Just One Night - Josh & Bailey (Crossroads Book 13)

by Melanie Shawn

  Just One Night

  by

  Melanie Shawn

  Melanie Shawn © 2018

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission in writing from Melanie Shawn. Exceptions are limited to reviewers who may use brief quotations in connection with reviews. No part of this book can be transmitted, scanned, reproduced, or distributed in any written or electronic form without written permission from Melanie Shawn.

  This book is a work of fiction. Places, names, characters and events are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Disclaimer: The material in this book is for mature audiences only and contains graphic content. It is intended only for those aged 18 and older.

  Cover Design by Wildcat Dezigns

  Copyedit by Deanna McDonald

  Book Design by BB eBooks

  Published by Red Hot Reads Publishing

  Rev. 1.0

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright 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

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Just One Kiss

  Seducing Cinderella

  A Note From Melanie and Shawna

  Other Titles by Melanie Shawn

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “Come on, baby.” Bailey spoke in a soothing voice as her hand softly caressed the smooth, hard surface. “You can do it. Do it for me.”

  Her fingers tightened and she flicked her wrist.

  There was a click…but nothing else.

  “Come on, Buford!” Bailey turned the key in the ignition of her late grandfather’s 1960 Ford pickup truck once more and held her breath, willing the engine to turn with all her might.

  All her might fell short.

  She let out a huff of frustration. If the definition of insanity was repeating the same action and expecting a different result, then Bailey Rossum was certifiable. That wasn’t actually the definition. Still, there was a better than good chance she’d fall in that category anyway. Case in point, she was currently sweet-talking an inanimate object. One that she’d inadvertently named when she was three years old by asking if she could ride in Grandpa’s “boo Ford.” Translation: blue Ford. Sure, it was a beloved inanimate object, but still not the actions of a sane person.

  “Please! I’ll do anything. Just start.” Her head fell back as she bargained with God, the universe, a genie in a bottle she didn’t possess, whoever, or whatever was listening.

  Bailey wasn’t sure what was out there and she wasn’t arrogant enough to rule anything out. In her profession, people were often accused of having God complexes. As a surgeon, it was sometimes easy to feel like an all-powerful being when holding life and death in your hands in the most literal sense. She had a few colleagues that certainly fit that profile, but she wasn’t one of them.

  Her foray into medicine was not born out of an over-inflated ego, which for many seemed to be a prerequisite in her chosen career path. No, her decision to become a pediatric surgeon was due to an extremely personal experience. At a very young, impressionable age, she’d witnessed a surgeon perform a miracle and from that moment on, her destiny was sealed.

  Days like today, the ones when she lost a patient and had to walk into a waiting room and deliver the worst possible news any parent could ever receive, she knew the profession had chosen her and not the other way around. There was no way she’d have aspired to do this. It was her destiny.

  But lately, she’d been worrying about herself. She could feel herself slipping away and she was concerned that if she didn’t do something soon, the Bailey she knew would be lost forever. She was self-aware enough to recognize that she was disconnecting and hardening out of self-preservation. Each time she experienced a day like today, which thankfully wasn’t often, she could feel herself growing more detached.

  That worry was why she was stuck in the middle of nowhere. The only parental figure she’d ever had that was worth a damn was her grandfather, Amos Rossum. He’d passed away when she was twelve, but her best childhood memories had been with him. Buford, his blue Ford, was his pride and joy. Whenever she was confused or upset, she’d drive Buford to try and feel close to him.

  Bailey looked out over the dark, rolling fields and a sense of belonging washed over her. Two weeks before her sixteenth birthday, she’d left the only town that had ever felt like home and she’d sworn she’d never be back. Cut to six years ago, when her father passed away and she inherited her grandpa’s house. That’s when she’d made the difficult decision to come back to Harper’s Crossing.

  Growing up she’d moved a lot. Every few months she’d find herself in a new town, in a new apartment or trailer. Her dad worked construction on good months and odd jobs most other months. They moved where the jobs were. The only constant that had been in her life were the times she’d come to visit Harper’s Crossing and stay with Grandpa Rossum. Then, the summer before seventh grade, they got a call that she’d never forget. Her beloved grandpa was gone and he’d left his home to her father.

  Her family moved to the small town she’d always loved visiting and although she’d missed her grandpa, she’d hoped that there would finally be some stability in their lives. And there had been. The three years she lived in Harper’s Crossing had been the best of her life.

  Melancholy rolled over her, and just like she always did whenever the past reared its ugly head, she ignored it.

  She grabbed her phone and checked it once more, but there was no change from two minutes ago. She still had zero reception and now she was two minutes later for the annual Harper’s Crossing Community Hospital Fundraiser.

