by Toni Blake
Half Moon Hill: A Destiny Novel
Toni Blake
Avon (2013)
* * *
Rating: ****
You never know what destiny has in store . . .
A rugged loner and ex-biker-gang member, Duke Dawson is looking for some peace and quiet while recovering from an accident. But when Anna Romo comes wandering through his woods and into his cabin, she completely rocks his world. The last thing he expected or wanted was to find himself hungering after a woman whose eyes held hurt even deeper than his own . . .
Running from a troubled past, Anna is building a new life in Destiny. When she first meets Duke, she's terrified—but something about him calls to her very soul. The hard-bodied rebel is soon helping her turn her new home into a bed and breakfast, and close quarters quickly lead them into her bed. Their passion is palpable, but can she convince a man who has turned his back on life to take the biggest leap of faith of all and fall in love?
About the Author
Toni Blake's lifelong love of writing began when she won an essay contest in the fifth grade. Soon after, she penned her first novel—nineteen notebook pages long. Since then, Toni has become a multi-published, RITA®-nominated author of contemporary romance novels that are both sexy and heartwarming. Her work has been excerpted in Cosmo and reviewed by USA Today and First for Women magazine. Toni lives with her husband in the Midwest and, when not writing, she enjoys traveling, quilting, and scrapbooking.
Dedication
To Lindsey Faber
for being by my side through thick and thin,
and for being the most patient, caring,
considerate friend a girl could ever have.
I don’t know what I’d do without you!
Acknowledgments
My sincere appreciation goes to:
Lindsey Faber, for early brainstorming, note-taking, plot-problem-solving, and being an amazingly supportive friend and cheerleader as I wrote this book.
Renee Norris, for lightning-fast feedback as my official “first reader” and for, as always, finding the problem spots and figuring out how to fix them. You help me make every book better than it was when I gave it to you.
Michael Perry, for answering my questions about home repair and renovation, and for giving me a couple of ideas that made their way into the story.
My agents, Meg Ruley and Christina Hogrebe, for their fantastic support in so many ways over the last eight years.
My editor, May Chen, for her incredible patience when I ran late, and for always being super fun and easy to work with.
Pam Spengler-Jaffee, Shawn Nicholls, and everyone else at Avon who does such a great job getting the word out about my books!
Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgments
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Anna’s Blackberry Cobbler
Welcome to Destiny . . .
An Excerpt from One Reckless Summer
An Excerpt from Sugar Creek
An Excerpt from Whisper Falls
An Excerpt from Holly Lane
An Excerpt from Willow Springs
About the Author
By Toni Blake
Copyright
About the Publisher
“ . . . one can get used to everything . . . if one wishes . . .”
Gaston Leroux, The Phantom of the Opera
One
Anna Romo had actually begun to like the peace and quiet. Maybe a little too much. As she stepped off the porch of the old Victorian house she’d bought last summer on Half Moon Hill, soaking up the solitude and delighting in birdsong coming from the trees that surrounded the place, she stopped in her tracks and cringed. Who am I? When did this happen? She’d never delighted in birdsong in her life. And she’d never consciously used the word birdsong, out loud or in her thoughts, either. Clearly, the town of Destiny was getting to her.
Oh God, I’m becoming one of them.
Not that she was sure why that sounded so unpleasant to her. She liked the people here. She even loved some of them—in particular, her brothers, and she’d grown quite attached to their wives, too. And the rest of Destiny’s residents—well, they were just good, kind people, no two ways about it. She’d begun to make real friends here. And she’d come to appreciate the small town welcome she’d received—even if it had overwhelmed her a little at first.
But no matter how much she loved or liked them all, she really wasn’t one of them. She’d grown up in the city. And her life had been . . . well, all things considered, words like bizarre and challenging didn’t even begin to scratch the surface.
Then, just over a year ago, her mother had died. Well, her “other mother.” And that had come with money—an unexpected and ample amount that had been passed down through the family and saved just for her. Yet an inheritance had done little to make up for the shocking truths that had been revealed on her mother’s deathbed. That was when bizarre and challenging had taken on whole new meanings.
And somehow it had all led her here, to a hometown she didn’t remember, to a whole family she didn’t remember, and to this house she was refurbishing with plans of opening a bed-and-breakfast—if she ever got the renovations done.
She’d come out to check the mail, but now stopped and turned to face the house. Parts of the awning that covered the wraparound porch sagged as if being pulled down by invisible anchors, and most of the gutters were rusted, some sections having disintegrated altogether. The roof desperately needed replacing, several shutters hung at a tilt, and parts of the porch had begun to rot, the decorative gingerbread trim suffering most of all. And the whole once-white house, along with the detached garage, was sorely in need of paint.
