No Ordinary Home (Harlequin Super Romance Series #1953)

by Mary Sullivan

Overview

She's not who she seems… 

Gracie Travers has a secret. She's not the down-on-her-luck drifter she appears to be. Once America's sweetheart, Gracie needs to keep below the paparazzi's radar until she's thirty. Then she'll get her money and get off the street. 

But one small mistake brings Deputy Sheriff Austin Trumball into her life. He's attractive and oh-so-dangerous. If he learns who she really is, her anonymous days are over. Worse, Austin's hard to resist, and their connection is terrifying. Soon he makes her want what she can't have—a lover, a family and a home of her own.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781460341100
Publisher:	Harlequin
Publication date:	10/01/2014
Series:	Harlequin Super Romance Series , #1953
Sold by:	HARLEQUIN
Format:	eBook
Pages:	384
File size:	333 KB

About the Author

Multi-published author Mary Sullivan writes heartwarming, small-town romance. Her first novel, No Ordinary Cowboy, was a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart nominee. Her books have won awards and glowing reviews. Writing a book is much like putting together a jigsaw puzzle without the final image. Mary indulges her passion for puzzles—particularly her daily cryptic crossword and putting together real jigsaw puzzles without the box—in her hometown of Toronto.

Read an Excerpt

Austin Trumball stood under the sickly green fluorescent lighting of a Wyoming truck-stop diner waiting for a table, with the devil eating a hole through his belly. He shouldn't have waited so long to stop for lunch.

The smell of charbroiled burgers and greasy fries seeped into his hair and clothes. Shortorder cooks called for servers to pick up orders. Waitresses yelled back, "Hold your horses," or "Coming!" Not-so-nimble fingers slid into Austin's back pocket and lifted his wallet.

The brazen act carried out so clumsily startled a laugh out of him.

Not only did the pathetic amateur lack skills, he had no idea he'd just robbed a cop.

Austin walked like one, talked like one, scoped out his surroundings like one, but the thief had failed to scope him out. Big mistake.

Leaning forward, he murmured to his buddy Finn, "Be right back," and spun around just as a boy ran out the front door. Austin followed without calling. The biggest mistake people made was screaming they'd been robbed or yelling to the thief to stop.

What sense was there in warning a criminal you were coming after him?

Outside, a flash of dark clothing rounded the far corner of the building.

Light-footed, Austin followed around to the back.

The boy stood beside a Dumpster that reeked of garbage left sitting too long in the sun. He stuffed Austin's credit cards into his pockets and tossed the wallet into the bin. It hit the side and bounced onto the asphalt. Good thing, or Austin would be tossing the boy into the trash to fish it out.

The kid wasn't even smart enough to watch his back, but actually stood and counted the money instead of hightailing it out of there. No shortage of stupid here.

Using the stealth he'd learned on the job, Austin snuck up right behind the boy just as he breathed, "Two hundred dollars," as though he'd won the lottery. The boy was young; his voice hadn't even dropped yet. Austin shook his head, disgusted with today's youth. Or with their parents. What would drive someone so young out of his home, onto the road and into a life of crime?

The boy's skinny neck peeked out from beneath a dusty baseball cap, narrow enough that Austin would have sworn he could circle it with his hands. The thought made him realize just how vulnerable this kid actually was.

Didn't matter. The boy had robbed him. He was going to jail.

Austin grabbed the back of the kid's hoodie. The thief let out a high-pitched yelp. "Who—?"

"That's my hard-earned cash you're counting." Austin shook the boy.

"Crap on a broomstick." Kid couldn't even swear properly yet. Truly pathetic.

Austin spun him around then dropped his hand from the shirt. His jaw dropped, too. This was no green kid, definitely not a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old boy, but a twenty-something woman.

A woman?

After that observation came another one more interesting, considering she was such a poor thief. This woman had been around; she was pretty, but in a hard-knocks seen-too-much kind of way, skin baked by the sun, jaw defiant. Certainly no pushover.

The bill of her baseball cap shaded her eyes. A person's eyes, Austin had learned, said everything about them. He needed to see hers. He knocked the hat from her head. Startled pale blue eyes shadowed with darkness dominated a hungry face.

"Hey," she yelled and caught the cap before it hit the ground.

He had time only for impressions—high cheekbones, full lips, roughly shorn black hair to match coal-black eyebrows arched like birds' wings ready to take flight—before she came to life, exploding like a Thoroughbred out of the gate.

She was fast. He was faster, and snagged her sleeve before she got far. The fabric tore in his hand, but he managed to grasp her arm.

"Noooo." Desperation rode shotgun with terror in her scream. "Let me go. I won't do it again."

"Damn right you won't, lady. You're going to jail."

