Smoky Mountain Sweethearts

by Cheryl Harper

  Then the whoops she’d been expecting erupted and Avery was relieved and happy and so ready to get on with the next step of her life. “So here’s what we’re going to do. Opportunities to surprise Sam are few and far between. Can you keep a secret until after the holiday? I’ll set up an appointment to meet with an admission counselor and visit Sam.”

  “No way.” Regina was shaking her head. “Too long.”

  “Okay.” Avery agreed. She wanted to go today. “As soon as possible.” Both women nodded wildly.

  “Guess I better go shopping for a real winter coat. Things are about to change.” Avery pressed the gas, anxious to get home, ready to get to the next phase of the plan.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SAM HAD NEVER been so glad to see the last arrow pointing to a trailhead parking lot in his life. To celebrate, he bent over, braced his hands on his knees and gasped for breath.

  “Okay, Blackburn?” Griffith, the guy who’d be his boss whenever he started actual on-the-job training, trotted in place. “Need some oxygen?”

  Did he ever need oxygen, but he wouldn’t admit it. “Ribs. Giving me trouble.”

  Nobody was buying that. “Right. Better keep moving. The temps don’t seem that cold but it doesn’t take long for hypothermia to take hold.” And it was clear the guy who had to be at least two years younger than he was wasn’t going to let him move at his own pace. Griffith jogged as if he had all day with nothing better to do than make Sam feel like a slacker.

  “You’re doing good, man,” Griffith said and thumped Sam’s shoulder. “You had the best time in that fitness test and I’m impressed with how you keep climbing. These mountains are hard, but you’re getting there.” Sam studied the guy’s face, desperate to see that what he said was the truth. There was no sarcasm. No rolling eyes. The guy seemed sincere.

  “Maybe I spoke too soon,” Griffith said slowly. “Are you still in there, Blackburn?” Then he waved his fingers back and forth long enough for Sam to wrinkle his face in disgust. “Let’s get it in gear, rook,” he said.

  So Sam straightened and felt the vibration of his phone in his pocket. The insulation in his jacket was good enough to keep his Adam’s apple from freezing like a cube in a tray, and it had also protected his phone, so that was something.

  Avery’s beautiful face filled the screen. She was posed by a trailhead sign. Was it Yanu? She’d been taunting him with photos ever since the one where she’d claimed to have beaten his time. If so, there was snow on the ground that no one had told him about. Tennessee would get snow in December but it was a lot of snow. Then he realized she was wearing a huge orange puffy coat and a hat with dangling fringe and something embroidered on it. He enlarged the picture and then held it out to Griffith. “What kind of animal is that?”

  Griffith stopped jogging and shook his head in disgust. “Buffalo. The local mascot. CU at Boulder. The Buffs?” Then he turned around and headed down the trail. “Whoever she is, she’s standing down here waiting for you to get it in gear. Pretty girl like that, you don’t let her wait long.”

  Down there? The same direction as the sign?

  The surge of energy that hit was hard to control, but one wrong step and he could slide off the path into the snow or injure himself. Sam took careful steps but he didn’t stop until he was gasping for air and he could see a smiling orange blob with Avery’s eyes right in front of him.

  “What are you doing here?” Sam managed to gasp out in between deep draws of icy cold air.

  “I am freezing. That’s what I’m doing.” Avery unzipped his jacket and slithered her arms around his middle. “Close the jacket!”

  Sam was laughing as he followed orders, glad the jacket was big enough for them both and that it put them in such close quarters. If he kissed her, what would happen?

  A wolf whistle reminded him that he was still in public, the guy who’d be a crew member making a whole lot more noise than Ash ever would have.

  “Really. What are you doing here?” Sam asked and studied her bright pink cheeks and the knit hat he still didn’t understand.

  “Campus tour. I’m going to be your neighbor.” Then she tipped her head to the side. “And someday I’m going to be the best environmental lawyer I know how to be.” She danced a little. “I figured it all out. I did it mostly by myself. And here I am.”

  Then her smile faded. “I’m not quite there, Sam, where I want to be before I get tangled up in you, but I can’t stay away. I’ve missed you. Not like I’d miss a friend, but like I miss the guy who makes my world right. I don’t want to live that way if I don’t have to. So, are you willing to put up with me and my...stuff? Even if the answer’s no, that’s okay. Environmental law? That’s for me.”

  “I have so many questions.” Sam wished they were somewhere inside, warm, where his brain would work properly. “How did you know I would be here?”

  “Your mother said it was the closest trail.” Avery ducked her head. “When you weren’t home, I decided to come here.”

  Sam blinked slowly. “My mother. She told you where I lived. She knew you were coming. And she didn’t tell me.”

