Fall in Love Book Bundle: Small Town Romance Box Set

by Grover Swank, Denise

  At that he stood a little straighter. When he spoke his voice was calm and soothing, and he covered my hand with his, patted it; the warmth, size, roughness, and solid weight of him felt wonderfully reassuring.

  I’d never been successfully reassured by a hot guy before.

  It was actually really nice.

  And weird.

  “Where are you headed?” he asked gently.

  “I’m trying to get to a place called Bandit Lake, and if you can get me there I will give you anything you want, including but not limited to a map written in hieroglyphics.”

  I noticed his eyes narrow when I mentioned my destination. “Bandit Lake?”

  I nodded. “That’s right.”

  “You have a place up there?”

  “No, it’s not my place. It belongs to a friend, Hank Weller. I’m just borrowing it for a few weeks.”

  “Hank? You know Hank?”

  I nodded again. “Yes, officer. We went to college together.”

  “I’m not the law, miss. I’m a national park ranger.”

  I took in his uniform again. It was green and not blue. I shrugged, not caring what kind of official he was just as long as he helped me get out of this Twilight Zone episode before the banjo music started to play and the flannel-wearing bloodhounds arrived.

  “Oh. Okay. Then, what should I call you? Mr. Ranger?”

  He bit his lip, again fighting laughter, and squeezed my hand. “You can call me Jethro, miss. You say you’re out of gas?”

  “Your name is Jethro?”

  “That’s right.”

  I stared at him, feeling like his name wasn’t quite right, didn’t match his hot-guy status. If he were in the movie business he’d have to pick a new name. Something like Cain, or a Dean, or a Cain Dean. Four letters each, easy to remember, monosyllabic to ensure he didn’t forget how to spell or pronounce them.

  Because, in my experience, that kind of hot guy didn’t usually know how to spell . . . or pronounce.

  “How much gas did you say?” he asked again.

  “The red light is flashing. I think I’m running on fumes.”

  “That’s all right.” A warm, interested smile remained behind his eyes. “I can drive you up to the lake, and we’ll get this car filled up and towed.”

  “As in Jethro Tull?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Your name? Jethro as in Jethro Tull?”

  His friendly gaze traveled over my face as he grinned. Again. Wider. “As in Jethro, father-in-law of Moses in the Old Testament. Do you have any bags, miss?” He gave my hand one more reassuring squeeze then released me, moving to the driver’s side door—which was still open—and plucked the keys from the ignition.

  “Bags?”

  “Yes. Luggage.”

  I snorted, saying, “Yes. Lots. But don’t worry, I’m in therapy,” and then chuckled at my own joke.

  Meanwhile, cutie-pie Jethro straightened from the car and lifted his eyebrows at me in expectation.

  “Pardon?”

  Seeing he hadn’t heard—or possibly hadn’t understood—my attempt at humor, my chuckling tapered, and I cleared my throat.

  When I’m nervous, or uncomfortable, or faced with heavy feelings, I make jokes. It’s my thing. It’s what I do. Some might even call it a compulsion. It’s like, Hey! Look at the funny! Focus on that, not on my pit stains or the disturbing way my nostrils are flaring . . .

  Which was how I realized Ranger Jethro was making me nervous. Which was completely bizarre because I was pretty sure I’d been inoculated against hot guys after my last boyfriend.

  So. Weird.

  I blamed the cardio.

  Being funny is entirely dependent on timing. I’d learned early in my career to move on instead of repeating a joke, though I mourned those unheard jokes. They were the comedy equivalent of throwing seeds on rocks.

  Stupid rocks.

  “Sorry. Yes. Bags. In the trunk.” I tossed my thumb over my shoulder and tucked my hair behind my ears, resolving to speak as little as possible.

  His eyes lingered on my face, still warm and interested. We stared at each other. And then we stared some more. So I waited.

  A bird chirped.

  The wind rustled the trees.

  And still he stared.

  The way he was looking at me, all dreamy-eyed and flirty, I wondered if I had a super-fan on my hands. Or maybe he’d never met anyone famous before. Whatever it was, I needed him to get a move on, because I had to use the bathroom. I refused to pee behind the big tree at the end of the gravel patch because I’d already peed behind that tree over an hour ago, the first time I pulled onto this overlook.

