Man of Her Dreams Read online

  Man of Her Dreams

  By Sue Barr

  This book was originally published in 2015. Revisions have been applied in 2018.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations being used in reviews or article about the book.

  This is a work of fiction. The situations, characters, names and places are products of the author’s imagination, or are used factiously. Any resemblance to locales, events, actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Published by: Susan L Barr

  Digital ISBN: 978-0-9947718-1-0

  Cover Design by Rae Monet

  Text copyright ©2015 ©2018 (revised) Susan L. Barr

  All Rights Reserved

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Man of Her Dreams (Welcome to Ravenwood, #1)

  Welcome to Ravenwood Series

  Pride & Prejudiced continued.... Series

  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

  Fiancé for Hire

  Chapter One

  To my mother, Marjorie

  You were the quiet inspiration for this book

  I will miss you, always

  Also by Sue Barr

  According to Plan

  (Romantic Suspense)

  Welcome to Ravenwood Series

  Fiancé for Hire

  (a Christmas Novella)

  Pride & Prejudiced continued.... Series

  Caroline

  Catherine

  Chapter One

  LINDSAY SWANSON TURNED into the Food Mart parking lot and pulled to a stop near the entrance. Waves of heat shimmered from the hood of the truck, making the near empty parking lot look like a Saharan mirage. Sweat trickled down the side of her temple and she swiped it away before twisting her hair into a Ravenwood Hooligan’s ball cap.

  She climbed out of the truck and a fluttering movement caught her eye. With a sigh she peeled a rogue piece of drywall tape off her tee-shirt. When you owned your own renovation business, things got messy.

  Through the front window she spotted one of the cashiers working a check-out line and groaned. Just her luck, Carla would be working today. Now everyone in town would know how pathetic her life was. She could hear her now.

  “Poor Lindsay, she only bought a loaf of bread. No one to cook for...”

  For a brief moment, she considered hopping back into her truck and driving to her parent’s farm for a home cooked meal. Mom wouldn’t mind an extra body at the table, but Lindsay wasn’t up for the subtle guilt that would be sprinkled throughout the meal.

  Over a savory pot roast, Mom would say, ‘A few grandchildren would be nice while we can enjoy them – without assistance from a walker.’ Or, ‘When are you going to find a nice young man?’ Lindsay would always remind her that she had a business to run. Finding a man and having a family wasn’t a top priority right now.

  The automatic door slid open and Lindsay entered the blissfully cool interior and made a bee-line for the deli counter. As expected, the store was quiet, the silence broken by piped music from the fifties and sixties. She’d finished ordering sandwich meat when her cell phone played ‘Red Neck Woman’.

  “Hey, Tina. What’s up?”

  “Are you coming to practice tonight?”

  A pang of guilt sliced through her. The good folk of Ravenwood were fanatical about their slow-pitch team, planning town fairs and community events around the tournaments. Although she loved playing ball, she had no desire to run around the outfield in this heat. Not after taping and mudding Mrs. Henderson’s entire kitchen.

  “No can do. I’m too tired.” She waved a thank-you to the deli clerk and grabbed her package of meat.

  “Not again. You only have to come out for a few hours.”

  “You know I’m busy, and before you ask, I can’t make the game tomorrow night either.”

  She heard muffled whispering. The Hooligan’s next game was against the Silver Creek Bullets, their biggest competitor and a minimum of two women was required to play.

  “Tell Nick I hear him breathing.” Lindsay guessed her brother was eavesdropping.

  “How did you—?” Tina sighed. “At least come for drinks after the game.”

  “I’ll be there. See you tomorrow.” Lindsay ended the call. Tina was not only her sister-in-law, but also her best friend, and because they’d known each other since they were both in diapers, Tina felt it was her duty to make sure Lindsay had a plus-one for parties. Unfortunately, for both of them, her batting average was a big, fat zero.

  However, a boyfriend would be nice. Especially on beautiful days like today where she and her fabulous, make-believe boy toy could water-ski, then invite everybody over for a barbeque and people, like Carla, wouldn’t think she had no social life.

  Lindsay continued toward the bakery department. She was dangerously low on provisions and swore she’d do a full grocery shop on the weekend. That was, if she had time. If she didn’t have another renovation booked. If, if, if... The multitude of ifs piled up, threatening to topple over and crush her.

  Long time Ravenwood resident, Lindsay Swanson was crushed to death last night. Investigators claim the reason was iffy.

  She skirted the candy bars and closed her eyes as she moved down the cookie aisle, opening them when she felt was safely beyond their tempting chocolate chips and caramel swirls.

  Maybe because her eyes had been closed or maybe because he’d come around from the other side of the bread rack, but Lindsay didn’t see the man until they both reached for the last loaf of fresh bread.

  Their fingers touched and a jolt ran from her finger tips straight to her midsection. She followed the length of a muscled forearm up to his body. Her eyes did a slow blink and she lost all coherent thought.

