by Tanya Hanson
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Praise for Tanya Hanson
Pick Me
Copyright
Dedications
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Landry stalked to the house
and banged the screen door behind him. His furrowed brow stared back at him from his sister’s hallway mirror. A long, long time since any woman had said no to being with him. He didn’t much like the feeling.
Truth was, most times he did the refusing. Holding off pop stars seeking Americana photo-ops, keeping at bay minor European royalty in pursuit of a Wild West cowboy. Or the current divorced/separated/estranged Housewife of Somewhere Stupid wanting to appear wholesome.
He grumbled. And coffee wasn’t even a date.
On his way to the kitchen, he passed a credenza crowded with framed pictures. All the right family ones, but far too many of him.
From inside Amy’s fridge, he grabbed a bottle of cold water, held it against his hot face, then slammed the appliance door. Grunted, wondered at his pique. Maybe because he had decided to come home. To stay this time. Maybe try to find what Amy and Declan had had. Something real.
Even though it hadn’t lasted long enough for his sister. Iraq…There was something different about Kelsey Hunter. Something real about a hard-working woman in tight jeans helping out critters. He took a long swig, remembered. Stretchy pink tank top damp in the right places. Righteous dirt underneath her fingernails. Cinnamon freckles sprinkled across her nose, bright eyes, and brunette hair just a tad lighter than dark-roast coffee mixed with cream. All delicious.
Praise for Tanya Hanson
“I enjoy western romance and OUTLAW IN LOVE lived up to my expectations…The story kept me flipping the pages to see what would happen next…a fast-paced story with plenty of action, yet it also allowed me to get to know the hero and heroine and become invested in their story…a sweet love story that also teaches of the power of God’s love and forgiveness. It’s a story of redemption through acceptance of doing what is right, even if it has dire consequences…a highly entertaining book…recommend it to those who enjoy a well-written western historical romance that inspires.”
~Romantic Historical Reviews (4 Stars)
~*~
“THE CHRISTMAS ROOM by Tanya Hanson is the fourth book in the Twelve Brides of Christmas series…It is a very sweet Christmas story that brings two deserving people together…I really loved…how the main characters came together. I like how the plot played out as well. I thought that the two of them were perfect for each other. I love that it was a Christmas story as well. That always makes it extra special.”
~Sizzling Hot Books (5 Hearts)
Pick Me
by
Tanya Hanson
A Candy Hearts Romance
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either 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.
Pick Me
COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Tanya Hanson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by RJ Morris
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Yellow Rose Edition, 2016
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0596-7
A Candy Hearts Romance
Published in the United States of America
Dedications
To my wonderful editor Nicole D’Arienzo…
with my whole heart.
You make me a better writer.
~*~
And to the horses and volunteers
at California Coastal Horse Rescue.
I am so glad I found you.
You make me a better person.
Chapter One
The black feathers of crows flashed against gray branches, and their caws scratched the air of the horse sanctuary.
Kelsey Hunter frowned at the noise. “Maggie, I’ve been thinking.” She leaned against her mucking rake. “Could we grow heart-shaped carrots for the horses? For Valentine’s Day?”
Her friend and teaching colleague stopped mid-motion, then plopped her load of manure into the wheelbarrow. Maggie Ballard’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“You know, something special for them. Like at Christmas when they each get a stocking filled with horsey treats. Speaking of Christmas.” Kelsey wiped her face with her forearm. “It’s too darn hot. I want winter.”
“No, you don’t.” As if in prayer, Maggie raised her face to the California sun. “I’m from Wisconsin. I’ll take eighty degrees in February any time. Anyway, no. You don’t have time to grow any kind of carrot before Valentine’s Day. It’s next week.”
Kelsey rolled her eyes. “I know that. I mean, maybe we can plant them in the school garden for next year. You’re the farmer’s daughter.”
“I-I-I don’t think so. Dad never grew anything heart-shaped. Or any shape. On purpose, I mean.”
Kelsey’s hair blew into her eyes as she scooped up another rakeful and maneuvered it through the metal fence posts. “Well, I know I showed you, last Halloween.” She dumped the load into the wheelbarrow, then tucked the strands behind her ears. “The article about a farmer who grows pumpkins in the shape of Frankenstein’s head.”
“Well, I’m still gonna say no.” Maggie smiled in a teacher way. “You’re comparing apples and oranges. In this case, carrots and pumpkins. But if you want an expert opinion, stop in at the little farm off Gladstone Road, on your way home. I buy their produce at the farmers’ market in town. I’ll bet they know.”
Kelsey heard nothing but Gladstone Road and swallowed a gasp. Her heart pumped. Sadstone Road in the map of her life. The end of the trail for her and Gunnar. Full speed dead-end into the lovely cul de sac where he’d decided to reconcile with the wife he hadn’t actually divorced. And the kids he’d forgotten to mention. Oh, and a Labrador. Yellow.
All the while she’d given him her heart. Left the rat race of Los Angeles, moved to the boonies of West Ventura County a hundred miles away.
Believed the lie that she’d be giving him her hand in marriage as well…
Her ribs hurt.
