Healing a Heart

by Amy Lillard

  PRAISE FOR

  Amy Lillard

  “Amy Lillard never disappoints! Her writing is always fun, fresh, and fabulous!”

  —Arial Burnz, USA Today bestselling author of Midnight Eclipse

  “Amy Lillard’s novels are funny, sweet, charming, and utterly delicious. Reading her stories is like indulging in gourmet chocolates: You’ll savor every delightful page, and when you reach the end, you’ll always wish there was more!”

  —Michele Bardsley, New York Times bestselling author of Your Lycan or Mine?

  “Amy Lillard’s characters will tug at your heartstrings and leave you wanting to meet more!”

  —Laura Marie Altom, author of Stepping Over the Line

  “At the top of my autobuy list, Amy Lillard’s romances always leave a smile on my face and a sigh in my heart.”

  —A. J. Nuest, RONE finalist

  “Amy Lillard is one of my go-to authors for a sexy, witty romance.”

  —Kelly Moran, Readers’ Choice finalist

  “Amy Lillard weaves well-developed characters that create for lovers of romance a rich fabric of love.”

  —Vonnie Davis, author of the Wild Heat series

  “Funny, warm, and thoroughly charming. Make room on your keeper shelf for Amy Lillard!”

  —Karen Toller Whittenburg, author of Just What the Doctor Ordered

  Titles by Amy Lillard

  LOVING A LAWMAN

  HEALING A HEART

  BERKLEY SENSATION

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2017 by Amy Lillard

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY and BERKLEY SENSATION are registered trademarks and the B colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN: 9781101990964

  First Edition: February 2017

  Cover art by Annette DeFex

  Cover design by Daniela Medina

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Version_1

  Contents

  Praise for Amy Lillard

  Titles by Amy Lillard

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  To everyone who has ever loved and lost— whether friend, family, or lover. May you always find the courage to love again.

  Chapter One

  It was official. Jake ripped off his leather work gloves and shoved them into the back pocket of his jeans. He was going to kill Jessie.

  This was all her fault. And she was going to pay for it one way or another.

  He raised his binoculars to get a better look at the little white car that had so recently pulled into the drive at the Diamond Duvall Ranch, better known around these parts as the Diamond. A convertible Volkswagen Beetle. Not a ranch car by any stretch.

  How many did this one make? Seven? Eight? He didn’t know. He’d lost count early on of how many “cowbride” wannabes had shown up on his doorstep—literally—to get a shot at Texas’s fifteenth most eligible bachelor. Heaven help them all if he had scored any higher on the scale. They’d be wading through women. He had a ranch to run. He didn’t have time to fend off ladies with wedding gleams in their eyes while his sister-in-law sat back and laughed.

  Though this one seemed a little different. Field glasses still magnifying the scene, Jake peered at her. She wasn’t wrapped in some slinky, stretchy second-skin dress that showed off every curve. Instead she wore faded jeans and a hippie-looking shirt with elaborate stitching on the front. Her leather sandals weren’t appropriate ranch footwear, but it was a sight better than a pair of those god-awful heels women seemed to prefer these days. The word hippie sprang to mind once again.

  He lowered his binoculars and cranked the four-wheeler, then whistled for Kota. His blue heeler perked up at the summons and ran ahead toward the ranch house.

  Best he took care of this one on his own. The last time he left it up to whoever answered the door, Grandma Esther had invited the woman in and had all but interviewed her to be the next Mrs. Jake Langston. And down the aisle was one place Jake never intended to walk again.

  She started for the door, but stopped, apparently deciding to wait for him to greet her. She turned and shielded her eyes, and his heart gave a painful thump. Something about the motion was so familiar. . . .

  He was only a few yards away when he recognized her. Austin. And that one fantastic night . . . but her name . . .

  He killed the engine and slung his leg over the side of the four-wheeler, his hands suddenly sweaty, his mouth dry.

  But she wasn’t here to find him because she missed him. Or wanted a repeat of that one incredible night.

  Damn that article. She was only here because she had realized that he wasn’t a poor workaday cowboy, but one of the wealthiest men in West Texas—oil excluded.

  She smiled.

  He scowled.

  Damn, he wished he could remember her name. Had they even exchanged names? It would be so much easier to kick her gold-digging rear off the property if he could call her by name.

  “Jake.” She said his name as if she were trying it on for size.

  He stopped and propped his hands on his hips. He really didn’t have time for this.

  Kota had no such reservations and continued on toward the interloper. He sniffed his way toward her.

