Always the One
Meadowview: Meadowview Heroes 2
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
Epilogue
Also by Rochelle French
About the Author
Excerpt, Charming the One
Copyright
Always the One
The Meadowview Series: Meadowview Heroes Book 2
Rochelle French
After five years locked up for a crime she didn’t commit, when wild child Coraleen Pettigrew returns home to the small town of Meadowview, it’s with a crash and a bang. Oops! Straight and narrow Sheriff Remy Toussaint is up for reelection, but the reappearance of Coraleen and the fact that she can’t seem to keep her sexy rear out of jail could cost him the election.
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With only four miles of winding mountain road to go until the Welcome to Meadowview sign was supposed to pop into sight, the ’65 Chevy Impala Coraleen Pettigrew drove with determination groaned and coughed as if giving up on life.
“No! Don’t do this to me now!” Coraleen said, the tension in her voice apparent even to her. She glanced up the road. The morning sun shone brightly through the tall cedars and newly-budding oaks, which had led her to almost (emphasis on almost) think her journey might bring good things. Now that thought was rapidly fading.
Because if her car crapped out on the side of the road, odds were fifty-fifty that nobody coming by would stop to give her a ride or a tow. And that was being generous with the odds. Not because the passerby would think she was some dangerous hitchhiker and would fear for their lives. Nope, people weren’t likely to stop because everyone in Meadowview and their uncle twice removed knew who she was.
What she’d done.
Where she’d been.
Which is why if anyone recognized her, chances were they’d opt to leave her car to rot on the side of the road and leave her to hoof it the remaining way to town. Give the girl who’d gone to prison for embezzling Lydell Wallaby’s money any degree of help? Not likely.
People didn’t much like criminals, which was why she’d given a false confession and gone to prison for a crime she hadn’t committed—to protect her beloved grandfather’s reputation and ultimately save his life.
Yuppers, she definitely had to get into town (and then out of town) under her own steam.
“C’mon, car, you can do it. Positive energy all the way, right? Just get me home.” Home. A sense of peace settled over her. Warmed her. Softened her. Allowed her to believe for a flash of a second that anything could be possible, even for a former convict.
Then that hope was ripped right out of her again.
Home. Yeah, right. Not that she had one of those anymore. Her heart twisted when the image of Pop’s smiling face filtered into her mind. Her grandpop’s heart had held out as long as it could and both of them had hoped he could see her in her own home one more time before he shuffled off this mortal coil, but that hadn’t happened.
Three months ago Pop had passed on, and she’d received a call that his house and all his belongings—including her horse—had been auctioned off for back taxes, leaving her alone and without a horse or a home to…well…to come home to.
Her visit in Meadowview, therefore, would be brief, at best. She’d get in to town, find out who’d bought her horse while she was jailed in Arizona, buy back Visada, then drive off into the sunset.
Well, actually, she’d have to convince her horse’s new owner to sell her Visada, then rent a horse trailer, and then drive off into the sunset, but whatever. Details, shmeetails.
She stepped on the gas pedal. The car let out a gigantic hiccup, bumping Coraleen up in the seat before steadying steadied itself, then continued its labored climb up the hill. Relief washed through her.
“That’s my girl,” she murmured. The car hadn’t done too bad, given that it was twice her age.
The Impala had managed the sixteen-hour drive from Arizona fairly well, at least until Barstow, when Coraleen checked the oil dipstick and realized she probably should have been adding quarts of oil along her journey. She’d bought a case, unhappily stripping a twenty off the roll that was her only savings from her job in the prison kitchen where she’d spent the last five years dehydrating mashed potatoes and opening cans of creamed corn (no matter how hard she’d tried, the prison system still remained unconvinced falafel was an appropriate food source). She’d fed the beast at every truck stop along California’s I-5. The car had been grateful and run smoothly…until now.
She crossed the bridge covering Elderberry Creek. Good—she and the Impala were making progress. Only a mile more until Meadowview’s town limits. She patted the dashboard, but a cough and a sputter followed. Sure, now she could pull over and walk the rest of the way, but then what would she do with the car abandoned on the side of the road? She didn’t have enough money to pay for a tow truck. The fifteen hundred dollars rolled up in a wad of twenties at the bottom of her bag was to buy back Visada and start a new life, not pay for a tow.
“C’mon, now,” she whispered, “just a little bit further.” Wind whipped through the open window, messing up her long hair, shielding her vision with what was the equivalent of a blond shower curtain. She puffed out a breath, hard, and blew the thick strands of hair out of her line of sight. The hill evened out, then straightened and dipped, and the car responded to the incline by picking up speed. Ahead lay her hometown.
Warmth filled her chest. Even though she knew half the townsfolk still hated on her, she couldn’t help feeling everything would be okay once she arrived. That life would begin again after being on hold for so long.
The car hugged a curve, bringing her closer to her destination. Coraleen’s stomach curled in on itself, like a tight fist. Not the nausea of fear, but the excitement of anticipation, like she used to feel on the first day of the summer fair. As a kid, she would walk to the fairgrounds with the same buzzing in her belly as she fingered the damp folded bills in her pocket, the money she’d saved up all summer to spend on carnie rides, candy apples, cotton candy, and Job’s Daughter’s corn dogs. Those Job’s Daughters made a mean corn dog.