At least he’d sold the Corvette and packed up the SUV and carted the whole kit and caboodle off to Oregon somewhere. At least she wouldn’t, couldn’t run into him. Them.
“I, uh, sure.” Kelsey climbed out through the stall fence.
“It would be a fun project for the students. If it’s possible, that is. And if they can, I like supporting small local businesses.” Maggie petted Cleopatra’s nose, then grabbed the wheelbarrow’s handles. “Kels, wish we could do dinner tonight. I’ve got a hankering for fish tacos. But I’ve got handbell practice at church.”
“Oh, I’m good. I’m gonna try to figure out a way nine-year olds can make those Swedish braided hearts.”
Maggie grimaced. “They seem pretty complicated.”
“Yeah. But there’s a bottle of red wine at the end of my efforts. Not to mention a big box of candy hearts.” And then Kelsey’s guilty pleasure: reruns on the Fun & Games cable channel of her favorite childhood show. But she didn’t say
that out loud. The show was pretty lame.
“Okay then. Let me know what you find out about the carrots,” Maggie called over her shoulder as she trundled the wheelbarrow toward the compost heap.
“See you tomorrow.” Friday, the best day in a teacher’s week. Kelsey grinned with true affection. Remembered eighteen months ago, those first lonely days in tiny Ten Oaks…surrounded by oak-studded hills in a sunny east-west valley instead of a tangle of freeways. Learning the ropes at a new school, trying to decipher a new principal. Realizing the closest mall was eleven miles away and the town had few streetlights and no curbs. But Maggie had helped her navigate it all. Had held her and wiped her nose that dreadful day when Gunnar had…
More than that, Maggie had introduced her to the local horse rescue where living creatures really had problems. The two of them came twice each week to the former orange grove to clean stalls, feed the horses. City girl Kelsey had even learned how to groom.
Although the aroma of early orange blossoms hung like a sweet cloud, Kelsey had had enough of drought and heat. Pulling off her grubby gloves, she swept her hair from her neck. Sweat funneled down her spine. Wisconsin? A polar vortex sounded pretty good about now.
She rubbed everybody’s noses before she headed to her car. Cleopatra. Serendipity, April. Mirabella and Jezebel. The handsome geldings—Ahab, of course. Lucifer—who actually was an angel; Blue Ridge, Mesa, and Comanche.
Gorgeous all. And all abandoned or abused or saved from slaughter. Yep. High Hill Horse Rescue had been the perfect place to heal. Everybody here had had it a lot worse.
“See you guys Saturday.” She made kissy sounds, and the horses whickered back.
The Topa Topa Mountains in the near distance seemed to wrap warm shoulders around her. However, her blood thumped at Gladstone Road. If she didn’t stop in at the farm, Maggie would nag her until she did. Follow through is an important component of having an idea.
Maggie’s school teacher voice rang in Kelsey’s head.
She parked in the dirt lot and nodded. Small and well-kept, the certified organic Milk and Honey Farms seemed her kind of place. Despite her L.A. roots, she’d adapted well to a sleepy, hilly little town of five thousand surrounded by horse properties and small ranchettes. As well, a handful of sprawling celebrity estates hidden behind vast privacy hedges. Right now, hand-lettered signs everywhere, humble and unpretentious. Artisan goat cheeses. Fresh harvested honey. Locally grown fruits and veggies. Native and drought tolerant plants. Hand-crafted gifts.
Kelsey smiled, right at home. She might have been raised in a giant city, but she was a tree-hugger from the get-go.
A little fruit stand shaped like a tiny red barn bore a Closed sign, so she headed through an open chain-link gate searching for Amy O’Shaw, Proprietor.
But Kelsey’s feet and heart stopped at the same time on the gravel road into the farm. For heading toward her was definitely nobody named Amy O’Shaw. But rather, the hottest cowboy she’d seen since watching Hell on Wheels.
“Hey. I’m Landry Mills.” He touched the brim of a dark brown Stetson, then held out his hand. For a sec, she wondered if she’d explode if she touched him. But her fingers felt soft and safe inside his hard-working grasp.
Still, she ought to have taken another swig of water before leaving the car. Mucking was hot, hard work. Her tongue was the size of a cucumber.
Familiarity caught her breath. She knew this gorgeous man, didn’t she? A friend, God forbid, of Gunnar? But no. She’d never have forgotten meeting such a man in the flesh, shoulders so broad, legs so long fitting in a truck’s crew cab would be impossible. Eyes sparkling like champagne…
But…
“Hi.” She coughed and swallowed hard. At least her voice sounded normal. “I’m Kelsey Hunter. I have a question about a possible class project. I teach third grade.”
“Pleased.” And his eyes let her know he meant it. Oh, nothing ogling or untoward. Just…she knew. Dang, he was tall. “Hope I know the answer. Gotta tell you up front, though. We don’t grow third-graders here.” His white teeth shone in his sun-kissed face.
Although she laughed back, felt a thrill, this wasn’t eHarmony. She grabbed onto professionalism right quick. “I, Mr. Mills, I hope this isn’t too out-there, but…is there any way my students could grow heart-shaped carrots?”