  She’d already missed the dinner portion of the evening, thanks to an unpleasant turn of events. Two hours ago, the man that she’d been seeing for the past two months called to inform her that he wasn’t going to make it because he’d just found out his wife, his wife, was pregnant.

  He was married. And she was pregnant.

  As a single, thirty-four-year-old woman who was perpetually a contestant in the dating game, nothing should shock her at this point. Somehow, though, people still managed to surprise the hell out of her, and not in a good way.

  She stared at the numbers illuminated on her screen and knew that willing things to be different wasn’t going to help the situation. If she didn’t check into the event by 8 p.m., the hospital could lose thousands in pledges.

  She had to do something. Not that it would matter, there was no way that she’d make it in time. But she also couldn’t just sit here and wait.

  Snatching her bag off the passenger seat, she knew that her only option was to abandon her beloved Buford on the country road and walk the five miles into town. In a floor length gown. And heels.

 
Before she set out she tried to center herself with a breathing exercise that CiCi, one of her co-workers, practiced. CiCi was an OR nurse and a single mom to twin boys. Well, she wasn’t technically a single mom, but her husband worked in the city during the week and stayed there Monday through Friday. He was supposed to come home from Chicago on weekends but usually only made it once a month. But no matter what was going on in her life, CiCi never seemed the least bit affected by it. Once, Bailey had asked her how she kept it all together and CiCi shared her mantra with her.

  “Inhale the good shit,” Bailey said to herself as she slammed the car door. “And exhale the bad shit.”

  She glanced down at the crimson-colored gown she was wearing and was grateful that she’d chosen this dress instead of the white one that had been in the running. Her final choice was born purely out of which dress was more comfortable, since she’d be dancing in it for twenty-four hours. But it now had the added benefit of camouflaging whatever dirt she might pick up on her five-mile walk.

  It only took a yard or so of trekking on the unforgiving terrain of the unpaved back road before Bailey decided to ditch the heels. The last thing that she needed was a sprained ankle. She considered grabbing the ballet flats she’d packed in her purse for the event but she knew if she slipped those on, they’d be shredded by the time she made it to the country club. As a kid, she’d loved running around barefoot. She hoped to tap into that same joy now.

  As she walked toward town, she couldn’t help but grin as she realized her life had turned into a full-fledged country music song.

  She’d lost a patient at work. Been stood up by a man that turned out to be married. Her grandpa’s pickup had broken down five miles outside of town. And now, she was barefoot in a ball gown walking down a dirt road.

  Barefoot in a Ball Gown.

  That wasn’t a bad name for a song. She made a mental note to share the title with her friend Ginny aka Grammy winning country artist Virginia Valentine at their next Coffee Catch-up. Once a month, some of Bailey’s friends met at the local coffee shop to…wait for it…catch up. Despite the unoriginal name, Bailey tried her best to make it when she could, since her social life otherwise consisted of solo Netflix marathons.

  Sometimes she felt like she lived at the hospital. Which was fine. At least, that’s what she’d kept telling herself. And for a long time, she’d been telling herself the truth. Lately, though, she felt like her nose grew Pinocchio-style each time she said it.

  Especially on days like today. She’d been fine at the hospital and kept it together in front of her residents, but when she got home she cried and felt alone. Terrifyingly alone. And empty. That’s what had scared her into going on a last-minute drive.

  She wished she had someone there to share the weight of her life with. Someone other than her cat, that is. Felix was great and she adored him, but it wasn’t the same as having strong arms to fall into.

  There’s only one pair of arms that you’ve ever wanted to fall into.

  A flash of Josh Scott with his arms held out to her illuminated in her mind’s eye, but she shook her head in an effort to erase it.

  No, she instructed her brain firmly.

  Her wayward thoughts did not heed her warning. Instead they filled with visions of blue eyes, wavy brown hair, and a smile that made time stand still.

  She readjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and tugged the neckline of her dress up. The scoop neck and keyhole back had made finding the right bra a little tricky. Some women might be able to go without, but as an F cup, she wasn’t one of those women. The strapless bra she’d chosen was keeping the girls in place, but for some reason she felt fidgety.

  Blue eyes, brown hair, and a sexy grin once again filled her consciousness and she knew the reason for her discomfort. Her mind was wandering to places she didn’t normally let it stray and it was making her physically uncomfortable.

  Laser focus was a requirement in the operating room. It was required when treating patients. It was required when preparing for and performing surgery. Since that’s what her life consisted of eighty-percent of the time, it was easy to block wayward thoughts from creeping up into her consciousness. But apparently barefoot walks down country roads under a blanket of stars were a catalyst for them to unexpectedly spring to the surface.

