A Fourth of July Proposal Read online

  “I need to leave Carter’s.

  “If I stay here,” Rachel continued, “I’m going to spend my time filing papers for my uncle and eventually living with fourteen cats. I want a life.”

  Ryker had left Carter’s; he’d searched for a life. It hadn’t worked out well.

  “How do you think I can help you with that?” He kept his distance, as if she could weave a spell on him if he got too close.

  “I want you to help me become more like you.”

  Ryker hadn’t felt a sense of danger like this since he’d been deployed.

  “You don’t want to be like me.”

  But if he said no, she was going to ask someone else. What would that guy do? The thought of someone hurting her, taking advantage of her, bothered Ryker. She thought being nice was a bad thing. She was wrong.

  Dear Reader,

  I’ve so looked forward to writing this book. This second book in the Cupid’s Crossing series gives Rachel from A Valentine’s Proposal her chance at romance.

  I identify with Rachel—I grew up a good girl and have that people-pleasing gene. Also, my husband picked me up for our first date on a motorcycle, and later in life I learned to drive one. I also had an accident on a bike, but fortunately, I only suffered a skinned knee and a broken ankle bone.

  Like Ryker, alcoholism has been a factor in my family, and I’ve personally seen some of the fallout. I know it’s not a rare phenomenon: AA currently counts more than two million members worldwide. I apologize for any errors in misrepresentation, since I’ve written from my own perspective.

  I hope you enjoy Rachel and Ryker’s story.

  Kim

  A Fourth of July Proposal

  Kim Findlay

  Kim Findlay is a Canadian who fled the cold to live on a sailboat in the Caribbean and write romance novels. She shares the boat with her husband and the world’s cutest spaniel. Bucket list accomplished! Her first Harlequin Heartwarming novel, Crossing the Goal Line, came about from the Heartwarming Blitz, and she’s never looked back. Keep up with Kim, including her sailing adventures, at kimfindlay.ca.

  Books by Kim Findlay

  Harlequin Heartwarming

  A Hockey Romance

  Crossing the Goal Line

  Her Family’s Defender

  Cupid’s Crossing

  A Valentine’s Proposal

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  To Ritchard, for encouraging me to take chances

  Contents

  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

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM THE MAN FROM MONTANA BY JULIANNA MORRIS

  CHAPTER ONE

  NICE.

  Nice nice nice nice nice.

  Rachel Lowther had had nice up to her eyeteeth. The next time anyone mentioned how nice she was she was going to scream. Or swear. Or punch.

  She stiffened when she heard someone enter the parsonage kitchen behind her. The church management team meeting was wrapping up, but Rachel didn’t want to talk to anyone. That was why she’d hidden herself in the dishwater.

  A teacup was offered to her.

  “You’re such a nice girl, Rachel. Now that Cupid’s Crossing is a Center for Romance, we’ll have to find you a nice boy!”

  Rachel ground down on her teeth, hard enough to remove enamel, fists clenched to keep herself from doing any of those things she’d threatened as Mavis Grisham, who was about eight hundred years old and eighty pounds when soaking wet, patted her arm.

  Cannot scream at Mavis. She gave me peppermints in church when I was a kid...

  Rachel almost trembled from forcing the muscles of her face to smile as she grabbed the empty teacup from Mavis’s hands and placed it in the sink. Mavis shuffled her way out of the kitchen, having done her part to help out.

  It was more than most of the committee members did.

  Rachel was tempted to smash the cup. She could see it: the pink roses breaking into bits of china as the sound reverberated around the kitchen. Everyone would rush in to see what had happened as Rachel stood there, shaking with frustration.

  Instead, she ran more soap and water as she considered just how wrong Mavis’s statement was. How did she count the ways?

  Rachel wasn’t a girl. She was twenty-nine. That meant she’d be thirty on her next birthday.

  Thirty!

  And she might be nice, but she didn’t want to be.

  Nice was dependable. Reliable. Nonthreatening. Noninteresting.

  Nice was boring. And Rachel was so tired of being boring.

  The town had recently changed its name from Carter’s Crossing to Cupid’s Crossing. Abigail Carter, who basically ran the town, had had to close the lumber mill. Now she was making the place into a Center for Romance, trying to keep the town economically viable. Rachel couldn’t complain about the name.

  Even though she kind of wanted to mock it.

  Her best friends had gotten engaged in the past few months, so apparently, Cupid was here.

  But Cupid wasn’t interested in Rachel any more than any other man in town.

  How long had it been since she’d been on a real date? The last one had been with Nelson Carter, local veterinarian and lifelong friend. They’d gone to a concert together, but driven in separate cars, and his grandmother had sat between them. They’d never been more than friends, backup dates for each other when they were in the lurch.

  Not that she had her lurch date anymore. Nelson was engaged. To the event planner who was making this town into a Center for Romance. At least someone was finding love in Cupid’s Crossing.

