by Stacy Finz
KISSING TJ
At the Morning Glory, TJ accompanied her up the stairs and waited while she fumbled through her purse to find her house keys. She thought about inviting him in for a drink but couldn’t remember if she had any wine or beer. When she finally found the keys, he took them from her hand. He let out a breath, as if he’d been contemplating something, and a cloud of condensation formed in the air like smoke puffs.
Then he bent down and kissed her, gently pressing her back against the door. It was a bit of a shock, almost surreal. She was kissing TJ Garner.
He went slow at first, testing the waters. But as she arched into him, he took the kiss deeper, licking into her mouth, sliding his hands down her sides, and pulling her closer until she felt more than just his lips and tongue. The man was no novice. He made her want to lose her clothes—and her inhibitions . . .
Books by Stacy Finz
The Nugget Series
GOING HOME
FINDING HOPE
SECOND CHANCES
STARTING OVER
GETTING LUCKY
BORROWING TROUBLE
HEATING UP
RIDING HIGH
FALLING HARD
HOPE FOR CHRISTMAS
The Garner Brothers
NEED YOU
WANT YOU
Collections
THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME
(with Fern Michaels, Shirlee McCoy, and Sarah Title)
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Want You
STACY FINZ
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
KISSING TJ
Books by Stacy Finz
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2018 by Stacy Finz
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4201-4192-4
eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4193-1
eISBN-10: 1-4201-4193-7
To Rebecca Hunter. There are no words.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
An enormous thank you to everyone involved in the making of this book, and to my family, who puts up with me. A special shout out to Wendy Miller, who kept me on course.
Chapter One
TJ Garner looked at the stack of time cards on his desk and gave them the finger. It was nine in the morning, he was bleary-eyed from doing paperwork the night before, and right now he’d sell his soul for a doughnut. Hell, he’d settle for a cheese Danish. But that would require him to leave the office and walk a block to the Morning Glory Diner when he was up to his ass in work.
In two hours, he had to make payroll, a chore that had been put on the back burner because he was too busy putting out fires. A website that continued to crash, tour guides who were no-shows, and a new retail operation that couldn’t seem to achieve liftoff.
That was the irony of his life; he ran Garner Adventure, his family’s extreme-sports tour company, but never went outside. He’d taken over as CEO from his dad five years ago so he and his three brothers could start running the business and his parents, who’d founded the company in the 1970s, could semiretire. This wasn’t exactly the life he had envisioned all those years ago when he’d been trying out for the U.S. Olympic team.
The phone beeped with a call from the front desk. “Hey, Darcy, what’s up?”
“We’ve got a situation.”
When didn’t they? “What’s it this time?”
“One of the members of Win’s mountain biking tour took a tumble into a thirty-foot ravine on Glory Mountain.”
Damn. “Is he okay?”
“They’re trying to get him out, but he may have broken his collarbone.”
Ah, Jesus. “Win called 9-1-1, right?” TJ’s oldest brother, Colt, was Glory Junction’s police chief. He was clutch in a disaster. Win, his youngest brother, not so much.
“Yes. But the cyclist is a lawyer.”
Not good. “Is he threatening to sue?” He reached for his cell phone to check for texts from Win, hoping that by now he had everything under control and TJ could go back to the exciting world of payroll. But there was nothing.
“Yep,” Darcy replied.
He let out a sigh. “All right, I’ll go up there to see what I can do.”
“That might be good,” Darcy said and signed off.
He grabbed his down jacket and gloves, texted Win for his GPS coordinates, and loaded his bike into the back of his Range Rover.
“Hello, friend,” he said, gripping the handlebars. “It’s been a while.” And now he was talking to inanimate objects. Boy, did he need a vacation.
Halfway to Glory Mountain, his phone pinged with a text. It was Win with his latitude and longitude. He tried to call him for an update, but boy wonder wasn’t answering, so he sent an emoji of a phone and texted, Call me, hose bag.
Two minutes later, he got No can do.
Things must be pretty bad if Win couldn’t talk. But who knows, he could’ve been superbusy updating his Tinder account.
TJ shot off another one. Accessible by vehicle?
Y was the only reply, which TJ took for a yes.
He turned on his GPS and let it lead the way. Upon reaching his destination, he shook his head. WTF, Win, you couldn’t have just told me it was the trailhead? He parked in a clearing by a large pine tree next to his eldest brother’s police cruiser. A fire truck and an ambulance sat closer to the edge of the cliff, where a crowd of cyclists peered down at the gorge below.
TJ got out of his truck and Colt, who was huddled with the fire chief at the skirt of the mountain, waved him over.
