Unintentionally Mine Read online

  Unintentionally Mine

  A Birch Crossing Novel

  Stephanie Rowe

  SBD Press

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Sneak Peek: Irresistibly Mine

  Sneak Peek: A Real Cowboy Rides a Motorcycle

  Sneak Peek: A Real Cowboy Loves Forever

  Sneak Peek: Wrapped Up in You

  Books By Stephanie Rowe

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Unintentionally Mine (a Birch Crossing novel). Copyright © 2012 by Stephanie Rowe. Originally released as Prince Charming Can Wait, as part of the Ever After series.

  ISBN 13: 9780988656666

  ISBN 10: 988656663

  Cover design © 2016 by Kelli Ann Morgan, Inspire Creative Services.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, disseminated, or transmitted in any form or by any means or for any use, including recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the author and/or the artist. The only exception is short excerpts or the cover image in reviews.

  Please be a leading force in respecting the right of authors and artists to protect their work. This is a work of fiction. All the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel or on the cover are either products of the author’s or artist's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author or the artist.

  For further information, please contact [email protected]

  Chapter 1

  The night was finally dark enough.

  Harlan Shea eased through the thick jungle, moving in precise and lethal silence. The air was heavy and wet, and insects buzzed around his head. But he didn't react to them. He just kept his focus on the decrepit, dark shack sitting alone in the hostile zone. His right hand was locked around the heavy knife that was the only weapon he dared use in the dangerous stillness of the night.

  Even a silencer would be too loud, with the kidnappers just on the other side of the trees, reveling in the fact that their ransom demand had been agreed to.

  Or so they thought.

  Behind him, he could feel the breath of his teammate Blue Carboni, but the other male was equally undetectable as they slipped into the deepest shadows of a land that didn't welcome people like them: mercenaries who worked for no government. They were private hires who snuck in and plucked the bounty from the hands of kidnappers before anyone even knew they were there. The last hope for families who had nowhere else to turn.

  He damn well never got tired of that moment when strung-out families got their first sighting of the person they'd feared they would never see again.

  Harlan reached the front door and looked over his shoulder.

  Blue's face was painted black, and his clothes were dark. In the darkness, the whites of his eyes glowed brightly, but everything else about him faded into the night. Blue grinned nodded his readiness.

  Two men were not enough for this job, but as usual, it was all that could be afforded by the client. In Harlan's world, clients wanted miracles for nothing, and he and Blue had to find a way to deliver and keep themselves alive in the process. Not easy, but what else was he going to do? This was who he was.

  Harlan eased the front door open, and then leapt inside, striking before his presence could be detected. The man standing guard slumped to the ground, not expecting the attack. Harlan caught him before he hit the floor, and there was a muffled scream. Harlan glanced across the room as the young woman cowered against the wall, hugging a small boy to her chest, shackles binding them both. They were covered in dirt, and their eyes were wide with terror.

  For a split second, Harlan could only stare at them, the sight of the mother protecting her boy catapulting him back into his past. How many times had that been him with his stepmother, cringing against the wall as his father lurched through the door, ready to punish the world for the hell he was living? Memories raked at Harlan, and the woman scrambled backward away from him, dragging the boy with her. "Stay away from us," she hissed. "Get away!"

  Harlan blinked as her panic jerked him back to the present, and he shook his head to dismiss her fears. "We're here to rescue you," he told her as he shoved the dead guard out of the way. He moved swiftly toward them, but she scrambled even further back, not trusting him. He stopped, unable to risk her getting scared and raising an alarm. "Keep quiet," he warned. "We're on your side."

  "Stay back!" She held up a small knife she'd gotten from who the hell knew where. "I won't let you touch him."

  Shit! They didn't have time for this!

  "Hey." Blue moved past him, heading directly toward the victims. "My name's Blue Carboni. Your dad hired us. Let's go."

  Instantly, the resistance seemed to leave the woman. She shoved the knife into her pocket, trusting Blue without further words. Shit. What was up with that? It happened this way every damn time. The victims ran from Harlan and threw themselves into Blue's arms. No one seemed to believe Harlan was one of the good guys until Blue reassured them.

  Not that he cared whether anyone liked him, but sometimes it was a pain in the ass to have to wait for Blue to calm everyone down.

  As Blue knelt before the duo, skillfully freeing them from their shackles, Harlan turned away from the tearful rescue, easing back to the door and watching outside for signs that they had been heard. There was still low conversation and celebration from the kidnappers, but Harlan didn't buy it.

  The shadows near the cabin were too still. They'd missed someone.

  Blue came up behind him with the woman and the boy, but Harlan held up his hand to still them. Everyone froze, and Harlan searched the night. Then he saw a slight movement in the bushes to the right of the cabin. The soft brush of footsteps moving carefully. Investigating.

  Harlan indicated with a quick gesture to Blue. They knew the plan.

