CHAPTER 1
After ten years of working graveyards in the ER, there wasn’t much Olivia Preston couldn’t handle. She was skilled, calm under pressure, and knew how to take charge in even the most life-threatening of situations. Yet, as Liv walked around to the back of her car and saw Superdog Stan crumpled near her bumper, lying in a puddle of his own stuffing, a button eye hanging on by a thread, panic bubbled up until she could barely breathe.
With her heart thundering in her chest, she scooped up the patient and raced across the parking lot, bursting through the doors of the closest shop she found open. The sun had just risen, the day had barely begun, and already she had a code red on her hands.
“I need a twelve-gauge needle, the thickest thread you have, sanitary wipes, and something to pack wounds,” she called out to Mavis, who stood by the checkout counter flipping through a stack of gossip magazines.
Mavis Bates was the owner of the fastest senior scooter in town and Pins and Needles, Sequoia Lake’s one-stop shop for all things quilting and crafty. When riled, she had all the softness of a knitting needle.
“The needles are on aisle five. Thread, aisle six,” Mavis said without looking up from the centerfold of the magazine—clearly not catching the urgency in Liv’s voice. “I’ve got an appliqué class starting in ten minutes, so just leave your total by the—Oh my.” Mavis practically purred, her eyes wide in appreciation. “I can see how Beckham was nominated the sexiest man alive, but I still think it should have gone to Channing Tatum.”
“Mavis,” Liv snapped, burying the panic and taking charge. Story of her ever-loving life. But for Paxton, she’d buck up and do it. Her kid wasn’t going to suffer. “I need you focused.”
Mavis looked up and, when she saw the patient, gasped. “Good heavens. Is that Stan?” She dropped the magazine and rushed around the counter. Her face showed all the worry and desperation that Liv knew better than to give in to. “What happened to him?”
“I don’t know,” Liv admitted, hating those simple words that had somehow managed to define the past two years of her life.
The same words she’d recently vowed never to fall victim to again.
“I was next door at the Bear Claw Bakery having breakfast with Paxton,” she said, her voice cracking on her son’s name. “We’d just gotten served when he realized Stan was missing. I went out to look for him and found him in the parking lot. Lying there, crumpled next to my back bumper.”
“Poor thing looks like he was run over.” Mavis ran a hand over Superdog’s torn ear with a seriousness that Liv felt to her core. “Does Paxton know?”
Liv’s palms went sweaty at the thought of Paxton’s crooked smile disappearing, the one they’d worked so hard to find—the one so much like his father’s. Her heart tripped when she imagined that newfound light in his eyes going dull again.
“No,” she said, breathless. “He’s still in the café eating his big-boy breakfast. Smiley-face pancakes with the works to get him through his first day of summer camp. You know, a fun morning to ease him into a new routine.”
“Poor thing, his morning needed to go smoothly,” Mavis said quietly.
Paxton had a hard time with change, and he’d had enough heartache in his six-year-old life that he deserved some fun. They both did. It was the main reason she’d agreed to superhero summer camp. Her brave guy wasn’t a social butterfly by any means, but he loved comic books—and pretending to be invincible for a few weeks wouldn’t hurt.
But thinking about leaving him at that camp was nauseating. And part of her considered taking this as a sign from the universe, a good enough reason to march next door and admit to Paxton that his sidekick, Superdog, was down for the count and camp was canceled.
That was the old Liv. The tragic widow and single mother whose life had forever been changed with one wrong turn. Which was why the new and transformed Liv was stepping into the driver’s seat this time.
She wouldn’t let Paxton’s fresh start or favorite stuffed toy be reduced to nothing but tattered roadkill. Not when she was one meeting away from securing them a safe future.
“It still can,” Liv said, as if it were suddenly that simple. After a difficult two years, including a disastrous year of preschool, her family was desperate for a perfect start to what she’d hoped was going to be a perfect summer.
