually lives there.” “Ah, yeah,” Jordan said, taking a sip of wine. “We crossed paths during our morning run.” “Oh, that’s right,” Hailey said, stuffing the rest of the carrot in her mouth and reaching

for a chip next, as though her vegetable quota was now fulfilled. “I always forget that he was the only guy on the high school football team who even pretended to stay in shape after graduation.” “Well, the rest of the firefighters are fit,” Jordan pointed out. “Sure.” Hailey waved her chip. “They have to be. But not like Luke.” “Which is lucky for you,” Bree said, bumping her hip against Jordan’s and joining the conversation. “It means that he won’t be a complete eyesore in all those hot-tub episodes, right?” Jordan couldn’t resist the grumpy grunt. “Let’s just say it’s less and less likely that that’s going to happen.” “Oh, don’t give up on him!” Bree said, touching Jordan’s arm. Jordan gave the two women a steady look. “Be perfectly honest. Can either of you really see him going along with this?” Hailey pursed her lips and rolled her eyes upward, and Bree bit into a buffalo wing and glanced away. Jordan laughed. “It’s like I thought. You ladies may be right about him needing to snap out of his post-Gil, post-wedding funk, but I

don’t think it’s going to be on national television.” The other women exchanged a look. “You know about Gil?” “He mentioned it,” Jordan said carefully. “Not the details, just that they were best friends and that Gil died in a fire.” “Saddest thing,” Hailey said quietly. “The LHFD hadn’t lost a man in decades, and Gil was so young.” “And the nicest,” Bree said with a sigh. “Just that guy that everyone liked.” “I’m so sorry,” Jordan said. “It sounds like he was a friend.” “Gil was everyone’s friend, but…he and Luke were like brothers. They grew up next door to each other. Gil was an only child, and Luke only had a sister—” “Um, who’s awesome!” Tawny said from across the room, lifting her white zinfandel to indicate she was hearing every word. Bree waved a hand as though to say, yeah, yeah, and turned her attention back to Jordan. “Anyway. It was a crappy time for all of us. Worse for Luke, though. Bad enough to lose a best friend, but to be there—” Jordan’s head whipped around. “Luke was

there?” Bree winced, realizing she’d perhaps said too much. “He didn’t mention it?” Jordan shook her head. No wonder he looked so closed off when Gil’s name had come up. “He never talks about it,” Bree said, lowering her voice. “I only know the details of what happened because Ryan was there. It was a three-alarm fire. Nothing they hadn’t handled hundreds of times before, but the roof collapse caught everyone off guard.” Jordan swallowed. Bree was silent for a moment. “Luke and Gil were the only ones who hadn’t gotten out when it happened. The others tried to get to them, but the frame of the front door was crushed; the whole thing was just…unstable.” She sucked in a long breath. “Luke came out with Gil on his back, but it was too late.” Jordan felt a prickle of tears in the corners of her eyes and wiped at them, as did Hailey and Bree. “Okay, enough of that,” Hailey said, inhaling and fanning her face. “Shall we talk about the terrible book?” “You picked the book,” Stacey said, coming around with a bottle of wine and doing top-

offs. “Which is why I’m allowed to say it was terrible,” Hailey pointed out. “The rest of you have to be polite.” “Or not,” Stacey said. “It was sort of terrible.” “I liked it,” Isobel insisted. “Nerd,” Stacey said, blowing her best friend a kiss. Conversation shifted back to the book, most of the group indeed agreeing that it was at least boring if not downright awful. Jordan tried to pay attention, but it was hard to care when she hadn’t read the book. Even harder to focus when her mind kept going to Luke Elliott, for reasons that had nothing to do with why she was in Montana in the first place. And then, as though the Universe was keeping an eye on her, maybe judging her a little bit, Jordan’s phone buzzed. She winced. It was her boss. “Excuse me a moment,” she murmured to the group, before walking back toward the front door, where she’d spotted a small office nook. “Raven, hi!” she said, answering the phone

and injecting enthusiasm into her voice. “Hey, babe. Sorry to be bugging you on a weekend night, but it’s been a crazy week; this is the first free minute I’ve gotten.” “No prob; what’s up?” “So, I tried to get approval on the increased salary for your guy.” “And?” “No can do. I think they’re open to spending more, but not until they know the guy’s even interested in negotiations, you know? You get him to that point yet?” Not even close. Jordan blew out a breath and leaned against the desk. Decided to face the music. “Honestly, Raven? No. He hasn’t given me the slightest indication that he’s even considering it. I think he might be a lost cause.” “But you think he’s the one?” Jordan opened her mouth. Closed it, considered, then answered more carefully. “He’s exactly the type of reluctant sex appeal that could make this a hit.” “I hear a but,” her boss said moodily. “The problem is, the reluctant part is genuine. He’s got no interest in this. Truly. He’s a simple guy who drives a truck and

drinks black coffee from a chipped mug.” Expensive coffee, but still. “He’s not playing coy when he says he doesn’t want to be on TV,” Jordan continued. “I don’t think there’s a single thing I can say to make the idea appeal to him.” “Shit,” Raven muttered. “Thinking. I’m thinking….So he’s a good guy, right?” Jordan blinked. “Yeah. Definitely.” Annoyingly stubborn but good. Good kisser… “Then what happened with the three brides? Good guys don’t leave one woman at the altar, much less three.” “Ah—” Raven groaned. “Jordan. Tell me you got the scoop there.” She ran a hand over her hair, not wanting to say out loud that she hadn’t gotten the scoop, because she was finding she liked these people too much to pry. “Jordie,” Raven said, sounding exasperated. “Find out. There’s got to be dirt there.” “I’m not going to blackmail Luke,” Jordan said. “Nobody’s asking you to. But get this: The network’s so excited about Jilted, they’re already thinking it’ll have spin-off potential.

This Luke guy might not come around and want to be a contestant, but there’s still a story. Maybe one of his exes could be a potential for spin-off. A second chance for people ditched at the altar, or whatever.” Jordan felt a sudden wave of distaste. Not at Raven so much—her boss was just doing her job—but for the whole business of reality TV, the way people were treated as though they had ratings tattooed across their foreheads. “Look, babe, just see what you can do,” Raven said. “Give it another week, do some digging. If there’s nothing there, there’s nothing there, and we’ll bring you back to New York, get a decent cocktail in you, and rinse out all the Montana, okay?” “All right,” Jordan said, putting far more enthusiasm in her voice than she felt. “I’ll see what I can do.” “Who knows,” Raven said cheerfully. “Maybe hearing that he might be outshined by his ex is exactly the kick in the ass Luke Elliott needs to sign that contract. I mean, the guy’s got to care about something, right?” Sure, in theory. Trouble was, Jordan was getting the distinct impression that Luke Elliott thought everything worth caring about in life had long

since slipped away. Blowing out a breath, she pulled up the Reminders app on her phone and entered her next To Dos: Find brides one and three without Luke knowing you’re doing it.

Chapter 15 Luke looked up from the hose he’d been checking as part of routine maintenance. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Vicky Saunders ignored his ire as she pulled a tube of lipstick out of her enormous purse and applied it expertly without looking in a mirror, as though applying makeup inside a firehouse was completely commonplace. She pursed her lips. “New color. You like it?” He rolled his eyes. Vicky was one of his mother’s closest friends, and practically an aunt. He’d grown up being asked his thoughts on her new lipstick colors, and, somewhere around the age of fourteen, he’d learned better than to actually express an opinion. “I’m not doing it,” he said, turning his attention back to the hose. Vicky huffed, her expansive bosom quivering in dramatic disappointment. “Your mother warned me you’d act like this.” “And by act like this, you mean declining to participate in a kissing booth at the county

fair.” She held up a finger. “Not just any fair. The centennial fair! Did you know that?” “Yes, I knew that,” he said, still keeping his eyes on the hose. “You know how? Because there probably hasn’t been a kissing booth since that first fair a hundred years ago.” She shook her head matter-of-factly. “Nope. Untrue. There was a kissing booth when I was a girl.” “So. Seventy-five years ago?” She swatted the side of his head. Or tried to —she was too short to do much more than brush his ear. “Mind your tongue. I don’t see why you’re being so difficult about this.” “Have Ryan do it. He’s better looking.” “Can’t,” Ryan called, not even trying to pretend that he hadn’t been eavesdropping as he checked the tanks. “Married.” “So?” “Bree’s not good at sharing. She’s been known to bite. Although I’ve been known to like it, if you know what I mean.” “Oh, I do know what you mean!” Vicky said, lighting up. “I once had a one-night stand with this drifter—” Luke held up his hand. “No. Just no. How

about Charlie? Make him do the kissing booth.” “He said he has mono.” “He doesn’t—damn it. Charlie!” Luke bellowed, knowing his friend was on kitchen duty. Charlie’s red head poked out of the kitchen door. “ ’Sup?” “Why are you trying to get out of the kissing booth? This seems exactly like one of your creepy fantasies.” “Once upon a time, yes.” “Once upon what time, like yesterday?” Luke asked his playboy friend incredulously. “What’s your deal?” “He’s boinking the kindergarten teacher,” Ryan said, pulling a protein bar out of his back pocket and tearing the wrapper with his teeth. “Third grade,” Charlie corrected, disappearing into the kitchen once more. Ryan lifted a shoulder. “Guess he’s out.” “You’re the only single firefighter,” Vicky said sympathetically. “Under fifty,” she added quickly, lest Luke try to submit Ivan Gash as a candidate, which Luke wouldn’t because Ivan chronically smelled like onion, and Luke wouldn’t wish that kissing situation on anyone.

“So bug the PD.” “Firefighters are hotter,” Vicky whined, sounding closer to seventeen than her actual age of sixty-something. Ryan wandered over, leaning against the back of the fire truck as he nodded. “We are. Everyone knows this.” Luke finally got to the end of the hose and, finding no issues, began to wind it back up again. “No way,” he told Vicky. “Final answer.” “Luke Elliott, don’t make me call your mother.” He winced. It wasn’t an idle threat. He’d spoken with his mother just yesterday, and she’d launched into a fifteen-minute description of an article she’d read about how men’s reproductive systems age just like women’s and if he was going to give her grandchildren, he’d better get on it. He’d claimed a fire emergency before she could describe what or whom exactly he was supposed to get on. There hadn’t been a fire, but he didn’t feel even remotely guilty about the lie. “Hello? Am I interrupting?” Luke froze at the familiar voice. One he hadn’t heard in three days. Not since he’d

heard it whispering and moaning against his lips. The very memory of the kiss made his entire body come to life, but that wasn’t even the part that pissed him off. What pissed him off was that he’d missed her—missed the way she provoked him and made him feel the most alive he had in years. He missed the ways she could coax a smile from him, the way she’d befriended his damn cat…. “Jordan!” Vicky said, beckoning the younger woman for what Luke knew would be an air kiss, heavy side of floral perfume. “Don’t you just look pretty as a picture. I haven’t been able to wear sexy shoes like that since I got my first bunion.” Jordan made a wise, noncommittal murmur of acknowledgment as she accepted her hug. Vicky’s warm welcome of Jordan, Luke could see. The woman had a knack for taking anyone and anything under her wing. What Luke absolutely did not expect was for Ryan to wrap an arm around Jordan’s neck, planting a brotherly kiss on the side of her head. “Jordo. Good to see you again. The drill I gave you do the trick on that bathroom shelf, or you want me to swing by after work, take a look?” Jordo?

And exactly when had they been discussing Jordo’s bathroom shelves? “No, it worked great!” she said, beaming up at Ryan as though they were old friends. “Thanks so much. That’s actually why I’m here —I was passing by, realized I had the drill in my trunk, and thought I’d see if you were here so I could give it back.” What. The. Hell. Not only had Jordan never once glanced his way, but she was here to see Ryan? Before Luke could wrap his head around it, she and Ryan were headed back out toward her car, laughing like the best of friends. “Oh, Jordan, sweetheart,” Vicky called out, her eyes lighting in the way of the suddenly inspired. “How long are you going to be in Lucky Hollow, dear?” “Still deciding,” Jordan said, her smile just slightly tense, although nobody but Luke seemed to notice. “But through the weekend, at least?” “Yeah, I expect so.” Vicky clasped her hands in delight. “Oh, wonderful. I’m sure you’ve heard it’s the

county fair? I volunteer every year, and I’ve been tasked with staffing the kissing booth. I need one boy and one girl.” Jordan laughed. “Call me a girl, and I’ll do just about anything you want. The men in your town have been ma’am-ing me, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.” “Wait, so you’ll do it?” Vicky asked, looking stunned but pleased. Jordan shrugged. “Sure.” “Now, hold on,” Luke said, speaking up for the first time, which trained Jordan’s attention on him. Also for the first time. “Do you even know what a kissing booth is?” he asked. Her glare was withering, but Luke pressed forward anyway. “It means you sit in a booth, literally, and guys pay to kiss you.” “Or girls!” Vicky said. “That’s no problem with me.” “I think I can handle it,” Jordan said, smiling at him sweetly. “Might be nice, actually. Been a while since I’ve been kissed… decently.” Luke’s eyes narrowed, but Jordan turned back to Vicky. “Count me in.” Then she spun on her heel and marched her

jeans-clad ass out into the early autumn sunshine. Ryan gave Luke an assessing look before following her. Had it not been for Vicky still standing beside him, Luke might have punched something. “So,” Vicky said. “I’ll count you in for the booth too? Saturday at noon?” He pried his gaze away from Jordan’s backside to give his mom’s friend a look. “Could have sworn I told you no not five minutes ago.” “Yes, Luke, but that was before,” she said patiently. “Before what?” She merely smiled wider. Before Jordan. “So I’ll count you in?” Hell no. But then his thoughts returned to Jordan. His mind pictured dozens of faceless men kissing her. He didn’t want to watch it go down. But not knowing would be a hell of a lot worse. Plus, this way he could write down the name of every poor bastard who dared to put his lips

to hers…. “Yeah,” he muttered gruffly to Vicky. “Count me in.” — The second Jordan opened the box of clothes she’d just received from New York, she called Simon. He answered on the first ring, already laughing. “Don’t be mad.” “What. Is. This?” Jordan asked, picking up a denim skirt she’d never seen in her life—the likes of which nobody had seen in at least a decade. “Okay, so you opened that box first. I was sort of hoping for that. The other two boxes are all your stuff, I swear.” “Is this a tube top?” Jordan asked, aghast as she lifted a tiny bit of white fabric out of the box of unfamiliar items. “Yes, but it has a lace top to go over it. Layers are in, babe.” “Layers never went out,” Jordan countered. “Tube tops definitely did, though. In the eighties.” Jordan glanced at the clock on the stove. Four o’clock. Close enough to wine o’clock.

She grabbed an open bottle of white from the fridge and poured a small glass for courage before she resumed unpacking the box. “Do I even want to know what the thought was behind all this?” “My thought was that you’re in Small Town, Montana, and none of your clothes are well suited.” “Not true,” Jordan protested. “I’ve got a couple pair of jeans, and those are the universal language.” “You have AG skinny jeans,” Simon countered. “Not Levi’s.” “How do you even know the word Levi’s?” “You forget that I’ve been to Lucky Hollow. Have you gotten to the boots yet?” “The boo—” Jordan hurriedly dug to the bottom of the package, where, sure enough, two boot boxes were stacked. “I’m guessing these aren’t a nice pair of this season’s over-the-knee suede lace-up boots?” Jordan said, lifting the shoe boxes onto her kitchen counter. “Well—” Jordan opened the first one and groaned. “Teal? Are. You. Kidding. Me?” “I know. They’re killer. I couldn’t believe it

when I saw them. I looked right at them and thought, Jordan needs them, and you’re welcome. Don’t worry, the second pair is more practical.” She’d give her friend credit there, Jordan granted, as she warily opened the lid on the second box. As far as cowboy boots went, they were…cute. Really cute. For that matter, so were the teal ones, they were just…teal. “Do I even want to know how much I owe you for all this stuff I didn’t ask for?” “On me,” Simon said. “This is a perk of having a fancy lawyer as your best friend.” “What, that you can buy me turquoise cowboy boots and tube tops?” “Have you tried them on yet?” Simon demanded. “I want pictures.” Jordan pushed the boxes away and picked up her wine, taking it into the living room and plopping on her couch. “I guess I should be grateful you resisted the urge to get me a cowboy hat.” “Only because I didn’t know your head size. And I figured Manhattan wasn’t the best place to buy one.” “You think?”

“Don’t even try to tell me you’re not going to look hot in those boots,” Simon said. “Your legs, those boots, and that tiny denim skirt, and the Montana boys will be eating out of your hand.” “Just what I always wanted,” Jordan muttered. “Well, admittedly not as good as them eating your—” Jordan made a buzzing noise. “Nope. No sex advice from the gay guy.” “Your loss. Is this grumpy thing you’re doing your way of telling me you’re no closer to getting Hunky Luke to be part of your show?” “Hunky Luke? Is that what we’re calling him? And, no, he’s still not interested.” “Well…at least it’s not a surprise, right? I mean, the guy did rather clearly ignore your emails and phone calls, and from what I saw, he looked a lot more interested in boning you than in becoming a superstar.” Jordan rubbed her forehead. “He does not want to bone me.” “He does. And if he doesn’t, the cowboy boots and short skirt will change his mind,” Simon said. “I want him to be intrigued by the girls on

the show, not by me,” Jordan said. A total lie, but her friend either didn’t notice or was smart enough to know Jordan didn’t want to talk about that. It had been days since their unexpected kiss and she’d thought about almost nothing else, even as she’d been casually trying to coax someone into dropping details about Luke’s former almost-brides. “Honey, question, and you can’t get mad,” Simon said. “If I was going to be mad, it’d be over the tacky boots.” “They have character,” her friend argued. “But, okay, don’t bite my head off, ready?” Jordan rolled her eyes. “Sure.” “You don’t sound all that miserable.” Jordan laughed. “That’s what you think I’d be mad about?” “It’s just…you know how you were on the drive there? You couldn’t wait to get out. But now you seem…happy.” “Maybe that’s because I know I’m coming home soon.” She waited for that to feel true—waited for relief at the thought of getting back to Manhattan. To her busy life, where she never

had time to think, much less miss her family or think about her future, or… “Are you coming home soon?” Simon asked skeptically. “Depends. Raven’s coming to grips with the fact that Luke’s probably a no-go. I guess they’ve got another guy. But before she pulls me out, she wants me to figure out if there’d be a story with his exes.” “Wow, they’re thinking spin-off already?” “Five steps ahead or bust,” Jordan said, automatically parroting her boss’s favorite pep talk. “Makes for a nice inspirational post, but do you think there’s a story there?” “Hard to say,” Jordan admitted. “So far the only one I know is Stacey. And she’s gorgeous, completely likable, and still single, but…” “But?” “I dunno,” Jordan said, sipping her wine. “Is it weird that I like her too much to ask?” “I knew it!” Simon said. “You’re falling for that town and all its little people.” “They’re not little,” Jordan said, her tone testier than she ever used with Simon. There was a moment of silence. “No, they’re not. I didn’t mean it that way. But, babe, what

the hell is going on with you?” She swallowed. “I don’t know. I’m working, I am. I check in with Raven daily. It’s just…I worry my reasons for being here are muddy.” “Jordan Elise Carpenter, are you crushing on that firefighting cowboy?” Jordan adored Simon too much to lie, but she still stayed stubbornly silent, not quite ready to admit just how much she liked Luke Elliott. Jordan wrinkled her nose. “Kind of?” Simon made a sigh that was half happy, half dismayed. “Oh, sweetie. Have you slept with him yet?” “Simon!” “Have you?” “No!” “But you want to,” her friend said smugly. Jordan scowled into her wine. She was going to need another glass if this conversation kept up. “I’d be fired.” “Maybe. If anyone found out.” “It’s not gonna happen.” “You and your small-town morals,” he said with another sigh. “But okay, fine, let’s say he’s off-limits. Is there anyone else you can hook

up with? If you have to live in the boonies for a month, you at least need to come back with a fling under your belt. Oh, speaking of which, I put a cowboy-style belt buckle in there. I was thinking you could pair it with the skirt and that blue blouse that makes your eyes look amazing.” “Oh, so you actually did pack some of my clothes,” Jordan said sarcastically. “Yes, and I watered that weird plant in the corner.” “It’s fake, Simon.” “Shit. Well, okay, I’ll try to swing by later, make sure there’s not a leaky mess. Your neighbor’s cute.” “Straight.” “Damn; figures. Okay, but, listen, Jordan— let yourself do your thing with Luke. For you, mostly, but also because I’ve heard that straight men will do just about anything once they’ve experienced the Magic Hoo-Ha.” Jordan laughed. “Okay, I’m hanging up now.” “To try on your new boots, I hope. Remember, pictures. Surely you have a hoedown to wear them to? Carnival? Cornshucking contest?”

