RaeAnne Thayne - Woodrose Mountain

It’s never too late for love in Hope’s Crossing…

Evie Blanchard was at the top of her field in the city of angels. But when an emotional year forces her to walk away from her job as a physical therapist, she moves from Los Angeles to Hope’s Crossing seeking a quieter life. So the last thing she needs is to get involved with the handsome, arrogant Brodie Thorne and his injured daughter, Taryn.

A self-made man and single dad, Brodie will do anything to get Taryn the rehabilitation she needs…even if it means convincing Evie to move in with them. And despite her vow to keep an emotional distance, Evie can’t help but be moved by Taryn’s spirit, or Brodie’s determination to win her help—and her heart. With laughter, courage and more than a little help from the kindhearted people of Hope’s Crossing, Taryn may get the healing she deserves—and Evie and Brodie might just find a love they never knew could exist.

Dear Reader,

Of all the people in Hope’s Crossing who could use a little hope in their lives, Brodie Thorne and his daughter, Taryn, probably lead the list. Taryn was severely injured in a car accident that devastated the town several months earlier, and her outlook for full recovery looks bleak. But in the way of loving parents everywhere, her single father Brodie refuses to give up. He pursues whatever avenue necessary to provide his daughter the best possible life, even if it means enlisting the help of a woman he dislikes as much as he does Evie Blanchard.

Evie doesn’t want to be sucked into her previous career as a physical therapist again. She knows the cost of allowing herself to care too much, and she fears Brodie and Taryn will threaten the serenity she found working at the bead store in Hope’s Crossing.

Together with the help of her patient dog—and other surprising sources—Evie is able to reach Taryn…and Brodie as well.

To me, this story is about healing hearts as well as bodies, about redemption and forgiveness and how with a little effort and faith, it is possible to heal the scars of the past in order to move forward to a brighter future.

All my best,

RaeAnne

Woodrose Mountain

RaeAnne Thayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To all the teachers, aides and physical, occupational and speech therapists who have been such a valued part of our life, working tirelessly to help children reach beyond their abilities. Thank you!

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

ON A WARM SUMMER EVENING, the homes and buildings of Hope’s Crossing nestled among the trees like brightly colored stones in a drawer—a brilliant lapis-lazuli roof here, a carnelian-painted garage here, the warm topaz of the old hospital bricks.

Evaline Blanchard rested a hip against a massive granite rock, taking a moment to catch her breath on a flat area of the Woodrose Mountain trail winding through the pines above the town she had adopted as her own.

From here, she could see the quaint old buildings, the colorful flower gardens in full bloom, Old Glory hanging everywhere. At nearly sunset on a Sunday, downtown was mostly quiet—though she could see a few cars parked in the lot of the historic Episcopalian church that had been the first brick structure in town, back when Hope’s Crossing was a hustling, bustling mining town with a dozen saloons. Probably a Sunday-evening prayer service, she guessed.

Farther away, she could see more cars and a bustle of activity near Miners’ Park and she suddenly remembered a bluegrass band was performing on the outdoor stage there for the weekly concert-in-the-park series.

Maybe she should have opted for an evening of music in the park instead of heading up into the mountains. She always enjoyed the concerts on a lovely summer night and the fun of sitting with her neighbors and friends, sharing good music and maybe a glass of wine and a boxed dinner from the café.

No, this was the better choice. As much as she enjoyed outdoor concerts, after three days of dealing with customers nearly nonstop at the outdoor art fair she had just attended in Grand Junction, she had been desperate for a little quiet.

Next to her, Jacques, her blond Labradoodle, stretched out on the dirt trail with a bored sort of air, tormenting a deerfly with the effrontery to buzz around his head.

“You don’t have any patience when I have to stop to catch my breath, do you?”

He finally took pity on the fly—sort of—and swallowed it, then grinned at her as if he had conquered some advanced Jedi Master skill. Mission accomplished, he lumbered to his big paws and looked at her expectantly, obviously eager for more exercise.

She couldn’t blame him. He had been endlessly patient during three days of sitting in a booth. He deserved a good, hard run. Too bad her glutes and quads weren’t in the mood to cooperate.

Finally she caught her breath and headed up again, keeping to a slow jog. Despite the muscle aches, more of her tension melted away with each step.

She used to love running on the beach back in California, with the sea-soaked air in her face and the thud of her jogging shoes on the packed sand and the sheer, unadulterated magnificence of the Pacific always in view.

No ocean in sight here. Only the towering pines and aspens, the understory of western thimbleberry and wild roses, and the occasional bright flash of a mountain bluebird darting through the bushes.

She was content with no sound of gulls overhead. She still loved the ocean, without question, and at times yearned to be alone on a beach somewhere while the surf pounded the shore, but somehow this place had become home.

Who would have expected that a born-and-bred California girl could find this sort of peace and belonging in a little tourist town nestled in the Rockies?

She inhaled a deep, sage-scented breath, more tension easing out of her shoulders with every passing moment. It had been a hectic three days. This was her fourth outdoor arts-and-crafts fair of the season and she had one more scheduled before September. Her crazy idea to set up a booth at summer fairs across Colorado to sell her own wares and those of the other clients of String Fever—the bead store in Hope’s Crossing where she worked—had taken off beyond her wildest dreams.

She was especially pleased, since all of the beaders participating had agreed to donate a portion of their proceeds to the Layla Parker memorial scholarship fund.

Layla was the daughter of Evie’s good friend Maura McKnight-Parker and she had been killed in April in a tragic accident that had ripped apart the peace of Hope’s Crossing and shredded it into tiny pieces.

Outdoor art-and-crafts fairs were exciting and dynamic, full of color and sound and people. But it was also hard work, especially when she worked by herself. Setting up the awning, arranging the beadwork displays, dealing with customers, running credit cards. All of it posed challenges.