He’s kryptonite. And she needs all her strength...

Noah Parks is the ridiculously gorgeous, motorcycle-riding, cage-match-fighting equivalent of kryptonite for Lindsay Harper. And she’s going to need every last ounce of her strength now that she’s the legal guardian of her brother’s five orphaned children. For the sake of her new family, it’s time to give up her carefree single ways. Stop being the cool aunt and become a parent. And fight this crazy attraction to Noah. Sure, there’s a side of him she can’t help falling for...the one who volunteers as a firefighter and helps at-risk youth. The irresistibly kind and caring side. But she is a nurse, after all. She can’t love an MMA fighter, a man she regularly has to scan for physical trauma... Can she?

“I wanted to ask you something.”

Lindsey waited.

He was silent.

“Go ahead,” she prodded.

“I was wondering if you would have dinner with me tonight.”

Seriously? The guy was wearing a hospital gown and booties and had half his body inside an MRI machine, and he was asking her out? Clearly the relaxation meds she’d given him were working. She hesitated. She wasn’t sure of Noah’s exact age, but she suspected he was at least four or five years younger than she, and given his chosen career, he wasn’t even on her radar of potential men to date. A fighter who put constant stress on his body and mind was not someone she would consider as a life partner—and at thirty-five, she thought maybe it was time to start taking relationships seriously.

“I have to work.”

Dear Reader,

Who doesn’t love a man whose beautiful, compassionate inside matches his gorgeous exterior? In book five of the Brookhollow series, Lindsey Harper is struggling with just that—feelings she has for a man she knows she shouldn’t fall in love with.

But Noah Parks makes resisting him so difficult, with his irresistible smile (and abs) and his kind heart. And it doesn’t help matters that he simply won’t take no for an answer.

Fighting for Keeps is a story I’ve wanted to write for a long time. A story about two people with two very different ideas about MMA fighting and how a compromise could ever be reached...if it actually could.

Being the fifth book in my Brookhollow series, it was a tough one to write. Having to say goodbye to two characters that I’ve grown to love as friends to the hero/heroines in these books was heartbreaking, but life is about loss, love, second chances and facing adversity. Through the tragic loss in this story, Lindsey gains her own redemption and happy-ever-after love story.

I hope this story makes you laugh, cry and root for Lindsey and Noah and their chance at love.

xo

Jennifer

Fighting for Keeps

Jennifer Snow

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JENNIFER SNOW lives in Edmonton, Alberta, with her husband and four-year-old son. She is a member of the Writers Guild of Alberta, the Romance Writers of America, the Canadian Author Association and shewrites.org. She is also a regular blogger on the Mills & Boon Heartwarming Authors site and is a contributing author to Mslexia, WestWord magazine and RWR. Her 2013 holiday romance, The Trouble with Mistletoe, was a finalist in the 2014 Golden Quill contest and the Heart of Denver Aspen Gold contest. More information can be found on her website, jennifersnowauthor.com.

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For all of the step-parents out there who love unconditionally, opening their hearts and their arms to children who need them. Dad (Robert) and Reagan—twice in my life I’ve been fortunate enough to reap the benefits of such compassion and selflessness, and I can’t thank you both enough!

Acknowledgments

Thank you to Stephany Evans, whose happy faces on my manuscripts sometimes look like little squares, but I know what you mean. Thank you to my amazing editor, Victoria Curran, whose insight always makes the book stronger. A big thank-you to Frontier College, which invited me to host their conference on Youth and the Criminal Justice System—the stories I heard that day inspired a big part of this book. And thanks to MMA athletes everywhere for the entertaining fights and the dedication you put into your careers.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgments

PROLOGUE

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

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Copyright

PROLOGUE

10 years earlier...not that Lindsay Harper remembers

WHEN LINDSAY TOOK the microphone from Ben Walker, her brother’s best man, there was a collective groan throughout the Brookhollow community center, which was elegantly decorated for the event. The wedding guests had already sat through the slightly slurred speech the maid of honor had delivered moments before, filled with embarrassing stories about her kid brother. “Excuse me...” she said into the microphone, tapping it. “Is this thing on?” She laughed as she held the microphone too close to her lips.

“Lindsay, everyone loved your speech...now it’s my turn,” the best man said.

But she moved the microphone out of his reach and took several steps toward the head table, tripping over the dangling cord as she went in her four-inch heels.

Nathan’s smile had faded and his new wife’s was forced.

“When my brother told me he was going to propose to Ra...Rachel—” she winked at her “—I was jealous.”

Leave it to Lindsay to make her brother’s special day about her in some way. It wasn’t enough that she’d shortened the maid-of-honor dress to way above the knee—and whether or not she was wearing underwear was still a debate among the table of single men in the corner of the room—or that she’d been ten minutes late to the ceremony and was now questionably sober at that early hour.

Unfortunately it didn’t seem as if there was any stopping the train wreck about to happen.

“I mean, he is two years younger than me,” she continued. “Aren’t I supposed to get married first? After all, I am older.”

Yes, she’d mentioned that.

“Lindsay, I think we need to move this along,” said Jim Bishop, the master of ceremony, reaching for the microphone.

“Stop it,” she said, smacking his hand away. She moved closer to the head table. “But then it all made sense—why this we...wedding was ha...happening so quickly.”

Rachel’s eyes widened and Nathan shot his new bride a questioning look.

Lindsay turned and pointed at Rachel. “I mean, Rachel wanted to look skinny in her wedding photos...and a baby bump sure wouldn’t have worked in that dress, would it, Rach?” She smiled at her new sister-in-law.

Nathan’s mouth gaped. Both the groom and the bride’s mothers turned to glare at each other. Clearly neither had known. Rachel slumped in her chair, her cheeks glowing.

“You’re pregnant?” Nathan asked her.

Rachel couldn’t look up at her husband.

You could’ve heard a pin drop in the community center as everyone strained to hear what she would say.

“I was going to tell you later tonight...and everyone else at a later time, but...yes, I am,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She twisted her napkin in her fingers.

“Are you serious?” he asked, cupping his wife’s face.

The two sat there, frozen, staring into each other’s eyes. All the wedding guests leaned in, trying to decipher the moment.

And then Nathan kissed her, whispered something in her ear, and the pair burst into laughter.

The room erupted into applause as congratulations rang out and more champagne was opened in celebration.

