by Kim Law
Table of Contents
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
Chapter Twenty-One
Acknowledgments
About the Author
PRAISE FOR KIM LAW
“Montana Cherries is a heartwarming yet heart-wrenching story of the heroine’s struggle to accept the truth about her mother’s death—and life.”
—RT Book Reviews, four stars
“An entertaining romance with a well-developed plot and believable characters. The chemistry between Vega and JP is explosive and will have you rooting for the couple’s success. Readers will definitely look forward to more works by this author.”
—RT Book Reviews, four stars (“Hot”)
“Kim Law pens a sexy, fast-paced romance.”
—New York Times bestselling author Lori Wilde
“A solid combination of sexy fun.”
—New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips
“Sugar Springs is a deeply emotional story about family ties and second chances. If you love heartwarming small towns, this is one place you’ll definitely want to visit.”
—USA Today bestselling author Hope Ramsay
“Filled with engaging characters, Sugar Springs is the typical everyone-knows-everyone’s-business small town. Law skillfully portrays heroine Lee Ann’s doubts and fears, as well as hero Cody’s struggle to be a better person than he believes he can be. And Lee Ann’s young nieces are a delight.”
—RT Book Reviews, four stars
ALSO BY KIM LAW
The Wildes of Birch Bay
Montana Cherries
Montana Rescue
Montana Mornings
Turtle Island series
Ex on the Beach
Hot Buttered Yum
Two Turtle Island Doves (novella)
On the Rocks
Sugar Springs series
Sugar Springs
Sweet Nothings
Sprinkles on Top
The Davenports
Caught on Camera
Caught in the Act
Holly Hills series
“Marry Me, Cowboy” in Cowboys for Christmas
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2017 Kim Law
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542047838
ISBN-10: 1542047838
Cover design by Pepe NYMI
To Terri Osburn. You said “she-sheds,” and I suddenly had my story. Thank you!
Contents
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
Chapter Twenty-One
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
“A drill does not belong in a tool belt.”
—Blu Johnson, life lesson #11
Jill Sadler smiled for the camera as she stood posed beside the backyard garden shed, one hand splayed on the rough-hewn cedar planks of the outer walls, the other wrapped around the handle of her heavy-duty cordless drill, and she wondered how she’d ever come to this. How had any of them?
“A half step to your left, Jill.”
She shuffled closer to the building until the photographer quit motioning with her hand. As she moved, she made sure not to glance at either Heather or Trenton. Otherwise, she’d likely catch her foster sisters silently laughing at her. This was the third time she’d had to be repositioned for this shot alone, and every time, she’d have sworn she was in the exact spot she’d been told.
“And don’t forget to smile!” The white of the photographer’s teeth flashed bright.
Jill gripped her drill tighter and decided that she hated the woman. But still, she smiled. Free publicity and all.
At least, that was the company line she’d been feeding herself.
But the thing was, this wasn’t the kind of publicity any of them wanted. Not entirely. They’d take the positive light it would shine on their business—that was always good. And they were more than happy to give back to the community. But what they hadn’t fully thought through when Trenton came to them with the idea for the fund-raiser was how this would also generate the exact opposite outcome from what they’d been working hard to accomplish. Which was to kill their current reputation.
Four and a half years ago, Jill and her two foster sisters had started what they’d thought of as any other construction company in the small town of Red Oak Falls, Texas. They’d planned to take on general maintenance and renovations to start, growing the business by flipping houses as income allowed, and had hoped to scale into new construction before any of them turned thirty—which would be Jill in two short months. Their construction skills had begun to develop when they were teens, thanks to their helping with an addition to their foster mother’s home, and they’d thought the uniqueness of being an all-female crew would intrigue people enough to give them a chance.
Yet business hadn’t exactly gone as planned.
Eighteen months after hanging out their shingle, they’d tossed a Hail Mary by building the shed they were currently being photographed with. Sitting thirty feet outside Blu Johnson’s back door, it had been constructed as a test idea for side projects until the “real work” picked up. A last-ditch effort to keep the company afloat. Only, they never could have predicted the results from raising the walls on this quaint little garden shed. Women now called from all over central Texas wanting their own backyard retreat, and they were willing to pay a pretty penny to get one. Seemed Bluebonnet Construction had developed a reputation for producing one-of-a-kind designs.
All the accolades, however, hadn’t scored them the more substantial renovation projects they’d been hoping for. Instead, it had set them up as being known for doing nothing more than she-sheds. Queens of the She-Sheds, in fact. The local paper had even run an article proclaiming them as such.
