Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

CHARLIE

This is exactly what you need, girl, I reminded myself for what felt like the hundredth time in the last twenty-four hours.

Some time off—okay, well, forced time off wasn’t exactly how I’d envisioned making this trip, but I needed a change of scenery.

Some R&R—to reevaluate where I was heading in my life.

Maybe I could even have myself a little fun and catch up on the to-be-read stack of books I’d brought along with me.

I’d just made it to the Wilson Bay River area of Jacksonville, pulling onto a long, crushed rock driveway as I admired the small ranch-style house I’d only seen in pictures for the first time last night when I’d decided to rent it. The owner was heading out of town and had posted his ad earlier in the day. It had been kismet really, because he had offered the place up for a song so long as I agreed to help him out with looking after the place—at least for the next few weeks.

After parking, I turned off the engine, took the keys from the ignition, grabbed my purse, then made to exit my F-150.

As soon as I opened the door and hopped out, the soothing sound of the slowly churning waters of the river could be heard in the distance, the birds chirped in the treetops, and the sweet scent of the woods nearby had me feeling more relaxed than I’d been in far too long.

Pulling my phone out, I reread the message from the homeowner—the keys would be tucked away in a lockbox attached to the front door’s handle.

Making my way toward my new abode, I studied the property I’d be calling home for the next little while: porch swing, a table with two large rattan chairs—one well-used, the other looking practically brand new as though it still awaited a forever occupant—and a few other planters with plants that were well-tended. But my mind stuck to the contrast of the identical chairs, wondering if their owner was single.

Don’t borrow trouble, Charlie, my subconscious advised. You’ve got more than enough on your plate right now, and it’s not like he’s here.

It’s true.

And it’s not like I’d be staying here indefinitely anyhow.

After the catastrophe that was my life, thanks to what had happened two days ago, I might have managed to get the hell out of Charlotte and find this little piece of paradise, but I was homebound—back to Texas—to regroup and reassess.

Dreading my father’s reaction when I would be forced to impart my latest news, imagine my surprise when I discovered my luck had run out much sooner with one look at the front door.

There was no lockbox.

Instead of panicking, I wondered if perhaps the owner had misplaced it or decided to tuck it away in a less obvious place. So, I began to search the porch, around the sides of the planters, within the foliage, then headed to the decorative bowl on the table, all of it revealing nothing.

Thinking that perhaps the cushions on the chair might hold my loot, I bent over to lift one and check under it when a deep “Can I help you?” scared the bejesus out of me.

Spinning on my heel, I clutched at my shirt, lightheadedness hitting me all at once and my center of gravity shifted on its axis. Of course, there was no way to avoid what would happen next. One minute I was teetering, and the next, my arms pinwheeled backward, my legs gave out, and I unceremoniously landed on my ass, the side of my head bouncing off the ledge of the table.

“Shit!” the man said at the same moment I hissed out an, “Ouch,” cradling the side of my face.

As first impressions went, mine definitely was found lacking.

Working to regain my bearings, a work-roughened and calloused hand wrapped itself around the side of my face, his fingers gently making contact with the back of my neck. I barely noticed the distressed and stretched denim over muscular thighs, or the well-worn and scuffed-up Ropers on his feet as my gaze zeroed on his face. What snagged my focus was the concern in this stranger’s eyes, immediately followed by a moment of panicked nerves when I realized I’d stared into those irises before. A long freaking time ago.

Whoa, time’s been damn good to him, was what crossed my mind the moment recognition hit me. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t clued in when I’d seen the property owner’s name at the bottom of my confirmation email. TJ Corbin had been there, but it hadn’t crossed my mind that my temporary landlord would ever be the Tate James Corbin from my past.

The mere contact of his hand had my heart racing, my stomach flipping, and the sense of security that his touch evoked was something I’d never felt before, least of all from someone I hadn’t seen in over twenty years—not since I’d been a mere teenager in my freshman year of high school.

“Fuck, it’s already swelling.” His words had me snapping back to reality, his gaze fused to the side of my head.

“Huh?” was all I managed.

“Here, let me help you up.” Before I could tell him I was okay to do so on my own, he had an arm under my knees, the other around my back, and had me lifted in his arms, only to set me back down on the same chair that had aided in taking me down only a mere minute before. I nearly swooned. What were the odds I’d be in the arms of the one boy—okay, okay, the one man, and what a man he was—I’d crushed so bloody hard on so long ago? “Just sit back and breathe for a bit, let the dizziness settle.”

I closed my eyes and did as he said, dying a little of embarrassment inside.

