Chapter 1
Roxanna Kent shivered as a passing firefighter swirled the air up past the hem of her thin, satin nightgown. An EMS worker had given her a blanket, and a two-sizes too large pair of slippers for her bare feet, but they were no match for the chilly Colorado October night—even with a blaze raging in her apartment building across the street.
Strangely, she didn’t feel the cold, even though she was aware of her body shivering and the occasional chatter of her teeth. Numbness had set in once the last of her neighbors escaped the smoke filled halls. If she hadn’t woken from her dream, heart pounding in terror, the smell of smoke choking her despite the crystal clear air, would she have still made it out alive? Who would’ve been there to make sure?
No one.
Surrounded by firefighters, police, EMS workers, fellow homeless apartment residents, and a multitude of onlookers, she’d never felt more alone in her life.
“Excuse me?” A hand on her blanket-wrapped shoulder drew her around to see a blond woman wearing a Red Cross jacket. “Do you have someone to call? Or can I call for you?”
“Um…” The one person—well, make that both persons—she would’ve called were out of town. Her best friend, Asher, and his fiancé, Honor, were in Alaska on a photo shoot-slash-engagement trip. She turned her head back toward the fire. “My phone is still in there. I don’t know the numbers.”
She hadn’t even thought of it when she went into the hall to reassure herself the phantom smoke was a figment of her imagination and discovered it was all too real. She’d woken in time to pull the fire alarm before flames were visible, but as everyone worked together to make sure no one was left behind, the fire had spread frighteningly quickly. Her phone was likely melted by now.
The hand on her shoulder gave a gentle squeeze. “We’re setting up a shelter at the community center for anyone who needs it. Volunteers are giving rides right over there.”
Roxanna blinked and looked in the direction the woman pointed. She saw a few of the neighbors from her floor getting into cars. Unlike her, some of them had managed to grab some personal items. She’d have to go see what she could find from her shop before she—ooh, the second floor apartment. Asher owned her retail building, and he’d always told her she could use it if she needed to. She’d never needed to—until now.
She managed a weak smile of something close to relief. “Thank you, but I have a place to stay.”
The blond pressed a card into her hand. “Call if you need anything.”
At her nod, the woman moved on to a family huddled together in blankets. Roxanna roused herself out of her stupor to take stock of what she needed to do. Get over to Lift Your Spirit, pick out some clothes from her inventory, then head upstairs for a hot shower. The smoke smell infused into her hair was strong enough to tighten her throat and make her eyes sting.
She searched for a way to get through the chaos to the back of the building where her Jeep was parked until she realized she didn’t have her keys, either. A couple of shaky inhales kept her from bawling right there on sidewalk and got her mind thinking. She kept a spare set at her shop, but she couldn’t walk the two and a half miles in slippers and a satin nightgown, so she’d need to call a—
Nope. She had no money.
Damn. Now the sting in her eyes wasn’t only from the smoke.
Swiping the tears from her face with one hand, she walked over to the volunteer staging area. A few minutes later, a black man named Leonard in his fifties, maybe early sixties, opened his passenger door for her.
“Thank you so much. I’m Roxanna.” She slid in with a grateful smile, and once he was in his seat, she directed him to Lift Your Spirit.
About halfway into the ride, he said, “I think that’s the psychic shop my granddaughter brings me cupcakes from every so often. Is that your place?”
She nodded as country music played softly on the radio. After barely two minutes of sitting, emotional and physical exhaustion were taking over. She’d never had such a strong premonition before, except for that one time she was nine.
“She brings me those chocolate covered cake balls, too,” Leonard added. “They’re very good.”
“The cupcakes and the cake balls are Honor Hartman specialties.” She’d started making the cake balls to use up her cake scraps, and customers had gone crazy for them. “She’s opening a cake shop next door to me this fall.”
“I’ll make sure to watch for it.” He turned off Aspen street to drive around to the back of the building. It was almost three a.m. when he braked outside the back door of her shop.
“Thank you so much for the ride, Leonard,” she said as she opened the passenger door.
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to leave you here?” he asked, head ducked to look at the alley as a slight frown drew his grey eyebrows together. Other than a black SUV and an older white four-door car parked a little ways away, the area was deserted at this time of night.
“There’s an apartment upstairs. I promise, I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll wait until you’re safely inside,” he advised.
Her heart warmed at his concern. “Thank you. You and your granddaughter are welcome to come by anytime for a free treat. Or even a reading.”
“I don’t do this to get paid back,” he protested.
Her senses were way out of whack with everything that had happened, but a moment of focus revealed the orange tones of his aura, confirming his generosity and kindness was genuine. “I know. And I’m offering simply because I want to. Get home safely yourself.”
They shared a brief smile before she turned to punch in the key code to unlock the back door. Thankfully Asher had installed them on all the entrances when he first bought the building six years ago, so she didn’t need a key. Energy saving motion lights came on in the hall as she stepped inside. With a final wave for Leonard, she shut the door and used the same code for the lockbox into the shop. From here in the back, she could see the soft, comforting illumination from the Himalayan salt lamps displayed in her front windows and throughout the shop.
