by Cranford, B.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Beth Cranford
No part of this work may be used, stored, reproduced or transmitted without written permission from the publisher except for brief quotations for review purposes as permitted by law.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover Design by Oh So Novel
Photography by Dmytro Vinalovych | Shutterstock
Edited by Missy Borucki
Manufactured in the United States
Synopsis
One thing Rose Riley is proud of: standing up for what she believes in while living her best life kindly.
One thing she’s not so proud of: whacking a man on the head with her handmade sign at an animal rights march.
Especially when she takes the whimpering puppy dumped on her front porch to the nearest vet and he turns out to be the man she struck . . . Awkward.
One thing Rose didn’t expect to find before going back home to Australia:
Love.
To Mum,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I hope you enjoy your gift . . . there are no returns, I’m afraid.
Oh, and I’m calling Child of the Century a lock.
Beth ♥
Contents
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
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by B. Cranford:
Chapter One
The sun was beating down warm on Liam Wood’s back as he bent down to address the animal who had come to sit by his feet.
“Hey, sweet girl, what are you doing here?”
The animal, a small tan and white dog that looked young—probably no more than one or two years old—had big brown eyes and a sad look on her face. Some kind of spaniel, maybe a King Charles Cavalier crossed with something else. She panted out what sounded remarkably like a heaving sigh.
“Are you thirsty?” he asked, turning to look over his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of his sister, Sasha, so he could ask her to get him a bowl of water. The dog’s tongue was lolling out of its mouth when he turned back and he smiled. She was cute, and although it was possible she was an escapee from the adoption event happening nearby, there was an air about her that said she was lost.
Feeling around her neck for a collar and coming up short, he turned again to see if Sasha was back in view. She wasn’t. The animal rights march that was in full swing around them was crowded and though he and his sister were there in an official capacity as veterinarian and vet tech they hadn’t seen too many animals. It just figured that the moment he needed a hand, even if the task was simple enough, Sasha would be off somewhere else.
“Okay, sweet girl, why don’t you come with me?” He reached his arms around the animal and scooped her up, marveling at how calm and still she was. Most animals would either show signs of excitement or fear at being picked up by a stranger, but this dog?
Nothing. She remained still, except for the panting of her breath and the long, lolling tongue. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”
A bark in agreement—at least, that’s what it sounded like to Liam’s ears—and he gave the dog another smile. A bigger one. This sweet girl was obviously smart, which made him think that someone must be missing her.
Looking left and right a few times, he scanned the crowd. People moved like water, flowing past him. Most with an appreciative glance at the dog in his arms, some stopping to pet her and ask him questions.
“Is she yours?”
“Oh, she’s adorable! What’s her name?”
“Aren’t you the best girl?”
Okay, so the last one was both rhetorical and directed at the dog and not him, but generally, the questions were all similar, and the answers he received to his own questions the same.
“No, I don’t know her.”
“I haven’t seen her around.”
“She’s cute. Can I leave my details if you don’t find her a home?”
It was the last question that reminded him of why he loved animal lovers. They were giving of their time—as evidenced by the fact they were out in force for animal rights and the attendant animal adoption carnival, even as the day began to get hotter and hotter.
In mid-September, summer still lingered in the humid North Carolina air, and people walked forth with signs and smiles and hope for a better future for all animals.
The soft, accented voice behind him grabbed his attention and had him spinning before he even made the conscious effort to do so.
“Excuse me, you forgot your . . .”
She wasn’t speaking to him, but to a young-looking couple who stood only a few paces from him, and hell, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Cradling a small grey kitten in one hand, she was holding out a white plastic bag he recognized as being from the adoption carnival. “It has the samples of food for you, and other little bits and bobs.”
The male of the couple reached out and took the bag, nodding his thanks and saying goodbye. It was as he turned away that Liam noticed the beautiful woman using the paw of the kitten she held to wave at the couple.
It was adorable. She was adorable. He might only be able to see her profile, but it was a stunning one. Her smile, the warmth in her eyes, the sweep of long brown hair down her back—though he could only see part of it, it was enough to make him want to look deeper.
Except at that moment the dog in his arms decided to squirm.
“Hey, hey now.” He tried to soothe her with quietly spoken words and gentle hands, but the animal seemed determined. She wiggled enough that Liam had no choice but to give into her need to get down. Crouching, he set her on the heated asphalt, trying to maintain a grip on her.
Only to watch her streak away.