  They all waited as the footsteps neared. A shadowed silhouette appeared out of the bushes, a rifle raised high, aimed right at the front door. Swearing, Harlan eased back against the wall, Blue and the two victims behind him, using him as a shield.

  They waited, each step taking a lifetime.

  Finally, the front step creaked and a shadow moved across the entry. Harlan reacted quickly, striking hard while Blue and his charges rushed past him, heading for safety. The man's rifle hit the ground, but he got off a shout before Harlan silenced him.

  With a curse, Harlan leapt through the front door. Blue and the others were heading north, but Blue was slowed by his cargo. Harlan knew he had to give them time to get a lead. He took off south, running loudly, breaking branches, drawing the rest of the kidnappers after him. They were on his trail instantly, a good twenty men, too many for him to take on alone.

  He had to outrun them, and give Blue time to get the others to safety.

  Harlan put on a burst of speed, sprinting toward the distant cliff, toward the escape that he'd already mapped out. Bullets sizzled past his shoulder, and he let out a shout, just to let them know they'd almost hit him. It was too dark for them to see he was alone, and he ran hard and
long, drawing them farther and farther away from Blue.

  Another shot blistered too close, and he felt the sting on his right arm. Swearing, he bore down, sweat pouring off him as he ran. He fired off a few shots, and shouts of pain told him he'd taken a couple out. Progress. Then he heard the roar of an engine, and knew they'd gone mobile. Not surprising, but not exactly the cooperative bad guys it would have been nice to run into for once.

  He reached the edge of the cliff and ran alongside it, drawing it out for as long as he could. Five minutes. Eight minutes. Over rocks. His lungs burning. Firing behind him as he ran. Seventy feet below him, the river ran hard, churning violently over rocks.

  A bullet bit into his shoulder and he stumbled, hitting the ground.

  Dirt kicked up all around him, and he knew it was time to bail. Not even bothering to get up, he rolled to his left, straight over the edge of the cliff.

  He twisted in the air as he plummeted, as bullets whizzed by him. He just managed to get himself perpendicular as he hit the surface of the water. The impact was brutal, but he immediately kicked back to the surface, fighting for air among the violent rapids. He had just gotten his head above the surface when he hit a rock, his skull cracking against the hard surface.

  Pain rang through him even as he grabbed a log careening past. He locked it under his arms and hung on, fighting with all his draining strength to stay afloat. His mind quickly assessed his options as he was tossed ruthlessly, as the jungle flashed past in a blur. A wave swamped him, ripping him off the log, and he was dragged under, filthy water pouring into his mouth.

  He kicked off a rock, and launched himself to the surface. His injured shoulder slammed into another rock, and then he was thrust again into the middle of the river.

  With a roar of fury, Harlan fought for the shore, losing half his progress with each yard he gained. It felt like hours, days, years, but finally, he was almost there. His feet hit solid ground and he threw himself onto the mud. He landed face down and didn't move, gasping for breath, his muscles spent beyond exhaustion, his shoulder throbbing.

  There was no sound of an approaching helicopter coming to pick him up. He'd gone miles past where they'd be looking for him. The only sound was the roar of the river, overwhelming all other noise.

  As he lay there, a grim awareness began to dawn on him, his mind filling with a memory that had been triggered by the woman huddling protectively with her son, like his stepmother had done with him so many times. An image flashed into his mind, a memory of the night so many years ago when he'd gone out into the woods behind his house, trying to find the family dog that had gone missing. How he'd come across his father, face down. Dead. His leg was broken, and he'd been unable to walk for help. So he'd lain there in those woods until he'd died.

  He'd been dead for weeks, and no one had gone looking for him, not even Harlan.

  No one had wanted to look for him. No one in the whole damn town had wanted to find him. Not even his own son. But the sight of that old man crumpled in the woods, forgotten in death, had been brutal.

  His father had lived for sixty-one years, and he'd died a nothing. No one had cared.

  As Harlan lay there, sucked into the grisly reminders of his past, he became grimly aware that if he died here, on the bank of this river, no one would know. No one would care. He'd never turned in a next of kin form, so the small-time private outfit he worked for had no one to call if he didn't come home from work today.

  Even his sister wouldn't know. He barely knew Astrid, though they lived in the same town now. Even she would have no idea what happened to him, and probably wouldn't even notice for a long time that he was missing.

  Just like his father.

  Son of a bitch.

  He would not die forgotten like that scum had.

  He would not.

  With a growl of pain, Harlan shoved himself to his feet, staggering with weakness. Gritting his jaw against exhaustion and pain, he began to head up the river. He was going to make it home, and when he did, he was going to tell his Astrid what he did all those times when he was out of town.

  Someone had to know.

  Someone had to know enough to notice when he died.

  * * *

  "Congratulations!"

