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Safe Haven
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Год написания книги
2018
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Safe Haven
Evelyn A. Crowe
HOME ON THE RANCHNot so long ago, Avery Jensen had it all….A beautiful home. An interesting career. Family and friends. Power, money and even a fiancé. But that's in the past, in the life she lived before her brother framed her and she was sent to jail. Now all she has is herself. And the haven she's found on a ranch in Texas–Haven, Texas.No one in Haven knows the truth about her, and she wants to keep it that way. Her boss, rancher Logan Monahan, isn't about to pry–he has secrets, too. All he wants is to be left alone.But when "accidents" start to happen around the ranch, these two private people have to learn to trust each other and figure out which one of them is the target….
“Are you in trouble with the law?” (#u32f43508-0a77-5729-ba0c-dcb3ba667222)ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u5e03e61b-9749-5925-a6a7-f884cf413dc8)Title Page (#udfc9addb-83cc-5075-ae71-7b909365dd07)CHAPTER ONE (#u57f427b8-9752-5f05-afd0-c83f505a2259)CHAPTER TWO (#ud87c1181-c38d-5d0f-8314-c49a0415cbf8)CHAPTER THREE (#ue43e2b09-d5ad-5a38-a71d-152edc364f14)CHAPTER FOUR (#u2fd22759-c9f2-5006-a6a3-f4c2fcecb2d7)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)Heart of the West (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“Are you in trouble with the law?”
“No,” Avery said. “What I am is broke. What I need is a job, and this one suits me fine.”
Logan finished his coffee. At one time, he’d been a good judge of character. Now he didn’t trust his own instincts. He didn’t think she’d lied, but there were secrets shifting around in those gray eyes, and her. expression was just too bland. But what did it matter? All he wanted was to be left alone. He had the feeling Avery Jensen was looking for the same.
“We’d best get some things straight,” he said. “Haven has its busybodies. They’re going to make a lot out of a beautiful, single woman living on a ranch with a widower.” He paused. “There are people in town who are going to talk about me. I don’t give a damn what they say, but you might.”
The corner of Avery’s mouth tipped slightly upward and she said, “I don’t put much stock in gossip. But just so I won’t be surprised or shocked—what am I likely to hear?”
“That I’m responsible for my wife’s and son’s deaths. And that I benefited by getting an ungodly amount of insurance money.” He shoved back his chair and stood. “They’re right on both counts.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Evelyn A. Crowe worked for twelve years as a media director in an advertising company before turning her hand to writing in 1983. Her decision to change careers was certainly a stroke of good fortune for Harlequin readers. Evelyn’s bestselling books are favorites around the world.
Safe Haven
Evelyn A. Crowe
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
THE TEXAS SPRING MORNING was pristine and breathtakingly beautiful, the air intoxicating with its scents of freshly mowed grass and newly tilled earth. Butterflies flitted over the fields. Rolling green hills were splashed with the jewel-like hues of wildflowers.
The setting was picture-perfect—except for the blacktop highway, an ugly tear in the landscape. It was also a dangerous stretch of highway, a deadly couple of miles that twisted and dipped and rose.
The purity of the morning and the cathedral silence was suddenly shattered by sounds of an ancient truck, which emitted a rooster tail of blue smoke as it rolled to a stop. The grinding of the brakes startled nearby birds from their perch in the trees.
A young woman, tall and shapely, climbed out of the passenger side of the truck. As she closed the door, a soft breeze teased her black hair around her face and made the hem of her dress flutter. She hoisted a suitcase from the bed of the truck and waved her thanks to the old man she’d hitched a ride from.
Avery Jensen watched the truck until it disappeared around a bend in the highway. She took a steadying breath to bolster her courage and turned to face the ornate wrought-iron sign arched high over the lane entrance. Her exhausting trip was almost at an end.
Despite her eagerness to finish it, she hesitated, knowing that when she walked under that arch she would truly be cut off from her world as she’d known it. She’d be a new person. If she could have given herself a whole new identity, Avery admitted, she would have. But that was illegal, and she couldn’t afford any run-ins with the law. She’d had enough of those.