The couple shared another kiss and the mothers-in-law hugged, despite it being no secret they weren’t fond of each other, and then went to hug the bride.

Lindsay leaned across the table to join the group hug, but her mother blocked her, so she stood, looking bored and annoyed.

Damage done and no longer in the spotlight, she brought the microphone to her lips again, though no one was really paying attention anymore.

“You’re welcome,” she said, raising her wineglass to the couple before passing out in a heap on the floor—and settling the bet in the corner.

CHAPTER ONE

“I DON’T THINK this is necessary,” Noah Parks said, his eyes wide as he stared at the needle in her hand.

Tough guy was afraid of a needle. What a surprise, Lindsay thought, reaching for his arm. “Well, we do. The last time I slid you in the MRI without the sedative you almost broke the scanner, trying to get out.”

“The noise freaked me out,” he mumbled, shoving up the sleeve of the green hospital gown to allow her access to his arm.

And what an arm it was. At six feet and two hundred pounds of solid muscle, Noah was the definition of chiseled strength and athleticism.

Even though she was a professional—the head nurse of the clinic—Lindsay wasn’t oblivious to the effect his smooth, tanned biceps could have on a woman.

It was too bad he used that strength to beat the crap out of other men... That kind of ruined it for her.

She cleared her throat as she wiped the injection site with an alcohol swab. “That’s why we give you headphones.” The scan was painless but without the noise-canceling headphones, patients were often discomfited by the constant thumping and tapping.

She wrapped a rubber tourniquet around his arm and tapped his skin. A quick look at his expression revealed he was already nauseous. “I haven’t even poked you yet.”

He flinched and gripped the edge of the exam table a second later as the needle pierced the skin.

She shook her head. “You get punched in the face for a living and a tiny prick of a needle makes you woozy.” She steadied him. “I’ll leave the room for a moment to let you get settled. When you are ready, lie on the table, head pointed toward the machine—” She stopped. “You probably know the routine better than I do by now. I’ll knock before I come in.”

Picking up his medical file, she left the room and stood outside the door. Scanning his history, she sighed. Three MRIs this year so far. Luckily the magnetic resonance machines didn’t involve X-radiation, otherwise the frequency of these brain and tissue scans could be more detrimental than they were worth.

She didn’t understand why mixed-martial-arts fighters insisted on a career path that made it necessary to have their brains checked for signs of trauma before each fight. The clinic often saw fighters training at Extreme Athletics for their prefight medical clearance, but none as often as Noah. Three fights since January—what was the guy thinking?

She didn’t follow MMA, but even she knew three fights in six months were too frequent to be safe.

A glance toward the reception area revealed it was full. And she had to waste a half an hour of her time and everyone else’s on this scan. She shook her head as she placed Noah’s file on her desk.

Every day she cared for patients with injuries and diseases beyond their control. Patients who would love to be healthy and free of their medical issues.

And then there were guys like Noah—perfectly healthy guys who put their bodies in danger every time they went to work. She’d never understand the sport or the mentality of the men who competed in it.

Tapping once on the door, she let herself back into the room. In most city clinics, a technician performed the scans, but here in Brookhollow, the five nurses on staff had been trained to perform a variety of duties—operating the MRI machine was one of them.

“How do you feel?” she asked Noah. The sedative worked quickly in most cases, but with his body mass, she wanted to be sure of its effect.

“Fantastic.”

“Okay.” She handed him the headphones. “Put these on and relax. Remember to stay as still as possible. If you move, the pictures will blur and this will take longer.” She handed him the communication button. “If you need to talk to me, hit the button.”

When he nodded his understanding, she turned her attention to the controls on the side of the machine. She placed the helmet-shaped scanner over his head and he flashed a wide smile.

“You don’t like me much, do you?”

“I’d like you better if you stayed still.” She readjusted the metal frame over his ears, checking to make sure his head was centered. His last couple of scans had been clear, but anything could have changed since his last fight.

At least the fighting commissioners took proper precautions, she’d give them that much.

“But you don’t approve of what I do.”

“I don’t approve of any activity that routinely requires a brain scan. Now, shh, and stay still.” She hit the button on the side and the table slid into the tubular machine even further. She noticed his grip tighten on the communication button. “You okay?”

“Perfect,” he said, but his voice was strained.

“Okay, I’ll be in the other room, press the button if you need me.”

In the lab, she sat at the computer as the scanner performed the first series of scans. Images appeared on the screen in front of her and, to her experienced relief, nothing seemed to be a cause for concern on immediate viewing. Of course the radiologist and the doctor would review the images in more detail that afternoon.

His communicator beeped and she hit the intercom button. “Noah? Something wrong?”

“No, I wanted to ask you something.”

She waited.

He was silent.

“Go ahead.”

“I was wondering if you’d have dinner with me tonight.”

Seriously? The guy was wearing a hospital gown and booties, had half his body in an MRI machine, and he was asking her out? Clearly the relaxation meds she’d given him were working.

She hesitated. She wasn’t sure of his exact age but she suspected he was at least four or five years younger than she was and, given his chosen career, he wasn’t even on her radar of potential men to date. A fighter who put constant stress on his body and mind was not someone she would consider as a life partner, even though at thirty-five, she thought maybe it was time to start taking relationships seriously.

“I have to work.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. You were totally flirting with me at Bailey and Ethan’s wedding last weekend.”

She cringed. She’d known dancing with him had been a mistake, but when the roster of single men in town was made up of high school boys and the over-fifty divorced crowd, her options had been slim.

It had nothing at all to do with the fact that dressed in a suit and tie, Noah had been the hottest man in the room and his occupation had momentarily escaped her mind.

“I also danced with Mr. Grainger, the seventy-year-old manager of the bait-and-tackle store. Don’t read too much into it.”

“I’d like to think I was the better dancer at least.”

“’Bye, Noah.”

A moment later the intercom beeped again. She hit the intercom. “Maybe I should have specified—unless you’re in pain or experiencing anxiety, you don’t need to hit the button.”

“Wait. I am in pain.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“I’m heartbroken.”

Leaving the room, she walked into the scan area and took the communication device from him.

“Hey, what if I need you?”

“You won’t.”

