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Home Free
Claire McEwen
His first taste of freedom was only the beginning…Arch Hoffman has paid for his crimes. All he wants is to come home to rural California and start over. He's not looking to be a hero when he rescues a wedding cake from hitting the dirt at the ranch next door. But culinary artist Mandy Allen's irresistible smile makes him glad to save the day—and thankful that they're neighbors.Mandy's just the distraction Arch needs. Her sweet voice quiets the memories that threaten his chance to be a better man, and he's determined to help her confront her fears. But the past is its own prison, and even love might not be enough to set them free.
His first taste of freedom was only the beginning...
Arch Hoffman has paid for his crimes. All he wants is to come home to rural California and start over. He’s not looking to be a hero when he rescues a wedding cake from hitting the dirt at the ranch next door. But culinary artist Mandy Allen’s irresistible smile makes him glad to save the day—and thankful that they’re neighbors.
Mandy’s just the distraction Arch needs. Her sweet voice quiets the memories that threaten his chance to be a better man, and he’s determined to help her confront her fears. But the past is its own prison, and even love might not be enough to set them free.
“Arch, wait!”
He turned, surprised, and saw Mandy hurrying after him. In her hand was a plate filled with an enormous slice of cake. He started back toward her, admiring how elegant she looked in that wine-colored dress.
“Here.” She held out the plate. “You saved it from falling. You earned a slice.” She was a little out of breath, as if she’d jogged, cake and all, to catch him.
He tried to remember the last time someone had reached out to him like this to show him a kindness. He couldn’t. “You’re a good person.” He blurted it out like an awkward kid. He had no experience with generosity.
“I just made a whole lot of wedding cake.” Her smile was fleeting, but kind.
“Well, this will make the walk home a whole lot better.”
There was silence while they looked at each other. He needed to let her get back to her sister’s wedding. “Nice to meet you, Mandy. Thanks for sticking up for me back there.”
“Of course.” She took a step back and waved. “Welcome home, Arch.”
Dear Reader (#u570cb75d-f2fe-516b-9985-916187f74fc3),
Sometimes the best way to find a story is to ask a simple two-word question. What if? Those two words were how Home Free came to be.
When I first thought about the Sierra Legacy series, I planned just two books—the stories of Nora and Wade Hoffman. But then that tricky what-if question popped into my mind. What if one of the older Hoffman brothers didn’t flee to Mexico after all? What if he made another choice? And most of all, what if he came home again?
I couldn’t resist answering those questions. So now I offer you Arch Hoffman’s story. At first I was nervous to write it. How could I make someone who’d done such terrible things into the hero of a romance novel? But as I got to know Arch, I came to love him, and I hope you do, too. He’s served his time, paid his dues and is ready to start his life again. But he quickly learns that freedom means a lot more than just walking through the prison gates. It’s something he’ll fight for every day.
And the woman who steals his heart? She’s been trapped in a different kind of prison, with thick, stifling walls of loss, fear and doubt. Meeting Arch changes everything. Love changes everything. It might even have the power to set them both free.
Thank you for giving Arch a chance. I hope you enjoy Home Free.
Claire McEwen
PS: If you would like to learn more about organizations that help people adjust to life after prison, please visit the Resources page on my website, clairemcewen.com (http://www.clairemcewen.com). I love hearing from readers, so please stop by the Contact page while you’re there if you’d like to connect on social media or via email.
Home Free
Claire McEwen
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CLAIRE McEWEN lives by the ocean in Northern California with her husband, son and a scruffy, mischievous terrier, whose unique looks and goofy hijinks provided inspiration for an important character in Return to Marker Ranch. When not dreaming up new stories, Claire can be found digging in her garden with a lot of enthusiasm but, unfortunately, no green thumb. She loves discovering flea-market treasures, walking on the beach, dancing, traveling and reading, of course! Claire enjoys Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and Instagram, and likes musing about writing and all things romantic on her blog, Romance All Around Us. Please visit her website, clairemcewen.com (http://www.clairemcewen.com), for more information.