Jordan winced. “There is the county fair on Saturday.” “Stop it right now. You’re going, right?” “I may or may not have agreed to sit in a kissing booth.” “Tell me that’s as deliciously old-fashioned as it sounds.” “Old-fashioned, yes. But I don’t think this is going to be the Girls Gone Wild version of a kissing booth.” “Wear the outfit I picked out. You’ll get some.” “I don’t want to get some,” Jordan said, standing and going to the fridge for more wine. “Sure you do,” her friend said, with a smirk so obvious, it came through in his voice. Okay, yeah. Maybe she kind of did.

Chapter 16 No doubt about it. This definitely ranked in the top five dumbest things Luke had ever done. “Any questions?” Vicky asked, beaming up happily up at him after going through the checklist on her clipboard. “Dollar in the box, kiss this ugly mug,” Charlie said, leaning on the counter of the booth and pointing at Luke’s face. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t screw it up.” Luke scowled at his friend. “Surely you have somewhere else to be.” “Nope.” “Great, then you can take my spot.” Charlie grinned. “No can do. Deb has deemed my lips all hers.” “Disgusting,” Luke muttered. “Does she know where they’ve been?” Charlie ignored him. “So, Vick, love, is this a kiss-on-the-cheek thing or a…you know.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “The good stuff?” “It’s whatever the paying client and Luke mutually agree upon,” Vicky said, as though

she were negotiating an international peace treaty and not the nuances of a kissing booth. Charlie jerked his thumb toward the booth to their left. “Where’s the girl?” Yeah, where’s the girl? Luke’s thoughts echoed grumpily. Vicky checked her watch. “She’ll be here. She still has a few minutes. You guys are just early. Oh, Luke, did I mention? There’s a contest.” “Oh, good. I thought this couldn’t get worse.” “What sort of contest?” Charlie said, rubbing his hands together. Vicky pointed to the blue box in front of Luke, then to the pink box at what would be Jordan’s booth. “Whoever wins the most money gets one of Mrs. Mouse’s pies.” “A pie,” Luke repeated. “A Mrs. Mouse pie. Winner’s choice of flavor,” Vicky explained. Charlie nodded reverently. “I don’t like pie,” Luke said. “Everyone likes pie,” Vicky insisted. “Not that it’ll matter if you keep up this bad attitude. Nobody wants to kiss a grumpy man.” Jordan did.

Or at least she had. A week ago. She’d been at Tucker’s both Thursday and Friday nights, but she’d only given him an impersonal wave; they hadn’t exchanged a single word. He hadn’t seen her running either. She was avoiding him. Or simply not interested. Neither one did a single thing to ease his grumpiness. “Hot damn,” Charlie muttered under his breath. “If Deb asks, I didn’t even notice, but… hot damn.” “What are you—” Luke was turning irritably toward his friend when his eyes caught what Charlie was going on about. Hot damn was exactly right. He’d thought there could be nothing sexier than Jordan Carpenter in those sky-high stilettos she insisted on wearing, but he’d been wrong. Dead wrong. Jordan in a tiny jeans skirt, white T-shirt, and cowboy boots was… He swallowed. “You’ve got exactly zero chance of winning this contest,” Charlie told Luke. The fact that Charlie’s eyes were back on

Luke rather than on Jordan’s thighs was the only thing that kept Luke from telling him to get lost. “Oh, Jordan, you made it!” Vicky said happily. “I just need to walk you through the rules—” “Allow me,” Charlie said, holding up a hand to halt Vicky’s clipboard lecture. “No tongue, you don’t have to kiss anyone you don’t want to, and there’s a whistle down to your bottom right if someone makes you uncomfortable.” “I don’t want you to worry about a thing, though,” Vicky rushed to say. “I’m confident everyone will be perfect gentlemen, and if anyone gets out of hand, I’ll be nearby. And, of course, Luke will be right here.” At that, Jordan looked at him for the first time, her blue eyes locking on his. She’d done something different with her makeup, which made her eyes look even bigger than usual, and her lips were pink and plump and… Perfect for a kissing booth. Damn it. He had zero chance of winning the pie, but that wasn’t what had him pissed. No, he was mad about the fact that anyone other than him would be kissing that perfectly delicious mouth. Jordan broke the eye contact as Vicky

ushered her into the booth, fluffing Jordan’s hair as though she were a doll. “You’re so pretty. I just know you’re going to be a huge hit.” “You sound like the madam of a brothel,” Luke muttered. “And how would you know what a brothel was like?” Vicky asked, giving him a look. “Jordan, doesn’t Luke look handsome?” He rolled his eyes, but Jordan glanced over at him with a smile. “He does, yes.” Luke glanced back at her, then away again, lest she see that he was dangerously close to grinning like an eighth-grader who’d gotten his first compliment from a girl. “Well, this all looks like fun,” Charlie said, moving out from behind Luke’s booth and gesturing between him and Jordan, “but there’s definitely a deep-fried Twinkie and a hot third-grade teacher awaiting my company.” Charlie winked at Jordan. “I’ll check back on you two kids soon. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” “Which means, basically, don’t have sex at the booth, and anything else is fair game,” Vicky said, eliciting a shocked laugh from anyone within hearing distance.

“Okay.” Vicky moved around to the front of the booths, whipped two flyers out of her clipboard, and hung one on top of each. Luke poked his head forward, glanced up, saw the OPEN sign scribbled in black Sharpie. “Go time,” Vicky said, giving them a happy wave before wandering away to yell at Jerry Hinkel to not even think about participating in the hot-dog-eating contest with his cholesterol. There was a long moment of awkward silence, even as the ever-increasing number of fair attendees milled in front of them, and Luke surprised himself by being the first to speak. “Did you agree to this just to piss me off?” She leaned an elbow on her booth and turned to grin at him. “Mostly. Did you agree simply because I did?” “Mostly,” he said, giving her a reluctant smile back. “You don’t have to, you know. Vicky won’t mind if you back out.” She rolled her eyes. “Nice try, Elliott.” They had to wait all of fifteen more seconds for their first customer. Jordan’s first customer. A pimpled kid with puffy yellow hair shoved a dollar bill into the box and grinned happily

at her as he adjusted his glasses. Jordan grinned back, friendly and welcoming. “How old are you, handsome?” “Sixteen. Seventeen next month.” She turned her head, pointed playfully at her cheek. The teenager came eagerly forward, planting a quick, awkward kiss somewhere near her ear. He pulled back, and Jordan leaned forward, giving him a peck in return on his cheek. The boy went from pink to scarlet, but even Luke had to smile at the elation on his face before he backed away and ran off. He must have told his friends, because a minute later Jordan repeated the process with a group of equally gangly teenagers. “That’ll give ’em something to talk about for months,” Luke said, after the last of the boys had moved on, talking about how she was a total babe. “Speaking from experience?” Jordan asked. “You mean am I still talking about your kiss? Nah, I’ve been saving it all for my diary.” She let out a surprised laugh. “No, I meant when you were sixteen, did you talk about kissing girls on the cheek for months?” “I never kiss and tell, City.”

“Here’s your chance to prove it,” she said, jerking her chin in the opposite direction. He turned and, sure enough, a middle-aged woman was making her way toward him with very definite purpose. She stuffed a five in the box. “I want five.” “Um.” His brain scrambled in panic. “It’s one kiss per cust—” The woman grabbed a fistful of his buttondown and jerked him forward, promptly planting five very firm, no-nonsense kisses on his mouth. She grinned as she pulled away, patting his cheek. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” The woman walked off, leaving Luke stunned and Jordan cracking up. “Not bad. High praise.” “Shut up,” he muttered. “I think my lips are bruised.” “Look on the bright side, you’ve nearly tied me in the competition with only one customer,” she said, gesturing to the box that now held a five, compared to her assortment of ones. “Looks like my kiss is worth more.” Jordan merely snorted. Over the next hour, they each had a handful

of customers. Most of hers were of the awkward-teenage variety, as well as a couple of older gentlemen who merely wanted the chance to kiss the cheek of a lovely young lady. Luke found his mood improving since the men of Beacon County seemed to be minding their manners and no horny cowboys were taking advantage of what thus far had been good clean fun. For his part, he’d been subjected to more than a few mouth kisses. The women at the fair, apparently, were bolder. Although Jordan didn’t seem to notice or mind, which was…disappointing. Not as disappointing, though, as the man who appeared in front of Jordan’s booth. Luke had never seen the guy before—not that he knew everyone in the county, but he knew just about every person in Lucky Hollow by name, as well as a good amount from neighboring towns, courtesy of the high school football teams. As far as Luke’s evaluation of other men went, well…fuck. The other guy was goodlooking. Tall, black hair, blue eyes. Showered, which was saying something compared to some of the fair attendees.

He was also clean-cut and wearing… motherfucker, were those…cuff links? Shit, this guy was right up City’s alley. “Call me old-fashioned, but I like to know a girl’s name before I kiss her,” City Boy was saying. City Girl leaned forward. Did she bat her eyelashes? “Name’s Jordan.” The man laughed. “Shit, really? Mine too.” Oh hell no. Jordan let out a happy, girlish laugh. Flirtatious. “Seriously?” “I’m going to be sick,” Luke muttered. Neither Jordan looked at him. The man reached into his back pocket, pulled out a fancy-looking wallet, and extracted a twenty. “What does this get me?” Jordan, the female version, crossed her arms and leaned forward. “Well, considering this is a family-friendly place and I’m not a prostitute, I’d say it gets you exactly what the sign says. A kiss. One per customer.” Man-Jordan grinned and stuffed the bill into the box. “I’ll take it.” Before Luke could figure out how to manufacture a natural disaster and stop this

monstrosity, Man-Jordan made his move, closing the distance and kissing WomanJordan for far longer than necessary. Luke’s jaw tensed as the kiss went on and on for…Seconds? Minutes? Hours? He looked away. Tried not to care. Looked back, and…for God’s sake. Luke was appeased slightly that it was Woman-Jordan who pulled back first. His eyes scanned her profile, looking—hoping—for disgust. Instead, she looked… Well, shit, he couldn’t tell. Man-Jordan looked a little more…well, affected. Luke hated the man, but he couldn’t blame him. He knew firsthand that kissing this woman felt strangely life-altering. “Thanks for the donation,” she was saying, patting the box in gratitude. “It all goes to charity.” Man-Jordan laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “Not gonna lie, that wasn’t my primary motivation. How long do you have to work the booth?” She glanced at her watch. “Just until two.” Not so long ago, the two hours he and Jordan were expected to work a damn kissing

booth had felt interminable. Now it wasn’t nearly long enough. Not if… “If I’m here at two, can I take you”—ManJordan leaned in with a grin—“on the Ferris wheel?” Another of those flirty laughs from WomanJordan. “I’d like that.” “See you then, Jordan.” “I’ll be here, Jordan,” she said with a wink. The man and his cuff links finally walked away, and Luke stared at Jordan hard until she finally sensed his gaze and glanced over. “What?” “What the hell was that?” he asked. She straightened and fluffed her hair a bit. “That was a kiss. Followed by the arrangement of a date.” “You said yes.” “Well. Yeah. I’m single and he was cute.” “You live in New York.” “I’m aware of that, Luke,” she said, her tone just slightly impatient. “But a man who doesn’t think I’m a vulture in high heels wants to spend time in my company, and to be honest, I could use a little of that.” The guilt made him grumpy, so instead of apologizing he snapped back, “Thought your

business in Montana was work related— recruiting me.” “Yes, well. You don’t want to be recruited, now, do you?” she said pleasantly. He blinked. “Well, no, but…” “I told my boss I thought you were a long shot, and she agrees with my assessment.” Luke felt relief mingling with…something else. “So you’re going back to New York.” “Soon,” she said. “The network’s not quite ready to give up on your story.” “But you just said—” “Luke,” she interrupted. “Have you ever seen The Bachelor?” “Sure, yeah. All the guys and I have viewing parties down at the station.” The sarcasm earned him a bland look before she continued speaking. “So, The Bachelor features a hot single guy, and a bunch of women try to win his heart, right?” He nodded reluctantly. “Well, The Bachelorette is a very successful spin-off. It features one of the women that the previous bachelor rejected and gives her a chance to find a better guy.” “So? What does that—” It clicked into place at the exact same time

as Stacey and Isobel started making their way toward the kissing booth. “Perfect timing,” Jordan said sweetly. “Hey, girls!” Luke’s ex and her best friend both hugged Jordan enthusiastically, and Stacey jokingly put two fingers against Jordan’s neck, as though checking for a pulse, before moving over and doing the same to Luke. “Izzie and I drew the short straw, agreed to come over here and make sure you were both still alive.” “Hearts seem to be racing a bit fast, but no bloodshed, so that’s positive. How’s it been going?” Izzie asked. “I’m winning,” Jordan announced, lifting her box and giving it a little shake. “No surprise there.” “Only because you’re agreeing to go out on dates with the customers,” he snapped. “Oh, you’re just jealous because nobody asked you on a date. I’m not surprised, though. It’s probably the scowl. Isobel, don’t you think it’s the scowl?” The quiet redhead Luke had known his entire life leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm as she studied him. “To tell you the truth, I never did really understand Luke Elliott’s appeal.”

He gave her a ha-ha look and she winked. “Wait, a date,” Stacey said, ever adoring of a bit of good gossip. “Do tell.” “Oh, just some guy. We have the same name, and he was cute.” “Well, shit. Must be true love,” Luke said. Isobel snorted. “Luke’s grumpy,” Stacey said in a loud whisper. “He hasn’t been getting much in the way of kisses,” Jordan replied in an equally loud whisper. Stacey clucked her tongue and reached into her purse to give a dollar to Luke’s box. “Sorry, Jordan. You’re a doll, but Luke and I go way back.” “Seriously?” Isobel muttered as Stacey jammed a one through the opening. “We haven’t learned enough from that mistake?” “Don’t fret,” Stacey said. “My days of making out with this handsome boy are over, but a quick kiss can’t hurt us.” She beckoned him forward with a finger, and he leaned down obediently, accepting her sisterly peck on the cheek. When he pulled back, he caught Jordan watching them with an assessing look on her

face. “Okay, we’re off to indulge in an elephant ear,” Isobel said. “You two be good.” Stacey blew them both a kiss, but before Luke could tell Jordan to leave Stacey alone— to leave them all alone—he had another customer. A cute twenty-something who may or may not have slipped in just a tiny bit of tongue. Luke felt Jordan’s hot stare but refused to glance her way. For the next twenty minutes, they both had an increased stream of people, mostly playful cheek pecks, although there were a couple of drunken dudes who’d come up to Jordan. Luke had been ready to haul them away, but Jordan took easy care of them with a few tart words and scathing reprimands. He gave her an admiring glance. “You handle yourself well.” “I’m from New York,” she said by way of explanation. He nodded, but though he knew the words were true, it didn’t feel like she was from the big city. She was far too at ease with the smell of fried food, the grubby hands of the children who occasionally darted behind and between the booths, running headlong into knees. She’d

laughed along with everyone when someone’s pig went racing through the game area and even hummed along with a band doing mediocre Lady Antebellum covers. The two hours were over quicker than Luke expected—quicker than he’d like, knowing that Man-Jordan would be showing up any second to claim his Ferris-wheel date. Vicky came scuttling over, waving her clipboard. “Kids! I’m so sorry I’ve left you this whole time; there was a mix-up over at the dunk tank and, well…you survived, didn’t you?” She looked the two of them over, as though searching for bruises—or hickeys. “I had a great time,” Jordan said, as Vicky reached up and flipped the sign to CLOSED. “Luke, did you?” Vicky asked. He shrugged noncommittally. “I survived.” “Can I talk you into doing the afternoon shift?” she asked. “Hell no.” Vicky sighed. “I didn’t think so. Guess it’ll have to be Travis. He’s always a bit too eager to participate, but he does bring in good money,” she said, picking up Luke’s box and lifting it as though trying to gauge the weight

of the paper money. “I think City here probably beat me,” Luke said, nodding his chin toward Jordan. Except she wasn’t there. Luke’s eyes scanned the crowd, saw bright blond hair, those sexy-as-sin legs walking away with City Boy. Even he could admit they seemed to fit together, all easy sophistication and perfect good looks. Luke was suddenly aware that his boots were scuffed, his jeans on the faded side of tired. The shirt was one of his few that weren’t T-shirts or flannel, but it sure as hell didn’t have cuff links. “You could if you wanted to, you know,” Vicky said, not looking up from her clipboard. “Could what?” he dragged his gaze away from the Jordans. “Compete. If you put in a little effort, that pretty boy wouldn’t stand a chance.” Luke didn’t insult his mother’s best friend by playing dumb about who she was talking about, but he wasn’t about to feed into her delusions. “Not interested.” “Don’t you find it curious she hasn’t headed back to the city, even though you’ve told her

you won’t do the show?” “No.” “Well, then, what’s she still doing here?” She’s realized she can’t sell me out, so she’s after my exes. But that answer didn’t feel right, even though he’d heard the words from Jordan herself. “Maybe if you all would quit rolling out the welcome mat everywhere she goes, she’d get the hint,” Luke said. “Don’t be testy with me,” Vicky said, turning toward the Jordans, but they’d already disappeared into the crowd. “It’s hardly my fault you didn’t get the hint of what I was trying to do here.” “Meaning?” She turned back, gestured between the two booths. “You need to kiss the girl, Luke. The entire town knows it.” He ground his teeth to keep from telling Vicky that he had kissed the girl. Thoroughly. Wanted to do it again. Badly.

