by Joya Ryan
OTHER TITLES BY JOYA RYAN
Captured Series
Break Me Slowly
Possess Me Slowly
Capture Me Slowly
Chasing Love Series
Chasing Trouble
Chasing Temptation
Chasing Desire
Chasing Mr. Wrong
Search and Seduce Series
Tell Me You Need Me
Tell Me You Crave Me
Tell Me You Want Me
Serve Series
Rules of Seduction
Reign Series
Yours Tonight
Yours Completely
Yours Forever
Sweet Torment Series
Only You
Breathe You In
Sweet Hill Series
Sweet Hill Homecoming
Sweet Hill Temptation
Hot Addiction Series
Crave
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2017 by Joya Ryan
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503943131
ISBN-10: 1503943135
Cover design by RBA Designs
To Lauren,
Thank you for your help, kindness, and support. This book wouldn’t be what it is without you. Thank you.
Contents
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
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
Laura Baughman took a deep breath, smelling the sea air and the coming rain. What the hell was she doing? Oh, right, she was taking her life back. Which was why she was standing in front of her father’s home-and-garden shop in the small town she’d grown up in and hadn’t been back to in ten years.
A raindrop hit her nose, and she could almost hear the splat of the water lash her skin. She gasped, because it was a shock. She hadn’t seen a lot of rain in the past ten years in California. Hell, being desert-bound for a decade, she’d almost forgotten what water looked like.
“Are you okay?” her friend Hannah’s voice boomed through her cell phone.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Laura said and wiped her nose. “Just . . . I think it’s starting to rain.”
“Yeah, that’ll happen. It’s fricking Oregon.”
Laura balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear and continued to stare down her childhood. This was the shop her father and mother had started before she was even born. The shop that was supposed to be a part of her future . . . before she’d run away.
“Yes, I’m aware it rains in Oregon,” Laura said defensively. It had been a long time, but she could still remember how a storm sounded when the clouds rolled above the ocean waves and surrounded the cute coastal town with a rumble of thunder. It had always calmed her. Not scared her. Because her mother loved the rain. Had loved it.
“Not much changes around here,” Laura said, squinting to look several blocks down Main Street. The same bright-colored shops still lined the cobblestone sidewalk, and the yellow lamps in front of every store glowed softly. Her father’s shop—its own structure with an acre surrounding it—was at the end of the street. Now wasn’t the time to walk into town and literally down memory lane, though. She had to find her dad, who should be here—yet there was no sign of life.
“A lot more has changed than you know,” Hannah said. Laura could hear people talking in the background and glasses clinking. “You coming by my bar later? Say hi to your best friend properly?”
“Of course,” Laura said. She and Hannah had grown up together and stayed in touch. She really was her best friend and, honestly, the only person she’d confided in about the past and the struggle that came with it.
So much had happened in the past, and Laura was starting a mental graveyard in her mind where all her hopes had gone to die. Yep, she had had a lot of things, and then she’d lost them.
Laura tugged on her ring finger. Her left ring finger. The finger that had had a ring on it but was now bare. Even though it’d been a year since she’d filed for divorce, there was six months of fighting beforehand. It had taken only a few weeks for the ink to dry before she packed her few possessions in her car. And still she tugged that same finger when nervous. But she’d said good-bye to her ex-husband a long time ago. In her heart and in her life. It had been a brutal year, but she was finally healing. Over him. Over the mess that he’d made of her life. Ten years of being emotionally beaten down. Being told, convinced, that she was nothing more than what he allowed her to be. Nothing was hers. Not the money, not the career, nothing. It was all his and he’d taken it, and she was happy to be rid of him. Because she still had her spine and her ambition. And she’d lost herself there for a while, but she was ready to take back her life for herself. And claiming her family shop was the first step.
Another drop of rain hit her nose, and she shifted in her four-inch pumps. The store parking lot was riddled with chunky old asphalt, and she struggled to find a flat surface.
“Lot of cute guys in here tonight,” Hannah said.
“The man I’m interested in is Waylon Wells.”
“Ew, the old guy?”
“He still does concrete around here, right?” Laura asked. Her father had hired him twenty years ago to pour the parking lot in the first place.
“Ah, yeah,” Hannah confirmed.
“Great.” Because Laura wasn’t interested in dating, or men—she was interested in getting this home-and-garden shop looking fresh and in top shape.
Hopefully without making a mess of things first. Because that was something she’d been known for. Laura Baughman: the girl who makes messes and wrong decisions. Like her ex, for example. She was the one who’d fallen for him. But that was her curse. Her mother used to tell her all the time, “Laura Baughman, you’re better suited to pick a man from a hat than from your intuition.” And that was fair. Considering Laura had always picked the wrong man. Always. But that was going to change, since not only was she back in town to pick up the pieces of a life she’d left behind, it was her final shot to make something of herself. For herself. And that meant no men. And absolutely no dating.
