Charming the One
Meadowview: Meadowview Heroes 3
Rochelle French
Contents
Title Page
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
Chapter 23
Also by Rochelle French
About the Author
Excerpt, What NOT to Do in Bed
Copyright
Charming the One
The Meadowview Series: Meadowview Heroes Book 2
Rochelle French
No one could ever call Peter Leary a natural born charmer—no matter what, he always says the wrong thing. All down-to-earth Neva Tipton wants is to be left alone to start her new farm-to-table business. What she most definitely doesn’t want is to help her gorgeous neighbor (and former best friend) charm her twin sister.
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Ready to collapse from exhaustion, Peter Leary instead stared through binoculars, shocked to see his new neighbor stealing his water on the other side of the orchard. Oddly, all he could think was that the blonde should model for a jeans commercial. Because for a thief, she had one smoking hot body. Now what was he supposed to do—haul ass across the orchard and order her off his property?
Almost too tired to stand (but not too tired to notice a sexy woman) he hitched a hip against the porch railing and adjusted the focus to highlight the woman’s curves as she wrestled with the water lock-box on the agricultural irrigation canal. He frowned, knowing he should focus on the theft aspect. Water in these parts was something of value. Plus, one simply did not steal water from one’s neighbor, especially in such a close-knit town as Meadowview.
Even if one did have an amazing backside.
And even if one was sexy enough to capture his attention when he desperately needed a meal, a hot shower, and a soft bed. His bones ached and he could barely keep his eyes open. He’d arrived home only minutes earlier, coming straight from a five-thousand acre forest fire he’d been fighting alongside his crew over the last three days, only to spot someone messing around with his irrigation system.
An odd grunting sound behind him caught his attention right before a foul stench filled the air. He pulled the binoculars away from his face and tiredly cast a glance down at a juvenile porcupine scrabbling at his bootlaces. Not just any porcupine, either.
Brat had shown up. Again.
Peter gave the critter a tired smile, but resisted reaching down to pet Brat’s face. The little guy needed to stay wild and not become dependent on humans or he might get himself trapped. Or worse. The thought made Peter shudder.
“I’m not petting you. Or feeding you. You’re wild, so you need to fend for yourself. Go eat an apple from the orchard.” Peter gave the critter the same message he’d said before. Too bad the juvenile porcupine didn’t speak English. He motioned with his hand.
Brat grunted.
“You are not my new roommate. Move along now. Head on over to the orchard.”
The animal looked up at him, grunted again, but kept toying with his laces. A few weeks ago, the teenaged quill-fest had shown up on Peter’s porch, mumbling like an old man and finding Peter’s boots oddly compelling. No matter that Peter had done nothing to encourage the relationship—he’d repeatedly (and carefully) tried to chase the porcupine off—the little dude had somehow gotten it into his prickly head they were best buds. The porcupine was mistaken.
“Seriously, dude. Look at this place.” He gestured with the binoculars in the general direction of the orchard. “You have everything you could ever want right there. Food, shelter…maybe even a girl porcupine, if you pay enough attention. Just open your eyes.”
Brat ignored him.
“Whatever.” He yawned, startling the porcupine. Maybe he should skip the meal and head straight to the shower. His bed beckoned, but his mind was still on his new neighbor and her nutty actions at the ditch. He raised the binoculars back up to find her again. “City folk,” he snorted. Another newbie, getting herself into trouble. “Very sexy city folk,” he couldn’t help but adding.
The facts he already knew of his new neighbor were few but weighty.
One: she was one of those organic farming hipsters out to make a living off the land (according to Garston Stanley, the local Realtor).
Two: she was single and super hot (according to Jacob, the new counter clerk at Delilah’s Diner, who had a bad case of teenage hormones and thought anyone with boobs under the age of thirty-five was hot).
Three: she was a lacto-ovo-vegetarian into her own looks and had an unrealistic view of romance (this particular information came from Sandie Maddox, the checker at Camden’s Grocery, who said the woman had bought hummus, eggs, cheese, milk, a woman’s fashion magazine, a romance paperback, and fingernail polish remover).
He’d have to add “water thief” to that list. Not that the blonde was actually stealing his water. Technically, it was his aunt’s water since he was watching Maude’s place for her. Also, if the blonde did release the water from his lockbox, it would go straight into his irrigation system, not hers.
Most likely, she’d made an incorrect assumption that her water box was on the north side of her property instead of the south side. The water conveyance ditch, one of hundreds throughout Deloro County, brought water down from the Sierra Nevada Mountains to provide agricultural irrigation. Someone from Deloro Water District should have come out and unlocked the blonde’s water box when she moved in, but obviously his sexy neighbor didn’t know to wait. Or which lockbox was hers.
She turned and he again caught sight of her luscious—
No. He should not be checking out his neighbor’s ass. But a magnetic pull drew him to stare at her some more. A couple of months ago he’d have been into asking her out. Now, though? He wasn’t about to embark on another fling—been there, done that. Multiple times, in fact.
