by Nika Dixon
Table of Contents
Dedication
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
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discover more Amara titles… Dark Water
London Calling
Bound by Danger
Reckless Honor
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Nika Dixon. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 105, PMB 159
Fort Collins, CO 80525
[email protected]
Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Nina Bruhns
Cover design by Fiona Jayde
Cover photography by Kiuikson and g-stockstudio/iStock
leonid_tit/Getty Images
ISBN 978-1-64063-808-2
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition June 2019
Dear Reader,
Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.
xoxo
Liz Pelletier, Publisher
For my two rock stars, forever my inspiration, and co-owners of my heart.
Chapter One
Nothing moved quickly in Absolution, Montana, which was just fine. No need to fix what wasn’t broke. Yet, despite the town’s inability to function at anything but a leisurely pace, there was still the occasional need to arrive when you said you would—something Marshall Boyer’s brother never seemed to be able to accomplish no matter what the task.
“For a lawman, you sure have a terrible sense of time,” Marshall grumped as he climbed into the passenger seat of the white pickup truck.
His brother, Danny, gunned the engine and cranked the wheel, spinning the back end around in the gravel. “You in that much hurry to move a piano?”
Marshall pulled his hat lower on his head, blocking the glare of the setting sun. “Not particularly.”
Truth be told, he wasn’t the least bit concerned. Old Esther Wilkin’s piano would remain right where it was until they got there—be it tonight, tomorrow, or next week—with no bother as to when or why. But throwing jabs at his brother never required a schedule, and it was one of the few things that seemed to give Marshall any real sense of fun these days.
He leaned closer to the passenger window, letting the warm evening air tease his cheek. Backed by the distant mountains, a hawk glided in lazy, looping circles over the open field. The land beside him blurred by in a wash of colors, familiar sights he could describe with his eyes closed, their memories powered by the hundreds of times he’d followed the same series of turns over the potholed back roads toward town.
The ranch had been in the Boyer name since their adventurous great-great-great-granddaddy left the civilized east for the wild west. Every building on the property had been built with sweat and blood. Every inch had history. Every piece of furniture, a story. Just how a home should be.
If only it still felt that way.
He took a deep breath, using the scents of pine trees and meadow flowers to remind himself where he was. Even after being back for close to a year, there were still times when he expected to wake up to the stale, dead sights and rotting smells of the big city. A concrete jungle, they called it; a concrete cesspool was more like it. People and buildings piled on top of each other in a never-ending sea of colorless gray towers.
God, how he’d hated it there. But he’d done it for her. Michelle. He’d given up the home he loved for the woman he loved. Now one was dead and the other would never be the same.
“Dad wants me to find out if you’re coming to the Stellars’ barbecue next weekend,” Danny said.
Marshall eyed the shrinking farmhouse through the side-view mirror, its outline barely visible through the cloud of gravel dust following them. He’d spent the better part of the day with his father in the north pasture removing a fallen tree and repairing the damage done to a section of fence line. The old man hadn’t mentioned a thing about a barbecue.
“Didn’t feel like asking me himself?”
“Said he didn’t want you to think he was forcing you.” Danny shifted his grip on the steering wheel. “Look, Marsh, he’s just worried about you. You aren’t exactly social these days.”
Marshall glared at the passing tree line. “I’m fine.”
“It’s been a year. Just because she’s dead doesn’t mean you need to be.”
One year, two months, and seventeen days to be exact.
Not that he was counting.
Memories of Michelle bubbled up, dragging all the unwanted emotions along with them. He stomped the uninvited feelings back into their grave. “There’s nothing wrong with how I am,” he snapped. “I’m perfectly happy.”
After a lengthy pause, Danny shook his head. “Yeah, I can see that. All smiles and buttercups, you are. The epitome of cheeriness. I swear, if you were any happier, you’d break out in song.”
Marshall glowered at his brother. “Fuck off.”
Danny’s boisterous laughter grated on Marshall’s nerves with the level of annoyance only a younger brother could generate. The more Marshall tried to project his anger, the louder Danny hooted. It was annoying as
hell.
The ability to disarm with a smile had been Danny’s saving grace since they were kids. They caused just as much trouble as a duo, but Danny’s part in the mess was always forgiven the moment he flashed his pearly whites and sweet-talked his way out of purgatory. Marshall had never been that lucky. Danny would get a pat on the head, and Marshall would get the long list of chores—punishment for whatever ill-begotten scheme he’d “dragged” his poor younger brother into. Never mattered that most of the time the shenanigans hadn’t even been his idea to start with.
