Summary:
Hudson:
Don't ever accidentally propose to your girlfriend. In front of her family. Especially if her dad is your boss. Because when you make it clear you've made a mistake, he's likely to send you out of the country to get you as far away from his broken-hearted daughter as possible. It happened to me. Now I'm stuck in Ireland trying to redeem myself so I can get promoted and have the life I've planned for: successful career, loving wife and kids, a comfortable, financially-secure home life in Texas.
But all of that seems to evaporate the moment I walk into the historic pub and see the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Only, he's not a woman.
Charlie Murray is most definitely a man—the kind of man who causes me to take a second look for the first time in my life. And a third look, and fourth. I can't help but want to get to know him better... to get close to him, touch him, maybe even kiss him. But I'm straight. Or so I've always thought. Even if I'm not, how in the world could a feisty Irishman ever fit into the safe, predictable life I've always planned for?
Charlie:
Don't ever accidentally fall for the straight guy. Especially when he's trying to pry your family's business right out from under you. I should know. Because when Hudson Wilde walks into my family's pub and begins babbling so adorably, I can't help but fall just a little bit in love. But I'm looking for Forever Man, and the sexy American is certainly not him. He's so confused about what he wants, even choosing something from the dinner menu throws him into a fuddle. But those eyes... how can I resist?
So maybe I’ll give in. One steamy night before he heads home and I go back to life at the pub. We'll never see each other again.
Until, of course, his business deal sends me to Hobie, Texas, right into the middle of Hudson's steady life, more gay Wildes than can fit on a dance floor, and an ex-girlfriend who may or may not be content remaining an ex. But the more time I spend with Hudson, the more I think he might be my Forever Man after all. And I may be his. Is it possible we could both be so lucky?
Hudson's Luck is the fourth book in the Forever Wilde series but can be read on its own. Beware it includes 93k words of delicious man parts touching, grandfathers meddling, neighbors nosy-ing, dogs fornicating, cats being cats, horses... ah, crunching apples? or something... and one very flirty Stevie.
Summary:
Augie:
I don't need anyone's protection. I'm fine. But to appease my sister after a home invasion, I agree to take self-defense lessons. They just so happen to be with a big, muscled former navy SEAL who may or may not be everything I've always daydreamed about but never thought I could have.
And he's dead-set on looking out for me even when things in my life suddenly get complicated. Between the increasing threats against me and pressure from my wealthy family to be someone I'm not, I'm having a hard time keeping it together. As I begin to fall apart, I lose faith I'll ever meet anyone who'll want a mess like me—much less meet someone strong and capable like Saint Wilde.
The more time I spend with him, however, the more I realize he's not as put together as he seems. And I begin to wonder... while Saint's busy looking after everyone else, who's looking after him?
Saint:
After my big fat mouth gets me in trouble with a high-profile client, my boss takes away the bodyguard gig and sends me back to my hometown to give one of society's elites a few lessons at a local gym. Babysitting an antiques nerd is hardly my idea of a good time, but as soon the attractive, petite man walks into the workout center, I nearly trip over my own feet.
He's effing adorable.
And absolutely scared to death.
He won't tell me what's spooked him, but I won't rest until I find a way to take the fear out of his gorgeous eyes. Even if defending Augie means I have to stop protecting my own heart.
His Saint is the fifth book in the Forever Wilde series but can be read out of order. Beware it includes 90k words of delicious man parts touching, grandfathers meddling, sassy siblings, cats mrrp-ing... and one Stevie.
Weston “Major” Marian:
After running away at the age of seventeen, I found a home in the Army. It wasn’t long before my fellow soldiers became family, giving purpose to my time in Vietnam. But everything changes when Doc Wilde joins my medevac crew.
A night alone in the jungle after a helicopter crash forces us to rely on each other for survival, the secrets we share cementing a bond between us deeper than any I’ve ever known. Doc begins to play a starring role in my late night fantasies even though he can never be anything more than a friend, a brother-in-arms. He’s straight, with family back in Texas, and I could kiss my career goodbye if anyone in the Army discovered my secret.
When our tours finally end, and we go our separate ways, Doc heads home to his perfect family while I continue to serve. I thought that was the end of our story. Turns out I was wrong.