But they didn’t want to be women building projects for women. They wanted to compete.
They wanted to prove that they were just as good as their m
ale competition. Or better.
Yet here they were: Jill with a drill held at an angle across her chest, Heather on her haunches, wearing a hard hat and wielding a hammer, and Trenton standing at the opposite corner of the building, circular saw held aloft. As if anyone would willy-nilly slice a board in two in the middle of the air.
Aunt Blu was also in the picture, but she’d been positioned in a rocker inside the open door. The four of them were doing their best to showcase how it had all begun—all the while knowing that the calendar being created to raise money for the elementary school would only garner them more calls. For more she-sheds.
“Got it.” The photographer lowered her camera. Her voice was way too perky for that early on a Sunday morning. “Now let’s do one last shot. Something a little different this time.”
Jill stood quietly, awaiting her next directive and wishing any other photographer could have been chosen for the project. She’d never met the other woman in person before today, but Jill had been aware of her. And she’d certainly seen her around town.
Marci Hammery. The daughter of the senior partner of the town’s largest law firm.
The woman currently dating Jill’s ex.
Jill narrowed her eyes as the other woman puckered her mouth—seeming to contemplate how she wanted to pose them next—and had the thought that lips like Marci’s couldn’t possibly be that naturally full. Though the brunette was several years younger than Jill, surely she’d had work done to get that mouth.
“I want Trenton on the roof,” Marci decided. “A nail gun in hand, straddling the top.”
Jill frowned. “The roof wasn’t installed with a nail gun. It’s aluminum and glass.”
She was ignored.
“And Heather on a step stool. I want you dusting off the plaque with one hand,” Marci told Heather as she moved a rustic-looking stool into the shot and handed over a feather duster, “while holding a watering can over the window box with the other.”
A watering can appeared, and Jill’s blood pressure spiked.
The picture was going to look stupid. And not just because Heather would have her body contorted in two different directions.
They were a construction crew. They shouldn’t be dusting anything.
But as Heather shot a pinched look, first at the duster and then at the plaque hanging above the door christening the shed as “Blu’s Business,” Trenton murmured a sound of agreement and moved a ladder to the side of the building. She grabbed a nail gun and began climbing. The jeans and fitted tee she’d worn for the photos were her norm for work, but she’d let herself be talked into using hot rollers on her hair. Blonde waves fell over her shoulders, giving a softer, more romantic look than the no-frills version Jill had always known Trenton to wear. This wasn’t them.
Nothing about this setup was real.
“And for Jill”—the photographer turned back to her—“I want you standing just inside the building. At Blu’s side.”
Aunt Blu had barely uttered a word throughout the morning, and though she sat in the midst of the starter plants she was known for, Jill knew her foster mother had to hate how the rocker—that had also shown up with Marci—portrayed her as a quiet, soft-spoken “little woman.” Blu was anything but someone’s “little woman.” But she would do anything for her girls.
She also had a weak spot for every child in need, so participating in a fund-raiser for elementary school children was right up her alley.
“Put your left hand on the back of the rocker, feet shoulder-width apart,” Marci instructed Jill as her focus dropped to resetting the dials of her camera, “and tuck the drill into your tool belt. Hold it as if you’re holstering a gun.”
No one said a word.
The instructions, however, finally brought Blu to her feet. Marci looked up at the sound of movement.
“A drill doesn’t go in a tool belt,” Aunt Blu informed her.
Marci blinked. “Pardon?”
“A drill does not go in a tool belt,” Aunt Blu repeated. She stepped onto the cobblestone path that led from the house to the door of the ten-by-twelve building. A drill does not belong in a tool belt had been one of the first lessons they’d learned after arriving at Bluebonnet Farms. Jill had been fourteen, Heather only six months behind her, and Trenton twelve. They’d all shown up within the same week, the first girls Blu had taken in, and their foster mother had wasted no time starting what she called their must-have lessons for life.
Lesson #11 had come about when Jill had snagged a drill and tool belt from the workshop, then had pranced around with the drill hanging through the hammer loop of the tool belt, announcing how “tough” she was.
Aunt Blu had not been amused.
“I just—”
“No,” Aunt Blu interrupted Marci. Her gray eyes were hard as she took the drill out of Jill’s hand and motioned Trenton down off the roof with a quick snap of her fingers. “And as Jill made clear, the glass panels didn’t get nailed in. They were attached with screws. These three ladies won’t be put into a photograph looking as if they don’t have the first clue about what they’re doing.”
