Sweet Wild of Mine Laurel Kerr 2 Full Download Chapter
Sweet Wild of Mine Laurel Kerr 2 Full Download Chapter
Sweet Wild of Mine Laurel Kerr 2 Full Download Chapter
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Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Back Cover
For my mother: my first fan and on-call babysitter
For my husband: for all the loads of laundry he did so this book
could be written
For my daughter: who has graciously allowed Mommy writing time
Chapter 1
***
“What was that all about?” June’s best friend, Katie, asked as she
appeared, holding a glass of sparkling grape juice. She had her other
fingers spread wide over the slight swell of her stomach. June didn’t
think Katie even realized that she’d barely moved her hand from her
belly all evening. The new mama simply radiated protective affection
for her unborn twins. Scientists claimed hormones caused the
pregnancy glow, but June believed it sprang from pure love, and
Katie had always been a big softie when it came to family.
“That man just told me to fuck off,” June said, still unable to shake
her disbelief at the man’s rudeness. Her atypical feeling of
annoyance only spiked when Katie gave an exaggerated snort, her
mass of red curls bouncing.
“Josh,” Katie shouted over to their mutual friend from college who
was in town for the weekend to celebrate her good news. “You won’t
believe it. Some guy actually told June to fuck off.”
“Well, he didn’t tell me to fuck off exactly. It was more like ‘feck
aff.’”
“Suu-uure,” Katie said before she took a long sip from her flute of
grape juice. “Totally different.”
Josh sauntered over to join them, his West Coast designer clothes
looking slightly out of place in the sea of flannel and jeans. “What’s
this I hear about some guy giving June the brush-off?”
“My word, you’d think no one has ever been rejected before in the
history of mankind.”
“Oh, we all have, June. Just not you.” Josh slung an arm over her
shoulder in a brotherly gesture. Although he’d moved back to
California after college to start his own computer security company,
the three of them had remained close. “What did this guy look like
anyway?”
“From the back, not June’s usual type,” Katie said. “Too hairy. Too
beefcakey.”
“Too rude,” June added.
Katie’s husband, Bowie, walked over to them and pulled his wife
against his side. The two had been married less than six months,
and they still basked in the honeymoon glow. June had a suspicion,
though, they’d probably be this adorably sweet when they were in
their nineties, and she was never wrong when it came to matters of
the heart.
“Who’s a rude, hairy beefcake?” Bowie asked.
“June’s unrequited love.” Katie stood up on her tiptoes to brush a
quick kiss across her husband’s mouth, even though they’d only
been separated for a matter of minutes.
June found the couple’s affection incredibly sweet. Josh, though,
had a tendency to tease them. When she spotted him starting to roll
his eyes, she jabbed him in the stomach with her elbow. This was
Katie and Bowie’s evening, and she didn’t want anything to ruin it,
even good-natured ribbing.
Before Josh could protest, June said quickly, “Heavens to Betsy, I
was just making nice to the man. I don’t know why y’all are turning
it into a declaration of love. It wasn’t as if I was flirting.”
At her last statement, all three of her friends burst into
uncontrollable laughter. June glared at them. Katie got herself under
control first. “June, you flirt with every guy. It’s how you interact
with the entire male population of our species.”
“Our species? Have you seen how she gets with the cute animals
at Bowie’s zoo?” Josh asked.
June popped Josh on the arm, but she couldn’t argue with Katie.
She was a flirt. “Well, maybe I was flirting just a smidge, but I was
only being welcoming to a stranger. Like Katie said, he’s not my
usual type.” June liked her lovers to be as easygoing as herself. A
romance should be as delightful and pleasant as sweet jam made
from the first spring pickings. It should not have the drama and
devastation of a fall hurricane, and Mr. Rude seemed to have the
personality of a tempest, a tornado, and a tsunami all rolled into one
godforsaken storm.
Plus, June liked her men tall, but not hulking. There was nothing
like a refined runner’s build that looked delicious in a suit or just
jeans and cowboy boots. Although hair color didn’t matter, she
preferred her lovers clean cut with no beard and not even a hint of a
five-o’clock shadow.
Yes, June enjoyed handsome, debonair men. She supposed it was
from all those classic films she’d watched with her mama. When her
father moved the family from one air force base to another, the
black-and-white movies had remained a comforting constant. No
matter what part of the globe they lived on, Errol Flynn, Clark Gable,
and Gregory Peck still possessed those devastating smiles that
melted a woman’s worries clean away.
