ABANDONED: Elkridge Series, Book 3, A novel Read online

  ABANDONED

  An Elkridge Series Novel

  Lyz Kelley

  Contents

  Blurb: Abandoned

  Praise for Lyz Kelley’s writing and a special gift just for you.

  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

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  Author Notes

  Also by Lyz Kelley

  Orphaned: Book 4: Chapter One

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you for reading: ABANDONED

  More Books By Lyz Kelley

  Blurb: Abandoned

  LIFE DOESN’T EVER GO AS PLANNED, BUT CAN BE BETTER THAN IMAGINED.

  Her mother’s death.

  His PTSD.

  A combustible relationship.

  A CAREGIVER WHO NEEDS TO MAKE A PLAN, AND FAST…

  Ashley Bryant has less than five weeks left to organize, sell, and pack away her old life before she’s uprooted and forced into a completely new one. She needs to make several critical decisions and with her life upended and spiraling out of control, the last thing Ashley needs is a sexy U.S. Marine complicating matters.

  A MARINE WHO HAD A PLAN, BUT HAS LOST HIS WAY…

  Gunnery Sergeant Chase Daniel’s has just buried his best friend, and his commanding officer has given him a month to commit—retire or return to active duty. Struggling with PTSD, fatigue, and grief, he stumbles into Elkridge, the quiet little mountain town, to figure out his future.

  With their lives in upheaval, Ashley and Chase have a lot in common, but the last thing each needs are more complications—like their instant attraction to each other.

  Praise for Lyz Kelley’s writing and a special gift just for you.

  I’ve got a present for my readers, your very own ebook exclusive: A Soldier’s Wife when you sign up for my newsletter.

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  The Molly: Award for Excellence

  “A writer who will go the distance.”

  “Masterful dialog.”

  “I look forward to seeing this book on the bookshelves.”

  The Sheila: Finalist

  “The story has great bones! The plot is interesting, the characters are unique…there are so many things to love about this story.”

  “H & H are both very appealing and certainly not cookie cutter characters.”

  “Your opening is a grabber.”

  “This is one of the best books I’ve read in a good long while. CONGRATULATIONS.”

  “Prose is sleek, polished and smooth, a near frictionless read.”

  The Marlene: Finalist

  “You have a lovely writing style with dialogue and scene setting.”

  “The sensory details are rich, and I was able to visualize the scenes. I chuckled several times at your turn of phrase and thought they were very sassy and smart.”

  “The plot seems to have it all: conflict, a mystery and a romance. So kudos for creating an interesting story.”

  The Golden Network: Finalist

  “The setting is painted well and the characters are engaging with very different voices.”

  “The manuscript is clean and tightly written.”

  “The manuscript reflects beautiful writing.”

  Chapter One

  Life didn’t ever go as planned. Ashley Bryant understood that better than most.

  She never expected to bury her mother when she was only twenty-five years old. She never expected to be forced to liquidate her childhood home and mom’s antique store. She never expected to have no one to guide or help her make decisions. She absolutely never expected to feel so lost and broken, shattered like her grandmother’s delicate china and her mother’s prized bird figurine, both now scattered across the floor.

  Ashley knelt to pick up the precious broken wing and jerked back from the burn of sliced flesh. The sharp porcelain edge had cut deep into her finger, and blood flowed, spreading across her palm and mingling with the shattered porcelain on the floor. She sucked on the wound, soothing the stinging flesh.

  Ashley scanned the front room of Time Capsule, her mother’s antique store, looking for a way to stop the bleeding. Ah, there it is. The little red and white tin First Aid box sat on top of the curio cabinet, its corner peeking out from behind boxes filled with silver spoons, forks, and knives, out of reach.

  Figures.

  She gently placed the little wing on the table. A soul-aching melancholy seeped into her heart just as the store’s front door cowbell clanked.

  Go away. I’ve got so much to do, and the clock’s ticking.

  She groaned under her breath, only now remembering she should have removed the ‘special event’ sign from the day before. Peering around the tarnished, circa-eighteenth-century tea service, she inspected the customer.

  Massive, broad shoulders and long, lean legs filled the front doorframe. She observed him while he pushed sunglasses to the top of his closely shaved head, his size and sheer masculine presence contrasting with the store’s delicate china and lace. A contrast intensified by the way the black motorcycle jacket hugged his shoulders and the faded jeans hung low on his hips, making it clear there was nothing delicate about this man.

  Ashley straightened her legs to stand. “I’m sorry, the store’s no longer open. The closing sale ended yesterday.”

  He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “I guess that means the ‘apartment for rent’ sign out front is no longer valid either.”

  She glanced toward the sun-faded sign that should have come down months ago, but was, in fact, still propped between the tattered Steiff bear and the Lionel train set. No one had ever paid attention to the darn thing. She’d placed the sign in the window, hoping to add more income to her and her mother’s joint and almost empty bank account.