Yep. Zero.
Just the thought made her brain—and other parts—throb in protest, but she had to stay strong. She’d been celibate this past year going through a messy divorce; what was another year?
She shuddered at the thought. Granted, her ex, Graham, hadn’t been stellar in the bedroom. Once upon a time, she was a naive nineteen-year-old and he was the older, wiser guy who’d blown through town with swagger and mystery. But she wasn’t a coed or a virgin anymore. She’d given both those things to Graham, and now, with one sexual partner and a d
ecade of disappointing nights under her belt, she could surely forgo sex and intimacy, since it wasn’t like she’d been rolling in either beforehand.
“So . . . you really okay?” Hannah asked, seeming to pick up something in Laura’s silence. And the truth was, no, not really. Staring at the shop with its white shutters and empty flower bed out front made her miss her mother even more. It was ten years ago this week that she’d passed away. Ten years ago that Laura had had the choice to stay and help her father with the shop, to grieve, be a good daughter, and step up. Ten years ago that she’d chosen to run from her mother’s death—the pain—and follow the wrong guy right out of town and never look back. Ten years ago she’d made a lot of wrong choices. But she had been a nineteen-year-old in pain. Wasn’t an excuse, but it was something she had to make right.
“I’m good,” she lied. “Just need to find my dad.” Her father had been kind to her. Keeping in touch, with limited phone calls from time to time. Laura had been isolated in her marriage, and the memories of her mother were too tough, so she hadn’t come back to town before this. Everything had changed after her mother died. She was the warm, stable glue that kept their little unit of three together. When she passed, her father’s quirks came out with a vengeance, just like Laura’s flighty need to always chase something far away. They’d both lost their rock and had been free-falling ever since.
And she was sorry.
So damn sorry she couldn’t look at herself in the mirror anymore. But she’d fix everything. She’d try. She’d help. And she’d make it right with her father, the shop, and her mother’s memory.
“Are you back for good, then?” Hannah asked. It was the same question she’d asked several times since Laura told her she was coming home.
“Yes. That’s my plan,” Laura confirmed.
“Well, then you’ll need something—or someone—to take out your pent-up aggression on,” Hannah said. “I have a couple gentlemen at my bar right now who would be happy to show you a good time.” Hannah’s voice sounded a bit more distanced as she said, “Here’s her picture. Yeah, she’s hot, huh?”
Great. So Hannah was showing Laura’s picture on her cell phone to random guys she was waiting on at the bar.
“I told you I’m not dating,” Laura said.
“Dating? I’m just trying to get you laid. You’re welcome.”
Laura laughed. Yeah, Hannah was not only her best friend but a great wingwoman. Too bad she didn’t need a wingwoman.
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” she said to Hannah. Speaking of gutter, the little shop still looked the same. Only it wasn’t so little anymore. The cute storefront that had once housed her mother’s flowers was still adorable, but from the outside it looked more like an office than a flower shop. Odd since it was a floral shop, no matter how home-and-garden her father had tried to brand it. Her father had told her some renovations had gone on over the years and business was booming, but these weren’t small renovations. She was staring down a full-blown warehouse with storefront curb appeal. Apparently Laura hadn’t realized just how much business had boomed.
That’s what ten years away will get you.
The large, white building with blue trim was still adorable. It was also now massive.
Last time she’d seen the place, it had been a small floral shop with a few plants and gardening supplies for sale. While the charming storefront remained, the entire place had been built up and out. The little shop was dark, but the massive warehouse that sat behind it looked well lit. It had once been her mother’s dream, and now it was her own future.
BAUGHMAN HOME GOODS
A large, proud sign in the same blue and white hung in the center of the building. Might as well have been a giant middle finger to her. Because she wasn’t sure how to tackle this place. It was her father’s business, but when her mother had died the summer she’d graduated high school, he’d told Laura the store was hers if ever she wanted it. A place to call home. Problem was, when her mother had passed, Laura had run. Far and fast from home. Because it felt empty without the woman she’d looked up to. Her father had been devastated, too, but judging by the looks of it, the past ten years had been good to him and the business. And Laura could use a bit of home now. She had her degree in design and marketing, but she hadn’t done much else over the past ten years outside of being Mrs. Graham Lincoln and slowly watching her self-esteem wither away. Which was why she was determined to not only put down roots she could be proud of, but be the woman her mother could be proud of. And it was time Laura took her life and planted some roots and succeeded.
