Dane
Wild County Curves: Book 3
Flora Madison
Copyright © 2020 by Flora Madison
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.
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**Edited by: Geeky Girl Author Services
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
Also by Flora Madison
1
Eden
I pull out of the library parking lot on a mission. After collecting every single lost or missing book in our collection—or guilting them into an equal monetary donation—I’m down to my last run, and it’s a doozy. What kind of a monster keeps three out of print children’s books for nearly two years? That’s what I’m about to find out.
My fingers tap against my steering wheel as I make my way out of the downtown area and up into Wild County mountains. When I glance in the mirror, the setting sun highlights the flyaways that have wiggled free from my topknot. A full day’s work in a humid library will do that to you. With an exhausted sigh, I smooth my hair as best I can while driving, but my curls have a mind of their own.
The address I wrote down isn’t one I’m familiar with. The deeper into the mountains my car climbs, the darker the night sky falls. Thick trees mask the last hints of light. I knew I should’ve left earlier, but there was a teenager on the internet who was actually researching something for class as opposed to playing a game or tooling around on social media. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. So here I am.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I slow the car, straining to see the address on the side of the chipped metal mailbox. Unfortunately, it matches the numbers I jotted down. I drive on searching for a driveway, or entrance to the house and see the old metal gate hanging open. A faded “No Trespassing” sign flaps in the wind.
Everything inside of me tells me to turn around, but I want the promotion at work. The library needs a new Director of Planning and Events. By showing my responsibility and tenacity in reclaiming what’s lost, they’ll see how dedicated I am to this job. I inch forward enough, making the turn past the gate. Up a long overgrown drive a house appears seemingly out of nowhere. I don’t mean to gasp, but it’s out of my mouth before I can stop it. Like something straight out of Turn of the Screw or a classic tale of suspense from Edgar Allen Poe, a Victorian mansion shadowed by surrounding thick wood presents itself.
My car stops on its own. A muffled roll of thunder drums in the distance, and in seconds the first drops of rain drip against my windshield. You’ve got to be flipping kidding me. Every bone in my body begs me to turn around. I can scrape up the money to pay for these missing books. But I know in my heart that would be lying, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned in life it’s that lying about something to get ahead will only bite you in the butt cheeks in the long run.
“Gee Mannetti.” My palms grip the wheel and once again the car makes its way closer to the house. “Easy, Eden.” I tell myself. “It’s children’s books you’re retrieving. At least you know there are little ones inside.”
The house is badly in need of a facelift, but there’s no denying that at one time it was a glorious sight to behold. I bet they have a proper library and everything. A drawing room, even. A smile tickles the corners of my lips as images of Jane Austen’s era suddenly flood my mind—specifically, the impossible Mr. Darcy. This romantic notion is the only thing keeping me from pulling the plug on this mission. Fat drops of rain slap against the glass, and I know it’s now or never.
With a courageous breath, I throw the car door open and rush to the front door. The soft, bowing wood bends against my weight as I bound up the steps. Once I hit the weathered, wrap-around front porch the rain explodes in sheets behind me. My hand presses against my chest and I close my eyes, willing my heart to slow. That was a close one.
I reach into my pocket and pull out a piece of paper with all the pertinent info. The account belongs to a Marjorie Wilson. A tiny huff escapes my mouth. All this fuss and it’s probably some little old lady who checked the books out for her grandkids who visited last summer and forgot to return them, or she couldn’t. Maybe she’s an invalid like V.C. Andrews? My eyes dance at the possibility. I’ve never been able to resist a good “what if” scenario. Curiosity will no doubt one day kill this cat.
I square my shoulders and reach for the ornate doorbell, jumping in place as the wind pulls the screen door, causing it to snap against the wooden frame. I shake my hands at my side, attempting to recover from the scare.
“You’ve got this.” I whisper, waiting for Marjorie to answer the door. After a few minutes, when no inside lights turn on, I start to doubt myself. Then something moves in my periphery. My head snaps in the direction of the front window in time to see the curtain sway from side to side.
“Hello? I’m looking for Marjorie Wilson” I make my way over to the window. “My name’s Eden Horne, a librarian at Wild County Public Library.” I wait in radio silence as raindrops patter overhead.
“Well, crap.” I smooth my eyebrow with the tip of my middle finger, keeping my distance but straining to make out a shape in the window. I know someone’s in there. I think. Unless my imagination is playing tricks on me.
A sick feeling rocks my stomach. I should go, come back tomorrow when it’s bright and sunny and this mansion in the middle of the woods doesn’t appear so foreboding. I’m inches away from the steps when the front door creaks open, and a loud smack startles me.
My spine straightens. When I flip around, I notice the books first. All three of them, face up on the porch. Anger floods my insides. How dare someone throw a library book on the ground!
