A Bet Worth Making (Grayson County #2) Read online

  A BET WORTH MAKING

  Book 2 in the Grayson County Novels series

  ©2016

  Heather Hildenbrand

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the authors’ imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors.

  Cover design by EM Tippetts Designs

  Editing by Red Road Editing

  A Bet Worth Making

  Book 2 in the Grayson County Series

  By

  Heather Hildenbrand

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  About the Author

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  17 year-old Tara Godfrey thought she was had life figured out. That her impending breakup with her football-player boyfriend was the worst of her problems. But when she shortcuts on her way home through a dark alley, all of her very high school, very human problems take a backseat when she’s attacked by a wolf—and manages to put it down. And if that’s not enough to send her over the edge, the wolf shifts post-mortem into the body of a naked girl. Panicked and terrified, Tara whirls—and comes face to face with the hottest, most mysterious, most dangerous guy she’s ever seen. And he’s not here to be friends…

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  Chapter One

  Jordan

  Two horses were too many for this town.

  That’s what my dad would have said if he’d been alive to see me driving through this tiny little mountain town in western Virginia. One of a thousand country adages he used so regularly that, even though I’d grown up in New England, I could spew like any southerner.

  Between the old-style clapboard storefronts and the raised wooden sidewalks, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see an honest-to-goodness tumbleweed blow across the road. The steam pouring from underneath the hood of my old Nissan was probably obscuring the view.

  I huffed out at a breath, letting the bangs left over from my last salon trip ruffle and settle. At the same time I felt them fall over my brows—time to get a cut—the engine gave a final wheeze and died.

  “Dammit all to kingdom come,” I muttered. Another of Daddy’s favorites. I blinked back the sting of tears, shoving all that aside in favor of the problem at hand.

  I managed to coast the old beater to the shoulder before it finally came to what I had a feeling would be its final resting place—especially if the burnt smell was any indication. I thought back to the last sign I’d seen on the county route I’d exited. Grayson. I was on the outskirts of a tiny little town called Grayson County.

  I double checked the map I’d brought—a paper map, which the gas station clerk had offered when he’d pointed out how horrible cell reception was out here. Glad I’d listened. I was still about ten miles out from my initial destination where I’d meet with a client tomorrow. Another fifteen after that from my second—and real—reason for leaving my home in Connecticut for this tiny little hick town in the middle of nowhere and … well, I hadn’t really intended to go there today.

  In fact, if I could’ve avoided John and Sharon DeWalter forever I would do so gladly. But I’d made a promise. To the one person I knew I could never let down. Still, I didn’t intend to make the rest of the trip on foot.

  I re-folded the map.

  “Close enough,” I said on another sigh. Seemed I was destined to do a lot of heavy breathing on this trip.

  I got out of the car, trying my best to ignore the oppressive sunshine that seemed way too hot for May and way too concentrated for the northern tip of the south and popped my hood for a look at anything salvageable. It would’ve been a better idea had I known what I was staring at.

  Steam rose, escaping in thin tufts between cracks until the moment I pulled the sheet of metal upward. The heavy cloud thickened and encased me like the aftermath of a mini-bomb. Or, at least that’s what it felt like as I coughed and hacked the smoke back out of my lungs.

  “You okay?”

  I whirled and found a guy around my own age, broad-shouldered and jean-clad, watching me with concern. He was a few years older than me, good-looking in a quiet sort of way, with kind eyes. His smile was easygoing and straightforward with no trace of flirting, and for that I was glad. I’d had enough of that at various stops along the road.

  He was simply friendly.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I managed as the haze of smoke rolling off my engine finally cleared.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  I faltered. According to my parents who’d grown up here, people in these towns tended to know their neighbors, and I wasn’t quite ready for a homecoming just yet.

  “Jordan—just Jordan. And you are…?”

  “Ford O’Neal.”

  If he was put off by my awkward introduction, he didn’t show it. “I was coming out of the hardware store and saw your engine trouble.” He gestured first to a clapboard shop on the corner with blue peeling paint and then back to my deceased Nissan.

  Back home in New England, the sight of a guy showing up roadside unannounced would make me wary. But here, and underneath the brilliance of the sun and his open smile, I felt relaxed. Either that or Small Town Syndrome was kicking in. Something in me wanted to trust people.

  I kicked at the car. “Yeah. I think it’s finally breathed its last.”

  He gestured with a nod. “Frank’s place is on the hill. Best garage around. Maybe they can revive it.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” I agreed. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Can I give you a lift?”

  “Uh, no, I’ve got it. I think my legs could use a stretch anyway, thanks.” I moved away, already walking so he couldn’t insist. Good-looking or not, girls didn’t get into strange trucks with guys. I could practically hear my mother lecturing about that one.

