by Violet Duke
Table of Contents
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
PRAISE FOR THE CAN’T RESIST SERIES
“A fast-paced, heartfelt, and fun read!”
—Lauren Blakely, New York Times bestselling author
“Violet Duke made me laugh and cry in this incredible romance. One of the best I’ve read this year. Emotionally charged with wonderful characters, I just couldn’t stop reading!”
—J. S. Scott, New York Times bestselling author
“A unique series that will take you on a roller coaster of emotions. I couldn’t put these books down!”
—Carly Phillips, New York Times bestselling author
“Sexy, heart-melting and guaranteed to make you laugh and cry, Violet Duke writes the loveliest romances ever.”
—Sawyer Bennett, New York Times bestselling author
“Stellar collection of stories with unforgettable characters and a truly unique plot . . . will leave you wrecked and elated.”
—Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews
PRAISE FOR THE FOURTH DOWN SERIES
“Violet Duke’s writing just jumps off the page and grabs you from the first sentence.”
—Bella Andre, New York Times bestselling author
“Hot, sweet, and filled with tender moments, Violet Duke writes heroes who make me swoon!”
—Kendall Ryan, New York Times bestselling author
“From the giant men getting schooled to the happily ever after, I was enthralled! Violet Duke has a touchdown with Jackson’s Trust!”
—Melody Anne, New York Times bestselling author
PRAISE FOR THE CACTUS CREEK SERIES
“A contemporary romance star! Violet Duke is a must-read for guaranteed feel-good, heart-tripping romance with true heroes, sassy heroines and delicious journeys to happily-ever-after.”
—Erin Nicholas, New York Times bestselling author
OTHER TITLES BY VIOLET DUKE
Can’t Resist Series
Resisting the Bad Boy
Falling for the Good Guy
Choosing the Right Man
Finding the Right Girl
Cactus Creek Series
Love, Chocolate, and Beer
Love, Diamonds, and Spades
Love, Tussles, and Takedowns
Love, Exes, and Ohs
Fourth Down Series
Jackson’s Trust
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2017 by Violet Duke
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781477848326
ISBN-10: 1477848320
Cover design by Janet Perr
For my amazing husband, MVD (Mr. Violet Duke).
For sitting beside me whenever I need you to. Every single time, it means more to me than I’ll ever be able to put into words.
For my lawyer, Ryan, and my accountant, Stuart.
For protecting and guiding me. Every author should be so lucky as to have guys like you in their corner.
For my agent, Jill.
For calming and grounding me when little else can.
Thank you for doing all you do in that amazing “Jill” way that you do it.
For my fans.
For the infinite ways you make being an author the best job ever.
I adore you all.
Contents
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
“C’mon, have you at least considered opening up a shop in the city instead? This place is in the middle of nowhere. I mean, there isn’t even a Starbucks around here. It’s a hick town, Emma. No offense.”
Plenty taken.
Emma Stevens plated up a fresh chocolate croissant and sat down with a sigh, while Bill—her latest proof that the online dating app her sister had signed her up for was profoundly and disturbingly flawed—took a messy bite out of the flaky pastry he’d requested she have waiting for him when he came by this morning before work. Exactly an hour before her bakery opened, which, as she’d told him on numerous occasions, was her craziest time of day.
All because he wanted to give her “a chance to wish me good luck” over the big real estate investment he was going to land today.
Seriously.
And, of course, he didn’t even pretend to offer to pay for the croissant. Not that she’d really expected him to. Emma had been out on only two dates with the guy, yet somehow he’d managed to stop by her bakery for free pastries and desserts nearly a dozen times. The last had been for an entire cheesecake for his office a few days ago.
Mathematically speaking, this relationship was not doing so hot.
Now to add insult to injury, here he was disparaging her amazing little town, the only place that had felt like home for her in a really long time.
Never had the three-strikes rule in dating seemed so painfully overgenerous.
Since, per usual, he’d proceeded to simply bulldoze right along without waiting for an actual answer from her to his question, she took the opportunity to study him for a bit . . . as an anthropologist would when encountering a possible Homo jerkus, a male species of ego-vore, originating from Putzland.
Currently the subject was displaying his pompous plumes, sitting there with his power tie thrown over one shoulder—now officially her newest pet peeve—while belittling
her neighbors’ businesses as he scarfed down his free pastry.