  After paying the remaining medical and cremation bills, Ashley could almost hear the pennies clinking against the edge of the bank account jar. Unfortunately, her mom’s enormous medical debt had long since chipped away at the collection of antiques, collectables, and personal household items. Everything she or her mom owned that wasn’t glued or bolted down was for sale. At least she’d managed to sell several items on eBay to get cash to cover the water heater going kaput. No matter what she sold, the money was never enough to cover expenses, and she refused to ask her father for a nickel.

  Her frustration escalated, tightening the muscles in her neck. “My apologies. I should have removed the sign,” she said, mostly because she’d just listed the apartment furniture, and was hoping someone would come by to make her an offer. Plus, she didn’t have time to deal with another drop in an already overflowing must-do bucket. “There’s a ski resort up the road. You should be able to find some lodging there.”

  He took a step closer and pocketed his keys. His gaze drifted over the quickly bundled hair piled on top of her head, to her favorite sweater, to her frayed jeans, and then settled on her hand. He pointed. “You need help with that?”

  She studied the swelling red skin. After years of dealing with her mom’s infected bedsores and catheters and daily injections, s
he could stomach a little blood.

  “I'll see to it in a minute,” she managed, proud of the fact she didn’t swoon for lack of breakfast or his amazingly good looks. “Thanks for the offer.”

  He scanned the room at a leisurely pace, in no hurry to leave.

  “Shopping for something? There are some Harley Davidson items over there in that glass cabinet, if you’re interested. I don’t figure you for a tea set kind of guy.”

  “No. Not a tea drinker. Why did you assume I was a Harley guy?”

  “Steel-toed boots. Leather jacket. Just a guess.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Why Elkridge, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Until recently, nothing much ever happened in Elkridge. Occasionally, some kid would steal beer from the mini-mart, or the sheriff would drive a local home for being drunk or disorderly, or a moose might decide to walk down Main Street. Lately, there’d been some robberies, and nine months ago, the former sheriff was killed. A poacher, people assumed. Truth was, no one really knew for sure. People were scared, and a stranger showing up in Elkridge created questions. Questions like what had attracted him to the out-of-the-way town.

  “Seemed a good place to start,” he said with a bit of aloofness. “A buddy of mine recommended I stop here. He said the café had good food. The coffee’s good. That much I know.”

  “If you come back through, you should plan to stop for lunch. Ted cooks up some good grub, and Jenna’s pies are the best in the area.”

  He turned and leaned his beautifully muscled rump against the oak checkout counter. “You’re making me hungry.”

  His smoky gaze and intense scrutiny made her feel a bit awkward.

  Wishing she’d at least showered that morning, she fought hard not to tuck a flyaway hair behind her ear. His build and the farmer’s tan beneath his open shirt collar said outdoor type, but the tan still seemed a bit odd since winter had come early. The way he filled the entryway indicated he was no stranger to physical labor.

  His elegant face appeared chiseled from a block of aged oak. No emotion, no insight into what he was thinking. But his brown eyes spoke of sadness. She recognized the emotion, and could see the hurt, and wondered the cause. The softness conveyed he’d seen way too much in his short life. It was the sadness that drew her attention. That emotion she understood. The common awareness spread a soothing balm over her stretched nerves.

  A kindred soul, maybe?

  “You might also try Jenna’s cinnamon rolls. They’re really good,” she added, volunteering the free advertising for her friends. She looked out the window, but didn’t see anyone waiting. “Is your buddy with you?”

  The way he pulled his ear when asked a personal question gave her the impression he didn’t like to talk about himself much. She understood not wanting people messing in one’s business. Although in a town as small as Elkridge, there wasn’t much a person could keep secret.

  Mr. Gorgeous, clearly uncomfortable with her small-town interrogation, shifted, crossed his arms, and gave her another once-over. “Nope. Just me. I thought I’d stick around until the holidays.”

  Holidays. New Year’s. Only twenty-nine days away.

  She didn’t want to leave Elkridge, but she had only a handful of weeks before the bank foreclosed on her mother’s house, January 1st, and put a padlock on the door and her life. Since she had no job and no place to live, being locked out of her home caused a brain-numbing panic. The crushing bleakness made her feel small and hesitant—even sad.

  She loved Elkridge. Her hometown was nestled in a Colorado Rocky Mountain valley where the sky was blue three hundred days a year. The crisp, clean air smelled of fresh wild flowers and evergreens. The locals would say Elkridge had the tastiest rainbow trout and the best cross-country ski trails around. But it wasn’t a tourist destination. It wasn’t even a destination, and that most likely was the reason her parents’ home had been on the market for close to seven months with no takers. Last week, she’d given the collector her father’s contact information. He could deal with the belligerent calls and nastygrams.

  The bank wouldn’t listen to her pleas for more time, and delaying the inevitable wouldn’t make a difference. She didn’t have two coin wrappers to rub together. That gut-wrenching feeling sneaked in again and made her nauseous.