Liam “Doc” Wilde:
When I wind up on the front lines in Vietnam young and afraid, it’s Major Marian who comes to my rescue. He’s tough, brave, and quiet, and he vows to keep me safe. He’s the only reason I make it home alive. For some, a friendship like ours might have ended once we left the jungle behind, but life without Major Marian isn’t an option.
Over time, our connection continues to grow. It’s no surprise when, years later, an unexpected illness turns my life upside down, he’s the first person I turn to for help. And, as always, he drops everything to rescue me. I soon realize that at every step of my life, Major has been there, by my side, putting me first.
All this time he’s been standing in the sidelines, waiting patiently to hand over his heart into my safekeeping. Even though I never imagined building a future with another man, seeing Major in this new light is a revelation. And suddenly I can’t imagine my life any other way.
Hudson's Luck #4
1
Hudson
Hudson’s Words To Live By:Don’t ever, ever give a woman a present in a tiny box unless it’s an engagement ring.And sure as hell don’t do it if the present is also a tiny metal hoop device that could be easily, horribly misconstrued as an engagement ring.Oh, and maybe also don’t give said present on your one-year dating anniversary.
I was doing that thing some people do where the coin flips through each of your fingers and back again, except instead of a coin, I was doing it with the small ring that had gotten me into this predicament in the first place. I’d named it the Wilde Ring, but it was technically a head constrictor. Which meant, of course, that my brothers had called it a cock ring.
It wasn’t a cock ring.
I was fifteen hours into a thirteen-hour trip from Dallas to Cork, Ireland, when I realized sleeping was just not something I was going to be lucky enough to experience on this flight. At least my company was big enough to spring for a first-class seat to accommodate my long legs. My legs went on for days, according to my girlfriend.
Correction. My ex-girlfriend.
The sigh that came out of me was enough to unsettle the older lady next to me. Okay, so maybe it hadn’t been my first put-upon sigh. I was annoyed as hell at how I’d let myself be lured by the promise of an executive position. I should never have mixed business with pleasure and gone to work for her dad’s company.
I sighed again.
“Something on your mind, hot stuff?” the woman asked. “Might help to talk about it.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I said, shifting in my seat. Despite the nice wide space, I still couldn’t get comfortable. Every time I touched anything, I couldn’t help but think of all the bodies that had spent time in the same seat and touched the same surfaces. I wondered if my hand sanitizer was empty yet.
“You don’t seem like a regular flyer,” she began with narrowed eyes. “This your first time traveling overseas?”
“No, ma’am. My parents live in Singapore. I visited them there last year.”
“Oh, I could have sworn you were experiencing jitters like a newb.”
I gawped at her. Newb? She had to be ten thousand years old.
“Well, I guess it’s a little true. I tend to stay close to home. I’m not one for adventuring, if you want to know the truth,” I admitted. I didn’t tell her the trip to Singapore had been a disaster that had resulted in me swearing off travel for the rest of my life.
“Shame. Some of my fondest memories are from travel adventures,” she mused, snuggling under the navy-blue airline blanket and turning to face me. “You meet the most interesting characters.”
I laughed. “Ma’am, I’m the oldest of ten siblings. My life is full to overflowing with interesting characters already.”
She smiled at me. “So tell me what has your knickers in a twist if it’s not the travel.”
I took a deep breath before turning to face her and doing something very out of character—telling my personal story to a stranger.
“I dated this girl, Darci,” I began.
“You dated a little girl?” she gasped. Her reaction seemed a bit melodramatic.
“No. God no. She’s a grown woman,” I stammered.
The lady narrowed her eyes at me. “Then refer to her as such. Continue.”
An octogenarian teaching me about gender respect. Nice. I thought about escaping to the lavatory, but that would involve exposing myself to even more germs than I’d already come into contact with on this hellish trip. Even the thought had me putting the little metal ring in my lap and searching out the hand sanitizer in the seat pocket in front of me. I liberally doused my hands and, as expected, the bottle was nearly empty. Fortunately, I had a couple more stashed away in my checked bags. As I worked the gel into my skin, I began explaining the disastrous set of circumstances that had landed me in the seat next to the old bird.