  Before her stood six feet plus of muscle and pure testosterone. Broad shoulders filled out a cobalt blue tee shirt, the soft cotton material snug across his chest and loose around his abs. Abs that she inwardly hoped had the perfect ridges women went crazy over and posted pictures of on every social media page. She dragged her gaze up to a stubble dusted chin and her knees weakened. There was something incredibly sexy about a man with a scruffy face. She moved past a firm mouth, stopping when she reached a pair of steel grey eyes.

  For a moment she thought interest flared in those unusual eyes, but he gave her a lopsided grin, released the loaf of bread and turned away. Thank goodness. A millisecond more and she’d have melted into a gooey puddle. Right in the middle of baked goods.

  Clean up in Bakery. Bring the wet vac.

  As he continued down the aisle, pushing a grocery cart piled high with Hungry Guy Meals, she stared. Dark jeans, soft and worn, rode low on his hips, looking like old friends the way they molded to his backside. At that exact moment he glanced back over his shoulder and she froze.

  Oh no.

  This unbelievably hot guy caught her checking out his backside. Warmth slid up her neck faster than mercury in a thermometer on a hot day. He grinned and turned back to study the cereal box in his hand. Why couldn’t she have met him when she looked like a member of the human race and not a walking sweat stain?

  She hugged the loaf of bread to her chest and hurried to the check-out. As she rounded the corner, she
came to a full stop. Although the store had been quiet when she first came in, now every cashier was busy. Except Carla, with her perfect hair and perfect body.

  “I can help you over here.” She gave Lindsay a curt little nod.

  Lindsay placed the meat and bread on the conveyor belt.

  “Is that everything?” Carla asked in a bored tone as she slid the items over the scanner.

  “Yes.”

  “That’ll be four dollars and fifty-six cents.”

  Lindsay reached into her back pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill.

  Carla took the money and held it up to the light, squinting. She then passed it under a counterfeit detector. She knew the bad bill Lindsay used for groceries over a year ago had come direct from the bank, but still scanned her money.

  Every. Single. Time.

  Carla finally rang in the money and opened the register.

  She glanced around. The way her luck was going, dreamy guy would come around the corner, see her bills being triple checked and think she was a con-artist as well as a mute fool.

  “Must be nice, owning your own company, not having to worry how you look.”

  The contempt in Carla’s voice was evident, and for the second time that day she stared, not sure of what to say, or do. Carla had made her life miserable in high school, but they were grown women, too old for this kind of cattiness. She caught Carla’s gaze sliding up and down her body, with a smirk she didn’t bother to hide.

  Right then, she decided she wasn’t too old.

  “Thank you. It is nice, especially on beautiful days like this when I can take the day off and enjoy,” she said with a cherub-like smile.

  Carla’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits while she made change and handed it to Lindsay, along with her groceries. “Thanks for shopping at Food Mart,” was ground out between clenched teeth.

  Immediately, her spirit felt like lead. Being petty wasn’t an example she wanted to set.

  “I’m sorry, Carla. Just because I’m having a bad day doesn’t mean I have to take it out on you. I hope you can leave early and enjoy the rest of the day.”

  JARED KANE HELD THE cereal box and mentally kicked himself. The first time in ages a woman showed some healthy attention and he turned away. At this rate they’d make him hand back his man card. Any other time, any other place he’d at least nod hello and made some small talk, but he hadn’t been prepared to run into a little bit of heaven at the Food Mart.

  Granted she was on the wrong side of clean – with drywall mud spattered on her clothing, and he had no idea what color her hair was, stuffed into a dusty Ravenwood Hooligans ball cap – but clear hazel eyes had stared up at him, her full lips slightly parted.

  He’d noticed those too. Those lips looked like they could use a good long kiss, but first he had to think of a nonchalant and witty conversation ice-breaker.

  Don’t be a moron. How hard is it to say hello?

  He turned around and the ‘Hi’ died on his lips. Like a silent shadow she’d disappeared. “Smooth move, Kane,” he muttered and turned toward the checkout. Now he might never find out who she was. There was still no sign of her while he unloaded his groceries on the conveyor belt.

  “Are you the guy who bought old man Wilkinson’s house on Fourth Street?”

  He paused with a jar of peanut butter in his hand. Why did he always get a chatty Cathy for a cashier? He placed the jar on the belt and gave the clerk a polite smile.

  “I am. It’s a great old house but needs a lot work.” That was an understatement. He’d spent the better part of last week cutting back overgrown rose bushes. He had the gashes from the thorns to prove it.

  The woman slid his frozen chicken over the scanner. “Not surprised. Old Man Wilkinson didn’t do a whole lot to that piece of... uhh, his house.”

  Jared studied the clerk. Odds were high she’d know the mystery woman. They looked to be about the same age, and Ravenwood wasn’t that big of a town. He watched her scan a few more items before saying, “There was a girl here earlier. Looked like she worked in construction.”

  “You must mean Lindsay Swanson.” She grabbed his box of instant potatoes. “Don’cha know she’s your neighbor?”

  Neighbor? He’d have come home early from his book tour if he’d known his neighbor was cute and sexy. “The red and brown bungalow?”

