Against The Odds

A love stronger than fear...

Former army sniper Douglas “Bear” Steele wants only to be left alone to live a quiet, peaceful existence in the small town of Widow’s Grove. So his attraction to Hope Sanderson is unexpected and inconvenient. Having recently survived a violent bank robbery, Hope has vowed to seize each day and leave behind her safe, ordered life. As Hope and Bear help each other heal, their desire turns to love. But with their lives moving in opposite directions, can they find a balance to let go of the past and embrace the future...together?

The flush Hope felt had nothing to do with the sun.

The engine growl changed pitch as the bike slowed. Bear put his feet down and stopped. Her foot was off the peg and reaching for the ground before she realized what she was doing. It was instinct—to help balance and connect with the sweet, sustaining earth.

“Feet up.” His deep voice rolled like thunder through his back and kept going, reverberating through hers.

“Right. Sorry,” she squeaked. They were at the stop sign corner of King’s Highway and Foxen Canyon Road.

“You’re not smiling.”

Her lips were pulled back from her teeth, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “I’ll try.”

“Look at it this way. You wanted to push the envelope, right?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to fall off it.”

“I won’t let you fall, Hope.” He took a hand from the grip and patted the arm that was locked around his waist. “Nothing bad will happen to you when you’re with me. I’ll see to it.”

Dear Reader,

I never dreamed when I wrote my first book that I’d ever see it in print—much less that it would become a four-book series!

Widow’s Grove has become so real to me (and, I hope, to you) that I feel like I could walk downtown to Hollister Drugs and order one of those great shakes that Sin makes. Or run out to The Tippling Widow Winery. And while I’m out there, I could visit Sam in that beautiful Victorian on the hill…

But this story belongs to Bear. I gave him his very own Angel, as you’ll see when you turn the page.

Now that the last book has been written, I can tell you that you can visit Widow’s Grove! Well, not exactly, but pretty close. I based Widow’s Grove on the central California town of Los Olivos. Sadly, you won’t find the Bar None or The Farmhouse Café, but you will see the Victorians lining the road into town and the flagpole that graces the intersection at the center.

And somewhere, out in those rolling golden hills, is the run-down graying Victorian that began all this so many years ago. I saw it from the back of my husband’s motorcycle in the ’90s. I wouldn’t even know how to find it now, but maybe someday I’ll go back, on my own motorcycle, and cruise the back roads until I do.

I’d like that very much.

Laura Drake

PS: I enjoy hearing from readers. You can contact me and sign up for my newsletter through my website, www.lauradrakebooks.com.

Against the Odds

Laura Drake

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LAURA DRAKE is a RITA® Award–winning author of romance and women’s fiction. She’s put a hundred thousand miles on her motorcycles, riding the back roads, getting to know the small Western towns that are her books’ settings. She gave up the corporate CFO gig to retire in Texas and is currently working on her accent. In the remaining waking hours, she’s a wife, grandmother and motorcycle chick.

Contents

COVER

BACK COVER TEXT

INTRODUCTION

Dear Reader

TITLE PAGE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

HOPE SANDERSON WOKE to her worst nightmare.

The hand clamped over her mouth smelled of garlic and sweat. She gagged, struggling to get away. A cold circle at her temple made no sense until fetid breath washed over her. “Stop. I have a gun.”

She froze, trying to see through the dark, her heart throwing panicky rabbit beats. Her breath, whistling through her nose, was the only sound in the room. If her body hadn’t screamed for oxygen, she’d have held it, to hear better. A lone intruder? That rustling in the corner, was that another?

What do they want?

Her muscles were strung so tight she thrummed with their vibration. Clamped knees wouldn’t stop them for long, if they intended rape. Her stomach roiled. She locked her jaws tight and swallowed. What would he do if she threw up on him? “Please, no.” It came out muffled by his sausage fingers.

“You promise not to scream, I’ll let go.” A deep scratchy whisper abraded her face.

Her head jerked up and down in a spasm that once started, wouldn’t stop.

The offensive hand withdrew, but the cold circle pressed harder. How did it stay cold, held against a head superheated with speeding thoughts?

Menace emanated from corners unlit by the weak moonlight spilling over the sill. A scuff of carpet in one corner, a wheezing breath from the foot of her bed.