“Ah… okay. So, I dated this grown woman named Darci.” I looked at her and saw a slight nod. “Who was a very nice… woman. Anyway, several months ago she suggested I spend some time learning how to brew craft beer with her father. Her family loves microbrews, so her hope was that it would be a good way for me to bond with them, I guess.”
“Mm, she was trying to get you in with Big Daddy. I see.”
“Right. So I learned all about it, and because I’m a bit of a tinkerer on the side, I thought what better way to impress her father than to improve upon the process? I invented this little doohickey that goes on the tap nozzle to control the amount of head, or foam, that comes out when you dispense a beer into a glass.”
“Woah, really? Impressive. Let me guess, Papa Bear felt threatened by the new cub’s ingenuity?” Her face looked eager for confirmation.
“Ah… no. That’s not exactly what happened,” I said, holding up the little metal piece. “You see, I made the mistake of presenting it to Darci as an anniversary gift… in a tiny little box. You know, like a ring box.”
“Oh shit.”
“Yep.”
Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was open in a little round “o” shape. “No kidding? Really? You didn’t. You’re pulling my leg.”
“No, ma’am,” I said. “I wish I was.”
Her laugh, when it came, was low-pitched and cackling. And absolutely did not end. I noticed two other little old ladies across the aisle craning their necks to see what was going on.
“Right,” I said in an attempt to quiet her down. “So it was a disaster. Her mother was screaming with excitement. Her sister had begun videotaping the scene. And her father was already going for the bottle of champagne.”
“What happened when she saw the doohickey?”
“Um, well… it looks like a ring so…” I felt the familiar heat of embarrassment crawl up my neck. “She put it on her finger and said yes.”
At this point, I realized my audience had grown. Instead of just my seatmate and the ladies across the aisle, I also now had two flight attendants and four additional first-class passengers craning their necks to hear. My humiliation was going to make for some rip-roaring good stories when everyone got where they were going later.
“Liar,” she laughed. “What happened next? Surely you went along with it and popped the question.”
I felt my eyes bug out. “Me? Marriage? That soon? What? No. Heck no. No. We’d only been going out a year. It wasn’t part of the plan yet.”
Ten pairs of eyes seemed to bore holes into me.
“So, what then? What did you say?” one of the flight attendants asked into the anxious hush.
“I…” I gulped and looked around, unsure if they deserved the actual truth. Oh, what the hell. “I stammered something like, ‘No, oh god no, you don’t understand. This is just so I can give your dad a little head.’”
At least someone could benefit from the damned experience. Because it certainly wasn’t me. The crowd around me went wild as I knew they would. I tried not to recall how my brothers had reacted.
“Go on, laugh it up,” I muttered. “Glad my humiliation is good for something.” I began twirling the ring in between my fingers to calm my jittery nerves as even more people began tuning into the humiliating conversation.
The young woman in the seat in front of me frowned from her spot facing backward toward me. “Och, sweetie. What happened after that?” Her Irish accent was lovely just like the rest of her, but it did absolutely nothing for me. I’d sworn off women and love.
Fuck ’em.
“It forced the big conversation about where the relationship was going. And that’s when I learned that saying, ‘It’s going fine,’ was not the right response.”
More giggles from the peanut gallery.
I sank lower in my seat.
The old lady next to me sounded disgusted. “So, what? Now you’re running away? Chickenshit?”
“No. Needless to say, she broke it off with me. And to make matters worse, before any of this happened, I’d let her father talk me into coming to work for him. Now I’m kind of stuck. He’s sending me to Ireland to assess a company for acquisition. He’s not happy with me.”
I’d taken the job with Darci’s father’s investment company after he’d implied I’d be quick to make vice president there. Getting to that level would help my career tremendously. I’d worked my ass off for over a decade at one of the largest mergers-and-acquisitions firms in Dallas, but when it had come time for me to be considered for the higher-level positions, they’d come with mandatory relocation to other parts of the country.
I was ambitious, but nothing was worth me leaving my family. With Ames International, I’d be able to have the VP title and stay in Dallas. But first I needed to prove to Bruce Ames I was damned good at my job despite being not as great at relationships.
“You let that man make you his bitch?” asked the tiny grandma from across the aisle.
