What If: A Small Town Big Love Novel

by Collins, Kelly

  What If

  A Small Town Big Love Novel

  Kelly Collins

  Copyright © 2019 by Kelly Collins

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Michelecatalanocreative.com

  To my family, Jim, Nik, Alec and Gabby. You have never been a What If in my life but always the What. You’re my everything.

  Contents

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Thank you for reading.

  Imagine That Sneak Peek

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  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

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  Chapter One

  Lucy

  It had been one of those days. The kind that started off with a gut feeling that everything would change—and yet Lucy made it through the entire day status quo. Even the drive home was predictable, or at least the man following her was.

  Driving mountain roads at dusk was bad, but to have a cop on her tail was enough to make Lucy Shoemaker want to drive over the edge. The officer—Kevin Holt—followed her, as he usually did, from her job on Main Street to her gravel driveway several miles north. What used to be charming and chivalrous years ago was annoying now.

  Blackwood, Colorado was an old gold rush town with turn of the century buildings and narrow roads once filled with stagecoaches instead of cars. Nothing much happened in the tiny town with a population south of a thousand people. The local police, all four of them, had more time on their hands than crimes in their books.

  As soon as she pulled away from her office space, Officer Holt flashed his lights. She ignored him. In her mind, flashing his lights was equivalent to flashing his parts. She didn't want to see either.

  Screw it. She’d have an escort home tonight.

  In the waning late summer daylight, she drove the short distance from Main Street to Rolling Ridge Road. They were about the only two locations in the unincorporated town not named Blackwood. It was one of the smallest unofficial towns outside of Denver named for the family who founded it. The Blackwood’s still owned about everything, but they’d left long ago. The older Blackwoods were six feet under. Sadly, a plane crash had taken out a whole generation. The younger Blackwoods had inherited but had been absent ever since. It was said they still owned property and visited with frequency, but they remained invisible to the general population.

  She cut a wide, sweeping turn into her driveway, threw on her emergency brake, and stormed out of the car. She slammed her door shut and marched toward Kevin like her hair was on fire.

  He exited his patrol car, using his official police walk with his arms slightly bowed around his holstered gun and baton. His hands were held out almost in surrender, signaling her to stand down.

  “Take it easy, Lucy,” he directed as much as he pleaded.

  He feared her wrath, though not enough to leave her alone. Kevin was a cat and she was his catnip.

  Just as she was going to let him have it, another car, a little too sleek and impractical for Blackwood, braked, slid, and in a slick maneuver came to a stop on the shoulder in front of her house. The car and the driver were unrecognizable.

  She wasn’t up on vehicle makes and models, but this one looked expensive. If the driver knew her, she didn’t know him, and that drew her attention away from Kevin, who’d had a crush on her since middle school. She turned back to her immediate problem.

  “Stop following me. There has to be some kind of law that says you can’t stalk me. If the tables were turned you’d put me in jail.”

  “Not true. I’d love it if you stalked me. Besides, I’m just doing my job,” he said in his defense. “Your tires are overinflated, which is a hazard to you. I’ll have to write you a fix-it ticket. Bring the car by when you have the tires at the proper PSI.”

  He’d tried every way to get her to return his attention but nothing worked, because Kevin was like a brother. He was nice. He was well-loved by the community. She had to admit that he was handsome, but a relationship with him would feel so wrong. He was scraping the bottom of the barrel if all he had left in his arsenal was tire pressure. How many ways could a girl tell a guy she wasn’t interested?

  “I have your PSI, Kevin.” She cut the distance between them with long purposeful strides. “You might be observant, but no one can tell with a look that tires are overinflated.”

  “Sure they can.” He pointed to hers. “Yours are as puffed up as Damon after he eats a bowl of chili at the saloon.”

  The driver of the hot car stood in front of his door and listened to the exchange. Lucy’s eyes kept glancing at the doors, which had opened like insect wings. The spectacle was distracting, but so was the driver. He could have gotten out of a clunker bound with duct tape and caught her attention.

  Leaning on the now closed doors, he watched and waited. He was so good looking—wonderfully tall with rich chocolate hair that was long enough to make her take her eyes off Kevin completely. These distractions were cutting into the alone time she looked forward to every evening. Time where she’d grab a bottle of wine or on lesser days a glass of water and a book.

  “Really?” the stranger chimed in. “You pulled her over because of tire pressure? Are you new to these mile-high parts or what?”

  The beautiful, long-legged man in crisp black jeans and a black button-down shirt strolled over to her car and sank to his haunches. She couldn’t take her eyes off his strong arms, made sexier with sleeves rolled to his muscled forearms. He unscrewed the cap, and with his key let out some of the air in her tires as she and Kevin looked on.