Chapter 17 “Have I mentioned it’s good to have you back?” Jordan asked, linking arms with Simon. He reached across his body to pat her hand with his. “Had I known you were sporting the cowboy boots I sent, I’d have come sooner. I knew you could pull them off.” “And you haven’t even seen the teal ones yet. I’m saving them for a special occasion.” “I’m wounded I don’t qualify.” She smiled up at her friend. “Please. We both know you only came back for the clawfoot tub.” “True, very true. Okay, so tell me what our game plan is tonight. Do we need any code words? Good-cop bad-cop routine?” “Definitely not.” Simon had flown in that morning, partially for moral support, partially because the bosses were slowly building enthusiasm over the potential scorned bride spin-off idea and wanted to make sure a legal consultant was on hand in case one of Luke’s exes was seriously considering it.

She and Simon were on their way to a casual dinner at Tucker’s with Stacey, and if the vibe felt right, Jordan figured, it couldn’t hurt to mention it. Stacey was pretty, vibrant, confident—and, judging from her enthusiasm over Luke being a part of Jilted, didn’t seem entirely opposed to the idea of reality TV. Still, Jordan had kept the invitation casual, just dinner among friends. Isobel would be joining them, and she figured the BFF support probably couldn’t hurt. At the fair, Jordan had gotten the distinct vibe that Isobel was ready for her friend to put her history with Luke far behind her. Jordan was hoping for an ally there. “You figure out who the first bride is yet?” “Nope. She must live around here, because nobody mentions her disappearing the way bride number three did, but they also don’t mention her name.” “Have you asked?” It was her turn to pat his hand. “All in good time. All in good time.” Tucker’s was its usual noisy self, even on a weekday night, and though she knew he was working, her eyes scanned the room for Luke anyway.

She needn’t have bothered—somewhere along the line she’d gotten to the point that she felt the man’s presence, and he wasn’t nearby tonight. Stacey and Isobel hadn’t arrived yet, so she and Simon grabbed a table for four, as well as a bottle of pinot grigio. “Well, this is darling,” Simon said reverently as he took in the down-home coziness of the local bar. “Is that a moose head?” The vegetarian in Jordan winced, even though she felt a strange sense of pride at Simon’s praise; it was as if she somehow had come to adopt Tucker’s as her own. “Cowboy at seven o’clock’s checking you out,” Simon said into his wineglass. Jordan scanned the room, met the gaze of Travis Olander, who wasn’t even trying to be subtle in what appeared to be a very practiced come-hither gaze. “Pass,” she said, turning her attention back to Simon. “He’s sort of cute. In a Daniel Boone kind of way,” Simon said, tilting his head. “He is. He’s also a conversation wasteland.” “Ah, you’ve met.” “Oh yes. First night here, he made it all of

four minutes before asking me back to his place for a Jim Beam nightcap.” “Yikes,” Simon muttered. “Exactly.” “Still, this is highly disappointing, Carpenter. You’ve been here over two weeks and have yet to ride a cowboy.” Jordan took a sip of her wine and tried not to blush, thinking about the kiss with Luke. Simon’s eyes narrowed on her. “Or have you?” She was saved from having to explain the Mistake to her friend by the arrival of Stacey and Isobel. “No matter how cute I dress, you always dress cuter,” Stacey said with a pout as she pulled back from the greeting hug. “How is this possible?” “It’s the legs,” Isobel said, giving Jordan a quick hug of her own. “I hear you’re a runner?” “Word gets around.” “Small town,” Isobel said with a wink before turning her attention to Simon. “You must be the god with the perfect skin?” Simon laid a flattered hand over his chest before pulling her in for a kiss on the cheek.

“Keep that up, and I’ll turn for you. I might be able to like girls again, so long as you promise never to show me your boobs or other stuff.” Isobel laughed. “Pour me a glass of that wine and I’ll turn for you, but same rules apply. I don’t want to see your thing.” “Um, I’m right here,” Stacey said, goodnaturedly swatting Isobel’s arm as the four of them sat down. At first, Jordan didn’t process this entire exchange as anything more than usual friendly banter, but then her consciousness demanded that she replay it—as did Simon’s quick kick to her shins. Oh. Ohhhhhhh. Stacey and Isobel were… romantically entangled. Surreptitiously, her eyes flicked between the two women, perhaps not subtly enough, because Stacey caught her eye and grinned. “Wondering how you missed it?” “I—” “It’s not common knowledge,” Stacey said. “Or perhaps it is, but it’s not…out there.” Stacey fiddled with a coaster, and Isobel brushed her fingers against the back of her hand before turning to Simon and Jordan. “Stacey’s father is a reverend just outside of town.”

“And not the forgiving, love-is-love type of preacher,” Stacey muttered, taking a large gulp of wine. “No, he’s definitely more the brimstone variety,” Isobel said with a tight smile. “Oh, honeys,” Simon said, reaching across the table and extending a hand to each woman. Stacey accepted his hand immediately, Isobel with an eye roll and more reluctantly. “I came out of the closet when I was nineteen, and my parents haven’t said a word to me since,” Simon said. Jordan gave him a quick look. They’d been friends for years, and he’d never told her that. She knew that he and his family were estranged, but to be disowned because of whom you loved… Jordan felt like a bit of an outsider as her three tablemates sat for a moment in silence, sharing something she’d never understand, but she didn’t mind. Mostly her head was reeling, wondering if she’d missed signs, or if they’d just hid it that well, or… “Okay, enough about it,” Stacey said, pulling her hand back and shaking out her arms as though wanting to rid herself of sad thoughts.

“We’re not all the way open about it, but we like you, Jordan. Figured if you’d be friends with Simon here…” “For the record, you’re the gayest person I’ve ever met,” Isobel said to Simon. He patted her hand affectionately. “Just about the nicest compliment you could ever pay me.” Jordan was still trying to process it all. Stacey obviously wouldn’t be a candidate to prance around in a bikini searching for her true love among a couple of dozen men, but she found she didn’t care as much about that as… “Does Luke know?” she blurted out. Then she winced, for both the irrelevance of the question and what it revealed. The entire table gave her a surprised look, but then Stacey smiled knowingly. “You like him.” Jordan swallowed. “He’s…” “Hot.” Jordan looked at Isobel in surprise, and the redhead shrugged. “What? I can like girls and still see it.” “He is hot,” Jordan agreed, because…what was the point in fighting the facts? “But he

hates me.” “As someone who dated him for two years and nearly married the guy, no, he most definitely does not,” Stacey said firmly. “He’s got no idea what to do with you, but that’s a different problem altogether. And to answer your question, yes. He knows about Isobel and me.” “Is that why you didn’t get married?” Simon asked kindly but bluntly. Guilt flickered across Stacey’s face, and Isobel put a protective hand on her arm. “I’ve got this, hun. Yes,” Isobel said, turning her attention to Simon and Jordan. “Stacey told Luke the morning of their wedding that she couldn’t keep living a lie. He was good about it. I’ll always be grateful for that.” “More than good,” Stacey added quietly. “He knew my parents wouldn’t handle having a gay daughter very well. He preserved my relationship with them by letting everyone assume it was him who’d broken it off. I hated the idea of making him a scapegoat, but I suppose the assumption was inevitable. I was already in my wedding dress by the time I got the courage to tell him—to tell myself.” “The picture of the deserted bride,” Jordan murmured, even as she felt a stab of

defensiveness on Luke’s behalf. “I don’t love it,” Stacey whispered. “He tells me all the time that it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t care…” “Perhaps because he’d had some practice,” Isobel muttered into her wineglass. “Hey,” Stacey said, just a tiny bit sharp. “You know perfectly well that the first wedding wasn’t what it seemed either.” It was the opening she’d been waiting for, and Jordan took it. “You guys know why he left his first bride at the altar?” “That’s not—” Stacey broke off when Isobel elbowed her. “It’s not my story to tell.” Jordan slumped back in her chair as she tried to navigate everything Stacey and Isobel weren’t saying. “Well, crap,” Simon said, sounding a little awestruck. “The first wedding’s not what it seems either. That’s why our boy doesn’t want to play the part of runaway groom. Because he’s not one. We’ve been chasing the wrong guy.” “You’ll have to ask Luke about that,” Stacey said, her smile gentle but stubborn. “Oh, believe me,” Jordan said, tossing her wine back and reaching for the bottle. “I fully

intend to.”

Chapter 18 Simon ended up driving her to Luke’s house. She’d only had two glasses of wine, but she’d drunk them fast, and better safe than sorry. “We’re here!” Simon said proudly, as though he’d just landed one of the Apollos instead of made a five-minute drive in which they’d literally not seen a single other vehicle. And thank God for that. Simon was a dreadful driver. “So, what’s the plan?” Simon said, turning to face her. She stared at the darkened house. “It’s time Luke and I had a little chat.” “Tonight?” he asked skeptically. “He’s been holding out on me,” she mused, tapping her fingers against her knee. “He’s never once said that his runaway-groom reputation was unfounded.” “Well, now, that’s shocking,” Simon said. “What with him being such a big fan of ours.” “He kissed me,” Jordan blurted out. Not because of the wine so much as the need to tell someone.

Simon’s eyes went wide before he gave her a not-so-gentle punch on the shoulder. “You sly dog, Carpenter! Was it hot and against the wall? Please say yes.” She turned her head away, and he laughed. “Oh God, it was! I was joking, but it totally was. Oh, this is delicious, darling.” “Just…” Jordan reached for the door handle. “Can you be here in an hour to pick me up?” Simon stuck his tongue into his cheek and studied her. “How about I wait until I get your text? Give me twenty minutes’ notice; I don’t want to rush my bath.” She rolled her eyes and pushed the door open, stepping out into the quiet night. “Fine.” “I wish hetero sex didn’t gross me out,” he called after her. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he pushes you up against it again.” She slammed the door, thumping her palm on the hood in a Go away gesture. She was not having sex with Luke. Not up against the wall, not anywhere. She was here for answers. Answers about why the hell he hadn’t just told her that he wasn’t a candidate for the stupid show, because he wasn’t a stupid runaway groom. It wasn’t until Simon drove away that she realized how truly quiet the night was. Luke

had only a handful of neighbors, and it was too late in the summer season for evenings on the deck sipping wine. The only noise came from night bugs and the quiet crunch of her heels as she made her way along the dirt path to the tired-looking mailbox with Luke’s address. She’d only been here through the door facing the lake, but Stacey had been surprisingly easy to coax into handing over directions and Luke’s address. Stacey. Not so much the jilted bride as… The one who’d left him. Hurt him? Had Stacey broken his heart when she told him she couldn’t marry him? Had the first bride? Luke’s situation was nothing like she’d assumed, and suddenly Jordan was feeling rather…off-balance. His house was mostly dark as she made her way toward his front door, and it occurred to her that she hadn’t even considered calling first to see if he was home. The small-town lifestyle—where the unannounced drop-by was the norm—was apparently rubbing off on her.

She didn’t know what she wanted to say, only that she was buzzing with…something. Not the wine—that had more or less faded. But she needed to see him. Needed to lay eyes on the man now that she knew he wasn’t a heartbreaker so much as a… Really hot, really nice firefighter. Damn it. She punched the doorbell, wincing when the sound was met immediately by Winston’s frantic barks. A second later, Luke opened the door with his right hand, his left holding the collar of the squirming, enthusiastic golden retriever. Jordan registered the surprise on his face, before taking the coward’s way out and kneeling to greet the dog, who looked a heck of a lot more excited to see her than his owner did. “He’ll knock you over,” Luke muttered, a second before he released the collar. Winston didn’t knock her over, but it was a close call, his big body colliding with hers and rocking her back a bit. She recovered, though, and gave him a good rub with both hands before kissing the top of his head and standing up again.

She met Luke’s unreadable gaze. “May I come in?” He hesitated a second before moving aside. Jordan stepped into the foyer, first hearing the distant chatter of the television, then catching a waft of tomato sauce and onion from the kitchen. “Sorry to intrude on your night,” she said. She expected a sarcastic response, but he merely studied her. “Everything all right?” Jordan had been taking in the parts of his house she hadn’t seen on her last visit—the wide wooden staircase, the natural-stone floor of his entryway, the usual absence of art and knickknacks that proudly declared its bachelor status. A status that apparently wasn’t entirely by choice… She lifted her face to his and went for it. “Why didn’t you tell me that you didn’t ditch those women at the altar?” Luke didn’t move a single muscle, even when a still-excited Winston banged against his shins. A long moment of silence stretched between them before he crossed his arms and spoke. “What makes you think that?”

“I just had drinks with Stacey. And Isobel,” she added pointedly, after a pause. He winced—barely, and had she not spent the past weeks studying the nuances of this man’s face, she might have missed it. “Ah.” “Yeah. Ah,” she said. He nodded his head toward the kitchen. “I need a beer.” It wasn’t exactly an invitation, but neither had he told her to get the hell out, so Jordan followed him into the kitchen. Her nose was right on. There was a pan of lasagna sitting on the stove, a healthy portion gone. “Homemade?” she asked. He pulled two beers out of the fridge, popped the caps off both, and offered her one without asking. She accepted it though she didn’t really want it. “It’s one of the few things I can make, though I admit this is my first time attempting a vegetarian version,” he said, gesturing his bottle at the pan before taking a sip. “Hungry?” Her lips parted; her heart beat faster. “You made vegetarian lasagna. You didn’t even

know I’d be coming by.” He grinned. “How’d you know it was for you?” Again she was feeling a little off-balance. Men might cook to get laid, but they didn’t go out of their way to cater to specific food preferences unless they cared about a woman. Hoped she might stop by… Did they? She swallowed, her thumbnail playing with the label of the beer bottle, trying to remember why she’d come here in the first place. She wanted answers, even though she knew she wasn’t owed them. Not really. She and Luke weren’t lovers. They were barely even friends. It was just… “You could have told me, you know. It would have gotten me off your back.” Luke went very still, then set his beer on the counter. “Let me see if I’m hearing you right,” he said quietly, coming toward her with slow, angry purpose. “You think that I’d sell out the secrets of two women I cared about—was going to marry—to get some ambitious city slicker off my back?” She put her own bottle down with a thump. “No. I just meant—”

“That I’m not worth your time unless I’m a complete jackass,” he said, still moving toward her. “Would you stop putting words in my mouth!” she shouted, temper snapping at the way she’d gone from feeling like the wronged party to feeling like she was on the defensive— at the realization that he might be right. “Sucks, doesn’t it?” he said, his voice cool even as his eyes blazed anger. “Having someone assume the worst of you without giving you even the slightest chance to defend yourself.” “Okay, that’s too far,” she said quietly. “I may have made assumptions, but don’t even try to pretend that you haven’t had plenty of chances to set the record straight. You want to get really pissed at someone? Get pissed at yourself, because you could have avoided all this by replying to my very first email, letting me know not to bother. Then you’d never have met me. Just what you want, right?” Luke’s jaw worked as he stared at her hard. The room seemed to go deathly quiet— Winston’s relentless barks, the cat’s irritated meow, the soft prattle of the television falling away altogether until it was only him and her, with nothing but the sound of their breathing,

the tension of their want. “No,” he said finally, as he reached for her. “That’s not what I fucking want.” Jordan went into his embrace without a moment’s hesitation, her arms twining around his neck as one of his arms cupped her head, the other wrapping low on her waist, tugging her flush against him. The kiss was both angry and inevitable, equal parts greedy and generous. Jordan’s nails clung, her body arching into his in a restless hunger she didn’t recognize. She’d had her fair share of boyfriends, had a handful more of casual hookups, but though she’d hardly thought of herself as frigid, this thing with Luke was new. It was dangerous, and wonderful, and all-consuming. Jordan wanted more. She wanted all of him, consequences be damned. And there would be consequences for sleeping with someone she was supposed to be recruiting. She shoved the thought aside at the same moment she dropped her hands to his waist, slipping fingers beneath his T-shirt. They both gasped as her fingers collided with the warm skin of his back, and Luke’s fingers tangled in her hair, tugging her head to the side so he could drag his lips and tongue

over the column of her neck in torturous kisses. Jordan gave it right back, nails scratching lightly along his spine as she tilted her hips against his in unmistakable invitation. Luke’s palm slid up from her waist to cover her breast at the same moment Winston wedged his big body between theirs, outraged at being ignored. They broke apart, and Jordan let out a selfconscious laugh that died in her throat at the raw desire written on Luke’s face. He shoved his dog away before plowing his fingers into her hair again and resting his forehead against hers. “Come to bed with me.” Had he asked, sense might have leaked in. She might have considered all the reasons why sleeping with Luke Elliott was certain career suicide. But he didn’t ask. He wanted; he intended to take. And she intended to give—and do some taking of her own. Jordan lifted her eyes to his. “Okay.” His fingers flexed in victory against her scalp before he stepped back and reached for her hand.

With the exception of a couple of high school backseat make-out sessions, most of Jordan’s sexual experience had occurred in Manhattan, where even the swankiest apartments were tiny, so the walk through Luke’s house and up the stairs to his bedroom felt endless. The wait was worth it. Jordan let out a little gasp as she released his hand and walked through the darkened room to the floor-to-ceiling windows. “You’ve been holding out on me,” she murmured, as she took in the picturesque sight in front of her. The higher floor gave his bedroom a breathtaking view. It would be gorgeous during the day, but at night it was pure magic, the nearly full moon hovering just over the trees to illuminate the entire lake. “I hold out on everyone,” he said quietly, coming up behind her. His hand found her waist, but he didn’t immediately pull her toward the bed. Instead, they stood there for a long moment of companionable silence, which Jordan relished for its quiet intimacy—and feared for the very same reason. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

His head dipped forward, lips brushing over her neck. “Not exactly the Manhattan skyline.” Jordan swallowed. He was right. It wasn’t the twinkling lights of the big city she’d always loved, and yet… “I don’t want to talk about that,” she murmured, turning toward him. Don’t let me think. His lips captured hers in a kiss that was gentler than before but no less erotic. City boys didn’t kiss like this. Luke’s kiss was hotter, and a hell of a lot more skilled. She ached for his hand on her breast, to pick up where they’d left off in the kitchen before the dog interrupted, but he made her wait, fingers idly drifting over her back as he savored her mouth as if it were fine wine—or perhaps, in his case, a cold beer on a hot day. Jordan’s hands slipped under his shirt, delighted at the way she could feel every muscle of his impressive abs. His breathing grew harsher as her hands grew bolder, and he reached back to pull the shirt over his head with one impatient tug. She barely got a chance to take in the magnificence of shirtless Luke before he nudged her backward toward the bed.

Luke’s eyes locked on hers as he slowly lowered to his knees in front of her, as he defiantly removed her boots. His fingers wrapped around her ankle. “I’ve been thinking about this ever since I saw you in those damn high heels that first day.” She bit back a moan as his finger drifted over the exposed arch of her foot. “You’ve… thought about this…my shoes?” He eased one shoe off, then the other, setting them aside. “Hell yes.” Somehow his succinct, no-BS answer was one of the hottest things she’d ever experienced. At least until he tugged her to her feet and undressed her slowly and deliberately, kissing every inch of skin he uncovered until she stood before him in only her black lace underwear. He slowly dragged a finger over the outer edge, watching her face as he did so, and Jordan grabbed his shoulders. “If you tell me all your underwear is this sexy, I’m going to be very pissed I took this long to see it,” he said. She didn’t have a chance to respond before he picked her up and laid her gently back on the bed, covering her body with his.