I immediately went on the defensive. “I feel like I owe it to Darci. I don’t know… to prove I’m not a total loser. We finally worked things out as friends, and I care about her. I don’t want to let her or her family down. If only I’d been able to prove my commitment this way before the ring fiasco, maybe she wouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss me.”
I looked around, expecting nods of support and encouragement, but only found looks of sympathy.
“What?” I asked.
“Lovie,” the mother of the young lady in front of me said with a sigh. “The girl didn’t want your business commitment. She wanted romance. She wanted you to tell her she was the only one for you. She wanted you to tell her you couldn’t live without her. Sweep her off her feet and all that.”
I shook my head. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. She’s practical. I mean, she’s a nurse for god’s sake. So she’d have been way more interested in knowing I could provide financial security for her and a future family than some kind of big romantic gesture like flowers and a bunch of meaningless words.”
More tsks and head shakes.
“You don’t know her,” I said lamely. “It doesn’t matter now anyway. It’s over.”
The older lady next to me poked me in the side with a pointy finger. “Did it ever occur to you to bring her with you to Ireland?”
I thought about it. “No. Why would I? It’s a business trip. A quick in and out. Plus… she’s ah… moved on. I heard she’s already seeing someone else.” I’d been in denial about that last part, but it was true. I assumed she was doing it deliberately to prove she never cared about me much in the first place. It was working.
More head shakes all around.
My seatmate sighed like I’d disappointed her with my stupidity. “Forget it. One day you’ll meet someone you’ll want to show the world to. In the meantime, go ahead and kick ass on the work thingie and get a big promotion. That way, when the time comes, you’ll have enough money to live a big life with your true love.” She turned to say something to the ladies across the aisle, and I felt dismissed.
Everyone wandered away, seemingly disappointed in me, and all I could think was, Join the fucking club.
Because no one was more disappointed in me than I was.
After a few minutes of silence, my seatmate spoke up again. “Have you considered maybe you’re swimming in the wrong pond?”
I had no idea what she meant.
“Pardon?”
“Maybe you’d be more interested in sausage than tacos,” she tried explaining.
One of the ladies from across the aisle spoke up. “Can it, Tilly. Not every man likes the D.”
I almost choked on my tongue. My face ignited, and I sank lower in my seat.
“Shit,” the lady next to me muttered as she eyed me and my reaction carefully. She’d clearly mistaken my embarrassment at the turn in conversation for something else because she added, “He’s a homophobe. And now I’m stuck next to him for the rest of the flight. Switch seats with me, Irene.”
“I’m not a homophobe,” I argued, taking major offense. “Practically every guy in my family is gay.”
“Practically?”
“Except me. Obviously,” I clarified.
“Maybe that’s your problem. Try batting for the other team and see if that doesn’t solve it.”
Clearly the woman had some fucked-up notions of sexuality. Did I dare correct her?
“Sexuality doesn’t work like that, ma’am. You can’t just ‘choose’ to be gay if being straight isn’t working out for you,” I said. I could feel the tension in my jaw. It was a familiar sensation I felt whenever I found myself defending my siblings from ignorant assholes.
“You think I don’t know that?” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder to the two ladies across the aisle. “My two besties are lesbos, and I have about a million gay grandsons. I volunteer at an LGBTQ youth shelter in San Francisco and lost my brother thanks to my homophobic parents kicking him out years and years ago, so don’t you go lecturing me on gay, young man.”
She’d gathered up a full head of steam, and I could tell I was in for a wild ride.
“Sorry,” I began, but she cut me off.
“No. You listen to me. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all these years of living, it’s that love is love. What the hell does it matter what bits and pieces someone has on their body? If you can open yourself up to love, you might be surprised at the package it comes in. Ever thought of that?” Her finger poked me in the chest, punctuating each word as she spoke.
“But,” I said, intending to explain that I had no hang-ups about being open to attractions from all kinds of people.
“But nothing. Maybe your destiny isn’t some sweet ‘daddy’s girl’. Maybe your destiny is a motorcycle leather daddy in Ohio.”
“God, I hope not,” I blurted. “Motorcycles are dangerous. I’m always lecturing my brothers about them. Darci calls them donor—”
“Fuck Darci,” the woman growled. “Clearly she’s not the one. Stop going for the expected safe bet, and try something new, something adventurous. You need some passion in your life. I’m not sure the sweetie-pie nurse lit your fire. When was the last time you took a vacation?”