I’m about to chew the woman out, when I look up and realize it’s not a woman I’m dealing with, at all. My eyes move upward to meet the gaze of a giant hulking shadow standing just inside the door frame. My fingers jut to my lips, startled at the size of the looming shadow staring back at me. The screen door squeaks on its hinges as his heavy boot hits the porch. I try and speak, but the cat grips my tongue as I struggle for something to say. I’m in the middle of nowhere with a gigantic man who may or may not be a serial killer.
Visions of gothic literature morph quickly into eighties slasher films. “I’m sorry to bother you.” I eek out. I still haven’t seen his face when I turn too quickly, bolting for the stairs. My ankle twists and my body crumbles down the steps, leaving me soaking wet and startled as the stranger makes his way down the stairs.
2
Dane
Trespasser or not, I can’t just leave her there. My arms reach beneath her limp frame and I lift her, pressing her weight against my chest as I bring her back into the house. She moans under my grip, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. I shouldn’t have thrown the books at her. That was a dick move, but I don’t like visitors, especially those that come unannounced.
Her gentle, wet fingers press against my t-shirt as I carry her inside. She opens her bow shaped lips to speak. “Shh, don’t.” I whisper. Her eyes remain closed, drops of water shimmering like crystals against her dark lashes. “Let’s get you inside.”
“No!” Her eyes shoot open, a dilated
black hole drowning in a sea of golden, honey brown. My breath catches in my throat, not just because of her tone but because of the natural angelic beauty of her features. Her smooth, alabaster skin acts as a direct contrast to her dark hair. “Don’t take me inside.”
“You’re hurt, Eden.”
A look of confusion crosses her face. “How do you know my name?”
“You screamed it through my window.” She shivers beneath my touch, and I squeeze her a little tighter, loving the feel of her soft curves pressed against me. Did I just imagine it or did she melt into my touch? “Can you please put me down?”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea—“
“I said now!”
The words die in my throat. I loosen my grip on her, as her feet melt toward the porch, but it’s a short lived victory on her end. Within seconds a tiny yelp escapes her soft, pink lips, and her hands fly to my shoulder, bracing her weight against my own. “Dickens!”
My brow furrows. “What did you just say?”
Her eyes meet mine. “I think my ankle’s fudged.”
“Fudged?”
“Like twisted or something. Crap!” Her free hand flies to her brow, stroking it smooth while she examines her wound. For a long moment, her dark hair masks her face and a wave of rose scented shampoo fills the air around me. I close my eyes and breathe her in. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to a woman. Especially one so beautiful, so soft and curvy, who smells like heaven.
And wants nothing more than to get the hell away from me.
But I can’t let her leave in this weather. Even if she is a complete stranger. I couldn’t forgive myself if she never made it home. I can’t let something like that happen again.
I clear my throat. “You’re coming inside so that I can have a look at your ankle.”
“Are you deaf? I said —” Eden’s squeal echoes in my ear as I lift her up once more, making my way through the front door. “Just get me to my car. My cell phone’s in my purse.”
“You can use my phone inside.” Her pinched face stares back at me. “Don’t worry, Eden. The last thing I’d ever do is hurt you.”
Her silence tells me she wants to believe me, but doesn’t. Why should she? I’m a stranger. I don’t frequent town, sit on any committees or even leave the house regularly. With a gym in the basement, and delivery for anything with the click of a button, there’s no need. I wish I could find a way to reassure her, but I’m not quite sure how. The only way that comes to mind isn’t a gentlemanly way, in fact it’s down right animalistic. I clench my jaw, willing my mind to remain focused on something mundane so I can suppress the rock hardness bulging against my zipper.
I stomp into the front room, set her on the sofa and turn on the light. “Stay put. I’ll bring you the cordless.”
“You have a landline?” There’s no hiding the surprise in her voice. “Seriously? No one has a landline anymore.” She says under her breath, but I hear her.
“At one time, I needed it.” I huff and head toward the kitchen. Not that I owe this woman an explanation. You can’t always rely on cell phones when part of your job is being on call. My hand rests on the phone and I pause. Former job, that is. My nostrils flare and my eyes squeeze shut, remembering the last time I actually answered this phone and the news waiting for me on the other side.
I shake off the memory and pull the receiver from its cradle. When I head back into the front room, Eden’s made her way off of the sofa and is hobbling toward the front door. A loud sigh escapes my lips. Even slightly impaired with what’s probably a simple sprain, the woman’s body screams out for attention. Her full, curvy hips look astounding in her vintage dress, cinched in at the waist. It reminds me of something from the movie with Dolly Parton and Jane Fonda, the one with the boss who’s a total asshole and they tie him up.
“Eden, wait.” She turns to me and her eyes fill with terror.
“Stay right there.” She pulls her keychain from the pocket of her dress, struggling to balance on one leg and fidgeting with her attached can of mace. “Or I’ll…I’ll…geez, how does this thing even work?”