Aunt Blu took the water pitcher from Heather’s hand and flung it across the yard. It made a sliding sound as it came to a stop next to Marci’s hybrid. Aunt Blu’s late husband, Gerry, had built the two-story farmhouse on the sprawling one-hundred-fifty-acre farm, and though Blu had never mastered the skills of her construction-company-owner husband, she’d picked up plenty of knowledge along the way. And she got instantly bent out of shape over the illogical use of any tool.
“For this last picture, we’ll stand side by side,” Blu announced. “As one.”
They’d been trussed up like performing monkeys for the last two hours, when their hopes for today had been simple: capture the vision that had started it all, along with the tight-knit bond held between the four of them. This would be the cover shot for the calendar, while eighteen of Bluebonnet Construction’s most original designs would fill the interior pages. Proceeds from the sales would go to fund new playground equipment over the summer, with the Bluebonnets installing the equipment themselves. The previous playground had been decimated by a tornado at the beginning of the year.
But Marci wasn’t ready to give in on the setup of the photo. “As a professional with an eye for—”
“Together.” Aunt Blu didn’t budge.
Marci stared at her a moment longer, but Jill could see the fight go out of her. Her gaze flicked away. “Okay, then.” Marci licked her lips. “You’ll stand together.”
She sounded less than enthused, but after Marci spent a couple of minutes studying the angle of the morning light and considering how best to position the four of them, they ended up in a slight arc off to the left of the shed’s door. Bluebonnet flowers burst with color in the background, while Jill and the others linked together, arms around waists, wearing the kind of smiles that no one would ever have to force. It would make a picture that Jill would hold dear.
The camera whirred as the final shots were snapped, then Marci called it a wrap. She may have ended up annoyed with her subjects, but Jill knew that her photography business would garner as much attention from the fund-raiser as Bluebonnet Construction would. Therefore, Marci couldn’t be too disappointed with the way the morning had turned out.
After the other woman finished loading her car and drove away, the climbing sun slashing bright rays of light through the whirls of dust wafting up behind her vehicle, Aunt Blu ushered the rest of them into the house. Jill and Trenton dropped into the straight-back chairs at the kitchen table, groaning as if they couldn’t stand to be on their feet one second longer, while Heather headed for the marble countertop outlining the other half of the room.
“I’ll pour the coffee,” Heather announced. Jill could smell the freshly brewed, life-sustaining liquid, and practically foamed at the mouth.
“And I’ll sit here and sleep,” Trenton muttered. She folded her arms in front of her, and dropped her head. Neithe
r she nor Jill were what anyone would call morning people, no matter that six days a week they were up before dawn.
Today, however, was Sunday. The day of sleep.
And they were not sleeping.
“No sleeping yet,” Aunt Blu responded. She’d crossed to the rolltop desk and shuffled through a stack of papers.
“You got a new girl coming in?” Jill glanced toward the hallway as she spoke.
The house had been empty since the last two foster girls were returned to their biological mother, but as with everything else, Blu was always prepared to take in more. She always got asked, too. Since opening her doors fifteen years before, Aunt Blu and Bluebonnet Farms had only grown in popularity. Requests now came from as far out as Dallas, and Blu never turned a girl away.
Nor did she look the other way when any of them reached adulthood. She’d proven that when Jill, Heather, and Trenton had shown up back at the farm several years after hightailing it out of there, each dragging their injured pride behind them.
“No girls,” Aunt Blu answered. “But there is something I need to tell you about.” Her voice was tighter than normal, and all three of them looked over at her. Trenton even lifted her head from the table. “I signed you up for something,” Blu told them.
Jill stifled a groan. She was all for volunteering, but after getting to the farm before sunrise that morning, she’d rather lay off the pro bono work for a bit.
“Just say we don’t have to do it today?” she pleaded.
“Not today.” Blu returned to the table. She held a single sheet of paper in one hand and a legal-sized envelope in the other.
“What is it?” Heather asked. She placed steaming mugs in front of Jill and Trenton.
“It’s a contest.”
Aunt Blu slid the paper onto the table, and Jill, Heather, and Trenton all leaned forward, each silently reading the words on the flyer. But it was Heather who reacted first.
“Yes.” Her eyes rounded as she looked back up at Blu. “This is exactly what we need. You signed us up for this?”
Aunt Blu nodded. “A couple of months ago.”
“Do you really think we could get chosen?” Trenton’s gaze remained glued to the paper. The exhaustion that had previously marred her expression had vanished.