“Ah… you mean besides visiting my parents in Singapore?”
“Yes, besides that.”
“Um… I went camping with a couple of my brothers about four years ago.”
“More than two hours away from home?” she asked with narrowed eyes.
“No, ma’am.”
“Have you ever gotten lost on purpose?”
“No, ma’am. Why would I?” Even the thought of not having a plan or schedule to go by each day made my neck feel hot and itchy.
“Have you ever said yes to something crazy? Something you would normally have said no to?”
“I’m not really the crazy type,” I explained. “I’m more of a planner.”
“Have you ever had sex with a stranger?” Her eyes were twinkling, and I noticed her two friends leering at me.
“Certainly not.”
Since when did I sound like such a square?
“Maybe it’s time for you to live a little,” she said gently.
I thought about how settled my life had been this past year. How, with a steady girlfriend, I’d felt… good. Not perfect, of course, but steady. Like my life was following the path it was meant to. The high-level job, the modern high-rise apartment, the lovely and kind woman on my arm. It had been…
Nice.
“But Darci—”
“Fuck Darci. Do you hear what I’m saying? Fuck the ex-girlfriend. Tell her to take a long walk off a short pier. You deserve someone a hell of a lot better than a chick whose idea of fun is setting her boyfriend up with Big Daddy for macho male man shit.”
I stared wide-eyed at the woman, both for her language and her forthright assessment of my situation. She didn’t know me at all, so why the hell did she think she could make such bold proclamations about what I needed?
“She’s a nice gir—woman. Encouraging me to get along with her family was just practical.”
Her face softened as she reached across the space between us to squeeze my arm. “Life’s too short to settle for ‘practical’ and ‘safe.’ Have a fling. Do something crazy. Get lost somewhere and fly by the seat of your pants for once. Let someone else be in charge, and stop being responsible for a little while.”
I stared at her some more. “What makes you think I’m so boring and predictable?” Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the tiny and now very empty bottle of hand sanitizer sticking out of the side pocket of my bag. I ignored it.
“You said you were the oldest of ten. That usually means you’re reliable, structured, cautious… am I right so far?”
“Maybe,” I admitted.
“And you’ve probably stayed fairly close to home in case someone needed you?”
I nodded, thinking of what it was like for the oldest of ten siblings when one of the parents was rarely around to help. I remembered nights of cooking boxed macaroni for everyone when I was seven, of helping clean up spills the babies made and doing the dishes when my mom was singing lullabies and bedtime stories to my younger siblings. I remembered changing disgusting diapers when I was as young as five and my brother Cal throwing up on me ten minutes before my high school graduation.
Even as recently as the previous year, I’d been called home to help my baby sister Sassy deal with a pregnancy scare. Had my mother not been half a world away, I was sure she would have been the one Sassy ran crying to. But the minute my parents had moved overseas, I’d become the default stand-in parent. I’d never known any different. And I loved my siblings with the ferocity of a thousand warriors. I couldn’t imagine it any other way.
“Maybe it’s time for you to figure out who you are without all that other stuff.”
“What other stuff?” I asked, though deep down I knew what she meant. How many times had I wondered myself what things would be like if I’d been allowed to be more like my younger siblings… if I’d been allowed to just be a kid?
“Rules. Responsibilities. Expectations… Labels.”
I closed my eyes and considered her words. Was I unhappy with my life the way it was? No. I had almost everything I’d ever imagined. A solid career as a financial analyst just like my father, a loyal and loving family in Texas, and a pretty, sweet girlfriend… well, until recently anyway.
“No. I think you’re wrong,” I told her. “My life is fine the way it is.” I hated that my voice sounded just a little too insistent. Like maybe she wasn’t the one I was trying to convince.
She studied me for a moment before shrugging. “Meh. Maybe it’s not your time yet. But I’ll bet fifty bucks you could use some spice in your life, and a powerful missile in your silo wouldn’t go amiss if you know what I mean.”
The tiny frail woman across from us snorted and reached a bony hand across the aisle to fist-bump my new friend.
