Chapter One
Lizzy
The soft patter of rain against the roof of my aging beat-up truck usually makes me smile, but it doesn’t this morning.
I glance at my fur baby who constantly accompanies me everywhere. “Looks like we may have to make a run for it.”
He meows mournfully. He hates getting caught out in the weather just as much as I do, though we hate it for very different reasons.
“Oh, come here. One of us can stay dry,” I mutter as he climbs from the specialty cat car seat that I spent a small fortune on.
He leaps into my arms, and I tug my jacket around his bulky body. Thyroid disease and diabetes have made my baby sick. At this point, I’ve spent enough on vet bills to fund a small wing of the pet hospital. Still, it’s worth it to keep Mr. Darcy healthy and happy.
With a muttered curse, I sling my oversized purse over my arm and run for the door of the little bookshop, One More Chapter.
I moved to Courage County a few weeks ago after learning I had a long-lost grandfather living in the tiny town.
I don’t have any family. But when I found him, we clicked instantly. I only meant to stay for a quick lunch, but he showed me around town.
I stayed for the whole day. At the end of the night, he invited me to crash in one of the rooms at his big farmhouse. I’ve been here ever since.
Now, I help him run his bookstore part-time. He doesn’t need assistance, but I like that he lets me help. Especially since he won’t let me pay him rent.
The moment I step inside, my body instantly relaxes. The smell of books—old and new—greets me. It smells like ink and imagination.
I flick on the lights while Mr. Darcy scampers to his favorite window seat. He curls up on the cushion. He’ll spend the day watching the customers come and go, silently judging them the way cats do. Not that I expect many customers in this weather.
I set my bag on the checkout counter and race to the bathroom immediately to check my appearance. In the mirror, I adjust my wig one more time and make sure my eyebrows aren’t crooked.
I started losing my hair when I was a kid and over time, I slowly lost all of it. I endured the teasing and taunts from my classmates, trying not to let it show how much their remarks hurt.
Two years ago, I discovered a video channel focused on how to wear and apply wigs. Since then, I’ve gotten really good with mine. Most people don’t even realize I wear one. After that, I started to wear false eyelashes and eyebrows.
After I adjust everything in the mirror, I straighten my shirt with the book pun on it and fluff out my bright pink skirt. I love bright, colorful clothes.
Once I’m satisfied with how I look, I go through my morning routine for the shop. I flip the sign to open, put on a jazz playlist, and start the electric kettle brewing. My favorite herbal blend of tea will warm me up after the chilly rain.
“It’s coming down out there,” I tell Mr. Darcy as I move around the store, pulling out a box of new inventory.
What I love best about the bookstore is getting free access to books. It’s something I dreamed about as a kid, having my own library. But as a foster kid, that dream seemed so far out of reach that it was laughable.
Now though, I wonder if I could have it one day. A big library with a window seat for Mr. Darcy.
The bell above the door rings, but I’m too far back into the shop to see the customer. Only a regular would come in on a blustery day like today.
I call out a greeting, welcoming the unknown customer to the store. “Can I help you find anything today?”
“Just looking,” a masculine voice calls. It’s a deep, raspy sound that sends a shiver across my skin.
“Let me know if I can help you find anything.” I try to ignore the way my heart flutters. I refuse to let myself step around the aisle to catch a glimpse of who that deep voice belongs to. Courage is known for its grumpy, scowling cowboys and the last thing I need is to lose my heart to one of them.
He grunts in reply.
I shake my head and go back to my work. Unboxing the history tomes, I leave one copy out for my grandfather. He’s an avid reader who spends his evenings in his favorite faded recliner, reading anything he can get his hands on.
I grab a stack of heavy books and climb the ancient step ladder. I’ve tried to convince Grandpa that it might be smart to get an updated one with the hand railings and anti-skid steps.
I worry he’ll fall and break a bone one day. He always waves away my concern and tells me how he built this little store himself, right down to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that are ten feet tall. His chest puffs out when he gets to that part.
As I carry the books, I refuse to use my vantage point to scout for the man in the store. It doesn’t matter that he has a voice like gravel, and I’m dying for a glimpse. He’s probably just another gruff cowboy.
I’ve managed half the steps when my wet ballet flats lose traction and I slip. The books scatter as I lose my grip.
For a terrifying second, I’m airborne and shrieking. It’s only milliseconds that I’m falling, but it feels like a lifetime. I brace myself for the sickening thud to come.
But instead of connecting with the floor, I feel strong arms wrap around my body and hold me upright. My face is buried in flannel. Flannel that smells spicy and masculine.
Patting my head, I make sure my wig is still in place. It’s secure, thanks in part to the fact that I redid it in the bathroom earlier. From the time I was young, I’ve been obsessed with my hair or lack of it. I’ve always felt envious of girls with naturally thick, voluminous hair.
Slowly, I pull my face back to gaze at my rescuer. His thick beard just barely brushes the top of my head. He’s scowling at me, lines evident on his forehead. The man must spend a lot of time frowning.
For some crazy reason, I want to reach out and smooth the lines on his forehead. Then I want to trail my fingertips higher until my hands are in his thick hair. I want to tug on it and hear him growl in my ear.
My body tingles at the thought, and I’m suddenly aware that I’m gaping up at this handsome stranger with his kissable lips.
Before I can thank him for his rescue, his hand goes to my curvy stomach. I feel the heat of his touch through my thin T-shirt. “My baby belongs here.”
I blink, dazed and confused. I’ve clearly misheard him. He didn’t just say what I think he did. “Excuse me?”
His intense expression never wavers. He keeps his hand right where it is and meets my gaze confidently. “My name is Noah, and I’m going to put my baby in your belly.”
Of all the hot cowboys in Courage County, I had to meet the one that’s a complete nutcase. “You’re a weirdo. Put me down right now!”
He makes no move to release me from his strong grip. “I’ll never let you go.”
“Is this one of those fetish things? They have groups for people like you,” I tell him. I don’t know anything about those groups, but there was that viral article online last week. Maybe those people can help this giant weirdo who makes my body heat with the intense way he’s staring down at me.
“This is me claiming you,” he responds, that gravel edge back to his voice. He still hasn’t dropped his hand from my stomach. He doesn’t want to stop touching my curvy body. For a second, I wonder if he would like what’s under my clothes.
My gaze goes to his lips. I am not thinking about what it would feel like to have his lips pressed against mine. That would make me just as crazy as he is. “You’re being absurd.”
“Live with me in wedded bliss and carry my heirs,” he rasps. It sounds like a desperate command from a man on the edge.
I shake my head, his words finally registering. I’ve been through enough disappointment to know that no one wants to keep me. Not for long, anyway. “That is not how you propose! You need flowers and a ring and at least one classic book she’s read cover-to-cover so many times she can quote it.”
He finally sets me on my feet, taking his hands from my body. I miss the warmth immediately, especially when he turns and leaves the bookstore without another word.
I stand, staring after his retreating figure. It doesn’t matter if he walks away from me. It doesn’t matter if he forgets about me. It would be better if the weirdo cowboy never thought of me again.
The electric tea kettle whistles. I move toward the little kitchenette, still feeling dazed by the whole encounter. Mr. Darcy is by the stove, waiting for his morning meal.
I shake my head when I see him. “Did you get a load of that guy? The cowboys in Courage County are weird.”
