Gena Showalter - The Hotter You Burn

Ten minutes into her work to clear it away, movement in Mr. Porter’s living room caught her attention. Her heart banged a song of panic against her ribs as she met Daniel Porter’s gaze, Mr. Porter’s son.

He’d left for the military a few years ago and, according to whispers, had only returned to Strawberry Valley a few days ago. And oh, wow, he was shirtless, ripped with muscle and tattoos, standing with his hands on his hips, watching her. About to storm outside to rail at her for trespassing?

Harlow grabbed her books and dashed off. About halfway home, her legs began to tremble so intensely she feared she would go down and never get up. Somehow she found the strength to troop onward, on the lookout for scorpions, listening for the telltale hiss of nearby snakes.

At long last, she reached her destination, dropping the books in front of her tent as her arms finally gave out. Her biceps trembled and burned, and she knew they’d be sore tomorrow. Sighing, she sank in front of the tomes and surveyed her home of the past however many months. A small blue tent with a faulty zipper sat beside an even smaller pond. She’d stacked a circle of rocks around a stack of twigs to create a fire pit where she boiled water in the only pan she had. There were gopher mounds everywhere, dirt flung in every direction, but at least multiple oaks offered shade...and branches for birds to poop from.

She imagined Beck showing up for “tea.” Sanitized pond water.

Oh, how far the queen bee has fallen. From the highest of highs to the lowest of lows. The lap of luxury to this . No real home. No security of any kind. No way to eat or drink whenever the urge struck. No comfy bed or modern conveniences of any kind.

She turned her attention to her new books...and blinked in shock. Gardening for the Super Ignoramus. 101 Ways to Seduce Your Dream Man. The Male Penis: What You Really Need to Know .

But...but...when had the small-town library begun carrying books like that ? They’d nearly banned a paranormal romance series about supersexy demon-possessed warriors for being too racy!

She reached for the gardening book, really she did, but her fingers somehow curled around the spine of Seduce Your Dream Man and riffled through the pages—and oh, wow! There were pictures. She ended up “reading” until the last tendril of sunlight vanished.

Now, back to work. She started a small fire with the lighter she’d found—no one would notice the smoke at this time of night—and set a pot of water to boil. After she drank her fill, she called it a day and nestled in her tent. The tear in the top allowed her to gaze up at the stars, diamond pinpricks in a sea of black velvet. One of God’s finest creations, second only to Strawberry Valley. And speaking of Strawberry Valley, it was time to face the facts. Her five-step plan didn’t just need tweaking, it needed scrapping. At this rate, a hundred-step plan wouldn’t work.

If she wanted different results, she had to do something different. The most obvious choice was simple. Finally make the heart-wrenching move to the city.

Panic and heartache instantly converged. No. Not that. Not yet. This was her home, and the man of her dreams lived here. He had to live here. They would fall in love and raise their kids here.

But who would want her? As a military man, Daniel Porter was used to dealing with hostile people and situations. Could he forgive the past?

A few years ago, Jeffery James had moved to town. He’d heard rumors about her, sure, but he had no personal experience with her. Of course, she wasn’t attracted to him, but what did that matter? Love could grow from support, affection and stability.

There was that word again. Stability . The mother ship. The holy grail.

Who could give her something so precious? Lincoln West, maybe. Handsome, sweet and, like Jeffery, she had no real personal experience with him. Plus, he lived in her ancestral home. If they happened to fall in love, she could move back in. And promptly kick Beck out, she thought with a smile.

What she knew about West: he hadn’t dated anyone in town...which was kinda odd, now that she considered it. He wasn’t just handsome, he was handsome , and he had as many admirers as Beck. He just didn’t jump their bones at every opportunity. He was over six foot, leanly muscled and he was nice. He had a smile for everyone he came across, and he worked like a fiend, creating different kinds of computer programs.

She knew about his business only because she’d visited his office in town the day after it opened. His assistant from the city had been there, and Harlow had asked questions, submitted a résumé. And it had been a doozy. Past jobs: zero. Experience: none. Strengths: still searching. She’d hoped to decorate their walls with murals or, barring that, become their receptionist. Surprisingly enough—har har—she was never called in for an interview; she’d listed the number to the only pay phone in town and camped by it for days.

But maybe she didn’t need a job from West...maybe she just needed him .

What kind of women did he prefer?

If the answer was sometimes mousy, sometimes feisty homeless girls, she had this in the bag. If not, well, she would just have to earn his interest another way.

Which shouldn’t be a problem. Thanks to Beck, she was now equipped with an instruction manual.

For the first time in months, she was hopeful as she drifted off to sleep. Unfortunately, it wasn’t West’s face she saw in her dreams...

* * *

WEST AND JASE tried to speak with Beck as he stalked through the house.

“Sorry, guys, but I can’t,” he said. “Not now.”

They asked no questions, and for that he was grateful. He locked himself in his bedroom and plopped onto the end of his bed, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his upraised hands, just trying to breathe, align his thoughts, maybe shake off the worst of his emotions. What he’d just witnessed...

He’d followed Harlow, hoping to unearth a few of her secrets. Maybe he shouldn’t have invaded her privacy like that, but he’d wanted answers and she’d been unwilling to give them, and though he’d tried, he’d realized he wasn’t going to get them any other way.

He’d done what was necessary.

Of course, he’d almost veered off track when a brute of a guy purposely bumped into her. In some of the foster homes Beck had stayed in, he’d seen girls and women abused mentally, emotionally and even physically, and it had always infuriated him.

Not on my watch.

Only the thought of going after the guy at a later date allowed him to continue following Harlow.

She lived on his land in abject poverty. People treated her like trash, and she took it, every bit of it, as if she had to do penance. And yet, tired and hungry, she still found the strength to help those who now hurt her.

He wondered how she cleaned her clothes, how she showered, because he knew she somehow managed to do both.

He wondered what she ate, when she ate. He’d spent hours trailing her, and she hadn’t consumed a single bite of food. The only water she’d had was what she’d boiled. He wondered what she planned to do during the upcoming winter months, if she would allow herself to freeze to death before she came to him for aid.

He wondered—and he got pissed. The little girl from the pictures shouldn’t be living that way. The woman she’d become shouldn’t be living that way. He had a home with plenty of rooms. He had a refrigerator filled with food. He had unlimited access to fresh water. He had stacks of blankets, a closet full of coats. Hell, he had everything the girl could ever need or want. And yet she suffered out there?