Her life had been torn apart and turned inside out. She was scarred and bruised. She’d survived, but the price had been high. Once, not too long ago, she’d had it all. A beautiful home. Family and friends. She’d had a career, a position in society. She’d had power, money and the respect of her peers. She’d even had a fiancé. Now all she had was herself.
For the first time it hit her: she was free. She was safe. Avery laughed. She’d found a safe haven—Ha- ven, Texas, that is—and it beat the hell out of the home she’d had for the past eight months.
She picked up her suitcase. Everything she owned was in it, none of it old. There was nothing to tie her to the past, nothing to remind her of what she’d endured. Nothing to openly declare she’d been a fool. The heaviness of the case was a pleasant reminder that she was carrying her life with her. It felt damn good to realize she was leaving everything else behind.
Her resolve firmly set, she straightened to her full five foot eight, lifted her chin and walked under the archway of the Circle M ranch. She’d been told the owner was Logan Monahan, who raised cattle and quarter horses.
Once she was through the gate and actually on the property, her steps faltered. She was so far from Seattle it felt like another world. But that was what she wanted. Avery adjusted the shoulder strap of her bulging purse, switched the suitcase to her other hand and started walking again.
It didn’t take long for the thicket of overhanging tree limbs to thin out enough for her to see how far she had to walk. She gasped in dismay. The lane snaked for several hundred yards over the rolling land toward a grove of cottonwood trees on the crest of a hill, where she knew, from the detailed directions she’d been given, the ranch house was.
She was stronger now. She could handle anything. Gripping the heavy bag firmly, she put one foot in front of the other. On both sides of the lane, barbed-wire fences sectioned off green rolling pastures. Cattle and horses munched on the lush grass, their tails swishing lackadaisically back and forth, batting flies.
By the time Avery reached the house, she was out of breath and perspiring heavily. Too exhausted to really admire the two-story Victorian house, she did get a quick impression of butter-yellow walls, huntergreen shutters at the windows and a front porch that extended the width of the structure. The thump and bump of her case against the steps and her heavy breathing were the only sounds until she collapsed on the top step with a loud groan. Her arms were twitching with strain and her leg muscles ached. She cursed whoever had messed up and neglected to collect her at the bus station, hoping it wasn’t an omen of things to come.
After taking a few minutes to regroup, Avery struggled to her feet. She straightened the sleeveless denim dress and tried to smooth out some of the wrinkles, then pressed the doorbell. As she waited, she attempted to put some order to her hair, then waited some more. On the fourth try of the bell, with still no answer, she glanced around, a little nonplussed.
“Dammit, someone was supposed to be here,” she grumbled, and made a decision to go looking. She left all her belongings on the porch and wandered around to the side of the house. She gazed about and noticed the neglect evident in the flower beds, lawn and house. Gingerly, she stepped over an extension ladder lying on its side, as well as various tools carelessly scattered on the ground. Upon closer inspection she discovered that the side of the house had been scraped down, as if being readied for a new coat of paint.
She rounded a corner to the back and shaded her eyes to see rail fences and several other buildings. One was a small, one-story version of the main house. Its porch was shaded by blooming wisteria vines desperately in need of pruning. From the location of a truck and other machinery, she figured that two of the buildings were garages of some sort.
Despite the warmth of the sun, she shivered. The whole place was eerily quiet, as if everyone had just disappeared. Still, it awarded her the luxury of looking around and studying everything.
The last building puzzled her. It was a huge, square, redbrick structure with a slate roof and few windows. She looked from the Victorian house to the buildings again and realized what it was that nagged at her. While everything else seemed run-down, the redbrick building was modern and well kept, expensive looking. Though she knew little about ranch life, she figured it was the barn. Maybe she’d find someone there.
She’d just skirted the big truck, which was halffilled with hay bales, when she heard the sound of running water. She checked her pace, and it was then she saw him. Maybe it had been too long since she’d been so close to so much testosterone, but the sight of him made her tingle with nervous energy.
He was solidly built and naked to the waist, his tight, sun-faded jeans riding low on his hips. Bent forward with the hose held above him, he let a stream of water wash over his dark head and upper body.