When warm hands palmed my knees, I risked opening my eyes and damn near swallowed my tongue when my gaze met his stormy gray irises once more. The man was simply beautiful: jet-black hair that hung just a smidge too long around his shirt collar, a clean scruff teetering on the edge of needing to be called a beard, broad shoulders his white T-shirt seemed to struggle to contain, and yep—as my eyes trailed farther down—denim that looked as soft as butter, encasing toned legs. If he were but a stranger, I’d still have pegged him as either active duty or perhaps retired military. In this case, I knew for a fact he’d been both.

When the sound of his throat clearing hit my ears, my head tilted up once more.

Swallowing hard at the genuine look of concern in Tate’s studying gaze, I licked my lips then asked, “Is it bad?” My voice sounding much lower than it normally did.

My God, what the hell is wrong with you, woman? In the few short minutes since my arrival, I’d been reduced to my teenage ol’ clumsy, blushing self, who’s brain short-circuited every time Tate Corbin was in my vicinity. What niggled most was the fact the man didn’t seem to recognize me. Oh sure, I’d changed, I mean, how could I not, but the fact there hadn’t been a subtlety of recognition there stung a little.

He lifted his hand and barely feathered his fingers over the spot that throbbed on the side of my face. His gaze grew dark and stormy, the gray transforming to an almost carbon coloring, and his jaw tightening as though he were clenching his teeth out of frustration, maybe even a little anger.

Tate looked deadly for that split second before his concern reappeared. “We should really get some ice on it,” he stated, then pushed himself up to his full height, and presented his hand to me. “I’m Tate.” When I didn’t immediately produce a response, too wrapped up in the fact he’d just confirmed his lack of recognition, he pushed. “And you are?”

My brain finally caught up, and I decided to have a little fun with him until Tate finally clued in to who I was. He used to mess with me and his brothers, and since it had always been nearly impossible to get one up on him, I took the proverbial bull by the horns.

Sliding my palm into his, I could have sworn Tate’s pupils dilated at the contact. “Charlie,” I supplied, then quickly added, “but I think I might be in the wrong place.” When his expression denoted confusion, I further explained, “I’m supposed to be rentin’ a house for the next couple of weeks.” Understanding lit his face as I continued, “And I think there’s been a mistake.”

“Nope,” he said simply, as if the word was answer enough, then seemed to think better of it. “You’re in the right spot, but you’re a day early.”

Pulling my hand from his grip and missing the small physical connection a little too much for my liking, I pushed myself slowly to my feet, then reached for my cell which I’d stuffed inside my rear jeans pocket. “No, I’m not.” I typed in my passcode, then brought up the confirmation email I’d cued up upon my arrival. “See?”

Even though I’d handed him my phone to take and verify my exact date of arrival, he grabbed my arm gently with one hand at the elbow, then twisted my hand with his other as he studied the email on the device.

“Well, damn,” he groaned, then let go of me before running a hand through his hair, tousling it as pink tinged his cheeks. “I apologize, I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”

“I understand,” I told him with a small smile. “I can just get a hotel for the next few nights, then come back. Maybe you can recommend a place?”

“No!”

Tate

As soon as the word left my lips, the shock I felt at the vehemence in my tone faded, and what surprised me most was how honest my answer had been. It was the concerned expression on the familiar woman’s face that had me hurrying to expunge on the reasons why she should stay. She reminded me of a pint-sized girl who had hung around my family’s homestead regularly before I’d enlisted.

“I mean, let’s get you some ice first,” I started with. “I already feel like a heel for not gettin’ you any already. When I’ve gotten you settled, we can figure your situation out.”

“But—”

Ignoring what was probably going to be a protest, I kept going as I grabbed her hand, wrapped her arm around my elbow, and escorted her toward my front door. “You’ve already paid me,” I added as I led her straight to the couch in my living room and indicated that she sit.

“But—”

“If anyone is staying at a hotel, it’ll be me.” I left her to settle into the soft brown leather sofa, as I headed toward the kitchen and my fridge, grabbing one of the ice packs I kept there, then a tea towel from the drawer next to the sink, and returned to her. “It’s my fuckup.”

Charlie’s exasperation came out. “Would you let me finish!” She grabbed everything from my hand, wrapping the towel around the pack in a no-nonsense manner, then pressing it a little too quick and abruptly against her face, making her wince.

Heat crept into my cheeks for the second time in the last ten minutes, and I sheepishly shrugged my shoulders, mumbling, “Sorry, ma’am.”

