by Dora Hiers
Dora Hiers
© 2016 Dora Hiers
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either imaginary or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events or locales is coincidental.
WHERE WISHES LIVE
Copyright 2016 by Dora Hiers
Published by Grace Legacy Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any way without written permission from Dora Hiers or Grace Legacy Publishing, except for including brief quotations in reviews along with proper acknowledgement.
eBook editions may not be copied, resold or given away. Please purchase your own copy and share only the title with your friends and family, not the actual eBook.
Contact information: [email protected]
Cover art by: prodesign360
Publishing History:
First Grace Legacy Publishing Edition 2016
Electronic Edition ISBN: 978-0-9967922-4-0
Acknowledgements
To the Ultimate Author.
Thank You for
Amazing Grace that flows from bottomless springs
and for a
Limitless Love that never fades.
To my real life hero.
Life is so much fun being married to you. I love you!
To Robin Bunting.
You’re the best! Mega thanks for reading and sharing your thoughts, sweet friend.
To Sandra Ardoin.
I couldn’t do this writing gig without friends like you! Our coffee dates keep me sane.
Speaking of coffee…soon? :)
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Preview ofROPING the COWBOY
Preview ofROPING the MARSHAL
About the Author
Moreover, when God gives someone wealth and possessions, and the ability to enjoy them, to accept their lot and be happy in their toil—this is a gift of God. ~Ecclesiastes 5:19 NIV
Chapter 1
“You’re at the hospital now? No kidding!” Chase Kirkland pulled the truck off to the side of the road, just in case he had to divert and head to the hospital. He flicked on the emergency flashers.
“Actually, we’ve been here about three hours now,” Samuel said.
Chase shoveled fingers through his hair and glanced outside, but with the late hour, darkness shrouded the window. Frustration chewed his insides, discouragement slumped his shoulders. He should’ve procured a sub for the pregnant chef a few weeks ago. Not as if he hadn’t known she’d be taking time off at some point. Just not…now. At the height of their season. But, it wasn’t for lack of trying. Didn’t anybody in the food industry need a job around Christmas?
“That’s great,” he finally managed. For Katherine and Samuel, more friends than employees. Not so much for him, especially since finding a replacement was turning out to be so difficult. He’d stayed much later tonight than usual writing up an ad. Who read newspaper ads anymore? But he’d made some phone calls to put the word out and exhausted social media. What else could he do? “Won’t be long now, huh?”
Diesel, the stray puppy who’d shown up on his back porch a month ago, a bloody, mangled mess from being pumped with ten BB gun bullets, nudged him with a cold snout.
“It’s not your fault, buddy.” He patted the pup’s head. Forced a couple deep breaths. God, I could use a little help here finding a replacement for Katherine. Not just for me, but I’d appreciate it for her. So she doesn’t worry when she should be enjoying time off with her new—
A chuckle on the other end of the phone interrupted his prayer. Then, “Well, I guess it kinda is.”
“No, man. Just talking to Diesel. So, what does the doctor say?”
“False labor and they don’t expect anything more tonight. Told us to take it one day at a time, and that she’d see us next week, if not before. Katherine wants to keep working as long as she can, but she wanted me to give you a heads up.” Fatigue and excitement clashed in Samuel’s tone.
“Thanks, man. Appreciate it. Tell Katherine to take it easy and not to worry. We’ll make do.” Somehow. Even if he had to ask the sous chef to fill in temporarily.
“You know her. If she’s not in the hospital, she’ll be in on her next shift. Gotta go. The nurse just came in to release us. Talk later.” Samuel’s face faded from the screen.
“Did you hear that, Diesel? Sorry, bud, but we have more work tonight.” As if the late hour and the mountain of work piled in the cab wasn’t enough. When he got home, he’d heat up some soup and scour the internet for more leads.
Chase pulled back onto the road and turned on Angler Circle. A familiar pang twisted his gut in knots as he rounded the curve.
Camille’s house. Always dark. Abandoned. Lifeless. Why didn’t her father just sell the place?
Maybe then Chase could finally move on, could actually entertain thoughts of a new relationship without images of Camille overshadowing it. Could relegate all those good memories to the past, where they belonged.
The forsaken house jerked his gaze like a giant magnet. He tapped the brake and allowed himself a single, thirsty glance.
Tucked at the end of a long drive, the once glorious estate withered from lack of love. Overgrown bushes hid the shutters he knew hung off kilter from the early winter storm a couple of weeks ago. When he handled Katherine’s replacement, he’d bring his toolbox and yard tools. Spruce up the outside. Let Diesel run around the giant yard, work off some of that excess puppy energy, while he pounded out his frustration.
Wait? Was that smoke curling up from the back of the house? A light glowing from a bedroom window?
Earlier today, John, his buddy and also the sheriff, had stopped by his office and alerted him to a rash of break ins, suspected teens, looking for a warmer place than their cars to make out or…whatever. Was that the case here?
Or was his mind just playing awful tricks on him? Chase rubbed a hand over his bleary eyes. He swiped an arm across the chilly window and squinted through the tiny opening.
