His Frozen Heart
Brewer Brothers Series, Book 1
Nancy Straight
Published by Nancy Straight at Smashwords
Copyright 2014 Nancy Straight
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Printed in paperback in 2014. Available electronically from all major bookstores.
Acknowledgements
As I finished this story, there were many people I needed to thank. First, Lisa Henderson, although I have never met you in person, I look forward to the day that I do. Lisa was a fan who read my Touched Series and told me it was the first Paranormal Romance she had ever read. She told me she would love for me to write a Contemporary Romance; it was her prodding that made His Frozen Heart a reality.
To Charles Young, Melissa Balentine and Rebecca Ufkes: Do you know why football teams have cheerleaders? Me either, but my goodness, you all make me feel like the starting line-up for the Green Bay Packers. Your support means the world to me. No author could ever be more fortunate than I – to have three of the best beta readers and friends on the planet.
Jaime Radalyac, there are no words to tell you how much I appreciate everything you do. I like that when I say something crazy like, “Hey, let’s do a cover reveal this week,” your only response is, “You bet!” I’m convinced there is nothing you cannot do, and it is my privilege to know you and call you my friend.
To all the book bloggers who have supported me since I started this career a few years ago, “Thank you,” is inadequate. I have never met a group of people who are more giving of their time. Your willingness to take a chance on my work has humbled me from the beginning, and I grow more grateful every time I discover a new one of you in the blogosphere. Your passion inspires me every day. Thank you for doing what you do for me and for all the other independent authors out there.
To the citizens of Charles City, Iowa – you have my deepest apologies. I’m certain you have had to ask for resupplies of red ink pens from neighboring cities since my editor, Linda Brant, has bled the town dry! Linda, this has been quite an adventure. I wouldn’t have wanted to go on this journey with anyone but you!
To my sons, Alex and Zack, your imaginations, humor, and enthusiasm inspire me every day. I feel blessed to have two of the coolest kids in the world. Thank you for finding a way to make me laugh even when I am buried in my fictional worlds.
Finally, Toby, thanks for all the nights you played Plants vs. Zombies® with Zack so I could write and for never rolling your eyes when I said, “How about take-out tonight?” Few wives are lucky enough to have a husband who not only believes in them, but encourages them to chase their dreams. I am the luckiest wife/mom/author I know.
All my love,
Nancy
Chapter 1
I ran to the shadow of an enormous maple tree and crouched low to the ground. I couldn’t believe I had let Libby talk me into this. We had set our alarm clock for 2 AM, then sneaked out of my house while my parents were sound asleep. Libby was ticked off about some stupid science assignment over spring break. She believed she had been purposely singled out by Mr. Brinks. I pointed out that her entire class had a project to work on over the break, but she insisted her assigned project was more difficult than everyone else’s.
Still confident that this was the dumbest idea she had come up with in months, I asked, “You’re sure this is his house?”
“Of course, I’m sure. I wrote down the house number today, 811 Stone Avenue.”
I eyed the small scrap of paper in her hand – only the number was scrawled down. “You’re sure this is the right street?”
“C’mon already. Yes, his address is 811 Stone Avenue. Do you need me to break in and steal a piece of his mail?”
I was struggling to find a way to talk her out of her plan. Delaying, I pointed at the driveway, “I thought he drove a blue four-door car?”
Her gaze drifted to the driveway where a red SUV was parked. She shrugged my question off, “Maybe he keeps it in the garage.”
“Or maybe this isn’t the right address.” I eyed the upscale neighborhood where the two-story brick home stood. It had a three car garage, and there looked to be a detached guest house in the back. This didn’t look like the sort of home a high school science teacher could afford.
Libby scowled at me, “It’s the right address. Are you going to help me or not?”
I took another look at the SUV. The license plate caught my eye: it was a vanity plate that read: SUPRINT. “What do you think the license plate stands for?”
Libby barked, “Surprise instantly, super instantly, super instructor. . . who knows, he’s a dork. If you aren’t going to help me, go wait in the car.”
As much as I hated this idea, I couldn’t let Libby do it on her own. I grabbed a roll of toilet paper, “Okay. I’m helping. I’ll take the trees, you do the house.”
“You’re the best.” Those were the last words spoken before the two of us set off an external alarm and the house lit up like Caesar’s Palace. A computerized voice began to broadcast, “Intruder alert,” every five seconds. Flood lights poured down onto the grass from several points on the roof. Lights in the house turned on, then the computerized voice coming through the loud speaker shut off. We had obviously awakened Mr. Brinks, and he was about to catch us red-handed teepeeing his house. I froze. I willed my legs to move, but they ignored me.
The front door opened and Mr. Brink’s voice shouted from the front porch, “Who’s out there?”