She’d spent the entire winter and most of spring working on the inside, room by room, and she was proud of her progress. But now that she’d flipped the calendar page over to May and warm weather was here, she couldn’t avoid starting on the outside any longer. The only problem being that the project made her feel the same way the town of Destiny, Ohio once had: overwhelmed.
“Meow.”
Flinching, she glanced over at the fluffy black cat who was always sneaking up on her. One minute she was alone—the next the cat appeared out of nowhere. She eyed him warily. “Why don’t you go catch a mouse or something?”
“Meow.” He looked at her like he wanted something, but she had no idea what. She’d fed him already today—twice. That was always what she did when he came meowing around—because she had no idea what else he could be asking for.
“Look, I don’t know what you want from me. And I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea.”
A bed-and-breakfast needs a cat, Amy had said. People will think it’s quaint. He’ll curl up in the front window, or in a rocking chair on the porch, and he’ll give the place a feeling of warmth. Okay, that much she had bought. And besides, Amy had gone on, you’ll love having a cat. And he’ll love having a real home. Those parts, though, weren’t quite happening.
Amy Bright owned the bookstore on the town square, Under the Covers, and as Destiny’s resident cat lover, she was always
taking in strays at the shop, letting them live there until she could find someone to adopt them. And the truth was, Anna had only adopted Erik—as Amy had named the cat, after the “Opera Ghost,” upon once finding him asleep on a shelf next to the original Phantom of the Opera novel—because she and Amy had gotten off to a rocky start when she’d first come to town. She’d felt it might help cement their growing friendship—and besides, she’d seen Erik as a bit of an outsider, just like her.
But so far, she hadn’t fallen in love with having a cat. Amy had apparently succeeded in making everyone else in Destiny fall in love with cats—both of Anna’s brothers and their wives had adopted a bookstore cat, as well as her real estate agent, Sue Ann. So she’d taken the cat on faith. But this just provided more proof that, deep down, she’d never really be like everyone else here. She’d never really fit in the way the rest of them did.
Which maybe explains why you spend all your time alone in this big, empty house.
In the beginning, the idea had made perfect sense. Buying the old home that had been on the market for nearly ten years had been about starting over, finding her place here, finding a way to take her background in the hotel industry in Indianapolis and integrate it with life in Destiny. And the fact that the home was in a relatively isolated area outside town, on the tall bluff overlooking Blue Valley Lake far below, had been convenient for putting a little much-needed distance between herself and her brothers—especially the oldest, overprotective one, Mike.
It had seemed like the ideal solution to numerous problems. And maybe it still would be. She remained excited and energized by looking forward to the day when the Half Moon Bed & Breakfast opened its doors for business. But somehow or other, without quite planning it, she’d become a hermit at the tender age of thirty-one. And as someone who had been a very confident, outgoing woman when she’d first arrived here, she wasn’t sure how that had happened.
The slightly twisted, gray metal mailbox that had seen better days was empty. Big surprise. She didn’t get a lot of mail. And some days she wondered why she bothered to check it at all.
So what now?
You could drive into town. Go to the bookstore. Stop by the police station and see if Mike’s there—God knew it would make her overprotective brother’s day if she purposely paid him a visit.
Or . . . she could do something that sounded easier.
Berries. You can pick berries. She’d seen some blackberries on a walk in the woods recently, but they hadn’t yet been ripe. Maybe they would be now. Maybe you can make a pie from them. Not that she’d ever made a pie in her life. But it seemed like something an innkeeper should be able to do. And if she picked berries today instead of going into town, she wouldn’t have to try to fit in and pretend she had life completely under control.
Heading into the large detached garage, which held her 1965 cherry red Mustang and also served as storage space for now, she retrieved one of several brown wicker baskets that had hung from nails on the wall since before her arrival.
A moment later, the scent of freshly blooming honeysuckle met her nose as she stepped from the bright sunlight at the yard’s edge into the shaded isolation of the woods. At first, going for walks here had made her uncomfortable—it was one more new experience that had taken a little getting used to. But she’d soon discovered there was nothing to fear, and while the house and her yard were both peaceful, there was something different about being surrounded by the lush green of the woods. The forest was a distinct world of its own, one that couldn’t be easily tamed or controlled, and maybe she liked that a little.
She moved past tall, thick, old trees and stepped her way carefully through low shrubbery and brush. A glimpse of yellow wildflowers in the distance made her smile—though they were hidden deep in the woods, seeing them meant their beauty wasn’t wasted.
Oh God, this place really is getting to you. She’d never thought such deep thoughts, let alone about something as pure as nature, before coming to Destiny.
But if you’re changing in ways, it must be because you want to.
She’d just caught the scent of more honeysuckle when something moved up ahead. She didn’t see anything—but she’d just entered a particularly dark, shady part of the woods. So she just kept walking. Where were those berries anyway? Hadn’t they been right around here? She returned to scanning the low greenery around her looking for ripened blackberries.