In contrast, the scowling Mr. Rude looked like a grumpy Paul
Bunyan. Yet, when the man had stood and stared her down with his
piercing blue eyes half hidden by a mop of dark-brown hair, she’d
felt a thrill clean down to her toes. It hadn’t been the smooth pull of
attraction. No this—this had been a searing bolt of primal energy. It
was as if some elemental feminine instinct had instantly, and
explosively, responded to his raw strength.
And there’d been something about his face. True, his unruly hair
and beard had obscured his features, but June had always
possessed an eye for a person’s bone structure. Her second talent
after making jam was giving folks a makeover. And if anyone needed
her helpful advice, it was Mr. Rude. Oh, he’d never be classically
handsome. The planes of his face were too harsh. But with the right
hairstyle and a trimmed beard, he’d look arresting, especially
considering his cobalt-blue eyes.
But June had no desire to poke that particular bear on his snout by
offering fashion tips…well, almost no desire. She did love a good
project, and Mr. Rude would definitely provide a challenge.
“Hmmm, he may not be your type, but I’m detecting a classic June
Winters glint in your eyes,” Katie said.
June smiled airily. “I’m just thinking about how I’d go about taming
a wild Scot.”
Josh snorted. “That sounds like the title of a romance novel.”
“Oooo, I wonder what June’s crush would look like in a kilt,” Katie
added. The brown in her eyes deepened, which always happened
when she was developing concept art. Although June generally
appreciated her friend’s graphic design brilliance, especially when
she put it to use helping market June’s two businesses, this time she
wished her friend had a smidgen less color in her imagination.
“I can see the book jacket now,” Katie said in her normal voice,
before she turned it theatrically throaty. “Bulging biceps, ripped
chest…hairy legs.”
June was just about to retort when Bowie broke into the
conversation with something blessedly sensible. As the director of
the zoo and a former single dad, he was as solid as granite, a trait
June appreciated, especially in conversations like this one. “Wait.
Was the guy Scottish?”
She nodded. “With a deep brogue. If my nan didn’t listen to
Scottish music, I doubt I would have understood him.”
“Shit,” Bowie said, rubbing his hand over the back of his head.
“That was probably Magnus Gray. I hope you didn’t scare him off.
He’s supposed to start work at the zoo tomorrow.”
Katie turned toward her husband, her red curls swinging. “June’s
guy is the mysterious writer who’s going to volunteer at the zoo for
several months?”
“Unless June’s man is visiting Rocky Ridge National Park and was
just passing through, but I doubt it,” Bowie said. “It isn’t tourist
season, and we don’t generally have a lot of Brits in Sagebrush.”
“Dang blast it all,” June grumbled, “he’s Magnus Gray. I was
planning to ask if he’d chat with Nan. During the Blitz, her parents
sent her to live on the island he wrote about. She’s been listening to
his audiobooks for years.”
The teasing glint left Katie’s eyes as she regarded June with a
serious expression. “How is your grandma doing?”
June sighed, wishing she had something better to report. “I’m not
sure. She keeps calling me in the dead of night, thinking we had
some big kerfuffle and I’m angrier than a tomcat in the rain.”
“I know Lou can have his off days,” Bowie said, mentioning his
eighty-year-old adoptive father who lived with him, Katie, and Abby,
Bowie’s twelve-year-old daughter.
“I’m worried it’s more than just tiredness. This horrible, haunted
look comes over her face as soon as the sun goes down. It’s like
she’s constantly fretting about something fierce.”
“Why don’t you bring her by the zoo?” Katie asked. “The animals
always cheer her up.”
“We’ll give her a personal tour,” Bowie promised. “I know how
much your grandma loves the baby animals, and the orphaned polar
bear cub is due to arrive soon. That’s one of the reasons Magnus
contacted me. He had some experience with the species when he
was a roughneck in Norway, and his editor had heard we’d received
a grant from the Alliance for Polar Life.”
“His second bestseller was about polar bears,” June said. “Nan
listened to that one too. She missed the animal anecdotes in his
other books, though, so she stopped asking me to download them.”
“His email said something about getting back to his roots,” Bowie
said. “I wasn’t going to turn down free labor, especially from
someone with his background in caring for animals.”
“Why didn’t you recognize him just now?” Katie asked.
Bowie shrugged. “I didn’t know what the man looked like. Magnus
is very private. I haven’t even talked to him on the phone. All of our
correspondence was through email. When I researched him online to
check out his credentials, the pictures I saw were taken from the
back.”