The gesture was sweetly old-fashioned, but there was nothing sweet about the way his hand slid between her legs, nudging her thighs apart so he could stroke her over her panties. Jordan arched up with a surprised gasp. The gasp turned to a moan as his tongue swiped gently across her aching nipple. She clung to him as his fingers teased her lightly over the fabric, his tongue mimicking the same torture until she finally dug her nails into his back. Hard. “Luke.” His hand slipped beneath her panties at the same time that he sucked her nipple into his mouth, and the twin contact of his finger and lips sent her spiraling over the edge of control, her orgasm crashing around her almost before she had a chance to register the ecstasy of it. When the unexpected tremors finally stopped, she opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling. “Um. So that happened.” Luke slowly withdrew his hand, moving over her to kiss her mouth slightly. “Didn’t hear me complaining, did ya?” She held his gaze as she reached down to undo his belt buckle and buttons of his jeans, then slid her palms into the back and shoved both them and his boxers down over his hips. His eyes darkened when she wrapped a

hand around his steely length. His lips parted as she stroked him, his breathing harsh as he dipped his head to take her mouth in a possessive kiss. Jordan rolled a thumb over the velvety tip of him, moving her hand faster, and he swore softly, tearing his mouth away from hers to grapple frantically at the nightstand drawer. She heard the rip of a condom, let him move her hand away so he could roll it over his length. Luke peeled off her panties before shoving at his own jeans. Jordan’s legs wrapped around his waist before he could get them all the way off. “Greedy,” he said on a groan, as his erection brushed her wet flesh. Jordan lifted her eyebrows. What are you going to do about it? He answered with a hard thrust inside her that had each gasping the other’s name with a need she suspected neither of them wanted. When he was buried to the hilt, they stayed still for just a long moment. She tried to ignore how perfectly their bodies fit together, tried to deny how nobody had ever felt this good.

But when he began to move inside her, she knew there was no escaping the truth. This was what sex was all about. The tremor of impatient hands, the thrust of needy bodies… The strange fear and ecstasy that came from the quiet whisper in the back of your mind: this one. Luke’s arms had been braced above her, holding his weight above her, but now her hands lifted to his back, tugging him down in the strange desire to be as close as possible. He hesitated for only a second—as though he too felt and feared the intimacy—before giving in, lowering his chest to hers. His hands found hers, fingers entwined on either side of her head, as he buried his face in her neck. He bit down softly and she came, her sharp cry mingling with his. They rode it together, surviving each earth-shattering tremor until they both went still. Luke started to push up off her, but her arms wrapped around him. “Please stay,” she whispered. “Just for a second.” He lifted his head, a hand brushing her hair away, and searched her face.

She wanted to ask him what he saw in her expression, because she wasn’t at all sure how to describe what she felt. She only knew that whatever had just happened felt like more than a casual hookup, and it scared the crap out of her. Because there was no future for a TV producer in New York City and a firefighter in Montana, and they both knew it. He rolled them both to their sides, his arm pulling her near. She wiggled close, knowing what both their quiet gestures silently conveyed: Whatever they had to deal with, tomorrow would be soon enough.

Chapter 19 It was still dark when Luke climbed out of bed to let the dog out, careful not to wake Jordan as he slowly pulled his arm from beneath her head. She made a disgruntled noise but didn’t wake as she rolled over and burrowed farther beneath the covers. His covers. Luke waited for the stab of panic, frowned when it didn’t come. He didn’t do this. He didn’t do one-night stands at his place, he didn’t have women stay over, and he sure as hell didn’t do any of the above with a sassy New Yorker who was easily the most provocative and responsive woman he’d ever had in his bed. And yet far from anxiously awaiting the moment he could get rid of her, Luke found that he sort of liked her just where she was. He pulled on his jeans and grabbed a fresh T-shirt from the drawer before heading into the hallway. As expected, Winston was pressed against

the door, his baleful glare making it clear he wasn’t entirely ready to forget last night’s banishment, but the tail wag indicated he might be persuaded to forgive if there was bacon in his future. “I’ll think about it,” Luke promised the dog as they headed downstairs. He opened the back door for Winston to do his business, and Luna appeared from wherever she’d been lurking, giving Luke a disdainful look before sauntering out into the early morning chill. “Your highness,” he muttered, leaving the door open a crack so they could find their way back inside. Winston thumped into the kitchen a couple of minutes later, chomping the remainder of last night’s dinner as Luke waited for the coffee to finish. He’d just poured his first cup and turned to close the back door but drew up short at the sight of Jordan walking into the kitchen— wearing his shirt, carrying his cat. For one annoying moment, his chest tightened with…something. And not the panic he kept bracing for. “Morning,” she said, her voice still a bit sleep-raspy. Her smile was friendly and

confident, but her blue eyes held a trace of vulnerability, as though not sure of her welcome. Luke eased her worries in the best way he knew how, turning toward the coffeepot and pouring her one. “Milk, right?” he asked, going to the fridge. “Please. Just a bit.” He added a splash and turned back with both mugs. Jordan gave Luna a kiss on the head before gently setting her on the floor. The quiet affection left Luke oddly jealous of a cat he barely liked. “For the record, I feed you and clean your litter box,” he said with a scowl at the cat. Luna swished her tail indifferently and hopped onto the kitchen chair, back to him. “She’ll be there till the sun comes up and the birds come out,” he explained. “They’ll sit in that tree, she’ll scream bloody murder at them for twenty minutes, Winston will then bark at her, I’ll yell at Winston…Obviously you’ll want to stay; it’s a real treat.” She laughed. “What would be my role, yelling at you?” “Impossible.” He took a sip of his coffee.

“Women never yell at me; I’m too charming.” “Weird,” she said, lowering herself into the chair across from the cat. “I have yet to see that part of you.” He scooped up Luna and took her chair, only to have the cat jump into his lap a half second later and resume her bird-watching. “True or false,” he said looking across the table at Jordan. “You’re sitting there in my Tshirt, in my home, before dawn.” “True,” she said with narrowed eyes. He lifted his coffee mug in a toast. “Like I said. I’m charming.” Jordan snorted, her eyes watching his hand as he petted the damn cat out of habit. “That’s not what last night was about.” His body stirred at the memory of last night. “No? Enlighten me.” “It was merely weird chemistry and lots of mad. Like…an anger bang.” Luke choked on his coffee. “A what?” “Is that a New York term?” she mused. “Anger bang? It means—” “Yeah, I can figure out what it means,” he muttered, shaking hot coffee off the back of his hand, the gesture earning him a scornful look from Luna before she hopped down to go

watch the birds from the living room. Jordan pursed her lips, cupping the mug in both hands and staring down at the steam. “Okay, so…” She blew out a breath. “I feel like I should say sorry. No, I know that I should say I’m sorry.” Luke was careful to hide his surprise, but he was surprised. He’d had his fair share of serious relationships and knew that a woman apologizing out of the blue wasn’t especially common. “For?” he asked warily. “I was wrong to get pissed last night,” she said. “I mean, yes, you could have cleared up a lot of things if you’d have told me that the women were the ones who called it off, but—” “Not all of them,” he said, before he could think better of it. “Just the first two.” She studied him. “You left the third one? On your wedding day?” The memory tore at him. All the memories centered on Eva did. “Yes.” His tone left no room for discussion on that matter—something she apparently picked up on, because she shifted the conversation back to his previous…brides. God, he hated thinking of it like that. He

knew that the situations were complicated—all three of them. But he wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly how this all looked from the outside perspective. He’d tried damn hard not to let it bother him—what he did with his life was his business. His motivations for doing what he had didn’t require justification to anyone. So why the hell was he tempted to tell it all to the one person he shouldn’t? It was because when she sat there wearing his oldest shirt, at his beat-up kitchen table, after a night of epic sex, looking as though she belonged there, it was damn hard to think of Jordan Carpenter as anything other than what she was at this moment…. A beautiful woman he wanted to know. Whom he wanted to get to know him. “Did you know?” she asked, studying him. “About Stacey?” Luke’s knee-jerk reaction was to get up and leave the table. Nothing he hated more than memory lane. But his damn dog must have sensed this and disapproved, because Winston ambled over and rested his head on Luke’s knee, forcing him to stay put. To face the past.

“I didn’t know, but I wasn’t shocked,” he finally answered quietly. “That’s the best answer I’ve got.” It was the honest-to-God truth. When a tearful Stacey had found Luke in the small groom’s room at the church that morning, his first thought had been that he’d raise hell to stop whatever was upsetting her. His second thought was that he knew exactly what needed to stop to ease her pain: the wedding. It had hurt. It had hurt hearing the woman he loved say that she was in love with someone else—her best friend. It had hurt even more knowing that the truth had probably always been there, and he and Stacey both had been guilty of convincing themselves otherwise. But that was the tricky part about loving someone—their happiness had to mean more than your own. It wasn’t love otherwise. So he’d gotten over it. Got plenty drunk with Gil, then went about the business of healing. His plan had worked. Stacey and Isobel were happy, if not exactly open about their relationship, and Luke had learned to be… content. At least until Eva. “Stacey said you let everyone assume it was you who called it off.”

He shrugged. “Her dad’s kind of an asshole. He’d cut her out of all future Christmas dinners if he found out she was gay. I care about her too much to let that happen until she’s ready.” “If she ever is.” “Right.” “Does it bother you?” Jordan asked. “That people think you ditched her on her wedding day?” He gave a rueful smile. “As you’ve delighted in reminding me, I’d had some practice by that point.” “Ah yes, the mysterious bride number one,” she said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs. He nearly leaned forward to get a peek at the way his shirt must be riding up on her slim thighs, before reminding himself that he wasn’t twelve. He did, however, make a mental promise to himself to check out those perfect thighs up close later. “So you didn’t break her heart either,” Jordan was saying. Luke shrugged. “Did she break yours?”

“Nah,” he said, meaning it. “It was mutual and the best for both of us.” “Yet she let you take the blame?” “I insisted. I was nineteen; she was my first love.” Jordan sighed. “Damn, you really would have made a killer candidate for Jilted.” “I thought I was out of the running now that we’ve established that I’m only part asshole, rather than a complete one,” he said, standing to grind more coffee for a second pot. Winston promptly transferred his love over to Jordan, who reached out a hand to stroke his head. “I’m rethinking,” she said. “Ladies love a gentleman nearly as much as they love a bad boy, and I think there’s definitely a gentleman lurking beneath the backward hat and glares.” “For what it’s worth, I only glare at you.” Luke punched the machine, the angry whir of the grinder announcing that he was done talking about himself. When the kitchen went silent once more, he turned and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms and studying her. “You miss New York?” She blinked in surprise. “What?”

He smiled. “Look, if we’re going to fight, screw, then have a get-to-know-you morningafter chat, it’s got to go both ways.” She looked down at the dog and rubbed behind his ears. “Fair enough,” she agreed, looking back at him. “Yes, I miss New York.” Her words did something obnoxious to his chest, but he refused to back away from the conversation. “We have too much fresh air for you?” “Something like that.” Her voice was light, but her face was sad, and Luke knew he wasn’t getting the full picture of whom Jordan Carpenter was. She kept putting up walls, but that was too damn bad. If she was going to scale his, he’d happily launch a counterattack. “What’s your story, City?” he asked, grabbing the pot of coffee and coming back to the table. “You born and raised on Park Avenue?” She sipped her coffee. “Hardly. I was born and raised in a town a lot like this one.” This news both surprised the hell out of him and also…didn’t. “Explains why you look so good in the cowboy boots,” he said, trying to keep the mood light to keep her talking.

“Simon will be glad you think so. They were his doing.” “Small-town life wasn’t for you?” he asked, topping off her cup. She ran a nail along the handle of the mug as she considered. “I don’t know that it was like that. I mean, like most people, I went through a stage in high school where I dreamed of getting out, living a more glamorous life, but I wasn’t one of those Big Lights or Bust kind of dreamers. Keaton was home.” “But you left.” He took a sip of coffee. “I left.” They locked eyes for a long moment, a silent battle of wills, and as much as he hated it, he got it…she wasn’t going to spill her guts when he wouldn’t spill his. He gave her something—as much as he was ready for. “Bride number one was Hailey,” he said, continuing to meet her eyes. He’d been pretty sure that nobody had mentioned that fact to her, and the shock on her face told him he was right. “Hailey? How the heck did I not know this?” “Honestly, I don’t have a clue, since the

town’s run its mouth about everything else. Best guess, Hailey asked them not to.” “Because it’s a painful story?” “Not really. At least not for her and me. Her parents are still a little pissed about the money they spent on a wedding that didn’t happen, but they got a far better son-in-law in Tim than I’d ever have been. My guess? Hailey figured you might treat her differently if you knew and had already pegged you as BFF material.” “I suspect everyone’s BFF material to Hailey.” He smiled. “You know her well.” “I thought I did,” Jordan muttered, tapping her fingers against the table, her mind clearly racing. “So what happened there?” He shrugged. “We were kids. I proposed when we thought she was pregnant. Started her period a few days before the wedding, and I think we were both relieved. We loved each other, but neither of us was even close to ready for marriage or kids.” “And yet once again you took the blame,” she said. Her tone was a little cranky, and Luke nearly smiled, wondering if perhaps Jordan Carpenter wasn’t a bit protective on his behalf. It’d be a nice change from a town that, while

affectionate, had always been all too happy to play up his reputation while letting the women get off easy. He’d wanted it that way, sure, but look where that had gotten him. The bull’s-eye of a fucking reality TV show. “All right, your turn,” he said, lifting his cup and winking at Jordan. Her face went perfectly blank, and Luke tensed, sensing that whatever she was about to share was a good deal more gut-wrenching than his and Hailey’s failed childhood romance. “I left my hometown because it stopped feeling like home.” “Okay…” he said slowly, knowing there was more. Not sure he wanted to hear it. Her eyes were locked on Winston, who seemed to sense her distress, because he let out a mournful sigh and wiggled closer. Jordan looked at Luke, and her eyes were clear of tears but full of pain. “When I was a senior in high school, a tornado ripped through Keaton. Tornadoes weren’t unusual, but this was a big one. The high school escaped it. My house didn’t.” Luke’s throat hurt. “Ah hell, City—Jordan.”

She gave the slightest of sad smiles and lifted her shoulders. “My little brother had stayed home from school sick that day. My mom was a homemaker; Dad was off from work because he’d thrown out his back. My whole family, gone in one awful afternoon.” Winston was damn good at giving comfort, but Luke was better. He stood, nudging the dog out of the way so he could haul Jordan to her feet. He didn’t know if she wanted a hug, but he needed to give her one. She was rigid for a moment before collapsing against him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “Probably not the answer you were expecting.” He ran a hand over her messy hair. “No. And not the one I wanted, but I’m glad you told me.” “I don’t hate small-town life,” she said, her words partially muffled against his shirt. “I just…” Her shoulders lifted and fell. “It brings back memories, you know? It’s much easier to be someone else in New York. I don’t think so much about the life I might have had if they were still alive.” “Have you been back?” She bit her lip. “No. I haven’t wanted to, and yet being here, it’s made me…remember. And I

can’t help wondering if I need closure, you know? If maybe I need to go back there to say goodbye, so that I can…I don’t know. I don’t know what I need.” He held her closer. “I think maybe closure,” he said quietly. “You can only run from pain for so long before it catches you.” “Spoken from experience?” Jordan asked. “Nah, we’re not talking about me right now,” he said, keeping his tone light. “You think I should go back?” she asked. “To Keaton?” Luke was silent for a moment. “My first thought was to tell you that it’s not about what I think, but…these past few weeks have taught me that sometimes the people who care about us maybe know a thing or two that we can’t see for ourselves.” “I don’t suppose that means you’re going to do the show.” He smiled against her hair. “Don’t push your luck, City. But about you going back to Kansas: Maybe. Don’t do it alone. Take a friend. Let it be more of a celebration of what was rather than a mourning of what was lost.” She inhaled, held her breath, and then let it out. “A celebration. I like that.”

They were quiet for several moments, until she pulled back slightly, her blue eyes searching his face. “Do you ever think about what kind of life you want? I mean really sit and think?” “Sure, all the time. Usually while I journal and sip herbal tea.” Jordan laughed. “I get it. I pushed the girl talk too far.” “What kind of life do you want?” he asked. She smiled up at him. “Still trying to figure that out. Aren’t you?” No. No, Luke already knew the life he wanted. The wife. The kids. The dog. He had the last one but none of the former, and not for lack of trying. He’d been telling himself for years that he didn’t mind, that maybe it wasn’t in the cards for him. Suddenly that answer didn’t feel nearly good enough. “How about we start with something easy?” he murmured, planting a kiss on her forehead and giving her hand a squeeze. “What do you feel like for breakfast?” He sensed her relief at the change in topic. “How do you feel about pancakes?” she asked. “I feel good about pancakes. I feel even

better about pancakes after sex—” “Oh, but I don’t think—” Her hand lifted self-consciously to her messy hair. “Don’t worry, I thought for us,” Luke said, bending his knees to lift her, throwing her lean weight over his shoulder. “What the heck is happening right now?” she shrieked, banging a palm against his back. He smacked her ass. “This, City, is what you get for starting a fling with a firefighter.” Then he carried her to the living room couch and proceeded to show her exactly how hot that fling was going to be.

Chapter 20 “Is lover boy going to be here?” Simon asked, as they approached Tucker’s. “Yeah, we are not calling him that,” Jordan muttered as she swiped on pink lip gloss and dropped the tube back in her purse. “All I’m saying is that the night with Firefighter Hunk has given you a nice bounce in your step. The glow and whatnot.” “I hope I don’t act this weird after you hook up with someone,” Jordan muttered. Simon gave a long sigh. “I can’t even remember. It’s been so long.” “No luck with your baker?” she asked as they walked up the steps to the front door. “I think I scare him,” Simon said glumly. Jordan opened the door and gestured him inside. “Then he doesn’t deserve you.” Simon grinned down at her, kissing her cheek before entering the noisy bar. “I like you all sexed-up. You’re happy.” She paused a moment before following him, the truth of his words settling around her. She was happy.

When Luke had dropped her off at her house that morning, they hadn’t talked about what came next. And ever since, she’d been telling herself that the fact that she couldn’t stop smiling was due to the rather fabulous orgasms and not something more. But the way her body was buzzing in anticipation of seeing him again made her worry that she might seriously be in over her head. The fact that she’d screened two of her boss’s calls that afternoon confirmed it. The clock was ticking down, her time in Lucky Hollow increasingly limited. And though Jordan knew her career reputation was on seriously shaky ground, she couldn’t seem to think about anything but the fact that Luke had said he’d be at Tucker’s tonight…. She spotted him almost immediately, with that sort of feminine awareness that came with knowing another person. Luke hadn’t seen her yet. He was with Charlie and Ryan at the pool table in the back, dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt, and the usual backward cap, beer in hand. He laughed at something Charlie said, looking as easygoing as she’d ever seen him, and Jordan’s stomach

clenched with something that felt like an odd combination of want and… Yeah, just want. She’d go with that, no matter what her beating heart said. He turned at precisely that moment, his hazel eyes finding hers across the crowded, noisy bar. His laugh stalled, but unlike their previous encounters, where his face went wary at the sight of her, he gave her a slow, private smile, followed by a quick wink. “Oh, honey. I know that look.” Jordan turned toward the feminine voice and met the playful gaze of Hailey. “Yes, I’ve recently learned that you probably know that look firsthand.” The pretty brunette gave a delighted laugh as she handed over a glass of wine. “He told you.” “Uh-huh,” Jordan said, taking the wine. “Because you didn’t. What happened to girl power? Sisters before misters?” Hailey linked arms with Jordan and dragged her to the bar, where Simon was deep in conversation with a group of older women. The way he was gesturing constantly toward his face told Jordan he was deep in the throes of his favorite topic—his skin-care regimen.

