“Put your arm around me, shug.” Sylvie helped me down. “Your face is a mess. I told that nurse to loan you some makeup.”
“A normal grandmother would be too grateful I’m alive to worry about my beauty routine.”
She kissed my cheek. “I can be glad you’re not dead and still wish you didn’t look dead. But from the expression on that handsome man’s face, I don’t think he cares if you’re sporting lipstick or not.”
Beau’s feet swished in the wet grass as he joined us. “Let me help.” He slipped an arm around my back, smelling freshly showered and divine. Meanwhile I still wore a twenty-pound dress covered in blood, fear, and perspiration.
Sylvie had yet to release her hold. “Beau Hudson, I nearly lost Paisley tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His eyes lit on my face. “She certainly gave us a fright.”
“I’m about to hand you my granddaughter. Will you take good care of her?”
While I smiled at the melodrama, something weighty passed between Sylvie and Beau.
His voice was quiet and solemn in the dark. “I’ll take good care of Paisley.”
“I can trust you with her?” Sylvie asked.
“I’m not going to let you down.”
“Guys, it’s a few stitches.” I yawned. “Can we move this along?”
Sylvie gently hugged my neck then took a step back. “You’re a good man, Beau Hudson.”
“Thank you, Miss Sylvie.”
She climbed back into the van. “And if you hurt my granddaughter, you’ll wake up in the Mediterranean surrounded by great white sharks, wearing shorts full of squid.”
“Duly noted.”
She shut herself in the van, and Frannie drove them away, windows down, now blasting some classic Eminem.
Leaning on Beau, I let him walk me to the porch, where he slipped his key into the lock and opened my door. “I can take it from here,” I said. “I just want a bath and my bed.”
A shadow of uncertainty passed over his tired face. “I’d like to come in for a moment.”
I paused, warring with dread and doubt and utter exhaustion. But hope tapped me on the shoulder and gave me a gentle nudge. “Okay.”
Flicking on all the lights, I rejected Beau’s help and hobbled my way to the living room and eased onto the couch. Beau followed, but he remained standing, studying a spot on the hardwood floor as if gathering some thorny thoughts.
“Haley Jo’s pregnant.”
Knife wounds hurt less than those words.
Tears sprang to my eyes, and I turned my head to blink them away. I was too tired, too near-dead to listen to this. Any defensive shield I had was on the ground back at Fox Falls with drops of my blood and echoes of my cries for help. “I can’t do this right now, Beau. I seriously can’t—”
He frowned. “It’s not my baby.”
Beau sat on the coffee table facing me, his knees touching mine.
I was vaguely aware of my heart returning to its job of keeping a beat.
“Did you hear what I said, Paisley?”
I nodded, my overwhelmed brain moving a little slower than usual. “It still doesn’t explain why she’s hiding at your place.”
“Her dad didn’t take the news well, and Haley Jo needed a place to stay while things cooled down and she figured out what she wanted to do.”
“Did part of her plan include you marrying her and raising the baby as your own?”
“Because you think I’m a sucker?”
“No, because she’s manipulative and would appeal to your hero’s heart and fierce protectiveness.”
Beau watched the ceiling fan above us spin round. “That might’ve been an option thrown out.”
I sank deeper into the cushions and clutched a buffalo check pillow. “Is this where you break it to me you’re marrying her?”
“Of course I’m not marrying Haley Jo. I offered to help her in any way that I could, but I told her she had to work it out with her dad—and with the baby’s father.”
“Why all the secrecy?”
“Because she asked me not to tell anyone. She didn’t know whether she was keeping the baby or pursuing adoption. Her dad’s pretty high profile, and it wasn’t my story to tell.”
“You could’ve said something.”
His chest rose as he took a deep, noisy breath. “I probably could’ve handled it better. I didn’t know what to do and never expected her to drag it out this long, but when I’m asked to keep a confidence, I do it.”
“It’s normally one of the things I like about you—just not this time. You should’ve just told me.”
“Would it have mattered? Would it have changed things—between us?”
“I thought we weren’t going to be an us.” I watched him reach for my hand, and I used the last dregs of my energy to sit up, lean closer. “We said—”
“I know what we said.” His voice rasped in his throat. “We both had our messes to tend to. But Paisley?” Light fingers grazed the skin on my hand. “I’m tired of tending it alone.”
I thought of my favorite musicals, how right at the happy ending the entire cast broke into song. Right now there was a full orchestra warming up in my head.
But was he even thinking clearly? “I’m never going to be Haley Jo,” I said. “I like to eat food. I don’t have three college degrees and hair that never frizzes, which frankly, is just unnatural, and I don’t—”
“Paisley?”
I closed my mouth before I mentioned my PMS and failure to regularly floss. “Yes?”
“I like you just the way you are—messy, funny, don’t-have-it-all-figured-out you.” Beau rubbed a smudge of dirt from my cheek. “I’ve stayed away because I thought you could find someone better. Someone who didn’t have my past. I figured I needed to get it all together first—that I owed you that. And then I realized you were staying away for the same reasons. You look at Haley Jo and see everything you think you’re not. But all I see when I look at her is how she’ll never be you. I get that you’re scared, but we can take this slow. We can handle this however you want, but we’re not running away from it anymore. Because after tonight, there was that moment where I thought . . .I thought I had lost you forever. And none of the other stuff mattered.”