For anyone who has to overcome the past so they can reach for the future.
And for my sisters.
Contents
Cover (#u1b5a38cf-52dd-5f5e-8c06-7c71ce130dc1)
Back Cover Text (#u937d6134-5d91-5124-baaa-67296c19c074)
Introduction (#u18112a3a-4c4e-59f2-a5d8-5700f050e6d9)
Dear Reader (#u161681fa-d380-5aff-aa08-59bfb3ee0c44)
Title Page (#uf4c75277-95d9-53f9-9017-ef540620cb92)
About the Author (#uf0160ec7-6d0c-5b5c-b5d2-14ebb3f6a3dc)
Dedication (#ub0621967-9444-5a37-9817-e957c8b5f47b)
CHAPTER ONE (#ud10b33bc-3501-5386-8e82-454e0a8414d6)
CHAPTER TWO (#u2831e307-d84d-59e3-bb32-d17fc55fea39)
CHAPTER THREE (#u4f29d6a5-4bf0-558a-b856-5b89f29b3fb5)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ued4112d9-76c4-585c-a426-dd17f2894248)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ud8d4a91a-e876-5402-9668-49684fc907d6)
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 SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u570cb75d-f2fe-516b-9985-916187f74fc3)
WHEN MANDY ALLEN planned her sister’s perfect wedding, she never imagined crying alone in their ranch house kitchen with only the wedding cake for company. But those were definitely tears sliding down her cheeks. And if they didn’t stop soon, mascara would stripe her face like a zebra’s. Mandy dabbed her eyes with the hem of her apron, appalled by the black smudges. Self-pity never looked good on anyone.
The problem wasn’t the cake. That was her masterpiece, despite the anxiety that had almost kept her from finishing it. Anxiety that crackled and fizzed like a bad-reception radio set to her own personal self-doubt channel, reminding her that she’d never done this kind of baking before. What if it was a disaster? What if it tasted terrible? What if it looked terrible?
But thankfully, her anxiety was unfounded. The cake wasn’t terrible. In fact, it was beautiful. The three tiers, cream colored and painted with chocolate icing, delicately detailed scenes of horses, cattle, even the high Sierra peaks that rose behind their ranch.
The problem wasn’t the wedding, either. The old barn looked magical decorated with garlands and fairy lights. The guests had just finished Mandy’s specially seasoned barbecue with all the fixings. Now they were drinking, dancing, whooping it up.
Nor was the problem seeing her dad for the first time in over a year, with his new wife on his arm, relaxed and happy with his life under the Florida sun.
The problem was that everything around her was changing. Everyone was changing. Everyone except Mandy. She was as stuck as a truck in a high desert wash. Lost. Mired. And she had no idea how to dig herself out and get moving again.
The chime of the hall clock sliced through thoughts as sticky as bread dough. She had to get the cake to the reception. There’d be plenty of time after the guests had gone home to stuff her head in the pity pot.
She picked up the tiny fondant cowboy boots she’d made, pink for Lori and brown for Wade. Placing the boots on top of the cake, she tilted them so they leaned on each other. Perfect, for the perfect couple.
She grabbed her camera and snapped a few pictures. With luck, photos of this cake would convince other couples to hire her to bake their wedding cakes.
And then it hit her. In her stress over the cake, she’d forgotten how big it was. And how heavy. How would she get it to the barn?
Her anxiety switched back on, hissing and popping in waves that rolled right through her stomach. Why had she assembled the cake here? She should have taken it to the reception in separate layers. Why hadn’t she thought this through more carefully?
But the cake was finished, looking elegant on Mama’s old silver tray, so there was no going back. Stop worrying. It’s just a cake. Don’t be scared about carrying a cake.
She yanked off her apron. Smoothed down the skirt of her bridesmaid dress. Slid the tray to the edge of the table.
