by Marina Adair
“You fired me,” she said.
“Because I was too afraid to fall,” he said, resting his hands on her waist and drawing her to him. “But I’m not afraid anymore.”
She couldn’t tell what he was trying to say, but she guessed that the horse-drawn carriage was a positive thing. But she had to be sure. She had been wrong before, and her heart would crumble if she allowed herself to hope only to end up disappointed. “Because you’ll protect me?”
“Nah.” His fingers tightened and he leaned in. “Because we’ll be falling together.”
She went all melty inside at the romantic nature of his words, felt her resistance dissolve and hope grow until her body wanted nothing more than to fall into his. But the realistic part of her, the part that knew just how difficult and draining it was to love someone with a degenerative disease, questioned if he was aware of what he was agreeing to. If he understood that she needed to be with someone who was all in.
“And what if I fall and you can’t catch me?”
“I’m never going to stop worrying about you, Avery. It’s what I do. It’s the Donovan way, so worrying is how I show my love,” he said, repeating her words from last night. “But if that time comes, then I’ll just have to trust that you have wings, and you’ll have to trust that our love is enough,” he said, not looking away, even when the crowd sighed. “But until then, I was hoping you’d go for a ride with me. It’s not horseback through the mountains, but it is a horse-drawn trip through town, with one stop-off at the clinic.”
Avery felt the tears prick seconds before they spilled over. “You’re taking me to my appointment?”
“Yes.” He silenced her with a kiss. “And before you ask, I’m going because there’s nowhere else I would rather be than with the woman I love.”
He said it with so much certainty, and a confidence that refused to be challenged, that Avery felt the hope she’d been denying break free. It spread through her body, warming her heart and blooming into something much deeper.
Eternal love.
“Your love has always been enough,” she said through the tears. “I just didn’t want to be your regret, the reason for any more pain.”
“When love is real and true, it could never lead to regret,” he said right before he captured her lips in a kiss that tasted like the start of the best adventure of her life.
EPILOGUE
FIVE MONTHS LATER . . .
A warm summer breeze settled around Avery as she stood on the edge of the highest peak and looked out and over the Sierra Nevada mountain range, her hands shaking as she held her mother’s letter. The sun was high, the poppies were in full bloom, and the air smelled of adventure. It had taken most of the summer to prepare for the hike, and a report of great health from her doctor, but Avery had finally made it to the top of Sierra Point.
Only now that she was there, she needed one last moment with the letter, one more time to imagine what it could say. An unsettling fear washed over her at the realization that once she opened the letter, it would all be over. The anger, the hurt, the sadness, the wonder . . . and then what?
“It only gets better,” Ty said, coming up to stand beside her and pulling her into his strong, loving arms.
“How do you know?” she whispered, resting her head on his chest while her finger traced the familiar script on the back side of the envelope.
“I know.”
She gave a nod, her finger tucking under the tattered lip—then paused, her heart hammering in her chest. “What if I’m not ready?”
“You were born ready, Avery,” he whispered.
She looked up and into those warm brown eyes, so full of understanding, and her throat tightened and her nerves quelled.
“You got this,” he said with a gentle kiss to her lips, then walked to the other side of the rim, giving her the privacy she needed.
Taking in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and pulled back the fold. When she had the letter in hand, she pictured her mom standing right in this very spot with a smile that could change the world, and unfolded it.
The letter was worn around the creases, and Avery smiled, wondering if her mom had folded and unfolded it many times before sealing it tight. Holding back a small sob, she pressed the paper to her nose and breathed in. Beneath the vanilla scent of the aged paper, Avery could smell faint hints of honeysuckle and lavender—her mother’s favorite perfume.
Straining through the moisture already forming, Avery looked at her mother’s final words, and every emotion inside of her fought to be free.
“Dearest Avery mine,” she whispered.
