The Other Side of Us (Harlequin Superromance)

by Sarah Mayberry

  The making of a good neighbor

  The best thing between Oliver Garrett and Mackenzie Williams is a fence. Ever since Oliver’s new-neighbor gestures were met with unfriendly responses, he’s decided to keep his distance. After all, he’s in this seaside town to get his life on track again. That doesn’t include working hard to get on Mackenzie’s good side—no matter how intriguing she may be.

  His intentions are put to the test, however, when his dog becomes infatuated with hers. The two crafty canines do their best to break down the barriers between the properties. And where the dogs go…well, the humans must follow! It doesn’t take long for a powerful attraction to build between Oliver and Mackenzie. They soon discover that the worst of first impressions can lead to the best possible outcomes….

  There was no denying Oliver’s appeal

  His hair was a deep, russet chestnut, warm and vibrant. As for his body... Well. Mackenzie would have cast him as a love interest on her TV show in a heartbeat if his audition reel had come across her desk. He had the kind of body women fantasized over—broad shoulders, deep chest, flat belly, tight, firm little backside....

  Fantasizing just like she was doing now. Furtively watching him through the window as he romped with his dog in the backyard.

  Sad, Mackenzie. Very, very sad.

  Giving herself a stern talking to about spying on neighbors—especially on neighbors she wasn’t sure she actually liked—she tried to turn away. But at that moment, he pushed his hair out of his eyes, and a smile lurked around his mouth. She froze, captivated by what that smile did to his very attractive features.

  Suddenly, her other priorities slid away and getting to know him better seemed the most important thing to do.

  Dear Reader,

  We hope you enjoy The Other Side of Us, written by bestselling Harlequin Superromance author Sarah Mayberry.

  Looking for romance plus a bigger story? Harlequin Superromance novels are filled with powerful relationships that deliver a strong emotional punch and a guaranteed happily ever after. Each month you’ll find six brand-new books that deliver realistic, heartwarming stories.

  If you want to read about true-to-life people and their journey to love, then Harlequin Superromance is the series for you!

  Happy reading,

  The Harlequin Superromance Editors

  PS: At the end of this book enjoy a sneak peek at Within Reach, also written by Sarah Mayberry and available as an ebook!

  The Other

  Side of Us

  Sarah Mayberry

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt

  PROLOGUE

  OLIVER GARRETT STARED at the rolling digits on the gas pump, willing the damn thing to finish filling his tank so he could get back on the road. He had a nine-o’clock appointment with an up-and-coming country-and-western band who could become regular clients—if this first recording session went well. Being late would be an awesome start to their relationship—the rule was, it was okay for the talent to be late, but not the sound engineer. That was simply the way the world worked.

  It was exactly like his wife, Edie, to suggest they swap cars for the day and not notice her Mini was low on fuel. It wouldn’t have even crossed her mind to check last night on her way home from work, let alone before she took off in his wagon this morning. Just as she never seemed to be aware when she used the last of the hot water or put an empty milk carton back in the fridge.

  He frowned, annoyed by the whiny, resentful tone to his own thoughts. Admittedly, he wasn’t exactly a dream to live with, either. He left his shoes to clutter up the bedroom floor and liked to drink juice straight from the container. Sometimes he even left whiskers around the sink after he’d finished shaving. Tolerating another person’s little habits and preferences was part of marriage, and getting bent out of shape about the small stuff was a surefire way to make himself—and Edie—miserable.

  The pump hit the thirty-buck mark and he called it quits—half a tank was more than enough to get him where he needed to go. He leaned into the car to grab his wallet, but it was nowhere to be seen. He swore under his breath. Why did keys, passports and wallets always go missing when time was at a premium?

  He crawled into the car, checking first the floor, then under the seats. He found his wallet wedged between the passenger seat and the door, along with a fistful of crumpled papers and an empty chocolate-bar wrapper. He pulled it all out, dumping the trash in the nearby bin before hustling inside to pay.

  He tossed his wallet onto the passenger seat when he returned to the car, his gaze gravitating to the lone piece of trash he’d missed. He reached for it impatiently, the neat freak in him unable to leave a job half-done, even though he was running late. The curse of the detail-minded.

  He was about to lob the crumpled piece of paper through the open car window and into the garbage when something caught his eye: a line of dark printing, visible from the wrong side of the paper.

  The Annandale Motel.

  Huh? He smoothed the paper flat on his thigh. Sure enough, it was a receipt for a queen room for one night, along with minibar expenses—a bottle of wine, a package of pretzels. Total $187.50.

  Everything in him went very still.

  The date was Wednesday of last week. The same day Edie was supposed to have given singing lessons to one of her many private clients, followed by a girls’ night out with her friends.