Granted, that might be tricky, since she’d thought she’d get to run the floral shop she’d remembered. Not a gigantic home-and-garden supply store. Doubts were creeping in. The doubts that had been hammered into her head by her ex and that she was working hard at swatting away.
“Doubts you can’t afford,” she said, shifting again in her designer heels—one of the few things she’d gotten to keep in the divorce. Turned out, Graham had a better lawyer than she did, and Laura had escaped with her car, a couple of suitcases, and her fillings.
“Ah, crap, you’re talking to yourself again. Are you sure you’re okay?” Hannah asked.
“Yes,” Laura said on a breath. She used to give herself pep talks, and that wasn’t weird at all. Right?
Deep breath.
It was over.
Time for a fresh start.
This floral shop was hers, and staring down the building where her father had once cut dahlias for her mother, Laura knew she could make this work. This was her home. And once, a long time ago, she had been happy here. But that had vanished along with her mother. At least, she thought it had. Standing there, Laura felt closer to an answer, to her mother’s spirit, than she had in a long time. And damn it, she was going to chase that.
“I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tonight,” she said to Hannah and clicked off her cell.
She headed for the front door of the shop and glanced around . . . He should be here. He’d said he’d meet her.
“Dad?” she called out as she reached the front entrance. “Daddy?” she tried again, peeking into the window and seeing no one inside. With the sky getting grayer and no sign of anyone, she was getting worried he wasn’t there yet.
“Caught up in his crazy,” Laura mumbled. As if her father had somehow heard her, a crash of thunder boomed.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said as another drop of freezing water splashed on her forehead.
She hustled toward the entrance and pulled open the floral shop door, only to be greeted with a nearly dislocated shoulder, because the damn thing was locked.
“Hello?” she yelled and tapped on the window next to the door. She peered inside the other window to find a darkened room with a small seating area and a few clear-doored refrigerators. Refrigerators that should have had flowers in them, but didn’t.
So the flower shop was closed? On a weekday? Not a smart business move, considering the revenue the store would miss out on. That would be the first of many things she’d change around here. She might not have a lot going for her, like a home or a job or a boyfriend—not that she was looking, because that would go against her no-dating rule—but Laura was a damn fine marketing consultant. She may have struggled in her marriage, but what started as odd jobs in freelance marketing was slowly building into a career.
The warehouse was around back. It was a weekday during business hours—surely someone would be there. Maybe someone like her dad. Scatterbrained old man with a heart of gold. But because of all this, she’d have to walk around the entire building to see if the loading area was open.
Only in Oregon could the rain turn from a mild inconvenience to a damn Amazonian, end-of-the-world downpour in seconds. She trudged back into the rain, which was coming down harder. She tried not to cry when her Jimmy Choo got caught in a pothole.
“Shit!”
She tugged, but the damn thing was stuck.
Deciding she’d have to ratchet it free, she stepped out of her shoe, the coarse asphalt abrading the underside of her foot as she reached into the puddle and tried to jimmy Jimmy free from the mean pothole that was chewing up her favorite pair of stilettos.
“Come on . . . give it up, you rat bastard!” With a big yank, she launched backward, the heel snapping off, and Laura landed on her ass on the wet ground.
She looked at her shoe, which now was considered a flat. Stupid pothole.
With one shoe on and the other broken in her hand, she had nothing left to do but finish her trek around the building, where—thank the Lord—the back was open. Massive roll-up doors were open and the smell of diesel, dust, and dirt radiated from the warehouse. Machinery used to move mountains of gravel, sawdust, and lumber, it looked like. Because there were mountains of all three in there.
Holy crap, when had her dad gotten into the supply part of the home-and-garden business? This looked to be a large operation, not just a small floral shop anymore. He’d mentioned things—like that he had hired more people and business was growing—but Walt Baughman had never been one for specifics.
She stumbled in, calling out for signs of life.
She didn’t know a lot about the heavy machinery side of this gig, but she knew enough to recognize a lifter-mcbob and a plow-thingy.
When she knocked her knee on a yellow machine complete with jaws, she winced, bent over, and rubbed her kneecap, a welt puffing up instantly and stinging like hell.
“This doesn’t look good,” Laura said to herself.
That was the exact opposite of what Jake thought, staring down the most perfect ass he’d ever seen.
The ass in question, and its owner, were soaked, kind of muddy, and in his warehouse. Talk about a great way to end the day. He’d always been an ass man. And judging by the outstanding view, including a long set of legs covered in slick rain and a fitted black skirt, he’d give this one a solid eleven out of ten.
It had been a long day up until then—he tilted his head to the side to get a better view—but it was shaping up real quick.