* * *

OPENING THE DOOR to Victoria and Rachel’s B and B later that afternoon, Lindsay ushered Melissa inside, handing her niece her backpack. Several guests lounged in the sitting area and she waved as she scanned the room for her brother. His truck had been parked in the family’s designated parking space, which she hadn’t been expecting.

“I thought your dad was in Newark this week?” she asked Melissa.

“He got back this morning,” the girl grumbled, obviously not pleased about it, either.

“What is on my daughter’s lips?”

Ah, there he was.

Aunt and niece rolled their eyes in unison. “The shade is called Pretty in Pink,” Lindsay said.

“Tell me you did not have that on at school.” The frown lines on her brother’s forehead were so deep, he looked like the older sibling...by a lot...she liked to think.

Melissa sighed. “No, Dad. Aunt Lindsay let me try it on in the Jeep on the way home.” Lindsay watched as the girl hid the lipstick she’d given her—last season’s shade—in her back pocket.

“Well, go wash it off and start your homework,” Nathan said.

“Aunt Lindsay wants to watch the episode of Gossip Girl we recorded last night,” Melissa protested.

“Well, Aunt Lindsay can watch it. You have homework first. Besides, I need to talk to your aunt...” His voice trailed as his cell phone rang in his pocket and, reaching for it, he frowned. Again. “I have to grab this. Don’t go anywhere,” he told Lindsay.

“Where’s Rachel?”

“Upstairs bathing the two of my daughters you haven’t corrupted yet.” Answering the phone, he turned away from her. “Hello? Nathan Harper here...”

Saved by one of her brother’s demanding clients. Maybe it was Ben Walker, the friend who’d co-founded the land development firm with him. Lindsay’s most recently failed setup. Apparently, according to Ben, they’d met years ago at Nathan and Rachel’s wedding. She had no recollection of it.

Bending to whisper in Melissa’s ear, she said, “I’ll hide from your dad in your bedroom after I talk to your mom. Hurry, so we can watch the show.”

Thursday nights were Aunt and Niece Night, but the night before she’d been stuck at work. She hated disappointing the kid. The oldest of five, Melissa was expected to help out, stay out of trouble and, naturally, received the least amount of attention. Lindsay could relate.

“Okay, remember—no smoking.”

Seriously, the girl was worse than her own conscience. As a nurse, she knew the habit was a bad one, she knew the health risks, she also knew how terrible it looked to the patients when they caught her outside the clinic doing exactly what she preached to them not to do. The truth was, she’d tried many times over the years to quit and she’d failed miserably every time.

But how could she not attempt it for the fifty-eighth time when her niece had tearfully asked her to stop the month before when they’d watched a video in school about lung cancer?

She lifted the sleeve of her uniform to reveal several nicotine patches. “I’m trying,” she told her. And she was. So far she’d only caved twice in a month.

“I think you only need one,” Melissa said.

“Well, it can’t hurt. Go do your homework,” she said, the urge for a cigarette stronger now that they’d been talking about it.

The kid rushed off to do her homework at one of the dining room tables and Lindsay headed upstairs.

In the bathroom of the B and B’s living quarters, Rachel was perched over the bathtub. The eighteen-month-old twin girls, Mackenzie and Abigail, splashed in the bubbles while Rachel tried to wash their dark hair.

“What’s got my brother out of sorts now?” Best to get a heads-up from Rachel—the rational one of the pair—before dealing with her uptight sibling.

“The Facebook profile you created for Melissa.” She didn’t exactly sound pleased herself.

The girl wasn’t supposed to have told her parents Lindsay’d set up an account for her. Besides, she wasn’t stupid, she’d restricted the security settings. “What’s the point of being the cool aunt if she’s going to rat me out?”

Rachel rinsed the twins’ hair. “She didn’t. We got a call from Isabelle Thompson’s parents. Apparently, Isabelle was complaining that Mel was allowed to have Facebook and she wasn’t.”

“Wow, do all parents get up in each other’s business like that?”

Rachel shot her a look. “Nathan deleted her account.”

“Well, at least she won’t be upset with me.”

“Spoken like a true aunt,” Rachel said with a laugh. “Someday when you have kids, you’ll realize if they’re not mad at you, you’re probably not doing the job right.”

“I’m thirty-five and Mr. Right is nowhere in sight...I’m not exactly rushing out to buy parenting books.”

“Which reminds me, what happened on your date with Ben? He told Nathan you faked an emergency call halfway through dinner.” She frowned.

Great. He’d seen through the lie. She hadn’t thought he was paying attention long enough, answering his cell phone twice and replying to several “important” client emails. She’d seen her brother act that way on so many family dinners—and she wasn’t sure how Rachel put up with it.

If a man couldn’t put work aside for an hour, then she wasn’t interested.

“I’m sure he didn’t mind. We weren’t exactly hitting it off.”

“Really? He said he liked you and hoped you could try again sometime.”

Not likely. The man was nice and charming and good-looking but there hadn’t been a spark between them. He was too much like her brother...probably why they worked so well together, and exactly why he didn’t work romantically for her. Her brother was too serious and often far too stressed.

She took life one challenge at a time. The fact that Ben wanted to see her again was surprising but not going to happen. “I wasn’t feeling a connection.”

“Maybe you need to lower your standards a little. Your one-strike-you’re-out philosophy doesn’t really give the guys a fair chance, Linds.”

Lower her standards? “That’s not exactly easy, surrounded by perfect, disgusting couples all the time.”

Rachel laughed.

Lindsay sighed as she sat on the edge of the bathtub and lifted Mackenzie from the water, wrapping her in a ladybug towel.

The little girl shivered and she hugged her, wiping the soap bubbles off her legs and feet. Mac giggled and wiggled in her arms.

“‘Perfect, disgusting couples’?”

“Yes. You and my brother are the best example of the kind of nausea-inducing love hitting me in the face whenever I turn around.”

Rachel and Nathan had been high school sweethearts, which was status quo in the small town, and the couple had five adorable children. As co-owners of the Brookhollow Inn, they were family focused and as solid as any couple could be.

Lindsay had yet to find true love or anything close. Most of her short-lived relationships lasted a month at best. She couldn’t find someone who made her laugh, made her weak in the knees and wasn’t in too much of a rush to settle down. She wasn’t sure how she felt about marriage and kids. Most days, being cool Aunt Lindsay was enough.

“Well, we’ll try not to love each other so much,” Rachel said, wrapping Abigail in her butterfly towel and letting the water out of the bathtub.