  Walking to him, she bent over to check it out. Her long hair fell between them like a curtain. She gathered the errant strands and pulled them back. The stranger looked up and smiled showing his teeth, perfectly white and even against his beautiful bronzed skin.

  “Hey, leave her car alone,” Kevin said, then turned his attention to Lucy. “Who is this guy?”

  “I don’t know, Kevin,” she answered with glee. “But he can do whatever he wants any time he wants—to my tires that is.”

  There wasn’t anything better than to have a tall, handsome man come to her aid and work on her car while annoying Kevin at the same time.

  “Ah, bull,” Kevin said with enough agitation to make his voice crack. “You’ve got to know him.”

  Even bothered, Kevin never cursed. He never had.

  “She doesn’t know me,” seconded the stranger, extending his hand to her. “I’m J. M. Blackwood. John.”

  Her jaw dropped in surprise.

  “Blackwood?” she asked. “As in the town we live in?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed easily.

  “Bull,” cried Kevin. “I ought to take you in for pretending you’re someone else.
”

  John reached into his back pocket and Kevin gripped his gun.

  “What the hell, man?” yelled John, putting his hands in the air.

  “Kevin, don’t pull your weapon.” She shook her head and looked at John. “He won’t shoot you.”

  “I was getting my ID. Do you want it or not?”

  The alleged Blackwood’s voice took on a growl, replacing the smoothness he’d used introducing himself. His eyes narrowed to razor sharpness, erasing all traces of his good nature.

  Kevin didn’t respond to his offer to see the ID, instead, he unbuckled his holster with his hand at the ready.

  “I am John Blackwood,” he insisted. “I’m warning you, Kevin, touch that gun and you’ll lose your job, which means your pension and any other assets you have amassed. I’ll chalk this up to insanity for a hot woman, but you better stand down or I’ll own you when this is over.”

  She nearly dropped to the ground at his display of machismo and at his compliment. It was terrible timing to be so flattered, so she silently chastised herself, but that one was going in the mental scrapbook, providing no blood was shed.

  “Slowly,” directed Kevin nervously, his hand still hovering too close to his holster.

  John reached forward and handed Kevin his wallet, who read the name out loud while his spine wilted in defeat.

  “Son of a—,” he said and secured his weapon.

  “Was he telling the truth?” She wanted to give Kevin a hard time, but she figured he was in enough trouble as it was, and by the look on his face, he knew it too. The threat of deadly force shouldn’t be used haphazardly and certainly not over tires and air pressure.

  She let his name bounce around her brain. J. M. Blackwood. “You own my house, and my shop on Main Street.”

  John gave Kevin a pointed look. “And the police station,” he added acidly.

  “It’s just that I’m familiar with some of the Blackwoods and I didn’t recognize you,” said Kevin, his voice falling to a whisper.

  John shook his head. “We’re not around all that much.”

  Lucy ignored him and went back to the man who’d tossed out the compliment. She took stock of John. Everyone knew the Blackwoods were billionaires. The original J. M. Blackwood had hit a profitable vein during the Colorado gold rush and the family only got richer, not poorer, with each generation.

  Years ago two identical houses were built outside of town on Blackwood property, but no one inhabited them regularly. The Blackwoods were a mystery.

  She stared back at John Blackwood. Something about being called a hot woman by him made the compliment sweeter. Besides that, he had huge, hazel eyes and intense dark lashes. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen a man as good looking up close and in person.

  “Do you have any objection to my fixing your tires?” he asked.

  “No, none,” she said with an upbeat tone to her voice. “Please continue. Do you want a tire gauge?”

  “You mean you have one?”

  “See,” Kevin shook his head and frowned. “Even he thinks they’re overinflated.”

  “I didn’t say that,” argued John.

  “You implied it.” Kevin shoved his hands in his pockets.

  She crawled into her car and opened the glove box to pull out the gauge. Despite the circumstances, it was lovely having a man work on her car, even if it was only to let the air out of her tires.

  “We better make sure this PSI is at code,” mocked John. “We don’t want you at large or anything.”

  After he was satisfied the tires were okay, he stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. Right where they hugged his magnificent thighs.

  Kevin’s face contorted. Even a blind man would see how ridiculously good-looking John was. She almost felt sorry for Kevin. Almost.

  “What are you still doing here?” demanded John, moving forward. With each step he took, Kevin retreated.

  “You could go,” she told Kevin softly. “Really, I’m fine. You’ve seen his ID. Take down his license plate number. If I end up missing, you’ll know where to look.”