  “Straight up that way. And good luck,” Ford said, nodding up the gravel hill before heading to a vintage Chevy truck. I watched as he fired it up, backed out. He waved one last time. I raised my hand to return the gesture and watched him drive off, spitting a cloud of dust. His vehicle ran, dammit.

  Resigned and deter
mined not to sigh any more today, I swiped my bangs aside and started up the hill. Then I doubled back and grabbed my phone and my bag before resuming my trek. While I walked, I dialed Gavin.

  “Hello?” a male voice said.

  “Fourth ring. I thought I had you that time,” I said.

  “I told you I’ll always answer for you. What’s up? Did you find the place where your client lives?”

  “Yeah, I found it,” I told him, already breathless halfway up the hill. Damn, it was hot. “Or, the town anyway.”

  “And?”

  “And it’s small. Like, miniscule.” The phone was already sweaty against my ear.

  “One horse?” he asked.

  I snorted. “Half a horse.”

  Gavin chuckled. “I’ve always wondered what half a horse looked like.”

  I didn’t bother responding. I was too busy focusing on not passing out. Since when was May in Virginia the seventh circle of hell?

  “You okay?” he asked. “You sound winded.”

  “The Nissan might’ve gone to sedan heaven. I’m walking to the local mechanic to get a second opinion.”

  “Well, shit, sis … You loved that car.”

  I kicked at a rock, hating how the loss of my car brought up other feelings of loss. Like losing Dad six months ago to cancer. How did a car possibly compare? And why did I always want to cry at the worst times? “I know,” I mumbled, not trusting my voice.

  “Too bad you build houses, not cars, or you could fix it yourself.” Someone stirred on Gavin’s end of the line, decidedly female, but Gavin shushed her. “You need me to come there?”

  I ignored Gavin’s companion, too used to it by now. “No. It’s fine. We’d already decided this is for me. It just puts me here a little longer, maybe, but it doesn’t change the facts. I’m here to work and to see Sharon and John and … put it to rest.” At the top of the hill I sucked in a deep gulp of air and resisted the urge to bend at the waist or wheeze. “I’m here. I’ll call you later.”

  Gavin hesitated. “All right, but keep me posted. You know if you need me, I’ll put in leave and be there before you can say ‘your favorite brother.’”

  “Gav, you’re my only brother.”

  “Doesn’t mean I’m not the best.” I rolled my eyes at that but Gavin lowered his voice to add, “Seriously, just stay in touch, okay?”

  “Okay.” My stomach cramped at the thought of doing this alone, but I shoved it aside like I’d been doing. I was here—to see a family that hadn’t wanted me to begin with. And I was doing it alone because that’s what Dad had wanted.

  “No matter what, I love you. Don’t forget it.”

  “Ditto.” I disconnected and squared my shoulders, determined not to be beaten by the weather—at least on day one. I wasn’t sure if global warming had suddenly taken a bad turn or if this kind of humidity was normal out here.

  Nearing the top of the hill, I spotted the sign that advertised Frank’s. I regarded the garage critically and decided that, although he might be a nice guy, Ford O’Neal definitely used the term “garage” loosely. This place was one windstorm away from a pile of lumber.

  The roof sagged but only in the middle, like the weight of the center was too much and had bowed it into a pathetic half-moon shape. The red paint—now faded to a not unpleasant shade of rust—was peeling and, from the looks of it, had been applied directly to untreated wood nailed to the front as a finishing layer. A couple of small windows, too murky to see anything through, were cut into the front on either side of the doorway, which was barred only by a thin screen on hinges. Was “summer camp” the architectural theme in Grayson County?

  A bay door was open around the corner, but I couldn’t see inside from where I stood. And I probably didn’t need to. No way was I letting this place anywhere near my car, deceased or not.

  Banging sounded from inside the garage followed closely by the whir of a power tool of some kind. I flinched at the sudden noise cutting through the silence of midday. Damn, it was even too hot for insects and birds to disturb the air.

  And where were the townspeople? Didn’t places like this have a lot of pedestrians out and about? Where were the nosy old ladies and men chewing on hay or whatever?

  My mother’s voice echoed in my mind, scolding me for that last one. But I couldn’t help it. All of the small town stereotypes I’d ever seen in movies were already coming true and I hadn’t been here ten minutes.

  The power tool went suddenly silent and I caught the sound of a low buzzing coming from the other end of the shack. I searched and my eyes lit up. A window AC unit hung from a sad wooden frame, the glass propped open by the boxed machine itself. A steady drip-drip of water fell from the bottom where the condensation gathered.

  Cool air. Inside. Dammit, they had me.

