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A Ready-Made Family
Carrie Alexander
She' s a day late and a dollar short…Lia Howard Pogue is flat broke and on the run. Her only hope for a new start is to rely on the kindness of strangers. One in particular–the rough and tough ex-Army Ranger who' s all hard muscle and soft heart.Jake Robbin is more than ready to put his wild youth behind him and settle down. If only he could skip the hassle of courtship and babies and messy emotions. What better time for Lia and her three kids to land on his doorstep!Seems marriage would solve both their problems. Until Lia' s ex shows up…and reminds her she could be making the same mistake all over again.NORTH COUNTRY STORIESThis isn' t the end of the earth, but you can see it from here.Welcome back to Alouette, Michigan, the wonderful setting for Carrie Alexander' s RITA© Award-nominated story, A Family Christmas
Jake knew chemistry when he felt it
Taking on three kids and a single mom was bad enough, but that complication he did not need, unless it led only to a fast, uncomplicated affair. He was betting that a cheap affair was strictly off-limits with Lia.
So back off now, man. You don’t need this.
Of course, that wasn’t what his sister had been saying since Jake’s return, with all her teasing about him finding a good woman and settling down. He’d claimed her brain had turned into romantic mush because of her wedding, but maybe she had a point.
He was thirty-nine and regimented in his ways. If he was ever going to give the marriage-and-family thing a legitimate shot, it should be soon. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined hooking up with a woman with kids, especially when everything about them spelled trouble. Yet there was a certain efficiency about the situation that appealed, regardless of his ingrained habit of detachment.
One stop, no shopping.
A ready-made family.
Dear Reader,
There are times in a writer’s life when fiction and reality intersect. I began the NORTH COUNTRY STORIES miniseries several years ago, using memories of my hometown as a basis for certain aspects of the fictional town of Alouette. Little did I know that I’d soon be moving back.
I purchased a house and acreage on the river that bisects the town. Directly across the bay from me is a magnificent wooded peninsula dotted with a dozen small stone houses—my original inspiration for the cottages that play a prominent role in both this book and A Family Christmas (Harlequin Superromance #1239). Although the real cottages are empty, I often gaze up at them as I swim the river, imagining them populated by my fictional couples. But the only character who has actually visited is the skunk!
Visit www.CarrieAlexander.com for more on the North Country books—both the real and the imaginary.
Warmly,
Carrie
A Ready-Made Family
Carrie Alexander
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Carrie Alexander began her writing career on a whim. Ten years later, she is the author of more than thirty books and a two-time RITA
Award finalist. The lifelong Michigander keeps busy working on her storybook cottage, where she paints anything that doesn’t walk away—which explains the lime-green garbage can and floral mailbox.
To Cyndy and Crystalyn
When the going gets tough,
the tough get going in the Grudge
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 ONE
AFTER TWO DAYS ON THE road, getting lost, breaking down and spending her remaining cash at McDonald’s to quiet the kids during the final stretch of their trip, was it possible that Lia Pogue’s luck could get any worse?
Absolutely.
Her empty stomach gnawed as she watched the ambling approach of her second worst nightmare.
“Mom, you’re crushing the map.” Lia’s ten-year-old son, Howie, tugged the gas station freebie out of her grip and refolded it with a pinched look of concentration. He’d been giving directions from the shotgun seat since they’d crossed the Mackinac bridge into the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, taking the job too seriously, as he did most tasks.
The cop circled Lia’s idling car, slowing to study the back end. She didn’t suppose he was admiring the vintage rust on the 1980 Impala they called “the Grudge” or the buckety-buck of a motor misfiring on its ancient pistons. Surreptitiously she rubbed her sweaty palms on her knee-length denim shorts, trying to keep the kids from seeing her nervousness. Was the uniform cop writing down her license plate number? What if it had already shown up on some sort of Most Wanted list?
That’s not possible. Larry doesn’t know we’re gone—yet.
“Mom?” warbled Sam from the backseat as her eyes followed the police officer’s circuit. Because she knew what was at stake, she’d forgotten to act jaded. Her mascara-thickened lashes had widened in alarm.
