Harlequin Superromance December 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: Caught Up in YouThe Ranch She Left BehindA Valley Ridge Christmas

by Beth Andrews

  Harlequin Superromance December 2013 – Bundle 1 of 2

  Caught Up in You

  The Ranch She Left Behind

  A Valley Ridge Christmas

  Beth Andrews

  Kathleen O’Brien

  Holly Jacobs

  Harlequin Superromance brings you three new novels for one great price, available now! Experience powerful relationships that deliver a strong emotional punch and a guaranteed happily ever after. This Harlequin Superromance bundle includes Caught Up in You by Beth Andrews, The Ranch She Left Behind by Kathleen O’Brien and A Valley Ridge Christmas by Holly Jacobs.

  Enjoy more story and more romance from Harlequin Superromance with 6 new novels every month!

  Table of Contents

  Caught Up in You

  By Beth Andrews

  The Ranch She Left Behind

  By Kathleen O’Brien

  A Valley Ridge Christmas

  By Holly Jacobs

  His teachers were never like this!

  As a single dad and a partner in the family construction company, Eddie Montesano’s days are jammed. Then he discovers his son Max’s teacher is none other than Harper Kavanagh. Gorgeous and smart, single mom Harper is even more captivating than she was in high school. Plus it’s clear she’s dedicated to helping Max with his learning issues. How can Eddie resist making time for her?

  Too bad there are clear rules limiting the relationship he and Harper have. But with their attraction out of control, Eddie is about to break those rules. Because if it means the chance at a future with her, he’ll take the risk of getting caught!

  Harper laughed, a surprisingly deep, husky laugh

  Eddie realized it was the first time he’d heard her laugh, the sound grating pleasantly along his nerve endings.

  But having her laugh at him wasn’t funny.

  “What?” he growled.

  She shook her head. “It’s just…you keep surprising me.”

  He studied her through narrowed eyes, figured she was telling the truth. He was edgy and amped up, worried about his son, and he hadn’t reacted to a woman this strongly in longer than he could remember.

  Couldn’t remember the last time a woman had captured his thoughts. Had slipped into his dreams.

  He edged closer, gratified and relieved when she didn’t back up, just smiled at him. “You like surprises?” he asked, his voice gruff.

  Her grin widened. “Love them.”

  “Good,” he said.

  Then he leaned in to kiss her.

  Dear Reader,

  I’m having such fun writing the stories in the In Shady Grove series. When I initially came up with the idea for the first book in the series, Talk of the Town (April 2013), I knew very little about the secondary characters. Now, having finished three In Shady Grove stories and starting a fourth, I’m constantly discovering new insights into the people who call Shady Grove home.

  For instance, while I knew that Eddie Montesano, the middle son of the Montesano clan, was quiet and a bit shy, I had no idea he was so stubborn! Or that when he does speak, he usually manages to say the right thing.

  I also knew that single mother Harper Kavanagh was a teacher and a recent widow. She was supposed to be sweet and perhaps a bit naive. Instead, she stormed onto the scene ready to take on the world—but afraid of moving on too quickly after the loss of her beloved husband. It was a conflict I hadn’t planned on, but one that so moved me and seemed so real, I had no choice but to write it.

  Yes, Eddie and Harper were full of surprises, taking me in different directions than I’d planned. I wouldn’t want it any other way. After all, I may have drifted off the road I’d mapped out, but the destination remained the same: Happy Ever After.

  Next year brings three more In Shady Grove stories—I hope you’ll look for them! Keep an eye on my website, www.bethandrews.net, for publication details. Or drop me a line at beth@bethandrews.net. I’d love to hear from you.

  Happy reading!

  Beth Andrews

  CAUGHT UP IN YOU

  Beth Andrews

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  While writing Caught Up in You, Romance Writers of America RITA® Award winner Beth Andrews survived her older daughter’s graduation, her younger daughter’s driving lessons and her son’s causing her grocery bill to double during his summer home from college. In her free time, Beth can be found at the grocery store. Learn more about Beth and her books by visiting her website, www.bethandrews.net.

  Books by Andrews

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  1496—NOT WITHOUT HER FAMILY

  1556—A NOT-SO-PERFECT PAST

  1591—HIS SECRET AGENDA

  1634—DO YOU TAKE THIS COP?

  1670—A MARINE FOR CHRISTMAS

  1707—THE PRODIGAL SON

  1727—FEELS LIKE HOME

  1782—UNRAVELING THE PAST*

  1794—ON HER SIDE*

  1806—IN THIS TOWN*

  1842—TALK OF THE TOWN**

  1866—WHAT HAPPENS BETWEEN FRIENDS**

  *The Truth about the Sullivans

  **In Shady Grove

  Other titles by this author available in ebook format.

  For my sister Karen.