The second she realized she wouldn't get far—he was six-one, after all, and she all of five-five, if that—those big hollow eyes filled with more panic than Austin could remember seeing in anyone. In his hometown of Ordinary, Montana, they had homeless people, those who were needy, but this level of despair was something else altogether.

She bared her teeth like an animal, came alive in his arms and fought like a keening cyclone, elbows and knees everywhere at once.

"You aren't going anywhere," he said, calm because he had control. "I can read you like a book." An autobiography. By the time Austin had turned twelve, he'd perfected the fightor-flight response to a fine art, until one good man had tamed him, and another had given him a stable home, even if only briefly.

The woman cast her eyes about, looking for escape. There was none. He'd backed her in between the wall and the Dumpster. She growled and clawed his face.

"Enough!" he shouted, grasping her forearms and spinning her around so her back was against his torso, her wrists locked in one of his hands. He'd been gentle so far because he hadn't wanted to risk cracking one of her bird bones, but nobody scratched him and got away with it.

He swiped his stinging cheek. Blood dotted his palm. That was a piss-off.

"Listen, stop fighting me. I'm bigger and stronger and this is going my way."

"I won't go to jail." The raw anguish in her voice struck a chord with him—panic used to be both his best friend and his worst enemy—but he ignored it. This thief was getting what she deserved.

"How much would you have charged on my credit cards if I hadn't felt you taking my wallet?"

"Nothing. I needed cash for food."

"Then why didn't you throw them away with the wallet?"

"What?" She sounded surprised. "You actually want some other stranger picking them up and using them?"

"You trying to tell me you pocketed my cards so no one else would use them?" How naive did she think he was?

"Yes."

"You think I'm stupid? That I'll believe that crap?"

Her slight frame bowed away from him like a willow branch, as though she could break free just on the strength of her willpower. Despite her weakness, her helplessness in his arms, tension resonated in her. She might be down, but she wasn't out. Not yet, but he could tell how close she was to the end from the tremor that ran through her body as though she'd just run a marathon. Her legs shook and he was holding up much of her weight. What there was of it.

He admired her fight, her unwillingness to give in, even if he wouldn't cut her a break.

"Let go." She strained against his hold.

He didn't budge. "Nope. You just broke the law, lady. Where I come from, we punish people for their mistakes."

"I didn't have a choice."

"Everyone has choices. You just have to make the right ones."

"Spoken like a man who's never wanted anything." Her bitterness rang loud and clear. "You've obviously never been starving."

He thought of how many times Cash Kavenagh, when he'd still been sheriff of Ordinary and Austin's Big Brother, had caught Austin Dumpster-diving behind both the restaurant and the diner on Main Street scrambling for leftovers. Austin's stomach had been so hollow he'd thought he would die if he couldn't find something, anything, to cram into his mouth.

More times than he could remember, Cash had bought him food because his mom had spent all their money on booze and cigarettes. Big Brothers weren't supposed to buy their Littles gifts, but Cash had.

Once, he'd caught Austin smoking up behind Chester's Bar and Grill, because any escape for Austin from the numbing drive of keeping his mom's head above water was a blessing. But Cash had caught him and warned him away from drink and drugs with a simple lesson. He had tossed the twelve-year-old into a jail cell for the day so Austin would see how it felt.

If Austin got into trouble, who would take care of his mom? As much as the routine of the child taking care of the mother had worn thin, he loved her. She never would have survived on her own. Not then. He knew she could now. She didn't agree with him.

That day, Cash had stepped out of the sheriff's office for a while and had returned with the best winter coat Austin had ever owned, and mittens and a hat, too. The guy had achieved godlike status that day. No one, certainly not his father, had ever cared enough about Austin to give him anything.

Cash had scared him straight, and had cared for him enough that Austin had stayed straight ever since.

"Don't make assumptions," Austin ordered. "I've gone hungry, but I never stole a wallet in my life."

She struggled in his arms. "Bully for you."

Austin chuffed out a laugh and tightened his grip. "That the best you can do? It's pretty lame."

"I might be a thief, but I don't swear."

"You're strange."

"And you're holding me too tightly. What are you? Some kind of perv looking to cop a feel?"

She was trying to get a rise out of him, probably hoping he'd get so mad he'd let go so she could get away. Not a chance. People said rude things to cops all the time. This was nothing.

"I'm not a pervert, but you were right about the cop part."

He appreciated how she stilled in his arms, got a kick out of shocking her. Good. Maybe she'd think twice before robbing someone again.

"Gotcha," he said. He could feel her pulse in her wrist under his thumb, and her panic sizzled like bacon on a griddle.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm a cop. You just robbed a sheriff's deputy."

"Crap," she whispered, not sounding so tough now.

"You picked the wrong person to rob this time."