I was sort of hidden in the shadows when I heard Libby’s voice whisper to me. “Candy, I’ll distract him. You get home. You were never here.”
Before I could stop her or try to tell her I wasn’t leaving her, Libby skipped from out of the shadows – not walked, not ran, but skipped. She overexaggerated her movements, nearly dancing in circles in the glow of all the lights. The man on the porch adjusted his glasses, cinched his bathrobe up tight, then reality hit me that this was definitely not Mr. Brinks. Whoever this man was, he was not happy about a girl skipping through his yard with a roll of toilet paper in the middle of the night.
The man shouted, “Who are you? What are you doing?”
In a shrill voice, Libby shouted, “I’m the gingerbread girl, and you can’t catch me.” She sprinted around the side of his house and into the side yard. As soon as his attention was diverted, I ran across the street and tucked behind his neighbor’s garbage can. My heart raced, I wiped my palms on my jeans, and it sounded like I was breathing heavy enough to be a prank telephone caller.
I couldn’t leave Libby. I needed to delay the man who was now rounding the side of his house chasing her. It was my turn to create a distraction for her. I looked
at the SUV, which had a small red flashing light above the rearview mirror indicating the alarm had been set. I knew what I needed to do. I darted back across the street, ran up to the side of the SUV and kicked it as hard as I could.
The vehicle’s alarm blared to life as I ran back to the safety of the garbage cans where I had taken cover minutes before. The SUV flashed its lights, a loud siren awoke every neighbor who had managed to sleep through the previous alarm and the man’s shouting. The man ran from around the side of the house where he had chased Libby, onto the porch, and through his front door. A minute later he reemerged from his front door holding a remote to turn off the vehicle’s loud plea for help.
This had been enough time for Libby to run over to my side of the street and squat down beside me behind the garbage cans. I whisper shouted at her, “Couldn’t stay up and watch old movies. Couldn’t surf YouTube. No, you have to teepee your teacher’s house. Oh, wait, scratch that, teepee a stranger’s house.”
She answered me with an enormous smile and mischievous eyes, “Admit it. This is soooooo better than braiding each other’s hair and painting our nails.”
A voice shouted from directly behind us. “They’re over here. There’s two of ‘em. I already called the police.”
The two of us popped up from behind the garbage cans and ran full-speed down the street away from the ruckus we had caused. We ran the four city blocks straight to where we had left my car. Libby made my life interesting. She was never one to see the flaws of a plan before initiating it – life with Libby was an adventure. We both watched for police cars as I drove home, but didn’t pass a single squad car. I turned off the car and coasted it into place so as not to wake up my parents. We both sat there in front of my house for several minutes before our breathing slowed and Libby asked, “What do you want to do now?”
“Now? We almost got thrown in jail. I want to go to bed.”
Libby snarked, “We did not almost get thrown in jail. We didn’t even see one police car.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“Well, no. But since we already sneaked out, maybe we should make the most of it. It might be risky trying to sneak back into your house.”
“So, what’s your plan? Sleep in my car?”
“We could go out to the lake and see if anyone were there tonight.”
“The lake? If anyone was there, the police have already sent them packing and confiscated the beer. C’mon, let’s get in before anyone notices we’ve gone.”
She reluctantly followed me inside; we had been gone less than an hour. The next morning, Libby was on the computer when I woke up to, “Oh, crap, it was 118.”
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I asked, “What was 118?”
“Mr. Brink’s address. I just wrote the house number down because I knew I could remember the street. His address is 118 Stone Avenue; we went to 811 Stone Avenue last night.” She paused for a minute, “Want to try again tonight?”
She handed me the slip of paper from last night which read 811; when I turned it upside down it read 118. That was Libby. Once she got something in her head, the only way to get it out was to follow her blindly on whatever objective she had set her sights on.
*****
The memory of that adventure played through my head as I tuned out the commencement ceremony. Returning to reality, I listened to our class valedictorian’s speech drone on. A smile formed when it hit me that every happy high school memory I had was with Libby. When the valedictorian’s speech ended with the cliché, “This is the first day of the rest of our lives,” I was sure I would puke.
Luckily the rest of the ceremony moved faster. The superintendent stood in front of the lectern handing diplomas to each student. Beads of sweat formed on my brow as I accepted mine, and decided he looked even more intimidating in a suit than he did in his bathrobe at two in the morning. SUPRINT on the red SUV did not stand for “super instructor,” as Libby had surmised. I was already back in my seat holding my diploma when Libby’s name was called, and I was anxious to see her reaction to the superintendent up close. A slurred voice shouted from the risers, “That’s my girl.”
I saw her stop to look where the shout had come from. Her dad was here. She placed one hand on her square hat, holding it in place, while her other hand waved like crazy to the voice above. Libby had ridden with me to the ceremony. When I’d asked her if her dad was coming to graduation, her answer sounded defeated, “He doesn’t like crowds.”
