Wild Love

by Lauren Accardo

  A JOVE BOOK

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  penguinrandomhouse.com

  Copyright © 2021 by Lauren Accardo

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  A JOVE BOOK, BERKLEY, and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN: 9780593200308

  First Edition: May 2021

  Book design by George Towne, adapted for ebook by Cora Wigen

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Sarah Oberrender

  Cover photo of landscape by Chelsea Victoria/Stocksy; couple by Georgijevic/Getty Images

  pid_prh_5.7.0_c0_r0

  To Josh,

  who has never, ever stopped believing in me

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  chapter one

  Biting, icy wind whistled through the open car windows, and Sydney shuddered. It had to be at least twenty degrees colder up in the mountains. She raised the windows and hunched over the steering wheel, her already tense shoulders tightening further, like a jack-in-the-box about to pop.

  Hot food. She needed hot food.

  What she really needed was a memory eraser. She’d gladly give up any shred of happiness from the last ten years if it meant losing the last twelve hours.

  Connor and the blonde. The sting in her mouth as she realized she’d chewed her lip enough to bleed. The deeply creased pitying stare on her mother’s face when she’d arrived like a lost puppy at her door.

  A shaky exhale breezed past her nostrils. One thing at a time.

  She pulled her BMW into the sparsely populated parking lot of Utz’s, a shadowy nondescript bar with a flashing HOT FOOD TO GO sign in the window.

  Her stomach yawning with hunger, she scurried out of the warm car and into the fresh, pine-scented air. She might have fled to Pine Ridge under desperate circumstances, but she breathed its perfumed atmosphere into her lungs like a tourist on vacation.

  A bright blue flier caught the wind and stuck against the leg of her yoga pants before she snatched it up. Bingo Night at Utz’s! Door Prizes. Cheap Drinks. All U Can Eat HOT WINGZ.

  “Jesus,” she muttered. “Hot wingz. As if they spelled it correctly, nobody would show up.”

  With a grimace, she tucked the flier in a nearby trash can and hugged her cashmere cardigan tighter around her body, aching for any comfort she could find. But nothing could erase the memory of that asshole’s stupid face as he grunted and moaned, the random blonde perched atop his hips.

  She shook off the highlight reel running in her head.

  Hot food. She’d promised her mother hot food for dinner.

  A tiny bell rang over the door as she entered Utz’s. Two burly men at the bar in front of her turned over their hulking shoulders and, after a cursory glance, resumed watching the football game blaring from the TV set on the wall.

  “Howdy,” the elderly bartender greeted her. A halo of gray hair framed his head, and a friendly grin pressed into his ruddy moon-shaped face. “What can I do you for?”

  “Do you have a food menu? I’m gonna get some things to go.”

  He slid a paper menu toward her and turned back to the football game.

  Sydney scanned the offerings. Fried clams. Burgers. Fried chicken sandwiches. Nachos. Pizza. French fries. Onion rings. She twisted her lips and calculated probable calorie counts. So much fat. So many carbs. Not a green vegetable in sight. Maybe just for today, while the dull ache in her chest thudded in time with Connor and the blonde, she’d take a cheat day.

  Ha. A cheat day. Her lips curled into a bitter grin.

  What would her mother like? It had been years since they’d spent any real time together. Was she a vegetarian now? Nah. Couldn’t be. The last time Sydney had ventured up to Pine Ridge they’d eaten out at the “nicest place in town,” and Karen had ordered the cheeseburger.

  Sydney ordered two chili cheeseburgers, french fries, onion rings, and something called “mixed vegetables,” which probably came from a can but might be worth the gamble.

  She climbed onto a barstool to wait for her food and glanced around the space.

  TV sets played the Giants game, signs advertised fried-food specials, and the heavy scent of stale beer and cleaning fluid hung in the air. On a typical Thursday evening she’d be sipping drinks with Connor at the plush NoMad bar or cooing over art she didn’t understand at an opening downtown.

  Since she’d been let go from her job at the law firm a year ago, she’d slipped seamlessly into the role of “Connor’s girlfriend.” Silk blouses appeared in her closet as her The Future Is Female T-shirt found its way to the donate pile. She joined a Tuesday morning book club. Instead of watching football at a dark, dingy bar on Sunday afternoons, she brunched with Connor and his finance buddies. She’d needed a break from the stress of work, but as time passed and she handed over control of her days to Connor, she’d lost little bits of herself without even noticing.

  As the booming announcer’s voice called the football game and pint glasses thudded dully against the worn wooden bar, Sydney rested. Her body settled into the barstool, and for the first time in a long time, the tension in her neck eased a fraction of an inch.

  Maybe Connor had done her a favor by cheating on her. In their apartment. On their bed. In their sheets.

  Bile rose up in her throat.

  Maybe not.