Huh, Megan’s right, he does kind of look like a Tyrannosaurus rex when he eats things with his hands.
Her sister, Megan, had first witnessed him in here eating the other week with his elbows held out like outstretched wings while holding his free glazed-blueberry scone with two hands, pinkies and ring fingers in the air, as if he were eating a royal hamburger with the queen of England.
Since then, the subject’s eating habits had been a frequent topic of analysis. Apparently it was all about his arm placement. According to Megan, when he had his elbows tucked in at the ribs like he was doing now, bam, T. rex arms.
The resemblance was really quite uncanny.
As he took his next big bite, Emma tried channeling some Jurassic Park–worthy sound effects in her head—rawr, snarfle, chomp, chomp—and nearly burst out laughing.
Misunderstanding the giggle that seeped out of her in a way that only he could, Bill went on to then reassure her with a firm hand squeeze. “Don’t laugh. With my help, this is possible. You could be making some real money if you took this little hobby of yours seriously. We’re talking distribution to big grocery chains, even franchising. You’d just need a few investors, a commercial space probably in a mall for visibility, and a strong commercial campaign to really get your name out there. I’d be willing to take one percent off my usual commission to help you find that perfect business space to lease.”
Emma had stopped being amused the moment he’d called her business a hobby. Now the T. rex growling that she was hearing was accompanied by the visual of her taking a big bite out of Bill’s overinflated, condescending head.
“That’s not the kind of bakery I want to run. I love it here. I love my regulars and all the town visitors. And I make a good living.”
The polite, patronizing scoff from Bill had Emma’s back teeth grinding. “Look, Bill, I need to finish up an anniversary cake and get ready for the morning crowd, so why don’t we just catch up later.”
Bill brushed all the crumbs from the pastry onto her formerly freshly swept floor as Emma looked on in disbelief.
“You’re right—I better get going. Coming out here was so far out of my way.” He patted her on the arm, and she only barely stopped herself from recoiling. Balling up his napkin and pushing it toward her on the empty plate, he asked distractedly, “So are we still on for dinner tonight? At that place I told you about?”
Emma groaned silently. It wasn’t that Bill was a bad guy per se. In fact, he was a catch in comparison with the last two dates the demented dating app had paired her with. She figured she should probably give the guy at least one more shot. Wasn’t there something to that whole opposites-attract theory?
“Do you want to just come back over here for dinner instead?” she offered. “They have some great specials at Sally’s Diner this week. And we could maybe catch an early movie afterward or just walk around town.”
Bill frowned. “But what about the new gastropub in Shawnee? I already made reservations. And there’s also this great nightclub I wanted to take you to. Give you a chance to ditch the apron for a bit—you know, get dolled up with a hot dress and some sexy heels.”
Oy, the man didn’t know her at all.
Some girls loved their designer shoes and handbags; Emma much preferred her soft cotton pj’s and fuzzy slippers. “I’m sorry, but my mornings here start really early.” As she’d told him for the past few weeks. Repeatedly. “So that wouldn’t work for me.”
“Oh.” He pouted in disappointment. “I guess we could go out another night then.”
Translation: he was going to find another chick for his pub-and-club plans tonight.
“What about next weekend?” he asked, making a not-so-subtle visual scan of her legs and chest while licking his lips. Gross.
Clearly he still wasn’t understanding. She was getting ready to bust out a sock-puppet show with a catchy cartoon jingle to get through to him. “I have early mornings every morning, Bill. Sort of goes along with the whole running-a-bakery-seven-days-a-week thing. That’s why I’m usually in bed by eleven p.m.”
“You mean every night?”
Eureka, he finally got it . . . and now he was giving her a look as if she’d just broken out in warts.
Before Emma could propose a quick and merciful end to their clearly doomed relationship, a loud metallic crack suddenly boomed from the ceiling.
What the . . . ?
An ominous thunk and hiss resounded a few seconds later. She went racing to the back of the bakery to find bursts of pipe water already starting to spray in every direction and waterfall out of the seams of the ceiling panels and lighting fixtures.
“The cake!”
She ran forward to grab the beautiful cake she’d made for Mr. and Mrs. Johnson’s forty-seventh anniversary, only just barely managing to slip it into the nearest fridge before her ceiling basically exploded.