His heart plummeted. There was no way he’d be able to catch up to her, not at the speed she was moving, and not when she seemed to weave in and out of the crowd like she had a homing beacon locked on.
“Shit,” he muttered, walking several paces forward, trying to decide if following the dog, regardless of the futility, was a good idea or not. Not, he thought, hearing Sasha calling him from the other side of the van they’d driven to the march. He took one last look in the direction the dog had run, then turned back, walking in the direction of his sister’s voice.
* * *
“I’m going to get something to eat, okay?” Liam tapped his pocket to make sure he had his wallet. “Do you want anything?”
Sasha shook her head. “I’ll hold down the fort here.”
“Okay. I shouldn’t be too long,” he added, calling over his shoulder as he moved toward the row of food trucks that were
parked across the road from where he’d set up his own van. There were crowds around all of them, hungry marchers looking for a little sustenance, and just as he was going to start checking out menus and options, he caught a glimpse of dark brown hair in his peripheral.
Despite knowing it was stupid, he turned, hoping to see the accented woman he’d seen earlier. For some reason, she’d stuck in his mind, and he couldn’t help but hope she was there for him to talk to.
And she was.
She brushed past him, no kitten in sight. Laughing into her phone, she said a quick “excuse me” when her elbow bumped his side, smiling apologetically at him.
He opened his mouth to say something in return, but he didn’t even manage a simple, “No problem” before she was swallowed up by an excited group of teenagers, who were all holding witty, handmade signs.
Did she have a sign? he thought fleetingly, shaking off the idiocy of the question and his reaction to the woman, as he joined the nearest line for food. Apparently, he was going to have some kind of burrito for lunch, and that was fine.
What wasn’t fine was the altogether unusual way he was reacting to a woman he’d seen in passing—twice.
Chapter Two
“We’re so glad you could help today, Rose.”
Looking up from the dog she held cradled in her arms, Rose Riley smiled at the local no-kill shelter volunteer. Rose had spoken with Samantha earlier in the week and offered to lend a hand during the first part of the Adopt, Don’t Shop event the shelter was putting on during the March for Animal Rights. And Samantha loved animals as much as Rose did.
“I’m glad I could help. I wasn’t so sure about coming, but being able to play with the dogs . . .” She trailed off, smiling. “It was the deciding factor. Well, that and helping them find forever homes.”
“You’re so good with them.”
Looking back at the little black Labrador puppy in her arms, she sighed. “I’m such a sucker for a cute face.”
Sam gave a dry laugh. “Aren’t we all? You know, since you helped, we could waive the adoption fee for you.” It was a kind offer, and one she wanted to accept. Desperately.
What she wouldn’t give to take one—or all—of the animals they had up for adoption, home.
Home. Therein lay the problem. “Thanks, Sam. But I leave soon.” She shrugged. “Besides, it took me three tries to decide on socks this morning—how would I ever pick one animal from this bunch?” She looked at the remaining dogs and cats, the lone turtle, and the very excitable piglet, all shaded by a big tent. There’d been so many more animals earlier in the day, a fact that lifted Rose’s heart.
“It’s hard, that’s for sure. But I didn’t know you were leaving.” Sam tilted her head. “Do you mean for good?”
When Rose nodded, Sam added, “I guess I thought you were here permanently.”
Shaking her head, Rose explained, “I’m leaving in December, to be home in time for Christmas.”
“Australia, right?”
“Yep.”
“I’ve always wanted to go there,” Sam said, an echo of a sentiment Rose had heard a lot in her nearly two years in America. “It’s expensive though. And so far away.”
Nodding, because Sam definitely wasn’t wrong, she replied, “You should go, though, if you ever get the chance. I promise it’s worth it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Stepping closer, Sam held out her hands. “Here, let me take him and you can head off and look around, maybe grab some lunch. Things have slowed a ton now.”
Reluctant to let go of her charge, Rose nuzzled the black lab one last time, pressing a gentle kiss between his soft puppy ears. “Bye, little fella,” she whispered, her heart making it clear it wasn’t ready to walk away from the animal, while her brain reminded her that she didn’t have a choice.
Three months, Rose. Then you’ll be home and can think about getting a dog.
Maybe.
Sighing, because stupid logic, she carefully transferred the puppy to Sam’s arms and turned to walk away.
But not before taking one more look back.
* * *
“Please tell me you’d rather go naked than wear fur.”
The voice that interrupted Rose’s thoughts was deeply masculine and very, very unwelcome. With an eye roll, she cast a glance over her shoulder to see if the man responsible was, in fact, talking to her, or to some other poor woman.