“Rachel, you up there?”

Lindsay winced. Victoria Mason. Another blissfully happily married woman—one who was eight and a half months pregnant.

“In the twins’ room,” Rachel answered, as they carried the girls into the bright purple-and-pink bedroom they shared.

A long time passed before Victoria appeared in the doorway, out of breath. “Hi, Lindsay.”

“Hey, Vic,” Lindsay mumbled, fighting a sense of irritation at the sight of Rachel’s partner in the inn. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Victoria. The opposite was true—she admired and respected the woman who’d left Brookhollow years before to pursue a career in New York City. Lindsay just wished she’d stayed there instead of returning to marry Luke Dawson. A man Lindsay had always had feelings for. Unreciprocated feelings, but still...

“I wanted to say good-night. I’m heading out. The front entrance is locked and no other guests are scheduled to check in tonight.”

“Okay, as soon as I put the girls to bed, I’ll go down and get the tables set for tomorrow’s breakfast,” Rachel said.

“It’s done.”

“Wow, I don’t know how you’re not dead on your feet. When I was pregnant, I got exhausted walking to the bathroom.” Rachel slid Abigail’s tiny arms into the one-piece pajamas covered in dinosaurs.

Her frugal sister-in-law reused as much of her older children’s clothes on the smaller ones as she could. Nathan’s company had picked up in the past year, but Lindsay knew that being self-employed often gave the couple concern, especially with the possibility of five college tuitions to pay for someday.

“Ah, staying busy helps to keep my mind off things.” Victoria shrugged, but Lindsay noticed the dark circles under the blonde’s tired eyes.

The nurse in her took over.

“Keeping busy is fine, but you really should start taking it easier in these last few weeks. You’re going to need your strength for the delivery,” she said bluntly. Victoria’s blood pressure had been high at her appointment the month before. She was afraid the high-strung workaholic was overdoing it.

Besides running the B and B, the woman was still volunteering on the New Jersey Tourism Board, against her doctor’s recommendations. And Lindsay knew the mom-to-be was putting the baby’s nursery together, instead of waiting for Luke.

“See? Nurse’s orders to take it easy,” Rachel said, zipping Mackenzie’s fire-truck-printed one-piece.

Victoria held her hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay. I promise to slow down.” She kissed both little girls before turning with a wave and wobbling back down the stairs.

When she was out of earshot, Rachel whispered, “I’m worried about her.” Her sister-in-law hesitated. “She made me promise not to say anything...”

Lindsay crossed her heart. “Look, I know I’m the source of most of the gossip in town, but I’ll consider this patient confidentiality. What is it?”

“She passed out in the kitchen yesterday.” Setting Mackenzie in the crib, Rachel pulled the fleece blanket over her and kissed her cheek.

“Had she eaten anything?”

“Yeah, we’d just finished lunch.”

That was worrisome. “Okay, thanks for letting me know.” Victoria certainly wouldn’t have. “I’ll make a note on her file to check her blood sugar on next week’s visit.”

“Thanks, Lindsay.” Rachel looked relieved as she turned off the bedroom light and softly closed the door behind them. “With Luke out of town a lot, I worry about her.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” she said with a sigh.

When she’d bought the house next door to Luke almost two years before, she’d hoped their “new neighbor” status would bring them closer together, but then Victoria had moved back to Brookhollow.

Living next door to the couple was tough.

Over the past few months Lindsay had contemplated selling her home and moving closer to the medical clinic. Especially now that there would be a family in the house next door.

Maybe being in a less “family friendly” neighborhood might make her single status easier to live with.

* * *

NOAH PACED THE GYM, listening to the side of the phone conversation he could hear, as his trainer spoke to the New Jersey athletic commissioner. With the number of uh-huh...okay’s and I understand’s from Brandon, it was impossible to determine whether the MMA fight next month in Newark would be sanctioned or not.

He needed this fight.

With his record 6-0 since he’d started fighting the year before, under the guidance of Brandon Sheppard and his brother, who owned the local MMA club, he only needed another knockout to be considered for the UFC—the biggest MMA organization in the world.

Not to mention, he hadn’t had a payday in six weeks, since his last fight in LA, and the money in his bank account was dwindling. His volunteer role at the local fire station had yet to turn into a paid position, which he’d hoped for when he moved to Brookhollow from Beach Haven the year before.

He was starting to wonder if he’d ever achieve his dream of fighting in the Ultimate Fighting Championship.

He tried to push his strained finances from his mind as he waited for the verdict on his upcoming fight.

“Okay, thank you, sir,” Brandon said as he disconnected the call.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Am I fighting next month?” His eyes wide, his hands clenched in fists at his sides, Noah waited.

“Yeah, you’re fighting next month.”

Yes!

He’d watched countless YouTube videos of his opponent’s previous bouts and the Bronx native was nothing he couldn’t handle. He and Brandon had identified holes in Romeo Rodriguez’s ground game as well as a weak right hook. Noah was prepared to dominate the fight by playing into the weak spots.

Brandon opened his desk drawer and pulled out the medical clearance form, giving it to him. “Once you get the results from your MRI, have Dr. McCarthy sign this. You may need additional blood work—she’ll let you know.”

Noah winced. It wasn’t the needle so much as the idea of blood leaving his body that made him woozy. Ironic, given his choice of career.

The only plus side to more tests was having a valid excuse to see Lindsay Harper again. He’d been flirting with her for months and thought he’d made headway with her at Bailey and Ethan’s wedding. But she’d ignored his every attempt to see her since.

“Speaking of the MRI, how many have we sent you for this year?”

Noah shrugged. He’d known this was going to come up at some point. “Three.”

Brandon leaned against the counter, the fabric of his old, ratty Extreme Athletics T-shirt straining at his waist. The coach hadn’t fought in years and had relaxed his own training in recent months. “Look, most guys aren’t fighting so often. After this fight, I need you to take a longer break, okay?”

He couldn’t afford a longer break. He was paying a reasonable monthly rate for the apartment above the gym, but he was already late with this month’s rent. He nodded. “Okay.”

“I mean it. At least three months.”

Three months? That couldn’t happen. “What about the UFC? I thought once I win this fight next month, we were going to try to get me onto the August 22 fight card.”

Twelve weeks away. With a payout for a win in the UFC, he could afford to take a three-month break from fighting, not before.