  “She also sent leftovers. You should have seen me trying to get a container of roast through security. It took every bit of budding lawyer I had in me.” Avery smiled but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  Then Sam realized he’d never answered her original question. He didn’t have to. Whatever Avery wanted, he wanted, too. But he couldn’t come up with the right words, so he bent and pressed a kiss to her cold lips. Kissing in Colorado was going to take some training, but they eventually warmed, and Avery tightened her arms around him.

  “Is that a yes? For whatever this is, we’re going for it? As friends and everything else?”

  “I’ve heard of more romantic ways to put it,” Sam drawled.

  “My brain is frozen. I hope it’s not permanent.” Avery nodded in a “go ahead and answer” motion.

  “What about the job?” Sam asked, reluctant to bring up anything that might derail the next kiss.

  “Listen, I’m not going to say that I’m not worried about the job, but...” She went up on her tiptoes. “You are so good at everything you do, Samuel Blackburn. I wouldn’t try this with anyone but you. I will worry, but I will be strong, too. I braved that hospital. I got what your mother needed at the hospital. I am good in a crisis. That won’t change. That’s the kind of girl you need. Besides that, I beat your time to the top of Yanu. You are my prize, aren’t you?” Avery blinked up at him. There was not a single bit of concern in her eyes, so Sam kissed her again.

  Their hard times weren’t over but there was no one in the world he’d rather face them with.

  “Is that a yes?” She narrowed her eyes. “I have to hear your consent loud and clear, Mr. Blackburn.”

  “Life with a lawyer,” Sam muttered. “Yes, I’m going to take you somewhere warm. You are going to draw up the rules to the races we will run up all these new trails. You will tell me more about the law school in Boulder, and then we will come up with some sort of epic prank for the mothers.”

  “It’ll be like old times,” Avery said with a happy grin.

  “Even better. It’ll be like the rest of our lives,” Sam said before he kissed her.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this sweet romance, be sure to check out the next book in the OTTER LAKE RANGER STATION series coming in 2018 and these other titles from USA TODAY bestselling author Cheryl Harper:

  A HOME COME TRUE

  KEEPING COLE’S PROMISE

  HEART’S REFUGE

  WINNER TAKES ALL

  THE BLUEBIRD BET

  A MINUTE ON THE LIPS

  Keep reading for an excerpt from A PRICELESS FIND by Kate James.

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  A Priceless Find

  by Kate James

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHELSEA’S HEART TRIPPED at the sight of the bright yellow Do Not Cross police barricade tape and blue-and-white flashing lights. Peering through her windshield, she couldn’t tell for certain this far down Willowbrook Avenue, but it looked as if all the activity was in front of the Sinclair Art Gallery.

  It was too early for any of her colleagues to be at work. Whatever was going on, at least none of them would be hurt...or worse.

  That was her overactive imagination again, she chastised herself. It was probably something as mundane as a malfunction in the gallery’s security system.

  No. That would explain the police cars but not the barricade tape.

  But what else could it be?

  Then she thought of the gallery’s curator, her friend and mentor, Mr. Hadley, the only person who was occasionally at work before she was.

  Chelsea’s heart rate kicked up another notch, and she had trouble breathing.

  All she could think of was Mr. Hadley.

  Pressing down on the accelerator, she sped toward the gallery. As she got closer, she realized the tape wasn’t in front of the gallery, after all. Her relief was short-lived, since whatever was going on involved the jewelry store next door. She was very fond of Mr. and Mrs. Rochester, the elderly couple who owned All That Glitters and Shines. She didn’t want any harm to befall them, either.

  She slowed her ancient Honda Civic to a crawl near the storefront. Judging by the shards of glass strewn across the sidewalk, it had to be a break-in.

  How many times had she urged Mr. Rochester to install an enclosed display cabinet on the outside wall—or, at a minimum, security bars—so something like this wouldn’t happen? Mr. Rochester always dismissed the idea good-naturedly, saying it wasn’t necessary in a friendly place like Camden Falls.

  Craning her neck to see inside, she could make out shattered cases and toppled shelving before her view was obstructed by a tall man wearing a Camden Falls Police Department jacket. He was assisting someone across the room. As they turned toward a seating area, she glimpsed the other person.

  “Oh, no!” Chelsea quickly pulled over to the curb behind a police cruiser. She slammed her vehicle into Park and jumped out. Ducking under the police tape, she rushed toward the entrance.

  “Ma’am!” a police officer who’d been standing by the door called after her. “Ma’am, that’s a crime scene. You can’t go in there!”

  He reached for her, but she evaded his grasp. Her only thought was of Mr. Rochester. “I most certainly can! I’m a friend of the owner’s,” she stated and pushed her way in through the door.

  She couldn’t hold back a gasp when she saw Mr. Rochester. He was sitting on a settee, slumped over, his normally ruddy complexion parchment white. A paramedic crouched in front of him and was working to staunch the flow of blood from a wound on his temple.