  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

  Excerpt

  CHAPTER ONE

  EDDIE MONTESANO SQUIRMED on his seat like a fish on a hook and sighed. Hell, a few minutes in his son’s classroom and he’d somehow regressed to the second-grader he’d been twenty-five years ago, uncomfortable on the hard chair, anxious to get away from the rigid rules and expectations.

  Terrified the teacher would call on him to answer a math problem she’d written on the chalkboard. Or worse, ask him to read aloud from their reading book. It’d been torture, speaking in front of so many people—even if they had been his classmates. Humiliating to have them all witness his struggles sounding out simple words.

  He hadn’t been able to sit still then, either. He’d always been moving—tapping his fingers, shaking his leg or wiggling his ass. He’d been lectured, plenty of times, about not fidgeting, but it hadn’t done any good. He’d had too much energy, like a live current zipped through him, making his thoughts race, pushing him to move, move, move.

  Though he’d taught himself to be more self-contained, to focus on one task at a time, he’d still much rather be doing than sitting. Especially when sitting made him feel like that restless, nervous kid again.

  He stretched out his legs. His left knee whacked the bottom of the desk, the steel toe of his work boot hit the chair acros
s from him, shoved it out a few inches.

  What was with this setup? The desks were in groups of four so that half the class faced the blackboard, the other half the teacher’s desk. It didn’t make any sense to him. The kids were staring at each other, two by two. Seemed like a distraction.

  Then again, the teacher was a woman, and a lot of things women did made no sense to him.

  He checked the time. Eight minutes until his meeting with Mrs. Kavanagh, Max’s teacher. Not that Eddie was in a hurry to see her again, but he would like to know what was behind this whole parent/teacher thing. Max had assured Eddie he wasn’t in trouble, and Eddie hadn’t received any calls from the principal so far this year about Max’s behavior.

  But the note Mrs. Kavanagh had sent home requesting a meeting had been vague enough that Eddie wondered if he’d gotten the whole story from his son.

  Max had a habit of keeping his thoughts to himself. Especially if he’d done something wrong. And while Eddie agreed it was better, safer, to keep your thoughts in your head, he wished his son would just admit when he’d messed up so Eddie could tackle the problem, fix it and move on.

  He glanced around the room. Shelves filled with row after row of neatly lined-up books took up the entire wall behind the teacher’s desk. A white wooden rocking chair was tucked into the corner in front of a circular rug next to the chalkboard. Artwork, graded papers, a huge calendar and equally large schedule covered the walls, along with bright banners and posters—most sporting a cartoon or picture of a baby animal—encouraging the kids to read, imagine and go for the gold. Assuring them they were a team, books were treasures waiting to be discovered and that with hard work, anything was possible.

  A nice sentiment, that last one. Complete bullshit, but nice.

  He was all for doing one’s best, putting in full effort and sticking with a job until it was done. But believing that if you worked hard enough, long enough, you’d achieve your goals no matter what, was setting these kids up for disappointment.

  And possibly years of therapy.

  Eddie had worked his ass off to save his marriage and look where it got him. Divorced, raising his son on his own and constantly trying to be everything to Max. Hoping he was doing enough. Being enough.

  Worrying that most days he didn’t even come close.

  But he’d keep trying, doing his best to make up for failing at his marriage and not being able to keep Max’s mother in their lives. And not because he was staring at a poster of a kitten at the end of a rope—literally—telling him to Never Give Up.

  He’d do anything for his kid.

  “This is the drawing I told you about,” Max said, shoving a picture in Eddie’s face.

  Eddie leaned back, the hard edge of the metal chair digging into his shoulder blades as he took the paper. He raised his eyebrows. It was good. Damn good.

  His kid never ceased to amaze him.

  “It’s Pops’s pumpkin patch,” Max said. He pointed at the cottage in the background. “See? That’s his house.”

  “It looks just like it.” Right down to the curtains in the windows and brick walkway winding its way from the back door to the garden.

  Green vines tangled around fat, bright orange pumpkins. Beyond the cottage, trees in all their autumn glory of copper, red and auburn covered the rolling hills. And standing to the left, a hoe in one hand, his other hand tucked behind his back, was Big Leo Montesano. Max had perfectly captured Eddie’s grandfather, from the top of the straw hat on Pops’s balding head to the tips of the black rubber boots he wore when gardening.

  “It’s great, bud,” Eddie said.

  Shifting from foot to foot, Max beamed. “Mrs. Hewitt said it was the best one out of the whole second grade.”

  “Mrs. Hewitt?”

  “She’s the art teacher.” Now Max hunched his shoulders. Chewed on his thumbnail. “I forgot I’m not supposed to tell anyone that.”

  “You’re not supposed to tell anyone she’s the art teacher? Is she some sort of spy?”

  Max frowned as if Eddie was the one not making sense. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone she said my picture was the best.”

  Eddie’s heart swelled. Christ, but he loved his kid. Max was tall for his age and stocky, with Eddie’s hazel eyes and dark hair, and Lena’s light coloring and nose. Shy around everyone but family, when he opened up, he was funny and entertaining as hell. Max went full throttle from the time he woke until he hit his bed and slept like the dead, recharging for another nonstop day.