  She turned her attention to the TV screen as the bartender returned.

  “Get you something while you wait?”

  A cold hoppy beer would be heaven, but in addition to the chili cheeseburger? She’d pay for it in the gym next week. The girls in her book club seemed to survive on raw almonds and green juice.

  She scanned the taps, just in case, and recognized a familiar brown logo. Raquette River Brewing. A nearby brewery whose beer she never saw in New York City. She grinned.

  “She’ll have a cosmopolitan.” The behemoth to her right giggled, his voice a bad imitation of Minnie Mouse.

  The equally large man to his right nudged him with a meaty elbow. “With extra cranberry!”

 
They erupted in laughter, and Sydney glared.

  “How’d you know what’s in a cosmopolitan?”

  The laughter halted, and they stared at each other and then at her.

  “He’s the one who knew!” one of them called out, pointing at the other.

  “No way, you’re the one who said it!”

  A deep, throaty chuckle interrupted the buffoons. Past them, half-hidden by the sheer size of his friends, was a third male patron. How had she overlooked him? A patch of dried mud on his left forearm spoke to outdoor work, and a dark, neatly trimmed beard covered half his face but couldn’t hide a full, rosy mouth. He took a sip of beer and licked the residual froth from his lips.

  “You have something to say, too?” Sydney’s voice cracked midsentence.

  As he turned his piercing gaze on her, the breath caught in her throat.

  Well, hello, Mountain Man.

  “I didn’t say anything.” His voice reverberated like a needle on an old jazz record.

  She held his steady stare for one moment longer before he turned back to the TV.

  The bartender cleared his throat, breaking the spell and dragging her attention back to him. “Anything for you, miss?”

  “Oh . . . Um, yes, please. I’ll have the Raquette River IPA.”

  The bartender pulled the pint, and the second her hands closed around the glass, a deep breath escaped her lips. As the first spicy, bitter mouthful of beer slid down her throat, her shoulders relaxed. Perhaps she had underestimated the healing powers of this sleepy mountain town.

  She sipped steadily at the pint as the New York Giants moved the football down the field. On third down, Derek Tahoe let go of a wobbly pass, and a Dallas Cowboys defender snatched the interception.

  “Oh, you piece of garbage!” Sydney exclaimed. “Are you freaking kidding me with that ham sandwich?” She tilted the pint glass nearly upside down as the last frothy dregs hit her tongue. Empty already.

  “Another?” the bartender asked.

  “Sure, why not?”

  Her diet was already shot to shit for the day anyway. He placed the beer in front of her, and she took a grateful sip.

  The Cowboys couldn’t manage a score on the drive, and the Giants got the ball back, making good progress on the possession. Once again, on third down, Derek Tahoe scanned the field like a scared little boy in Pop Warner football camp. The ball skimmed the tips of his fingers, wobbled, and fell into the hands of the exact same Cowboys cornerback.

  “Are you kidding me?!” Sydney leaped off her barstool. “You human wasteland! What do we pay you for?”

  She expected the entire bar to be just as outraged as she was, but instead, a trio of blank faces stared at her. She slid back onto her barstool and gritted her teeth. “Patriots fans?”

  “Who are you?” Mountain Man asked.

  All at once she missed the anonymity of a big city. “Who are you?”

  “Sam Kirkland. Is your identity a matter of national security?”

  “No.” She tugged at her cardigan. “Sydney Walsh.”

  “Walsh, huh? Karen Walsh’s daughter?”

  “Yeah. How’d you know that?”

  “Everybody knows Karen’s got a prissy daughter living in New York City who never comes to visit her,” Behemoth #1 said. “And you look just like her.”

  Okay, so she didn’t come up to Pine Ridge every other weekend to visit her mother, but prissy? Because she wasn’t sporting last season’s L.L.Bean and a camo baseball cap?

  She licked her lips and straightened her spine. If nothing else, she could defend half his accusation. “My mother and I don’t look anything alike.”

  “Are you kidding?” Behemoth #1 said. “Around the eyes? Plus, you can tell Karen was a dime back in the day.”

  Sydney blushed and clutched the cold pint glass.

  “If that wasn’t perfectly clear, Joe just called you a dime,” Mountain Man said.

  Sydney stared into his eyes again, this time noticing the depths of the deep brown irises. A baseball cap obstructed some of his brow, but his eyes were like almond-shaped searchlights, peeking out from beneath the navy-blue brim.

  Okay, so maybe this town had more than spruce-scented air going for it.

  The bartender reappeared and placed a paper bag on the counter in front of her. “That’s everything,” he said. “It’ll be thirty-five seventy-four.”

  She winced as she handed over Connor’s credit card. In a few weeks, the monthly payment on her own maxed-out card would be due, and where would she be then? How soon until Connor canceled this card? Maybe her mother could loan her some money. She shuddered.

