Jilted: Promise Harbor, Book 1 (29 page)

By now he was curious enough about the source of the noise to try craning his neck so he could see above the edge of the excavation. Besides, a passing wild turkey would provide a little momentary distraction from his numb foot still wedged in the rocks.

For a moment, he thought he saw someone moving along the trail at the edge of the trees, a flash of color in the darkening underbrush. Hank blinked. The dig was clearly marked with
Danger
and
No Trespassing
signs. He’d wanted to put up a fence, but the state authorities had over-ruled him. Still, nobody was supposed to be back here. Unfortunately.

But if somebody was, they could at least pull him out of this hole. “Hello?” he called. “Anybody there?”

The rustling stopped for a moment, and then began again, coming closer this time. Hank strained to see the top edge of the excavation. “Be careful,” he called. “There’s an excavation back here.”

What he saw next almost convinced him he was hallucinating. The woman was dressed like something out of a movie: a huge bell-shaped skirt covered with ruffles, a wide sash at the waist, a low-cut neckline that stretched across her shoulders and revealed what looked to be more-than-respectable breasts. After a moment, she knelt at the edge, peering down at him, and he saw short brownish hair and dark eyes. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi.” He took a quick breath, hoping to god she was real and not a particularly bizarre dream. “Could you possibly come down here and give me a hand? I’m stuck.”

She frowned slightly, dark eyes narrowing. “Possibly. What do you need exactly?”

“My foot’s wedged in here.” He pointed to his foot, still jammed between the two large rocks. “Maybe you could help me pull the rocks apart so I could get loose.”

She frowned, considering. “How about just taking your shoe off?”

He shook his head. “I tried that. It’s too tight. I can’t get my foot out of the shoe.”

“Oh.” She was still frowning. “Okay, just a minute.” She disappeared from the edge, and for a moment he was unreasonably afraid she’d gone. Then he saw the bell-shaped skirt at the top of the ladder. “Hang on, this may take a while,” she said cheerfully. “This skirt isn’t exactly made for climbing up and down ladders.”

“That’s okay, take your time. Don’t hurt yourself.” He leaned back slightly against the side of the excavation. He still wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t hallucinating, but at least it was more entertaining than standing there wondering if he could amputate his own foot with his pocketknife.

He watched the huge green skirt floating slowly down the ladder. Given the half of the girl he could see from the waist up, he assumed there were legs and a rear end under there somewhere, but there was no telling from what he could see currently. She looked a little like one of those dolls that had only a cone underneath the costume. He’d given one of those to his niece for Christmas a couple of years ago.

Focus, Mitchell. Not the time to let your mind go wandering.
Maybe he really was hallucinating after all.

The girl in the green dress reached the bottom of the ladder, lifting up her skirt to step free. She was wearing white running shoes, he noted. Good thing, too. She probably couldn’t have gotten down that ladder if she’d had to worry about her shoes along with her skirt.

She gave him a bright smile, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. “Now what?”

“My foot’s sort of wedged in here at the base of the wall. Maybe you could push the rocks on one side and I could push on the other. I don’t have enough leverage to do it all myself.” In point of fact, he didn’t have any leverage at all since he could barely reach the rocks as it was.

The girl frowned again. “Let me give it a try.” She bent down at his feet, giving him a great view of her cleavage.

Jesus, Mitchell, she’s trying to help you. Do
not
ogle her.

He tried to bend down too, dodging to avoid her when she raised her head suddenly.

“Look, just stay standing up, okay? There’s not really room for you to bend down here too.” She gave him a quick smile, then ducked her head again. “Am I right that you’d rather not have me do anything that would pull the wall down as we get your foot out?”

Hank closed his eyes for a moment. Two years of work gone in a jumble of stone. “That would be a big yes.”

“Okay then, just relax. I should have this done in…” She leaned over further, doing something mysterious with the rocks that involved a lot of pushing. The neckline of her dress dipped dangerously. Hank forced himself to study the clouds.

“What is this place anyway?” she asked in a muffled voice.

“It’s an ancient village. Fourteenth or fifteenth century.”

“And the people who lived here built the wall?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. It’s not entirely clear if the wall was part of the settlement or if it came later. Some of the caves around here were used for root cellars and they may have been used for other purposes earlier than…”

“Got it!” she cried, and Hank staggered backward as the pressure on his foot was suddenly released.

“Whoa.” She jumped to her feet, grabbing him by the arms to keep him from collapsing entirely.

“It’s all right. I’m all right. Thank you.” He started to step back again as she let go, but when he put his weight on the foot that had just been freed, the sudden surge of agony sent him to his knees. He repeated most of his extensive collection of obscenities before looking up to see her watching him with a faintly quizzical expression.

“I gather it hurts.”

He nodded, drawing in a deep breath.

“Let me see. You might have broken it.” She bent down to look at his foot, as if she could see the bone structure through his shoe. Maybe she had X-ray vision.

Hank shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think it’s just bruised. Or maybe sprained. Anyway, I don’t think I can put much weight on it.” He glanced at the ladder. The extremely short ladder that he sometimes avoided altogether, jumping down into the excavation without bothering to climb. All of a sudden it looked way too tall.

The girl followed his glance, frowning again. Then she looked back at him, forehead furrowed.

“It’s okay,” Hank soothed. “I can make it.” He started to push himself up again, trying not to put any weight on his foot. He didn’t seem to be making much progress overall.

The girl wiped her hands on her gauzy green skirt, leaving a couple of dirty streaks. “All right, here’s what we’ll do. You start up the ladder first and I’ll come along behind you. I should be able to push you up in front of me so you won’t have to use your bad foot.”