“Don’t be mad,” Hailey pleaded. “I’m not mad,” Jordan said. “More… curious?” Hailey flicked the shoulder of a lanky kid at the bar. “Move it, Jimmy. Being twenty-one means you get to be here and drink, but it also means you act like a man and move for ladies.” “Ladies, you say. I only see one lady and my cranky aunt Hailey,” he said, winking at Jordan as he stooped to give the much-shorter Hailey a peck on the cheek. “All yours, Auntie.” “Why, thank you, darling nephew,” Hailey said as she settled on the seat. “I just can’t figure out why your parents are always telling everyone how terrible you are.” “PTSD from when I was going through puberty,” Jimmy said, lifting his drink in farewell before wandering off to join a group so young it made Jordan feel decidedly ancient. “My sister’s kid,” Hailey said by way of explanation, patting the second stool. “Sit.” Jordan did as instructed, her butt barely hitting the cracked leather before Hailey started talking. “Okay, so it’s like this. Yes, I was bride number one, and, yes, I kept it from you, and

others did too, but only because, well…Gosh, I don’t know how to explain this.” “Hailey, you don’t have to—” “I got tired of it defining me,” Hailey blurted out, then looking a little sheepish at the outburst. “I love Luke. Not like I love Tim, obviously, but I adore that guy; I think our story’s so freaking cute. But after Stacey and Eva, he became sort of this urban legend, and we women were merely the accessories, and…I don’t know, it got old, being bride number one. That sounds pathetic, doesn’t it?” “Not at all,” Jordan said, touching Hailey’s arm in reassurance. “I’m sorry I didn’t consider that element when I came barging into town.” “Oh, please, your coming here is the most exciting thing Lucky Hollow’s seen since Eva left town.” Jordan twirled her wineglass. “Don’t suppose you’re going to tell me that story?” “Honestly? I don’t know it. Truly,” Hailey said. “Only Stacey and I know what happened with our respective stories, and that only happened after lots of wine one stupid night. But Eva didn’t exactly make an effort to get to know anyone in Lucky Hollow outside of Luke and maybe a couple of the firehouse guys.

Whatever happened there, it’s all locked up in Luke.” “Damn,” Jordan breathed. “My boss is going to be pissed.” “Because Luke won’t agree to do the show?” “Well, that, I’ve prepared them for,” Jordan said, taking a sip of wine. “But…okay, don’t freak out, but they sort of had it in their mind that even if Luke wouldn’t do the show as the runaway groom, one of his ex-brides would potentially make a good candidate.” “Oh, damn, I’ve never been so disappointed to be married!” Hailey exclaimed. Jordan saw Tim Withers before Hailey did, and she laughed when Tim moved into his wife’s line of sight and lifted his eyebrows. “Ahem.” “Oh, hi, honey,” Hailey said, pulling his head down for a quick kiss. “I was just telling Jordie how marrying you ruined my life.” “Sounds about right,” Tim said, smiling in greeting at Jordan. He wasn’t nearly as handsome as Luke, to Jordan’s slightly biased way of thinking, but Tim was instantly likable, with friendly brown eyes, wavy brown hair, and freckles that had probably pissed him off as a kid but now gave him a perpetual young-at-heart vibe.

“I could have been on TV,” Hailey said in a loud whisper. “As Luke’s bimbo castoff, searching for my one true love.” “Do it,” Tim said jokingly. “The kids and I will pretend not to know you. Come back to us when you’re rich and famous.” Hailey sighed. “Sadly, I love you all too much.” Tim took a sip of his beer. “Sucks for Eva that she didn’t stick around. Being on camera seems like something she’d jump at.” His tone held the faintest note of distaste, and Hailey’s wrinkled nose echoed the sentiment. “So Luke’s for sure a no, huh?” Tim asked Jordan sympathetically. “Oh, please,” Hailey said with a snort. “Like anyone thought that was ever actually going to happen.” “Really,” came a sarcastic reply from behind Jordan. “Could have fooled me with the way the entire damn town’s been telling Jordan to keep hounding me.” Jordan’s body went on high alert at the sound of Luke’s voice, even more at his proximity as he came to stand beside her. She carefully arranged her face into a

neutral expression before looking up at him. “Hi.” His eyes were warm as he gazed down at her. “Hey.” “Well, well, would you look at that—it worked,” Hailey murmured to her husband. Jordan tore her eyes away from Luke’s. “What worked?” “The town’s plan,” Hailey said, glancing innocently at her pale-pink nails. “What plan?” Hailey pursed her lips and said nothing. “Hailey,” Luke said in a warning tone. Tim snickered. “Told you he’d be pissed.” Luke shifted his attention to Hailey’s husband. “What plan?” Tim grinned at Jordan and Luke, waving his drink between them. “The women-folk had it in their heads that if they gave Jordan the impression that Luke could be coaxed into the show, she’d stick around for a while.” “Tim!” Hailey exclaimed. He merely shrugged and sipped his beer. “It worked. Look at them.” It took Jordan a moment to absorb the full extent of this plan. “Wait…are you telling me the entire town was in on some sort of

matchmaking scheme?” “Oh, City,” Luke said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You’ve been away from small-town life too long if you’re surprised to hear this.” Jordan glanced up. “How are you not mad? Did you know?” “No,” he admitted. “Although I realize now I should have. Small population means limited number of eligible men and women. Anytime there’s fresh blood, the sharks circle.” “Not anytime,” Hailey pointed out. Luke’s gaze was sharp, and Hailey looked away from his warning glare. Eva again, Jordan suspected. It always seemed to be about Eva. “But it did work, didn’t it?” Hailey said, forcing brightness into her voice. “You guys are…” “Not answering a single question,” Luke said, squeezing Jordan’s shoulder fully before nodding at her wine. “You done?” Jordan glanced at the nearly full glass. “Well, I mean—” “Good,” he interrupted, reaching down and taking her hand, tugging her off the stool. “Hailey, drinks are on you as punishment for

meddling.” His ex laughed. “Fine, but, really, you should be thanking me!” Luke didn’t respond; he was too busy dragging Jordan across the bar, past dozens of grinning, knowing faces, until they made it into the cool evening air. “So, wait,” Jordan said, as his fingers remained looped around her wrist, pulling her toward his truck. “Just because I wore the boots, you assumed I wanted to be herded like a barn animal?” “Nah,” he said, pulling her around and backing her against the door of his truck. “I saw the boots and thought, Now, that is a girl who needs to be kissed.” Luke’s head dropped to steal her mouth in a playful, possessive kiss that both caught her by surprise and felt entirely inevitable. As though they’d both been made for this moment. His fingers spread wide over her waist as his mouth opened over hers, and Jordan’s fingers gripped his shirt, holding him close. It was a bit like being a teenager again, where you thought you’d die of the frantic want, where you didn’t care that you were in a parking lot, pressed against a car, probably getting dirt on your blouse, because all that

mattered was the boy. Except this was not a boy. The guy pinning her to the truck was all man, and his hands and mouth absolutely knew what they were doing. Someone whistled as he walked by, and Jordan broke away with a gasping laugh. “Is this how you got three women to agree to marry you? Kissing them against your truck?” He reached over her head, thumped the top of the pickup with his palm. “Chicks dig it.” “Oh, do we?” He tilted his hips forward, pressing his erection against her, and she groaned. “You tell me.” Jordan bit back the moan and pushed him away. “I don’t know what your plan is, sir, but I’m a lady. I came here with one man; I don’t intend to leave with another.” “Hmm.” Luke brushed the pad of his thumb against her cheek. “Simon’s very lucky he has a lack of heterosexual urges right now.” She laughed. “Seriously, though, we can’t just…” He lifted his eyebrows, looking deliciously boyish. “Make out against the side of my car? Make out inside my car? Don’t pretend you’re

not tempted….” It was tempting. Very, very tempting. But Jordan’s days in Lucky Hollow were numbered, and, oddly, she found that though she wanted nothing more than to spend every last moment with Luke, she wanted the rest of it too. The homey bar, the country music, the people who’d welcomed her, even if it had been with matchmaking intentions… Luke sighed and brushed a kiss against her lips before stepping back. “Fine. If I buy you chicken tenders and a glass of that crappy white wine they insist on serving, you promise to put out later?” She laughed. “You do know how to woo a girl.” He moved in again, pinning her still. “I need a yes, City.” She smiled up at him, happier than she could remember being in…well, a really, really long time. “Take me on a date, Country.”

Chapter 21 Luke had been on a four-day streak of waking up with a beautiful woman beside him, and he had zero complaints. He really didn’t complain about the way she’d taken to waking him up—slow, hot kisses on his chest, her slim hand stroking his cock to readiness before she’d climb on top for dreamlike woman-on-top sex. This morning, though, he woke up first. Jordan was the first woman he’d slept with who wasn’t a cuddler and, as was her usual, had wiggled her way over to the far side of the bed, messy hair splayed across his pillow. She always started the night cuddling, her cheek on his shoulder, but sometime during the middle of the night she liked her space. He was happy to give it to her, but for now his body had something a bit closer in mind. Luke moved over to her side of the bed, careful not to disturb the blankets too much. He’d left the window open a crack last night, and the crisp chill in the air signaled that summer was now officially behind them.

He shoved the thought aside. The passing of seasons meant the passing of time; the passing of time meant Jordan’s inevitable departure. His hand found the soft fabric covering her waist. The past few days, she’d started bringing a bag with her when she came over in the evening, which meant nightgowns instead of nakedness. He liked naked Jordan better, but he couldn’t complain about the way the silky fabric clung to her lithe curves. Luke kissed her shoulder as his hand slid down over her hip to her knee, back up again, taking the nightgown with him until his fingertips hit the lace edge of her underwear. She stirred awake, and he moved closer, lips finding the warm column of her neck as his fingers teased back and forth along her hip. “Morning,” she murmured, arching her back slightly so her butt pressed against his hardening cock in invitation. He loved this about her—the way her desire matched his own, the most responsive woman he’d ever touched. His hand drifted up over her side, kneaded her breast in slow, easy caresses until she gave a frustrated groan and reached up to shove the nightgown strap off her shoulder.

He accepted the invitation, palm touching bare skin, fingers finding her nipple and pinching it lightly, feeling it harden at his touch. Jordan moved against him until he realized she’d wiggled out of her underwear, as eager as he. She tilted her hips back once more, her wet readiness brushing against him, and though his body ached to thrust home, to take her from behind, he wanted to savor her even more. Luke eased Jordan to her back, his tongue sliding over her nipple. Her hands lifted to his head, but he gently wrapped his fingers around her wrists, pinning her hands to the bed while his mouth teased one nipple, then the other, until she was writhing beneath him. Her body was his, and they both knew it. His hands still on hers, holding her helpless, he slid down her body. Her arching movement had caused the silky slip to ride up around her waist, and Luke skimmed right over it until his tongue was poised over her wet heat. He paused, waiting until he heard his name on her lips in a soft plea. The second he did, he touched her with his tongue, a lingering kiss that had her hips bucking off the bed.

Luke buried his face between her thighs, his shoulders spreading her wide so he could discover every spot that made her moan, the taste of her imprinting on his memory. Jordan’s hands tugged beneath his, but he held her still, taking control of her body until she shattered against his mouth, her cries echoing off the walls. Luke pressed a last kiss against her inner thigh before moving up her body, grabbing for a condom on the nightstand, rolling it on even before she caught her breath. He hooked his arms beneath her legs, nudging her knees upward before burying himself all the way inside her. Every part of Jordan’s body welcomed his completely as she surrounded him with her legs, arms, and her tight warmth. He paused, just for a moment, eyes squeezed shut as he pressed his face against her neck, let himself be present, knowing his moments like this with her were limited. Jordan must have sensed it too, because her arms wrapped around him even tighter than usual, her fingers grasping at him in ways that went beyond physical need. He’d meant to take her fast and hard, and though his body ached for release, he needed

something else even more—to make it last. Luke pulled back slowly, but instead of thrusting hard, pushed back in just as slowly, so they both groaned. He held out as long as he could at the torturous pace, until her nails were digging into his back, until his arms shook with the effort of his restraint. Jordan’s hands moved from his shoulders to cup his face, the tender gesture so intimate that his chest tightened. She tugged his face down to hers, kissing him with unabashed passion, and his restraint shattered. He took them over the edge, capturing her moans with a kiss, even as she did the same for him, as though the real pleasure came from experiencing the other person’s. When the bliss subsided, Luke ordered his body to roll off hers, but his body disobeyed, reluctant to move any sooner than he had to. Finally, Jordan wiggled beneath him with a little laugh, pushing on his shoulders. “All right there, big firefighter. Can’t breathe.” He let her push him off, and she rolled onto her side, one hand propped beneath her head, blond hair a sexy mess as she grinned down at him.

Luke tried to grin back and failed. Not because he wasn’t happy, but…well, because he was too aware that the days of feeling happy like this were numbered. She seemed to understand, because her smile faltered a little, her eyes pleading with him not to force that conversation. Not yet, not now. “I brought my running stuff,” she said in a husky voice. “If you’re interested.” “In kicking your ass?” he said, rallying to keep the mood light even as his chest felt heavy. “I still maintain you cheated yesterday. Insisted I bring the dog, who slowed me down on the home stretch.” “Pathetic, blaming poor Winston,” she said, rolling over to the edge of the bed and standing, arms stretched above her head, before she reached for her overnight bag. Apparently hearing his name, Winston thumped at the other side of the door. Luke sighed and rolled out of bed as well. “Guess that’s my cue. Coffee before or after the run?” “Coffee before, breakfast after,” she said, shimmying out of her nightgown and pulling on a black sports bra. Luke was pulling on running shorts when

Jordan’s cell rang. She dug around in her purse until she came up with the iPhone, her face wincing at the name on the caller ID. “It’s my boss.” Ah. “She’s up early.” Jordan shrugged, her eyes still on the screen. “Not so much. It’s past eight in New York.” New York. Her home. “I’ll get the coffee started,” he said, acting casual as he pulled a running shirt over his head. “Take your time with the phone call.” Luke stepped into the hallway, closing the door just as he heard her say, “Raven, hi!” in a tone that was far too bright and false. There was a tension in her voice, and he understood it. Work was paying for her to be in Montana to recruit him—not sleep with him. And no matter how bright her smile, he knew her well enough now to see the guilt that lurked in her eyes. The tension written all over her face at the knowledge that they were on borrowed—no, stolen—time. Winston’s wagging tail thumped against Luke’s leg, and Luna made a rare upstairs appearance, meowing loudly and rubbing against his other shin.

As though the animals were trying to reassure him that they’d still be here when she left. And he never doubted for one second: Jordan would leave. — “What the hell, Jordan,” her boss said into her ear. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days.” Raven sounded annoyed but not pissed, which was better than Jordan had expected. “I know, I’m sorry. I’ve…” What? Been spending more time with Luke—in bed? Learning that not only was Luke not a candidate for Jilted but neither were his first two brides? That one was happily married, the other a lesbian in love with her best friend? That she should have been back in New York days ago? Maybe even weeks ago? “It’s been busy,” she said, wincing at the lie as she pulled on running pants. “And, actually, Raven, there’s something…I want to be honest.”

“ ’Kay,” Raven said distractedly. “Hold on just a sec.” Jordan put on a running shirt as she listened to her boss’s muffled voice order her usual triple grande almond soy latte. “Okay, sorry. What’s up—I know that tone. You’re feeling guilty about something.” Jordan took a breath. “I’m wondering if I can retroactively take the past week as personal time. I haven’t been working as much as I should, and it feels wrong to pretend that I’ve been here completely for work purposes.” Raven made an intrigued sound. “Jordie, baby. You having a fling with a cowboy? That’s delicious.” Jordan winced. “You sound like Simon.” Raven cackled. “No denial, I love it. Look, do whatever you want to do about the past week; you’re entitled to a vacation, and nobody’s going to lose their shit that you dinked around in Montana on the company dime. I’ve seen your expense reports—it’s not like you’re ordering expensive champagne in a five-star Paris resort and calling it work.” Yeah, but I’m sleeping with the candidate. So much worse. Before she could figure out how to tell her boss that, Raven threw her a curveball.

“I’m actually glad you got some break time in,” Raven was saying, “because shit’s about to get crazy.” “How do you mean?” Jordan said with a frown. “So you’re off the hook on the firefighter, because I think we found an even better candidate for season one, and the execs are ecstatic.” “Really? Who?” Jordan asked, her professional pride stinging a bit at the realization that she hadn’t come through the way she should have. “He was basically dropped in our laps. I’ll fill it all in when I get there.” “When you get…where?” Jordan asked, struggling to keep up. “Okay, that’s the other thing,” her boss was saying gleefully. “We’ve already got our second spin-off figured out, and it’s all thanks to you.” “I’m…totally not following.” “This is why you should have picked up my calls! It turns out that your firefighter’s third bride—the one you couldn’t get any intel on? She’s a total babe. Like, the camera’s going to freaking love her.” Jordan’s stomach dropped. “You found

Eva?” She knew she was supposed to be happy. It was what the show wanted—needed. But the thought of Luke coming face-to-face with his ex made her want to throw up. Whatever Luke felt for this Eva woman was undeniably complicated. What if Eva coming back into his life made him rethink…everything? “Eva found us,” Raven clarified gleefully. “Apparently she heard about you sniffing around in the middle of nowhere and got in touch with the corporate offices, offered to do a tell-all about being left by the firefighter on her wedding day.” Jordan put a hand against her still-fluttering stomach. “Wait, so—” “It’s going to be so juicy,” Raven rambled on. “Not only is she the perfect candidate for season two, but since we have plenty of time, we’re going to do a whole backstory, get plenty of before footage of her and the firefighter.” “His name is Luke, and what do you mean, before footage?” “I’ll be there with a film crew. I’ll need your help organizing everything.” Jordan couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. “I’m not following. What am I organizing?”

“We’ll need your help on the where, but my vision is this: We get into town, with Eva. And get the reunion of her and Luke on camera. It’ll be perfect. The guy who left her at the altar having to see her face-to-face for the first time?” “You’re bringing Eva here?” “Her idea, and I think it’s sort of brilliant. We can do a whole before episode, air it right after the finale of season one, have people dying for season two.” Jordan didn’t move, her running shoes forgotten at her feet. “So, what do you think?” Raven demanded impatiently. I think it’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. I think it’ll turn Luke inside out. “The people of Lucky Hollow don’t seem to be the biggest Eva fans,” Jordan said slowly. “I don’t know how much happy reception you’re going to get.” “Oh, we can edit all that out. Or maybe I’ll bring a few extras to pretend sympathy for her —I’ll think about it. The key will be getting Luke’s reaction on camera when she confronts him about breaking her heart.” Jordan pulled at her hair. “I’m not so sure that’s what happened.”