From the first moment I saw you, you were so very easy to love, which tells me you will be my hardest goodbye. Maybe that’s why I am writing you this letter, so that selfishly we have more time, because I know the loss will feel as profound as the love we shared. Just like I know that, with time, the pain left behind will bloom into a place of strength going forward.
Even then, there will be moments when the weight becomes too pressing, and fear will try to creep in. I want you to remember what it feels like to stand right here, in the place where I first discovered I was pregnant and we first met, high above the world. Spread your arms wide and welcome the wind rushing beneath you, whispering past you and giving you the extra push you need to let go and fly.
And know that the weightlessness you feel, the one that is as terrifying as it is exhilarating, that is living life with love instead of fear. You can never be lost when you have love.
With you always,
Mom
Avery closed her eyes and, with her arms out to the side, let the tears fall as the wind circled and wrapped around her, testing her strength and teasing her inner adventurer.
Love was everything her mother had promised and more. Ty had been offered a job with the local search and rescue team, which he’d accepted. It gave him the chance to help out with the lodge and to help out with Dale—who, after starting on a regimen of medication, was holding steady. And Avery . . .
She couldn’t be happier that Ty was home to stay. Especially since he’d moved his things in last night, making her home his.
“Well?” Ty asked from behind, his arms coming around her to pull her to him.
She covered his hands with hers and leaned back into him. “I’m ready.”
Ty chuckled. “I think Mr. Fitz needs it worded a little differently before he can make it official.”
Avery turned to look at the small crowd that was gathered, all waiting to hear her answer. Ty’s family, her friends, the ladies from Living for Love, even her father had been choppered in—and there was not a dry eye among them. Including Dale, whose tears had started the moment Mr. Fitz had begun the ceremony. “Thank you all for giving me that moment with my mom, but I’m ready now.”
“Wonderful,” Mr. Fitz said with a toothy smile, and then he continued the ceremony. “Avery, do you take Tyson Lenard Donovan to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
She turned to the man whom she would spend the rest of her life loving, and being loved by, and the rush of emotion filled her heart. “I do.”
Avery slid the band over Ty’s finger, and Mr. Fitz, who had been certified over the Internet to perform the services, asked, “And do you, Tyson Lenard Donovan, take Avery Joy Adams to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Ty brought Avery’s hands to his mouth and kissed each and every finger before sliding the ring on. And when he opened his eyes, they were shining with unshed tears and love—for her. “For the rest of eternity, and then some more.”
Avery’s heart bubbled over with love at the raw conviction in his expression.
“I now pronounce you two married,” Mr. Fitz said with a few tears of his own. “You may now kiss that bride of yours.”
A collection of hoots and hollers went up, followed by chanting of kiss kiss kiss, but Avery was too busy tasting her future to pay them any attention. And Ty seemed happy to kiss her right back, his hands at her hips, pulling her
closer, until—
Click.
Avery looked up with an amused smile. “Does that mean you’re ready, Mr. Donovan?”
His eyes twinkled. “With you, I’m always ready.”
Badass grin in place, he spun Avery around and clicked the last few carabiners in place. Then tethered her to him. Together, they walked to the edge of Sierra Point. “Ready to fly, angel?”
“Page twenty-three of our life journal specifically said birthday-suit BASE jumping,” she teased. “I’m pretty sure that requires us to be naked.”
“Oh, the naked part will come as soon as we land,” he whispered, his mouth nuzzling her ear. “I promise you that. In fact, once I get you out of that outfit, you’ll be naked the rest of the honeymoon.”
“That might make for some interesting day hikes.”
“It’s called living loud,” he said. “Now close your eyes.”
Avery did, then put her hands out to the side. With the wind whipping past them and the warmth of Ty’s arms holding her, she whispered, “Let’s fly.”
READ ON FOR A SNEAK PEEK OF MARINA ADAIR’S NEXT HEARTWARMING ROMANCE FROM HER NEW SERIES, SEQUOIA LAKE
Available Fall 2017
Editor’s Note: This is an early excerpt and may not reflect the finished book.