From one heartbeat to the next, the orange glow flashed her back to the fire, and her heart leapt into her throat with her sharp inhale. As the smoke smell clinging to her hair and clothes filled her lungs, she tossed the blanket on a chair by the door of her reading room, and went the opposite direction into her office-slash-storage room.
Thinking of her car keys, she frowned at the unorganized chaos on her desk and surrounding surfaces, not quite sure where to start looking. Folders and papers were piled on the top of her desk, with one precarious stack reaching almost two feet high on the left side. After her accountant got married and moved out of state a few months ago, she kept meaning to clean and organize, but with so many other things to get done, it was hard to find the time.
You don’t make the time.
No, she didn’t. The bills were depressing, she couldn’t balance her profit and loss reports to save her life, and doing hours of paperwork here in the back room was lonely. She was so damn tired of being lonely.
More tears burned her eyes, but a few determined blinks held them at bay.
“Now’s not the time to clean the desk or have a pity party,” she muttered. Since she didn’t need the keys right at this moment, she turned away from her disaster area, toward the storage part of the room.
Her part-time employees, Tessa and Darcy, kept everything ship-shape over here. Once Roxanna verified new orders and made sure the inventory was correct, they didn’t let her near their organized shelves.
Thankfully, though, she didn’t have to dig through any boxes since there was a clothes rack off to one side with older clearance items that hadn’t sold. There were a few select items she might try to cycle through the shop one last time, but most she would donate to a local women’s shelter and take the tax write off.
She found a brown T-shirt, and a brown, gold, and black gauzy skirt, then grabbed a second, extra-large, orange tye-dyed T-shirt to sleep in. It
would be a toss up between lying awake the rest of the night or going comatose the moment her head hit the pillow.
Essential oils would help with the latter, so she made a quick trip out front for bottles of lavender and ylang-ylang, then grabbed socks and a pair of the new mid-calf, lace-up military boots she’d stocked for winter. With everything gathered in her arms, she made her way back out to the door in the hallway that led to the second floor.
Up in the apartment, she moved on auto-pilot, the light from the outside street lamps guiding her straight to the bathroom, where she shut the door and stripped down for a shower. A quick wash of her underwear in the sink ensured they’d be clean and dry when she woke up, then she stepped beneath the steamy spray.
After she scrubbed her hair and her body, she was in the middle of rinsing the suds away when the horror of the night replayed in her mind and the tears she’d been fighting resurfaced yet again. She didn’t need her psychic intuition to tell her releasing the emotion was the best thing to do right now. She turned her face up and let them flow as the water washed them down the drain.
Fatigue weighted her limbs when she finally shut off the water and dried from head to toe. She probably wouldn’t need it, but dabbed a couple drops of the ylang-ylang oil on her temples, wrists, and the back of her neck anyway, then pulled the orange T-shirt over her head. With her five foot nine height, the extra-large barely covered her bare butt cheeks, but right about now all she cared about was getting to the bed.
She wrapped a towel around her wet hair, wishing she’d thought to look for a comb or brush in the shop. Now it would have to wait until morning, when she went down to open up. She grimaced as she remembered she was working alone tomorrow. At least it was Sunday, the one day she opened at eleven a.m. instead of nine.
When she shut off the bathroom light, the dark quiet helped soothe her frayed nerves. There was only one bedroom, and the door swung open easily. Room darkening shades kept out the light from the street, but the faint outline of the bed was enough to guide her silent footsteps.
She stripped back the corner of the comforter and slid between the cool sheets with exhausted relief. A deep inhale to ease the tension in her shoulders sent a tingle of unease down her spine when the faintest hint of distinctly male cologne tickled her senses. When the mattress suddenly rocked beneath her, she froze and her heart surged up into her throat. Something warm and hairy brushed against her leg at the same time a muscled forearm snaked around her waist.
Roxanna screamed and swung wildly, kicking free of the sheets to scramble from the bed.
Who did Roxanna crawl in bed with? Find out when Love Loyal and True releases July 23, 2019!
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Book 13 in the USA Today bestselling Romancing Wisconsin Series.
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Will a salacious scandal ruin her career – or bring her the love of her life?
* * *
Mechanic Clay Westfield thought he was on the flip side of a crazy media storm after his sensationalized divorce from pop superstar, Dianna Skye. Then she gives an emasculating interview that goes viral, and his ego makes him do something stupid enough to throw him right back into the eye of the abhorrent tornado.
Actress Peyton Riley returns home to weather the scandal threatening to torch her career. But less than three hours back in town, Hollywood’s fallen sweetheart finds herself caught up in the arms of a man who’s as infamous as she—and the paparazzi are right there to fan the flames.
Some crafty maneuvering by matchmaker Santa Butch throws the two together at Clay’s mother’s secluded ranch and sparks fly as new rumors are ignited. If their relationship is to have any hope of survival, they’ll have to sort truth from lies as they withstand the scorching heat from a ruthless media spotlight.