Aha—there they were! And they looked nice and plump and dark, ready for picking, just like the pictures she’d Googled to make sure.
She’d just started dropping the big, healthy-looking berries into her basket, though, when the brush moved again, much closer to her this time—and she looked up to find . . . oh dear Lord, a wildman. The sight paralyzed her, fear numbing every limb.
Over six feet in height and bulging with muscles that gave her the impression he could tear her limb from limb, he emerged through a patch of tall shrubbery, flashing crazy, piercing blue-gray eyes. Unkempt brown hair hung to his shoulders and a scraggly beard covered the bottom half of his face, not quite obscuring the angry scar that slashed its way down one cheek.
Anna lost her breath, let the basket drop to the ground, then began to take instinctive steps backward—promptly stumbling over a large tree root. Her butt collided with the packed earth as she tried to break the fall with her hands. Pain shot through her ankle and she heard a cry of anguish escape her throat, all the while sensing the rapid approach of the brute who had somehow materialized out of nowhere in her woods.
Get up. Get away. That was what her brain was telling her, but her body wasn’t quite obeying. She struggled to get to her feet, but her ankle gave out as she rose, and she landed on her rear again, even harder this time.
She raised her eyes to the hairy beast now stalking her. Oh God, his eyes were still just as crazed! Where on earth had he come from? Her heart beat like a drum in her chest as she flew into defensive mode—flight had failed, so that left only fight to fall back on. “Who the hell are you and where did you come from?”
Despite the question, she hadn’t quite anticipated him replying with “For God’s sake, Daisy Duke, relax,” in a deep, raspy voice that actually sounded . . . well, surprisingly confident for a wildman. She’d imagined him communicating more by . . . grunting or something.
But wait a minute. He thought she was Daisy Duke? Like from the old Dukes of Hazzard TV show? Clearly, this meant he really was crazy, or at least not in his right mind.
Her reaction? Another desperate attempt to get to her feet and get the hell out of here before he attacked her—but it turned out to be just as futile and she ended up plopping painfully to her ass again with an “Oomph.”
“Jesus, woman, stay down already,” he told her. “Doesn’t seem like walking’s your strong suit.”
She flinched. Whoa. The wildman was actually insulting her now? She huffed out a breath. “I’m injured, you Neanderthal.”
“Well, it’s no fucking wonder the way you keep falling down. Sit still, for the love of God.”
She just blinked, doubly stunned now. “Who the hell are you?” she asked again. “And what are you doing in my woods?”
His eyes still looked just as menacing, but his answer came with a bit less bite. “I didn’t know they were your woods. I’m just . . . staying in the cabin awhile.”
The cabin? What cabin could he mean? She didn’t know of any—
But then she stopped mid-thought, her jaw dropping. Because maybe she did know the structure he was referring to—but if so, she thought cabin a generous description.
She supposed it had been a cabin once upon a time, but it had long since decayed into an old shack that tilted to one side, its decrepit walls covered with ivy. She’d assumed the only creatures inhabiting the place were more along the lines of rodents. Of course, she still thought this guy looked more like beast than man, so maybe that didn’t bother him. But . . . why the hell would someone live in that place? Was he just some wanderi
ng homeless dude? And what was she going to do about him?
When she didn’t reply, he narrowed those gray eyes of his to say, “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”
Huh. She was supposed to? The fleeting idea that he was some famous rock star who’d decided to run away from it all flitted through her mind as she replied, “No. That’s why I keep asking who you are.”
“I’m Duke,” he finally told her. “Duke Dawson.”
Even while seated on the ground, Anna drew back slightly. She couldn’t have been more surprised if he had turned out to be a rock star. “Lucky’s friend?” she asked, utterly bewildered. Because she’d met her youngest brother’s best friend, Duke, several times, but . . . well, he hadn’t looked like this.
“Yep.”
“So . . . you don’t really think I’m Daisy Duke,” she felt the need to clarify.
And he sighed as if she were the one making this a difficult conversation. “Of course not—Anna,” he said pointedly as his gaze dropped to her denim shorts.
Oh—they were what people called Daisy Dukes. Sort of.
But even if a few things were starting to become clear, some definitely were not. “What are you doing out here? I mean . . .” And then everything she knew about Duke Dawson’s situation, gleaned from Lucky, came rushing through her head. Some months back, Duke had witnessed a bad accident. He’d gotten injured. A friend had died. And as a result, he’d sold his business—a biker bar called Gravediggers—and moved to Indiana where he had family.
But apparently that last part wasn’t exactly true.
“Let’s just say I’m not into being around people right now.” Or into engaging in common hygiene, either, apparently—but she kept that part to herself.
Rather than respond to what he’d said—because things were awkward enough here and she barely knew him—she replied, “Surely you can understand why I didn’t recognize you. Unless you haven’t seen a mirror lately.”