“What are the three of you doing in Ireland?” I asked in an effort to get the focus off me.
“A tiny bit of family genealogy with a whole lotta whiskey drinking,” my seatmate said before all three of them howled with laughter and then began talking about the bedroom talents of someone named Harold.
I kept pretty much to myself for the remainder of the flight and tried to think of whether or not I should try to rekindle things with Darci. Maybe if I just explained to her about the plan…
By the time the plane landed in Cork, I’d already started to formulate a strategy to talk to Darci about the plan. But as soon as I turned my phone on, a text from my brother came dinging through.
West: Sorry to be the one to confirm it, but it’s true Darci is with someone else. Couple days ago, I saw her sneak into the on-call room with one of the pharmacy reps. The next night Otto and Seth saw them holding hands at the Pinecone. Sorry, brother.
I was surprised to feel something akin to relief, but I wondered what that would mean for my future at work. Would things be even more awkward between Bruce Ames and me or would it actually help the situation? Was he relieved his baby girl had gotten over me so quickly? And what did that mean for my love life? I was something of a serial monogamist. I’d always had a girlfriend.
What would my life be like now without someone to take care of? I’d always dreamed of the wife, the white picket fence, the two point five children. Was I really going to have to start all over? The thought had me absently reaching for the hand sanitizer again before I realized what I was doing. I glanced at the woman next to me and listened as she and her traveling companions talked excitedly about whiskey and Irish men. Their unabashed enthusiasm made something loosen in my chest just a little and I turned to stare out the window as I considered my seat mate’s earlier words.
Maybe she and the other two old ladies were right. Maybe I did need to do something wild for once.
His Saint #5
Chapter 1
Augie
There was someone in the house, and this time I didn’t even kid myself about it being my great-aunt Melody’s ghost. This was completely different from the usual creaks and groans of the ancient rambling farmhouse, and I felt in my gut it was an intruder.
I rolled out of bed as quietly as I could before squat-walking to the master closet.
Please don’t let the hinges screech.
After opening it as slowly as I dared, I made my way in and closed the door behind me before pushing through my hanging suits and button-downs to find the built-in ladder on the back wall of the tiny space.
I remembered a visit to Melody’s old house the summer after I finished first grade. She’d shown me the secret passage to the tiny attic space as if it was my very own Harry Potter understairs hideaway. I’d fallen so in love with the nook, I’d secreted blankets, pillows, and picture books there as often as I could. And each summer after that, when my parents sent me “to the country for some fresh air,” I’d spend hours curled up in my own private hideaway, not even caring that them sending me there was an excuse to have my beloved sister to themselves for a little while without her awkward brother trailing behind.
Only this time instead of being relaxed and happy, I was shaking with fear and terrified. Was this what it was like living all by oneself in the middle of the Texas countryside? Had my great-aunt ever had to fend off intruders? Was I going to have to actually consider purchasing a firearm to defend myself?
I shuddered at the thought. Due to a debilitating fear of firearms, I was the kind of person who’d more likely become a statistic of having one’s own weapon turned against him.
Bang.
The sharp crack of the front door slamming back against the living room walls was recognizable only because I’d accidentally done the same thing the day I’d moved in three weeks before. The movers were busy carrying my giant writing slope display case, and I was so nervous about damage to the ancient beauty that I accidentally threw the door open to make sure they had plenty of room.
Oh, why hadn’t I thought to grab my cell phone before coming up here?
The hatch to my hiding place was closed, and I sat as heavily on top of it as I could just in case someone was savvy enough to find it. As if my pint-sized frame would really keep an intruder from popping open the old wooden door and tossing me to the side.
I brought my knees up to my chest and hugged them, burying my face in my arms and trying not to hyperventilate. More thuds and crashes sounded from far below me on the main level of the house. What could they possibly want? Surely rural Texan burglars had no idea the worth of my antiques collection. Maybe they hoped to find the three sets of vintage sterling I owned? If so, they’d be disappointed to learn the sets were stored in a giant floor safe in the barn.
Melody hadn’t trusted banks. She’d kept half her fortune under the damned horse shit. While I was usually grateful there wasn’t horse shit in the barn any longer, I thought for a brief moment the old gal had been smart. Maybe I needed to get some horses after all, if only to add another layer of protection over my most valuable antiques in the vault.