  Ignoring the officer who’d followed her in and dodging another who’d moved to intercept her, she ran over to Mr. Rochester. Dropping to her knees next to where the paramedic was, she touched his knee. “Mr. Roch—”

  Before she could finish, a hand clamped around her upper arm and tugged her back up on her feet.

  “Hey!” she started to protest, but the words died in her throat as her eyes met the steely blue ones of the cop she’d seen through the window. He was wearing plain clothes under his CFPD jacket and exuded an air of authority.

  “Miller!” he called, apparently to the cop who’d been outside. “Who is this and how did she get in here?”

  Miller shot Chelsea an exasperated look. “I have no idea who she is, other than that she says she’s a friend of his.” He pointed at Mr. Rochester. “She ignored the tape and ran past me. I tried to stop her...” He glanced down, but not quickly enough for Chelsea to miss the flush spreading from his neck to his cheeks. “She got by me, Detective,” he mumbled. “Sorry.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” the detective retorted. “Well, get her out of here.”

  “No. Wait!” Chelsea interjected. The detective and Miller both turned to her, but she barely noticed Miller. There was something commanding in the detective’s eyes, in his bearing. She supposed he was good-looking, in that tough-and-rugged way, but the frown and obvious exasperation in his eyes didn’t do much for his appeal. “It’s not the officer’s fault,” she said. “So there’s no point scolding him.”

  The detective raised a brow, and she thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

  “I’m Chelsea Owens,” she continued and stuck out her hand with such resolve she didn’t give him much choice but to shake it. “I’m a sales associate at the Sinclair Gallery next door. Please, let me stay with Mr. Rochester. He’s hurt and...” She motioned around them. “And all this. This store means everything to him and Mrs. Rochester. He could use a friend right now,” she said, as the paramedic finished applying a bandage and joined his colleague at a nearby gurney.

  The detective held her gaze for several heartbeats. The strong jaw and sharp features seemed to soften—definitely adding to his attractiveness—and he nodded. “All right. But stay with him. Don’t move around and don’t touch anything. Miller,” he called to the other officer. “Don’t let her contaminate the scene. If she causes any problems, I’m holding you responsible.” Lowering his voice, he murmured something to Miller that Chelsea couldn’t hear.

  “Understood, Detective Eldridge,” Miller responded.

  “Just a minute,” Chelsea interrupted, drawing Detective Eldridge’s attention again. The look in his eyes, not altogether unfriendly but...daunting, made her think better of arguing.

  She remained silent and watched him move away. He was tall. At least a couple of inches over six feet. Broad-shouldered, with a confident, efficient gait. Admonishing herself for getting distracted at a time like this, she turned back to Mr. Rochester.

  * * *

  SAM ELDRIDGE WALKED OVER to a couple of crime scene technicians who were taking pictures and dusting for prints.

  The older technician, Mike Kincaid, looked up at him. “What’s your call on this one?” he asked with a grin. “Prints or no prints?”

  It was a game the techs liked to play with Sam. He was right far more often than he was wrong about whether they’d find any evidence. In this case, he didn’t want to hazard a guess. Pros tended to leave very little behind. He’d dealt with eno
ugh of them in Boston to know that for a fact. But he was getting mixed signals about this incident. There were indications that pros were involved. They hadn’t come in through the broken front window. They’d entered from the back without forcing the door open. On the other hand, once they were inside, not only had they broken the large front window, they’d gone to town on the interior. There was too much damage for a pro. Whoever did this would’ve had time to steal much more if he—or they—had caused less damage. Could it have been personal? “I’m not putting odds on this one,” he replied.

  “That’s a shame,” Mike said. “I might’ve had you this time.”

  “You’ve got something for me?” Sam asked hopefully.

  “No, but if I was to put money on it...” Mike looked around. “This is sloppy. Amateurish. I’d say we’ll find some kind of evidence.”

  Sam slid his hands into his pants pockets and nodded. “I hope you’re right.” He glanced over at a display table filled with sparkly diamond engagement rings. He’d done plenty of research when he’d bought Katherine’s ring, wanting it to be perfect. The bittersweet memory of the giddy excitement he’d felt back then at the prospect of marrying his high-school sweetheart taunted him. In the years since she’d left, he’d resigned himself to the likelihood that he’d never feel that way again. But despite the passage of time, he remembered enough to know that the display case contained pricey pieces. None appeared to be missing.

  It didn’t make sense.

  Looking around, Sam considered again whether the motivation was something other than theft or if whoever had broken in had lost his temper during the process. But if theft wasn’t the point, what was?

  He turned back to where Rochester, the owner, was sitting. The guy had to be in his seventies. He’d been injured, which—considering the time of the break-in—probably hadn’t been part of the plan. Blunt-force trauma had rendered him unconscious. For how long was undetermined. The paramedics had bandaged his temple and were getting ready to transport him to the hospital to be checked for concussion.