  Her friends Jaycee and Dave were getting married. They’d had their engagement party on Valentine’s Day, another Cupid’s Crossing romantic success story.

  Not her. Nope.

  Yes, she’d gone out on some dates. Real dates. But they’d been a long time ago and they’d been...nice. And boring. Even the kissing.

  She was too nice to be a good kisser, apparently.

  Rachel sighed in the now-empty kitchen. Her anger evaporated, and she sagged.

  The best kiss Rachel had had in her life had been back in high school.

  It was the most interesting event that had happened in her life, which was sad on so many levels she didn’t want to count anymore.

  She’d been tutoring the baddest boy in school. And, of course, she’d had a crush on him. She was a walking cliché.

  He’d kissed her, once. And that kiss had been so amazing that he’d never returned to tutoring. He’d dropped out of school, gotten into trouble and left town to sign up for the military.

  For all that he’d had the failing grades, while Rachel had straight As, he’d been the smart one. He’d left Carter’s Crossing and found a life for himself.

  Presumably. He’d never come back.

  Rachel relaxed the hands that had come perilously close to crushing the pink roses on the teacup again. She drew a long breath.

  “There you are, m’dear.” Rachel’s fa
ther, widower, minister and clueless as to how she really felt, patted her on the shoulder. His eyes were smiling behind his glasses. He ran his hand over his bald head and sighed happily. “Everyone’s finally gone. You’re such a help. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  Hands buried in soapy water, Rachel forced another smile. “It’s not a big deal.” Just part of being nice.

  “I hope you don’t mind—I told Stanley you could represent us on this new committee.”

  Rachel froze up, hands still wrapped around that stupid teacup.

  “What committee?” She couldn’t make her voice sound happy. She was tired of being roped in to all-around drudgery. Tired of letting people do that to her. She already spent too much time taking care of Uncle Stanley.

  “Now that things are underway with this Romance program, the town has a lot to do to get ready. You can represent the ecclesiastic and legal needs. Your uncle will help you with any legal issues, of course. Since you’re working for him, you’re already on top of most of those, and I can help you with anything related to the churches in town. It works out very well. Oh, here’s my cup.”

  He set it on the counter beside her. He was proud of how helpful he was.

  Rachel closed her eyes and counted to ten. Then twenty. She was at a hundred when she opened them again and by then her father was gone.

  She placed the pink rosy teacup in the drying rack. She wiped off her hands on a tea towel. When she walked back into the living room, there were bits of paper and some hidden plates scattered around. None of the food was left over: she baked a mean cake.

  No, she baked a nice cake.

  She went through the motions of cleaning up, returning furniture to where it belonged, her father long gone to his study. He’d never think of offering further assistance. Her mother had always taken care of that, and Rachel had stepped into that role after she died.

  When the cleanup was finally done, she headed upstairs. She’d slept in this same room her entire life. The same nice room.

  Rachel sat on her nice bed.

  And wrestled with some non-nice thoughts.

  She needed to do something. And it would need to be big.

  Despite what Mavis suggested, single men weren’t coming to the new Center of Romance.

  The people coming to Cupid’s Crossing were couples. People already together, already in love or falling in love. People were coming for romantic weekends, to propose, to celebrate anniversaries.

  Not to find nice girls.

  No, if Rachel was going to find what she wanted from life, she needed to become less nice, less boring, and she was going to have to leave Cupid’s Crossing.

  Sometime between washing the teacups and now, she’d made her decision. She was not going to stay here in Carter’s or Cupid’s Crossing. She wasn’t going to be nice. She was going to find a life for herself, instead of a life helping everyone else because she was nice.

  Her father would be shocked. There would be fallout at the law office. But it was time to screw up some backbone before she found herself looking at sixty instead of thirty, still not having lived.

  She paused as the thought settled in her mind.

  She was going to have to leave.

  It was a scary thought. She’d lived her whole life here. All her friends and family were here.

  But if she didn’t leave, she was absolutely going to become the town spinster, helping everyone else, then going home to her cats.

  She was going to become a cat lady. And she didn’t even like cats.

  Her mind was grappling with those two conclusions. She had to become less boring, and she needed to leave.

  That was a much bigger decision than anything the leadership team had come up with tonight.

  * * *

  MY NAME IS RYKER, and I’m an alcoholic.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d said the words. Sure wouldn’t be the last. But they hadn’t felt this heavy since the first few times he’d forced the words out of his mouth.

  Because this time he was back in his hometown. The place he’d escaped fourteen years ago. The place where he was the local screwup, the kid most likely to fail. That was what he’d been escaping from fourteen years ago.

  But here he was, back in Carter’s Crossing. They’d been right, all those years ago.

  The second A in AA was Anonymous, but in a town this size, there was no anonymity. He recognized most of the people sitting in the church basement with him. If they hadn’t placed him before, as soon as they heard his name, he’d seen the recognition on their faces.