Brandon hesitated. “I don’t know. Why don’t we try for the October...maybe even the November fight card? It will give you a break, repair some of the torn muscles from overtraining...”

Noah shook his head. “I’m fine. I’m at the top of my game Brandon...I need this August fight, then I promise to take a break.” Unless the UFC wanted him again right away. Then how could he possibly say no?

“Get through this one, okay? Then we’ll talk.” Brandon tapped him on the shoulder as he led the way to the mat to resume their training.

“Okay,” Noah said, knowing with or without his coach’s consent he’d be on the UFC’s August fight card.

The only thing standing in the way of his UFC debut was Romeo Rodriguez.

CHAPTER TWO

“WHY ARE THE men bowling in the dark?” Lily Duke asked, sitting across from her in the booth at the pool hall cum bowling alley cum movie theater later that evening.

Lindsay squinted in the dim lighting and turned in her seat. “They’re glow bowling,” she said, suppressing an urge to roll her eyes as the pool hall’s bartender glanced their way. “Heather’s trying to bring a younger crowd to the weekly bowling leagues.”

“Doesn’t she know we are the younger crowd around here?” Lily laughed, sipping her wine.

“I don’t blame her for wanting to liven this place up. It could use some new blood, but I think she’s fighting a losing battle.”

Heather Corbett was a New York City girl who’d come to Brookhollow the year before for Victoria and Luke’s wedding and had stuck around. She’d taken over the bar when Melody Myers had left town to pursue a music career. Heather had redecorated the space as best as she could, adding laminated drink menus to the tables and rearranging the pool tables to create a bigger dance floor. She’d somehow gotten the owner to approve the addition of four big flatscreens, which were now blasting the opening theme song of the UFC’s pay-per-view.

That, too, was a new addition to the pool hall’s offerings. Lindsay shuddered. “I didn’t realize the fights were this weekend.” It had been bad enough when sports were showed continuously on the big screens.

Lily glanced toward the flatscreen as highlights from previous fights flashed, her face clouding.

“You okay? We don’t have to stay...” Lindsay reached for her coat, but Lily waved a hand.

“No, it’s fine.” She released a deep breath. “Men hitting each other doesn’t really bother me...it was one particular guy beating me half to death that I objected to.” She tugged on her sleeve to cover the long scars Lindsay knew were on her forearms.

Her stomach turned. She remembered all too well how badly hurt Lily had been when she’d arrived in Brookhollow.

Her car had run out of gas outside of town and Bailey had brought her to the medical center after picking her up in the tow truck. Frightened and frantic, Lily’d fought against receiving medical care, despite swollen black eyes, a busted lip and gashes on her right side from a knife attack. Damage caused by the husband she’d been fleeing.

One who was now thankfully in jail in Newark.

“You’re safe now,” she said, repeating what she’d repeated over and over to the scared woman while the doctors at the clinic had treated her wounds.

Lily nodded. “If you had told me a year ago I’d be free of him and living here with my own clothing store and amazing new friends, I never would have believed it.”

“Well, believe it.” She gave her hand a squeeze. “We’re all so happy you decided to stay.”

Especially her. Her reputation in town as being a gossip and a busybody was one she didn’t refute, but it made making real friends difficult—it always had. Lily didn’t seem to mind, accepting her for who she was.

The small bar grew louder as the fights started and while Lindsay refused to watch them, she could appreciate the physiques of the fighters as they disrobed to climb into the ring. Muscle from head to toe. Strong, alpha males were admittedly her thing—she just wished men with bodies like that didn’t come with inflated egos and empty minds.

“They are nice to look at, I’ll give them that,” she said, sipping her cosmo. An image of Noah’s sculpted biceps flashed in her mind.

Across the bar, the man himself caught her eye. In a pair of jeans that hugged his thighs and a black T-shirt with the UFC logo on the front, he looked comfortable, confident and relaxed. His easy you-lied-to-me smile made her glance away quickly.

She groaned.

She should have known with the limited choices for a night out in Brookhollow, he’d find out she’d been lying about having to work.

She reached for a menu. “We should eat,” she said to Lily, scanning it. She could feel Noah’s gaze still on her and her cheeks flushed. Why was he staring at her? She shot him a look. He laughed and took a mouthful of his beer, winking at her over the bottle.

Holy hotness.

She shook her head. What a waste. It was a shame really.

“What’s wrong?” Lily asked.

She snapped her attention back to her friend. “Nothing. Why?”

“Who were you looking at?” Lily turned in her seat, glancing toward the group of men watching the fights. “Ah...Noah.”

Lindsay’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just a matter of time before he wears you down, you know.”

“I’ll have you know, he asked me out again today, and again I said no.”

She should be praised for her resolve. Since moving to Brookhollow the year before, Noah had asked her out several times and every time he came into the clinic, he asked for her. He was about as subtle as a brick to the forehead.

Lily cocked her head to the side.

“What?”

“I guess I just don’t get it.”

“Oh, come on. I’d never even consider dating Noah or any of those guys that train over at Extreme Athletics. I mean, sure they are among the hottest men anywhere, but you know how little respect I have for their career. I’m a nurse. I’ll never date a fighter.”

“Even though the chemistry between the two of you last weekend at Bailey and Ethan’s wedding rivaled that of the happy couple?”

Lindsay scoffed. “It was only a dance.”

“Four dances and, believe me, all eyes were on the two of you.”

She’d known dancing with Noah at the wedding would spark gossip all over town, but she was used to being a topic of conversation and she’d learned over the years that people believed what they wanted to believe. No amount of protest would convince them otherwise, so she’d given up trying.

“According to Nathan, all eyes were on the length of my dress,” she said, rolling her eyes. Her brother would find any excuse to criticize her. They’d once been close...but their differences made it difficult to be friends in adulthood. Her brother was a worrier and slightly uptight. He had trouble relaxing and enjoying life. She saw things differently, wanting to enjoy every moment, and short dresses and dancing the night away were a part of that. If her brother didn’t like it...too bad.

“Whatever. You have great legs. Why not show them off?”

“Would you have worn it?” She toyed with the stem of her wineglass. The opinions of others rarely mattered to her.

“No!”

“Great, so it was a T-shirt pulled down over my hips?”

Lily laughed. “Maybe. But who cares? You looked great in it... You know what? I may borrow it sometime.”