CHAPTER 1
After ten years of working graveyards in the ER, there wasn’t much Olivia Preston couldn’t handle. She was skilled, calm under pressure, and knew how to take charge in the most life-threatening situations. Yet as Liv walked around to the back of her car and saw Superdog Stan crumpled near the bumper, lying in a puddle of his own stuffing, a button eye hanging on by a thread, panic bubbled up until she could barely breathe.
With her heart thundering in her chest, she scooped up the patient and raced across the parking lot, bursting through the doors of the closest shop. The sun had just risen, the day had barely begun, and already she had a code red on her hands.
“I need a needle, the thickest thread you have, sanitary wipes, and something to pack wounds,” she called out to Mavis, who stood by the checkout counter flipping through a stack of gossip magazines.
Mavis Bates was the owner of the fastest senior scooter in town and Pins and Needles, Sequoia Lake’s one-stop shop for all things quilting and crafty. When riled, she had all the softness of a knitting needle.
“The needles are on aisle five, thread aisle six,” Mavis said without looking up from the magazine—clearly not catching the urgency in Liv’s voice. “I’ve got an applique class starting in ten minutes, so just leave your total by the—Oh my.” Mavis practically purred, her eyes wide in appreciation. “I can see how Beckham was nominated the sexiest man alive, but I still think it should have gone to Channing Tatum.”
“Mavis,” Liv snapped, burying the panic and taking charge. Story of her ever-loving life. But for Paxton, she’d buck up and do it. Her six-year-old wasn’t going to suffer. “I need you to focus.”
Mavis looked up and when she saw the patient, gasped. “Good heavens. Is that Stan?” She dropped the magazine and rushed around the counter. The older woman’s face showing all of the worry and desperation, Liv knew better than to give in to it. “What happened to him?”
“I don’t know,” Liv admitted, hating those simple words that had somehow managed to define the past two years of her life.
The same words she’d recently vowed never to fall victim to again.
“I was next door at the Bear Claw Bakery having breakfast with Paxton,” she said, her voice cracking on her son’s name. “We’d just gotten served when he realized Stan was missing. I went out to look for him and found him in the parking lot. Lying there, crumpled next to my back bumper.”
“Poor thing looks like he was run over.” Mavis ran a hand over Superdog’s torn ear with a seriousness that Liv felt to her core. “Does Paxton know?”
Liv’s palms went sweaty at the thought of Paxton’s crooked smile disappearing, the one they’d worked so hard to find again—the one so much like his father’s. Her heart tripped when she imagined that light in his eyes they’d worked so hard to recover going dull.
“No,” she said, breathless. “He’s still in the café eating his big-boy breakfast. Shelia is keeping an eye on him for a minute. Smiley face pancakes with the works to get him through his first day of summer camp. You know, a fun morning to ease him into a new routine.”
Paxton had a hard time with change, just like he’d had enough heartache in his little life that he deserved some fun. They both did. It was the main reason she’d signed him up for Superhero Camp. Her brave guy wasn’t a social butterfly by any means, but he loved comic books—and pretending to be invincible for a few weeks wouldn’t hurt.
Only thinking about leaving him at that camp was nauseating. And part of her considered taking this as a sign from the universe, a good enough reason to march next door and admit to Paxton that his sidekick, Superdog, was down for the count and camp was canceled.
That it would be so easy to give up bothered her.
She hated how controlled by fear they both were. Hated the setbacks that would surely arise if Paxton found out his favorite stuffed toy had been reduced to deflated and tattered roadkill.
“Poor thing, his morning needed to go smoothly,” Mavis said quietly.
“It still can,” Liv said as if it were suddenly that simple. After a trying two years, followed by a disastrous year of kindergarten for Paxton, her family was desperate for a perfect start to what she’d hoped was going to be a perfect summer.