Brownish-blond hair peeked from the edges of the Stetson. “It’s Landry. Mr. Mills, uh, was my dad.” His face fell, just for a flash.
His smile returned, kind but manly at the same time, and he gave her a two-fingered salute at the edge of his brim. Part of her ached to show him her ringless left hand. She was finally breathing normally after Gunnar’s gut-punch, but…
The last thing she needed was another guy to mess up her life, even in a good way. Not now when she’d gotten back to something like normal. She liked her job. The granny flat she rented had friendly owners who let her use the pool and laundry room and wine cellar at will. And her family wasn’t all that far away. Just two-to-three hours of freeway hell. Uh, traffic was one thing she didn’t miss.
Landry Mills’ eyes crinkled at the corners. “It’ll take a while. If you’re thinking Valentine’s Day, you won’t make it.”
“I know.” Her belly tingled for some dumb reason, right there in the middle of the dirt road. The same crow caws clawed at her ears. “But I’m thinking we’d practice in the school garden and perfect it for next year.” She chuckled. “Although I don’t have a very green thumb.”
He grinned. “Can’t say I ever thought about it, but it should be possible. Theoretically. Amy’d know for sure, though…”
Amy? Kelsey’s heart sank a little…
“…Carrots do grow year-round in California. I’m guessing you’d need peat pots with carrot plants. And food-grade heart molds.” With a hand gesture of invitation, he started walking toward the shade of a big tree. She followed with a grateful smile. Nights around here got cold, but the midwinter heat wave could simmer until sundown.
“Do you sell them here?” Her spirit lifted a little; his eyes sure twinkled.
“Peat pots for seedlings, yeah. Nope to molds. You can find them on the internet, though. They’d need to be double-sided, I think. And I’m sure there’s a few other steps to follow along the way.” He leaned against a fence post; she stuck her hands in her pockets.
She couldn’t help preening a little. So her idea had merit after all, and wasn’t something a space cadet would beam down. But where had she seen him before? For a zillion reasons, it was hard to keep her gaze off of him.
“You seem so familiar. I don’t mean to stare, Landry, but have we met somewhere?”
“Nope. I wouldn’t have forgotten if we had.” His long fingers danced across his denim-clad thighs in rhythm with the twinkles in his eyes. Bright eyes, well muscled thighs. And he definitely belonged in the setting around her, with his blue plaid shirt. Untucked, though. No rodeo buckles or other cowboy gewgaws.
His lids lowered. Flirting? She kind of liked it. But…school. Had to be. She didn’t get around much. And her heart sank again. School meant kids and almost always, a wife. Amy…
“Then I’ve seen you at school. Homewood. Parent volunteer?”
He laughed out loud. “Nope. No kids. No spouse.” His gaze flicked down at her left hand. “You?”
“No.” She smiled, slow. Relief warmed her. He must work for Amy O’Shaw, Proprietor. “Unless I count nineteen nine-year olds who say they love me.”
“Well, I can see why.” He grinned, nodded. “My third grade teacher was about a hundred years old and mean as a snake. Now, I’m about to close up for the day. How about a cup of coffee? I could tell you the steps then. How to follow your hearts. Carrots, I mean.”
Definitely flirting.
“Oh, heavens, no.” She burst into laughter, mortified as his cheekbones reddened. “No, no. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…I’m a sweaty mess. I just came from the horse rescue. I need a shower bad.” She smashed h
er elbows against her sides to hide the underarm sweat rings. Wished she’d done so a tad sooner.
His lips twitched, and he wiggled against the fence, comfy, like he was settling in for a long winter’s chat. “Really? Could have fooled me. You ride?”
The warm afternoon wind drifted across her, fast, but the heat brushing her came from somewhere else. It meant she was still alive, that she could still feel. But Gunnar, he still popped in too often behind her lids when she closed her eyes.
“No.” She shoved him from her thoughts. “We’re not a riding stable. Most of our horses need extensive rehabilitation after some very sad past lives. Hopefully we can get them adoptable. Twice a week I feed and muck and help groom them.”
“And today was the day.”
She nodded. Duh.
“I grew up here, but I confess I don’t know much about the rescue.” He doffed the cowboy hat and held it against his leg. Even in the shade, she blinked at the sunny streaks shining in his hair.
“Yeah.” Distracted… “We keep the location pretty quiet. We can’t chance people tying abandoned horses to our gate.”
“Understandable.”
They were both quiet for a while, and the silence was warm, comfy. The sun began its journey over the hills to the ocean, blessing the landscape around them with a pink glow. For a second, Landry watched, too, as rosy daylight faded gently against the oak-studded hills.
“The pink moment. It doesn’t happen every dusk,” he said, and she rode his train of thought precisely. “Plenty special when it does.”
She nodded. “Truth is, I thought it was too urban-legend to be true. Until I watched it the first time. Something special for sure.”
“Yeah, I hear ya. The sunset gets reflected off the mountains like a mirror, from the east. And diffuses in a way you have to see to believe.” Then he looked at her again. “Well, how about after a shower? Coffee? The night’s young.”
Tempting, but no. Sounded too much like a date. “Thanks, but I’m scheduled for a long session with Swedish braided hearts.”