I want to laugh. She’s adorable, vulnerable and determined to figure out how to use a can of mace that looks like she’s been carrying since college. My shoulders melt down my back as I make my way over to her. I place my hand over hers and leave it there until her chin stretches up to meet my eyes. My breath nearly catches in my throat. Eden is stunning, sending jolts of electricity firing through every inch of my body. I have to steady my voice before I speak. The last thing I want her to know is that she’s making me just as nervous as I appear to be making her, but for a completely different reason.
“Relax, Eden. My name is Dr. Dane Caden, and I’d like to take a look at your ankle.” I hold the phone out toward her. “Call whoever you like, let them know where you are.” She takes the phone, but I hold my grip on it for an extra beat. “But I’m not letting you leave here until the storm lets up. You can tell whoever you call that, too.”
Eden’s sparkling eyes remain steady on my own. My life flashes before me. A new start. A beautiful woman who doesn’t know about me and my past. Someone to breathe life into this old house that once held so much promise. And in the same breath, I realize that I’m not worthy of such blessings.
“Fine,” she says, and I release my grip on the phone. “But when the storm passes, those library books are coming with me.”
I nod, unable to hide the surprise at her request. “Of course.”
She pokes her finger in my face, narrowly missing my nose. “And you’re not getting out of paying the late fee, mister.”
3
Eden
“Are you nuts?” My friend and co-worker Kenzie can’t hide the shock in her voice. “Who the hell is this guy?”
“He says he’s a doctor,” I whisper.
“Shit, Eden. Do you believe him?”
Seated on the couch, I brush my chin against my shoulder and attempt to peer at the large man hovering behind me. He crosses his corded arms across a solid wall of a chest. The man’s a brick house, not your typical looking doctor. His stormy gray glance sends shivers down my spine, and I’m not one hundred percent sure if it’s fear or pure lust that shakes me.
It’s both, you ninny!
“Eden?”
“Sorry!” I turn away from Dane and shake my head. “I think he is, but I’m not sure.”
In the background Ford, Kenzie’s fiancé, mutters something I can’t make out. Kenzie shushes him. “Sorry, I’m stepping away because I need you to be straight with me without Ford chirping in my ear. You know how he is.” Ford’s insistence on taking care of Kenzie nearly chased her off. So yes, I know exactly how he is.
A low, grumbling voice startles me. “Let me speak with her.” I turn and am met with that impenetrable glare once again. My entire body turns to mush. The hum of his tone vibrates against my bones. He’s so much bigger than I am. Stronger. Without thinking twice, I hand him the phone.
“This is Dr. Dane Caden.” His dark hair hangs a little past his chin, and not in a stylish way. More of an “I need a haircut” way. His soft waves curl around his square cut jaw. He speaks to Kenzie with a brazen authority, listing off his number and address. Would a serial killer do that?
Dane must read my mind because his eyes flit down toward me. My body tightens. How did I not notice his beauty upon first glance? His Adam’s apple bobs in his thick neck when he swallows. I may have only moved to Wild County in the last three years, but I know nearly everyone. How is it that I’ve never heard of Dane? Especially if he’s a doctor.
Dane holds the phone back out toward me. “She’d like to speak with you.” His prominent nose only accentuates the unique features of his face. Thick, dark eyebrows give him a Greek or Italian appearance. He purses his full lips, full as pillows. I wonder what it would feel like to kiss a man like him, sinking into his soft mouth. To let him hold me, leaving me feeling helpless and power
less in his firm grip.
“Eden?”
“What?”
“Take the phone.”
Holy moly, I was staring. I jump back to the moment. “Right.” I take the phone and immediately reiterate to Kenzie that I’m going to be okay, and promising I’ll call her when I make it home this evening after the storm passes. We hang up and an awkward silence stretches between the gorgeous doctor and myself as he joins me on the sofa, taking my swollen ankle into his big, warm hands.
His hair hangs into his eyes as he examines me, giving me the chance to once again take in his stunning good looks. Heat rises to my cheeks as he gently grazes the skin around my ankle, surveying the damage.
“Looks like it’s just a sprain.” He says, peering up at me.
“That’s good, right?”
“You just need to rest it a bit and give it time. I’ll get you an ice pack.” He rises swifter than a man his size should. I’m mesmerized by his wide, muscular back. My eyes drop to the tattoos on his triceps peeking out from the sleeves. A sexy, tattooed doctor living alone in the woods in a totally flippable historic Victorian mansion? Pinch me, I’m dreaming.
A little laugh catches in my throat. It’d be a dream if a man like him would ever find a woman like me attractive. My hand brushes my now wet updo away from my face. I’m certain the term drowned rat comes to mind. My eyes flick around the room. The house is darker than average, and not just for lack of light. Even with the storm cloaking the room in shadows of gray, the drapes are closed and only a few lamps are lit. Heaviness hangs thick in the air. While the furniture is spotless—brand new, it seems—the wallpaper peels in the corners revealing yellowing walls underneath.
Dane Page 1