“Everything’s all right.” Lia had repeated some variation of the phrase for the past few days. Longer, actually, but she didn’t want to go there right now. She said it so often that the words came out even when it was clear that everything was wrong.
Everything except the most important fact: they were free.
Maybe not for long.
The cop tapped on her window.
She exhaled. “Don’t talk,” she told her kids before rolling down the glass. The Grudge had crank windows. For once, she was glad. She had something to do to distract herself from the tight ache wanting to burst out of her chest.
The officer tipped back his cap and peered into the car, taking in the jumble of discarded clothing, children’s toys and fast-food trash that had accumulated during the long drive north. “Everybody okay in there?”
“Yes, sir.” Don’t volunteer information.
“Ya, well.” He smiled, clearly a small-town cop because he didn’t flinch when Lia reached down beside her, toward the seat. He was looking at the map clenched in her son’s lap. “Gotchyerselves lost, eh?”
She sucked on the straw of Howie’s Coke to wet her dry mouth. “Sort of.”
“Whatcha looking for?” The neighborly cop leaned an arm on her car door. “I can give you directions to anyplace in the whole U.P.”
He was young, blond and rather goofy-looking with a Barney Fife face that was all nose and Adam’s apple with not much chin in between. His accent was even heavier than her old friend Rose Robbin’s—“ya” for “yeah” and “da” for “the.”
Nothing threatening about him, but Lia didn’t relax. Fugitives couldn’t afford to let down their guard.
“Thanks, but we’ll be fine.” She didn’t want him to know where she was headed. If Alouette was as small as Rose had said—and it certainly appeared to be from their hillside vantage point—he’d find out soon enough. Lia didn’t see any need for currying interest, even friendly interest. Not from any of the locals. After the first curiosity had passed, she hoped to knit her family into the fabric of small-town life so well that no one ever noticed them again.
Howie shoved his glasses up his snub nose. “This map doesn’t show Black—”
Lia gave him a look so fierce his voice froze midstream.
The cop tilted his head. “Sounds to me like you’re lost.”
The car’s engine rattled ominously. Lia hadn’t dared shut it down while they’d searched the map. If she didn’t put the Grudge into gear soon, it might give out again.
She thrust the soft drink at her son. “We were just taking a breather,” she said to the cop in a fake cheery tone, the one she’d used too often with her children the past several years. Kristen Rose, her four-year-old, was the only one who still fell for it. “We’ll be on our way now.”
The officer tilted his head to the right, checking out the backseat. Lia felt Sam’s clogs press into her spine through the car seat. Her teenage daughter’s long, skinny legs were doubled over and drawn up to her sulky face. She glared raccoon eyes at the officer over her kneecaps, as if daring him to question her.
Smile, dammit, Lia said silently in the rearview mirror. Just this once.
“I’m Deputy Corcoran.” He looked at Lia expectantly.
Lia met Sam’s accusing eyes in the mirror, then looked away. “Lia Howard,” she said almost too loudly. She wasn’t lying, not really. She’d been Lia Howard for the first seventeen years of her life. “And these are my kids.” She wasn’t going to give their names unless she had to.
Officer Corcoran tipped his hat. “Pleased to meetcha.”
Lia made a polite sound.
In the rear seat, Kristen stirred. The drive through twenty miles of backcountry forest had been so boring that she’d nodded off with a French fry clutched in her small fist. “Mommy? Are we there yet?”
“Not yet,” Lia said before Howie could chime in that, yes, they’d finally reached their destination, even if they couldn’t find Blackbear Road on the state map.
“How come we stopped? Is the Grudge broked again?”
“No, honey.” Lia’s eyes darted toward the officer’s face. Kristen didn’t completely understand the necessity of keeping quiet, especially around strangers. But she was learning. And that had taken another small chip out of Lia’s worn-down heart. “We’ll be there soon.”
“Not with this car,” the cop said. “The motor doesn’t sound too good.”
“I know. That’s why we call it the Grudge.” At his mystified look, she explained, “It’s from a horror movie. My daughter came up with the name. Because of the loud grinding sound the car makes when it revs up.”