“Where is he?”
Colt and the chief both pointed over the ledge. TJ moved closer and looked down, where a blue porta-potty lay on its side, wedged between two trees, the plastic door smashed to hell.
“Ah, jeez.” TJ scrubbed his hand over his face. “Don’t tell me.”
“Yep,” Colt said and perched over the edge for a closer look.
“Dude.” Win came over
from where he was standing with the crowd, holding his phone in the air. “He’s threatening to own us by tomorrow.”
TJ blew out a breath. The morning had just jumped five points on the Richter scale of suck. “I thought he wiped out on his bike.” At least that was what he’d assumed. “And Darcy said he fell thirty feet down.” By his estimation, it was no more than twelve.
“I don’t know where she got that,” Colt said. “But he’s all yours.”
TJ crouched in the dirt to get a better visual. “He’s still down there?”
“Yep. Inside the john. We can all say a prayer of thanks that the thing was empty.”
TJ got up and looked at Win. “How did this happen?”
“I have no idea. He went off to take a leak before we started the ride and the next thing I knew, the porta-potty was rolling down the mountain.”
The fire chief picked a piece of yellow Danger tape off the ground near where the porta-potty once sat and waved it at them. TJ and Colt exchanged glances.
“Now why on earth would someone use something that’s been red-tagged?” The chief kicked the dirt where part of the mountainside had crumbled.
It was early February and they’d already gotten a truckload of snow, which was normal for California’s Sierra Nevada. But after five years of punishing drought and a spate of wildfires, they were experiencing mudslides and erosion. In Malibu, five hundred miles away, houses slid into the ocean. Here, it was porta-potties into ravines.
TJ watched the firefighters make their way down the craggy mountainside with a stretcher and a brace. “His collarbone is busted?”
“I doubt it.” Colt rolled his eyes. “He’s been screaming at Win on his phone for the last twenty minutes about how he’s going to sue us fifty ways from Sunday. Either he has a high threshold for pain or he’s full of crap.”
“Really? Toilet jokes?” TJ shook his head. “Why would anyone leave an empty porta-potty on an eroded mountainside?” The trailhead was maintained by the county.
“I suspect it wasn’t eroded when they left it; then they discovered it was a hazard after the last storm and red-tagged it. They were probably just waiting for the sanitation company to pick it up.” Colt toed a mound of snow that had turned to slush. “Until a couple of days ago, the road to the park was impassable.”
TJ turned to Win. “What’s his name?”
“Stanley Royce.”
He began to hike down the same trail the firefighters had used, trying to avoid patches of ice and snow.
“What are you doing?” the fire chief called.
“I want to talk to him, make sure he’s okay.” This was what he did now, fix problems. Fifteen years ago, he’d had different plans, ones that involved whooshing down a pristine, snow-covered mountain, not following the trail of a fallen porta-potty. Thank God it was empty.
“Let my guys handle it, TJ.”
“Nah,” Colt said and stifled a laugh. “You should absolutely go down there. Work your magic, little brother. I’ll go ahead and stay up here. Just whistle if you need police assistance.”
TJ flipped his brother the bird and continued to make his way down the hill. Someone had to deal with this and Colt probably wasn’t the right guy for the job. Even though he owned an equal share of Garner Adventure and was their go-to guy in an emergency, Colt wasn’t what you would call a diplomat. Josh, two years younger than TJ, was a little more tactful than Colt but had physical therapy this morning. And Win . . . well, if their client had been a woman, their baby brother would’ve been their guy.
By the time TJ made it to the porta-potty, the firefighters had already managed to get Stanley on a stretcher and were checking his vitals. Someone needed to zip Stan’s fly.
“Mr. Royce”—TJ stood to the side so as not to get in the way—“TJ Garner. You okay?” Yeah, stupid question.
“It took you people long enough to get here. I could be dead right now.”
“We’re doing everything we can, sir.” TJ sat on the ground while Shane, one of the firefighters and a buddy from high school, checked Royce for fractures, cuts, and bruises. “Anyone you want me to call, Mr. Royce?”
Stanley whipped his head around and shot TJ a dirty look. At least his neck was okay. “What kind of operation are you people running here?”
TJ examined the overturned outhouse, which still had large pieces of yellow tape stuck to it, and was tempted to say an operation where 99.9 percent of their clients were smart enough not to use a portable john with the word danger posted all over it. In the end, he figured Stanley had been humiliated enough without TJ telling him he was a moron.