There were plenty of other fence-able valuables in the house. My writing slope collection, for one. If those assholes took my favorite sixteenth-century Elizabethan slope from the center slot of the display case, I’d lose it. I could only thank my past self for having the foresight to keep my most treasured one with me instead of in the case.
I felt my jaw begin to wobble remembering my time curled up reading the ancient love letters with Melody.
Crying is for babies and women, August.
My mother’s words were as clear in my head today as they’d been in my ears when I was twelve and had lost my father in a sudden, unexpected way while on vacation in Manhattan. He, my little sister Rory, and I had been walking back to our hotel after seeing a show on Broadway when we’d ducked into a convenience store to grab some drinks. It had all happened so fast. One minute Dad was humming one of the songs from the show while deciding what color sports drink to pick out of the cooler, and the next minute two armed men were waving guns around and screaming for everyone to get down.
My dad shoved Rory and me to the ground and huddled on top of us, moving the three of us into a far corner of the store and as far away from the violence as possible. It wasn’t until all the noise was over and the cops came in that I realized Dad wasn’t moving anymore.
Mom had allowed me exactly one week to mourn him after the accident before insisting I was now man of the house. It hadn’t even been enough time for Dad’s body to have been shipped home from New York. I remembered cursing our family’s wealth because without it, we never would have been able to afford to leave Texas. He never would have been in the store that night.
By the time his body had arrived home, I’d done as Mom had asked. I’d stopped crying. In fact, I’d stopped feeling altogether. Numbness had been my stalwart friend in those days, carrying me through the following years at boarding school in a padded haze. What little emotion I had left was spent making sure my sister knew how loved she was since neither my mom nor my grandfather were the affectionate type. When I wasn’t with Rory, I was like an automaton.
If only I could have that numbness back now. Then maybe I wouldn’t feel like I was going to piss myself in terror. Hundreds of visits to a psychologist during my early adulthood finally helped me come to terms with most of the effects of my father’s murder, but tonight it was as if I was back in that horrible moment listening to violence surrounding me.
Crash, thunk.
The wretched noises were followed by the telltale sound of glass breaking. I prayed it wasn’t the few remaining original exterior farmhouse windows or my great-aunt’s beloved Tiffany lamp in the study. Anything else could be replaced, and I’d never been a fan of the delicate crystal in the dining room corner cabinet anyway.
It took hours for the noises to stop. At least it felt like hours. In reality, I had no way of knowing. I sat curled up in a scared ball for a long time after the sound of gravel spitting indicated whoever it was had left. I still didn’t have the guts to emerge from my hiding place until I heard the distant sound of the train passing by. Since the train rumbled through around half past six in the morning, I realized I was most likely safe to come down and assess the damage.
The first thing I did after scrambling for my phone was to call 911 and promptly hide under the bed until the dispatcher told me the responding sheriff’s deputy was at the front door.
I threw a big hoodie sweatshirt on over my lounge pants and T-shirt before slipping on running shoes and making my way out of the bedroom to greet them.
The house was just as wrecked as I’d feared. I felt guilty for being grateful most of the damage was to my great-aunt’s shabby old farmhouse furniture rather than the truly valuable pieces still in her penthouse in Dallas. Even though my great-grandmother had grown up on the Hobie farm a million years ago, it hadn’t been anyone’s primary residence for over eighty years. I’d only ever known it as Melody’s summer home—a place to kick back and let go of real-life stress like worrying about protecting the surface of a Louis XV occasional table or hiring housekeepers specially trained in how to care for antique walnut and mahogany surfaces.
I’d fully planned on bringing all the nice furnishings to the farmhouse in Hobie since it was my permanent home now, but I hadn’t yet secured the appropriate systems and insurance yet to move the most valuable pieces from the city.
Thank god.
Before answering the door, I spared a glance toward the far wall of the living room where my giant display case stood seemingly untouched with the exception of every writing slope it had held in its open cubbies. They all lay in broken pieces on the floor beneath the armoire—hundreds of years of history and thousands of dollars of precious antique collectibles as good as gone thanks to some North Texas assholes who didn’t even know what the fuck they’d had their hands on.