  Bailey tried to be in the moment and not let her thoughts drift to the past and instead concentrated on her breathing. She absorbed her surroundings. The earthy smell of acres of farmland, the crisp, cool air on her face, the crickets chirping, all brought her back to a simpler time. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken the time to appreciate the little things.

  When she was young, she loved being on the outskirts of town just listening to nature. The wind blowing through the trees, the babbling water of the river, and the distant hoot of an owl had been her favorite soundtrack.

  It certainly beat the alternative. No one was yelling. No one was slamming doors. No one was crying.

  Her parents had stayed together “for the kids,” which meant things were…chaotic. Sure, divorce wasn’t always the answer, but it shouldn’t be taken completely off the table, either. Especially when it was clear there was no way two people could live together without a daily screaming match.

  Nowadays there are terms like “conscious uncoupling” and “loving separation.” She even had several friends that, for financial reasons, remained living in the same house after breaking up. Divorce wasn’t a bad word anymore. It didn’t hold the same stigma that it once had. People were “starting new chapters in life” or “embarking on a new adventure.”

  Her family had been broken as hell, but together. Every night, she’d prayed for her parents to break up. They were miserable in their marriage. They met at eighteen and after a month of dating, her mom had gotten pregnant. So, her father had “stepped up and done the right thing.” Bailey remembered him saying that a lot. He wore it as a badge of honor. But as a kid she remembered wondering, “The right thing for who?”

  It was no secret that they’d never loved each other. It would’ve been nice if they’d at least liked one another, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case either. Charles and Stella Rossum could not stand the sight of each other. They were worse than oil and water. They were dry brush doused in lighter fluid. Totally combustible, and not in a sexy way.

  There was a moment when she was seven that she thought that her parents might actually split up. She’d never forget that random spring day of her second grade year. They were living in California at the time. Her dad took her out of school, something he’d never done, and drove her to see a rundown apartment. He’d asked if she liked it and what color paint she’d want her room to be.

  Her first question was why they were moving there and he’d explained that he was going to be living there and she could come visit him. Forget a trip to Disneyland,—which had been her first thought when he’d picked her up because that had happened to Ryland Marsden the week before—hearing her parents were getting a divorce had been the best surprise she could’ve ever gotten. She’d lied through her teeth and said she loved the apartment, though it really was a dump. She was just stoked that the fighting was finally going to be over.

  But, it wasn’t. Her dad never moved into that apartment because when they got home that afternoon her mom announced that she was pregnant. Her mom threw a plate at her dad’s head and screamed at him that he’d “knocked me up again.”

  Charles James Rossum Jr. arrived eight months later. At first, Bailey had been angry about becoming a big sister. She blamed her baby brother for keeping her parents together. But, by the time he was a month old she was head over heels for him.

  CJ was the one pure, good thing in her life. He was always happy, even as a baby. Everyone loved him. He could even make their parents laugh, something she’d never managed to do. And he took everything in stride, nothing seemed to bother him. Not the fighting. Not the door slamming. Not the name calling. Nothing got him down.
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  He was still like that as an adult. He was the starting pitcher for the Long Beach Waves and when his team lost the World Series last year, he hadn’t been upset. She’d called him not even an hour after the loss and he’d said that he’d learned a few things and he’d do better next year. And that wasn’t his PR prompted answer; that was him talking to his sister. He was the same way in his personal life.

  When their father passed away six years ago, their mother revealed to them that Charles Rossum was not CJ’s biological father. She told them that she’d lied because she hadn’t wanted Charles to leave her. CJ hadn’t gotten mad or upset. He just got quiet for a few moments and then said that Charles was his dad whether they shared the same DNA or not.

  He’d been lied to for twenty-one years, was named after a man that wasn’t even his real father, and it hadn’t even ruined his day, much less put him in therapy.

  Bailey had been angrier than he’d been. When Bailey asked if he was going to try and find his real father, he’d just shrugged and said, “Maybe.”

  Maybe?

  If it were her, she would’ve demanded to know any and all information in that moment, and then spent the rest of the night googling him. Also, she probably would’ve never spoken to her mother again. As it was, she didn’t speak to her mother for three years after finding out.

  But not CJ. He’d taken their mother out to breakfast the next day to “clear the air” and “make sure she was okay.” Make sure she was okay? That’s what he’d been worried about. He’d said that had to be quite a secret to keep.

  Sadly, Bailey knew all too well just how true her brother’s sentiment was. Keeping a secret was a heavy load to bear. As she walked under the blanket of stars, she took a deep breath and wished that she’d inherited some of her brother’s easy-going outlook.

  He probably got it from his real dad.

  The sound of an engine roaring in the distance interrupted Bailey’s musings and hope rose in her chest. Maybe whoever was up there had listened to her pleas and her request had been granted. She turned and saw a single headlight shining. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up.