  There had to be an explanation. Maybe the receipt had fallen out of one of her friend’s bags. Maybe—

  Someone tooted the horn behind him. He was blocking the exit. Feeling oddly disconnected from his body, he shoved the car into gear and drove out of the service station, turning onto the nearest street and pulling over. He read the receipt again, his gut churning. Looking for proof that what he was thinking was impossible.

  The last four digits of a credit-card number were printed below the total. He grabbed his phone and launched his banking app. He and Edie had separate accounts, but he knew her access code, the same as she knew his. His hands were shaking as he punched in her number then waited while the program processed his request.

  Finally the screen filled with data. He scrolled through until he found last Wednesday’s transactions. His hand tightened on the phone when he found a payment to the Annandale Motel for $187.50.

  Not a mistake, then.

  Edie was having an affair.

  He felt... He didn’t know how he felt. Angry. Shocked. Disgusted. Hurt. And that was just the tip of the iceberg.

  He bowed his head, trying to think. Trying to get past the tight, hot sensation in his chest.

  They’d been married six years. Their relationship wasn’t perfect, but this was real life, not some fairy tale. Marriage was tough, and he’d signed up for the long haul because he loved Edie and because he wanted to grow old with her.

  And she’d cheated on him. She’d gone to some sleazy motel and slept with some other man and then come home and lied to him.

  He started the car and drove in the opposite direction of the studio. He knew exactly where Edie was—teaching vocal lessons to a bunch of ov
erprivileged kids on the North Shore. Battling his way through rush-hour traffic, he focused on getting to her. He needed to talk to her. Needed answers. Beyond that... He had no idea.

  His phone rang as he exited the freeway and headed into Cremorne. Caller ID told him it was Rex, his business partner.

  “Where are you?” Rex said the moment he took the call.

  “I’m not going to make the session,” Oliver said.

  Someone cut in front of him and he leaned on the horn, a surge of fury rocketing through him. He wanted to put the pedal to the floor, wanted to blast past all this traffic so that he could be there, standing in front of Edie, looking into her face. So he could know for sure if this nightmare was real or some kind of messed-up misunderstanding.

  “What do you mean you’re not going to make it? You’re the one who roped these guys in, Ollie.”

  “I think Edie’s having an affair.” The words were thick in his throat, so thick he didn’t know how he got them out.

  “What?”

  “I found a receipt in the car. I’m going to talk to her.”

  Rex swore. “Mate, do you think that’s a good idea?”

  Oliver laughed. “There’s nothing else I can do.”

  He had to know. Now.

  “Okay. I’ll cover for you. Somehow.”

  “I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Don’t worry about it. And...look after yourself, okay? Call me when you know more.”

  Oliver tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and concentrated on driving. Twenty minutes later he pulled into the parking lot at Cremorne School for Girls. He could see his wagon sitting halfway down the row. He parked the Mini and got out. His legs felt strange as he made his way into the school, as though they belonged to someone else.

  It was easy enough to find the music wing, and once there he simply zigzagged along the corridor, looking through the window of each door, searching for Edie’s familiar dark head.

  He found her midway down the hall, dread thudding in his gut like a bass drum.

  He watched her for a moment, aware of the adrenaline firing his pulse. She was demonstrating a breathing technique, one hand on her diaphragm, the other gesturing in the air. She wore slim, thigh-hugging jeans tucked into tan knee-high boots and a green asymmetrical top that hinted at her spectacular cleavage. She looked beautiful and vibrant.

  His wife. The liar.

  He opened the door. Edie turned toward him, a confused smile curving her mouth when she saw him.

  “Ollie. What are you doing here?”

  “Can I have a minute?”

  Her smile dropped like a rock as she registered his tone. She glanced at the class.

  “I won’t be a minute, girls. Go over the chorus again, and concentrate on your breathing.”

  She joined him, her gray eyes wide with panic. She grabbed his jacket sleeve. “It’s not Mum, is it? God, please tell me it’s not Mum.”

  Her mother, Naomi, had had a minor stroke several months ago and Edie had convinced herself it was the beginning of the end.

  “She’s fine, as far as I know.” He pulled the motel receipt from his pocket and handed it to her.

  Was it his imagination, or did she blanch as she read it?

  It seemed to take forever for her gaze to return to his.

  “I found it in your car today,” he said.

  She opened her mouth and he knew from the look on her face and in her eyes that she was about to lie. Funny that he could see it now. When it was too late.

  “I checked the account,” he added.

  There was a small pause.

  “Ollie. I’m so sorry.” Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Who is he?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Who. Is. He?”

  She swallowed, a single tear snaking down her cheek. “I was with Nick.”

  Shock was a physical thing, rocking him back on his heels.

  “Nick?”

  Of all the men in her life—in their life—Nick was the last person Oliver would have suspected. Nick had been their band manager in the early days, and he and Edie had gone out for two tumultuous, tempestuous years. Nick had broken her heart and crushed her spirit and when things had finally ended, Oliver had been the one to help her pick up the pieces.