  He was Eddie’s greatest joy. The best thing he’d ever done.

  “We’ll keep it between us.” Eddie mussed Max’s hair, making a mental note to get him to the barber sometime this week. “But I bet she’s right.”

  Max stopped gnawing on his nail long enough to send Eddie a small, proud smile. “She is.”

  Eddie grinned. That was his boy. “How about we make a frame for this and give it to Pops.”

  “Yeah. He’ll love it. He loves all my pictures. But we can’t take it now. Not ’til Mrs. Hewitt says so.”

  “Okay. Maybe you should put it back, then.”

  Max did some sort of galloping walk over to the wide windowsill where the rest of his classmates’ drawings were laid out. Afternoon sun streamed through the glass, raising the temperature in the room a good ten degrees. Sweat formed on Eddie’s upper lip, along his hairline. Reaching behind him, he grabbed the sweatshirt at his shoulder blades and tugged it upward. Only to realize he was stuck, his lower back pressed against the chair holding the shirt in place. He scooted forward and rammed his stomach into the edge of the desk. He grunted. Banged his elbow when he tried to straighten.

  “Shit,” he muttered, his funny bone tingling painfully.

  Someone cleared their throat, the sound delicate, feminine and, if he wasn’t mistaken, subtly chastising.

  The back of his neck heated with embarrassment. Standing, Eddie shoved the chair back. It toppled over. He sighed. Some days a man just couldn’t win.

  He yanked the sweatshirt off, avoided looking at the door while he tugged his T-shirt down, then righted the chair. Smoothing his hair—and realizing Max wasn’t the only one who needed a trim—he turned. Scanned the curvy blonde in the doorway.

  Harper Sutter—now Harper Kavanagh—didn’t look much like the perky cheerleader she’d been in high school. Then she’d been petite with light brown hair that fell to the middle of her back. Now her hair was several shades lighter and at least six inches shorter, her face, hips and breasts fuller.

  His gaze flicked to her chest.

  Much fuller.

  A tickle formed in the back of his throat. Interest—basic and purely physical—stirred. Ignoring it, he shoved his hands into his pockets, focused on her face. Same high, pronounced cheekbones and gray eyes that turned down slightly at the corners. Same full, heart-shaped lips.

  He’d had a few fantasies—brief, insignificant fantasies—about her mouth.

  Then again, he’d been seventeen. Sexy dreams had pretty much been a nightly experience.

  Those lips curved into a bright smile. She switched her coffee cup to her left hand and offered him her right one. “Hello, Eddie. It’s so nice to see you.”

  With a nod, he shook her hand. Though he’d known her since kindergarten, he’d never touched her before. Her palm was warm against his. Soft.

  Awareness bolted through him. He acknowledged it was partly due to the remnants of the teenage fantasies playing in his head. Accepted it as a man’s instinctual response to an attractive woman.

  Acknowledged it, accepted it. Then let it—and her hand—go.

  “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” she said.

  “You didn’t.”

  He wasn’t sure if she’d meant it as a real concern or a reprimand for his being early. He gave
a mental shrug. Didn’t matter to him either way. He’d had a break at work so he’d taken off. No sense finding something to do for a few minutes so he could arrive precisely at four o’clock.

  “Max,” Harper said, sounding surprised when Max sidled up to Eddie, pressed against his side. “Still stuck here?”

  Max lifted a shoulder.

  She wrinkled her nose. “That’s a drag. I can’t wait to leave at the end of the day. Hey, would you do me a favor?” Before Max could even blink, she continued in her rapid-fire speech. “Could you walk—and by walk I mean that slow movement of putting one foot in front of the other that is not running, hopping or skipping—to the office to check if I have any mail?”

  Seemed she knew Max well. He didn’t do anything slowly. Except talk.

  While Max headed toward the door, Harper gestured for Eddie to follow her as she crossed the room. His gaze fell to the sway of her hips. She had on tan pants and a long sweater the color of rust that molded to her ass. A wide brown belt accentuated the indentation of her waist and he wondered, briefly, what it would be like to set his hands there.

  He stumbled, bumped into a desk.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him.

  His face burning, he stared resolutely at a spot somewhere above her head. Maybe he hadn’t fully let that earlier awareness go.

  “I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me.” She set her cup on the desk. “Although, I have to admit, I was hoping to speak with you alone.”

  “I didn’t have time to find a sitter.”

  Hadn’t taken the time to find one. Not when it wasn’t necessary. He only asked for help with his kid when there was no other solution. Absolutely, positively no other solution.

  “It’s not a problem,” she assured him. “But would you mind if I gave him something to keep him occupied while we talk?”

  Eddie shrugged.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said cheerily, then gestured to the chair across from her desk. “Can I get you anything? There’s coffee in the break room or—”