“According to Nan, Magnus Gray would make a hermit seem
downright sociable. Part of his mystique, I suppose.”
“He sounds like an ass,” Josh interjected with his typical bluntness.
“My sentiments exactly,” June said. “I was just being genteel. Poor
Nan. She was tickled pink he was coming to town.”
“I don’t know, June,” Josh teased. “As you always say, if you try
hard enough, you can charm a snake.”
“I’d rather try my luck with the actual reptile. They have a more
pleasant personality, even the rattlers.”
***
Magnus rose before the sun. He wasn’t meeting Bowie until ten
o’clock, but even years after leaving the croft, he couldn’t escape the
rhythm of rural life. During his childhood, the responsibility for the
farm animals had mainly fallen on Magnus, with his da off early on
his trawler bringing in the day’s catch. Their Shetland sheep and
shaggy Highland beef cows had been fairly self-sufficient, but the
milch cows had required his attention before and after school. Once
Magnus had finished the morning milking, he’d quickly toss feed in
the chicken run before rowing to the larger island for class. In the
evening, there’d always be a stone wall to repair or a barn to clean.
And that was in the winter months.
Work had only intensified in the spring with lambing, calving, and
planting. In the summers, Magnus had helped his da on the trawler,
the two of them working in silence with only the sound of the waves
lapping against the sides of the boat. Life on the oil rigs had been
just as constant and demanding. Magnus had spent long shifts
hefting hammers and wrenches as he kept the machinery working.
When Magnus had begun writing full time, he’d found himself
fighting a low thrum of pent-up energy. Eventually, he’d buckled and
begun lifting weights. In the past, he’d mocked the toonsers who
paid good money to work out in sweaty, smelly indoor gyms instead
of earning their muscles. And then Magnus had become one of
them. But it was either exercise or go absolutely barmy.
As daft as it sounded, a part of Magnus actually looked forward to
hauling feed and cleaning out pens again. It would be good to use
his muscles for their intended purpose. He just wished it didn’t mean
dealing with the zoo’s guests and all the townsfolk.
Luckily, the streets seemed fairly deserted as he left his B and B.
Bowie Wilson had promised him lodging, but Magnus hadn’t wanted
to bother looking the man up as soon as he’d arrived in town.
Instead, he’d stayed the night at the Red Cliff Inn. The place didn’t
serve breakfast until eight, but at least it had been clean, neat, and,
most of all, quiet.
Thankfully, the Primrose, Magnolia & Thistle opened at six thirty.
Up ahead, a welcoming glow seeped from a large picture window.
Picking up his pace, Magnus could fairly taste the bangers and tattie
scone. The fare on the menu was heavier than the food served by a
traditional British tea shop, but he was in the States now. He
supposed he should be grateful that a Wild West town like
Sagebrush Flats even had something approaching a traditional
Scottish breakfast. Although the name of it—the Hungry Scotsman
Platter—made his hackles rise, he’d order the blasted thing. As long
as a breakfast included black pudding and beans, he wouldn’t
quibble over what a Yank called it. He supposed it was better than
the Kilted Southerner, which was an appalling mix of Scottish and
U.S. cooking. Proper white pudding should not be paired with grits.
It just wasn’t done.
Magnus pushed open the door, and a little bell chimed. Two older
men with sun-leathered skin and cowboy hats glanced up at his
entrance. Their eyes scanned him briefly, taking his measure. They
might dress a wee bit different than the old folks back home, but
they were all the same. Magnus bobbed his head politely. The men
returned the gesture. Their assessment of him complete, they
returned their attention to the more important matter of breakfast.
Magnus turned toward the front of the tea shop and froze. Behind
the counter stood the blond lass from the Prairie Dog Café. She’d
wrapped her long, wheat-colored hair into a comely top knot that
drew Magnus’s attention to the graceful lines of her neck. For a
minute, he went utterly doolally and imagined planting his lips there.
Because of his cursed imagination, he could practically feel her
shiver in his arms and see those pink lips part as she groaned. Baws,
he’d be sporting a fair stauner if he didn’t stop the direction of his
thoughts.
The woman smiled, and her green eyes sparkled with an unholy
chirpiness, especially given the early hour. Magnus wondered if she’d
divined his thoughts. She did look a bit like a fae creature despite
her height. One thing was certain. She didn’t look either goosed or
hungover—just happy to the point of being mental.