Avery felt her heart slam against her ribs as she watched the water slide over his muscular shoulders and roll across his broad back, then trickle to his narrow waist and soak the waistband of his jeans.
She was transfixed by the way his muscles rippled under the tanned skin. Then he dropped the hose, straightened to what appeared to be at least six-four, and ran his fingers through his hair. Lifting her eyes from the knotted stomach muscles to his face, she bit her lip. He was not a pretty man. His nose was hawkish, his cheekbones high and sharp. His jaw, while strong, looked unrelenting. His chin and cheeks were lightly scarred from what she assumed was adolescent acne. His eyes were large and light brown, the color of autumn leaves, yet distant somehow. The only remotely soft feature that hinted at any flexibility was his wide mouth with its well-defined lips. At the moment they were held in a stern line.
A breathy sigh trembled across her own lips. He wasn’t handsome, not by her standards. But there was an aura of strength and pride about him. He was, she thought, the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on.
“Are you going to stand there staring,” he snapped, “or are you going to throw me that towel?”
She jumped, every nerve in her body alive with embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, grabbing the towel from the truck bed she was standing beside and pitching it to him. He plucked it from the air and began drying his hair, chest and stomach, never once taking those eyes off her.
“You want to tell me what you’re doing here?”
His voice was deep and smoky soft. Her own voice was stuck somewhere in her throat. Suddenly he smiled, and the appearance of a dimple in his right cheek was enough to jolt her out of her trance. “I’m Avery Jensen,” she told him.
He waited. When she didn’t continue, he returned to his task of drying off, and gave his hair another rough rub before pitching the towel into the back of the truck. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
If she could have, she would have kicked herself for acting like a dimwit. “I guess not if you don’t recognize it. I’m looking for Logan Monahan.”
“You got him.”
“What?”
“I’m Logan Monahan.”
To cover her confusion, she stuck out her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Logan. I thought you were going to pick me up at the bus station this morning. When you didn’t show up, I tried to call, but no one answered.”
He was looking at her as if she was crazy. When he took a few steps toward her, she felt threatened. Reflex made her drop her hand and step back before she realized he was simply reaching for his shirt hanging on the corner of the tailgate.
Evelyn A. Crowe
HOME ON THE RANCHNot so long ago, Avery Jensen had it all….A beautiful home. An interesting career. Family and friends. Power, money and even a fiancé. But that's in the past, in the life she lived before her brother framed her and she was sent to jail. Now all she has is herself. And the haven she's found on a ranch in Texas–Haven, Texas.No one in Haven knows the truth about her, and she wants to keep it that way. Her boss, rancher Logan Monahan, isn't about to pry–he has secrets, too. All he wants is to be left alone.But when "accidents" start to happen around the ranch, these two private people have to learn to trust each other and figure out which one of them is the target….
“Are you in trouble with the law?” (#u32f43508-0a77-5729-ba0c-dcb3ba667222)ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u5e03e61b-9749-5925-a6a7-f884cf413dc8)Title Page (#udfc9addb-83cc-5075-ae71-7b909365dd07)CHAPTER ONE (#u57f427b8-9752-5f05-afd0-c83f505a2259)CHAPTER TWO (#ud87c1181-c38d-5d0f-8314-c49a0415cbf8)CHAPTER THREE (#ue43e2b09-d5ad-5a38-a71d-152edc364f14)CHAPTER FOUR (#u2fd22759-c9f2-5006-a6a3-f4c2fcecb2d7)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)Heart of the West (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“Are you in trouble with the law?”
“No,” Avery said. “What I am is broke. What I need is a job, and this one suits me fine.”
Logan finished his coffee. At one time, he’d been a good judge of character. Now he didn’t trust his own instincts. He didn’t think she’d lied, but there were secrets shifting around in those gray eyes, and her. expression was just too bland. But what did it matter? All he wanted was to be left alone. He had the feeling Avery Jensen was looking for the same.
“We’d best get some things straight,” he said. “Haven has its busybodies. They’re going to make a lot out of a beautiful, single woman living on a ranch with a widower.” He paused. “There are people in town who are going to talk about me. I don’t give a damn what they say, but you might.”
