Look With Your Heart: a small town romance (Heart Collection Book 3) Read online

  www.lbdunbar.com

  Originally published as Taste Test © 2014 Laura Dunbar

  Look with Your Heart © 2020 Laura Dunbar

  L.B. Dunbar Writes, Ltd.

  www.lbdunbar.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.

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

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  Cover Design: Shannon Passmore/Shanoff Designs

  Editor: Kimberly Dallaire

  Editor: Melissa Shank

  Editor: Jenny Sims - Editing4Indies

  Proofread: Karen Fischer

  Table of Contents

  Other Books by L.B. Dunbar

  Dedication

  Card 1

  Card 2

  Card 3

  Card 4

  Card 5

  Card 6

  Card 7

  Card 8

  Card 9

  Card 10

  Card 11

  Card 12

  Card 13

  Card 14

  Card 15

  Card 16

  Card 17

  Card 18

  Card 19

  Card 20

  Card 21

  Card 22

  Card 23

  Card 24

  Card 25

  Card 26

  Card 27

  Card 28

  Card 29

  Card 30

  Card 31

  Card 32

  Epilogue

  More from L.B. Dunbar

  Keep in touch with L.B. Dunbar

  Little Nibble of Fight From Your Heart

  Playlist

  (L)ittle (B)lessings of Gratitude

  About the Author

  Other Books by L.B. Dunbar

  Silver Fox Former Rock Stars

  After Care

  Midlife Crisis

  Restored Dreams

  Second Chance

  Wine&Dine

  The Silver Foxes of Blue Ridge

  Silver Brewer

  Silver Player

  Silver Mayor

  Silver Biker

  Collision novellas

  Collide

  Caught – a short story

  Smartypants Romance (an imprint of Penny Reid)

  Love in Due Time

  Love in Deed

  Love in a Pickle (2021)

  Rom-com for the over 40

  The Sex Education of M.E.

  The Heart Collection

  Speak from the Heart

  Read with your Heart

  Look with your Heart

  Fight from the Heart

  View with your Heart

  The Legendary Rock Star Series

  The Legend of Arturo King

  The Story of Lansing Lotte

  The Quest of Perkins Vale

  The Truth of Tristan Lyons

  The Trials of Guinevere DeGrance

  The Island Duet

  Redemption Island

  Return to the Island

  Paradise Stories

  Abel

  Cain

  Modern Descendants – writing as elda lore

  Hades

  Solis

  Heph

  Dedication

  For those who have faced a difficult situation and lived on…

  you are a survivor; persevere.

  "Never be ashamed of a scar. It means you were stronger than whatever tried to hurt you "-Unknown

  Hidden Recipe Box (found in the attic)

  Inside the lid read a label scribbled in faded handwriting

  Card 1: Scotch-On-The-Rocks

  Ice, cubed; glass half-empty

  [Ethan]

  When are you ever going to own your own home, E? I ask myself as I ride my Harley through the quiet streets of my small town.

  When I grow up, I counter.

  Isn’t thirty-three grown up enough?

  By most people’s standards and also by my standard, it is, but I’ve had some setbacks on my journey through life, like giving up a promising job near Detroit to come back to the area for Mum. Cancer sucks. My previous employment at The Elk Resort wasn’t bad. The name is impressive on a resume but moving from one kitchen to another as a chef is only lateral. I want to move up. I want to own my own place. A restaurant is more important to me than a house.

  Then again, if it was so important, I shouldn’t have gotten caught with my cookie in the cookie jar of the resort owner’s barely-of-age daughter. In my defense, I didn’t know she was so young or related to the boss. I needed that job, dammit, if for no other reason than I had a rent-free room at the resort. Working to save every extra penny for my dream, I refused to move back home when I returned to this lakeside town. I cannot live with my dad, a cherry farmer whose disappointment in me is larger than all the orchards of this area combined. My father stopped caring about my life the second I announced I was dropping out of college to work in a restaurant kitchen. I need practical experience, not a classroom education, I argued back then.

  “It was your turn to take your mother…” My dad’s voice rings in my head as I recall our fight from yesterday. Even the sound of my engine can’t melt away the tone of his gruff voice, the displeasure in it, and the sheer exasperation at my lacking responsibility, according to him.

  “To treatment,” I added because my father could hardly finish his sentence. My mother’s chemotherapy scares the shit out of him.

  “I forgot.” It wasn’t true, but the alternative—telling him I had an interview—is something I wasn’t ready to share yet.

  “You forgot? You forgot! Ethan, I don’t know where this irresponsible side comes from.” I tuned out the rest of his speech, where he reminds me I’m over thirty and still don’t have my shit together. Not everyone is perfect like my sister, Karyn, or successful like my brother, Gavin. Some of us just take longer to bloom.