She sensed her boss’s frown. “But he did leave her at the altar, right?” Jordan closed her eyes. Yes. Luke had told her as much. The first two failed weddings had been mutual; the last had been him. But she just knew there was more to the story. “Well, yes, but—” “Sweetie.” Raven’s voice was soft. Kind. Because although she could be an ambitious ballbuster, she was a nice person, in her way. “Do you have a thing for the firefighter?” Jordan winced. “That obvious, huh?” Raven sighed. “I’ve been wondering. Simon told me he’s hot, and of course you would feel guilty about noticing.” “You do realize as my boss you’re supposed to get pissed.” “Can’t. I’m a romantic. Or maybe just horny.” “When do you get here?” she asked Raven. “Tuesday or Wednesday. All I need from you is help figuring out where the firefighter will be. Heck, maybe it’s a good thing you’ve gotten to know him. You can figure out how to get him to a place that will play nice for the camera. “And, Jordan…” her boss continued,

“whatever it is between you two, you need to put it aside. This thing with Eva, it’s got legs. It’s good television.” And there it was. Romantic or not, Raven was always about good television, no matter the cost. Now Jordan just had to decide for herself— how much was she willing to pay?

Chapter 22 Whatever Jordan’s boss had said to her on the phone call had gotten under her skin. Luke had known it the second she came downstairs, tension written all over her usually smiling features. At first he thought to let her work it out. He hadn’t said a word when she chugged her coffee instead of sipping it like she usually did while cuddling the cat and petting Winston. And when she started out their run with a sprint instead of their usual warm-up jog, he’d simply met her grueling pace. He was a runner too. He knew that sometimes a good run could banish a bad thought. Knew that sometimes you needed to feel like you were outrunning your demons, even if they were ultimately still waiting for you at the finish line. But when Jordan eventually slowed to a jog, then to a walk, he knew it hadn’t worked for her. Not this time. Her mouth was pinched, her eyes guarded. Everything about her said, Leave me alone, but he couldn’t. She let out an agitated huff, and when he

saw her body coil as though about to burst into another sprint, he gently wrapped his hand around her elbow, pulled her toward him. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Talk to me.” She was panting, although he wasn’t sure if it was from her run or from whatever was racing through her mind. “I can’t,” she said hoarsely. “I don’t know how.” His hands moved over her arms. “How do I help?” She pulled away and turned toward the lake, hands locked behind her head as she took in several deep breaths. She faced him again. “What happened with you and Eva?” Luke’s head snapped back. He’d suspected that whatever had happened on the phone call had to do with him—with his refusal to do the dumb television show. He’d thought they were past that, though, thought maybe she was just recovering from her boss’s scolding. What the hell did his ex have to do with anything? “We didn’t work out,” he said curtly. “It happens.”

“I think it was more than that. Everyone I’ve talked to says you were a wreck after she left, but you said you were the one who walked away from the wedding. Either you were the brokenhearted or the heartbreaker. Which was it?” He clenched his jaw and stayed silent. “Were you destroyed because she left? Because Gil died? Talk to me here, Luke. Help me understand.” The mention of Gil and Eva in the same sentence tore at Luke with a gnawing ache he didn’t know what to do with. “It’s not open for discussion,” he growled. “But—” “That’s not how these things work,” he interrupted, running one hand over his hair, the other on his hip. “You don’t get to roll into town, turn my life upside down, screw me, and then expect me to spill my guts right before you prance back out of town again.” “Spare me the manly lash-out routine,” she snapped back. “I’m trying to protect you, but I need you to work with me.” He stepped closer. “You want me to work with you? Fine. Tell me what your boss said. Tell me what’s gotten you upset.”

She stayed stubbornly silent, arms crossed over her chest, defensive and angry. Their gazes clashed in an angry battle of wills for several seconds before Luke broke eye contact with a harsh laugh. “Screw this. I’m done.” — Jordan knew she should let him walk away. But she couldn’t. “Eva’s coming here,” she called to his retreating back. Luke went very still, his entire body tensing in dread. He turned toward her. “What?” Jordan swallowed and let her arms fall to her side. “That’s what my boss told me. Eva’s coming here. To Lucky Hollow.” He looked shell-shocked. “Why?” Jordan sighed, suddenly exhausted. “Eva somehow heard you were a possible candidate for the show. She got in touch with some people at CBC, said she’d tell her side of the story. The network execs think she’s the perfect option for a spin-off.” He ran his hands through his hair again. “I don’t give a shit whether she whores herself

out on television. What’s it got to do with me? With Lucky Hollow?” Jordan swallowed nervously, knowing that her job would be on the line if her boss found out she was about to say this, but she couldn’t not warn him. She couldn’t not prepare him. “They want to see her confront you. The heartbroken bride confronting the man who left her at the altar.” His face revealed nothing, but instinctively she knew he was reeling on the inside. How could he not be? To have Eva come back after all this time, to know that some TV scavengers wanted to record the moment… But apparently Luke didn’t want to talk about Eva. He wanted to talk about her. “And what did you say, Jordan?” he asked quietly. “I told Raven I thought the story wasn’t quite what Eva might have led them to believe.” “Did you tell them not to come?” Jordan flinched and crossed her arms once more, answering his question silently. “Got it,” he snapped. “Look, Luke, I will tell them. I just need

something to work with. I need to pacify them, to keep my job and to protect you too, and I can do both if you’ll tell me what went on with you and Eva. Then I can tell them why it’s not a good idea that she come here—” He scoffed. “Right. Exchange one juicy story for another, right? Maybe if I give them a good enough version of my side, they’ll sweeten the deal. Offer more money to coax me into being part of their show, right?” Jordan’s heart quickened in panic at the way he was twisting this. “Stop. That’s not what this is. Luke, you have to know by now that this isn’t just about the show, it’s not about my boss.” “No? What’s it about then, Jordan?” She swallowed, made herself say it out loud, even though it came out as a whisper. “You make me want things I haven’t let myself want in a long time.” He studied her, then shook his head. “That’s it? That’s all I get? You tell me you’re dredging up the worst part of my life, and I get some vague crap about your self-discovery?” His rejection of her admission hurt, even as she knew he had a point. He deserved more, but didn’t he get that she wasn’t ready? This was all new to her. She’d spent her entire adult

life avoiding feeling anything important for anyone, too terrified that she’d lose them, and he wanted her to change overnight. Her fear made her speak without thinking. “Well, gosh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Elliott. Not all of us have had three fiancées to practice our pretty talk on.” His expression registered hurt a split second before anger took over again. “You know what, City?” Luke stepped closer. “Go ahead and tell them to bring Eva on in. Roll out the red carpet and bring in the paparazzi.” She stared at him. “You don’t really want that.” “To see Eva again? No, not really. To put all that shit behind me, I do want that. You know why?” They were nearly toe to toe, and she tilted her face up to his, shook her head. “Because,” he said softly, raking his gaze over her features. “The sooner I get this over with, the sooner you’ll go back to New York and your precious job, and you and I can get on with our lives.” She recoiled in pain. “Luke—” He turned and jogged away before he could hear the rest of what she had to say. It was just as well. She was pretty sure the words on the

tip of her tongue could destroy both of them. I love you.

Chapter 23 “Damn, Jordie,” Simon said sympathetically as he pushed a glass across the kitchen counter to her. “That’s cold.” She shrugged and shook the glass, watching the ice cubes rattle. “Not so much. I mean, I guess we both knew I was going back to New York. Maybe he’s right to say that everything will be less complicated the sooner I do.” Jordan took a sip of the drink and made a face. “What the hell is this?” “Lemonade,” Simon said in an offended voice. “Vicky gave me the recipe.” Jordan resisted the urge to scratch her tongue. “It tastes like pure sugar.” “That’s just your bad mood talking,” Simon said, taking the glass from her and squeezing a half lemon into it before handing it back. Jordan took another sip. It was slightly more tolerable, but not much. “So what’s our plan?” Simon asked. She appreciated the solidarity expressed in his use of the word our and tried to smile, but she couldn’t muster much more than a

strained twitching of her lips. She kept seeing the coldness on Luke’s face when he’d pushed her away. Not that she’d expected him to declare undying love or anything, but after the decidedly sensual morning, she thought she deserved more than what had basically been a screw you and get out of my town. What bothered her more than anything was his reluctance to talk about Eva. She’d told him about her family—the hardest thing that had ever happened to her. But he’d brickwalled her on something that obviously caused him pain. Then shut her out altogether. Simon poured himself a glass of lemonade, took a sip, then winced. “Screw this.” He went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of sauvignon blanc and got down two glasses. “Um, it’s one o’clock.” “Yes, love, but you also just told your boyfriend that you’re bringing his ex-girlfriend into town for a confrontation on camera.” “Did you know?” she asked Simon, keeping her voice as non-accusatory as possible. None of this was his fault. “Found out this morning,” he said, meeting

her eyes. “Must have been a recent decision, because just yesterday afternoon Boss sent me an email to book a flight back to New York, but then this morning he called and said never mind, because this nightmare was going down.” “So you think it’s a bad idea?” Simon blew out a breath. “Look, I like your hot firefighter. A lot. I think he’d have been an absolute doll if we could have talked him into Jilted, but…didn’t happen. So do I think what this Eva chick is doing is sort of sketchy? Absolutely. Do I think it has the potential to make for good television? Absolutely.” “Well, you’re allowed to think that,” she muttered. “You’re not half in love with Luke.” Simon reached across the counter and held her hand. “Shit. I was worried it was love.” “Half love,” she corrected, taking a sip of the drink. It was five o’clock somewhere, right? “Mmm-hmm,” he murmured. “And how does being half in love with him mean you’re going to deal with the bosses bringing his former fiancée into town?” “I don’t know,” she groaned. “As my bestie you’re supposed to have an answer.” “Well, my first thought was that if you cared about him even a little, you couldn’t let him be

blindsided, but you’ve already taken care of that.” “Right, but now that I’ve warned him, he’s got it in his head that he wants it to happen.” “Well, then, perhaps you should let it,” Simon said gently. “You mean actually help Raven in setting up a meeting between Luke and Eva?” “It’s your job, Jordie,” Simon said quietly. “And babe, this thing is happening with or without you. You’ve just got to decide whether to get on board or get out of the way.” He was right. Jordan hated that he was right. Hated even more that she didn’t know what the right course of action was. “Do you know anything about this Eva chick?” she asked Simon. Simon looked away, and her eyes narrowed. “You do.” “I may have been sent a picture,” he said hesitantly. “And?” This time it was her glass that Simon topped off. Not a good sign. “Simon.” “She’s…one of the more gorgeous creatures I’ve ever seen.”

Jordan groaned and leaned forward until her forehead touched the cool counter. “And I’m supposed to bring her here. To have a face-to-face with Luke.” “Look on the bright side. He left her at the altar. There has to be a reason.” “Yes, but what?” Jordan asked, going to the fridge and pulling out a block of emergency Brie. “What if the fact that he won’t talk about it means he’s still not over her?” “Well.” Simon took a sip of wine, then pulled out the small wooden cheese board he’d brought in his suitcase, because he was Simon. “Let’s look on the bright side. If Eva comes into town, I’d guess that whatever that secret Luke’s holding on to is? Not gonna stay secret for long.”

Chapter 24 “So exactly how long is this PMS going to last?” Ryan asked Luke, thumping him on the shoulder. Luke replied with a glare, a middle finger, and not a single word. They’d just gotten back from a pulled fire alarm at the high school, and he didn’t feel like talking. School alarms were the bane of a firefighter’s existence. Because even as you knew the chances were good that it was some sophomore wanting to get out of his geometry test, there was always the terror that it wasn’t —that you had hundreds of young lives at risk. Luckily, this had been one of the former times—a false alarm that resulted in a semiorganized evacuation, followed by Luke’s team’s thorough search of the building, which revealed not even a hint of fire threat. Luke was grateful. Mostly that everyone was safe, but also that the call had been a muchneeded distraction from the women in his life. Oddly, it wasn’t the supposed confrontation

with his ex that was eating at him, although there was definitely a stab of dread lodged in his chest at all times at the thought of seeing her again. Instead, it was the blond woman in his recent past who had him tied up in knots. He hadn’t seen Jordan since their fight last week. He knew she was still in town, only because everyone around him had a huge mouth. But he hadn’t heard from her. Or, rather, he’d ignored a couple of phone calls. Gotten a couple of Please call me texts that he’d deleted. Luke wasn’t even sure if he was mad at her. She’d at least had the decency to warn him about Eva’s arrival. Plus, if he bothered to call Jordan back, he could probably get more information on Eva’s grand entrance. But he wasn’t sure what they could possibly say to each other that wouldn’t make the ache in his chest worse. Luke figured the best they could end with was having had a good run and going their separate ways before anyone got hurt. More hurt. “I second the PMS inquiry,” Charlie said, following Ryan and Luke into the kitchen. “You’ve been edgy since Eva left and since Gil

died, but this is a whole other level.” Luke swung around to face his friend, the Coke in his hand forgotten. “What did you just say?” Charlie winced but didn’t back down. “Look, man. I know we’re not allowed to talk about your ex, and I’ll respect that, but we all knew Gil. Yeah, you were closest to him. But we miss him too. And more than that, we miss the Luke we used to know before Gil died.” “Shut up, Charlie,” Ryan muttered. “No, it’s cool,” Luke said. “He’s got a right to speak his piece.” Two of the other guys came in, only to promptly back out again when they saw Charlie and Luke facing off, with Ryan ready to play referee at any time. “I don’t want a fight, man,” Charlie said tiredly. “I’m just worried about you. When you and Jordan hooked up, we finally saw the guy you used to be, and I hate to see that disappear because your head’s up your ass.” “Meaning what?” “Meaning that you two obviously are having some sort of dumb spat, and you need to work it out,” Ryan said, apparently deciding to join the conversation after all. And not on Luke’s side.

Luke swore softly and took a sip of the Coke as he continued to glare at both friends. The silence in the kitchen became deafening, even as the noise of the guys out in the main area grew louder and more rowdy. Finally Luke cleared his throat, set his Coke on the table, and rubbed his hands over his face. Maybe they were right. Maybe it was time to let it all out and then let it all go. “I haven’t been the same,” he admitted slowly. “Not since I told Eva I wouldn’t marry her, not since she left. And definitely not since we lost Gil.” “Look,” Ryan said, clearing his throat. “We understand—” “No, hang on,” Luke said, holding out his hand. “Let me get this all off my chest. I’ve never told anyone why I didn’t marry Eva, and I think everyone believes I was protecting her. And maybe I was, a bit, but I was also protecting my pride. And…I guess on some level I was protecting Gil too.” Charlie frowned. “How are the Eva thing and Gil related?” Luke merely turned his head, met Charlie’s gaze. He saw the moment Charlie got it. Heard

from Ryan’s muttered fuck that he understood too. “Gil and Eva…” Luke picked up his Coke again, wishing it were beer. Better yet, whiskey. “Caught them together. The morning of the wedding, I picked up my tux. Decided to run home to hang it up so it wouldn’t get wrinkled in my truck while I picked up my aunt and uncle from the airport. Caught my best friend and bride in bed. My bed.” Neither Charlie nor Ryan said a word, and for a moment Luke thought it was because they were shocked. A second later he realized that they were shocked but perhaps not so much at his revelation as the fact that… Their trio was no longer alone. Following his friends’ gaze, Luke looked over his shoulder and into the shocked blue eyes of Jordan Carpenter.

Chapter 25 Jordan couldn’t breathe—couldn’t move. She hadn’t been meant to hear this story, she knew that. Not like this, anyway. Luke had intended to share his horrible history with his friends, not an outsider. But she couldn’t unhear it, and… She sort of wanted to. Jordan hadn’t really understood until this moment that it was possible to hurt for another human being, because it felt like her heart was breaking for Luke. “I’m so sorry,” she managed, before finally ordering her feet to move and backing out of the room. Running in cowboy boots was awkward as heck, but she did it anyway, ignoring the puzzled stares of Luke’s fellow firefighters. She made it as far as her car before Luke caught up with her, his hand wrapping around her arm and pulling her to face him. “How long do I have?” She blinked. “How long until what?” “You said you were sorry,” he said, his face

unreadable. “I’m assuming that’s a preemptive apology for you running to tell your bosses that my story is even more titillating than they could have possibly imagined.” Jordan went still and stared up at him. “That’s what you think? That I’m off to call my boss? To sell you out?” “Why the hell not? That’s the entire reason you’re still here, right? To see if I’d make for good ratings? Well, congrats, City. I’ve been holding out on you. It’s going to be more explosive than you can possibly imagine when you drag my ex into town.” “I would never tell anyone what I overheard,” she whispered. He made a derisive sound of disbelief. “Yeah right.” “This is what you think of me?” she said quietly. “After all we’ve been through…” “Which is what, a couple hot nights in the sack?” Jordan’s heart had been hurting ever since hearing Luke and Eva’s history, but her pain doubled, and this time some of it was for herself. She slowly pulled her arm away from his grip. His fingers tightened reflexively, but she gave him a death stare that had him slowly

dropping his hand. “Jordan—” “Don’t,” she said, cutting him off. “Don’t. You’ve made yourself clear. I think we’re done here.” “Like hell,” he said, reaching for her again. “Don’t touch me!” Her shout seemed to echo off the pavement, and she gave a quick glance to see if they had an audience, but everyone seemed to know well enough to leave them alone. “What am I supposed to think, Jordan?” he said, his voice low. “Last time I saw you, you told me you’re bringing to town the very woman who nearly destroyed me. Then you show up just as I finally get the courage to tell my friends the truth—” “Your friends, but not me,” she said. “I asked you what happened with Eva; you wouldn’t tell me. Because you don’t trust me.” He looked away, his silence confirming her statement. Jordan felt a tear in her heart. “I told you things I’ve never told a single person,” she whispered. “Things about my past, my family…I trusted you with everything.” “Sure, and then you blindside me with news

that your fucking TV show is still a go and that I’ve been demoted from the star to a mere pawn in the Eva show. How was I supposed to interpret that? How was I supposed to think that our time together was anything other than you softening me up to drop a bomb, make sure I played nice?” “Are you kidding me right now?” she asked, genuinely stunned. “You think I would use sex for professional gain?” His glare was cold. “Tell your people I’m done cooperating. I’m not going to be a part of Eva’s story.” She snorted. “Right. When have you ever cooperated with any of this?” “Just tell them,” he said, taking a step back as though done with her. With them. “Then you can get back to New York and we can both pretend this whole train wreck never fucking happened.” Well, that was just fine. Because she was done too. Screw him. This was why she didn’t put herself out on the line; this was why she’d never let anyone in after what had happened to her family. Because people had power to hurt you if you let them. She’d given Luke that power. Biggest mistake she’d ever made.

He’d hurt her. Badly. “I already did,” she called after his retreating back. He turned around. “What?” She reached for the handle and opened the door of her rental car. “I already told my bosses not to bring Eva here—and that if they did, I wanted no part of it.” He stared at her hard. “When?” “An hour ago. It’s what I came to tell you. Before you dropped your little bombshell,” she said pointedly. His eyes flared, realization flickering over his face. “Why? Why would you do that?” She held his gaze for a long moment. “Figure it out, Luke. Figure it out.” Jordan got into her car and drove away, and only when she was out of his sight did she let the tears come. They didn’t let up until she got to the airport.

