Counting On It (Hearts for Ransom Book 1)

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Counting On It (Hearts for Ransom Book 1) Page 1

by Evans, Georgia




  Also by Georgia A Evans

  Extended Family Series

  Making Memories (Book 1)

  Permanent Position (Book 2)

  Because of Bob (Book 3) –October, 2015

  Breakdown Here (Book 4)— February, 2016

  My Baby (Book 5)— June, 2016

  Hearts for Ransom Series

  Counting On It (Book 1)

  Just Practicing (Book 2)— September, 2015

  Believe Me (Book 3)— January, 2016

  It’s You (Book 4)— May, 2016

  Winning Everything (Book 5)— September, 2016

  Counting On It

  Hearts for Ransom – Book 1

  © 2015 Georgia A Evans

  This book is dedicated to my sister, Barbie Wheeler. She is the most dedicated nurse I know, but somehow still finds the laughter behind the pain and tears.

  Also to my niece Emily, for the use of her name—she is every bit as beautiful as the character in this book.

  “It’s funny how we fall in love with the most unexpected person at the most unexpected time.” –author unknown

  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

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Emily Scott sighed. The group at campsite seventy-four was still gathered around the huge television built into the side of the large motor home, and they were making way too much noise. It was ten-thirty—half an hour past quiet time.

  It was her job as campground host to make sure all the rules were followed. There weren’t really that many. Fires could only be built in the concrete and steel pits at each site. Pets had to be kept inside, or on leashes. The speed limit of a whopping five miles per hour had to be adhered to. And so that those who came for a quiet, relaxing experience could go to sleep at a decent hour, people who decided to remain out and about had to keep the noise down, beginning at ten o’clock.

  She had wondered if they were going to be a problem when she stopped by the site and collected their fees. There were actually three motor homes occupying sites seventy-three through seventy-five, but the folks from all three of them seemed to have congregated in front of the television.

  As she walked the one hundred or so yards from her site to theirs, she mentally stiffened her spine and readied herself to sound authoritative. At not quite five-six and of slender build, the twenty-five-year-old wouldn’t be surprised if the campers gave her trouble when she had to “remind” them of the rule they were breaking.

  Since she had been halfway expecting something like this, she hadn’t taken her long brown hair out of its ponytail, nor had she changed out of her jeans and pink “Boone’s Sites” T-shirt.

  She would try and make as much noise as possible to let them know they were about to have a visitor, but they had that blasted television so loud she could yodel—if she knew how—and they wouldn’t hear her.

  As she drew closer, she counted them. Nine—and they were all men. What were they watching? The images looked disgusting. She was horrified when she realized they were actually playing one of those video games that made it appear as if the players were shooting each other. From the way all of them were carrying on, it was impossible for her to determine who was playing, and who was just cheering them on.

  How would she get their attention? Emily knew she was tired when the urge to strip down and run across the site between them and the television came upon her. Thankfully, it passed.

  “Excuse me.” She spoke as loudly as she could. When there was not so much as a glance in her direction, she yelled at the top of her lungs, “Excuse me!”

  One man turned his head just far enough to see her. He said something to the guys on both sides of him and word of her presence was passed on until finally, thank heavens, whoever was playing the nauseating game paused it. She suddenly realized she was now the center of attention. All nine men were turned just far enough in their chairs to see her. Should she do a quick little tap dance? She was way too tired for this.

  “I’m sorry, but Boone’s Sites has a ten o’clock curfew for excessive noise. The rule is on the receipt I gave you when you paid your fees.” Motionless, they stared at her. Had that game turned them into a bunch of mindless zombies? “I don’t know whether you didn’t realize it’s already ten-thirty or just don’t care, but you have to quiet down. There are people all around you trying to sleep.”

  Thankfully, she hadn’t found it necessary to enforce this rule yet. If they refused to comply, though, she’d have to go back to her site and call Aaron Boone, the owner of the campground. Since his wife Sara had just gotten home from the hospital, he wouldn’t appreciate his phone ringing at this time of the night.

  “Is that you, Scott?” an all-too-familiar voice asked.

  “You know it’s me,” she angrily retorted, her gaze finally zeroing in on Logan Taylor. Great. Logan Taylor—the bane of her existence since…since just about as long as she could remember. They had gone all the way through school together, and his sole purpose in life had seemed to be making her miserable. She hadn’t attended her five-year class reunion two years ago simply because she knew he was bound to be there.

  “So you’re still a party pooper, huh? Now it’s just official.” He looked at his friends. “Miss Goody-Two-Shoes Scott has always been a stickler for rules.”

