To my critique partners, Jeannie Lin, Shawntelle Madison, Kristi Lea and Dawn Blankenship, who helped me develop my idea and create a cohesive story and kept me sane. I’d be lost without them.
To Stephanie Draven, who helped me make my synopsis the best it could be.
To Maggie Mae who read through my entire first draft and gave me awesome advice.
To Missouri Romance Writers, who inspire me and provide a safe space for those of us with stories to tell.
To my agent Becca Stumpf and my first editor Patience Bloom who helped me finally find the right story to tell.
To my family for putting up with the craziness of a writer.
To my husband for allowing me to live my dream.
Eight years earlier
Brady Ward didn’t stir as the bed dipped and rose. Maggie’s bare feet slapped lightly against the wood floor. The sound of her gathering her scattered clothes from around his childhood room broke the otherwise silent morning. Even the old rooster hadn’t woken to greet the day.
The last few stragglers from Luke’s graduation party had left minutes before. The sound of engines starting had awakened him from the light sleep. Apparently, it had woken Maggie, as well. His side cooled where her body had been moments before.
Brady remained still so she could slip out of his life as easily as she had slipped into his bed last night. He could almost taste the potential in the air. That this could be more if they wanted it to be. If things were different, they could be more than just one night.
The metal rattle of his doorknob stopped suddenly and he swore he could feel her gaze on his bare back. As if giving him that final moment to reach out and welcome her back into his bed, give her the promise of something more. But he couldn’t give anyone that.
The light floral scent of Maggie drifted over him like a Siren beckoning. Her soft voice lingered in his mind—I don’t normally do this. Her rich, blond hair had felt like silk in his hands while her hazel eyes had made him feel like the only man in the world.
The door whispered open with a sigh, and she was gone.
Brady rolled and stared up at the ceiling. The graying plaster had cracked, and a daddy longlegs had taken up residence in the corner of his room. He rubbed the dull, familiar ache in his chest.
Last summer had been hard enough. He’d come home from college to help Sam with the farm and tried to keep Luke from getting into too much trouble. Burying the fact that without their mother and father, the three brothers weren’t as close a family as they once were.
No use pretending sleep would come. Brady rolled out of bed and pulled on some jeans before plodding down to the only bathroom in the house for a quick, cold shower.
As if he hadn’t been away at college for a full year, he fell into the rhythm of chores like he’d always done, because it was expected. Summer break didn’t mean he got to laze around the house all day.
By the time the cows were fed and milked, the sheep moved into a new pasture and the pigs slopped, Brady’s muscles ached. Being home felt like slipping on a suit that didn’t fit right. It had never fit.
Kicking off his muddy boots on the porch, he walked into the kitchen in his socked feet.
“Morning.” Sam stood at the stove with a spatula, pushing around brown chunks of what might have been sausage at one point in Mom’s cast-iron skillet.
“Morning.” Brady started the coffee and hoped there was some cereal or something that didn’t need to be cooked—or in Sam’s case, burned—for breakfast.
“Glad you could make it out of bed this morning.”
Noting the sarcasm, Brady said, “I’m not here to argue with you.”
Sam grunted but kept pushing around the darkened meat. “The back forty needs to be plowed. I promised John at least two loads of hay. The barn needs repair and a fresh coat of paint.”
“Where’s Luke?” Brady tried to divert the conversation from the long litany of chores.
The back of Sam’s neck tinged red like it did when Mom had caught him out late. “He went out this morning.”
“What did you do?” Reaching into the old white metal cupboards, Brady pulled out their father’s favorite coffee mug with #1 Dad emblazoned on the side in red.
“Nothing.” Sam cranked the stove off and slammed down the spatula. “Breakfast is ready.”
“That nothing is definitely something,” Brady mumbled as he found a box of Cheerios toward the back of the cupboard. Even stale, it would be more edible.
“Leave it, Brady.” Sam’s tone left no room for additional conversation. Typical Sam. Which meant that something had happened but Sam was unwilling to confront it. Instead, it would stew inside until he lashed out. Confrontation had never been the Ward family way.
Luke had only been fourteen when Dad died and sixteen when Mom died. If that weren’t enough, dealing with Sam for the past two years as his guardian couldn’t have been easy. The kid had promised Brady he would straighten out for his senior year. And he had. Luke had graduated with honors and a full-ride scholarship to University of Illinois. He’d managed to escape Tawnee Valley High without a permanent record, an unplanned fatherhood and with all his limbs intact.
With a bowl of cereal and a slightly bent spoon, Brady joined Sam at the table. Sam scarfed down the burned food on his plate. Probably so he wouldn’t have to taste it. When he finished, he leaned back in the chair with his cup of coffee and studied Brady.
Undaunted by the appraisal, Brady ate his cereal at his own pace. He might have slowed down slightly to irk his brother. Each bite felt like a lump into his stomach. He should have written a note and left. But he needed to act like the man he wanted to be.
“Maggie Brown is a good kid,” Sam said.
Brady knew it had been coming. Ever since Mom got sick, Sam stuck his nose into everyone’s business.
“She’s not a kid.” Even though Brady had seen Maggie around for years, he’d never gotten to know her. Two years behind him in school, she’d just graduated with Luke.
“I suppose not.” Sam folded his hands over his stomach. “She seems to have her head on straight. I’m not sure why she slept with you.”
The spoon clattered against the bowl. Heat flooded Brady’s system, rising until even the tips of his ears were warm. “What of it?”
“She isn’t a one-night kind of girl.” Sam’s fatherly tone had Brady biting his tongue.
Not that it was any of Sam’s business, but neither of them had made any promises last night except one night was as far as their relationship would go. There wouldn’t be any holding hands in Parson’s Park or heading over to Owen, the next town over, to watch a movie and get some dinner. Even if he wanted to, they were at different points in their lives. His plans were taking him far from this place.
“She’s the kind of girl you settle down with,” Sam added.
Brady shoved away from the table and rose slowly to glare down at Sam’s dark hair. “Are you going to arrange a shotgun wedding?”
Sam didn’t budge. “I’m thinking