Although, his aunt had been bugging him to settle down and make her a great-great aunt. She’d casually suggested he abandon his plans to travel the world and instead find a woman who could fill his empty heart and aching soul (Aunt Maude’s melodramatic words, not his).
He didn’t much think his heart was empty or his soul aching, although he had grown tired of the constant bed-hopping. But as for settling down… Nah. Not for him. Not now, at any rate. And definitely not in the small town of Meadowview. He’d always planned to travel the world when the time was right, and that was exactly what he was going to do.
Only fourteen days remained before he took off for parts unknown—leaving the town of Meadowview, his coworkers, his career as a firefighter, and the whole works behind as he finally heading out on his grand adventure, as he’d titled the plan he’d formed in back high school. He had a half million dollars—a trust set up from his mother before she’d died—sitting in his bank account, ready and waiting to support him as he traveled the world. He’d been disallowed to touch the funds until he’d turned twenty-five, two years ago.
; He would have flown off into the sunset right then and there, but before he could, his great-aunt Maude had called in a favor: take care of the family farm in Meadowview for two years while she served on a volunteer mission in Brazil. His dear aunt meant the world to him, so he couldn’t say no.
The clock on that favor was about to expire. He’d done right by Maude, willingly, and now it was his turn to follow his dreams.
In two weeks, he’d be free.
So he saw no harm in looking through his binoculars one last time.
Neva twisted off the emerald ring she always wore and set it down on the dry grass. She lowered herself to her knees. Not to pray (although that wouldn’t have been a bad idea) but to grapple with the grey metal box that stuck out of the irrigation canal. She’d finally managed to pick the lock with a bobby pin and now had to figure out where the release valve was.
Water. She needed water, and fast.
Without water, she’d lose her crop. Without her crop, she’d lose the big contract with a Sacramento restaurateur for produce that had come with the purchase of the farm. And without that contract, she’d lose her income. She’d put all she had into buying this property, so without any income, well...yep, she’d lose the farm.
Literally.
Because she’d gone and bought a farm. An actual, as-God-is-my-witness farm.
Buying an organic farm in the middle of the worst drought California had seen in a hundred years had to be one of the craziest decisions she’d ever make. But at the same time, owning the land was the most thrilling adventure of her life. A dream come true. She grimaced. Well, unless her crop died, that is, then it would be a dream gone bust.
She squared her shoulders. She had to do anything it took to make sure that didn’t happen. This was her dream, and she’d worked hard to earn it. And it was up to her to solve this problem. She pulled a face. Not like she had anyone else to help her. Not with both her parents long gone and buried, and her twin… Her chest tightened. Well, who knew where Carla was at the moment? Besides, she didn’t want or need help.
“A Tipton never asks for help,” she said, repeating her father’s mantra under her breath. Then she bit her lip to keep from crying. Neva Tipton did not cry.
Less than a week ago, she’d signed the final bank papers on the farm. Then, when she’d called Deloro Water District to set up a water account the way her Realtor had told her to, the woman on the District phone told her about the conveyance ditch on the far side of her property and how a lock-box would be opened. What she called a “miner’s inch” of water would be released into Neva’s irrigation system.
“It’s easy,” she’d said.
“So simple,” she’d said.
“I’ll send someone out tomorrow,” she’d said.
That woman had flat-out lied, because that conversation had been five days ago and still no one had come out to unlock her water box, despite her repeated calls.
Wind suddenly brushed over her, and she glanced upward. Heavy rainclouds overhead had covered the sky for days, trapping smoke from a nearby forest fire. The clouds held precious water, but the rain wasn’t expected to drop more than a half-inch overnight. That miniscule amount was nowhere near enough to keep her wilting crops from dying.
Water rushed by in the canal below, a soft whisper filling the air. She stared back down at the contraption, hoping to find an on/off switch or a spigot to turn. Instead, spider webs greeted her. “Well now, this isn’t good,” she muttered.
Could there be a release valve down under the water? The canal was a good twenty feet wide and eight feet deep with the metal box tucked down into the bank. She sat back on her heels. Sheesh. All she wanted was a bit of water so her crops didn’t die. Was that so much to ask?
Apparently so. She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes.
The irrigation district people must have some sort of long device used to release the lever, she figured. Maybe she could hang onto the metal box and lower herself down, feeling with her foot to see if she could find a release valve.
Doubt crept up her spine. In her mind’s eye, her crops withered and died on the vine. She snorted at her fears. “You’re no wimp, Neva,” she muttered, repeating the words her father, the Senator, used to tell her before he’d up and died in a car crash.
“Leave the girlie stuff to your sister,” he’d said.
“Toughen up,” he’d said.
“Prove to me you’re strong,” he’d said.