  Nick was the past, a face they saw occasionally at other people’s parties and barbecues. A mistake Edie had openly regretted more times than Oliver could count.

  And yet she’d slept with him last Wednesday.

  Edie wiped the tears from her face. There was something about the way she was watching him that made the tightness in his chest ratchet even tighter.

  “How long?” The question came from his gut, inspired by pure, primitive instinct.

  She closed her eyes, as though she couldn’t bear to look at him as she—finally—spoke the truth. “Since he and Lucy broke up. On and off.”

  “Jesus.” Oliver took a step backward, blinking rapidly, struggling to get his head around that news.

  Lucy and Nick had broken up five years ago, barely six months after Oliver and Edie had returned from their honeymoon.

  Five years. Edie had been sleeping with her ex, screwing around behind Oliver’s back for five years.

  He felt as though the world had shifted beneath his feet. Everything he thought he knew about her, about their marriage, about himself was suddenly as insubstantial as dust.

  Five years.

  That was when it hit him—nothing would ever be the same again.

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT WAS WET and dark and cold. At first she didn’t know where she was, then she realized she was in the car, the wipers working overtime, the road a shiny black ribbon stretching in front of her. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, but it felt rubbery and insubstantial beneath her hands. Panic welled inside her. She knew what was coming next. What always came next.

  Then she saw it, the dark mass of rocks blocking the middle of the curving mountain road. Her scream was swallowed by the explosive crash of glass breaking and metal crushing as the car hit, then there was nothing but pain and the realization that she was going to die out here on this godforsaken stretch of road....

  Mackenzie Williams bolted upright, heart racing, sweat cold and clammy on her body. The bedclothes were a heavy tangle around her legs and for a few disoriented seconds she fought to free herself before reality reasserted itself.

  She was alive. She was at the beach house in Flinders. And she ached. God, how she ached. Her hips, her shoulder, her back...

  She scrubbed her face with both hands, then let out her breath on an exhausted sigh. It had been almost two months since she’d had a nightmare and she’d hoped they were a thing of the past. No such luck, apparently.

  She threw off the covers then swung her legs to the floor. Her joints and muscles protested the action, as they always did first thing in the morning or when she’d been sitting in the same position for too long. She gritted her teeth and pushed herself to her feet anyway. If she waited till the pain stopped, she’d never get anything done.

  It was still dark outside and the floor was cool beneath her feet. She shuffled forward a few steps until she found her slippers, then reached for her dressing gown.

  She could hear the skitter of Mr. Smith’s claws in the hall outside her bedroom and she smiled as she opened the door.

  “Hello, Smitty. How you doin’?” she asked as he began his morning happy dance, walking back and forth in front of her with his tail wagging madly, his body wiggling from side to side.

  “I’m going to take that as a ‘very well, thank you very much.’ Shall we go outside?”

  Mackenzie made her way to the living room. The bitter morning chill was like a slap in the face when she opened the French doors, but it didn’t stop Mr. Smith from slipping past her and out into the gray dawn light. Mackenzie followed him, stopping at the top of the deck steps, arms wrapped around her torso as she looked out over the jungle that was her yar
d.

  The air was so frigid it hurt her nose. She inhaled great lungfuls of the stuff and let the last remnants of the nightmare fall away.

  It was just a dream, after all. She wasn’t dying. She was alive. She’d survived, against all odds. Better yet, she was on the track to a full recovery and resumption of her former life.

  Which reminded her...

  She left the door open for Mr. Smith before collecting her iPad from where it was charging on the kitchen counter. One click told her that Gordon hadn’t responded to her email. Again.

  This was getting ridiculous. Twelve months ago, her boss wouldn’t have ignored an email from her. Then, she’d been a valuable commodity, the only producer in ten years who had managed to improve the ratings for the production company’s longest-running serial drama, Time and Again. Now apparently she was a liability, an employee on long-term sick leave who didn’t even merit the thirty seconds of his time it would take to respond to her email.

  He doesn’t think I’m coming back.

  The thought made her blood run cold. She had worked hard to land the job of producer on a network drama. She’d kissed ass and gone beyond the call of duty and even trampled on a few people in her rush to climb the ladder. She’d sacrificed her time, her social life, her marriage...and then her car had hit a landslide at sixty kilometers an hour and flipped down the side of a mountain. She’d fractured her skull, broken her pelvis, her hip, her leg, several ribs as well as her arm, torn her liver and lost her spleen.

  And it looked as though she was going to lose her job, too, even though she’d been driving to a location shoot when the accident happened. Gordon had promised that they’d keep her job open for her, filling the role with a short-term replacement. He’d given her a year to recover—a year that was almost up. And yet he wasn’t returning her calls.

  Lips pressed into a tight line, she opened a blank email and typed a quick message to Gordon’s secretary, Linda. Linda owed her, and Mackenzie knew that if she asked, the other woman would make sure Gordon called her.

  At least, she hoped she still had that much influence.