“There isn’t a seam I can’t stitch or a fabric you can’t clean,” Liv said, channeling her inner nurse. She’d made a career out of fixing life-threatening problems. “A little extra padding and some TLC and all will be good as new.”
Maybe it was that simple, Liv thought as clumps of stuffing floated to the floor.
She knew firsthand that, once broken, things could never be the same. But for Paxton, she let herself believe that everything could be fixed with a simple stitch, because Stan wasn’t just a stuffed animal—sadly, he was her son’s best friend. And the last present he’d received from his dad.
“I need a needle, stat,” Liv ordered, sticking out her hand as if she were in the OR, prepping a patient. Or donning her Supermom cape to save her son’s world.
Mavis pulled out a sewing kit from beneath the counter. “I’ve got a variety of needles and thread here. Cotton balls are on aisle three, and I’ll go and find my special cleaner so we can get the dirt off him.”
Liv selected her tool and threaded the needle, when she felt Mavis pause at the end of the counter. “You okay?”
She met the older woman’s concerned gaze head on. “I’m going to be.”
“Thank God,” Mavis mumbled. “All this warmth and support was weighing on me. My heart can’t take it.”
Good thing Liv’s heart was strong enough to take on the world if need be. Because thirty-seven balls of cotton, nineteen of the best vertical mattress sutures Liv had administered since nursing school, and a few silent prayers later, Superdog Stan was one knot away from resembling a toy dog instead of a dog’s toy.
And Liv was one step closer to being the Supermom she knew she could be. So when Mavis approached the counter from behind, she said, “I’II need your finger on this spot. Push and push hard.”
When no finger appeared, Liv said, “Finger, spot, push. We’re talking life or death here!”
She was about to cut Mavis a look when a hand reached around and a finger landed on the thread. Only it wasn’t a pudgy, arthritic pointer. It was a strong, masculine index finger attached to a hand that looked capable enough to balance the world in its palm.
Liv turned her head to see who this hand belonged to, and froze.
Her hero looked more Paul Bunyan than Superman, in a gray tee that clung to his biceps, a ball cap pulled low, and enough stubble to take that ruggedly handsome vibe he had going on to the next level.
But it was his eyes that g
ot to her. Gunmetal gray with a hint of amusement and a spark of excitement she’d been missing as of late.
“I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he said, his voice a low thunder that shook her to the core. “I was just trying to figure out which one you meant.”
“Which finger?” she asked a little too breathy for her liking.
“No, which spot.” He grinned and—bam—it was powerful enough to jumpstart spots she’d long thought shriveled up and dead. Spots she’d promised to Sam for eternity.
“But now that you bring it up,” Mr. Bunyan said, “both are equally important. So why don’t you show me exactly what you need, so I can be sure to get it right.”
Liv’s belly pitched low. Just because she hadn’t dated since college didn’t mean she couldn’t recognize flirting when she saw it. The fact that the flirtation was directed her way was both thrilling and terrifying. Reason enough to create some much-needed distance.
“That’s okay. I’ve got it,” Liv said, moving away from him—and his more than capable arms. Arms that had ink peeking out from beneath the sleeve and bulged when he crossed them over his chest.
But Mr. Bunyan didn’t leave. He stared at her for a long moment, studying her as if he had something important to say. Just when Liv thought he’d turn and leave, he smiled instead. But this smile felt different. Still flirty, still wickedly tempting, but now it was softened with an emotion that sucker punched Liv every time.
Kindness.
“Of course you got it.” He reached out and placed his finger on the knot again, with a look that meant business. “But doing it with someone else is a hell of a lot more fun.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my editors, Maria Gomez and Charlotte Herscher, for believing in my work and giving me the push I need to make this series the best it can be. And thanks to the rest of the staff at Montlake, for everything you do that goes into making a book a success and for letting me be a part of the best team in publishing. Team Montlake forever!