Surely it was the exhaustion bringing tears to my eyes. “Are you asking me out?”
“I am.”
After all he’d put me through with Haley Jo, I didn’t want to appear too eager. “Are you sure about this? I mean, with solving crime, running my own business, and keeping my punch card filled at the emergency room, I don’t have a lot of time to play games.”
His lips quirked as his eyes held mine. “You know, a wise person once told me I needed to be with someone who challenged me, who made my pulse. . . .” He searched for the word.
“Skitter.”
“Right.”
“This person sounds brilliant. Borderline genius really.”
“A girl who made me smile when she reached for my hand.”
So I reached for his hand. “How are you feeling, Beauregard?”
“There’s some definite skittering.” His tanned cheek dimpled as he smiled. Beau moved beside me on the couch, tilted my chin, and pressed his mouth to mine. With my good arm, I leaned in, my addled brain clearing, finding his embrace the only care I needed.
This kiss was different.
Not a stolen moment, a quick shot of fire and flame, of two people overtaken by anger and frustration. This was deliberate, a choice, a freedom. Passion still fueled, but Beau lingered, caressed, smiled. Taking his time, Beau set an easy pace, as if he had all night to do nothing more than hold me tight and make up for lost time.
Taking a detour, my mouth meandered to his jaw line, breathing in the familiar scent of him, closing my eyes to the sensation of safety and wholeness. Romance novels had given me glimpses into rakes, scoundrels, and rogues, but Beau was world’s better than the fantasy. Real and flawed, Beau was protective, loyal, wounded, and beautiful.
And somehow he had chosen me.
As if he felt the moment my mind wandered into what-if and doubt, he pulled me even closer, whispering my name like a prayer, and I knew somehow I would find my way.
Minutes passed before Beau kissed my temple, then my cheek. Pulling back, his attention drifted to my wounded arm, and his face sobered. “I’m pretty sure tonight took ten years off my life. You’re going to send me into an early grave if you keep butting into murder investigations.”
I slid beneath his arm and leaned against his chest. “Oh, come on. This is safe little Sugar Creek. I’m sure there won’t be any more. Besides, is it my fault hidden facts just trickle my way?”
“Yes,” Beau said. “I do believe it is.”
“Your neck was on the line.”
“I think I could’ve managed. But what I couldn’t handle was the thought of you hurt—or worse.”
“I’ll try and be more careful.” My fingers traced imaginary designs over his heart. “You know, I’ve read a lot of swoony books lately. If this were the final chapter, you’d be kissing me now.”
“I’m serious—no more digging into murders. How about a new hobby? Bowling sounds nice. Maybe crossword puzzles?”
“You’d also be saying all sorts of sappy, romantic things.”
His hand covered mine as he held my gaze. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“Oh.” I sighed. “That’s a very good start”
He kissed the center of my palm. “Anything else your romance novel hero needs to be doing?”
My list was the very definition of practicality. “How do you feel about making out on pirate ships?”
“It would be a first.”
“Kissing in the stables?”
“Are the horses invited?”
“Morphing into a sexy werewolf by night and baying at the moon?”
“How about we just start here?” Beau pressed his lips to my bruised cheek.
I curled into his arms, contentment warming my aching bones. “I think right here is just fine.”
Letter to the Reader
Though Sugar Creek is a fictional town, Sugar Creek itself is a very real geographic area and water system in Arkansas. My imaginary Sugar Creek is located by a real city called Bentonville, which is a unique mix of Mayberry meets Los Angeles. Due to Bentonville being the home base of Walmart, it’s not uncommon to go to the picturesque town square and see a celebrity or two, especially during certain times of the year. This corner of Arkansas is an odd (but fun) mix of rural and city, and I hope you enjoyed reading about it as much as I loved writing about it.
The sweet town of Sugar Creek can also be found in the first Enchanted Events mystery, Engaged in Trouble, as well as A Sugar Creek Christmas, Emma and Noah’s romance, and Wild Heart Summer, a romance novella set on Mitchell Crawford’s ranch. And don’t forget Sylvie has a crazy sister Maxine, who co-stars in her own series, A Katie Parker Production.
Stay tuned for more mystery and mayhem with the next Enchanted Events mystery, Fanatically in Trouble. Sign up for my newsletter to get a free ebook and be the first to know when new books are on the horizon.
If you enjoyed Royally in Trouble, please consider leaving a review here. Happy reading!
Jenny
Acknowledgments
A big thank you to the Bentonville Police Department. I went through their impressive Citizen’s Police Academy recently, and though I’m confused why they’ve yet to call me for some SWAT team missions (I assume I’m just on standby), I owe them much gratitude. Their fictional counterparts usually take a backseat to the main character in amateur sleuth novels, but the real men and women in blue are courageous, hard-working, intelligent, and generous with their stories and information. Any intentional or unintentional inaccuracies in law enforcement or crime procedure are completely mine.