The steeple of St. Bartholomew’s suddenly came into view. “There it is!” A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as the epitome of small-town Americana came into sight.
Meadowview.
Brick Victorians stood shoulder to shoulder, lining old cobblestone streets. Wooden sidewalks that used to make a delightful hollow sound when she stomped on them with cowboy boots lined the wide street. Pansies and geraniums and ivy filled hanging baskets that draped off the antique gas lamps at each corner. The stop sign, faded and red, stood at the corner of Market and Main Streets in front of Delilah’s Diner, home of the “Best Bacon Muffin Ever.”
Coraleen’s grin gave way to a wide smile as she took in the sight of her hometown, so warm and familiar. Nothing seemed to have changed, almost as if she’d never been gone. She couldn’t wait to see Delilah. And Juliet. And Chessie Gibson and Mrs. Gregson and Mr. Ca
mden and—
Aw, heck, who was she kidding? The person she most wanted to see was the sheriff—but she wasn’t going to go there, right?
“Stop it,” she muttered to herself. Remy was on her Things to Avoid list, and for good reason. He’d been a deputy before she’d had to go away, but he’d been elected sheriff a few years back. Remy. With his light brown hair. Big brown eyes. Solid shoulders. Lean waist. Super awesome—
Uh, smile. Yeah, that was it. Remy had a very nice smile.
When she’d first met him, she’d been fifteen, lost in the woods with an injured horse she was afraid would die. He’d saved her and her horse, and had immediately become her hero. The fact that he’d had to arrest her a few years later was a slight hiccup in her lifelong plans. But she didn’t blame him for that—after all, she’d got herself arrested on purpose.
Five years later, she still stuck by that decision.
And Remy still stuck in her mind.
She had to remind herself of the promise she’d made less than twenty-four hours before: during her brief foray into Meadowview, she’d do everything under the sun to avoid Remy Toussaint and all his deliciousness. She so didn’t need to moon over someone she could never have.
Nope, she’d come home for one purpose and one purpose only: buy back Visada, then head on down the road, two counties over, to go work as a barista-slash-salesperson at Ye Old Coffeeshop & Hardware.
The fact that her friend Janice’s business had a barn and corral had been a major reason to accept the position.
That, and the location was far enough away from Remy Toussaint and Deloro County to stop her from running back home.
Because there was nothing left for her in Meadowview now that Pop was gone and her reputation ruined. All that would be left for her were memories.
Nearing the stop sign, she eased off the gas and pressed lightly on the brake, whispering, “Whoa, car.” The car let out a strange, gasping sigh from somewhere below Coraleen’s feet, then added a high pitched and grating argument to that sigh and continued to gather speed.
Uh oh.
“Um, try to behave, car.” Coraleen pressed on the brakes even harder. The Impala’s internal complaint turned into a full on shriek—steel against steel.
“Oh no.” She gripped the steering wheel and stomped on the brake. The shriek grew louder and the car kept going. Coraleen stood straight up on the brake, pressing her entire weight down but the car continued zooming along. The sound of a siren rent the air, and in the rearview mirror she caught sight of a cop car, lights flashing.
“Police! Pull over!” a man’s voice shouted over an intercom.
Great idea, but she couldn’t.
“No frigging way,” she gasped out as the car hurled past the stop sign, crossed Church Street, and headed straight to Delilah’s Diner. She’d just gotten out of prison. Getting in trouble with the law was not on her agenda.
Neither was crashing and dying, for that matter.
She wrenched the steering wheel, but was met with sudden resistance. Instead, the car pulled hard to the right.
Lights flashed around her and she hollered, “Watch out!” But the people inside the diner couldn’t hear her and besides, it was too late.
In the wide front window of Delilah’s Diner, Sheriff Remy Toussaint’s astonished face came into view, a forkful of pie held frozen in his hand, as he gaped at the car barreling toward him. Her tummy did a rather untimely flip just seeing his face.
Then the Impala crashed straight into the diner’s wall with a crunching sound. It jerked to a stop as Coraleen’s forehead smacked against the steering wheel. Pain throbbed through her head, and a swirl of red brick dust and the sound of tinkling glass filled the air.
“So not the ‘I’m back’ entrance I had planned,” Coraleen muttered, then promptly blacked out.
Remy jumped to his feet, adrenaline sending his heart into overdrive and his sudden action sending his chair flying back. That was Coraleen behind the wheel! She wasn’t hurt, was she?
God, he hoped not. She’d been released from prison yesterday—not like he could forget, what with the way his breath went all shallow and his heart flipped out every time he noted the day on the calendar—but he hadn’t expected her to plow her way back into town.
What the hell had happened?
He pushed the table out of the way, sending silverware and pie to the ground. Red brick dust surrounded him, and popcorn ceiling debris dotted what had once been a glistening purple slice of blackberry pie. He charged through the now-silent diner, casting a quick glance in all directions.