  She held her ground but gave the dog a cautious glance. “Will he bite?”

  “Only if you break from the herd.”

  She nodded, then a nervous laugh escaped her. “I—”

  He broke in. “Let me save us both the trouble and the embarrassment. I know why you’re here.”

  “You do?” Her brown eyes widened. He might not remember her name, but those melted-chocolate eyes were burned into his soul. Along with the feel of her underneath him, on top of him . . .

  “The article in Out West magazine.”

  A frown wrinkled her brow, and she tilted her head to one
side as if needing a better angle on the situation.

  You’re going to need more than that, sweetheart.

  The hot Texas sun glinted off the chunk of purple in one side of her seal brown hair. That he didn’t remember. Purple?

  “And you should know, you’d better just clear on out right now,” he continued. “I’m not interested in it.”

  The frown deepened. “It?”

  “It.” He waved a hand in her general direction. The word had sounded so much more forceful in his head.

  “I don’t think you understand.”

  “I don’t think you understand.”

  “Can we go inside and talk?”

  “Nope.”

  “It’s hot out here and I just—”

  “If you don’t like the heat, stay out of Texas.”

  She thought about it a second, then gave him a small smile. “That was a joke.”

  “I’m trying to be as nice as I possibly can, but I’ve had more women crawling around here in the last few weeks than I ever imagined. It’s best you just go on home.” He turned to walk away, hoping she took the hint. Maybe if he went back into the house without inviting her, she would lose interest and leave.

  Yet the feeling that something about her was different panged at his midsection.

  “Jake?” Grandma Esther stood on the large stone porch. “Aren’t you going to invite her in? It’s mighty hot out.”

  “That’s true, Grandma, so get on back in the air-conditioning.”

  “Jacob Dwight! How are you ever going to find yourself a bride if you don’t invite these women in?”

  He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, his feet stuck in the dirt somewhere between the driveway and the big house.

  “Are the women coming here to marry you?” she asked from behind him.

  “He is the seventeenth most eligible bachelor in Texas.”

  “Fifteenth,” he corrected, then winced at his own words. He wasn’t making this easier on himself.

  Her laughter rang, sweet and clear like a babbling brook.

  Wait . . . what?

  The sun had to be getting to him. He whirled around, wondering why she hadn’t left.

  Then he realized what was so strange about the situation. Why would a hippie chick want to marry a cowboy? True he’d shown her a few tricks in the saddle, as they say, but one completely incredible, fantastic, amazing night did not a lifestyle change make. Or something like that.

  “I don’t want to marry you,” she said. The light in her eyes told him she wasn’t lying. “But I do need to talk to you about something.”

  Just as bad.

  “Come on in this house, girl.” Grandma Esther waved her in with the business end of her cane.

  The brunette—why couldn’t he remember her name?—edged past him.

  Kota nipped at her heels.

  She yelped. The cow dog had never actually bitten anyone, but Jake knew that his nips and nibbles could be a bit unnerving if you weren’t used to them. He hid his smile as she skipped to the house.

  Reluctantly, he followed behind.

  Grandma Esther stepped to one side as she entered the house. He watched her rear disappear into the shadows of the cool foyer.

  The porch offered a reprieve from the blistering sun, but another heat filled Jake. Memories of that one night when he had let his guard down. When he’d lost his resolve and tried once again to find the answers at the bottom of a bottle. He hadn’t had a drink since then, but he didn’t count days sober. It wasn’t like that for him. But he knew with so many ghosts of could-have-beens and should-have-beens haunting him that the alcohol could take over in an instant and it was best to just stay away.

  But that one night . . .

  “Esther, what is going on out here?” His mother skidded to a halt when she caught sight of their visitor. But Evelyn Duvall Langston was nothing if not composed. She brushed down the sleeves of her rose-colored, pearl-snap shirt. “Hello.”

  “Hi.” The brunette flashed his mother a nervous smile. Bre? Was that her name? No, but it was close. Briana? Nope. That wasn’t it either.

  “I wasn’t aware that Jake had a guest.”

  “She’s not a guest.” He frowned to silently instruct his mother to drop the matter.

  Mama opened her mouth to speak—she never was much at following his wishes—but Grandma Esther stepped in, her cane rattling against the stone floor. “Come on, Evie, let’s give these two some privacy.”

  For once Jake was grateful for his grandmother’s interference. He certainly couldn’t toss her out on her pretty little behind with his grandmother and mother watching. Well, he could, but he would never hear the end of it.