  Son of the town drunk, back and hitting up an AA meeting first thing. Last thing he’d done before leaving fourteen years ago was wrap a car around a tree while drunk.

  Not much changed.

  Ryker sat back and let the meeting do its work, focusing on what he had to do to get through the next day without drinking. One day at a time.

  One of the familiar faces came to shake his hand after the meeting was over.

  “Ryker. It’s nice to see you again.”

  Ryker returned the handshake with a firm grip. “Mr. G.”

  The name slipped back easily. Mr. G, or Mr. Gifford, had taught computer sciences at the local high school. It was one of the few classes Ryker didn’t skip.

  Well, not as often as the others.

  “Want to grab a coffee and catch up?” Mr. G was smiling at him, as if he was happy to see Ryker back.

  If Ryker was honest, he’d have to say no, he didn’t want to catch up. But he hadn’t wanted to come back here to Carter’s Crossing in the first place. He couldn’t cut himself off, not if he was going to get through this without losing his sobriety. There was a lot he’d do to hang on to that two-years-sober pin.

  He was going to accept help.

  He nodded and followed his former teacher out of the church basement. He kept his head down, eyes on the ground in front of him. It was hard to be invisible when you were over six feet tall, wearing motorcycle leathers, but he’d do his best.

  The diner was around the corner from the church. Same as it had been fourteen years ago. Walking in the door was like revisiting seventeen again.

  Ryker didn’t want to be seventeen again. He didn’t want to revisit a youth he’d wasted. He was pretty sure his sponsor would tell him that meant he should.

  Somehow, life had come down to doing all the things he didn’t want to. It had been easier in the air force. At least, at first.

  He followed Mr. G into the diner, sliding into the seat opposite him in a booth at the back. He glanced around. It hadn’t changed from what he remembered. The vinyl was the same faded red, but since the seat wasn’t ripped, it must have been updated at some point. The pictures, the light fixtures, the counter and stools, all looked the same.

  It even smelled the same.

  A tired-looking woman brought them menus and a coffeepot.

  “Hey, Brian.” She shot a curious look at Ryker. “Anything to eat?”

  Mr. G, Brian, shook his head. “Just coffee, thanks.”

  She set down the menus, flipped over the cups and filled them with practiced pours. Then she picked up the menus and walked away.

  Mr. G and Ryker opened creamers and poured sugar into their cups. Ryker caught the smile on his teacher’s face before he shot another wary glance around the diner and focused his gaze down.

  “I owe you an apology, Ryker.”

  Ryker’s head shot up. “What?”

  Mr. G sighed. “I wasn’t in a good place, back when you were in my classes. I’ve been sober for fourteen years now, but that’s not really a good excuse. I knew things were bad at home for you and your siblings, but I wasn’t paying attention.”

  Ryker stared into the man’s eyes. They were serious.

  “That wasn’t your job.” Ryker hadn’t expected he
lp from the teachers at school. He hadn’t expected help from anyone.

  Mr. G shook his head.

  “This is a small town. Everyone knew what your dad was like. We should have done something—I should have done something.”

  Ryker felt a lump in his throat. He wasn’t used to handling concern. Whatever he’d expected from this return to his roots, it hadn’t been this.

  “I appreciate the thought, sir, but I’m not sure what anyone could have done.”

  Mr. G grimaced. “I’m not sure, either, but it’s one of my many regrets. I wanted to get that off my chest. And to ask if there’s anything I can do to help now.”

  For the past few years, since leaving the air force, Ryker had been living in a big city, a place where it was easy to be lost in the crowd. Not here, though. Everyone would soon know exactly why he was back.

  Ryker didn’t want to ask for help. But trying to do everything on his own was what led him to needing AA. He’d had to ask for help then. And, with his sponsor miles away, he needed someone here and now.

  Mr. G was offering, and he couldn’t afford to refuse.

  “I went to the house. Thought I could stay there while I sorted things out. But I can’t.”

  Mr. G didn’t have to ask what house, or what he was sorting out, or why he couldn’t stay there. The whole town would know that his father had fallen and been taken to a nursing home in an ambulance. They wouldn’t be shocked: he was the guy who’d been hurt operating machinery at the mill while drunk. He’d spent the rest of his life abusing Abigail Carter for firing him, his kids for being underfoot, and alcohol to deal with life. And now, Dad wasn’t going back to the family house. Not anymore.

  The house was a flotsam of empty and full whiskey bottles, dirty dishes and garbage. He’d taken one step into the building and had to leave, immediately.

  His father wasn’t taking his sobriety away from him.

  “I booked a room at the motel in Oak Hill, but I need to find another place to stay.”

  It was still hard to ask for help. But easier to ask someone from AA. They’d understand, in a way nonalcoholics couldn’t.