Neva had followed his advice, becoming the tomboy to her twin’s beauty queen.
She was no wimp—good decision or not, she’d bought this farm. She’d make it work.
Peter was too tired to move, but he focused the binoculars to focus on his neighbor’s face. Damn. The distance was too great to make her out clearly. The woman seemed pretty (albeit blurry—he definitely needed better binoculars than his old pair from his Boy Scout days), and he couldn’t help but wonder what she looked like up close and personal. There was something about the way she moved, too—a gentle familiarity in how she gave a slight sway to her hips and hitched her shoulders as she moved about. Sexy.
He yawned again, the action causing the binoculars to sweep the north side of his property. Before he swung his sights back, something caught his attention. “Damn.” One of his neighbors must have lowered the wooden footbridge back over the canal. He’d need to go crank the footbridge over to his side. He’d fix it soon, but not today. At least Brat was moving away, waddling slowly off the porch and heading toward the orchard. As an act of graciousness, Brat left his foul odor behind.
“Use deodorant. And eat the apples, not the trees, dude,” Peter called out to the porcupine.
He’d done his due diligence and searched “porcupine” on the Internet after his first encounter with Brat. The quilled beasts liked salt (probably why he was after leather boots and laces), fruit, and tree bark, among other yummies.
Totally fine by Peter if the critter ate the apples on the ground, but if the porcupine went after the bark on Maude’s precious apple trees, he and Brat would need to have a serious conversation about appropriate boundaries.
He lowered the binoculars and swiped again at the sweat making pathways through the soot that covered every exposed inch on his body. Summertime brought folks out of the city to camp along the Maidu River—the sudden influx of tourists was nice for the local economy of Meadowview, but tourists brought campfires, and campfires brought forest fires. Three days ago a blaze had started at one of the campsites, and for the majority of those three days, Peter and his crew worked on the front lines. He was wiped out and smelled like an ashtray.
He looked and smelled like his father.
Anger spiked his chest. Damn that man. Damn his own incompetence, too. Hell, damn everyone and everything. He couldn’t wait to get out of this town.
The wind kicked up, sending dust into the air. For days, rain clouds had hung heavy in the air, so pristinely white and billowy on top but grey and ominous below, trapping the smoke-filled air. Once the rain hit, the area would cool down—and quick—but until then, Peter and everyone else in the northern California foothills would be eating dust.
He needed a shower. Needed to get to bed. And under no circumstances did he need to stare at his new neighbor’s ass any longer.
No matter how tempting of an ass she had.
Neva tugged off her hiking shoes, loosely rolled her Levi’s up to just below her knees, and hanging onto the lockbox, she twisted around until she could flop down onto her stomach. Scooting backward, she lowered her feet into the ditch and then gasped, surprised by how freaking cold the water was and how strong the current tugged at her feet.
How could the water be so freezing cold? And so strong? The rush of water tugged at her jeans, unrolling them down to her ankles—not that the fabric helped ward off the chill. Shivering, she eased herself even further into the water, inch by inch, feeling around with her feet but finding only water and—
“There!” she
shouted.
With the tip of her toe, she could feel something hard jutting out from the bank. She lowered herself farther, and when the waterline hit the level of her boobs, she gasped, but felt again for whatever it was her toes had just encountered. Was that…?
Disappointment dampened her mood when she deduced (with her toes) that the thing she’d felt was a root, not a lever. What had she been thinking, jumping into a ditch? Why was she still, after all these years, following her father’s directive to push herself in the opposite direction of her fancy-pants twin? Carla never would have allowed herself into this freezing cold water. She’d have batted her eyelashes and some man would have come running.
High time for her to get out. She tightened her grip and started to pull herself out. Except… “Rats!”
Her jeans were caught by the root she’d thought was a release valve. She tugged her leg, but the root held tight. So did her jeans. She yanked her leg again and then jerked it back and forth. There was no give.
Now what? She could undo her button-fly and wriggle out of her jeans, but that would mean the risk of losing her favorite pants. Losing her jeans over a stupid decision to toe-feel for a release valve that clearly didn’t exist seemed so…well, like something her irresponsible sister would do.
And Neva would do anything to avoid acting like Carla.
Fine. If she wasn’t going to lose her pants, then her only option was to go all the way underwater to dislodge her jeans. She sucked in a deep breath and plunged underwater, feeling for the root. She’d accounted for the chilly temperature of the water, but what she hadn’t accounted for was the strength of the current. Now, with her body no longer braced against the current by holding onto the metal box, the rushing water grabbed her and, in an instant, yanked her away from the bank.
Sputtering, she reached the surface, but her jeans remained trapped. Which meant she remained trapped. And the water wasn’t getting any warmer. Shivers jolted her body and her teeth chattered. How easily the cold water had sucked the energy and strength from her limbs.
Charming the One: (Meadowview Heroes # 3) (The Meadowview Series Book 7) Page 1