  He watched Grandma Esther lead his mother into her office, then turned back to his unwanted guest.

  Once again she shot him that nervous smile. She hadn’t been so nervous three and a half months ago when they had—

  “I don’t know how to say this except to just say it.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

  He went numb as his gaze flickered to her midsection hidden under her blousy, gauzy shirt. A bus could be parked under there. Or maybe that was the point.

  “Pregnant?”

  Was this true? Would she even be here if it weren’t? Maybe. He had become such a target lately. Slowly he raised his gaze to hers. She was telling the truth. Somehow, someway, he knew it.

  His heart constricted and the air left his lungs even as he tried to speak.

  His worst nightmare.

  His stomach clenched and his fingers tingled with a combination of adrenaline and terror.

  Nothing would ever be the same again.

  “Get rid of it.” His lips barely moved. Fear gripped him. Fear like he had known only once before. He was the dutiful brother. Reliable. Dependable. The caretaker. The responsible one. Always responsible. He’d never been careless. Never.

  That night in May flashed through his mind and mixed with one fall afternoon down by the river with Cecelia. A picnic meant to bring the spark back into their marriage. And yet all it had brought about was her death.

  The night with this stranger blurred and frayed until the two merged into one and all he could think about was the fear.

  “I—I beg your pardon.” Her voice was no more than a whisper. But it held the weight of the ages. Betrayal, disbelief. He’d never meant to hurt her.

  “Get rid of it.”

  She trembled, her own nervousness eclipsed by an emotion he couldn’t discern. She opened her mouth and when she spoke, her voice was no more substantial than an incredulous wisp of smoke. “You mean like an . . . an abortion?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.” An invisible hand clutched and clawed at his throat until he could barely breathe. This couldn’t be happening.

  “Jacob Dwight Langston!”

  His mother stormed toward them, but Jake couldn’t think, couldn’t move.

  “I’m sorry, Miss . . . Miss . . .”

  Evelyn looked to him.

  “Bryn,” he croaked. Oh, now he could remember her name.

  “What my son means to say, Miss Bryn—”

  “Talbot,” she corrected, then shifted from one foot to the other and adjusted the strap of her enormous orange handbag.

  “Miss Talbot,” his mother started again, but Bryn shook her head.

  “I . . . ,” she faltered. “I just thought you’d want to know.”

  She spun on one heel and headed for the door.

  • • •

  Out of all the possible scenarios she had expected, this was not one of them. Weren’t cowboys supposed to be noble?

  Bryn shook her head at herself and palmed her keys. What the heck did she know about cowboys anyway? Just that one sizzling night where she had done the unthinkable
and hooked up with a man she didn’t even know. A perfect stranger.

  Not perfect at all.

  She tripped down the steps and hurried toward her car. This stop had put her behind schedule. But she had thought he should know. Didn’t every man deserve that much?

  She just hadn’t expected his reaction. Disbelief maybe. Denial, probably. Even anger.

  Coldhearted bastard. Except he hadn’t been so cold that night. He’d been more than warm that night. Hot, burning up, dazzling.

  As if.

  “I should have never come here,” she muttered. But she hadn’t expected his reaction.

  Still, there was something in his eyes when he said the words, that unthinkable act. Sadness, remorse and . . . guilt?

  She pushed the thought away and slid behind the wheel of her car. What did he have to feel guilty about? They had entered that hotel room together.

  “Looks like it’s just the three of us again.” She pressed a hand to her rounded belly and glanced over at the urn sitting in the passenger’s seat. “Just the three of us.” She cranked the car and put it into reverse. The best laid plans.

  “Miss Talbot?” Jake’s mother came rushing out the door and over to where Bryn had parked. At least she thought she was Jake’s mother and the older lady his grandmother, though neither one looked particularly like the man. Neither had those fabulous green eyes. Or that dark hair that just begged a woman’s fingers to—

  Bryn rolled down her window. “Yes?”

  “Won’t you come back into the house?” Mrs. Langston stooped down where she could look into Bryn’s car. Her gaze flickered to the passenger’s seat, then back to Bryn. She’d be damned before she would explain herself.

  “I don’t think so.” She shot the woman her most polite, Southern smile and turned to get a good look out the rear window as she backed up.

  Jake’s mother clutched her arm. “Please, Miss Talbot. Come in. Let me apologize for my son’s behavior.”

  She whipped around, but shook her head even as she made no move to leave. “There’s no need.” He didn’t want the baby they had created. So be it. She did. The child she carried was a new beginning. A fresh start. One she so desperately needed.