She looked up at me from her perch on the couch, her lips pursed in astonishment at my immediate apology. The suspicion that she hadn’t often been on the receiving end of an apology niggled at me. Just as quickly as I’d spotted her surprised reaction, her face donned a mask of neutrality, and she graced me with a curt nod.

“S’okay,” she said softly, then sighed. “What I was fixin’ to say is that, well…” She bit at her bottom lip, looking as if she was trying to ensure she chose the right words. “Well,” she started again, “plainly put, I can’t kick you out of your house.”

“You wouldn’t be kickin’ me out,” I told her. “Like I said, I screwed up, so it’s fittin’ that I be the one to bear the financial repercussions. Unless…”

Her eyes glued themselves to mine, and I couldn’t help but admire their dark blue, almost purplish coloring.

“ Unless ?” she prompted.

“Oh—Uhm…” I stumbled, licking my lips, not missing the subtle blush that rose from her neckline toward her cheeks, making the slight olive tint to her skin turn a beautiful rosy hue. When she focused on my lips, I’d have missed her look of interest had I not been watching her so closely. “Unless I gave you a refund. Then you might could find somewhere else to stay.”

“But I thought part of why you rented to me was because you were hopin’ I keep an eye on the place for the short time I’ll be here?” What she didn’t say, I could read in her expression—panic and discomfort—wherever she was heading to next, she wasn’t exactly excited to get there.

She was right in that it had been something I’d listed as a preference when I’d put up the ad. I thought I wouldn’t have to bother the NSI gang, or a neighbor—I still hadn’t yet introduced myself to after three years of living here—asking to look after my mail, or making sure the place wouldn’t play host to some unsavory character, or be burned to the ground. I nodded as I eased myself down onto the couch, a few feet from her. “Yeah, but I’d understand if you’d rather go somewhere else, or even if you wanted to head home instead.”

At my mention of home , Charlie’s demeanor shifted back to unease.

“No, I have no plans to go back,” she said evasively. My brows knitted in confusion, but she continued. “At least not to Charlotte. Once I left here, I was fixin’ to head west. That’s home for now,” she further clarified.

“Texas?” I guessed, having recognized the accent from our shared home state, and the more I was in her presence, the stronger that sense of familiarity became. She nodded. “What part?”

“Southeast.” She smiled, a hint of teasing in her eyes and a note of pride lacing her answer. “You?”

“Same,” I told her, then gestured toward the side of her head. “That feelin’ okay?”

“The throbbin’ is easin’ off.”

Without pause, I lifted my hand and slowly reached toward the hand that held the pack against the side of her face and head, brushing it aside to inspect the damage and she winced. “Might have a headache in a little bit if you don’t already got one.”

She shrugged. “I’ve had worse. Kinda a of a rite of passage growin’ up on a ranch.” The teasing glint to her eyes and the upward tick of her lips ensnared me.

“Reckon you’re right on that one.” I smiled, lowering my hand. “I’ve had a few breaks and fractures over the years myself, but then again, me and my brothers seemed to think we were Evel Knievel’s long-lost cousins growin’ up.” She giggled at that, looking as if she shared the same memories. Somehow, I felt as though I was missing something—something crucial—but I kept talking. “I swear, after Dad died, Mama threatened to lock us three away. Said it was a damn miracle’ she wasn’t six feet under already.”

Charlie smiled warmly at that. “Bless her heart. Your mom sounds tough.”

I chuckled. She didn’t know the half of it. “Mama had to do what she had to do to keep us boys in line. After Dad passed, she had to be both mother and father. Don’t know how she did it, but I’m thankful and I admire her for how she raised us.”

“Pops says Texas women are a force to be reckoned with—made of sterner stuff,” she stated. “Not sure I believe it though.”

After a moment of pondering her words, I recognized the need to change the subject at hand, even though what I really wanted to do was ask her more about her life growing up. What did she for work. What the sad and resolved look in her eyes I spotted a few times since I’d seen her on my porch meant. Most of all, I wanted to know why I felt as if I knew her from somewhere. Instead, I led with, “So, I’m thinkin’ you should stay.”

Charlie

The change in subject may have been abrupt, but I was thankful. Tate seemed to have an uncanny ability to read me when I didn’t think I’d let on that our conversation was leading into uncomfortable territory for me.

But I hadn’t expected him to ask me to stay.

Biting my bottom lip as I was oft to do when nervous or unsure, I asked, “Why?”

Tate shrugged. “You’ve seen the size of this place. The room you’d be stayin’ in is already set up, and even though I’m here, it might as well be as if I’m not.”