  What was he? Five? “Look, Mr. Taylor, if you have to call me names to bolster your obviously low self-esteem, I really can’t do anything about that.” She stared him down, her lifelong frustration with this person giving her courage. “I can, however, call the owner, who will be happy to watch you load all of your,” she wrinkled her nose at the electronics scattered around, “paraphernalia, and leave this campground. It’s your choice, but I personally think it would be much easier if you turn off your—game—and keep your voices down.”

  Why did Emily Scott always have this effect on him? Logan couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t wanted to break through that wall of perfection she had erected around herself. Nobody could be as…good…as she always was. When they had been in school at Ransom, an Indiana city halfway between Evansville and the Illinois state line, if something was done right, there she was. Give Emily Scott the credit. If there was trouble, though, find Logan Taylor. It was for sure he was involved in it somehow. Maybe it was just the case of a “bad boy” feeling the need to knock the “good girl” off her throne.

  Nobody could accuse her of cowardice, though. As small as she was, there she stood, fearlessly facing all nine of the starters for Sloopy’s Slammers, the best fast-pitch softball team in the state.

  Mason Wright, Logan’s top employee and good pal, h
ad the usual predatory gleam in his eyes. Emily didn’t know it, but she had just placed herself in the sights of a self-proclaimed womanizer of monstrous proportions. As much as she rubbed Logan the wrong way, he couldn’t stand idly by while his friend went after her. She was undoubtedly too naïve and inexperienced to recognize Mason for what he was. She’d expect him to pledge his undying love when, in fact, he’d be out the door in a New York minute once he got what he wanted.

  So that explained why his next comment probably shocked himself more than it did her. “You heard her, guys. We know the rules. She’s just doing her job.” His brown eyes focused on Emily. “We’ll shut it down and call it a night.”

  Mason put the game controller down and stood up, his intent to approach her obvious.

  “Wright, this is your equipment. None of us ever put it back the way you want it.” Logan stood up and placed his six-foot-one, two hundred pounds-plus frame between his buddy and the clueless woman. The slightly shorter but stockier man gave Logan an assessing look before he silently turned and picked the controller back up.

  Emily was shocked speechless. “Thank you,” she finally managed to say. As the men stood and quietly started clearing their things, she turned and walked back to her site. That group of men—very large men—had listened to her, but only after Logan Taylor, of all people, had supported her. She glanced overhead, half expecting to see stars plummeting to the earth, for surely the world was ending tonight. Logan Taylor had done something nice for her.

  She looked back and saw that there was only one man left outside. He closed the door that encased the television in its space and was walking to the door of the motor home when Emily turned back toward her own camper.

  It was actually her parents’ motor home, and this was actually their job. Mike and Barb Scott had asked for just one gift from their only child for their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. They wanted her to take a much-needed leave of absence from her stressful job as an emergency room nurse, and let them take an extended vacation with friends. There she was, acting as campground host for two whole months while her parents lived a life of luxury aboard a privately owned yacht sailing in the Caribbean. Emily had only been there for two weeks, and already wished they had just settled for a gift certificate to a nice restaurant.

  She went to the bedroom in the large motor home and found her pajamas. It had been a long day, and since she now knew Logan Taylor was camping at Boone’s, she couldn’t help but dread the next one.

  After she showered and was lying in bed, even though she tried not to, she couldn’t help but remember how difficult Logan had always tried to make it for her in school. Heck, it had started in kindergarten when he pulled her hair and then got mad at her for telling the teacher. Maybe that was it. Tattling on him in kindergarten had been the catalyst for him driving her crazy during the next twelve years. She was still mulling the ridiculous thought over as she drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 2

  “Taylor, get your butt out of bed. We’ve got some fishin’ to get done today!” Jesse Rogers, left fielder for the Slammers, was smacking something soft over Logan’s head. He knew he shouldn’t have agreed to a coin toss for the bed. Jesse always won. Now he was on the couch—fair game for his buddy to torment.

  “I’m awake.” He grabbed the item Jesse was hitting him with. What was that? “That better be clean!” He threw the jock strap to the floor as he turned and sat up. “What time is it?”

  “Five-thirty. I told you we have to get out on the water early if we want to catch fish.” The farm boy from central Illinois frowned at Logan. “I know growin’ up in a big city that your idea of fishin’ is probably pickin’ out a lobster in a restaurant, but I’m serious here.” Logan couldn’t help but think that his teammate looked like a clown in training, with his red hair and green eyes open wide to emphasize his point. His height of six-four and gangly build had earned him the nickname “Stringbean”, which Jesse answered to with pride.

  “Where’s Wright?” Logan figured Mason would have been the one flapping a jock strap in his face to wake him up.

  “I don’t know. He was up and gone when I came out here.” Jesse walked to the kitchen table. “I got us some donuts out. We don’t have time to fix anything else.”