Valerie German—for help on book one, which I failed to acknowledge. Your achievements have gone way beyond anything I could’ve taught you in school, but please know I’m taking credit for it anyway. And if you ever parlay your medical expertise into plastic surgery, your old teacher needs a little nip, tuck, and discount. Seriously, thank you for your prompt help. It was a huge assistance, and I’m blessed to know you. My pride in who you have been, who you are, and who you will be absolutely knows no bounds. Never settle for the ordinary or safe.
Summit Girls—thank you for your prayers, your friendship, and for helping me brainstorm this book. It’s undergone quite a few changes since our gathering (as have our lives), but your support and encouragement hasn’t shifted a bit. We were divinely brought together, and I’m profoundly grateful. Please remember me each time you obnoxiously hit the New York Times best seller list.
Cara Putman—thank you for years of friendship, for being my cheerleader, for being a role model in so many ways, and for helping me hammer out some ideas for this book. You are a light for so, so many.
Erin Valentine—thank you for being my Grammar Girl Via Text and putting up with all my riveting questions on commas. I’m grateful for your friendship and encouragement.
Bentley Fisher—it was you who sat down with me and gave THE missing piece to this plot, an idea that enabled me to pick up the keyboard again and crank out the remaining little bit I had to go. And by “little bit,” I mean about 240 pages. Thank you for being my Dr. Phil, my fellow foodie, one of my bffs, the person who makes me forget I’m a horrible conversationalist, one of the funniest people I know, and the model of generosity, kindness, thoughtfulness, and inappropriate texts from inappropriate places. Your friendship is one of the best gifts I’ve ever been given.
Julie Kramer—for saying, “Go be a writer.” For being you. And for always being up for the other half of my Chipotle burrito bowl. I appreciate your encouragement and counsel. The world needs more Julies and more dog videos.
Officer Will Gardner—for always allowing me to pester you with procedural questions and letting me talk through murder possibilities without putting me on some “Suspicious Persons” list. (That I know of…) And of course, thank you for protecting children every day.
My readers—thank you for following every time I pivot and try something new. I never take it for granted that there are people out there who choose to read something I’ve written, who invest their hard-earned money and their limited time. Let’s keep moving toward things that make us laugh and offer a little break from our hectic world.
Jessica Epps and Tiffany Savage—for being my sounding board, encouragement, and advice-givers. You’ve prayed me through a lot this year, and I’m blessed to call you friends.
Christa Allan—for every neurotic call you’ve had to answer, every therapy session, every plot idea you’ve donated. And for reading a last minute version in my time of angsty need. You’re the Lucy to my Ethel.
Amy Matayo—thank you for our Panera pow-wows. (You know, the times when you would sit there and write, and I would sit there . . .and eat.)
Pixie Burger—a huge muchas gracias for your editing genius and for putting up with the deadline I kept changing. And changing. And changing again. And one more time. And maybe just once again… You’re brilliant, funny, and a genius. We have sooooo much in common. (J/K)
Kristin Avila—you saved this book, the audio book, and me from oncoming disaster. I’m profoundly grateful for the time you gave up and the talent you invested in this project. Thank you for putting up with the chaos that was editing Royally in Trouble. I appreciate your patience and generosity and ideas and will name my next ten stray cats after you.
Ida Ellis—my first teacher and one of my first heroes. Thank you for sharing your gift with a bunch of small-town kids. You were a difference maker, and you impacted my life.
Pam King and Julie Nicholson—for your bloomin’ word assistance
Rel Mollet—few people champion books and authors like you. I’m so grateful not only to work with you, but to call you friend. You have a keen eye for mistakes in a manuscript and a gift for writerly enc
ouragement. You’re a joy to work with.
Reba Buhr—what a voice you’ve given Paisley and her crew. Thank you for your brilliant audio work and for bringing this story to life with your incredible talent. You deserve an Oscar. Or an Emmy. Or a Tony. Or all three. Definitely all three.
My mom—for being the best grandma and my mystery-watching buddy. And shopping buddy. And Mexican food eating buddy. And road trip buddy, and…
I give a big thanks to God, from whom all blessings flow, and who has held me up in one blessed and challenging year.
Finally, I’m grateful to bacon. We spend a lot of time together, you’ve never done me wrong, and I just thought it was time you got your due.
Also by Jenny B. Jones
Engaged in Trouble, Enchanted Events Mystery, 1
A Sugar Creek Christmas (A Sugar Creek Novel)
Wild Heart Summer (A Sugar Creek Novel)
A Katie Parker Production Series
A Charmed Life Series
There You’ll Find Me
Save the Date
Just Between You and Me
About the Author
Award-winning author Jenny B. Jones writes romance, mystery, and YA with sass and Southern charm. Jenny believes in spending her spare hours in meaningful, intellectual pursuits, such as eating ice cream, watching puppy videos, and reading celebrity gossip. She lives in the beautiful state of Arkansas with her family and an evolving collection of rescue animals. She loves bluegrass, a good laugh, and strong tea. Drop Jenny a line at: [email protected].
Instragram @JennyBJonesAuthor
@JenBJones
jennybjones
www.jennybjones.com
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