  His lips stretched into a thin line before he headed to his patrol car.

  John and Lucy waited and watched as Kevin backed down the driveway and rolled toward downtown.

  “Mr. Blackwood,” she began.

  “John.”

  “John.” She tilted her head. “Why are you here?”

  The corners of his eyes gathered as he smiled. Her artists eye paid attention to every bit of him.

  “You’re direct,” he noted.

  “Just curious.”

  A sinking feeling seeped into her bones. While John was wonderful to look at, this was not a social call. Her premonition from this morning came to the forefront of her mind. Dread sucked the air from her lungs and caused her heart to race.

  She’d had her fair share of struggles and was making headway. There was no way she could survive another personal setback, but she knew one was about to happen.

  As the darkness of a new night settled around her, and the air took on its mountain chill, she tilted her head back and looked John Blackwood in the eye.

  A pained expression stared back.

  That’s when she knew for certain he was there to deliver bad news.

  “Just say it.” Her shoulders stiffened and her chest tightened.

  “I’m selling.” His deep voice held an air of authority.

  “Selling what? My house?” she clarified quickly. “I lease this house. No worries. The lease goes with the sale.” She smiled as if his comment didn’t matter. Was that all there was? She could deal with a new landlord. “You looked like you were worried. I’m fine if I have to write a check to someone else.”

  She noted that her assurance didn’t change him much. He still looked concerned.

  “I’m selling the town,” he said somberly. “My brother, a few of my cousins, and I are selling the Blackwood holdings. The parts we own anyway, and that includes this house.”

  “Again, the lease goes with the house, and I’m not moving.” She looked over her shoulder at the home she loved more than anything else. “I love this house. I can’t believe you’d sell it. It’s been in your family forever.”

  He smiled at the obvious.

  “So has the town,” he added. “No, I’m not selling specifically. The corporation has decided, and we’re doing it on behalf of our family. We have reviewed the leases. You’re right—generally the lease goes with the house, but in this case, the leases you signed specifically waive that right. You don’t have any options except for leaving Blackwood unless you rent from another property owner. We don’t own every single place in town, but I can promise you those who have land are being made lucrative deals to leave.”

  Heat rose, no doubt coloring her cheeks. She felt suddenly poor next to John. She was no match for him.

  She spun around and fled into the safety of her house. It was a hundred-year-old home with a pitched roof and beautiful wooden details that had been meticulously maintained. She was obsessive when it came to conserving it. She’d furnished it with tasteful authenticity. Cash-poor as she was, the place looked like a model home.

  John was right behind her and caught the door before it could close. She turned and pointed at him.

  “Get out!” she ordered, not liking that she was put in a position to yell. “Out of my house.”

  He gazed at her with sympathetic eyes that begged her to listen to reason.

  “Now wait a minute,” he said, reminding her of Kevin. “This is technically still my house. I’m happy to highlight in your lease where it authorizes me to enter you—. I meant I’m allowed to come inside the house.”

  She blinked in rapid fire as she waited for him to take back what he’d accidentally said. Under different circumstances, like at the Blackwood Saloon over a beer, if he’d said what he had, she might have found it cute or at least humorous.

  “You’re about as smooth as broken glass, Mr. Blackwood. I got your meaning. Wh
y don’t you talk to me through your lawyers? I’ve had a terrible day. It got better there for a moment, and then it tanked again. I feel like a car whose breaks failed on one of these mountain turns.”

  She made a motion with her hand, aiming downward, followed with the sound effect of a car crash.

  John took another shot. “Can I take you to dinner and explain?”

  She scowled. “Do you think after your news I have an appetite?”

  “I’m not leaving you high and dry. I plan to compensate you.”

  “You own the building I work in and the building I live in. That sounds like both high and dry.” She moved away from him. “Please go.”

  John set his card on a small table beside the door.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you. You will be fairly compensated. Technically we don’t have to do anything, but we’re trying to do right by you and the other residents of Blackwood. My family and I intend to personally announce our plans to everyone affected. If you want to have a discussion once you’ve had some time to absorb the news, here’s how you can reach me.” He tapped the card on the table.

  “Why?” she asked. “A discussion is an exchange of ideas. You came here announcing you’d made up your mind. What is there to discuss?”

  “I’ll be available this evening and most of tomorrow,” he said calmly. “I’m heading back into town. And Miss Shoemaker—"

  “It’s Lucy,” she said with an arched brow.

  “Miss,” he said emphatically, “Shoemaker, you’ll get a much better result from me if you play nice.”