  Letting loose a bit on the throttle, I open up on the one-lane backroads, whizzing by a cherry orchard similar to our own. As I weave my way through the area, I let the blacktop beneath my tires loosen my anxiety. The overcast morning is gloomy for early September, hinting that fall is on its way. Change is coming, my mother would always say on a day like today. My mum is a ray of sunshine during a storm. Being her baby son means we’re tight, and even though she’s more understanding of my dream compared to my dad, I hate that I also disappoint her in some ways. While she’s smaller in stature, and even more frail under her current condition, her strength is the size of her heart. She just wants me to be happy. I just want to be happy.

  I’ll need to head to my new employer’s place soon. I can’t go without a job, and although the situation seems sketchy, I’ll do anything short term for money. The end goal needs to stay in sight. I want to prove to my dad, but more so to myself, that I can have my dream and live it too.

  Pam Carter set up the arrangement for this new gig. I’m close with the woman I once had a crush on as a young boy. Her petite form with miles of curves and straw-bl
ond hair were a trigger for my adolescent libido. Now, we’re practically family as our older siblings are married to each other. She’s been good to me over the years, perhaps better than I deserve at times. I’m not sure how she knows my future boss, but I didn’t question her.

  The interview process returns to my thoughts in a cluster of images.

  Pam directed me to the coffee bar in the main lobby of The Elk where I would find a man reading a book. She described him as forty with a nearly shaved head and salt-n-pepper scruff. “He’ll look like an MMA fighter but studious.” I had no idea what that meant until I saw the man.

  He introduced himself as Jacob Vincentia, shaking my hand and eyeing my outfit, which was clean but not pressed. He asked me the most random questions.

  “Have you ever been in a fight?”

  Maybe once or twice—just simple bar scuffles. I didn’t know if he wanted me to answer in the affirmative, so I said no.

  “Pam tells me you like women.”

  Was there a question there?

  “What’s your favorite food?”

  Does any chef have a favorite? I liked simple meals with basic, natural ingredients. I didn’t need heavy glazes and sauces to mask what I considered the essence of an item. Foods should work together, complementing one another instead of fighting to overpower the flavor.

  He told me his favorite food was pizza. “It covers all the food groups in one.” I wasn’t checking him out, but his solid form did not live on pizza alone. He could kick my ass, even if he was four inches shorter than me. His body language alone told me that.

  “Pam trusts you, so I trust you.”

  And that was it. I was hired on the spot to do God knows what.

  Cook a little. Grocery shop some. And be a presence, whatever the hell that means.

  He mentioned trusting Pam, and as I trust her and need the money, I took the job. He offered me a ridiculous amount of cash for a few weeks of service. I don’t understand all the secrecy and vagueness behind it, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, or in this case, some scrappy guy willing to trust me and pay me thousands of dollars to make him a meal or two.

  Eventually, I head for the highway leading north from Elk Lake City and make my way to Winter’s Road. Then I take a sharp left onto Winter’s Trail, a curvy dirt drive surrounded by deep woods. Rather narrow, it’s more like a broad path with the heaviness of pines and maples on either side of it. The branches overhead make the ride ominous and foreboding as though a suffocating weight presses on the thick foliage. My eyes leap upward for only a second, seeking any sign of sunlight.

  When I lower them, something’s in my way or rather, someone.

  Slamming on the brakes, I’m jolted forward. My bike skids on the pebbly surface, fishtailing left and right. I’m creeping up to the slender figure before me, coming in too fast on this unstable road.

  Why isn’t she moving?

  There’s no doubt it’s a woman before me because no other body could be sculpted in such perfection from the backside.

  Long, firm legs in black leggings strut like a gazelle, graceful yet athletic. A tight, heart-shaped ass melts under a too-thin waist. The formfitting shirt hints at muscles in a slender back. Elegant limbs bend, holding a runner’s pose as she struts forward. A cap covers her head, securing her hair.

  I twist and turn, attempting to keep the bike from colliding with a tree or clipping her, but I’m still slipping out of control. My trajectory is too fast. The front tire nears her perfect foot, and I call out to her.

  “Watch out!”

  Card 2: Bad Dream Remedy

  A tall drink of water

  [Ella]

  It’s been another rough night for me. The nightmares surfaced, dragging me under. I woke early, too afraid to return to sleep. Deciding to get out of bed, I worked on another clothing design, fidgeting with the color, the fit, and the prospect. The computer software is amazing, but I can’t wait to have the fabric in my hand and a pattern to work with. I’m not a designer by trade, but I am learning.

  A new career. A life shift.

  All changes were against my decision, which reminds me of my nightmare.

  I push harder, running faster down the well-worn road despite the gravelly ground. The deep woods surrounding my stepbrother’s home are quite a change in scenery from the ocean-front property where I once lived. Jacob lives on a body of water—Lake Michigan—but it doesn’t compare to the Pacific. People from around the world crave the shores of California. I don’t know anyone who says they long to see a giant lake.

  Then again, I’m perfectly happy to be here.