Nope. The smoke might be a stretch given the fat snowflakes falling from the dark-as-midnight sky now, but that was definitely a light.
He stomped the truck in reverse. Gunned it up the long drive. Mashed the brake too tight. Held his breath while it skidded on a patch of ice, stopping a couple of feet from the garage door.
Checking out a light at the Tulane estate. I’ll let you know. He texted John then slid the phone into his trouser pocket.
“Come on, Diesel. Let’s go.” Chase fumbled with the keys, found the right one. The one Camille’s father had entrusted him, five years almost to the day the old man had warned Chase away from his daughter.
He hustled to the front door, irony weighting his legs like anchors. Camille’s father trusted him to care for a million-dollar estate. But not his daughter.
Yeah, well he didn’t blame Camille’s father. Chase hadn’t earned his trust back then.
He didn’t need the key after all. The frigid handle twisted under his fingertips. The door swung wide open with a loud creak.
His heart skipped a few beats as indecision pelted him. John would ignore his last sentence. Should he wait for his friend to arrive?
For some teenagers looking for a spot to make out? Hardly.
Chase took a cautious step into the dim foyer, then another, but stumbled over
something. Twisting and stretching out his arms to regain his balance, his ankles tangled with the pup’s leash. Diesel yelped just as something hard crashed into his skull.
“Oww!” Chase howled. Stars exploded across his vision and breath stuck in his lungs. The signs he’d missed registered, ticking through his brain as he fell, his back thumping against the marble floor. A wreath on the front door. The scent of wassail wafting through the house. A couple of stiletto shoes. Camille?
Like an angel, shrouded in the moonlight streaming through the open door, wearing a cotton-white robe. Rogue curls of blonde hair escaped the pile on top of her head, tucked under a towel. Blue eyes peered down at him, wide and just as clear and pristine, just as take-his-breath-away gorgeous, as he remembered.
Her arm jerked. Then, an explosion. Or was that a scream? Maybe. Because she clamped a hand over her gaping mouth. Tears clung to her eyelashes like dewdrops to blades of grass.
Welcome home, Camille. Welcome home. He closed his eyes. Allowed the pain and pleasure to duke it out.
****
Chase Kirkland? Literally falling at her feet? How was that for a welcome home? Or was it the sign she’d hoped for, coming back to the place that held the key to so many good memories?
And what was he doing, just waltzing in like that, unannounced? What if she’d had a gun and not just a skillet?
Camille Tulane glared at the weapon, then flung the evidence as far as she could. Tile shattered, but she couldn’t make herself care.
Not with the man, the first man she’d ever kissed, the first man she’d ever loved, sprawled out across her foyer.
Was he dead? A horrified sound gurgled up from her throat, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to hit him so hard, but…what had she tripped over?
Oh, God, please don’t let him be dead!
Her knees landed on the cold floor with a thud. The damp towel loosened from her head and crumpled in a heap on top of Chase’s face. She shoved it away. Refused to dwell on the fact that her first prayer in ten years involved Chase Kirkland and not Antonio, the man who’d just proposed days before.
Think, Camille, think! What to do?
She leaned down and framed his cheeks, reassured by his puffs of air. Days old whiskers tickled her palms, his jaw firm and solid, his face filled out, healthy and robust now. Just like the rest of him. The flimsy material of his Henley barely corralled strong-looking shoulders and an expansive chest. Incredibly long legs and muscular thighs took up most of the real estate in the foyer. All. Male. And even more dangerous than the scrawny teen who’d shredded her heart into a gazillion pieces all those years ago.
He moaned and moved his head from side to side, flinging a hint of mint and woods at her.
She ignored the blip in her pulse and patted his cheeks. “Chase!” Okay, so maybe she slapped his cheeks. After all, he hadn’t asked her to stay. “Chase, wake up!”
A wet snout nudged her hand. What? A puppy? So that’s why her aim had jigged a bit too far to the left.
“Think you can help me get him up on the couch, big handsome dude? Or sweet gal,” she amended.
The pup licked her wrist then plopped down on the floor next to Chase and planted a chin on giant paws.
“I take that as a no.”
“Who are you calling a handsome dude?” Chase’s voice croaked.
She thumped a hand against her chest. “Sheesh. You scared the life out of me. For the second time tonight.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. You look pretty alive to me.” His gaze raked over her face, appreciation gleaming from his eyes. “Heaven is downright stunning.”
She swallowed. How could the man still cause her heart to stutter after all these years? Maybe being back in Steepleview, hanging around Chase, would be tougher than she imagined.
Guilt condemned her. She couldn’t have feelings for this man, wouldn’t. Not with Antonio waiting for her back in Italy, expecting an answer. “You’re in my house, you crazy goon.”
He frowned. Those double apostrophes showed up between his eyebrows.
Had she hit him too hard? Did he remember her? “You broke in.”
“I didn’t break in. The door was unlocked.”
So, at least he remembered that part. She glared at him. “It’s not your house.”