“There isn’t a seam I can’t stitch or a fabric you can’t clean,” Liv said, channeling her inner nurse. She’d made a career out of fixing life-threatening problems. Surely a stuffed dog wouldn’t take her out at the knees. “A little extra padding and some TLC, and all will be good as new.”
Maybe it was that simple, Liv thought as clumps of stuffing floated to the floor.
She knew firsthand that once broken, things could never be the same. But for Paxton, she let herself believe, because Stan wasn’t just a stuffed animal—sadly, he was her son’s best friend. And the last present he’d received from his dad.
“I need a needle, stat,” Liv ordered, sticking out her hand as if she were in the OR, prepping a patient. Or donning her Supermom cape to save her son’s world.
Mavis pulled a sewing kit out from beneath the counter. “I’ve got a variety of needles and thread inside here. Cotton balls are on aisle three, and I’ll go find my special cleaner so we can get the dirt off him.”
Liv had selected her tool and got the thread through the needle when she felt Mavis pause at the end of the counter. “You okay?”
She met the older woman’s concerned gaze head-on. “I’m going to be.”
“Thank God,” Mavis mumbled. “This whole ‘Kumbaya’ moment was weighing on me. My heart can’t take it.”
Good thing Liv’s heart was strong enough to take on the world if need be. Because thirty-seven balls of cotton, nineteen of the best vertical mattress sutures Liv had administered since nursing school, and a few silent prayers later, Superdog Stan was one knot away from resembling a toy dog instead of a dog’s toy.
And Liv was one step closer to being the Supermom she knew she could be. So when Mavis approached the counter from behind, she said, “I need your finger on this spot. Push, and push hard.”
When no finger appeared, Liv said, “Finger, spot, push. We’re talking life or death here!”
She was about to cut Mavis a look when a hand reached around and a finger landed on the thread. Only it wasn’t a pudgy, arthritis-riddled pointer. It was a strong, masculine index finger attached to a hand that looked capable enough to balance the world in its palm.
Liv turned her head to see who this hand belonged to and froze.
Her hero looked more Paul Bunyan than Superman, in a gray tee that clung to his biceps, a ball cap pulled low, and enough stubble to take that ruggedly handsome vibe he had going on to the next level.
But it was his eyes that got to her. Gunmetal gray with a hint of amusement and a spark of excitement she’d been missing as of late.
“I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he said, his voice a low thunder that shook her to the core. “I was just trying to figure out which one you meant.”
“Which finger?” she asked, a little too breathy for her liking.
“No, which spot.” He grinned, and bam!—it was powerful enough to jump-start spots she’d long thought shriveled up and dead. Spots she’d promised to Sam for eternity.
“But now that you bring it up,” Mr. Bunyan said, “both are equally important. So why don’t you show me exactly what you need, so I can be sure I get it right, Doctor.”
Liv’s belly pitched low. Just because she hadn’t dated since college didn’t mean she couldn’t recognize flirting when she saw it. The fact that he looked like he could be in college was as thrilling as it was ridiculous. Reason enough to create some much-needed distance.
“I’m a nurse, and I’ve got it,” Liv said, moving away from him—and his more-than-capable arms. Arms that had ink peeking out from beneath his sleeves and bulged when he crossed them over his chest.
His well-toned, in-the-prime-of-his-life chest.
But Mr. Bunyan didn’t leave. He stared at her for a long moment, studying her as if he had something important to say. Just when Liv thought he’d turn and leave, he smiled instead. But this smile felt different. Still flirty, still wickedly tempting, but now it was softened with an emotion that sucker punched Liv every time.
Kindness.
He looked down at her scrubs, which had little pink cupcakes on them, and grinned. “Nurse Cupcake, then. And of course you’ve got it.” He reached out and placed his finger on the knot again, with a look that meant business. “But doing it with someone else is a hell of a lot more fun.”
Her stomach flipped, and a strange little flutter danced around in her chest. “Someone like you?”