“Hang tight, Mr. Royce. I know it’s . . . uh . . . uncomfortable.” Sometimes bad things happen to good people? There really were no words for this sort of thing. “Whatever we can do—”
“Oh, you’ll do plenty. When I’m through with you people you won’t have a pot to piss in.” Interesting choice of words given the situation, TJ thought to himself.
“How’s your collarbone?” It wasn’t swollen, which was a good sign. And by the way Shane and the other firefighter were jostling him around, they probably didn’t think it was broken.
“I’m in agony,” he said. “I may have spinal injuries.”
Shane gave an imperceptible shake of his head. Stan was milking this for all it was worth. TJ looked up at Colt, still standing at the top of the embankment, giving him a big, thumbs-up sign. In return, and out of Royce’s line of vision, TJ made a gun with his fingers and pretended to shoot himself in the head.
“We’re going to get you some excellent medical care, sir.”
“Here? I doubt it. I’ll be using my own physicians.” Royce kept yelling about how they were all idiots and how he was going to die from norovirus.
TJ got a text from Colt. A smiley face emoji and Keep up the good work.
He fired back, Not helping, asshole, and slid his phone into his jacket pocket.
Usually, he was very adept at finessing disgruntled clients—not that they had many—but Stanley continued to berate TJ, Garner Adventure, the firefighters, and anyone else he could think of.
TJ threw out, “How about I reserve you a suite at the Four Seasons?” Maybe a night in a luxury hotel would calm Royce down.
“You think you can buy me off with a hotel room?” Stanley barked. “Ha. That’s just the beginning of what you’ll get me.”
“So, I’ll take that as a yes.” TJ tried to sound conciliatory.
Stan continued to make threats and TJ figured he may as well be productive rather than sit around listening to Royce bitch and moan. So he climbed back up the mountain and started making arrangements, leaving the firefighters to finish dealing with Stan.
Win pulled TJ aside. “Is he okay?”
“According to him, he’s dying from norovirus as we speak.”
Win shook his head. “He couldn’t have just gone behind a freaking tree?”
TJ shrugged and glanced at the members of Win’s group, many of whom were taking pictures of Stanley on the stretcher with their cell phones. “Why don’t you get the ride started? No reason to ruin the tour.”
“Sure, but is he still going to sue us?”
“He says he is, but who knows?” It’s not like the guy had a legal leg to stand on, but if he was really an attorney, he could tie them up in court long enough to cost GA a pretty penny. “For now, let’s just focus on getting him to a doctor.”
Over the next ten minutes, TJ made calls, including to the Four Seasons for a reservation.
“Hey, TJ.” Shane came up alongside him. “Royce doesn’t appear to have any significant injuries. But we’re taking him to Sierra General just in case.”
That was good because TJ wanted a full medical work-up. Garner Adventure was all about safety and having its clients leave in the same shape they came. “I appreciate that, Shane. Someone will meet him at the hospital to take him to the hotel after his checkup. I’ll get his bike.”
“All right,” Shane
said and grinned. People would be talking about this for weeks to come. That’s the way it was in a small town.
Colt wandered over and TJ said, “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“Slow crime day.” Colt’s mouth tipped up because, as usual, he was full of it. Glory Junction might not be San Francisco or Los Angeles, but there was plenty to keep him busy. “He’s got nothing to sue over. By tomorrow he’ll be apologizing for ignoring the Danger tape.”
TJ hoped so because he had enough to deal with, including GA’s new retail division, his brainchild despite resistance from his three brothers. Selling adventure clothes wasn’t exactly in their wheelhouse, but Colt’s fiancée was a world-famous fashion designer who was doing a sports line specially for GA. And Josh’s wife owned Glorious Gifts on Main Street and had a ton of retail experience. And Win . . . if he wore the clothes, women would line up to buy them for their husbands or boyfriends. With those kinds of resources, he figured they should diversify, even if it was a calculated risk. And if it failed . . . he’d have a lot of explaining to do.
“At least it’s a nice day,” TJ said. Even though it was forty degrees out, the sun had slipped past the clouds and beamed through the canopy of branches. With all the snow they’d gotten—always a boon for business—it was nice to have a break from it.
The area was an adventurer’s paradise, so even when the snowpack was low, there were rocks to climb, rivers to raft, lakes to kayak, mountains to hike, and acres of unparalleled trails to ride. People from all over the world flocked to the small town to get their extreme sports on.
“It is that,” Colt said, looking up at the sky.
TJ glanced over at his truck and considered pulling out his bike. He’d already missed the payroll deadline. Sorely tempted as he was, responsibility won out as it always did these days. He’d left his skis and the dreams that went with them on these slopes a long time ago. Better to move forward because he sure as hell couldn’t go back.