Lindsay laughed. “Yeah, right.” She couldn’t remember ever seeing Lily in a dress or anything that showed any amount of skin. She knew her friend was self-conscious about her scars, but she also suspected her ex-husband’s abuse had been more than just physical.

Heather approached the table with a round of drinks. “Compliments of the hottest man I’ve seen in here...ever,” she said, setting the drinks in front of them and nodding toward Noah.

He lifted his beer in greeting across the pool hall. Heather and Lily all but swooned. Lindsay smiled her thanks before placing her empty glass on Heather’s tray.

“Okay, so let me get this straight. You’ll dance with him, you’ll accept his free drinks, but you won’t date him.”

If she dated every man she’d ever flirted with, she’d have dated every man under forty in New Jersey.

She smiled at her friend. “Exactly.”

* * *

NOAH PARKED HIS motorcycle in the back parking lot at the community center late the next morning. The enormous space was home to a dozen after-school programs and summer camps throughout the year, and served as a host venue for weddings and holiday parties, as well. It was a staple in the community and the heart of Brookhollow.

As he took off his helmet, the door to the center opened and a tall, thin, teenage boy came out. “Hey, Dominic,” Noah said.

The kid’s face lit up. “Hey, Noah. I didn’t think you were going to make it today.”

Made him grateful he’d climbed his tired butt out of bed. “Of course. Sorry I’m late.” He secured his helmet to the bike and stripped out of his leather Rocket jacket in the hot, early June sun.

“When are you going to let me drive your bike?” Dominic asked, his admiring gaze on the Honda Cruiser.

“The day you get your motorcycle license. How did the permit test go?”

Dominic’s shoulders sagged. “Not so great.”

What a drag. He’d been hoping the boy’s third try would be a success. “Don’t worry about it. Next time. You got your road rules book here?”

Dominic nodded unenthusiastically.

“Great. We’ll work on it again today.” Wrapping an arm around the kid’s shoulders, he ushered him back inside the community hall.

To his right, a group of volunteers played basketball with some twelve-to fourteen-year-olds and on his left, at the computer stations, members of the Turnaround program were helping an older teen update his résumé.

Since starting the program nine months ago, they had placed eight kids with local jobs. Noah prayed the government funding for the program continued beyond this first term the city had agreed to as a test.

Brookhollow was a quiet, peaceful town, but that didn’t mean there was enough work to go around and that nobody had any problems.

Noah had grown up in a small town very much like this. He knew firsthand what it was like to be a kid from a family that never had enough. And to have parents who...well...who didn’t know how to cope with raising a child. He swallowed hard, squeezing Dominic’s shoulder before dropping his hand.

This program was there for kids who needed the support they weren’t getting at home, kids who were deemed troublemakers by school officials and who were never given a chance to move beyond their circumstances.

From inside the office, Joanne was signaling for him. He nodded and turned to Dominic. “Why don’t you find a table and get started? I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“Okay, but I really think a hands-on approach would help me learn better.”

“Nice try, but your road test will be done with a car, not a motorcycle. Not exactly the same thing.”

Inside the office, Joanne Kelly greeted him with a warm smile, then an immediate, “Bad news.”

“Fantastic, I love starting the day with bad news. Means the day can only get better. Let’s hear it.”

Picking up a letter from the desk, she handed it to him. “The National Crime Prevention Strategy has denied our application for funding.”

“Again? I thought we jumped through all the hoops this time. How can they continue to deny the funding? This program is designed to do exactly what they’re hoping to accomplish at a community level—reduce the number of kids in the criminal justice system.”

Noah took the letter and scanned it quickly for the reason. “Lack of sufficient regulations on the program.” Again.

He tossed the paper onto the desk and sat in the chair across from Joanne. “I don’t know what else to do. We have the New Jersey parole officers on board making sure these kids get to the programs three times a week to meet with their mentors...you’re on staff now...” He shrugged.

“I’m a volunteer on loan from Mentor’s partnership program. You need full-time staff. A social worker would be a good start...a real teacher to oversee the tutoring...”

“These kids’ grades have improved significantly with the help of mentors. And I’ve tried to get real teachers involved. No one has the extra time to give to the program,” he said harshly.

Noah saw through the excuses: no one saw the value in the program. How was that even possible? He was convinced they were helping the kids who’d enrolled.

Weren’t they?

He shook his head in disgust. Now was not the time to start having doubts. He would just have to find a better way to prove that the community center mentorship helped change lives for the better.

“Hey, I’m not the enemy here,” Joanne chided softly. “I’m just trying to explain why the funding keeps getting denied.”

He ran a hand over his short hair. “I’m sorry. I just don’t get it. Without funding, I can’t hire accredited staff, and without them, I can’t get funding.”

It had been an uphill battle to even get the nine-month trial approved on the program without regular, accredited staff in place, but he’d assured the city official he’d met with that he was working on it. He was. Joanne had been a good start. Of course, she was correct. She was only on loan and volunteering her time; for how long, he didn’t know.

Joanne hesitated, twirling a strand of her bright red hair around her finger.

A nervous habit of hers. Great, there was more she wasn’t saying. He waited.

“It gets even worse,” she said finally.

“So much for my theory of it only getting better,” he mumbled.

“The city sent a letter informing us the Turnaround funding would only be extended until the end of the month...they say the program hasn’t produced enough significant results to warrant their support beyond that.”

“Not enough significant...” Noah stood with his hands on his hips, fighting to control his anger. Joanne was just the messenger. He wouldn’t take his frustration out on his only real supporter.

He took a calming breath before saying, “How can they say that taking eight kids off the street isn’t significant enough?” One of the eight had even returned to finish high school at nights.

“Because last month, twenty kids in New Jersey were incarcerated. Unfortunately it’s a numbers game, Noah. We have to prove the program is working. And now I’m going to say something that will probably make you even more angry, but I’m going to say it anyway.”

He waited. What he both appreciated and hated about the woman was her blunt candidness. He suspected today he was going to hate it.

“You need to be here more. If this program has any hope of success, it needs you. The volunteer mentors are trying, but they need direction and guidance.”

He knew she was right. He’d started the program when he’d met Dominic. The boy had been walking home with a bleeding lip and tears in his eyes. After much prying, the boy had told him that the injury was a result of him refusing to participate in a gang initiation break-and-enter at an abandoned warehouse outside town.