  I walked up to the screen door and, with a screechy tug on the metal handle, I pulled it open and stepped inside.

  Two things hit me at once. The first was the lazy whine of country music leaking from an honest-to-God boom box behind the counter that had probably been a nice system in 1987. The second was the God-blessed air-conditioning.

  For a moment I just stood there, soaking in the reprieve of cool air as it washed over my bare legs from ankle to thigh. I contemplated pulling my shorts up a few more inches just to let the air touch my skin. This is why those cowgirls all wear booty shorts.

  “She’s only sexy when she’s saaaad…” More startling than the sudden addition of a man’s voice to the faded lyrics on the radio was finding him standing bent over the front counter, a toothpick dangling from his lips and his sharp though aging eyes trained on me. I stopped tugging on the hem of my shorts.

  “Can I help ya?” he asked.

  “Um, my car died on the way into town. I ran into Ford O’Neal? He told me to come find Frank, see about getting it looked at?”

  “Ford sent you, huh?” He grunted in a way that confused me whether it was even a question. I nodded and we blinked at each other. The gray hairs sprinkled in at his temples moved with the pull of skin around his eyes. Something in his expression softened, minutely friendlier. Not that it had been hostile before but … curious. Nosy. That was it.

  Damn small towns. Mom had always warned me.

  I looked around at the otherwise empty front office area. We were surrounded by low shelves of oil and a couple random tires but otherwise, not a soul to be seen.

  “Are you Frank?” I pressed when the man didn’t say anything else. “Or is that a euphemism for your brand of service?”

  The man let out a short laugh, rolling the toothpick along his bottom lip as his mouth hung open. “I’m Frank, in the flesh. I can take a look at your vehicle, Miss…?”

  “Jordan. No miss. Just Jordan. And that’d be great. It’s parked just down the hill.”

  He eyed me critically. The toothpick rolled back and forth between his lips. “Lemme grab some bottled water. Then we’ll go.”

  Okay, not nosy. Just perceptive.

  Frank returned, tossed me a bottle of water, and led the way down the hill. “Thanks,” I said, hurrying to follow him while uncapping the water. I downed over half the contents before coming up for air.

  “You from around here?” Frank asked, and underneath the amiable tone was that same curiosity again.

  “Nope.”

  He waited but I didn’t elaborate. And he didn’t press it.

  I looked around as we walked. Just like on the way up, no one was about on the plank sidewalks although there were several cars parked at the gravel curb. “Where is everyone?” I asked.

  “Staying inside where it’s cool if they’re smart,” Frank grumbled. A sheen of sweat already lined his brow. He wiped it aside and took a swig of water.

  “Aren’t they used to it by now?” I asked.

  “Humidity is a funny beast. You never quite get used to it,” he said and I didn’t disagree. “But, you’re right, most everyone’s down at the fairgrounds today on the other side of town. Stra
wberry Fest this weekend.”

  He didn’t look nearly as old now that he was moving around, just weathered. Tough. Maybe my dad’s age. The similarities made the space behind my eyes sting. That made twice in ten minutes. Get it together, Jordan.

  I took another swig of water.

  At the bottom of the hill, I waited while Frank made googly eyes with all the important parts underneath my hood. He jiggled this and tapped on that. I bit my lip to keep from asking too many questions and simply waited, bracing myself.

  “Well,” he finally said, pausing to let the hood fall back into place. It slammed closed, and I flinched as he dusted his hands together before wiping them on a rag he produced from his back pocket. “She’s out of commission, that’s for sure. Looks like a belt and a hose from where I’m standing. Probably more but I’d need to get her on the lift to know for sure. How do you want to play it?”

  “Do you think you can fix it?”

  He frowned at the car. “I’m sure I can. Question is whether you’ll want to. She’s no spring chicken.”

  I caught myself mid-sigh. Swallowed it. My bangs feathered back to my forehead and stuck there. “I understand.”

  “How about I tow it up and have a look,” Frank said, jerking his head back toward the garage. “Diagnostic fee gets applied toward labor on any work done.”

  He named his fee and I nodded slowly. It wasn’t like I had a choice. “All right.”

  “You staying close by?” There went that piercing look again. Perception. I was the new girl in a town where everybody knew everybody. Mom said it’d be that way. Isn’t that why I’d picked this town instead of the one next door where my namesake lived?

  “Planned to. Hadn’t nailed down the details yet,” I said. Both honest and vague.

  Frank’s expression softened, again his combination of age and wisdom reminding me weirdly of Dad. Lots of things did, though. “I’m not trying to pry. Just want to make sure you’re square. It’s Strawberry Fest weekend so all the motels are booked for miles. Don’t want you sleeping outside. Or,” he gave me a pointed look, “running off before you can pay for the car repairs.”