The corner of Avery’s mouth tipped slightly upward and she said, “I don’t put much stock in gossip. But just so I won’t be surprised or shocked—what am I likely to hear?”
“That I’m responsible for my wife’s and son’s deaths. And that I benefited by getting an ungodly amount of insurance money.” He shoved back his chair and stood. “They’re right on both counts.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Evelyn A. Crowe worked for twelve years as a media director in an advertising company before turning her hand to writing in 1983. Her decision to change careers was certainly a stroke of good fortune for Harlequin readers. Evelyn’s bestselling books are favorites around the world.
Safe Haven
Evelyn A. Crowe
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
THE TEXAS SPRING MORNING was pristine and breathtakingly beautiful, the air intoxicating with its scents of freshly mowed grass and newly tilled earth. Butterflies flitted over the fields. Rolling green hills were splashed with the jewel-like hues of wildflowers.
The setting was picture-perfect—except for the blacktop highway, an ugly tear in the landscape. It was also a dangerous stretch of highway, a deadly couple of miles that twisted and dipped and rose.
The purity of the morning and the cathedral silence was suddenly shattered by sounds of an ancient truck, which emitted a rooster tail of blue smoke as it rolled to a stop. The grinding of the brakes startled nearby birds from their perch in the trees.
A young woman, tall and shapely, climbed out of the passenger side of the truck. As she closed the door, a soft breeze teased her black hair around her face and made the hem of her dress flutter. She hoisted a suitcase from the bed of the truck and waved her thanks to the old man she’d hitched a ride from.
Avery Jensen watched the truck until it disappeared around a bend in the highway. She took a steadying breath to bolster her courage and turned to face the ornate wrought-iron sign arched high over the lane entrance. Her exhausting trip was almost at an end.
Despite her eagerness to finish it, she hesitated, knowing that when she walked under that arch she would truly be cut off from her world as she’d known it. She’d be a new person. If she could have given herself a whole new identity, Avery admitted, she would have. But that was illegal, and she couldn’t afford any run-ins with the law. She’d had enough of those.
Her life had been torn apart and turned inside out. She was scarred and bruised. She’d survived, but the price had been high. Once, not too long ago, she’d had it all. A beautiful home. Family and friends. She’d had a career, a position in society. She’d had power, money and the respect of her peers. She’d even had a fiancé. Now all she had was herself.
For the first time it hit her: she was free. She was safe. Avery laughed. She’d found a safe haven—Ha- ven, Texas, that is—and it beat the hell out of the home she’d had for the past eight months.
She picked up her suitcase. Everything she owned was in it, none of it old. There was nothing to tie her to the past, nothing to remind her of what she’d endured. Nothing to openly declare she’d been a fool. The heaviness of the case was a pleasant reminder that she was carrying her life with her. It felt damn good to realize she was leaving everything else behind.
Her resolve firmly set, she straightened to her full five foot eight, lifted her chin and walked under the archway of the Circle M ranch. She’d been told the owner was Logan Monahan, who raised cattle and quarter horses.
Once she was through the gate and actually on the property, her steps faltered. She was so far from Seattle it felt like another world. But that was what she wanted. Avery adjusted the shoulder strap of her bulging purse, switched the suitcase to her other hand and started walking again.
It didn’t take long for the thicket of overhanging tree limbs to thin out enough for her to see how far she had to walk. She gasped in dismay. The lane snaked for several hundred yards over the rolling land toward a grove of cottonwood trees on the crest of a hill, where she knew, from the detailed directions she’d been given, the ranch house was.
She was stronger now. She could handle anything. Gripping the heavy bag firmly, she put one foot in front of the other. On both sides of the lane, barbed-wire fences sectioned off green rolling pastures. Cattle and horses munched on the lush grass, their tails swishing lackadaisically back and forth, batting flies.
By the time Avery reached the house, she was out of breath and perspiring heavily. Too exhausted to really admire the two-story Victorian house, she did get a quick impression of butter-yellow walls, huntergreen shutters at the windows and a front porch that extended the width of the structure. The thump and bump of her case against the steps and her heavy breathing were the only sounds until she collapsed on the top step with a loud groan. Her arms were twitching with strain and her leg muscles ached. She cursed whoever had messed up and neglected to collect her at the bus station, hoping it wasn’t an omen of things to come.