Noah’s admiration of the boy’s courage and strength to do the right thing had sparked a fire in him to help kids like Dominic find alternatives to a criminal path. Kids who wanted to do the right thing but couldn’t find a way out of the trouble they were involved in.

Kids like him at sixteen.

In less than a year he’d grown the after-school mentoring and outreach program to fifteen student volunteers three times a week, each paired with two at-risk youth in the community. The mentors were potential at-risk older teens who’d found purpose and direction in helping younger kids.

The motto of the program was “We are all on the same journey, just at different points.”

The common stories shared between mentors and mentees brought them closer and instilled confidence and respect in the younger kids. Noah shared his own story of going down the wrong path with these kids over and over in the hope of being a role model for these children.

The only real problem was that the program was growing at the same time as his fighting career. Something he hadn’t fully considered.

As much as he knew how important his direct involvement was to the future success of the program, he couldn’t be in more than one place at once and his training was important, too.

“I’ll figure something out.”

Joanne didn’t look convinced as she nodded. “Okay, what do I do in the meantime?”

“Please keep reapplying for the funding. The worst they can do is keep saying no, right?”

When she opened her mouth to respond, he shook his head. “Don’t answer that.”

He knew that wasn’t the worst they could do. In truth, without the proper regulations in place and a permanent on-staff director who could be held responsible for the program, the city could shut it down at any time.

Opening the office door, he joined Dominic at his table.

If nothing else, he was going to help this kid get his driver’s license.

* * *

LINDSAY ALL BUT ran from one examination room to the other where patients were waiting far too long to see a physician. Some kid had come back from an early summer vacation in France with a bad case of chicken pox and had succeeded in infecting the rest of Brookhollow Elementary with the disease.

Sixteen confirmed cases and counting already that day. Itchy, irritable children were bad, but they were nothing compared to the group of men who’d come in contact with poison ivy on a hunting trip.

People scratching themselves every which way she turned would have been almost funny, if she wasn’t so exhausted. Like most medical facilities in small towns, Brookhollow’s clinic provided a wide range of services and ran on a skeleton crew. Which was usually okay, until an outbreak occurred. Then the staff was expected to work double shifts and no one came out of days like this in a good mood.

She grabbed the next file from the reception desk.

Great, one of the grumpy men. At least he was the last of that group. “Mike, you can follow me,” she said, noticing Noah waiting near the clinic door. The small space was at standing-room capacity. “You here to pick up your results?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Don’t worry, I can wait.”

“Thanks. Give me a few minutes,” she said as she led Mike to an exam room. “Dr. McCarthy will be a few minutes. Try not to scratch.”

She shut the door and headed down the hall toward the file cabinets. Noah’s MRI results had come in that morning. He was all clear to fight, and she wasn’t sure why the positive results annoyed her. Of course, she’d never want anything to be seriously wrong with him...or any of her patients, but if only there was enough reason not to provide medical clearance.

Picking up the letter from Dr. McCarthy and a copy of the results to send to the fight committee, she went back to the desk and nodded for Noah to come forward.

“I could have waited.”

She shook her head. “We’re trying to limit wait times for anyone not here with chicken pox. The last thing we need is an adult outbreak.”

The clinic door opened and Victoria waddled in.

Oh, no. “Give me a sec,” she told Noah. Rushing toward the front door, she ushered Victoria back outside, reaching for a bottle of hand sanitizer as she went. “No! No! Get out...”

Victoria frowned as they walked into the hot sun. “What are you doing? I have a checkup with Dr. McCarthy today and I have to pee.” Her eyes widened as she held her baby bump. “This kid is using my bladder as a trampoline.”

“We will have to reschedule and you’ll have to pee somewhere else.” Lindsay took Victoria’s hands and pumped the sanitizer on them. “There’s an outbreak of chicken pox in there.”

Victoria immediately took several steps away from the clinic, furiously rubbing her hands. “Is it serious?”

“Sixteen cases so far today.”

Victoria moved farther away from her.

“I’m fine. Nathan and I had them as kids. Mom sent us to go play with Jonathan Turner when he had them one summer.” Lindsay had had to miss Brownie summer camp that year and instead had been stuck in the house all week with Nathan.

She could understand the logic now, but try explaining it to an eight-year-old who missed summer camp.

“Anyway, let’s rebook your appointment for next week...” She paused, remembering what Rachel had said about Victoria passing out. “You know what, I’ll stop by your house tomorrow morning and take your blood pressure and some routine tests.”

“Since when does the clinic do house calls?” Victoria eyed her suspiciously. “Rachel told you I passed out, huh?”

Okay, her sister-in-law couldn’t blame this one on her.

“Yes. She was worried about you.”

“Who else knows?”

Lindsay suppressed a sigh. She deserved that. Her reputation around town as the local one-stop-gossip-shop wasn’t entirely baseless. She did like to gossip...as long as it didn’t hurt anyone. “I filed it under patient confidentiality. Now, go home and rest and I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?”

“Thanks, Lindsay.”

Parked in the visitor space, Luke jumped down from the driver’s side of the truck when he saw his wife approach. He frowned, but then waved to Lindsay once Victoria explained the situation to him.

She smiled and watched Luke lift Victoria into the passenger seat.

That should have been her, she couldn’t help but think. Oh, well, maybe someday... Well...not someday with Luke, but someday with someone else. Someone better.

Yeah, right, as if that were possible.

Back inside the clinic, she returned her attention to Noah. “Sorry about that.”

“What was that? I mean, it’s no secret Vic’s not your favorite person, but kicking her out of the clinic is kind of harsh, don’t you think?” He smiled as he leaned against the counter.

Lindsay laughed for the first time that day as she pushed his arms away from the counter. “Seriously, this place is infested, don’t touch anything,” she said, disinfecting the counter with sanitizer wipes for the millionth time and handing him the sanitizer, which he refused. “And I sent Victoria away because she’s pregnant and the virus can harm an unborn child.”

“Oh, wow, didn’t know that.”

She flipped through his paperwork to make sure everything was there. “So, everything came back normal and you’re cleared to fight.” She’d delivered the good news through clenched teeth.

He took the paperwork. “Why do you disapprove of fighting so much?”