  “No. Her house is yellow. Will that be cash or charge?” Her appraising gaze never left his face and Jared knew she’d catalogued everything he bought and also knew, without a shred of doubt half the town would have full knowledge of his buying preference by tomorrow.

  For a tiny New York minute, he wished he were back there, where no one really cared whether you liked smooth or crunchy peanut butter. He gave his head a shake. That’s exactly why he left New York.

  “Cash.” He pulled out four twenties and handed them over. “Do you think her husband would mind if I asked who did her landscaping?”

  She entered the amount of cash received and waited for the register to open. “Who?”

  “Lindsay.”

  “Husband,” she snorted and began to paw through the money. “Lindsay’s not married. She’s too busy with Best Laid Plans to have a life.”

  “Best Laid Plans?”

  “Her renovation business. She wants to rebuild Ravenwood one recycled plank board at a time.” She gave him a practiced smile. “Hey, if you want to meet some new people, I could show you around—”

  “Renovations. Good to know.”

  He’d been around long enough to know when a woman was sending signals, and hers were loud, and strong. There was no attraction for him. He’d had the Barbie doll girlfriend whose whole life revolved around looks, money and what was in it for her. Those days were over. Thank. God.

  She shut the till with a loud bang and with a disgruntled huff, held out his change. “Thank you for shopping at Food Mart.”

  Jared took his money and pushed the cart out to his truck. On the drive home he tried to figure out a way to meet the sexy neighbor. He could always borrow a cup of sugar.

  “Hi. I’m your neighbor, Jared Kane. Can I borrow some sugar, Sugar?”

  He grimaced as he imagined the scene. That was just plain creepy. She’d slam the door in his face faster than he could spit.

  “Hi. I’m Jared. Do you know any good places to eat?”

  Lame. Lame. Lame.

  What was wrong with him? He created scenes and wrote dialogue for a living. Surely he could think of some witticism to break the ice and not come across as a sleazy lounge lizard.

  After a quick stop at Byron’s Pizza Palace, he pulled into his drive and studied the front of her house. If this was a scene from one of his books, she’d come out onto the porch, looking exceptionally hot, and he’d introduce himself. But everything remained silent, so he entered his house and dropped the pizza box on the old Formica countertop in the kitchen. His cell phone vibrated and he glanced at the call display, noting it was his agent.

  “Hey, Daran.”

  “My favorite author.” Daran’s crisp British accent whipped through the phone’s speaker.

  Jared waited for Daran to cut to the chase. Never one to mince words, it didn’t take long.

  “How far are you in the manuscript?”

  “It’s—” he hesitated. “A work in progress.”

  The manuscript in question, Double Crossed, sat neglected in the laptop upstairs. After a wistful look at his pizza, he took the stairs two at a time, phone in hand, and entered a small bedroom he’d converted into an office. While speaking with Daran he glanced out the window into the backyard. “Daran, I moved to Ravenwood to escape all the pressure and find peace and quiet. I don’t—”

  A flash of color in his neighbor’s yard caught his interest. Lindsay, clad in a bright pink tank top and denim shorts, set up a lounge chair, sauntered back inside and returned with a book and a sandwich.

  Most likely made with my loaf of bread.

  Honey gold curls, slightly damp,
skimmed her shoulders until she secured them into a loose ponytail. When she reached for her sandwich, Jared leaned into the window, and—

  The phone vibrating in his hand jerked him back to his office. Totally engrossed with watching Lindsay, he’d accidentally hung up on Daran. What was wrong with him? It’s not like he hadn’t seen beautiful women sun bathe before. With one last glance at the vision in pink, he paced back to the desk hoping she hadn’t seen him leering through the window.

  “Sorry, Daran. I must have hit the end key.”

  “No problem.” A tight chuckle came from the other end. “Thought for a minute you’d cut me off on purpose. I have been riding you pretty hard, but if you don’t produce, you’ll lose your fan base and the publisher’s good will.”

  “I know.” Jared sat and faced the blank screen of his laptop. “I’ve some chapters written and a rough outline of the rest. How ‘bout I send you those and we’ll go from there?”

  After ending the call and e-mailing Daran the first three chapters, Jared stretched back and stared at the ceiling. Five chapters into ‘Double Crossed, he knew where the story was going, but words weren’t flowing. This time there was – nothing. It was like Homicide Detective Aiden Beaumont, his main character, had retired with no notice.

  Frustrated, Jared shoved away from the desk and headed downstairs. What he needed was a fresh perspective. The past six years, ever since making the New York Times Bestseller List with his debut novel, At the Crossroads, his life had become a constant stream of conferences, speaking engagements and publicity appearances.

  Everybody wanted to know how he came up with ideas. How could he explain the process when he no longer knew the answer himself? It was one of the many reasons he’d moved to Ravenwood, a speck on the map west of Chicago, to recharge his batteries and take stock of his life.

  He returned to the kitchen and grabbed a slice of cold pizza. Leaning against the counter, he studied the run-down room. Peeling paint on walls and cupboards complemented curling linoleum and outdated countertops. A large five-burner Moffatt stove dominated one short wall, and an olive green fridge struggled to keep his milk cold.