  He was already wolfing his second one down when Logan stood up and looked over to see the other couch with sheets and blanket neatly folded at the end of it. Where had his buddy gone off to so early? Mason wasn’t a morning person unless … oh, crap. Emily Scott probably got up at the crack of dawn. He’d better get up and out there to do some damage control.

  Logan was halfway through getting dressed when he stopped and asked himself why he even cared if Mason got anywhere with Emily. Maybe it was because Logan was the only one who got the pleasure of knocking her off of her high horse. He didn’t examine his motives any further.

  ______________________

  Emily walked around the corner of her camper and into a wall. It was a good thing the wall reached out and caught her, or she would have fallen over backward.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Emily looked up into brown eyes. The man had to be close to six feet tall and from the feel of him, a solid block of muscle. It was when she noticed his close-cropped, black hair and neatly trimmed beard, she recognized him as one of the men from the night before.

  She backed several feet away, causing him to drop her arms.

  “Can I help you?” Like it or not, she had a job to do.

  His eyes twinkled as he flashed a confident, bright smile at her. “I just wanted to come over and apologize for last night. The team got carried away and didn’t realize we were making so much noise.”

  “Team?” she had to ask in spite of herself. Did they have video game teams or something?

  There was that grin again. “Yeah. All of us play on the Sloopy’s Slammers. You know—the first place fast-pitch softball team?”

  “Sloopy’s Slammers?” Emily fought the giggles she felt building. That was the silliest name she had ever heard.

  His smile faltered a little. “You’ve never heard of us?”

  “I guess not.” She bit her lip to keep from laughing.

  “Well, allow me to introduce you to the best catcher in the state.” He flashed his bright smile again, seemingly unaware of her amusement. “Mason Wright, at your service.”

  Emily didn’t know what to say. First of all, it was too early for a visit. Secondly, if she actually spoke with him for any length of time, she wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face. She’d just stick to business. She could do that.

  “So, what can I do for you, Mr. Wright?”

  “I wondered if you were free this evening. It’s supposed to be a nice night, and I’d like to fix dinner for you. We can take it somewhere private where the rest of these clowns won’t bother us.”

  Was this guy for real? It wasn’t even six o’clock in the morning, and he was over here hitting on her?

  “Look, Mr. Wright, I’m —”

  “going to be catching up with me.” Logan spoke as he seemed to appear from nowhere.

  What in the world was going on? Were there really two men out here expecting her to make plans with them for the evening? She was dreaming. No. She was having a nightmare.

  Without a word, Emily turned and walked back into the motor home. Both men stood there with their mouths hanging open.

  “Way to go, Taylor,” Mason growled. “I almost had her with me.”

  “Didn’t sound like it to me.” Logan wasn’t going to cry about it, either.

  “What are you doing over here, anyway?”

  “Jesse is up and ready for us to go fishing. When we saw you were gone, it didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out where you’d headed off to. A woman is within a quarter of a mile.” Logan remained unfazed by his friend’s frustration.

  Mason’s gaze moved from Logan to the door Emily had disappeared behind, and back again. “I guess I
’ll have to try again later since you managed to scare her off.”

  The two men started walking toward their site.

  “Why did you say that about her being with you tonight anyway? It was pretty obvious last night that you two aren’t on the best of terms,” Mason observed.

  Logan didn’t know what to say for a moment. The truth of the matter was, he really didn’t have a good reason for rescuing Emily from Mason’s clutches. He just felt it was necessary.

  “She’s not the kind of woman you usually go after,” he finally came up with.

  Mason snorted. “She’s female and gorgeous. That’s good enough for me.”

  Logan gave him a sidelong glance. “She’s too good for you. Em’s not the kind of woman you use and throw away.”

  His friend stopped dead in his tracks, surprise written on his face. “Why didn’t you just tell me, Logan?”

  “Tell you what?” Logan was confused. He thought he had just told him.

  “You’re after her yourself.” Mason smiled smugly and resumed walking. “I’ll back off, man. I’m not gonna step on your toes. After all, you two have a history.”

  An automatic protest came to Logan’s lips, but then he stopped. For whatever reason, he felt the need to protect Emily Scott from his friend. If letting Mason think he wanted her for himself was the only way, then so be it. They were only going to be there two more days, and then he wouldn’t see her again.

  “Thanks,” was his quiet response.

  Chapter 3

  It had taken the better part of an hour and three cups of coffee that morning before Emily worked up enough courage to go back outside. Thankfully, both men had been gone.

  “Any problems?” Aaron Boone’s tone of voice told her it wasn’t the first time he had asked her.

  Aaron was taking his usual afternoon jog through the campground, stopping to check on things. For a moment, she considered telling him about the previous night, but then decided it wasn’t worth worrying him.

 

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