Libby had grown up with only her dad. He had a tough time holding a job, and for the same reason had a tough time keeping a decent place to live. She moved a lot. Growing up, Libby had spent almost every weekend at my house. When I was younger, I never understood why I couldn’t go to her house to spend the night. Mom always manufactured a good reason for why I couldn’t go over, but welcomed Libby to stay with us. It wasn’t until I was a teenager and could drive that I saw where she lived first hand and was grateful Mom had never given in to my pleading.
After the ceremony was over, we found each other. I asked, “Is your dad giving you a ride home?”
“No. I’m going back to your house with you.” Libby had stayed with me the last two weeks. She said it was because she didn’t want me to have to drive across town and pick her up, but I was guessing her dad had drunk their rent money again, so they were locked out of the apartment. There was a month when we were in eighth grade where both of them lived in his truck. A few of the nights were so cold that they had to stay in a homeless shelter.
Not wanting to pry about her dad’s abrupt departure, I said, “Great. I got you a present.”
A huge smile formed on her lips, “Oh, me, too!” She reached into her pocket and took out a handmade red and white friendship bracelet. I’d seen her make these before. It was made of knotted embroidery floss, but she had made it with my name in it: Candy. I’d watched her make simple ones that took all weekend: one with my name in it must have taken her several weeks.
I looked at the wrapped box in the back seat of my car. After seeing the bracelet she had made for me, I felt like I had cheated her. She tore through the wrapping paper and stared at the two little eyes peering out through the box’s lid. Libby had collected turtles for as long as I could remember – she had hundreds in all shapes and sizes.
I watched in horror as tears welled up in her eyes. I stammered, “What’s wrong? If you don’t like it, I can take it back. I thought you liked turtles.”
She shook her head. She reached across the bench seat of my car and grabbed my neck in a tight embrace. I froze. Libby let me go, then wiped her eyes trying to keep her eyeliner from running. “Until I met you, I was a turtle. That’s how I saw myself. Anytime someone got too close to me, I would hide in my shell. You were the first person I could be out of my shell around.”
So the valedictorian’s speech hadn’t been that monumental. I was sort of excited for Libby that her dad had sobered up long enough to watch her get her diploma. But it was Libby’s response to the little stuffed turtle that yanked on my heart.
She smiled, “Let’s go see if Mom needs help getting ready for the party.” Libby never knew her mom: they had met a few times, but it was Libby’s dad who raised her. One day she just started calling my mom, “Mom.”
When we pulled up to my house, a huge banner hung down from the roof of the front porch. “Congratulations Candy and Libby.” We may not have been sisters by blood, but in every other sense of the word we were. It was a typical graduation party: relatives I hadn’t seen since my older sister’s high school graduation, neighbors, my parent’s friends – snore. After the last of the guests departed, Libby and I went upstairs to my room to change so we could go to a couple fun parties. Mom knocked on my door, peeked through the opening and asked, “Got a minute?”
“Sure. C’mon in.”
Mom was beaming when she said, “We’re so proud of both of you girls.” She sat on the edge of my bed, “Libby, have you picked a college?”
; “No. I’m going to work for a year or so to figure out what I want to do.”
“Good. Maybe you can help Candy with rent.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Rent? You’re going to charge me to live here?”
Mom smiled. “That’s up to you. Dad got a job in New Mexico. He needs to start there in two weeks.”
Did I hear her right? “You’re moving to New Mexico? But why?”
“Dad’s company has wanted to transfer him for years, but he wouldn’t move while you and your sisters were still at home. His boss offered him a promotion if he transferred – Dad accepted.”
I had heard my parents talk about a transfer a few times, but each time I started to get seriously nervous about it, Dad told me he wouldn’t uproot me or my sisters. Now I was officially an adult: I had turned eighteen last month, and, as of four hours ago, I was a high school graduate. It was supposed to be the kids who grew up and moved away, not the parents.
Awkwardly, I asked, “So how much rent are we talking?”
Mom smiled warmly. “We think $500 is fair.”
Five hundred dollars was a bargain. Libby and I could easily swing $250 each. “So how soon are you going? You said a couple weeks?”
“Dad starts his new job in two weeks. We’re planning to drive down this weekend. We have to find a house and get situated. No more Midwest winters! I can’t wait.”
“Why didn’t you say something before now? You’re just leaving?”
Mom answered apologetically, “Dad wasn’t sure the promotion was going to happen. He wouldn’t have accepted the transfer without it. He found out last night. The timing was right, and it was too good of an offer to turn down.”
Libby piped in as if to convince me that this wasn’t the strangest event ever. “I’ll be working full-time. I could pay half, maybe even more than half since you’re going to school. It’ll be great. Just you and me.”
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