Nothing on the cake even jiggled. It was rock solid. She lifted the tray and baby stepped to the screen door, pushing it open with her hip. A few more steps and she was through the door and down the porch stairs. The hard part was done.
Mandy started down the packed-dirt road that led to the barn. No problem. Like walking on a sidewalk. She imagined Lori’s face when she saw the cake. Her wedding-day smile would grow even bigger.
The sharp snick of breaking branches froze Mandy’s limbs. It seemed to come from a thicket of scrubby willows about fifty yards ahead of her. A bear? Not today. Not now when she was all alone carrying a massive hunk of sugar, a bear’s favorite treat. The shrub shook, there was a crackling noise, and Mandy’s heart just about stopped when something burst out of the thick tangle.
Not a bear, thank goodness, but a miniature donkey that shook its head and looked around. It was gray and fuzzy and it didn’t belong here. It must be another stray. People were always dumping their unwanted animals on her doorstep. Her heart kicked up a beat.
The donkey spotted her, long ears flicking forward. Mandy made her voice as stern as she could. “Shoo!”
It obviously didn’t know the meaning of the word, because it broke into a toy-pony gallop, heading straight toward her. It looked so happy, but Mandy’s heart shifted into overdrive. “Shoo!”
The donkey sped up. Mandy swiftly stepped back and to the side of the lane, lifting the tray chest-high. It would be okay. The donkey was going to miss her...
But the donkey slammed against her hip as it careened by, spinning Mandy around in a staggering circle. She clutched the tray in desperation as it tilted and teetered.
“Hang on!” A man’s voice broke through her grasping panic. She caught a glimpse of him, sprinting from the direction of the house. In a split second he was there, reaching to catch her fall.
“Not me!” she managed. “The cake!”
Hands shot out. “Let go! I’ve got it!”
She opened her fingers and surrendered to fate and gravity, pitching backward, landing hard, butt, shoulders, head, all hitting the dirt before she rolled once. Stomach to the ground, cheek in the dust, she stared one-eyed at the grass by the lane and the bright October sky beyond. Ouch.
“Are you all right?”
The urgency in the man’s voice had her automatically reassuring him. “I’m okay. Scraped, but okay.” Then her mind lurched from survival to reality. The man. The cake. Oh, God, the cake! She closed her eyes, afraid to look. Her sister’s wedding cake. Smashed in the dirt.
“Your cake is okay, too.”
His words were small pieces of a miracle. How was it even possible? Mandy pushed herself up to sitting, every part of her stiff, shaky and stinging.
The dark-haired man was on one knee, as if he was about to propose. And in his arms, perfectly upright, perfectly intact, was her perfect cake.
Mandy stared at him, wondering if she’d fallen right into some kind of fairy tale. Because only in stories did someone this handsome show up out of nowhere and save the day. He even had the wavy black hair of a fairy-tale prince.
Holy cow, she was staring at him like a possum at a flashlight. She scrambled to her feet, brushing at her hands and elbows, trying to ignore all the throbbing and stinging. “Thank you!” Her throat was pebbled with gratitude, tumbling the words out ragged as she leaned over and lifted the tray from his outstretched hands. “I can’t believe you saved it!”
“My pleasure.” He rose from the dirt. And rose. And rose. There had to be over six feet of him.
“It was a really good catch.” She sounded like a kid meeting a sports hero, all awestruck. But he was overwhelming. Each piece of him, from his height to the sharp cheekbones that slashed across his angular face, was larger than average. He was hard to take in all at once. And he’d saved her cake.
He looked down at her, eyes shadowed under dark brows. His voice was low pitched, the gentle edge a surprise in such a big man. “That was quite a fall. Are you hurt?”
“I expect so.” She knew so, but there was no time to deal with it now. She’d break out the first aid kit once she got the cake to the reception.
“Your arm is bleeding.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled napkin. There was a fast-food logo on it. “Why don’t you let me hold the cake for a minute?”
She hesitated. “You’ll be careful, right?”
