Beth Andrews - Small-Town Redemption

Char approached the nurses’ station. Okay, so technically there was no horse to speak of, but figuratively she was there, sitting tall in the saddle, ready to gallop after her dreams.

And to think, she’d almost talked herself into believing she’d made a mistake, a big one, in going after what she’d wanted. In planning, scheduling and goal-setting. That she could float along, living the rest of her life taking each moment as it came all willy-nilly without a thought or care about her future.

Oh, she’d tried to do exactly that. Hard not to want to try something different after you’ve been rejected by the man you’d planned on marrying. Throw in a second rejection, this time by a man the complete opposite of what you were looking for, and any woman would question herself, her choices. So she’d gone in the opposite direction of anything and everything she’d ever done.

She’d stuck with it for as long as she could, shoving aside her dreams and goals and letting life happen. She’d gone to the grocery store without a list, didn’t note appointments in her phone’s calendar and spent her weekends zoned out in front of the TV, ignoring the work needing done around her new house. For six long months she’d been laid-back, spontaneous and impractical.

It had been torture. Pure, unadulterated torture.

Until one gloomy Wednesday morning last month when, on her way to the store to buy milk after discovering the empty carton in her fridge, her car had run out of gas. Waiting for her mother to come get her, good sense returned. Once back at home, she’d immediately listed her one-month, six-month and yearlong goals, cleaned and organized her refrigerator, and balanced her checkbook and, just like that, all was right in the world again.

Sitting back and waiting didn’t make things happen. It took planning. Control. Discipline. With those three things—traits she had in spades, thank you very much—anything was possible. Any goal achievable.

She walked around the high counter of the nurses’ station, plugged in her laptop and printed out her patient’s discharge papers. She’d been foolish, idiotic even, to try to be something she wasn’t. Someone she wasn’t.

Someone like her sister.

It’d taken time, but luckily she had come to her senses, Char thought as she gathered the papers and scanned them to make sure the information was correct. There was no way she could blithely toss aside all her dreams and the future she wanted.

Her mistake wasn’t in believing in that future, in working toward it. No, her mistake was choosing the wrong man to share it with. Yes, technically James fit the bill when it came to the type of man she wanted to marry. He was successful and smart, handsome and kind.

It was his kindness that had done it. He’d been so sweet to her when she’d been a gawky teenager, too tall, too thin and way too awkward around the boys her own age. James had assured her those boys were blind and stupid not to notice the wonder and awesomeness that was Charlotte Ellison, and they would, one day, line up for the chance to be with her.

Alas, no lines had ever formed, but she had eventually blossomed—her mother’s word for Char’s miraculous transformation from a skinny, flat-chested, geeky teenager to a fashionably thin, small-chested, personable college coed.

Ah, the miracle of those latent hormones finally kicking in. She’d developed curves—slight as they were—and, more importantly, confidence. James had been right that hot, sunny Memorial Day, the day she fell and fell hard for him. The day she got it into her head he was the only man for her.

How ridiculous.

She’d developed a crush. Well, honestly, what teenage girl wouldn’t when an older, darkly handsome guy smiled at her? Laughed at her jokes? Paid attention to her?

So, mistake number one? Confusing a childhood crush with true love.

Mistake number two? Not realizing the object of her affection was already in love with her sister.

Of course, it was incredibly clear in hindsight. James had always been head-over-heels for Sadie, even when they’d been just friends.

Stupid hindsight. It could have shown up a bit earlier and saved Charlotte a ton of humiliation.

Taking the papers, she went into room 1. After going over the discharge instructions for five-year-old Dallas Morrow with his mother, Char led them through the maze of hallways to the exit. Heading to the break room where she could hopefully—oh, please, please, please—have time for a quick bite to eat, or at least another cup of coffee, she turned the corner and ran into a solid body.

Strong hands gripped her upper arms, steadying her. “Hey there, gorgeous. Fancy bumping into you here.”

At the husky, somewhat familiar male tone, prickles of anticipation, of excitement, tightened her skin. Breathless, her heart racing, she lifted her head. “Oh. Leo. Hi.”

Leo Montesano, all six-plus feet of tall, dark and dazzling, raised his eyebrows as he stepped back. “Ouch. No need to sound so disappointed.”

Maybe she had sounded less than enthusiastic about running into him. Poor guy probably didn’t know what to do with a female who didn’t fall at his feet.

She smiled, both to ease her initial reaction and because, well, it wouldn’t hurt to try her flirting skills on him. God knew she needed the practice. “Don’t be ridiculous. What woman could be disappointed to see you?”

It went against human nature. Shaggy dark hair with just the right amount of wave fell in artful disarray around a face designed to make women thank the Lord for one of His greatest works. Brown, soulful eyes, a sharp jaw, full lips and a Roman nose completed what was, all in all, a mighty pretty package. Throw in an abundance of charm, good humor and the fact that as a firefighter he saved lives for a living, and he was the very definition of Fantasy Man.

Then again, with his perfect, muscular body—honestly, he had to spend a good portion of his day in the gym—he could be dog-ugly and dumb as dirt, and women would still write poetic odes about his broad shoulders, bulging biceps and top-notch rear.

He made a humming sound of disbelief. “Nice recovery attempt, but I saw your face. It’s like you were expecting Brad Pitt and instead, you got stuck with me.”

“Yes, that would be quite the letdown.”

His lips quirked. Clearly the man knew what he looked like. “Who is it?”

“Who is what?” she asked over her shoulder as she walked into the empty break room.

Leo followed, leaned against the door frame. “The guy you’re tossing me over for. It hurts. Really. If you’re not careful, you’re going to break my heart.”

Pouring coffee into her favorite mug, she snorted. Oh, yeah, he was full of charm. And bull. “I highly doubt it.”

He grinned, and she could’ve sworn she heard every female within a mile radius—along with a few angels up in heaven—sigh in pleasure. “Don’t underestimate yourself.”

She didn’t.

But she was smart enough to know her limits. She’d learned her lesson with Kane. She’d tried out for the big leagues when she would have been better off staying on the bench. Kane and Leo were cut from the same cloth: too sexy, too enigmatic and way too experienced for the likes of little ol’ her.

“Did you come in just to boost my ego?” she asked, adding cream to her coffee and pulling out a protein bar from her lunch in the fridge. “Or have your Saturday nights become so boring you’ve resorted to hanging out at the E.R. instead of bars?”

“Hey, now, I don’t just wear this because the ladies love it,” he said, gesturing to his dark firefighter uniform. “I’m on the clock. We brought in an elderly man with chest pains. The new doc is looking at him.”