скачать книгу бесплатно
A Weaver Beginning
Allison Leigh
There was no doubt in Abby Marcum’s mind that her new neighbour and small-town deputy Sloan McCray was the guy for her. She’d moved to Weaver to make a better life for her little brother and had found her future.Now she had to convince the man who felt unworthy of love that she, and her heart, were his!
USA TODAY bestselling author Allison Leigh introduces readers to a reluctant hero—and the woman who just might heal his wounded heart—in this newest addition to her popular miniseries, Return to the Double C!
Small town deputy Sloan McCray was making amends for his past. They called him a hero but only he had to live with the difficult choices he’d made. And he certainly wasn’t prepared to fall in love again, not even with his beautiful—and innocent—new neighbor, whose very presence was a balm to his troubled soul.
There was no doubt in Abby Marcum’s mind that Sloan was the guy for her. Though she’d moved to Weaver, Wyoming, to make a better life for her little brother, she saw her future with Sloan. Now she had to convince the man who felt unworthy of love that she and her heart were his for the asking….
“He’s a real white hat,” he heard her brother whisper behind him. “Isn’t he?”
Sloan didn’t wait to hear Abby’s answer as he let himself out through the front door. Whatever the white hats were that the kid was talking about, Sloan knew that he’d never worn one.
Abby might be the first woman he’d felt any interest for in a long while.
But white hats were for the good guys.
They weren’t for the guys who’d only ever hurt the ones who least deserved it.
RETURN TO THE DOUBLE C:
Under the big blue Wyoming sky,
this family discovers true love
Dear Reader,
What occurs between two people when “that moment” hits? When they realize that this is the person they want to be with from here on out? Can it be linked to one specific moment? Or does it develop slowly, over time? Or is it all of that and something more?
For Abby and Sloan, that moment hits quickly. She’s not surprised, and he’s not ready. But he gets there and she’s waiting when he does.
How about you? Do you believe in love at first sight? Tell me about it at Allison@allisonleigh.com. I’d love to hear your stories. And if you’d like, I’ll share with you the recipe for Abby’s chocolate cookies. Because you never know…it may be the way to someone’s heart!
All my best,
Allison
A Weaver Beginning
Allison Leigh
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
There is a saying that you can never be too rich or too thin. ALLISON LEIGH doesn’t believe that, but she does believe that you can never have enough books! When her stories find a way into the hearts—and bookshelves— of others, Allison says she feels she’s done something right. Making her home in Arizona with her husband, she enjoys hearing from her readers at allison@allisonleigh.com or PO Box 40772, Mesa, AZ 85274-0772, USA.
For Greg.
Contents
Chapter One (#u012702b6-92db-56df-805f-637edf6e9cd7)
Chapter Two (#udb43c15d-205a-5a3b-8773-05f061e690f4)
Chapter Three (#u6eb6499f-d375-52a0-9a01-537cc5c4f0c7)
Chapter Four (#u6ddb0051-e8dd-5bf2-8bb7-c844621b264f)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
The snow covered everything.
Everything except the clear strip down the middle of the street that had been plowed just that morning.
Looking out the front window of the house he’d been renting for the past six months, Sloan McCray studied that strip.
While the middle of the street was whistle clean, the displaced snow formed two-foot walls against the curb on both sides of the street, blocking driveways and parking spaces.
Generally speaking, Sloan didn’t worry about the snowplow job as long as it was done. It was his first winter in Weaver—the first snow had fallen in October and hadn’t stopped since. He’d had two months to get used to it.
There were five houses on his street. Some of the folks occupying the homes had snowblowers—ancient ones kept running by ingenuity and stubbornness, and new ones that cost as much as Sloan’s first motorcycle. He dealt with the annoying snow berm in front of his house the old-fashioned way—with a heavy-duty snow shovel and a lot of muscle.
Not a problem for him.
He’d been well used to being physically active, even before he’d signed on as a deputy sheriff here in Weaver. Pitching heavy snow out of his driveway was a welcome task.
Kept the muscles working.
Kept the mind occupied with the simple and mundane.
Two good things, as far as he was concerned.
He wasn’t sold on living in Weaver yet. His job was temporary; he had a one-year lease on the house. He needed to start thinking about what to do after the nine months he’d promised Max Scalise—the sheriff—were up. He should have been spending less time with the snow shovel and more time thinking about what the hell he was going to do with the rest of his life. But tackling that particular question was no more appealing than it ever was.
Standing inside the warmth of his living room, Sloan eyed the snow blocking the driveways. The small blue car had been sitting on the street in front of the house next door for nearly an hour. Footsteps in the snow trailed back and forth from the car to the house.
New neighbors. Moving in on the last day of the year.
He’d been watching them for a while. The woman was young, with shining brown hair that bounced around the shoulders of her red coat with every step. The little kid with her had the same dark hair.
He’d also noticed there wasn’t a man in the picture. Not to help them unpack, anyway. Nor to clear away the snow blocking the driveway, much less shovel a path to the door.
He turned away from the window, grabbed his down vest and headed out the back of his house to the small shed where he stored his bike and tools.
It was the last day of the year and he’d spent too much time thinking already.
Time to start shoveling instead.
* * *
“Abby. Abby.”
Balancing the heavy box in her hands, Abby Marcum glanced at her little brother. He was clutching the plastic bin containing his collection of video games against his chest, his wary gaze glued to the tall man striding toward them from the house next door. “Who’s that man?” Dillon was whispering, but his nervousness shouted loud and clear.
“I don’t know,” she said calmly. “We’ll meet lots of new people here in Weaver.”
“I don’t want new people.” His pale face was pinched. “I want our old people.”