After taking a few minutes to regroup, Avery struggled to her feet. She straightened the sleeveless denim dress and tried to smooth out some of the wrinkles, then pressed the doorbell. As she waited, she attempted to put some order to her hair, then waited some more. On the fourth try of the bell, with still no answer, she glanced around, a little nonplussed.
“Dammit, someone was supposed to be here,” she grumbled, and made a decision to go looking. She left all her belongings on the porch and wandered around to the side of the house. She gazed about and noticed the neglect evident in the flower beds, lawn and house. Gingerly, she stepped over an extension ladder lying on its side, as well as various tools carelessly scattered on the ground. Upon closer inspection she discovered that the side of the house had been scraped down, as if being readied for a new coat of paint.
She rounded a corner to the back and shaded her eyes to see rail fences and several other buildings. One was a small, one-story version of the main house. Its porch was shaded by blooming wisteria vines desperately in need of pruning. From the location of a truck and other machinery, she figured that two of the buildings were garages of some sort.
Despite the warmth of the sun, she shivered. The whole place was eerily quiet, as if everyone had just disappeared. Still, it awarded her the luxury of looking around and studying everything.
The last building puzzled her. It was a huge, square, redbrick structure with a slate roof and few windows. She looked from the Victorian house to the buildings again and realized what it was that nagged at her. While everything else seemed run-down, the redbrick building was modern and well kept, expensive looking. Though she knew little about ranch life, she figured it was the barn. Maybe she’d find someone there.
She’d just skirted the big truck, which was halffilled with hay bales, when she heard the sound of running water. She checked her pace, and it was then she saw him. Maybe it had been too long since she’d been so close to so much testosterone, but the sight of him made her tingle with nervous energy.
He was solidly built and naked to the waist, his tight, sun-faded jeans riding low on his hips. Bent forward with the hose held above him, he let a stream of water wash over his dark head and upper body.
Avery felt her heart slam against her ribs as she watched the water slide over his muscular shoulders and roll across his broad back, then trickle to his narrow waist and soak the waistband of his jeans.
She was transfixed by the way his muscles rippled under the tanned skin. Then he dropped the hose, straightened to what appeared to be at least six-four, and ran his fingers through his hair. Lifting her eyes from the knotted stomach muscles to his face, she bit her lip. He was not a pretty man. His nose was hawkish, his cheekbones high and sharp. His jaw, while strong, looked unrelenting. His chin and cheeks were lightly scarred from what she assumed was adolescent acne. His eyes were large and light brown, the color of autumn leaves, yet distant somehow. The only remotely soft feature that hinted at any flexibility was his wide mouth with its well-defined lips. At the moment they were held in a stern line.
A breathy sigh trembled across her own lips. He wasn’t handsome, not by her standards. But there was an aura of strength and pride about him. He was, she thought, the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on.
“Are you going to stand there staring,” he snapped, “or are you going to throw me that towel?”
She jumped, every nerve in her body alive with embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, grabbing the towel from the truck bed she was standing beside and pitching it to him. He plucked it from the air and began drying his hair, chest and stomach, never once taking those eyes off her.
“You want to tell me what you’re doing here?”
His voice was deep and smoky soft. Her own voice was stuck somewhere in her throat. Suddenly he smiled, and the appearance of a dimple in his right cheek was enough to jolt her out of her trance. “I’m Avery Jensen,” she told him.
He waited. When she didn’t continue, he returned to his task of drying off, and gave his hair another rough rub before pitching the towel into the back of the truck. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
If she could have, she would have kicked herself for acting like a dimwit. “I guess not if you don’t recognize it. I’m looking for Logan Monahan.”
“You got him.”
“What?”
“I’m Logan Monahan.”
To cover her confusion, she stuck out her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Logan. I thought you were going to pick me up at the bus station this morning. When you didn’t show up, I tried to call, but no one answered.”
He was looking at her as if she was crazy. When he took a few steps toward her, she felt threatened. Reflex made her drop her hand and step back before she realized he was simply reaching for his shirt hanging on the corner of the tailgate.