He looked around the store. Empty, except for the bottle-red halo and bifocaled eyes peeking over the 100 percent alpaca yarn display on aisle two. “Or you can go it alone, but you look like you can use someone in your corner.”
He had no idea.
Liv nodded and made a knot, having to navigate around his big hand in order to secure it in place, their fingers brushing in the process. Her eyes were firmly affixed to the task at hand, but she could feel the weight of his gaze.
She double-knotted it, just to be sure it stuck. So what if her finger accidentally grazed his again? Personal space didn’t exist in the OR.
Except they weren’t in the OR, and that graze hadn’t been accidental. In her defense, it had been a long time since someone’s personal space had interested her, and his space smelled good. Really good. Like early-morning, fresh mountain air, and rugged-man good.
He felt even better.
So with a third knot that lingered a little longer than necessary—followed by a secret little zing of excitement—she snipped the ends with a pair of scissors and stepped back.
Only her zing wasn’t so secret, because the second she met his gaze, her face flooded with heat, and that smile of his quirked slightly as if he were amused or—
Oh God! He knew.
“We all good?” he asked, his finger still on Superdog Stan.
“Yes.” She shoved her hands behind her back before she did something else embarrassing, like touch his arm that was right next to her. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“How about over a cup of coffee?” he asked, gesturing to the door. When she didn’t move, he pointed to the checkout counter. “Unless you have another patient in the waiting room.”
“No.” She laughed, picking up the stuffed toy. “No other patients. Just poor Stan here.” Liv looked at the nubby old toy and found herself smiling. This dog had been through the wringer, and he was still holding his stuffing. “Who is a lot tougher than he looks.”
“I can see that,” he said, examining their handiwork. “He’s in good hands.”
“He’s also expected next door,” Mavis said, waddling down the aisle, making a shooing gesture with her hands. “In fact, so is Liv. She was headed to the Bear Claw Bakery, home of the best bottomless drip in the Sierras, fifteen years running.”
“Sounds like I’d be a fool to pass that up,” he said, flashing a smile that, holy cannoli, was wicked enough to tempt a widow right out of mourning.
Not that Liv was still mourning. She’d moved through that stage of loss. But while she’d managed to put the worst of her grief behind her, there wasn’t room in her life for temptation. Or to accept a coffee date with a handsome man when her son was waiting for her next door.
That didn’t mean that she couldn’t take another minute or three to enjoy the incredible view or recommend a good place to get a cup of coffee.
“There’s also Java House on the other side of Lake Street that has a beautiful view of the mountains,” she offered. “If you wanted something more exciting than your basic drip.”
“Java House?” Mavis harrumphed. “The only people who go to that overpriced stain on our town are yuppies, tourists, and idiots who don’t know better.” Mavis gave him a full head-to-toe perusal, taking her time and tutting when she got to his chest and those arms. “Which one are you?”
“Thankfully, none,” he joked.
“Yet, I don’t know you.” Mavis crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “How’s that?”
Liv seconded that question, because Sequoia Lake really knew how to put the small in small town. Although hundreds of thousands of weekend warriors visited their legendary slopes and fishing holes every year, less than six thousand were lucky enough to call it home.
And Liv might have been a bit insulated from the happenings in Sequoia Lake as of late, but she’d have to be living under a glacier to miss a man like him in a town so tiny.
Sequoia Lake was as known for its brawny, badass, beautiful men as it was for its gossip. And the only recent hottie sighting in the area belonged to Sequoia Lake’s newest hero-for-hire who’d moved in down the street from Liv.
She couldn’t be certain, since she’d been staring at his backside when he’d moved in, but she was pretty sure she was staring down the much-anticipated Officer Cub Candy—as her friends had started referring to him.
“I’m renting a place in town for the summer,” he said.
Yup. “With your family?” she asked, and then realized she sounded as if she was asking if he was single, so she clarified. “I mean, your parents.”