  Emma Larson blinked in surprise as she walked in the front door of the charming lakeside home of her friend Astrid Munroe...now Astrid Sarantos. Astrid had called her over at the last minute to babysit her infant Rosie, but instead of a baby, Emma was greeted with dozens of helium balloons, streamers, and the grinning faces of her two best friends, Clare Friesé and Astrid. She stopped in confusion. "What is this?"

  Astrid's outrageous auburn hair was tucked up in a colorful scarf, and she held up a champagne bottle. "Girl power, sweetie. You survived!"

  Emma was still confused. The dark wood beams had glittering stars hanging from them, and the huge stone fireplace was draped with a rainbow-colored "Congratulations" banner. "Survived what?"

  Clare held out two champagne glasses as Astrid popped the cork. It careened across the living room and smashed into the ceiling. "Getting divorced, of course!"

  "Getting divorced?" Emma echoed as Astrid poured the champagne into the glasses. She'd just received the final paperwork from the court in the mail that afternoon, but she hadn't even told her friends that she'd received it. She'd moved back to Birch Crossing more than two years, but the divorce had dragged out for a long time. Now that it was over, celebration was not what she'd had on her mind. It still felt too weird, not exactly celebratory. Yes, her ex-husband was not a good man, but to have the final nail in the coffin of her dreams was a strange, desolate feeling. "How did you know?"

  "I told them," announced a voice from the kitchen.

  Emma started to smile. She knew that voice. Everyone in the small Maine town of Birch Crossing knew that voice. "Eppie?"

  "Of course it's me," the gravelly old voice called out. "Who else would it be? I wouldn't miss a party with my girls!"

  A feeling of warmth began to seep through Emma's sadness over the divorce as Astrid handed her a glass of champagne. She hadn't thought of calling her friends with the news, but now that she was with them, it felt good. Right. "And how did you know, Eppie?"

  "Oh, I was at the post office today chatting with Rick, our oh-so-handsome postman. He had to run down the street for a moment, so I filled in at the counter for a few minutes. I happened to be putting your mail away and saw the return address, and I knew exactly what it was." In from the kitchen strode Eppie Orlowe, the seventy-something gossipmonger who ruled Birch Crossing. She tapped the side of her head, her fuchsia and violet beret sliding dangerously to the side on her gray hair. "Just because I'm old doesn't mean I can't figure things out."

  Emma started to laugh at the sight of Eppie and her outrageous hat. There was no privacy in Birch Crossing if Eppie was around. "Well, that explains why the envelope had been re-taped shut."

  Eppie gave her an innocent blink. "What? You're accusing me of opening your mail? You youngsters are so impertinent." She set a tray of brownies topped with chocolate-dipped strawberries on the dining table, which Emma noticed had been set with a beautiful lace table cloth and the new china that she'd helped Astrid pick out for her wedding six months ago. "I laced all of these with generous amounts of my finest rum. Chocolate and alcohol are important for days like this. It's not every day a woman gets liberated to go forth and live the rest of her life the way she sees fit."

  "Here you go." Astrid handed a glass of champagne to Clare, and then gave a glass to Eppie. "Happy Liberation Day, Emma."

  "Happy Liberation Day," Clare and Eppie repeated, raising their glasses.

  As Emma looked around at her dear friends, suddenly being divorced didn't seem so lonely anymore. With her friends around her, she could get through anything, right? For the first time since she'd received the envelope officially freeing her from Preston Hayes, she smiled. "Thank you, my darlings," she teased as she raised her glass. "I can't think of an
yone I'd rather celebrate a failed marriage with than you guys. Cheers!"

  "Cheers!"

  The champagne was dry and bubbly, absolutely perfect, and Emma grinned as the girls led her to the table, where a few gift bags were set out. "You guys didn't have to do this," she protested as Astrid held out the chair for her.

  "Of course we did." Astrid sat down next to her, her brown eyes suddenly serious. "Both Clare and I know what it's like to become single after you thought you'd never be single again."

  "As do I," Eppie chimed in as she wedged her bottom into the chair at the head of the table. "I thought George would outlast me, but the poor dear couldn't keep up with me in the end. It's tough to be as much of a hot ticket as I am, I'll tell you that right now."

  Emma smiled, knowing full well that Eppie had been dearly in love with her husband, despite the fact she had adjusted remarkably well to becoming single in her sixties.

  "Hey." Astrid touched her hand, drawing her attention back. "My point is that even when the guy isn't the right guy and you're better off without him, it's still pretty terrifying to be on your own when you thought you were set for life."

  Emma's throat tightened at Astrid's empathy. "It's fine—"

  "No, it's not." Clare smiled, her eyes soft with understanding. "You don't ever have to admit it to us, but we've both been there, so we know. Anytime you're feeling down, just say you need a hug, and we'll be there for you. We'll know what it's about."

  Emma blinked hard several times, not quite able to say the words she wanted to say through the tightness in her throat. So she simply nodded.