  Well, maybe not exactly happy, and I’m definitely no longer perfect.

  The thought presses me forward, my heart racing as fast as my legs. With Evanescence screaming in my ears, I let the scolding music fill my head and will away all thoughts. The thundering combination of screechy music and my hammering heart prevents me from hearing the approach of something reckless until it knocks into my foot, causing me to pitch forward and land hard. My hands hit the dirt, instantly cutting tender skin. The force ricochets up my arms, rattling my teeth. I’m fortunate I didn’t hit my face, but nothing would be an improvement. My knees fold, slamming into the gravel road, and a few pebbles embed in my thick spandex running pants.

  “What the hell?” I yell. Yanking an ear pod from my ear, I spin to my backside, examining my hands, which are sliced from the small, sharp rocks. I squeeze my fingers into my palms to stop the throbbing. The occasional vehicle along this relatively deserted road belongs to those who live along the path, and I’ve never seen or heard a motorcycle on it before. And a motorcycle tire is what’s skidded to a stop inches from me.

  My gaze rolls upward, and I glare at the large being who holds his metal beast from tipping over completely, wrangling it under one solid leg while the other keeps him upright. He stands at an odd angle, but even without his full height, I sense that he’s tall. His stature is broad. My eyes leap to his hands on the handlebars, noting the thickness of his fingers and the fullness of his paw.

  He isn’t here to hurt you, whispers through my head, but I can’t be certain. Never certain. My heart thunders within my chest, roaring louder than that motorcycle must have been because I didn’t hear it approach.

  I tug off my knit cap, the one I use to hold all my hair up and off my neck. Thick streams of autumn-colored strands fall over my shoulders. These locks, which kink and curl and cascade to my breast in waves of honey-blond, bright orange, and red highlights, were once my signature gift. My hair made me stand out. Now, it’s my face, and I want to disappear.

  The biker tugs his helmet off, and a rush of wild, dark brown curls flops around his head, curving over his ears and rolling along his neck. He’s angelic-looking, and that’s when I know he’s the devil. No man should be so beautiful. He probably knows he’s an Adonis.

  His caramel-colored eyes widen as he stares down at me, and his mouth forms a perfect circle of shock. My swollen, raw palm lifts for the right side of my face, but I can’t cover it completely. My hand isn’t large enough, and the damage runs from cheek to throat.

  “Are you all right?” he asks. His voice rough as if he’s out of breath. The sound tumbles from his throat like the gravel on this road.

  Without answering him, I turn my face, keeping my left profile to him. I can’t meet his eyes. I can’t witness the disgust in them.

  He saw me. He saw my face.

  I wince as I place my hand on the rough surface under me and press myself upward to stand.

  “Let me help you,” he offers from my side.

  “No!” I hold up both hands, my head still awkwardly turned so only my left side faces him.

  “You’re bleeding,” he states. I sense him shift as if adjusting to get off his bike. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you—”

  “Because the bright orange shirt didn’t give me away?” I snark, commenting on my attire, as I finish pushing myself upward f
rom the ground. I wear this highlighter orange color because I don’t want to be mistaken for a wild animal in the woods. Jacob tells me people aren’t allowed to hunt this close to homes, but I don’t trust the gunfire I’ve heard in the year I’ve lived here. This community is filled with hunters, and I don’t want to be mistaken as anyone’s prey.

  I’ll never be the prey again.

  “I … shit. I’m so sorry. I looked up for only a second, and then you were there,” he says as if that explanation provides a good excuse.

  “Haven’t you ever been told to keep your eyes on the road? Maybe you should look where you’re going on that thing,” I suggest, gesturing at his motorcycle. My tone remains harsh. My hands are still held out in front of me, warning him to keep his distance. It’s hard to keep my eye on him when it’s only one eye, but I don’t want him coming closer to me.

  “Let me just—”

  “No!” I yell again as I hear the crunch of his boot, the heaviness crushing the pebbles at his feet. With the echo of my command, I stand straighter and then bolt, throwing myself into the thickness of the woods on the side of the drive. I just want to disappear from his discerning gaze.

  “Wait!” he calls after me. But I’m already sprinting, dodging the thick roots of the large trees and pushing through the underbrush. My orange shirt gives away my direction, but I can only hope I outrun him, making my way to the waterline before he catches me. If he’s even following me. Without looking back, I continue racing toward the lake down below. If I need to toss myself in the cool water, so be it. I’ll do anything just to get away from his pity-filled eyes and the fear of him touching me.

  + + +

  Reaching the water’s edge, I change course and run to the dock behind Jacob’s property. I don’t care that I’m fully dressed. I don’t admit to the stench coming from my body after the exertion of running. The smell is also part fear, part panic. After scampering down the wooden planks, I collapse into my kayak. With shaky fingers, I untie the line from the metal stake and press off the wooden structure. With more effort than strength, I lift the oar and paddle away from the shore.