“So, can I tell Dad you’ll be at the barbecue, then?” Danny asked once he’d managed to calm himself down to a snicker.
“I have a choice?”
“Nope.”
“Fine. But no guarantee how long I’ll stay.”
“Afraid you might actually have a good time?”
“It’s the same thing every year. Mrs. Doan will bring that marshmallow surprise no one eats. Mr. Humphrees will get drunk on ’shine and be throwing up before dinner. The Sharron twins will start a fight sometime during the dance, and sparks from the fireworks will light the hay bales on fire, ending the evening with a bang.”
“You make it sound like a bad time.”
“You attend one Stellar barbecue, you attend ’em all. Nothing in this town changes, and that’s just fine with—”
“Shit!” Danny slammed on the brakes.
Marshall slapped his palm against the dash to counter the truck’s abrupt deceleration.
The dust cloud following them swirled past, filling the cab with a gritty brown haze. The wind carried it off, revealing a path of destruction carved through the tall grass along the side of the road. Flattened plants and muddy tire tracks pointed an unmistakable trail straight through a gap in two freshly broken fences to a little blue car sitting crookedly in the riverbank muck at the bottom of the hill.
Beside the car stood a woman dressed so brightly she resembled a parrot. The crazy color scheme of purple pants, orange floral top, and a giant sunhat covered in daisies could only be the wild stylings of Mrs. Georgina Hackett, Absolution’s oldest, and quite possibly craziest, resident.
“I thought she wasn’t allowed to drive…”
“She’s not.” Danny put the truck into park and reached for the radio mic sitting in the console. “Hey, Alice. Looks like Georgie Hackett got out of the home again. Whoever’s car she borrowed is sitting in the creek at the bottom of Miller’s Hill. Doesn’t look like it’s in too deep, though. Give Bobby a call, would ya? We’ll need his tow. And call Sunset Retirement. If they’re looking for Georgie, tell ’em we have her.”
“Will do, Sheriff,” the dispatcher answered.
Marshall joined his brother for the walk down to the riverbank.
Georgie lifted a bottle of bourbon from the trunk. She twisted the cap off, saluted them with the bottle, then took a big swig.
Danny gently relieved her of the alcohol and threaded the cap back on. “Evenin’, Georgie. Everything all right?” He set the bottle back into the trunk.
“Well, if it isn’t the Boyer boys.” She straightened her hat and smiled widely. “How’s your father? I haven’t seen him since the bake sale last month.”
“He’s good, he’s good,” Danny answered. “How about you? That’s quite the parking job you have here. Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. Be better if you’d give me back my bourbon, though.” When he didn’t comply, she flickered her gnarled fingers in a dismissive wave. “Keep it. I have more.”
Marshall closed the driver’s door and placed his hand on the still-warm hood. The car hadn’t been here long. He leaned out over the murky creek to get a look at the front end. The bumper was puckered and gouged from plowing through the fence boards, and the grille—or what was left of it—was plastered in wet grass and weeds. “Car’s quite a mess, Georgie. You sure you’re okay?”
“I said I was fine,” she said with a huff.
“Well, now, you did take out two fences.” Danny pointed out the wide path of destruction running back up the hill.
She waggled her finger at him. “Now don’t you start with me, Danny Boyer. You know damn well I’m a perfectly fine driver. Judge Farrington was just mad I beat his wife at bridge when he took my license.”
Danny bobbed his head. “Be sure to tell him that when you explain how you ended up in the creek.”
She waved at the top of the rise. “If you’d have seen him, you’d have done gone off the road, too. Just standing there in the middle like he owned the place. Antlers bigger than a house!”
“Deer?” Marshall asked.
Georgie bobbled her head back and forth. “Oh, heavens, no. A moose! I haven’t seen a moose this close to town in years. Not since I was a little girl. Watched us go by like he was serving a Sunday sermon, he was! Had to swerve to avoid him, of course. Good thing Miller has two fences up or we might not have stopped in time.”
“We?” Danny repeated sharply, glancing at Marshall.
Marshall leaned in through the open driver’s window, knowing full well he wasn’t going to find anything or anyone inside but going through the motions, anyway. Georgie’s mind and mouth were as colorful as her clothing. She often talked to people who weren’t there, told stories about things she couldn’t possibly have seen, and was a master escape artist even though the retirement home had a lockdown ward.