“Hi there, stranger.” She grinned broadly. “Welcome to my tea
shop.”
“Fuck me. You bloody own this place?” His dismayed shock had
evidently startled the stutter right out of him. He didn’t even block
on the P, which generally gave him trouble.
To his amazement, the lass’s smile didn’t turn brittle at his
crudeness. In fact, it stretched a little farther northward in pure glee.
The barmy hen was taking delight in his misery.
“I sure do. Now how can I help you, Magnus?”
He glowered. How the fuck did the lass know his name? She must
have read the confusion on his face.
“We don’t get many Scots here in Sagebrush, especially in the
winter. When I mentioned your accent, Bowie figured it was you.”
Magnus scowled. Damn it all to hell. And damn the nosy lass too.
Was the whole town gossiping about him now?
“So,” the woman asked, leaning across the tall glass counter that
showcased various pastries, “what can I get you?”
“I’ll be having the Hungry Scotsman P-P-P…” His throat closed up.
He couldn’t fight the tightness. He stood there stuck on the P as he
helplessly watched the lass’s face. He wondered in those long
seconds of horror what her expression would be. Frustrated
annoyance like his da? Amusement like his classmates? Pity like the
headmistress? Discomfort like the townsfolk? He’d witnessed them
all…or so he’d thought.
A light flickered in the lass’s eyes as if she’d just solved a
challenging riddle. Then she stuck her arms akimbo and delivered a
look a mum would give to a lad who wanted to quit football just
because his team got mullered. At least Magnus assumed that was
the look. He’d never had time to play sports, and his mum had
bunked off when the allure of mainland Scotland had grown too
strong for her.
“Now why didn’t you tell me that you were a person who
stuttered?” June asked. “I would have understood, honey. Is
swearing one of your avoidances? You don’t need to worry around
me. Just be yourself. I don’t mind disfluency. And people who do can
go straight to the devil.”
Magnus blinked. The woman made his head spin faster than a
weathercock in a gale.
“Disfluency?”
“Do you prefer another term?”
Magnus rubbed his head. He couldn’t help it. What he preferred
was to be left alone, but it didn’t appear the fae lass would grant
him that particular wish.
“What one would you like me to use? My brother, August, is pretty
flexible about terminology, but I know some people prefer certain
words over others.”
“Your brother?” Why the hell was she blethering about her sibling?
“He’s a person who stutters,” the lass said. “I did too in elementary
school, but I’ve been fluent for years. It’s partially why I speak like a
southerner. My mama’s from Georgia, but I grew up all over the
world. But that doesn’t mean I use my drawl as an avoidance. It’s
how I talk naturally, and the slower cadence gives me more control
over my rate of speech. The experts say speaking with a fake accent
only works for so long, you know.”
The deluge of information pelted Magnus like spray from an arctic
wave. The woman could drown a body in random facts. She talked
funny, and he didn’t mean her drawl. She sounded like a bloody
medical pamphlet from the National Health Service.
“So?” the lass asked, with an expectant expression on her face. He
simply stared back in confusion. A bloke needed a compass to
navigate her speech.
“What term do you prefer instead of disfluency?” she clarified.
“I don’t give a shite,” Magnus said in frustration. Why the hell
would he care what she called his damn stutter? He wanted to live
free of the bloody thing. Calling it something different would never
change how people reacted to it.
“I’m sensing you don’t like talking about it.”
“Aye, that’s right.”
She leaned over the counter and said in quiet seriousness,
“Ignoring it won’t make it go away. My brother tried that for years,
but August found it was easier if he just told people up front. He’s a
JAG officer in the Air Force now.”
Was she giving him advice on his own stutter? Magnus glowered.
For once, the blond heeded his look. She straightened, but the
welcoming smile returned. What was it about her pink lips that made
him think of snogging when the woman herself was nothing but a
constant vexation? She had him in a snirl. And he didn’t like it.
“So,” the lass said conversationally, “what would you like to order?”
Magnus opened his mouth to respond and discovered he’d lost his
appetite. The lass had ruined his ale and now his breakfast. “Fuck
me.”
Without giving the hen a chance to react, he turned and left the
tea shop. He’d eat at the bloody B and B.
It wasn’t until Magnus was halfway down the street that a
realization struck him. He hadn’t stumbled over his words once since
the lass had started havering about disfluency. In fact, he hadn’t
even thought about stuttering. Not once. Which never happened.
Especially in the company of a stranger. An annoying one at that.
***