If You Hear Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense Read Free Page A

when he heard the familiar rumble of a jeep. The rural mail carrier had bills for him and a box. As the jeep headed off, Ezra jammed the bills in his back pocket and tore into the box—books … and hot damn, one of them was a book he’d spent the past few months trying to track down.
    Ezra didn’t open it, though. He was tempted, but he made himself tuck the book back into the box. For now. If he started reading now, he wasn’t going to finish anything else but the book today and damn it, he wanted to get more done on the deck.
    After stowing the mail in the kitchen and refilling histhermos with iced tea, he headed back outside, going through the side door.
    He heard the purr of an engine and glanced up toward the highway in front of his house. The sight of the long, black stretch limo made him pause.
    Scowling, he unscrewed his thermos and drinking, watched the limo until the gleaming black car disappeared around a curve.
    He knew where it was going—Running Brook Inn. When he had visited Ash as a kid, the big old house had been run-down and just this side of ugly. After the owner had died, one of the heirs had the brilliant idea to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast, and the idea took off.
    But now it wasn’t just a B&B. It had a small restaurant and they also did “boutique” weddings—whatever in the hell that was.
    And it all added up to a fairly steady amount of traffic going by his place on a regular basis. He’d come out here seeking the peace and quiet he’d remembered from his youth, not a steady string of cars and limos and traffic.
    “Hell. It’s not like they’re driving through the front yard,” he muttered, brushing his irritation aside. Pushing the limo out of his mind, he got back to work. He didn’t stop until he began to lose the light.
    By that time, the muscles in his injured thigh were screaming, and his head was pounding along, too.
    A hot shower, a sandwich, then he’d crash, and he’d be as good as new.
    But after the shower, Ezra realized he wasn’t in the mood for a sandwich or a microwave pizza, or any of the other fast, cheap crap that currently filled his freezer or fridge.
    Not that he had a lot of choices in Ash, but he wanted real food. Since he couldn’t cook worth shit, that meant leaving the house.
    Since it was Friday, the café on Main Street would still be open. Plus, there was the Turnkey Bar and Grill.
    But instead of heading into town, Ezra found himself turning right, heading toward the bed-and-breakfast.
    Of course, it was nearly ten by the time he got there.
    And as he settled down at the long, sleek sprawl of mahogany wood, he noticed something.
    He was kind of underdressed. His jeans and T-shirt did not fit in with the khakis and Dockers and polo shirts.
    He couldn’t care less. As long as he had some food.
    He could smell something mouthwatering. Garlic. Spice. Lasagna, maybe …
    “Hey, can I get a menu?”
    The bartender gave him a friendly, apologetic smile. “Sorry, but the kitchen closed at nine-thirty. We’ve got bar food, if you’re interested. We serve that until eleven.”
    “Closed,” he repeated. His stomach growled demandingly and he wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been drooling … whatever had been on the menu? That was what he wanted. Not bar food.
    “Yeah, afraid so. Sorry.” He glanced at his watch and grimaced.
    Blowing out a sigh, Ezra asked, “So what kind of bar food?”
    One good thing—the beer was cold. Five minutes later, he was watching the TV mounted over the bar when he caught a glimpse of somebody from the corner of his eye. He also heard the oddly familiar clack of nails on hardwood. Frowning, he turned his head.
    The clacking wasn’t coming from her, that was certain.
    She was a looker.
    For the first fifteen seconds, Ezra didn’t notice the dog at her side or anything else, because he was too busy staring at her.
    Damn—
    She wore a pair of sunglasses, despite the low lightsused in the bar. Her hair,