True to his expectation, there was nothing in the car except Georgie’s handbag. He retrieved the colorful purse and handed it to her.
Georgie slipped the straps over her arm. “Etta May and I were on our way back from bingo. Won fifty dollars in the bonus round.”
Danny hooked her hand through the crook of his arm. He patted her fingers and started walking her slowly back to his truck. “Now, Georgie, we all know Etta May’s been gone and buried for a while now.”
While she argued that she, too, had been surprised to see her dead daughter sitting in the bingo hall parking lot in Pikes Falls, Marshall closed the trunk and followed along after them. A flash of movement beneath the trees caught his eye.
With a snapping crunch of branches, a massive bull moose stepped out from behind a tight cluster of pine trees. The great beast twisted his head side to side, rotating his antlers in a swooping arc.
“Well, I’ll be…” There had been a moose! He took a few steps closer, pausing to admire the sheer size and strength of the beast. Damn, he’s a beaut!
The creature stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled a sneezing snort before lumbering back into the shadowed protection of the forest.
It was a hell of a bit of luck Georgie hit the fence instead, or the results would have been deadly. Contemplating the little blue car’s chances of survival against a thousand pounds of bull moose, he glanced over his shoulder and cursed in surprise to see a dark-haired woman sitting cross-legged in the watery muck a few feet away.
He shouted for Danny and hurried toward her.
Half hidden by the reeds, she was staring off into the distance, massaging her forehead with her fingertips. The lower half of her yellow dress was a muddy mess, layered in leaves and thistle pickers. She had no visible cuts, but the angry red bump on her temple was going to leave her with quite a headache.
He squatted beside her.
Eyes as rich and green as a summer field flecked with sun-kissed gold blinked up at him. He’d never come across such a color combination before. It was downright hypnotizing. He started to ask her name, but when she gently placed her palm against the side of his face, his voiced stopped working. Her skin was icy, but the warm undercurrent of energy she left behind as she trailed her fingertips across the side of his jaw sent a wave of goose bumps down his arms. Then she showed him a wide, bright, happy-to-see-you smile that damn near had him grinning like an idiot himself.
“It’s you,” she said softly.
He had a sudden, warring conversation with his inner devil that if he’d met the lovely lady somewhere before, he must have b
een one hell of a dumb-ass drunk to have blocked her out, because he was damn sure that dead sober, he wasn’t about to forget her ever again.
When her smile faded, it was like losing the sun behind a cloud full of rain. She lowered her hand, dropping his reality back into the wet muck of the riverbed he was crouched in.
What the hell was he doing? He needed to help her, not stare at her like he’d never seen a pretty gal before.
Confusion left a tiny furrow on her forehead. Wincing, she scrunched her nose. “My head hurts.”
Danny squatted beside him. “Is she all right?”
“Just a knock on the head, far as I can tell.” Marshall moved a lock of her hair aside to get a better look at the lump on her temple. He had to fight off the urge to twist the soft, dark curl between his fingers.
“She’s fine,” Georgie called out. “She’s a Hackett. We breed ’em tough.”
“I’m sorry,” the lady in yellow mumbled. “I don’t…I don’t feel very well.” She leaned to the side to look up at Danny, but her eyes fluttered closed and she kept on falling.
Marshall had her up in his arms before she could hit the water.
Chapter Two
When Emmaline Katz opened her eyes to a beige-painted ceiling, she was curious over why Alan would have painted it a different color. It had been white for years—why change it now? And how would he have done it without her knowing, since she never left the apartment?
She rolled her head and puzzled at the strange decor. The furniture, the placement of everything in the space around her was so foreign, it took her several seconds of confused blinking before she realized it was not her room.
Fear ran through her limbs, jerking her up out of the bed. The blanket fought her, trapping the lower half of her body. Kicking at the material, she broke free and tumbled awkwardly to the floor. She scrambled to her feet, bashing her hip against the wooden table next to the bed, toppling a small lamp.
A hulking shape moved beside her.
Her fearful projection of Alan’s angry face faded away to reveal the cherry-red cheeks and bulbous nose of—
Santa Claus?
Every picture, every sketch, every watercolor she’d ever created of the Christmas hero had been an exact replica of the white-bearded, rosy-cheeked man in round-rimmed glasses who was standing in front of her, his blue eyes crinkled with a touch of amusement.