  I was just about to make another joke when he blinked and the moment was broken. He nodded once, bent at the waist, and popped the trunk. I turned and moved to the back of the car to retrieve my bags.

  But he was right next to me, reaching into the trunk before I had it all the way open, grabbing my suitcase and overnight bag.

  “Allow me,” he said, shooting me another of his wide grins.

  “Really, Ranger Jethro, I can carry my own bags.”

  “This is a full-service rescue, miss.” He stood straight, placing my eighty-pound oversized suitcase on the gravel, then slung my overnight bag on his shoulder. Instead of rolling the suitcase, he lifted it by the handle and carried it to the bed of his truck.

  I frowned at his retreating form. “It has wheels, Ranger.”

  “Don’t want to ruin them. This gravel’ll tear them up,” he explained on a grunt.

  I lifted an eyebrow at his retreating back, completely caught off guard by his thoughtful observation and helpfulness.

  Narrowing my eyes in suspicion, I moved to the back seat to grab my backpack. This really was a Twilight Zone episode. A hot guy who was also capable?

  Does not compute.

  Unless he’s gay. Yeah, he’s probably gay.

  In my experience, most hot guys who were both friendly and capable were gay. These were my favorite kind of hot guys. I hoped Ranger Jethro was gay.

  When I straightened I saw him standing at the passenger side of his truck, watching me. He’d opened the door and was waiting, his flirty smile still in place. Now it was smaller and his eyes were just visible beneath the rim of his hat. His gaze moved up then down my body.

  Yeah . . . no. Ranger Jethro isn’t gay.

  I faltered, my steps slowing, because I felt a little flutter of something unusual just under my ribcage, a quick intake of breath. It might have been attraction . . .

  More likely, it was hunger and the fear of being murdered.

  I wished my cell phone had reception. Though he was official, I’d feel a lot better about getting into a stranger’s car if I had the ability to tell someone else about it. Or at least tweet the details in one hundred forty characters or less: If I’m found dead, it was the cute park ranger named after Moses’s father-in-law.

  I drew even with him and the open door to the truck. Glancing inside, I asked, “So, Moses’s father-in-law was named Jethro?”

  “That’s right.” He tilted his head to the side and took my backpack from my shoulder.

  My stomach fluttered again. I swallowed to combat the sensation. “How come I didn’t know this?”

  His eyes followed the line of my hair past my shoulders. “You must’ve missed the memo when it was sent.”

  Taking a deep breath for bravery, I climbed into the truck. “Next thing you’re going to tell me that Moses’s uncle was named Darnel or Cletus.”

  “Nope. His uncles’ names were Izhar, Hebron, and Uzziel.” And with that, he placed my backpack at my feet and shut the door.

  I watched him walk around the front of the truck, his steps unhurried, his hands resting on the tool belt around his narrow waist. I liked his tool belt; it made him look even more capable. Plus he had a nice walk. Not at all the sort of walk a murderer would employ.

  As soon as he opened the driver’s side door, he said, “But
Moses’s mother was also his father’s aunt. Seatbelt.”

  I stared at his profile as he shut his door. “His mother’s name was Seatbelt?”

  “No.” He flirty chuckled, his hazel eyes all twinkly as they moved over me, like he thought I was adorable. “Put on your seatbelt, miss.”

  I did as instructed while I sorted through his earlier statement rather than allow myself to be flustered by his capable and reassuring attention. “So, Moses’s mother was also his father’s aunt?”

  “That’s right.” He nodded once, starting the ignition and checking his mirrors. “Moses’s mother was named Jochebed, and her nephew, Amram, was Moses’s father.”

  My mouth opened, then closed, then opened. I was finally able to manage, “So that would make his mother his great aunt?”

  “And his grandfather was also his uncle, and his father was his cousin.”

  The ranger made a U-turn, heading in the opposite direction I’d been going, and we were off.

  “Huh . . ." I thought about this fact and not necessarily my words as I mumbled, "Well, you know what they say.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If you can’t keep it in your pants, keep it in the family.”

  His eyes bulged, and he choked on his astonishment, throwing me a shocked glance.

  Poor adorable Ranger Jethro. He looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or shriek in horror. I’d shocked his delicate man-sensibilities.

  He coughed out a strangled response, “I’ve never heard that before.”