Hank considered the relative positions of their bodies in the particular maneuver she was suggesting. Could be interesting. On the other hand, given the very real possibility that he’d fall off the ladder and land on her, copping a feel was probably not high on either of their lists at the moment. He sighed. “Okay. Let’s try it.”

He put a hand on her shoulder so that she could help him to the bottom of the ladder, then rested his good foot on the lowest rung. “Ready?”

“Oh yeah.” She grinned up at him.

He started to turn away, then turned back. “Wait, one question. What’s your name?”

She paused for a moment, as if she had to think about it. “Greta Brewster.” She stuck out a hand. “And you are?”

He shook her hand. “Hank Mitchell. Thanks for getting me out of the hole.”

She grinned again. Very nice grin. Gave her a sort of pixie look with her short hair, now somewhat mussed from the whole foot-freeing business.

“I haven’t gotten you all the way out yet,” she said. “Thank me when we get the top of the hole.”

“Right.” He sighed, turning back to the ladder again. He figured there were worse things than having a strange woman’s hands on his ass.

His game… Her rules.

Busted

© 2013 Sydney Somers

Promise Harbor Wedding, Book 3

Hockey star Jackson Knight has a hundred reasons not to return to Promise Harbor, but none of them are good enough to get him out of attending his best friend’s wedding. Even with a career-ending knee injury, every puck-bunny in town will be gunning for him.

Worse, getting a pair of cuffs slapped on him at the bachelor party could ruin any chance of getting back in the game, even as a coach. Unless he can convince the arresting officer to smooth things over—by going o the wedding as his date.

Hayley Stone figures posing as Jackson’s girlfriend is the least she can do to salvage his reputation. Plus, having a man with a toe-curling smile on her arm will keep her ex off her back.
 

What starts as a simple plan to deflect small-town pot-shots unexpectedly becomes a sizzling night that hits Jackson like a full-body-check to the heart. Now he’s determined to prove that she’s the best of reason of all to come home—for good.

Warning: Contains a fiery powerplay both on and off the ice, skin-tingling forced intimacy, interfering grandparents, bear costume hijinks, a haunted house and the kind of game-changing chemistry worth fighting for.
 

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Busted:

Promise Harbor, Population 20,121

The town’s welcome sign flew past in the Challenger’s rearview mirror, no more than a blink across Jackson’s peripheral vision. From his point of view there wasn’t a whole lot promising about coming home.

Jackson cranked the pounding music blaring out of the speakers up a little louder, determined to ignore the dread that turned his stomach into a mess of greased knots. He reached for the can of soda next to him, grimacing at the empty can.

More Pepsi was definitely needed to get through this weekend without anyone seeing him with a beer in his hand. Anywhere else he wouldn’t care what people thought of him, but this was home, for better or worse.

And one of his best friends was getting married.

Jackson’s trips home had been sporadic over the years. He’d made a point to fly his parents out to see him since the accident to avoid any unnecessary visits to Promise Harbor. Unfortunately, standing up with Josh on his wedding day qualified as a necessary visit.

Promise Harbor’s main intersection loomed ahead, and at the last second he swung right instead of left, away from his parents’ empty house. The dark sky above unleashed an early summer shower as familiar sights blurred past—the elementary school, his old high school girlfriend’s house, the rink.

The latter made the tightening in his stomach a million times worse.

He pulled into the parking lot of Stone’s Sports Bar, relieved that the weather and late afternoon meant few cars were in the gravel lot. He turned off the Jeep and sat staring at the ranch-style building through the rain pounding the windshield.

Why hadn’t he just fed Josh some bullshit excuse about not being able to make it? He’d certainly had enough practice at being a dick. He could have pulled it off, and yet here he sat.

Because he owed them.

Owed his best friends for refusing to let him feel sorry for himself when the rest of the world had wanted to poke at wounds that ripped him wide open inside.

Resigned, he pocketed the keys and climbed out. Even with the rain quickly soaking through his T-shirt, he didn’t rush up the wooden steps that had been slanted for as long as he could remember. Instead he leaned a shoulder against the wood post, inwardly steeling himself against the questions that would follow his long absence.

How’s the knee?

Is that the same car you wrecked?

What are your plans now?

“Son of a bitch!”

Jackson turned at the curse that came from the other side of the glass door. Curious, he pulled it open just as a tool went flying across the floor. Only two other tables were occupied inside and neither of the two men so much as glanced up when the hammer clanged off the metal table legs closest to Jackson.

Picking up the hammer, he followed the next steam of curses to a cute ass and phenomenal set of jean-clad legs peeking out from behind a jukebox—the Beast—that probably should have been left at the curb years ago.

Wary of more flying tools, he approached from the side as the woman straightened, her blond hair trailing down the back of her black shirt as she rounded the juke to deliver a solid kick to its front.

“There is no—”
kick,
“—beating this thing—”
kick,
“—into submission, Matt.”

A non-committal sound came from just inside the swinging door behind the bar.

The woman touched the glass dome with far more care than she’d taken with her foot. “You need to smarten the hell up or Matt’s giving you a one-way trip to the junkyard. C’mon baby.” The last words were a fervent plea.

She pushed a couple buttons and “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” exploded out of the speakers. She cursed again and drew her foot back for another kick. From the size of the dent people were still regularly nailing the Beast, although it clearly wasn’t affecting the sound quality.

“Need a hand?” He offered up the thrown hammer and at the same time processed the woman’s slate gray eyes as familiar.