His lips twitched. “It was just me and my mom growing up, but since I’m out here on work, asking to bring my mom along would have seemed odd. Plus, she’s a little busy with her own life.” He feigned embarrassment. “Unless you bring your mom to work. Not that I’m judging—whatever works for you.”
He was teasing her. She’d openly questioned his man-card status, and he’d turned it around on her. Funny and smart. And young.
Not as young as she’d originally thought, maybe midtwenties, more Man Candy than Cub Candy, but definitely in a different phase of his life than a thirty-four-year-old single mom. “You’re staying at Old Man Keller’s place, right?”
“Spying on me?”
“No.” Yes.
She’d spent the better part of Nicholas Sparks and Sangria Night spying on him from her living room window. Even her besties had forgone watching Zac Efron get naked and naughty in the shower to watch Zac Efron 2.0 unpack his truck.
“There’s a contest on the Hot and Ready to Trot Facebook page,” Liv explained. “First person to snap a picture of your face gets a twenty-five-dollar gift card to Petal Pushers.”
His eyes sparkled with interest. “I passed that yesterday. It’s the lingerie shop in town.”
“They also sell a variety of cute and quirky socks,” Liv pointed out primly. “Ones with dogs or frogs or owls on them. I bet they even have mountain-climber ones.”
He looked down at her socks, which were blue with dancing kitties on them, a gift from Paxton, and smiled. “Do they purr?”
Thankfully, a bright light filled the room, followed by the click of a camera. Mavis lowered her phone and grinned. “I bet a picture of your backside will land me the grand prize.”
“What’s the grand prize?” he asked, but Mavis was walking back into her office, her fingers working the keyboard as fast as her legs were pumping.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know. By the way, I’m Olivia Preston.” Liv stuck out her hand. It was, after all, the neighborly thing to do. “But my friends call me Liv.”
She almost snorted out loud at how lame that sounded. Had it really been so long since she’d talked to a man that she’d forgotten how?
“It is nice to meet you, Liv. I’m Ford. Ford Jamison.” He took her hands in his, and there went that annoying zing again. This time she was certain he felt it too, because his shocked gaze met hers and held. So long she lost track of time.
He just stood there, holding her hand in his, silently staring at her as if waiting. For what, she couldn’t be sure. But for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt a lightness in her chest, in her feet, as if all she had to do was take a single step and she’d finally be moving forward.
“If you’re renting the old Keller cabin, then that makes you my neighbor,” she said. “I live right down the beach from you in the yellow-and-white one-story with the white dock off the back.”
If he was surprised by the news, he didn’t show it. In fact, he just released her hand and casually gestured toward the door. “Well, neighbor, how about you show me the home of the best bottomless drip in the Sierras?”
Was he asking her out on a date? God, just the word felt foreign and irresponsible and reckless—and so incredibly intoxicating she wanted to say yes. Almost said yes, but then, as if the universe was reminding her that one had to learn how to swim before diving into the deep end of the lake, her phone pinged.
“Excuse me.” She fished her cell from her back pocket and read the screen. It was a text from her mother-in-law.
Pax is holding his privates. I asked if he has to use the little boys’ room. His answer was silence . . .
That Carolyn believed his silence was Liv’s fault was hidden between the three dots.
Paxton suffered from select mutism, a form of social anxiety that affected a child’s ability to communicate when expectations become overwhelming. When Paxton felt secure and comfortable, he could outtalk an auctioneer. But the only person who saw that side of him was Liv. With a sigh that she felt all the way in her toes, Liv accepted that her time was up. Life was calling, and she needed to respond. “It’s my son. I have to go.”
“So do I,” he said in that same easygoing tone that made her legs wobble.
But his smile dimmed at her statement, and his eyes flashed something close to regret—or maybe it was relief. The poor guy had nearly asked the town’s only widowed single mom to coffee.
Either way, Liv admitted that even though it was summer and the sun was about to embark on a new cycle, the frost had only thawed enough for her to dip her toes in the lake.