Two ceiling panels above her display cases came crashing down, freeing a deluge of rushing water so strong, it nearly knocked over her register. And judging by the screech from Bill, he’d gotten splashed by some water in the front, as well.
Not good. The place would be flooded in no time at this rate. Grabbing a big baking pan from the counter to hold over her head in case more ceiling panels came falling down around her, she made a run for the back door, snagging a wrench from her utility drawer in case the main water valve outside was rusted shut.
“Bill, can you run under the stairs and shut off the electrical breaker?” she shouted as she propped open the back door. The water was pooling on the floor. If the water level rose to the electrical outlets, she was in big trouble. “I’m going to try to shut the water off!”
Sure enough, the valve outside was nearly frozen solid with rust. She was practically horizontal with the wall in a super-Spidey crawl trying to torque the wrench when, finally, the valve began turning, at a micromillimeter pace.
With it no longer sounding like the base of Niagara Falls in the bakery, Emma slumped over in relief, feeling every muscle in her body burning over the exertion and adrenaline. A striking contrast to the icy-cold water that had drenched her from head to toe. Thank goodness the spring snowmelt had started the other week, or else she’d be a numb Popsicle by now.
Just as she was thinking she needed to go break out the thermal underwear again before she dealt with the mess inside, however, she witnessed something that had her blood heating up to an angry boil.
“Where are you going?” she shouted to Bill’s retreating back as she saw him sneaking off to his little silver coupe parked across the street.
He hesitated and then turned to give her a helpless shrug. “Sorry, babe. I couldn’t find the electrical panel thing you were talking about. Plus all that pipe water got on my suit! Hopefully it didn’t ruin it. I need to rush home to change before my big meeting. I’ve got a lot riding on this. I need to look sharp.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Her entire bakery was now submerged in ankle-deep water, and he was complaining about his suit getting a little damp.
“I promise I’ll call to check on you later.”
That was a total lie, and they both knew it.
“Un. Believable.”
She continued to glare at him for exactly one second—while he was swiping at the water splotches on his suit pants and cradling his suit jacket like a Fabergé football—before she stomped over to her butcher-block island and grabbed the nearest ruined cupcake.
If he was going to dry-clean the damn thing anyway . . .
She took aim, and launched the cupcake.
“You bitch!”
Nailed him right in the ass.
Looks like those middle school summers playing district league sports really had taught her valuable life skills.
She took out her camera phone and zoomed in on the cupcake sticking to Bill’s slacks like a snowy-white rabbit tail puff. Folks didn’t call her buttercream frosting the thick
est and richest in the county for nothing. That sweet lil’ treat was good and stuck.
Say cheese!
As she pocketed her phone and headed back into the bakery to shut off the electrical panel, Emma made a mental note to add “excellent aim with projectile baked goods” to her online dating profile . . . along with this spiffy new photo for her profile pic. The site did say to choose one that best represented her, after all.
She couldn’t stand when folks weren’t honest on stuff like that.
Chapter Two
At the sound of his ringing cell phone disrupting an otherwise peaceful morning, Jake Rowan didn’t even have to check the caller ID to know who’d be calling on this specific day, at this specific hour.
It had all started once upon a time. When his father had told him that serving a short stint in juvenile corrections would allow him to walk away from the worst night of his life.
Turns out, fathers lie . . . sometimes enough to have repercussions for their kids even years later.
About a ring or two before his voice mail normally kicked in, instead of offering a standard hello or any similar pleasantries, Jake answered the call from his brother Carter with a question he was genuinely curious about. “So tell me the truth—do you pencil me in for these fun phone chats, or did your tech folks create an app for that?”
“Good morning to you, too, Jake.”
Yeah, that was Carter. Always bothering with the pleasantries. Just one of the many ways they were like oil and water. Jake being the more flammable of the liquids, definitely.
“To answer your question, I do, in fact, have a scheduling app for my calls with you.”
Of course he did. Now that his curiosity on that matter was satisfied, Jake proceeded to do what he always did during his brother’s bimonthly calls.
Absolutely nothing.
Though always civil, Jake had stopped making an effort to be overly cordial to Carter a long while ago. Fourteen years to be exact. Sometime between the judge’s gavel slamming down in the courtroom and the first time Jake had gotten pounded to a pulp in juvie . . . where he’d been sentenced for the crime that Carter should’ve gone to jail for.
The latter factoid being one that only three people in the world knew about.