She hid a sigh behind a smile. Her seven-year-old brother wasn’t the only one with misgivings about moving to Weaver. But she wasn’t going to show hers to him when he already had more than enough for them both. “We still have our old people,” she assured him. “Braden’s not so far away that we won’t visit.” Just not every day. Not anymore.
She hid another sigh at the thought.
Noticing that the man angling across the deep snow had nearly reached them, she looked at Dillon. “Take your box inside. You can think about where to put the television.”
He clutched the bin even closer as he retraced his path from the car to the house, not taking his wary attention away from the man for a second.
Abby adjusted her grip on the packing box. She hoped that moving to Weaver hadn’t been a huge mistake. Dillon had already endured so much. For two years, she’d tried to follow her grandfather’s wishes. He was gone, but she was still trying. She just didn’t know if moving Dillon away from the only place of stability he’d ever known had been the right thing to do or not.
The sound of crunching snow ceased when the man stopped a few yards away. “You’re the new nurse over at the elementary school.” His voice was deep. More matter-of-fact than welcoming.
She tightened her grip on the heavy box, trying not to stare too hard at him. Lines radiated from his dark brown eyes. His overlong brown hair was liberally flecked with grays. What should have been pretty normal features for a man who looked to be in his late thirties, but the sum of the parts made him ruthlessly attractive.
She’d grown up in Braden, which was the closest town of any size to Weaver. She knew how small-town grapevines worked, so she wasn’t particularly surprised that he knew about her before she so much as opened her mouth. “I am. But I’ll be splitting my time with the junior high.” The schools were next door to each other, sharing their facilities. “I’m Abby Marcum.” She smiled. “And you are...?”
“From next door.” He stabbed the shovel into the snow.
She’d assumed that, given that he’d come from the house next door. “So that answers where.” The muscles in her arms were starting to shake, so she started toward the house, her boots plowing fresh paths through the snow. “What about who?”
“That looks too heavy for you.”
“Does it?” She kept right on moving, passing him on her way toward the three steps that led up to the front door.
“Would have been easier if you’d cleared the driveway before you started unpacking.”
Her fingers dug into the cardboard. “Probably,” she agreed blithely and lifted her boot, cautiously feeling for the first porch step. She’d have needed a snow shovel for that, though, and that wasn’t something she’d bothered trying to cram into her small car along with everything else. Weaver had hardware stores, after all. And neighbors who had shovels to borrow, too.
The man gave a mighty sigh, his bare hands brushing hers as he lifted the box out of her grasp. “The bottom’s about to give way,” he said and walked past her into the house.
She hurried after him. “Um, thanks.” He was already setting the box on the narrow breakfast bar separating the small living room from the even smaller kitchen. One look at the cardboard told her he was right. The crystal inside could have crashed right through. She flipped open the box and pulled out a few of the glasses she’d wrapped so carefully in newspaper just to make certain they’d safely survived. “My grandmother’s crystal.”
“Mmm.” He didn’t sound particularly interested as he looked around the living room. She’d bought the house furnished. And while the furniture that occupied the room was dated, it was clean and in good condition. With the half-dozen boxes that they’d already carried in stacked on the floor against the wall next to the brick fireplace, the small room was almost full. “It’s freezing in here.”
“I know. Something’s wrong with the furnace. I’ll get a fire started, though, soon as I get the car emptied. And once the holiday is over, I’ll call someone in to get the furnace going.”
She smiled across at Dillon, who was perched nervously on the edge of the couch, watching them with big eyes. He still wore his coat. She’d bought it at a clearance sale last year expecting that he would have grown into it by now. But he still looked dwarfed in it. “A fire will have us toasty warm in no time,” she told her little brother brightly.
“And then we get popcorn like you promised?”
Dillon loved popcorn like almost nothing else. “Absolutely.”
“You’ve got wood?”
At the deep-voiced question, she focused on the man and felt something jolt inside her. Lordy. He really was handsome. And vaguely familiar. “Um...no. No wood. But I’ll get some.” Along with that snow shovel. Having one of her own was better than borrowing.
“Stores are closed today and tomorrow for New Year’s.” His voice was even. Unemotional. “I’ve got plenty, though. I’ll bring some over.” He turned on his boot heel and left the house.
“Who is he?” Dillon whispered once he was gone.
“The neighbor. You can put away your games in the television cabinet. Soon as I finish with everything, I’ll play a game of ‘White Hats 3’ with you.” She’d gotten the latest version of the video game for him for Christmas and it was already his favorite. “Okay?”
He nodded and she went back outside.
The man had left the snow shovel sticking out of the snow banked against the side of the porch. She looked from it to the house next door. It was two-storied and twice the size of hers.
Definitely large enough to hold a wife and kids if Tall-Dark-and-Nameless had any.
She trudged back to the car and pulled the box containing their new television from the backseat. Her girlfriends from Braden had pooled their money together to buy it as a going-away present. It was mercifully lightweight, and she was heading up the steps with it in her arms when the neighbor appeared again bearing a load of wood in his arms.
She quickly got out of his way as he carried it inside. He crouched next to the brick hearth and started stacking the wood. As he worked, he looked over at her brother. “What’s your name?”
Dillon shot Abby a nervous look. “Dillon.”
The man’s face finally showed a little warmth. He smiled slightly. Gently. And even though it was directed at her little brother, Abby still felt the effect.
She let out a careful breath and set the television on the floor. Her girlfriends had also given her a box of Godiva chocolates before she’d left, with instructions to indulge herself on New Year’s Eve—and share the chocolates with a male other than her little brother.
The chocolates were in her suitcase. She could give the box to her no-name neighbor and technically live up to the promise she’d made. Of course, he’d probably take the chocolates home to his wife. Which wasn’t exactly what her girlfriends had in mind.