“Your father gave me a key.”
“My father gave you a key?” Yep. She’d definitely hit him too hard. He was delusional.
“To keep an eye on the place.”
Her father and Chase? She shook her head. Not in a million lifetimes.
He pulled himself up on one elbow, groaned, and closed his eyes. Wobbled. “I’ll show you.”
“Not so fast. You’ll pass out.” She wrapped an arm around his back for support. Tried her best not to notice the hard muscles flexing under her touch, the woody blend of mint and lavender that wafted into her zone. But her body responded like it always had around him, and heat flared. Maybe she should’ve left him on the foyer floor and called 9-1-1. Paramedics could’ve whisked him away before he woke to wreak havoc with her pulse.
“I can get up myself. Just need a little help.” He draped an arm around her shoulder.
“I can do that.” What was she doing? She didn’t have time to consider as he struggled to stand. Together, they staggered into the family room, the canine nipping at the bottoms of his shoes. When Chase aimed those baby blues at her, tiny lines etched from the edges, and smiled, a lazy grin that robbed her breath, she lost her footing, almost stumbled.
His arm tightened its grip around her shoulders. Kept her upright. “Easy, honey. Can’t have both of us out for the count.”
No, no, that wouldn’t be good. But it so wasn’t fair! Time had treated him better, not worse. Truthfully, she’d come back to put wishes to rest, not for them to spark to life again. To convince herself that marriage with Antonio would work. To realize this place, this man, didn’t hold the key to her heart anymore. That she belonged to Antonio, to Italy.
Not Steepleview.
Not Where Wishes Live.
And most definitely not Chase.
The man sank down on the sofa. “Thanks.”
Now she could finally breathe something besides male and woods and…trouble. “No problem.”
He held up a ring. Keys jangled.
“What’s this?”
“Check it. The key to this house.”
Scowling, she shook her head. “I believe you.” What was going on with her father? An important little detail like that…why wouldn’t he mention it? She made a mental note to call him later.
He studied her for a good thirty seconds then nodded and shoved the keys back in his pocket. Rubbing his head, he shuttered his eyelids.
“I’ll get you some ice.” Anything to put some space between them.
His only response was a moan and to stretch out those long legs in front of him, crossing his ankles.
She escaped to the kitchen, but since it connected to the family room, it wasn’t far enough. She glanced over a shoulder.
The dog nudged Chase’s thigh then plopped down with a huff next to the couch. Chase smiled. Still with his eyes closed and head back, he reached down to scratch the pup’s belly.
She jerked open the freezer and stood in front of the icebox. Maybe the frigid air would cool the skin on her face and neck.
He’d always loved animals and treated them with kindness. She remembered a mangy feral cat he’d dragged home once. Oh, and a senior dog one of his neighbors had left behind after a move, but his daddy wouldn’t budge. Said they barely had enough food to make it stretch between the two of them, let alone the furry variety.
She loaded a plastic bag with ice cubes, wrapped a towel around the bag, and stalked back over to the living area, stopping a good two feet away. Far enough that she couldn’t get caught up in…him. She opened her mouth to speak, but…couldn’t.
Deep blue, almost purple, hollows rimmed his eyes. His head turned side
ways. A soft snuffle whistled from his open mouth. How long since he’d rested, really rested?
A tingle started in her toes and goosebumps danced along her arms. Her hand was halfway to smooth down a fringe of unruly hair when his phone buzzed, startling both of them.
His nutmeg lashes fluttered. He blinked a couple times, as if he had no idea where he was. Until he saw her and recognition launched him to a sitting position.
What was she doing? Mercy! Enough already! She jerked her arm back.
“Thanks. Sorry for drifting off.” He flashed her a sheepish grin and took the bag from her while unlatching his phone. “Kirkland.” With elbows perched on his knees and the phone smashed between his ear and palm, the ice bag dangled from the other hand.
Oh, for heaven’s sake! She grabbed the bag from his hand and carefully set it on his head, then held it in place because the man twisted to smile up at her.
“Thanks,” he mouthed.
He moved again, so she was stuck there, holding the bag. Not that she minded. But she should, right? Guilt pricked her. She stared at the fire glowing from the fireplace. Was this her answer to the question that had dogged her for days now?
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Everything’s all right.” Chase chuckled, and that sound jolted her attention back to him.
How she’d missed it. Missed him.
“No need to send the cavalry, but I’ll let Camille know you were here. Yeah, later.” Chase disconnected and slid the phone onto the coffee table. “That was John Masterson. Do you remember him? He used to work at Wishes with me over the holidays.” He slid his hand over the ice bag, grazing hers in the process.
She sucked in a breath at the infighting going on between her head and the rest of her body. Disappointment that she didn’t have an excuse to touch him anymore. Guilt that she shouldn’t want to touch him. Yet, every muscle in her body screamed otherwise.
“Yeah. I remember John.” She stalked back into the kitchen. A distraction from that barely harnessed masculinity, that heady combination of mint and woods and male that rocketed her pulse into overdrive.