  “If you’re still in the area, there’s a Christmas Bazaar here in a couple weeks. People come from all over to attend, and the town decorates a tree and we sing carols in the square. It makes everything festive,” she said, trying to muster at least a semblance of cheer.

  “Good to know.”

  And maybe I can show you around. Her chest tightened. Geez. Three years without sex made a woman desperate for human touch. But a one-night stand wouldn’t solve her problems. Sure, she didn’t want to be alone for the holidays. The truth was she didn’t want to be alone, period.

  Loneliness could wait, though. Right now she had to concentrate on the basics—food and shelter—and for both of those, she needed to stick to the plan. No distractions.

  Mr. Sexy was certainly a distraction.

  “If you keep going up the highway, there are some historical sites which have nice photo opportunities,” she added.

  His eyes darkened and sparkled like a newly polished stone. “It sure is pretty here.”

  The way he studied her, he was talking about her, not the mountain ridges looming over the valley walls.

  “Yes, it is,” she said, echoing his meaning.

  A drop of her blood dripped onto the floor, and Chase scanned her for signs of shock.

  “Before I go, I’d like to check your hand. From here it doesn’t look good,” Gunnery Sergeant Chase Daniels offered.

  “Really, it’s not necessary.”

  Her chin lifted with a stubborn little attitude, the spunky kind of attitude he liked. Then her expression glazed. She had the same bewildered look Jimmy had after he’d taken three bullets and had no idea he was about to go down. Jimmy, the lucky bastard, had somehow managed to talk his way out of a death-sentence.

  Her attention locked on her hand and she started to sway.

  He hustled around the large, weathered oak table and wrapped his arm around her waist, which startled a wide-eyed peep from her. He guided her to the nearest stack of boxes and helped her sit. “Put your head between your knees,” he instructed in a calm, no-nonsense tone. “Stay with me and let me take a look.”

  Her pulse pounded against his thumb. “That slice is deep. Where’s your first aid kit?”

  “On the cabinet.”

  She pointed at a little tin box, and then propped her head against her uninjured hand and gave him a monumental view of her top assets. He shouldn’t have looked, but he’d been in a desert, sucking sand for eleven months. Looking wasn’t just an option; it was a requirement.

  He gently pressed a clean red bandana into her hand. “Keep the pressure on. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Extending his arm, he plucked the box from the cabinet and returned to her side, his first aid training kicking in. When he balanced her wrist on his thigh, the blood made him pause and think of his best friend, Bobby—the twenty-one gun salute, the choked back tears, the white marble stone markers. He fisted his fingers to steady his hands, and took a deep breath before grabbing an alcohol swab.

  It’s just a cut. Relax. Breathe. It’s just a cut. Not fatal.

  When he wiped the pad across the cut, she hissed.

  “Sorry, but I want to make sure this cut is clean. Focus on your breathing.”

  Focused and sober. That’s what he needed to stay.

  Drowning his sorrows in a bottle wasn’t an option, women were out as well…until he walked into this small store just off the main street. The town sat several miles off the major interstate highway, about thirty miles west of Denver. He knew Colorado was beautiful from the pictures Bobby had shown him, but he didn’t know it contained this kind of beauty.

  She certainly was the prettiest sight he’d se
en on four continents. Her little white sweater hugged tight around every curve. When she leaned over, thong underwear peeked out from the back of her jeans and gave him a wink. The same body-hugging jeans with holes in each kneecap gave him a peek-a-boo glimpse of her creamy white skin. Only a bit of makeup covered her natural beauty, and he liked how she looked a little bit rumpled, like she’d just popped out of bed.

  He applied first aid cream and a bandage and assessed her condition. Good to go.

  She reminded him of a jar of peanut butter, a rare treat after being in the field for three months. The unexpected excitement. The craving for something he couldn’t get enough of. She made his mouth water, and he wondered when she’d last seen a man who wasn’t from her zip code. His heart rate accelerated, revving into overdrive.

  Easy, Tiger. You’ve been out of commission way too long. Don’t make an ass of yourself.

  “You should go easy on that hand for a while,” he said while shoving bandages and ointment back into the first aid kit…which was surprisingly up-to-date, considering the box looked like it had been around since World War II.

  “I’m so embarrassed. I don’t usually get light-headed. I shouldn’t have skipped breakfast. I usually eat breakfast. Breakfast starts the day off right…” He liked the way her cheeks tinged red. “I’m babbling. Aren’t I? I’ll be quiet now.”

  “It’s okay. Talking will take your mind off the cut.”

  She nibbled on her lower lip while assessing his handiwork. “You’ve done this a time or two.”

  “Maybe once or twice.”

  A contentment he hadn’t felt in weeks, if not months, worked its way into his heart. The sensation felt foreign. Even made him feel a bit guilty. After all, he was the one still alive, walking around, taking vacation. Regret flooded back in. It should have been him on that road in Afghanistan, not Bobby.