  “Really? I would have thought—well, you know. Being up here, in the backwoods of Appalachia . . .”

  Oh. Shit.

  “Did I just say that out loud?” I groaned and shut my eyes.

  “Yes. You certainly did.” Now he was laughing, a robust belly laugh. It sounded nice.

  “Well, I thought, you know, I thought you people, um . . .” Now my face was red again, and this time it wasn’t due to my cardio-map-assault workout. But the fact he was laughing actually helped ease my mortification.

  I honestly didn’t care if people laughed with or at me. It was the laughter I was after, by any means necessary.

  “You people what?” he pushed, his chuckle deep and wonderful.

  Still, I was embarrassed because the words betrayed the narrow-minded direction of my thoughts. “Wow. That really came out wrong, garbled.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re an eloquent speaker, and it sounded very clear to me,” he teased.

  Did he just say eloquent?

  Rather than respond, That’s an awfully big word for a hot guy, I said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying. Please accept my apology. I’ve been driving around for hours and I haven’t eaten since . . . I don’t know when. In fact, what is my name? Where am I? I have no idea.”

  “You haven’t told me your name, so I can’t help you there. But you’re in Green Valley, Tennessee, on Moth Run Road.”

  Wait . . . what?

  I peeked at Ranger Jethro. “You don’t know my name?”

  “I suppose you could always look in your wallet if you’re desperate.” He indicated with his chin toward my backpack, a smile still hovering on his features. “Once you figure it out, and if you’re inclined to share, I’d like to know it as well.”

  I straightened and twisted in my seat, gaping at his profile. “You really don’t know who I am?” I’m sure my tone betrayed my surprise because Ranger Jethro’s smile fell away.

  He stopped at a red light, switching his blinker on even though we were the only vehicle on the road. His gaze flickered over my expression, and his was unmistakably anxious.

  “Should I?” he asked warily.

  I blinked once, downright dumbfounded by his response.

  Slowly, the wheels turned and the curtain was lifted, exposing the truth of my present situation.

  The flirty smiles, the lingering gazes, the gallant rescue—Ranger Jethro fancied me.

  Me.

  He’d been flirting with me.

  Not Sienna Diaz, the movie star, comedian, millionaire, Oscar winner, America’s sweetheart.

  By Rodan’s nostrils, I couldn’t remember the last time I hadn’t been recognized.

  Plus, judging by the way he was looking at me now, I surmised he was worried we’d met before and he’d forgotten my name. Perhaps he even thought we’d slept together and he’d forgotten that, too.

  And I finally realized what kind of hot guy he was. He was the serial-dating hot guy, the most dangerous of all. Because they’re smart, they’re funny, they’re capable, and they’re typically charming.

  Also, they’re easy to fall for, because who doesn’t want a hot, smart, funny, capable guy?

  The problem is, they’re not very nice. They’re dangerous because they only want one thing—hot ladies. Lots of them. All the time.

  And good for Ranger Jethro.

  He should have his hot ladies. A year ago I would have gladly been one of his hot ladies. But just as I had no current interest in dating, I had no interest in losing my heart to a serial dater.

  He swallowed thickly, looking acutely worried and bracing. And I couldn’t help it, I honestly couldn’t.

  I threw my head back and laughed.

  **End Sneak Peek**

  Grin and Beard It is Available Now!

  Other books by Penny Reid

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  Neanderthal Marries Human: A Smarter Romance (#1.5)

  Friends without Benefits: An Unrequited Romance (#2)

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  Knitting in the City Coloring Book (#9)

  Winston Brothers Series

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  Pride and Dad Jokes (#1, coming 2022)

  Man Buns and Sensibility (#2, TBD)

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ng 2023)

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  Good Folks Series

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  Not What I Expected

  Jewel E. Ann

  USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestseller Jewel E. Ann redefines modern romance with this unforgettable enemies to lovers story.

  Are humans meant to mate for life?

  After four kids and an unfortunate but fateful end to her twenty-two-year marriage, Elsie Smith meets the new guy in town.

  Kael Hendricks is … a little younger, a lot sexy, and too confident for his own good. He also doesn’t believe in marriage and all that goes with it.

  And …

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  As Elsie tries to redefine herself and convince her family she isn’t having a midlife crisis, she’s forced to answer the biggest question of all …

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are purely coincidental.