  For the moment, she brushed the thought away. She’d spend a few days hiding out in Pine Ridge and deal with real life later.

  “Aw, you’re leaving?” Behemoth #1 said.

  “Yeah, but gosh, am I heartbroken to miss the rest of the nail-biter.”

  The Cowboys had scored on the turnover, and the score was a grisly 45 to 3. Despite the joke, the bar drew her in. If she had to choose between pints and football and the quiet awkwardness of her mother’s apartment, there was no choice at all. But duty called.

  “Have fun, guys.”

  She climbed into her car and rested the bag of hot, deliciously greasy food on the passenger seat. Before she turned the car on, she checked her phone. Reception was spotty in Pine Ridge, but the bar must’ve had Wi-Fi because a bevy of messages lit up her phone. With nausea brewing in her gut, she opened the few from Connor.

  I haven’t been able to move since you left. Please call me. I love you.

  Her eyes glazed over as the bright light of her phone screen dimmed and then ceased. Pure inky darkness hugged her from all sides. The blackness covered her like a blanket, and for a moment, she was safe. Untouchable.

  With a sharp expletive she tossed her phone into her purse and slid the car key into the ignition. She punched the gear shift into reverse, hit the gas pedal, and didn’t get more than three feet before the earsplitting crunch.

  chapter two

  Are you all right?”

  Sydney grimaced. Her rear bumper was crushed on the right side, and the taillight dangled from its broken cover like the last shriveled grape on the vine. Meanwhile, Mountain Man’s filthy truck didn’t have a scratch.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Just feeling like an idiot.”

  Sam adjusted his baseball cap and placed his hands on his hips, staring down at her busted bumper. “You pulled out of there like a bat out of hell. You late for something?”

  “No, and I didn’t pull out like a bat out of hell. I pulled out like a normal human on her way to where she’s going. I just . . . didn’t check to make sure no one was coming. And the fact that there are precisely three cars in this parking lot made my lack of caution all the more understandable.”

  He laughed, stroking his beard with long, powerful fingers. Even in the dim parking-lot light she saw the calluses and scars on his knuckles and palms. Strong hands capable of tightening lug nuts, gripping tow chains, probing the curves of her hips until her legs lifted and opened . . .

  She gulped. Where the hell did that come from?

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride.”

  Attractive or not, no way was she getting in a truck with this stranger. Charles Manson was handsome, too. “It’s still drivable. Just a busted bumper.”

  “You don’t know that. What if there is damage to the rear tire? Leave it here, and I’ll take a look tomorrow morning, when it’s light out.”

  She was no damsel in distress, and she certainly didn’t need a white knight to save her. She’d taken care of herself once, before Connor came along. Now she needed to do it again. Starting over, from scratch.

  “Okay, first of all, I don’t even know you. So there’s no way I’m getting in a vehicle wi
th you. Second of all, I’ll take the car to a mechanic. You don’t have to do anything for me.”

  He laughed again and groaned, adjusting his cap.

  “Jesus, you’re a trip. First of all, I know your mother. Everyone in this town knows your mother. If you disappeared or ended up dead, Karen Walsh would find out who did it and have their head on a stake in the town square before the sun came up. Personally, I like my head, and I want to hold on to it for a while. Second of all, I’m the mechanic in this town. So like it or not, you’re gonna have to let me take a look at your car. Otherwise, you’ll be stuck riding Karen’s red Schwinn.”

  Sydney swallowed down the lump in her throat, eyes darting around the dark parking lot. Not a human in sight. Probably no Uber up here. And she couldn’t see herself ambling along the two miles of country road to her mother’s building with only a dim phone flashlight to guide her.

  Sam tucked his arms across his chest and dropped his chin.

  “Fine,” she grumbled. “Let me get my shit.”

  After pulling her car back into the parking space and cutting the engine, she grabbed her rapidly cooling dinner and climbed into the cab of Sam’s pickup. The scent of freshly cut pine overwhelmed her, and she knew that authentic spiciness didn’t come from an air freshener.

  “It smells good in here,” she said, almost to herself.

  “That smells good.” He nodded toward the paper sack in her lap as he pulled out of the parking lot. “No offense, but you don’t really look like a girl who eats a lot of chili cheeseburgers.”

  She shifted in her seat and clenched her teeth. “Oh, are we making snap judgments? Because I have a few about you if you’re interested.”

  His perpetually amused stare drifted over to the passenger seat. Her cheeks burned. With one hand draped over the steering wheel and the other casually tugging at his full, rosy lips, she wondered what his story was. Probably married to a former prom queen with eight babies waiting for him at home. But his left hand was bare. No ring. No ring tan line. And this definitely wasn’t the ideal mode of transportation for someone with babies.

  “No, thanks,” he said. “I can probably guess.”