She couldn’t see anyone. At least, not properly. The top of the adoption tent and the food trucks she’d passed around lunchtime, yes. The trucks were across the road, and far less crowded than they’d been when she’d brushed by the scads of people earlier. But a view of the man speaking? Nope. The sign she’d carefully written out—in her neatest handwriting, thank you very much—and attached to a baseball bat of all things, rested on her shoulder, blocking her view. She was just about to give up, when the voice sounded out again.
And what he said was no more welcome.
In fact, it was less welcome.
“Mmm, you are a sweet little thing, aren’t you?”
It had a sickly undertone to it, and Rose was determined to search out the person responsible and put him in his place.
Who the hell came to an animal rights march and acted like a . . . well, an animal?
No, wait. That wasn’t fair. Animals weren’t sexist, misogynistic, leering arseholes.
Not like the dude that was still somewhere behind her, currently protected from her view by her sign.
Not for long. Huffing out a breath and hoping that the jerkface was still behind her and talking to her, so she could give him a piece of her mind, she shuffled the baseball bat-cum-protest sign to her other shoulder and swung herself around.
Fast.
Thunk. “Oh, shit, shit!”
Rose whipped back, then around again at the startled, pained cry of a different male voice, not realizing that by doing so she was going to—
Thunk. “What the actual fuck?!”
“Oh God.” I hit him. Twice. Rose’s eyes squeezed closed of their own volition, as if she could hide from the damage she’d done to the poor sap who had been standing behind her.
“Am I bleeding? Sasha, tell me if I’m bleeding.” This voice, the one that had a moment ago sounded both surprised and angered, had a totally different effect on her than the one responsible for the naked comment.
The first voice had sent unwelcome chills down her spine.
This voice was deep, yes, but it held a note of kindness. As if, even though he’d been whacked in the head not once but twice, he wasn’t going to yell at her or tell her off.
It was rich, too, giving the impression that its owner could probably sing, or maybe do those advertising voiceovers that made Rose’s lady parts tingle a little.
What? She’d always had a thing for those silky, manly voices, and if she’d bought shoes and cereals and first-aid supplies based on the timbre of a man’s voice, then so what? It was her prerogative.
Shaking off the thoughts of voices and Band-Aids—although her deep-voiced victim might need one or two—Rose slowly opened her eyes at the same time she began lowering her sign. No sense hitting him a third time.
Carefully, she turned to face the damage she’d done, drawing in a long, calming breath in the hopes it would make the mortification easier to talk past.
It didn’t.
In front of her, a man with dark hair and a bright blue polo shirt with some kind of logo embroidered over his heart, was half-bent, half-twisted, and clutching the side of his head. He looked vaguely familiar.
“Do I know you?” The question fell from her lips before she took a small step back, an impulse she couldn’t control. Thankfully, she didn’t see any signs of blood on him, though she did see a woman reaching for the man, holding what Rose assumed was an ice-pack.
“Here, Liam, take this.” She pressed the ice-pack against the hand the man held to his head, and Rose watched in morbid fascination as his big hand slid out from
underneath it to take hold, pressing it against his wound.
Rose sucked in another long breath. Or, it would have been a long breath, except for the fact her airways seemed to be constricted, and she suddenly couldn’t breathe.
“I hit you,” she managed to utter to the familiar-looking man with the blue shirt and the dark hair and the ice-pack. She was confident that he wasn’t the man who’d made sexist comments—she had no idea where that guy was, if he was still around. But even if he had been, Rose didn’t hit people. “Fuck, I didn’t . . . I mean, I’m a pacifist. Like, I don’t even kill spiders and I hit you.”
His eyes turned toward her and she cringed. “Can I get you something? An ice-pack?” Shaking her head at the stupid question, she couldn’t seem to stop the rush of words. “You have one already. Shit. Shit. I am so . . .” Rose managed to trail off the blabber, feeling the burn of embarrassment begin to rise along the column of her neck and blaze across her cheeks. Warring thoughts circled her head, her tendency toward indecision making itself known.
I need to get out of here.
I should stay and see if I can help. Apologize.
He’s going to crack the shits any minute, and I don’t want to be yelled at.
You hit him. You have to make sure he’s okay.
She stuttered out a handful of half-completed thoughts—“You’re okay, right? Please don’t yell at me. I should go. But I can get you something if you need it?”—and waited for his judgment.