Chapter 26 ONE WEEK LATER “What do you mean she’s gone?” Luke snapped irritably at Stacey. “Well,” Stacey said, mixing the salad and handing him the bowl to take to the dining table. “I mean gone in that her lease on the house was up last weekend. I asked if she wanted to renew; she said no. And she moved out. Hence, gone. Not coming back.” Luke ignored the bowl, his scowl demanding more answers, but she merely shoved it at his chest, forcing him to take hold of it. “Save your glare,” she said, picking up a lingering carrot from the cutting board and pointing it at him before taking a bite. “I didn’t chase her away.” “I didn’t either,” he grumbled. “You did, kind of,” Isobel said, coming up beside him and resting her cheek on his shoulder in a rare show of physical affection. He glanced down at her orange head. “You too?”

She gazed at him blandly as she straightened and picked an olive out of the salad. “You really do know nothing about women.” He gave her a look and she grinned, patting his shoulder. “Seriously, though, do you think everyone’s not blaming you for Jordan-gate?” “It has a name?” “Are you kidding?” Stacey said. “It was the most interesting thing to happen to this town since some asshole left three different women at the altar.” “I’m so glad I accepted this dinner invitation,” Luke muttered. “What’s next, tar and feathering?” “Don’t change the subject,” Isobel said as they settled around Stacey’s cozy dining room table. “You ran Jordan out of town. Why?” Isobel’s tone was light, but it held the directness she was known for, the willingness to say what nobody else had quite had the courage to for the past few days—that he’d screwed up royally. Even his sister had been uncharacteristically gentle, perhaps mistakenly assuming he was still reeling from the rumors that Eva was in talks with CBC to do her own show. Screw Eva.

He didn’t know when he’d figured it out, but he realized now that he hadn’t cared about her in a long time. Even more important, he realized that he had forgiven her. Not so much because she deserved it, but because it was behind him and not worth caring about. If anything, he was embarrassed that he hadn’t seen Eva for what she really was, when so many of the people closest to him obviously had. He’d forgiven Gil too and hoped his friend knew it, wherever he was. Gil wasn’t coming back. Neither was Eva— God willing. Jordan, though… “Where’d she go?” Luke asked, as Stacey opened a bottle of wine he didn’t want. She looked up. “What?” “Jordan. Where’d she go?” “I have no idea,” she said, holding his gaze. “Back home, I imagine.” Home. That felt wrong. It was wrong. Home wasn’t New York. Home was…with him? The thought felt both ridiculous—he’d just met her—and yet not ridiculous at all.

“You’re so dumb,” Isobel muttered, shoving in a mouthful of lettuce. Stacey gave her a chastising look, then turned a gentle gaze toward Luke. “Lukey—” He held up a hand to stop his ex, his attention fixed on the ever-practical Isobel. “What would you do?” She paused in her chewing, startled since she usually left the talking to the more-chatty Stacey. “What?” “If you’d blown things with Stacey, if she’d left town. What would you do?” “Oh boy,” Stacey muttered under her breath. Isobel leaned back in her chair, wiped her mouth with a napkin as she studied Luke. “Well, it depends. How’d you leave things with her?” Luke swallowed. “An argument. I may or may not have accused her of sleeping with me so that I’d be less pissed about the Eva thing.” “Oh, Isobel’s right,” Stacey breathed. “You are so dumb.” Isobel and Luke both ignored her. “Okay, so after all of that, is there any possible reason she’d stay in Lucky Hollow?” Isobel asked calmly. Luke nodded, but Isobel was already

shaking her head. “Not good enough. Say it out loud.” He rolled his eyes to cover the fact that his hands felt slightly clammy. “Yes, she had a reason to stay in town.” “Which was…” Isobel said, rolling her finger for him to continue. Luke swallowed. “I wanted her to.” “Why?” He glared at her, but she merely stared back. Took a sip of wine and waited. “I care about her,” Luke said, his voice a little rough. “I feel like there might have been something important there.” “Eh.” Isobel picked up her fork. “It’s not great, but it’s a start.” Luke stared at her. “That’s it? That’s your big advice?” “Nah.” Isobel ate a piece of cucumber. “My advice is to practice that speech. It needs to be a hell of a lot better if you want her back. Now eat your damn salad.” Luke picked up his fork, though he wasn’t at all hungry. Isobel was right. He did need to get a better speech if he wanted to have a chance with Jordan.

But the far more important factor… He had to find her first.

Chapter 27 Keaton, Kansas, had changed. Jordan supposed she should have expected that, and to some degree, she’d been prepared. She’d figured maybe the old pizza place that had been a standard for after high school sporting events might have changed hands— hopefully to a kitchen staff that actually bothered to melt the cheese. She’d figured there was a decent chance that a Panera or Starbucks had made its way into town. Or that the used-book shop that was unpopular even twenty years ago might have closed its doors. What Jordan wasn’t prepared for, however, was that the town felt completely shut down and—if she was being honest—a little sad. The pizza place wasn’t a pizza place anymore—it wasn’t anything but a boarded-up building. Around the corner, there was a tiredlooking Burger King. The bookstore was now a tattoo parlor, and a sketchy-looking one at that. And still, even with all of the changes, the memories hit her hard, although…they were not unwelcome.

Instead of steeling herself against the pain, she welcomed it. Welcomed the memory of sniffing all the perfumes at the corner drugstore while her mom picked up her father’s heartburn prescription. Welcomed the memory of flirting with Danny Galloway outside the bookstore. Remembered making snow angels in the middle of the road during a particularly epic snowstorm when the schools had been closed and fire trucks blocked off the main drag so that kids could play. She remembered her dad teaching her to drive on the back roads, remembered gossiping with her girlfriends over pineapple pizza and Diet Coke, remembered the way even the grumpiest of store owners went all out with twinkle lights at Christmastime. She remembered, and for the first time in a long time, it didn’t hurt. It was simply…a part of her. Nobody paid her any attention, and that was just fine. Jordan hadn’t told anyone she was coming, but, then, her best girlfriends weren’t even here anymore. A couple of them had moved to Des Moines, another to Omaha. There were a handful of casual childhood friends still in town, but she didn’t really keep in touch with anyone beyond the usual

Congrats! comment on Facebook posts about marriages and babies. And Jordan’s spontaneous trip to Keaton wasn’t about socializing. It was about… Well, heck. She wasn’t even sure. She’d known within only minutes of arriving in New York that she needed to close this door to her past. To let her memories of this small town be comfortable rather than like the painful ones she ran away from. Jordan thanked the bored-looking barista for the coffee and walked out into the rainy afternoon. She made a conscious effort not to wince as she took a sip of the latte. It was…not good. But she’d wanted something warm— something to hold—as she made her next stop, and a familiar vanilla latte had seemed as good as anything. The drive was shorter than she remembered. Or maybe it was just over before she was ready to face what lay ahead. Jordan breathed deeply as she took a left onto the familiar gravel road. When Jordan was growing up, the Carpenters had only one neighbor. Mrs. Hadey had been cranky, and a little mean, but Jordan’s parents always said she was merely lonely and had made a big deal

of buying several jars of Mrs. Hadey’s homemade jam. Jordan slowed a little as she passed the small yellow farmhouse across the way, which had survived the tornado that her house had not. It had boarded-up windows, the paint was chipped and faded, and the aged FOR SALE sign indicated that it had probably been vacant for quite a while. She inhaled, held her breath for several seconds, then slowly forced her car forward, farther down the drive, until she got to… Nothingness. It was the emptiness that broke her, a wrenching sob tearing out of her as she gazed at the spot where her home had once been. Here’s where the memories would hurt, she realized. Here was the hard part. Remembering not just the joy of Christmas morning as a child but the agony of the moment she realized there’d be no more Christmas mornings with her family. Remembering the casual family dinners she’d taken for granted, and, oh, what she wouldn’t give to go back in time and have her mom snap at her to eat her green beans, just one more time. She wanted it all. The laughter, the quiet moments, even the fights.

One more day. That’s all she wanted. She wouldn’t get it, but it was okay to want it. A little bit of pain was better than being hollow. There were regrets, of course, and she let those in. Not just about what had happened but that there was no new life in this spot. There should be. It shouldn’t still be the pile of rubble it had been on that awful day when the police car had driven her to her house—or what was left of it. If only her family had lived close enough to town to hear the tornado warnings, if only they had paid attention to the radio like they were supposed to… But they hadn’t. And they were gone, all three of them, killed by the worst tornado that had hit Kansas in years. After the tornado, Jordan had moved in with her aging uncle. She’d lived with him until her high school graduation a few months later, and he’d taken care of the cleanup after the disaster, as she hadn’t been able to bring herself to be a part of it. Once she turned eighteen, it had been up to her what to do with the property. A local realtor put it up for sale at her request, but even back then, a patch of not-great farmland

that far out of town hadn’t held much appeal. Even less now. Her brain had known all of this, but seeing it —feeling it—was something else entirely. For a second she wanted nothing more than to turn the car around, drive straight to the airport, and get back to New York. To throw herself into the bustle and general chaos of city life and anything that would help her avoid the pain. But that wasn’t why she was here—she was tired of avoidance. She wanted acceptance and peace. And if that was too much ask, then at least closure. When she’d arrived in Lucky Hollow, she’d been ready to take swings at Luke for running away—from his fiancées, from big weddings, from commitment. But somewhere along the line she’d realized that she was the one who was running. She’d run headlong away from the painful loss of her family, and maybe that was okay. She’d been seventeen. But she was thirty now. And though on paper she didn’t scream flight risk—she’d had the same job and apartment for a couple of years, even a couple of long-term boyfriends along the way—her heart knew that she’d never settled down, not really.

Never allowed herself to get too attached to anyone or anything. She knew too well that you could lose it all in an instant. Physically, she’d been perfectly stable. Emotionally, she’d always had one foot out the door. And wouldn’t you figure, the first time she actually wanted to put her heart on the line, to belong to a small town again, she’d been rejected. Or not rejected so much as…ignored. Jordan forced herself out of the car and made it only a few steps before she lowered herself to the ground, ignoring the fact that it was wet, ignoring that the damp air was making her hair frizz, the drizzle causing drops of water to run over her cheeks. Or maybe that was her tears; she didn’t even know. Admittedly, she hadn’t answered Luke’s phone calls, but she couldn’t stop hearing his careless dismissal of her, couldn’t stop reliving the moment where she realized her feelings were entirely one-sided. Jordan might be willing to put her heart out there, but he hadn’t been even close to offering her his. She still wasn’t sure that he’d ever have told her about Eva and Gil, that he’d ever

trusted her, not really. One thing was clear. Luke Elliott wasn’t having forever kind of thoughts with her. Annoyingly, she wasn’t even sure she could blame him for being wary. He’d been hurt by women he cared about. Three times. She didn’t blame him for not being able to come back from that, but man did she want him to. She wanted to be worth the risk. Jordan pulled both knees up, wrapped her arms around her legs, and rested her chin as she stared at the space where her home had been. She let herself remember. The way she and her brother had been impossible to get out of bed every morning, except for Christmas, when they’d been up before the sun. Remembered the way her mom had carefully curled her hair before her first dance pageant and again, years later, before her first high school dance. The way her dad had been gruff but kind, surprising Jordan and her brother with a treat whenever he’d gone into the big town on errands. The wind picked up a little, as did the rain, but Jordan barely noticed. Heck, she was so

lost in her own memories that she hardly registered the sound of a vehicle coming down the gravel path, until the slam of a car door had her bolting upright, scrambling to her feet. Her heart pounded. There was no reason for anyone to come out this way; it was nothing but overgrown land…. It took her eyes a full thirty seconds to register what she was seeing. Luke Elliott was walking toward her. She wouldn’t have believed it was him, but everything about him was familiar. The jeans, the boots. He wore the usual T-shirt, although he’d layered them, a long sleeve white one beneath a light-blue short-sleeved shirt she’d seen dozens of times. Heck, she was pretty sure she’d worn that one on a couple of mornings. Even the damn backward cap made her heart flip a little. The recognition was more than that, though. More than the usual attire and familiar half smile. Her heart recognized him—her soul knew this man, because somehow he’d wiggled inside her and occupied every corner of her that mattered. Luke stopped in front of her, hands shoved in his back pockets.

“How’d you find me?” He winced. “How creepy is it if I tell you I saw you in town? Then followed you out here?” She laughed. “Seriously? Um, very creepy.” His smile was hesitant. “I saw you go into the coffee shop. Tried to work up the courage to approach you, but you’d already driven away. I followed. When I figured—guessed— where you were going…” He looked over her shoulder. “I thought you needed a bit of time. I parked out on the main road.” She took this all in. The fact that he cared enough to come after her and yet knew her enough to let her have her solitude when she most needed it. “How the heck did you know I was in Keaton, Kansas? If you say it was Simon, I’ll kill him.” “Oh, trust me, I’d have hunted him down if I had to. But I started at your workplace.” Luke’s eyes came back to hers. “Only, turns out it’s not your workplace anymore.” She gave a nervous smile. “Surprise.” He didn’t smile back. “I spoke with Raven— who, by the way, very scary, even on the phone. She irritably informed me that you’d given your two weeks’ notice…the day you

learned they were moving forward with the Eva story line.” Jordan crossed her arms. “So?” He merely looked at her and waited, not seeming to care that they were both getting damper by the minute. She shoved her messy hair out of her face. “Okay, fine. I decided that that world wasn’t something I wanted to be a part of. That I didn’t want to watch people—good people— have their lives turned upside down for the sake of ratings or a promotion.” Luke lifted a hand and rubbed it over his mouth as he studied her. “Had nothing to do with me, huh?” She shrugged, remembering his assessment of her. The way it had stung. “I’m too smart to get hung up on a guy who’s still hung up on his ex’s betrayal.” He looked away, then back again. “Well, this is the way I see it, City. I wasn’t over her. Or, rather, I hadn’t let go of what happened with her and Gil. Or maybe it was that I never had a chance to make it right with Gil before he died. I’ve been locked in a loop of memories, none of them good….” Jordan reached out and wrapped her fingers around his forearm, needing to touch him—to

reassure. His hand closed over hers and lifted it, pressing her palm to his chest, directly over his heart, in an unexpected telling gesture that made her eyes water. “I didn’t realize…” He cleared his throat, tried again. “I didn’t realize just how isolated I felt until a certain City Girl waltzed into town and tried to turn my life into a circus.” She winced and looked away, but he squeezed her hand. “I’ve never been so damn grateful.” Jordan looked back at him, saw that his hazel eyes were pleading. “Those things I said to you—Jesus, Jordan. I’ve never been so damn terrified that I’ve screwed it up. Beyond repair.” She gave a wobbling smile and stepped closer. “Not beyond repair.” Relief flashed over his face as he tentatively reached his free arm around her waist, pulling her in. “No?” Jordan swallowed. “You weren’t the only one who’d been isolated without realizing it.” “That why you’re here?” he asked. “Facing demons?” She nodded, her tears running freely now.

“Ah, City.” He drew her even closer. “You’re doing the right thing, but you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here.” She turned and glanced over her shoulder. “I miss them. And I thought by not letting myself get close to anyone else, I’d be honoring them. Or protecting myself? I’m not sure exactly what I’ve been doing, but I do know I’ve been wrong.” She took a deep breath. “The last thing my family would have wanted was for me to be floating through life, not letting myself care about anyone or anything too much. Even with Simon, with my friends in New York—I love them, but they’re safe.” Luke gently pulled her chin around and tilted her face to his. “What am I?” She let out a nervous laugh. “Well, you’re not safe.” “How do you figure?” “You’re a firefighter who ditches brides on their wedding day,” she joked. “Okay, about the first,” he said, wrapping both arms around her again. “I’m the most careful firefighter you’ll ever meet.” Jordan lifted her arms to his shoulders. “And the second? That whole runaway-groom bit?”

“My questions first. You quit your job. Got another lined up?” “Not yet. Going to live on savings for a while, just until I can figure things out.” “In New York?” She hesitated a moment, and he nudged her closer. “Because if yes, I’ve heard good things about the NYFD.” Jordan’s lips parted. “You’d consider… moving to New York?” “I’d consider giving you and me a chance. If that means New York…” He shrugged. “Winston and Luna will adapt.” Jordan pressed her lips to his chin. “What if I told you I’d be up for giving small-town life another shot?” He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, she could have sworn they were watery. “I love you, City.” Jordan let out a laughing sound of happiness. “I love you too. Although we might have to rethink the nickname.” “Ask me the other one again,” he said. “The other question.” Jordan frowned in confusion. “About your habit of ditching brides on their wedding day?”

“Used to. I used to do that.” Jordan wiggled closer, the chill from the rain making her shiver. Or maybe that was the anticipation. “What about in the future?” His smile was equal parts tender and mischievous. “Try me.”

Epilogue EIGHT MONTHS LATER “Where is he?” Jordan said, pacing back and forth in the tiny back room of Tucker’s Tavern, which had been commandeered for the bridal party. “Has anyone seen him?” “Calm down, you’ll get sweaty,” Stacey said, lifting Jordan’s arm and unabashedly applying a swipe of deodorant. “I’ve already done this once.” “And it’s only going to be once if you keep applying other people’s deodorant like a weirdo,” Isobel said, kissing Stacey. Even in her own stress-ball state, Jordan felt a little thrill at the other women’s public display of affection. They’d officially come out as a couple a few months back. Stacey’s family, as expected, hadn’t taken it well. But her mom and sisters were coming around. Jordan hoped that her dad just needed a bit more time. In the meantime, it was a pleasure to see how happy they were. Not nearly as happy as she was, though. Not

today. Her wedding day. “Oh my God, did you see this?” Tawny said, pushing Stacey aside and shoving a cellphone in Jordan’s face. “This is what you could have been part of.” Jordan peered at the cellphone, then rolled her eyes at Luke’s sister. “I can’t believe you’re following that crap.” Although not as crappy as it could have been. To pretty much nobody’s surprise, Eva hadn’t worked out, either as a contestant or as a spin-off. Too diva, according to Simon. “Stalking,” Hailey chimed in, correcting Jordan. “We’ve all been stalking. Gage Barrett is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” Jordan accepted the lip gloss that Stacey held out and applied it, her eyes going to the clock. She didn’t care about Gage Barrett. The star of Jilted’s debut season was sexy as crap, but she maintained that Luke Elliott would have been the far more desirable star. That is, if she’d been willing to share him. Which Jordan absolutely would not be. Not ever. Now, if she could only get him down the aisle…

She shook out her tingling hands. “Okay, I’m thinking I’m just going to go take a little peek. Make sure he’s still here.” “Oh, would you stop,” Hailey said, holding up a can and dousing Jordan’s head in a cloud of hairspray. “He’ll be there. The man adores you.” “Yes, but you of all people…” Hailey sighed. “Stace? A little help?” Stacey tugged at the strapless, champagnecolored bridesmaid dress, then pointed a warning finger at Jordan. “Luke Elliott loves you. More than he loved Hailey, or me, or Eva. You’re his forever, Jordan Carpenter, and if you continue this crap, all of your bridesmaids will storm right out of here.” “Which will be like half the town,” Isobel said, popping the cork off a bottle of champagne. She wasn’t entirely wrong. Simon had happily agreed to be man of honor, whose main task was following Luke around like a hawk. The rest of Jordan’s bridal party was Lucky Hollow’s finest. She’d be getting married with Stacey, Isobel, Hailey, Tawny, and Bree by her side. And it would be crowded.