EXCERPT:
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Before heading inside to feed the stalled horses, habit took Clay past the water tanks at the gates to the three pastures. The one closest to the barn needed to be filled, so he went to turn on the water, kinked the end of the hose, and dragged the length of it out to the large, galvanized tank.
Normally, he’d head back inside to throw hay down from the loft during the fifteen minutes it took to fill, but tonight, he found himself staring at the swirling water as he went over those moments in the bakery for about the fiftieth time since Peyton Riley had threatened to have him arrested.
He certainly hadn’t meant that kiss as an attack, and yet he could see where she might take it that way.
Even though she kissed me back.
No. Didn’t matter. He made a wrong, asinine choice well before her tongue slipped into his mouth.
Don’t think about that, dumbass.
When the shock of recognition wore off and her words registered, he had turned to stop her so he could apologize. Maybe explain. But a terse, “Best leave it be, son,” from Butch Walsh had made him second-guess the impulse and sent him out the door instead.
Now, he second guessed the second guess. Especially when an image of her luminous, moisture-filled, blue eyes flashed in his mind.
Except…those tears had come and gone so fast. Had that been real emotion, or acting? After Dianna’s manipulations, it was hard to trust emotion without questioning motive. Consider the source. How did anyone ever believe anything from the mouth of an award-winning actress?
And, say he did believe he’d upset her, and sought her out to apologize. If he got close enough, would she let him talk, or just sic the cops on him?
Noticing the tank was full, Clay lifted the hose to kink the end as the wheels of a vehicle crunched on the gravel driveway. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw a police car ease to a stop in front of the house. Alarm jolted his pulse, and his fingers slipped on the folded rubber in his hands. Ice cold water doused the front of his jeans before he was able to re-kink the end.
More than a few choice words rode the airwaves as he strode toward the barn while watching the officer exit the vehicle. Peyton Riley got out on the passenger side, Packers cap firmly in place, cut-off jean shorts showcasing legs that went on for days. The cop glanced in his direction while they walked toward the house, but remained at her side.
Fuck. She didn’t make empty threats, did she?
This was the last damn thing he could afford right now. Not only the legal fees, but it could affect his job at the garage. His extra income was the only thing keeping Horseshoe Springs out of foreclosure the past six months.
Why in the hell had he let Dianna’s crass stunt goad him into doing something equally stupid?
He yanked the crank to shut off the water, dropped the hose, and headed over to where the two unwelcome visitors waited on his mother’s front porch. The cop turned around when Clay reached the bottom of the steps, and he noted Parker on the name tag.
“Hey,” Officer Parker said. “How’s it going?”
Peyton Riley spun around as he offered a noncommittal grunt in reply. The moment her blue gaze connected with his, he swore she was as dismayed to see him as he was her.
Then her gaze dropped to the front of his jeans. Her lips twitched. “That scared to see me again?”
One downward glance confirmed it looked like he’d pissed his pants. Nice.
The cop smirked at her joke, but Clay ignored him and focused on her, tugging at the damp hem of his worn T-shirt as he went straight to damage control. “Listen, I know I owe you an apology, and what I did was wrong, but before this goes any further, can I explain what happened earlier?”
Her gaze flicked from him, to the cop, and back. She frowned as she took a breath to speak, then paused as if thinking better of whatever she was going to say. He decided to take that as a yes.
“I had just found out that my ex very publicly castrated—” me.
No. That won’t do.
He cut his gaze to the cop, grimaced, and reluctantly continued. “My, ah…skills, and then suggested I…uh…switch teams.�
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“Dude. Ouch,” Parker muttered with sympathy.
Peyton’s gaze narrowed as if she were trying to translate his vague references. He really didn’t want to have to spell it out, so he continued his explanation. “I saw the camera, you were right there in front of me, and I thought…”
I thought, fuck Dianna.
Wow. Real mature.
“You thought you’d kiss me so the paparazzi could get a picture, and that would show her.”
“Pretty much.”
Slim eyebrows arched over those pretty blue eyes. “Did you even take a second to think how my reputation would fare? This is the last thing I need with all the shit that’s been in the tabloids lately.”
“I didn’t know who you were at that point,” he defended.
“Yeah. Right.”
“I didn’t recognize you until after.” If he had, he would’ve run the other direction instead of kissing her.
Maybe. Because damn, she sure was beautiful, even with that grimace of annoyance tweaking her features. And she’d felt really good in his arms. And her mouth—
Stop that line of thinking right now.
“As entertaining as this is, it sounds like you two have some stuff to work out,” Officer Parker interjected. “I, on the other hand, would like to get home sooner than later. You okay for me to leave?” he asked Peyton.
She reached out to touch his arm. “Of course. Sorry, Shane. I’ll just grab my bag so you can go.”
“That’s all right, I’ll get it.” His boots thumped on the stairs on the way to his squad.
Confusion bounced Clay’s gaze from the cop to Peyton. “Hold on. Grab your bag?”
Her expression questioned his mental I.Q.
Must Love Frosting Page 25