I let out a shaky breath and made my way to the front door. The uniformed sheriff stood in the open doorway with a deputy off to one side.
“August Stiel?”
“That’s me,” I said.
“I’m Sheriff Walker and this is Deputy Diller. We’d like to make sure the premises is secure before conducting an assessment of what’s missing. Would you mind stepping outside with my deputy while I get started?”
I nodded and stepped out of the house, already wondering what it would take for me to ever feel safe in my own home again.
It was only a few days before my sister came up with a suggestion.
Wilde Love #6
Chapter 1
LIAM “DOC” WILDE 1968
It’s true what they say about war. It’s like tunnel vision. Time gets strange and the world compacts into small, intense moments of immediate need. There is no wife back home, no newborn baby, no aging father needing help keeping his northern Texas ranch afloat.
There is only the present. The time, sometimes only a matter of seconds, between saving a man’s life and letting him go. Between having your act together and losing it completely in a jungle full of fear and bravado, pain and righteous indignation.
And such a moment it was when I met the man who would turn one of those compact tiny capsules of time into a full lifetime stretched long and rich over decades, who would become the very half of my heart I hadn’t known I’d been living without. The man who would take a broken army medic made up of mostly selfish immaturity and familial obligation and turn him into something worthy, something decent and redeemed.
At age eighteen I found myself the star of a shotgun wedding to my high school sweetheart. It stomped on all my dreams of getting off my parents’ ranch and away from my small town in Texas. Or so I’d thought at the time. And if it was even possible, Betsy was more bitter about it than I was. She’d wanted to move to the city and live a big life, and becoming a mother right out of high school put the brakes on that plan right away. We’d gone to a school dance together and fumbled our way into each other’s bodies in the back seat of my mom’s Pontiac Bonneville. The result was our son Billy, William Hobart Wilde. William for my dad and Hobart for Betsy’s. Her family was the Hobart behind Hobie, Texas, after all.
Needless to say, our families were both horrified and overjoyed at the earlier-than-expected merging of the two historic clans, while Betsy and I were only horrified. By the time Betsy’d figured out what was causing her to lose her lunch, I’d already committed to the ROTC university program at my father’s insistence that “all good men serve.”
So Betsy and I moved to College Station, Texas, where I joked I worked three jobs: student, file clerk at the student infirmary, and father. Betsy used to joke right back that I was forgetting the fourth: husband, but I admitted that one got short shrift in those days since all I had energy left for at the end of the day was a kiss and snuggle with my little boy.
At the start of my senior year in college, the twins were born. Gina and Brenda were angel newborns, thank heavens, but I still prayed I’d be around enough to help Betsy with the extra work after my stint in the army started.
But in 1968, no one was that lucky. I entered the US Army as a second lieutenant and was designated a medic because of my laughable background working at the university infirmary. It didn’t matter that I’d been a file clerk, I was one of the rare specimens who’d completed an actual CPR training course.
Vietnam was the kind of nightmare you can’t prepare for. It was battlefield amputations and choosing who got the last vial of morphine. It was battle-hardened men turning back into babies who needed—deserved—their mother when they called out for her. And they did call out for her.
My sleep was full of these man-boys calling for their mothers. Rarely did they call out for their young wives. And only once did a soldier call out for another man.
He called out for me.
The Forever Wilde series is set in the same world as the Made Marian series but features a different family and locations. It is not necessary to read the Made Marian novels to enjoy the Forever Wilde novels.
After enjoying creative writing as a child, Lucy didn’t write her first novel until she was over 40 years old. Her debut novel, Borrowing Blue, was published in the autumn of 2016. Lucy has an English Literature degree from Vanderbilt University, but that doesn’t hold a candle to the years and years of staying up all night reading tantalizing novels on her own. She has three children, plays tennis, and hates folding laundry. While her husband is no shmoopy romance hero, he is very good at math, cooks a mean lasagne, has gorgeous eyes, looks hot in his business clothes, and makes her laugh every single day.
Lucy hopes you enjoy sexy heroes as much as she does. Happy reading!
Lucy hopes you enjoy sexy heroes as much as she does. Happy reading!
Hudson's Luck #4
His Saint #5
Wilde Love #6
Forever Wilde Series
Made Marian Series
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