She was sure they’d had this conversation already. “It’s pointless and brutal. Two men hitting each other... I guess I don’t see how that can be considered a sport.”

“There is technique involved,” he said. “And a lot of training and conditioning...”

“I’m sure there’s more to it than I know.” Or want to know. She picked up the next file. “As fascinating as I’m sure it is, I have to get back to work.”

“What are you doing later?” He blocked her path to the waiting area.

“Working.”

“You’ve used that lie already.”

She pointed to the crowded waiting room. “It’s hardly a lie.” Today.

He grinned. “Okay, so what you’re saying is if you didn’t have to work tonight, you’d have dinner with me?”

“Not at all. What I’m saying is, if I didn’t have to work tonight, I would need to come up with a lie.”

* * *

“I...JUST...DON’T...GET...IT,” Noah panted between punches on the heavy bag an hour later.

On the other side Brandon held the bag as he continued his rain of jabs and strikes on the worn leather. “Look, man, I’d like to help you, but women troubles are not really my thing.”

“We haven’t even made it to troubles yet, she just straight-out refuses to even have dinner with me because I’m an MMA fighter. It’s actually kind of prejudiced.” Noah threw one final jab, then hit the mat at his feet in push-up position. “I mean, it’s like she assumes fighting is all I am.”

“Isn’t it?” Brandon asked, adding a stack of weights on his back.

Noah struggled with the last two, his forearms burning after the intense twenty-minute circuit set. “No way.”

He wondered what his coach would think if he knew about the outreach program. Since coming to Brookhollow, he’d made some great friends, Brandon and his brother Jordan included, but he was careful about what he chose to reveal about himself.

The families he’d met in the small town were so different from his own. They were supportive of one another, divorce was rare and his friends... Though they’d had their struggles they had never had to wonder where their next meal would come from or have to help their passed-out father to bed after far too many drinks.

Revealing the good he was trying to do would only spark conversation about the bad in his past. And he’d moved away from that. He wanted his friends to see him as the man he was now.

“I’ve got other things going on,” he said noncommittally as he rolled onto his back and brought his left knee and right elbow together in a crunch.

“The thing is,” Brandon admitted, “I’m not getting your attraction to her.”

“You’re kidding, right?” How could the men in this town be so blind to Lindsay’s appeal? She was smart, beautiful, kind... Impossible to reach. He was no stranger to chasing a pretty woman, but he’d believed her when she’d said she wasn’t interested. He just wasn’t sure he could accept that answer. Not this time. Not with her.

“Okay, maybe I’ve pegged her wrong. So enlighten me. What does it for you?”

“For one, she’s a knockout.” Noah did his twentieth crunch and his stomach started to burn. He loved that feeling, so he pushed on.

“I’ll give you that. She’s definitely one of the more attractive women in town,” Brandon said.

Noah let out a deep breath as the crunches got tougher and his abs hardened.

“And she’s educated,” he huffed, recalling how Brandon’s sister had filled him in on all the details on Lindsay the first night he’d noticed her at Bailey’s Thursday-night self-defense class at Extreme Athletics.

“She’s amazing with her patients.”

“Okay, so, maybe it’s a Florence Nightingale syndrome. You get hurt a lot, she has morphine?”

Noah shook his head as he stood. His buddy would never get it. Once opinions and stereotypes were formed in small towns, they were tough to shake. And Lindsay fit a clear stereotype in Brookhollow. He knew firsthand how annoying it was to be pegged a certain way and never given the benefit of a doubt. That was why he kept his past a secret from his friends. “Never mind.”

“Okay, maybe I can see why you like her, but, man, she does not like you,” Brandon said, tugging off Noah’s training gloves and unwrapping his hands.

“Believe me, I’ve noticed.”

It only made him want her to even more.

His entire life he’d met with challenges and adversity and he’d been successful in overcoming a lot. Could he meet the challenge of the five-foot-two, brilliant blonde who held firm to her own prejudice about him?

* * *

LINDSAY CRINGED AT the sound of the clinic door opening. The fourteen-hour shift continued with no end in sight. Her feet ached, even in her practical nursing shoes, and the last thing she’d eaten was half a protein bar as she’d rushed from one patient to another.

All she wanted was a cigarette, but each time she reached into her purse for her emergency pack, she heard her niece’s teary plea.

This day couldn’t end soon enough.

As she turned toward the door she almost wished it was another infected six-year-old as her eyes met Noah’s. What was he doing here again?

“Noah, if you have another self-inflicted injury—” She stopped when her gaze fell to the picnic basket he carried, the smell of fried chicken from Joey’s diner on Main Street filling the tiny waiting room.

Several patients, who’d been waiting hours to see a doctor, stared longingly at the basket and she had to swallow to stop from salivating.

“You brought your dinner into a medical clinic where people have been waiting for hours to see a doctor?” Talk about insensitive.

“It’s not for me,” he said, moving the magazines aside on the waiting room table. Setting the basket down, he opened it.

Lindsay’s eyes narrowed as she watched him remove two large buckets of the chicken and a stack of paper plates and napkins...and Tina’s famous potato salad...

Her weakness.

“Everyone, help yourselves,” he said, opening a grocery bag and handing out apple juice to the kids.

The waiting, hungry patients didn’t need any more prompting as they passed around the plates and the food.

Huh, that was...unexpected. And a little bit fantastic.

He took a smaller container from the basket. “Here. I wasn’t sure if greasy, fried food was your thing, so I brought you a BLT, with a side order of potato salad.”

Above and beyond. Who would have thought?

“Thank you. This was really nice of you.” She hesitated, still a little dumbfounded, but more than a little starving.

“Take a few minutes to eat. They are.” He nodded to the group devouring the impromptu food delivery.

“Okay.” She headed down the hall, but paused when she noticed he wasn’t following her. “You coming?” Her question must have surprised him as his eyebrows shot up.

He smiled. “No, you’re busy. I just wanted to stop by to take care of the pretty lady who’s taking care of everyone else.”

She felt her cheeks go red. “Well, thank you. Again.”

“Anytime,” he said over his shoulder as he left.

Unwrapping the sandwich where she stood, she watched Noah cross the parking lot to his motorcycle. So dangerous, so carefree—he really was the kind of man who preferred to live life on borrowed time.

She could never be with a man like Noah, but she had to admit, with each delicious bite of her BLT, she was beginning to feel huge regret about it.

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