“I getcha, I guess. I’m darn surprised you made it to town. The 525 might not seem like a steep road, but it’s got a long, gradual incline.”
“Luckily it’s all downhill from here.” Lia forced a chuckle as she gave a wave out the front window at the descent into the town proper.
They were perched on a hillside overlooking Alouette. The sight was a pretty one, if Lia had been in any shape to appreciate it. Interspersed among an abundance of summery green trees were the shingle roofs, cream brick and red sandstone of the quaint little town. Beyond, the blue water of Lake Superior stretched as far as the eye could see. A lighthouse perched at the tip of a finger peninsula pointing into the bay. Gulls circled bobbing boats in the small marina.
Officer Corcoran had straightened to take in the view, but he ducked back down to address her. “Didja know you have a busted taillight?”
“Oh.” She knew. But a working taillight was less crucial than replacing spark plugs and a fried fan belt—the emergency repair that had kept them stranded overnight in the middle of nowhere in a town called Christmas. “I’ll get it fixed as soon as I can,” she promised, which was honest enough considering soon was an adaptable word.
For how many years had she planned to leave her husband “soon”? After the divorce had gone through despite Larry’s attempts to block it, she’d learned a new definition of the word. Soon he’ll stop trying to hurt us. Soon the courts will understand. Soon we’ll get away.
“I shouldn’t let you go without a ticket, but…” The cop disappeared from her window to wave at a pickup truck that rattled by on the bumpy blacktop road. It shed flecks of rust like a dog shaking fleas. The young officer grinned. “See there? I gotta admit our department’s not a stickler when it comes to ticketing unroadworthy vehicles.” He squared his shoulders. “But it’s important to keep your family’s safety in mind.”
Lia swallowed. He had no idea. “I do, sir. Always.”
The young officer stepped back. “You be sure to get the vehicle fixed, ma’am. I don’t want to see it on the road again in this condition.”
“You won’t.” Lia let herself hope that she’d finally caught a break. “We don’t have far to go,” she added. “We’ll be there long before dark.” Kristen was fussing in the backseat, and Sam—bless her—passed over her precious iPod to keep her sister occupied.
“All right, then.” Officer Corcoran moved away from the car. “Make sure to watch your brakes on this hill. Speed limit’s twenty-five in town.” He squinted. “Are you positive you don’t want directions?”
“No, thanks.” Lia knew where she was going.
Anywhere that her ex-husband Larry Pogue was not.
ALOUETTE WASN’T LARGE enough to be lost in for very long. After creeping down the hill and through the handful of streets that made up the downtown area, they drove around until they found Blackbear Road on the northern side of town. Lia’s memory of the location of their destination was sketchy, pulled from years-old conversations with Rose Robbin about her hometown. Rose would have supplied better directions if she’d known they were coming, but Lia hadn’t told her. In fact, they hadn’t talked in nearly a month, when Rose had called to tell Lia she was getting married. Because her friend deserved uncomplicated happiness, Lia had oohed and aahed and kept her escalating troubles to herself.
Now she had no choice. She was desperate for a safe haven.
“This is it, Mom.” Howie stuck his head out the window to read the peeling board sign obscured by a thicket of underbrush. “Maxine’s Cottages.”
Relaxing her shoulders for the first time in an hour, Lia turned the car onto a twisting dirt-and-pebble road. Towering pines threw shadows across the Impala’s long hood. Hidden among the trees were small stone cottages, just as Rose had described. They seemed a natural part of the landscape. Their slanted roofs were thick with pine needles, the stone walls covered in moss, lichen and overgrown vines.
The road widened into a clearing near the largest structure, the central home with a plaque that denoted the office. A big black pickup truck was parked at a careless angle, taking up most of the space. Lia pulled in next to it and shut off the engine, which reluctantly gave up the ghost. Buckety-buck. Buck. Buck. The tailpipe popped. Exhaust smoke drifted by her open window, temporarily masking the fresh piney smell of the woods.
Lia breathed deeply anyway. They’d made it. Thank God.
“We’re here,” she announced.
The children stared in total silence.
“It’s not so bad.”
