Chapter One
Sadie
I’m not saying donuts are the secret to happiness. I’m just saying that I’ve never seen someone crying while holding a donut. That’s why I started my donut shop, Sprinkles. I opened it here in the tiny town of Courage County on a whim. If a whim involves a one-way bus ticket to North Carolina and an abandoned storefront that called to me.
Truth be told, I wasn’t so sure about starting my own business. After all, I’m only twenty-one with a failed year of college and a smidge of trauma under my apron.
Still, this hasn’t been a total disaster. The folks in Courage love their sweets, and I’ve found an amazing group of women who are as passionate about reading alien smut as I am.
The only problem is no purple alien has landed in my new town to probe me in all the best ways. But I guess, life is pretty good. I mean, I’m making friends here. Especially with Linda Maple.
“Did you bring the good stuff?” Linda calls from another room as soon as I bustle through the back door of her shop. Our shops are right next door to each other’s, and she’s been a great neighbor. The sweet scent of her candles greets me here in the inventory room.
I glance around the pile of boxes. She got a new shipment of wax. Normally, her foster kids are here to help her out.
“I brought plenty of donuts,” I tell her as I thread my way around the boxes in inventory to the front of the shop. I set the box of six donuts carefully on the counter and place a second box on top of it. It only has a single donut in it for Tiny Bear. Poor little guy has had it rough in life. Fortunately, there are good people like Linda who take in kids without a place to go.
My life hasn’t been easy. Like Linda’s adopted children, I know what it’s like to be a foster kid. I understand how it feels to know your biological family hates you, and no one else wants you. Pushing back the sad thoughts, I retrace my steps to the storage room.
“Where did you say I should put these boxes?” I call to her as I grab the first one. Damn, it’s heavy. Far heavier than I thought it’d be. But if there’s one thing that working at my donut shop has given me, it’s an appreciation for hard work. If I work hard enough, I don’t have time to think about the memories that haunt me.
I hear the soft hum of her motorized wheelchair as she rolls into the room. “Anything marked with a pink sticker goes to the production room,” she explains, looking at the box that’s currently straining my back. “Some of my boys will be by later this afternoon to help with the heavy ones.”
“I don’t mind,” I puff as I carry the box from the room.
For the next hour, Linda and I move boxes. Well, she tries to move boxes, but I just take them from her. I haven’t known her for long, but I already know that her multiple sclerosis makes her tire easily.
“You should spend your energy making candles,” I gently chide as I move another box around the shop. I had no idea wax was sold in fifty-pound blocks or that it would make my back twinge this way.
She rolls to another room, looking for the candle she made just for me. “What have you been reading lately?”
Her question instantly makes me brighten. She isn’t part of my book club, but she always asks about what I’m reading.
I launch into a quick description of the purple hero in the smutty alien romance I’m reading and how the heroine has boarded his ship for the first time. “I think they’re about to do it, which is the best part.”
Linda chuckles. “You’ll have to let me know if he has horns or ridges.”
“Oh, I totally will. Hopefully, he has both.” I can’t help giggling. I love alien romances. The heroes are not only hot and alpha; they also have unusual body features that seem to exist only to pleasure the heroine.
“How long has it been since you were on a date?” Linda asks, curiosity coloring her tone.
I reach for one of the lighter boxes, to give my aching back a break. “I’m not sure.”
That sounds better than telling her I’ve never been on a date. My life has been about survival, so there hasn’t been time for dating.
“Then it sounds like it’s been too long,” Linda says gently. This is what I love about her. She’s gentle in everything she does, always taking the time to listen more than she speaks. It means every word from her mouth carries so much more weight.
I listen to the sound of her wheelchair rolling away and bend over to grab another box that I almost missed. My ass is in the air as I mutter under my breath, “Just don’t ask me how long it’s been since I’ve had an O that wasn’t a donut.”
A masculine voice answers me, “That’s a damn shame. I could help you with that problem.”
Startled, I quickly straighten and turn around. Standing in the doorway of the inventory room is the biggest cowboy I’ve ever seen. He’s leaning against the frame, casually propped up on it as if he’s here every day. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his blue jeans which—I have to be honest—are framing a very impressive bulge.
Everything, from his scuffed boots to his worn Stetson, gives him a rugged appearance. One glance and it’s obvious this is a man who would know exactly how to probe a girl. He gives me a confident smirk, as if he’s aware of my filthy thoughts.
“Excuse me?” I demand, certain I’ve misheard him. He did not just offer to help me with my O problem, did he?
He doesn’t look the least bit repentant as he repeats loudly, “I said I can help with that.”
The flush on my cheeks is from anger at having this perfect stranger invade my space and make this tiny inventory room seem the size of a cupboard. It’s not arousal. Not even a little bit of arousal. I cross my arms over my chest to hide the anger that has clearly caused my nipples to turn into sharp points. “You can help with this?”
He looks me up and down, licking his lips in an exaggerated motion that indicates he likes what he sees. “Oh, yeah. This cowboy can ride all night long.”
He’s being ridiculous. Surely, this is just some silly joke to him. One where I’m the punchline. “You can’t say stuff like that to people!”
He straightens from the doorframe, heat sparking in his gaze. He leans close to me and why is it suddenly so hot in here? Why is this tiny cupboard shrinking even more? Have I passed out again? Am I lying somewhere with a head injury this time?
He glances at my lips, angling his head closer to me. If he leaned down just a couple more inches, he could kiss me. My face tingles at the thought. “I didn’t say it to people. I said it to my future wife.”
I snort at that. Yeah, I’ve definitely fainted. I wonder if I’ll remember this delusion when my head injury heals. “You don’t even know who I am.”
“I know my future is standing right in front of me.”
So, he’s not purple, but I’m in serious danger of swooning. That’s totally a side effect of whatever happened when I hit my head. I’m not sure which one of us I’m talking to when I say, “You need help.”
I reach for a heavy box, trying to figure out if I’m awake or not. The one time I had vivid dreams after hitting my head, nothing felt real. When my fingertips brush the cardboard, I’m pretty sure I am awake.
OK, then the cowboy is nuts. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve heard the rumors that the happily married women here in Courage whisper about. They talk of gruff cowboys and grumpy mountain men who fall madly in love with a woman in a single glance.
The cowboy scowls at me and takes the box from my hands before I can lift it. “We’re discussing your need for help.”
The way he says it leaves no doubt what he meant. Could I do that? Could I take a perfect stranger up on his offer to give me a few orgasms?
“Barrett, is that you?” Linda calls from the production room.
Oh, no. No, no, no. I recognize the name Barrett. That’s her son. I’m standing here in my good friend’s candle shop while her sexy-as-sin son flirts with me. My cheeks heat even hotter. Is spontaneous combustion a real thing? I need to look that up on the internet because I’m pretty sure it’s about to happen to me. “I have to go.”
Before Barrett can say anything or Linda can roll into the room, I duck my head and sprint for the door. Without looking back, I jog from her shop into the back of mine, only pausing to put my hands on my knees and gulp in oxygen when I’m safely back in my kitchen. My heart pounds in my chest, and I try to take calming breaths.
Coco, my tan Chihuahua and fur baby, tilts her head at me as if she’s asking me what I’m running from. I keep the kitchen blocked off so she can’t accidentally wander back here, but she must have found a way around the doggie gate again.
“You’ll never believe this!” I tell her as I scoop her into my arms and march back to her special play area. “I just met Tiny Bear, and he’s not tiny at all!”