“Everyone all right?” he bellowed.
His table mate, the Honorable Judge Allan Reinhardt, Retired, gave him a pinched nod of his balding head.
As Remy jumped over a fallen chair on his way to the door, he caught sight of Delilah, who still stood behind the counter. Although she no longer held a tray of muffins in her hands, she seemed stable enough.
The busboy, one of Remy’s fourth (or fifth? third?) cousins was no longer in sight.
“Judd?” Remy called out, still charging forward. He had to get to Coraleen. One of the walls now cut off his view of the car and the woman behind the wheel.
“It’s cool, dude. No worries. I’m good,” came a young male voice from under the counter.
Apparently Judd had found refuge. And probably one of Delilah’s muffins, given the fact that the kid’s voice hadn’t exactly sounded muffled. More like stuffed full of muffin.
Pressing a button on his shoulder walkie-talkie as he kicked yet another chair out of the way, Remy barked out, “Toussaint. Car versus building. Get a bus over here, ASAP.” He hoped the ambulance wouldn’t be needed. Hell, some homecoming this was for Coraleen. Get out of prison and end up in traction? Not the kind of freedom he’d wish for her.
He slammed the screen door open and came to a sudden halt. A young, blond, and incredibly sexy woman in shorter-than-legal shorts and a T-shirt knotted around her middle was exiting the now motionless but steaming Chevy.
Thank god—she hadn’t been seriously hurt. Relief coursed through him. She was safe.
And still the same. Totally and completely Coraleen.
Effervescent. Beautiful. Ball-bustingly sexy.
Not that she’d always been sexy. When he’d first met her she’d been as gawky as a newborn foal. But then a few years later she’d gone and grown up to become a woman who’d triggered every nerve in his body.
God, he’d missed her over the last five years. Because after she’d confessed to committing a crime he still couldn’t truly believe her guilty of—although the proof was there, she’d provided it herself—she’d ended up in AZ/PC, Arizona Women’s Penal Colony. He’d seen her there once, but after that she’d refused any other visits from him, making it clear that because he was on that side of the law, he wasn’t anyone she cared to see. Damn her for that rejection.
When she caught sight of him and brushed a cheery wave through the air, he blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. She seemed fine, but he needed to be sure. Get her over to County. X-Ray, CT scan, EKG, whatever it took.
Behind her crumpled Chevy sat Deputy Bill Curtis’s patrol car, its high-pitched siren still wailing, even as Bill was already out of his vehicle and making his way to Coraleen.
Wait—were those handcuffs in Bill’s hand?
“What the hell?” Remy muttered, kicking it up a notch and charging through the doorway. “Bill!”
But fueled by adrenaline, the bullheaded deputy didn’t seem to notice him and shouted, “You’re under arrest!”
Well, hell. This was not how Remy had wanted to welcome Coraleen back to town. Besides, she might be injured, even though she was standing on her own two feet and was beaming at him with a smile so bright he’d swear he was under a noonday sun, not the early spring morning it really was.
“Bill, do not cuff that woman,” he ordered. “Follow protocol. Check for injuries first. Besides, she’s not
under arrest.”
“But Sheriff—”
“You okay?” he asked Coraleen, scanning her as he drew near. She hitched a breath when he came close, and her eyes grew wide. Her lips parted. Just the way they had all those years ago on that warm spring morning out at her grandfather’s ranch…the moment right before he’d almost kissed her.
Not only hadn’t that happened, but she’d immediately pulled away, confessed to the embezzlement her grandpop had been accused of, and demanded he put her under arrest.
He came to stand in front of her, close enough to catch her warm, vanilla-spiced scent, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, and the flicker of a vein near her clavicle. No cuts or bruises on her bare arms and legs that he could see, and she hadn’t hit the building all that hard so he doubted there would be internal injuries from the seat belt, but still, the thought of anything happening to her…
“My brakes gave out,” she said, her voice shaky, her smile wavering for a brief moment.
He reached out and lifted the heavy blond hair from her forehead, then winced. Yep, there it was. An abrasion—a red mark that would soon turn purple. At least the skin remained unbroken; she wouldn’t need stitches.
“Bill, make sure a bus is on its way,” he ordered gruffly, letting Coraleen’s hair drop back down. But he didn’t shift his gaze from her face, instead taking in every detail. She’d slimmed down in the slammer, her cheekbones becoming more prominent, the hint of dimple on each cheek vividly clear.
“And put those damned cuffs back,” he growled out, not taking his eyes off Coraleen.
The deputy huffed. “You don’t understand, Sheriff. This girl was speeding, has a broken taillight and muffler, and was evading arrest. She’s broken the law and she’s trouble.” He moved closer to Coraleen.
Remy blew out a breath. Word spread quickly in Meadowview and if Bill didn’t back off, soon news would be rampant that the town’s favorite (and most vilified) convict was back—and being threatened with arrest.
Always the One: (Meadowview Heroes # 2) (The Meadowview Series Book 6) (Meadowview Heat) Page 1