“But you are,” I blurted, feeling the heat climb up into my face again. “And we don’t know anythin’ about each other. For all I know, you could be some serial killer lurin’ me into your lair like some male modern-day Florence Nightingale, only to tie me to that aforementioned spare bed of yours, then wedgin’ a wooden block between my feet, hobblin’ me so I could never get away.”

The explosion of laughter from Tate had me jumping in my seat at its boisterousness, but the sheer joy and humor in the man’s eyes, the way his head tilted back as he laughed out loud had me forgetting about how nervous I felt about our current predicament, not to mention my duplicitousness.

He shook his head as his chuckles ebbed, and his eyes met mine. “Jesus, you’re cute.” His voice came out lower than before, and even though humor still shone in his gaze, the rest of his expression had lost all sense of mirth. “I take it you’re a Stephen King fan?”

I shrugged, smirking at the memory playing in a long-lost time loop of a much younger Tate creeping up behind me and his brothers while we watched the latest and greatest in scary movie releases. “Kinda a horror nerd of sorts. Leads to a wild imagination,” I said in a self-deprecating manner.

He nodded in approval, but his mellow demeanor had disappeared, his body hardening, his posture straightening, and right before my eyes, he became the epitome of a warrior. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not a serial killer, but if my stayin’ will be an issue, just say so and I’ll go.” As he said this, he proceeded to scoot a bit farther away, toward the far end of the couch we sat on, and I immediately felt more than just his physical withdrawal.

I felt guilty for not coming clean about our childhood link. Sure, the man seemed nice and polite enough, and the circumstances that had brought us to this moment were admittedly a little bizarre and unorthodox, but it wasn’t like he’d deliberately set this up. Shoring up my resolve, hoping like hell I wasn’t making a colossal mistake, I softly said, “You don’t have to leave.”

“’Preciate your blind trust in me, but I get the feelin’ that y’all only sayin’ that to appease some sense of guilt, or y’all think you’ve hurt my feelings.”

Man, the guy really was perceptive, just not about who was sitting in front of him.

You should tell him, my subconscious demanded.

The instant I’d intended to impart the truth about who I was, our eyes reconnected, and I spotted the moment he seemed to have reached a decision. A split second later, Tate stood and headed for the kitchen. He came back, tapping away on his phone before setting the device screen-side up on the coffee table as he stood on the other side, using the piece of furniture to physically add more distance between the two of us.

“Yo!” a man answered on the other end of the line. “Miss me already?”

“Hardly, Baby?—”

“Hey now, if you’re calling to ask for a favor, I suggest you can that nonsense,” the man said.

“As a matter of fact, I need you to do me a solid, Bryce,” Tate told him. “Got me a woman here?—”

“Christ, Tate, don’t let Dev hear you talk like that. She’s gonna want to know everything there is to know about her, then bring her into the fold,” the Brycen guy said, causing my brows to reach for my hairline.

“It’s not like that, B,” Tate told him, his tone sounding slightly aggravated as he stared at the phone. “I need you to pull up my personnel file and send it my way. The woman I’m talking about rented my place for a couple of weeks, but I fucked up. I put the wrong date in, and she’s here a day earlier than I’d thought I’d put in the ad.”

“And your file will do what exactly?” Bryce asked.

That’s what I’d like to know.

“It’ll give her enough information on me to prove that I’m not a threat,” Tate explained.

At Tate’s words, I melted. He had no idea who I was, but he was willing to go above and beyond to make sure I was safe. That only made my guilt at pulling one over on him rise to the point I was beginning to feel my stomach’s contents churn.

“What’s her name?” Tate’s coworker demanded. “I’ll look her up. You know those B&B sites can’t always be trusted. Shit, you remember that case where?—”

Tate interrupted him with, “You’re on speaker.”

“Charlie Adams.” The words snuck past my lips before any of them said anything else. “And I agree, if Tate is gonna share that kind of information with me, it only makes sense that he knows who’s lookin’ after his house for the next two weeks, even though my ranch and his family’s are next door to one another.”

Tate’s head snapped up and he curiously stared at me before saying, “D’you say ‘Adams’?”

I nodded hesitantly. “Yeah.”

“As in Amos Adams from Adams Ranch?” he probed further. “You’re Char-Char ?”

I’m sure I looked somewhat comical with how my jaw dropped when he uttered my less-than-favored childhood nickname his brothers had gifted me when they were eight, me, seven. I hadn’t heard it since our high school days, and as another blush warmed my face, I confessed, “In the flesh.”