"There is no this time. I've never stolen a wallet before in my life," she said, defiant, and he believed her. No experienced thief would have been so clumsy.

"Why did you do it?"

He sensed her pride warring with misery before she bit out, "I'm hungry."

In those two words, he heard the stark terror he used to feel. He heard a hell of a lot more than just, I missed lunch. Her tone whispered, My body hurts and I'm scared I might never eat again.

She didn't smell clean. She needed a shower and to shampoo her short, greasy hair. Her cheap, ill-fitting clothes needed a good launder. Her breath wasn't so great, either. He knew homelessness when he smelled it.

"If you need money, get a job."

"Easy for you to say. Do you have any idea how hard it is? Even when you want to?" Her voice cracked, but she forged on. "I don't have money. I went in there for breakfast. I wanted food, but I wasn't asking for charity. I told them I would work for it. They wouldn't let me wash dishes. They wouldn't let me sweep the floors. I even offered to clean their toilets. I wasn't asking for a freebie, but they kicked me out anyway."

He eased her out of his arms, but held on to one wrist while he studied her. The hollows under her cheekbones and the dark circles under her eyes tugged at him. He remembered how exhausting hunger was.

But he'd been a kid. She was an adult. On close inspection, he figured she had enough miles on her tires to be nearer to thirty than twenty. So how had she fallen so low?

Everyone had a story, and sometimes the fall wasn't such a long drop. His mom came to mind. With that thought, Austin knew he wouldn't press charges.

When he'd caught her, he'd scared her. When he'd mentioned jail, he'd witnessed an unholy terror shoot through her. Maybe she'd learned a lesson today.

Before he went back inside, he needed his stuff back.

He held out his hand. "My money."

She stared at the bills crumpled in her fist. During their struggles, she'd had the presence of mind to hold on to them. Slowly, as if it physically hurt, as though her fingers were crippled with arthritis, she opened her hand enough to pass him the money.

"Here," she mumbled, but her eyes said mine. No doubt about it, she had a fierce need.

He bent down to pick up his wallet and opened it. "Give me my credit cards."

She pulled them out of her pockets. Only when he was certain he had everything did he let go of her wrist.

"You telling the truth? About this being your first time stealing?"

"My first time stealing a wallet."

Right. Of course she'd stolen before. Wallet robbing didn't start in a vacuum. "What else have you stolen?"

"Two date squares from the counter of a diner. Two days ago. They wouldn't let me work, either."

"And you didn't get caught?"

Her eyes slid sideways and down. Here it comes, whatever lie she's concocting. Then her gaze shot to his. She'd decided on honesty. "I nearly got caught. I had to run into a field with a bull in it to get away from the waitress."

It sounded like a joke, but she wasn't laughing. Neither was he. As petite as she was, she could have been torn apart by a bull in a rage.

"He didn't charge?"

"He tried to, but I was fast and climbed up into a tree. He butted it, but I held on until he lost interest and left. I climbed out onto a branch and jumped off over the other side of a fence. Then I ran for it."

She'd been taking too many chances.

He turned the subject back to what he really wanted to know. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Those date squares."

"Jesus, are you shitting me?"

Her mouth tightened. Pride. He understood pride. "I'm serious."

No wonder she'd stolen his wallet. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and cradle her to a safer place.

Whoa, buddy. She's nothing and no one to you.

She touched a spot deep inside him that he'd thought long buried, the kid who'd gone without too many times. The kid whispered, Help her

His adult self shouted, Don't.

He fought the urge to tuck her under a protective wing.

Don't do it, buddy.

He'd been taking care of someone else all his life. Now, when he'd wrangled and scratched and clawed his way out of Ordinary, Montana, for his first vacation ever, when his only problems should be deciding what fishing rod and bait to use tomorrow, or whether to buy the cattle he was checking out when they got to Texas, he was actually contemplating getting entangled in this woman's issues.

You got a screw loose or something, buddy? Leave her be. Did you hear me? Leave her be. She can be someone else's problem. You don't need this.

Damn right I don't. I've got two weeks offootloose and fancy-free to take advantage of.

Even as his thoughts whirled, he knew he wouldn't turn his back on her, and wasn't it a piss-off that he was so honorable? That he couldn't keep himself from helping any wounded or sad creature who crossed his path? Life would be a heck of a lot easier if he could just walk away.

He sighed, giving in to the inevitable rush of misguided decency. Damn.

"Come on." He headed back around to the front of the diner. When he didn't hear her behind him, he tromped back.

"You coming?"

She stood where he'd left her, rigid, her intelligent brow furrowed.

"Are you arresting me?"

"No."

She relaxed her spine and eased her fists open. "Then why do I have to follow you?"

"I'm going to feed you."