She and Luke had decided to get married at Tucker’s. The shabby bar looked anything but, courtesy of Luke’s mom’s and Vicky’s considerable combined skills. Jordan had caught only a glimpse before being ushered back here, but there were candles and white roses everywhere, and, more important, the entire place was pulsing with happiness. After their reunion in Keaton, Jordan and Luke had flown straight back to Lucky Hollow and relieved Bree and Ryan of dog- and catsitting duty, much to the dismay of their daughter. Since then, the eight months had flown by. Jordan had started an online life-coach company for twenty-somethings looking to find themselves, and though it was still early stages, she’d been shocked to realize she could make money from it…even more shocked to learn how much she enjoyed it. She and Raven still kept in touch, although she tuned out whenever her old boss talked about the runaway success of Jilted. There was only one runaway groom Jordan cared about, but so help her God, if he ran out on this one… “Ready?” Bree said, spritzing Jordan’s cleavage with a bit of perfume, then patting

the area dry unabashedly. “If it means you guys will stop feeling me up and shellacking me with hairspray.” “Welcome to small-town life, babe,” Hailey said, smacking Jordan’s ass. “Also, hot damn on the shoes. Have I told you that in the past five minutes?” Jordan glanced down. It had been a neckand-neck decision between the aqua cowboy boots and the delicate Jimmy Choos with the blue bow around the ankle, but she’d eventually opted for the latter as a nod to her and Luke’s early days, when she’d been the city girl in stilettos, he the guy in the backward cap and boots. Although he’d better not be wearing either of those today. The door opened and Vicky crowded in with her clipboard. She gave Jordan a once-over. “Did someone spray her with hairspray?” “I’ve got it!” Luke’s mother rushed in, aerosol can in hand. Before Jordan could duck, Jane had given her loose waves an unneeded blast of hairspray. “There,” Jane said warmly, cupping Jordan’s cheek. “Now it’ll stay put.” Jordan’s eyes watered at the motherly affection Luke’s mom had shown her since the

very first phone call, and she threw her arm around the other woman’s neck. “There, there,” his mom sniffled. “You’d better watch it or I’ll be moving back to Lucky Hollow and trying to get Luke to build a mother-in-law suite for me and my man.” “You can stay with me, Ma,” Tawny said, tugging her mother away from Jordan. “The two of them need newlywed time. Also, have I mentioned how skinny you look in that dress?” Jane slid a hand over the beaded bodice of her gown. “Remember that when I ask you to help me get out of these Spanx.” “And yuck,” Tawny said. “So can we please do this wedding thing so we can get to the cake?” Jordan’s stomach fluttered. “Is he out there?” “My son adores you. We all do,” Jane said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “He’ll be there.” Before Jordan could reply, her bevy of bridesmaids was ushering her forward, patting at the white knee-length sheath dress to make sure it didn’t ride up, before positioning her at the back entrance of the main room. “You ready to be sisters?” Tawny whispered, squeezing Jordan’s hand before stepping

behind her to get in line. Jordan didn’t have a chance to answer, because the crowd parted as the music swelled with a Faith Hill ballad…. And there he was. Jordan exhaled when she saw her husbandto-be, saw him do the same, his face relaxing when he spotted her, as though he’d been looking for her too, worried that she’d chicken out. Fat chance. Jordan was vaguely aware of the people of Lucky Hollow standing to the sides, half of them crying, the other half grinning, but her smile was all for Luke. And his for her. Simon stepped forward and extended his arm to walk her down the aisle. Hailey poked her in the back with her bouquet, in a silent Go get him, girl! Jordan took a step forward, then another. Not just toward the man she loved. But toward the rest of her life.

For Sue Grimshaw and Gina Wachtel, for not batting an eye when this story idea came to me at three A.M. and I begged them to upend my entire publishing schedule so that I could tell it ASAP

Acknowledgments Hello, lovely readers! Thanks so much for taking the time out of your busy lives to read Ready to Run! I hope you had as much fun reading the start of my I Do, I Don’t series as I did writing it! As some of you probably noticed in the epilogue, I gave you a little teaser of what lies ahead in Book Two: You’ll get to see the show Jilted in action, complete with a Hollywood heartthrob who finds himself the star of the show after losing a bet, and the reluctant contestant who participates in the show only to save her struggling business and is definitely not prepared for Gage Barrett. Keep reading to get an exclusive excerpt of Runaway Groom! This series has been so much fun to write, probably because this story idea has captivated my imagination from the very beginning. It happened like this: My editor and I had been toying around with the idea of a series about runaway grooms/runaway brides, but we didn’t have quite the right hook to make it fresh. Then one night, as I was lying awake at

three A.M., my imagination bouncing with potential story ideas as is often the case with us authors, it hit me: Runaway Groom meets The Bachelor—a reality TV show about men who aren’t just single but dedicated playboys, to the extent that they’d rather leave a woman at the altar than tie the knot. I don’t know where the idea came from exactly. Some ideas are just like that, wonderful and mysterious. I stared at the ceiling, thinking it through. The idea became so big that I had to go fetch my iPhone so that I could capture everything. Then the idea got even bigger, and I did something I almost never do: Went to my laptop and tried to capture the ideas as quickly as they were coming. Shortly after, I emailed the entire mess of babbling to my editor, along with a Please? By the end of the next day, I had approval. And that’s that! I got started on Ready to Run almost immediately and never looked back. So with that story in mind, I really have to kick off my thank-yous with that very editor, Sue Grimshaw, and my publisher, Gina Wachtel, who saw my enthusiasm for this project and supported me from the very

beginning. A thank-you also to my agent, whom I blindsided after all this (not the way things are supposed to go) by saying, “By the way, I’m writing this!” Props to her for making all the detail stuff work in a flurry, even after I went rogue on her! Thanks to the rest of the Loveswept team, who as always came to the table with amazing ideas and strategy: Erika Seyfried, Madeleine Kenney, Matt Schwartz. And to the production team and the cover-design team, as well as everyone else who shines up my books in ways I don’t even know! A special shout-out for this entire series to Annie Selak, my resident Bachelor expert. To Kristi Yanta, for the usual editorial genius she provides in helping me turn my hot mess of a story idea into something lovely, as well as her nonstop patience when I message her at all hours of the day with, How bout this? To my friends and family, especially my husband for never ever complaining when I start whispering my hero’s name aloud. And last, but never least, to the readers who make this entire career possible.

Much love from the writer cave, LL

BY LAUREN LAYNE Love Unexpectedly Series Blurred Lines Good Girl Love Story Walk of Shame

I Do, I Don’t Series Ready to Run Runaway Groom (coming soon)

Oxford Series Irresistibly Yours I Wish You Were Mine Someone Like You I Knew You Were Trouble

Sex Love & Stiletto Series After the Kiss Love the One You’re With Just One Night The Trouble with Love

Redemption Series Isn’t She Lovely Broken Crushed

PHOTO: © ANTHONY LEDONNE

LAUREN LAYNE is the New York Times bestselling author of over a dozen novels. A former e-commerce and Web marketing manager from Seattle, Lauren relocated in 2011 to New York City, where she left the corporate world to pursue a full-time writing career. Her hobbies include maintaining a designer-purse addiction and observing cocktail hour. Lauren lives with her high school sweetheart in midtown Manhattan, where she writes romantic comedies with just enough sexy-times to make your mother blush. laurenlayne.com laurenlayne.com/​the-ll-monthly Facebook.com/​LaurenLayneAuthor Twitter: @_LaurenLayne Instagram: @_laurenlayne

Read on for an excerpt from

Runaway Groom I Do, I Don’t

by Lauren Layne

Available from Loveswept

Prologue—Las Vegas Gage You know what twenty-nine-year-old bachelors don’t get a lot of photos of? Babies. I mean, I get a lot of shots of the baby makers. I’m not trying to be gross, I’m just saying…groupies like to text. But I’m not one of those former high school quarterbacks whose glory days are long over, hunkered down in the suburbs outside my hometown, waiting to break out cheap cigars because there’s another baby on the cul-desac. I didn’t play football in high school; I got my proverbial letterman’s jacket in sex and cigarettes, if you will. And though I’ve long given up the cigarettes, on the few occasions I indulge in a cigar, it’s an expensive Cuban, and it’s because I feel like it, not because of the arrival of another squalling

infant. Damn. And now I want a cigar. Instead, I pick up my bourbon and take a healthy swig. And try to block out the damn baby. I feel a quick bite in the vicinity of my jugular, telling me that the woman currently in my lap is either part vampire or annoyed at me for ignoring her. I drag my eyes away from the cards in my hand and ease her away from me. “Melissa, sweetie. Any chance you could fetch me another whiskey?” Blue eyes turn icy as she slowly unwinds from around me and stands in her five-inch red heels. “It’s Marisa.” Ah shit. I’m no gentleman, but usually I at least get their names right. Then again, it’s not like I’ve known her for more than half an hour. Hell, I’m not even entirely sure how she, or any of the girls milling about, got here. In fact, the whole reason we’re hanging out in my suite at the Encore instead of in the casino downstairs is to avoid groupies like this one. My agent, Dan, is giving me the Look, so

instead of telling the woman to go bite the neck of someone who actually wants it, I reach out and grab her hand, planting a kiss on the back. “Apologies, babe.” Her eyes soften slightly. Not because my hand kiss is that good (my other kisses are) but because of my name. Because of who I am. Average dudes don’t get away with messing up girls’ names. Gage Barrett does. Gage Barrett can do whatever the hell he wants. Quite honestly, reality’s usually only about half as bad as my reputation, but tonight I’m living up to everything the tabloids love about me. Worthless playboy who spends his days between mediocre action movies, drinking too much, playing too hard, and bedding far too many women? Check, check, and check. “What’s with you tonight, Gage?” Wes asks from across the table as he tosses down two cards and taps for Dan to deal him two more. I give him a quick glare. Best-friend speak for Shut the hell up. But despite the fact that Wes and I have

been friends ever since getting cast in the first Killboys movie six years ago, intuition’s never been his strong suit, and he’s not picking up on the fact that I don’t feel like fucking talking it out. “Nothing,” I mutter. I set my cards down, folding. My hand sucked. They’ve been sucking all night, but luckily everyone else’s have too, so the pile of chips in front of me’s better than decent. I pull out my phone as the other three guys finish out the hand. I intend to do a quick check for new messages—for anything to distract me—but instead I pull up the picture again. As far as babies go, this one… Looks like every other. Tiny and sort of bean shaped, all wrapped up in a white blanket with a pink hat, a wrinkly face the only thing visible. Clara Michelle Barrett. Congratulations, Uncle. Clara. I don’t have to ask my brother who named the kid. Layla had the name for her first daughter picked out by the time she was seventeen.

How do I know? Because Layla used to be my girlfriend. And back when we used to talk about our future, Clara was going to be my daughter. You think I’m bothered by this? Hell yes. But I’m even more bothered by the fact that I hadn’t even known my sister-in-law was pregnant. Sister-in-law. Jesus. “Barrett.” I look up, my agent’s giving me a questioning look, and I realize the next hand’s been dealt. I pick up my cards. Three tens. Not terrible. “Wes is right,” Dan says, taking a sip of his club soda. Guy gave up the drink a few years ago. “You’re acting weird. What’s up?” “None of your business.” “How the hell do you figure that?” he asks, studying his hand. “As your agent, your moods are absolutely my business.” “I don’t have moods.” “Not usually, no,” he says, leaning back in his chair and studying me. Mid-forties, built like a brick, with a dark beard and shrewd eyes, Dan’s more like a brother to me than my own. Especially these days.

But I’m not loving the inquisition. I’ve got a reputation around Hollywood to uphold as the guy who rolls with the punches, quick with a one-liner and a smile. I’m not some moody diva who needs to be coaxed out of a snit. “It’s nothing.” I toss down my four and a six, and he deals me two more. Another four and a five. I lose this hand too. I drain the rest of my drink. “This game is tired.” Wes snorts. “Why? Because you’re losing for once?” I glance across the table, but he’s not looking at me. Dude’s been a dick lately. I’m not an idiot; I know why. We got the script for the fifth Killboys movie a couple of weeks ago, and his screen time’s even less than it was in the last one, which…wasn’t much. I hate that for him. The guy’s my friend, and he’s got acting chops. But the very franchise that launched my career is the same one that’s solidified him as a sidekick character. Lately it seems like he’s been blaming me for it. “What’s up, Wes?” I ask pointedly, ignoring the girl who comes up behind me and begins nibbling on my ear. I see Dan and his intern, Jimmy, exchange a look, but I ignore them.

Wes looks up, his eyes landing on the girl, then on me, and for a second I swear I feel something close to hate coming from the guy who’s been my closest friend for the majority of my Hollywood career. “One more hand,” Wes says casually. “Then we can hit up the private strip club.” I don’t want to go to the private strip club. I don’t want to play one more hand either, but if it’ll appease him… “Sure.” It’s Wes’s turn to deal, and he takes the cards from Dan. “Care to make it interesting?” he asks, as he deftly shuffles the deck. Jimmy gives an incredulous laugh. “Are you serious? Unlike you guys, my paychecks aren’t in the seven figures. This game’s already bleeding me dry.” “My point exactly,” Wes says. “Money’s boring, especially when one of us has ten times as much as anyone else at the table.” I barely withhold the eye roll at the thinly failed dig. “What do you want, Wes? My car? Rolex watch? A kidney?” They’re idle offers. We both know what Wes wants—my role in Killboys. It’s never going to happen. Brock White’s a part of my identity, just like Dean Meyers is a part of Wes’s.

He continues to shuffle the deck as he watches me. He’s a good-looking guy. Tall, lean. Blond hair, blue eyes. Right now, though, he mostly looks mean, and I’m sick of it. I’ve got enough bullshit to deal with tonight. I stand and go to the wet bar, where a few booze bottles have accumulated. I find the Eagle Rare and top off my glass, sensing I’m going to need it to deal with Wes’s snit. “Here’s what I’m thinking,” Wes says. “No money in this pot. Instead, we put something else on the line. We bet with guts, not chips.” “What the hell does that mean?” Jimmy asks skeptically. Dan crosses his arms. “It means, Jim, that we bow out of this hand. Let these boys work out their tantrum.” I want to tell Dan that it’s not my tantrum. That I’ve got bigger issues than my best friend’s jealousy. Like my own jealousy. Jealousy over the fact that my brother knocked up the woman I’d thought I would marry. But Wes is my best friend, and if this is how we need to get past things… “All right, Wes. You win, I’ll give you the

car.” He shakes his head. “Nah. You don’t pick what I win; you pick what I lose.” I laugh incredulously. “Fine. Okay.” I think for a moment. “If you lose, you take that guest role in Pirate Vamps. The one that requires you to wear tights and show your junk.” I expect him to at least flinch. Pirate Vamps is a trumped-up nighttime soap opera, known for its gratuitous sex scenes and painful dialogue. His smile is cool. “Done.” “And if I lose?” I ask impatiently, wanting to get this over with. “Jilted,” he says, his smile growing. Dan groans. “Wes.” I don’t look away from my friend, my brain trying to sort through why the word sounds familiar. Then it hits me. “The reality TV show?” Wes nods in confirmation. I scoff. “You can’t be serious.” Jilted isn’t some garbage guest spot—this is a career-ending farce. The producers of the new show have been after me for weeks, wanting me to be their runaway groom in a Bacheloresque reality show.

I mostly ignored Dan when he dutifully told me about the opportunity, but the general gist is that the poor idiot they finally rope into it will spend a couple of months with two dozen women and end the show by fucking marrying one of them. I get why I’m on their short list of candidates. The show takes the tacky of The Bachelor and kicks it into full trashy by focusing not just on single dudes but on guys with a reputation of leaving women…. At the altar. And, yes, I qualify. I have two engagements and zero marriages under my belt. Go ahead and judge. Everyone else does. I wait for Wes to laugh and give me the real bet, but instead he just watches me, eyebrows raised in question. “What the hell is your problem?” I snap, fed up with the game, both the one on the table and whatever the hell he’s been playing. “No problem,” Wes says casually. “Just figured a show where women are literally dumped in your lap would be right up your alley. Gage Barrett gets what he wants, and it always comes easy, right?” Layla’s face crosses my mind.

Fuck this. “Deal the cards.” “Gage,” Dan murmurs. I ignore him, watching as Wes deals us each five cards. I’m not as worried as I should be. I’m well past due for a decent hand, and though I hate to validate Wes’s assessment, I do tend to get what I want. Case in point. My hand: two kings, two jacks, and a nine. I keep my face completely blank as I glance at Wes. His face too is impassive. It’s like I said, the guy’s a decent actor. I toss down the nine. He slides another card across the table. I pick it up, and the thump of my heart is my only reaction. I’m a good actor too. King of hearts. The asshole’s just dealt me a full house. Wes deals himself two new cards. Picks them up, then meets my eyes as Dan and Jimmy look on warily. The women who were previously giggling on the couch over champagne have gathered around the table, although they’re all too Vegas-savvy to let on what they see from each of our hands. “Last chance to back out. Fold?” Wes asks.

I smile. “Nope. You?” He gives a slight shake of his head, though I know him well enough to recognize that the flicker in his eyes is nervousness.” Wes dealt, so I show my hand first. I carefully keep the smugness off my face as I lay down my full house. Wes stares at my cards for a long moment, the silence in the room nearly deafening as we wait for him to show his hand. He lifts his gaze to mine, his expression impassive as he sets his cards on the table. I hold his gaze for another long moment, silently informing him that tonight marks the end of his tantrum. I won’t let him back out of the Pirate Vamps deal, but I won’t razz him either. We’ll put this night behind us and be fucking friends again. I need a goddamn friend right now. Finally, I become aware of the fact that everyone is looking at me. That, far from looking distraught, Wes looks…triumphant. No. I lower my gaze to the table, to Wes’s poker hand. Four twos. It’s the worst four-of-a-kind you can get.

And yet it beats my full house. “Damn it, Gage,” Dan mutters. He hasn’t wanted me to be a part of Jilted, for obvious reasons. It’s a career killer—the kind of move that makes you famous, for all the wrong reasons. I look at Wes once more, know that he expects me to try to back out. Hell, he wants it. So he’ll have one more thing to hate me for. I feel something tighten in my chest—the realization that I have no one. Nothing. I force an easy smile and reach out to find the hand of the woman closest to me, a stunning blonde with a great rack. I tug her onto my lap and nuzzle her neck. “What do you think, sweetheart? You gonna watch me on TV?” “What’s Jilted?” “Think The Bachelor. With higher stakes.” Somehow I manage not to grind my teeth as I say it. She tugs my hair, pulling me back to look at her. “So I’ll have to watch you make out with dozens of other girls? On camera?” I squeeze her waist and give her a quick wink before looking across the table at Wes, careful to hide my disdain.

Hell, maybe I should be thanking the guy. He’s just given me one hell of a distraction from my problems.

Love stories you’ll never forget By authors you’ll always remember eOriginal Romance from Random House randomhousebooks.com

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