Just One Kiss Read online

  Contents

  Also by Barbara Freethy

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Access MEMBERS ONLY Page!

  About the Author

  Also by Barbara Freethy

  Whisper Lake Series

  Always With Me (#1)

  My Wildest Dream (#2)

  Can't Fight The Moonlight (#3)

  Just One Kiss (#4)

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  Don’t miss the Callaway Series that inspired Whisper Lake!

  * * *

  The Callaways

  On A Night Like This (#1)

  So This Is Love (#2)

  Falling For A Stranger (#3)

  Between Now and Forever (#4)

  Nobody But You (A Callaway Wedding Novella)

  All A Heart Needs (#5)

  That Summer Night (#6)

  When Shadows Fall (#7)

  Somewhere Only We Know (#8)

  The Callaway Cousins

  If I Didn’t Know Better (#1)

  Tender Is The Night (#2)

  Take Me Home (A Callaway Novella)

  Closer To You (#3)

  Once You're Mine (#4)

  Can't Let Go (#5)

  Secrets We Keep (#6)

  * * *

  For a complete list of books, visit Barbara’s Website!

  JUST ONE KISS - Book Blurb

  THIS IS A PREORDER FILE FOR JUST ONE KISS

  * * *

  ** IF YOU RECEIVE THIS FILE AFTER OCTOBER 6, 2020, please contact the retailer to get the final book!

  * * *

  JUST ONE KISS is the fourth book in the heartwarming and romantic Whisper Lake Series. More details to come!

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  In the meantime, continue reading for an excerpt from MY WILDEST DREAM, book #2 in the Whisper Lake Series.

  MY WILDEST DREAM

  © Copyright 2019 Barbara Freethy

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  ISBN: 9781943781966

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  * * *

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

  * * *

  For information: [email protected]

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  Chapter One

  Brodie McGuire woke up abruptly. Someone was in the yard.

  He glanced at the clock. It was two a.m. A shadow passed by his window. He grabbed his gun from the drawer in the nightstand and moved to the door.

  As a police officer in Whisper Lake, he was always prepared for trouble. In the last month, there had been two arson fires in homes only a few blocks away, and both had started in the middle of the night.

  Those houses had been empty, but considering he'd just moved in two days ago, and there was not a stick of furniture in the front of the house, someone might not know he was there.

  He moved out of his bedroom, down the hall, and through the kitchen, pausing by the back door. With gun in hand, he turned the knob, and slowly opened the door.

  It was a clear night with a big, bright moon. As he crept down the path, he heard a rustling in the bushes. Then one of the potted plants on the patio fell over.

  "Dammit! Just stay put!" a woman said, coming out of the bushes.

  As she came into view, he said, "Stop right there."

  She whirled around, gasping at the sight of the gun in his hand. The calico cat in her arms hissed and then jumped back toward the bushes.

  "Ow," she yelped, as the cat scratched her arms on his frantic leap to safety. She glared at Brodie as blood trickled down her arm. "What the hell did you do that for?"

  "I thought you were breaking into my house." He lowered his gun, realizing the attractive woman dressed in leggings and a form-fitting workout top was probably not out to do him any harm. But why she was in his yard in the middle of a night was another question. "What are you doing here?"

  "I was trying to catch that damn cat. I finally had her in my arms, and then you come busting out the door with a gun. A gun," she echoed, her gaze narrowing in wariness, as if she suddenly realized he might not be a good guy. "Who are you?"

  "Brodie McGuire. I'm a police officer." He wished now that he'd thrown on some pants, because standing barefoot on the patio in black boxer briefs and a gray T-shirt didn't make him look too professional. "Your turn. Name?"

  "Chelsea Cole. I live across the street—one house down."

  "Cole? Are you related to Adam?" he asked, referring to one of his fellow cops.

  "Yes. He's my brother." She paused as the bushes next to her rustled once more. She parted the branches. "Lady Jane, is that you?"

  "The cat's name is Lady Jane?"

  "Yes, and she's a haughty queen, from what I've seen. I'm watching her for the Bakers."

  "Who are the Bakers?"

  "Your next-door neighbors. How do you not know that?"

  "I just moved in."

  "Oh, right. Mrs. Petrie, the neighborhood know-it-all, said you used to be an Olympic skier."

  "Used to be. Now I'm a cop." He'd been a police officer for two years, but he'd been a skier from the age of six to twenty-seven, when his Olympic dreams had come to a crashing end. "Where are the Bakers? Why aren't they chasing their cat?"

  "They went to San Francisco for two weeks. They left on Saturday night. They told me to just let the cat out in the morning and then bring her in at night. But guess what? After I let her out on Sunday morning, I found out Lady Jane doesn't want to come in at night, and she wants nothing to do with me. I've been trying to lure her into the house for the past three nights. I haven't slept a second because of this damn cat."

  "So, let her stay out."

  "And get eaten by a coyote or a mountain lion? I couldn't live with that. She's my responsibility. The second I catch her, she is staying in the house. She can live with being an indoor cat until they come back."

  "Well, good luck."

  "Wait. Do you think you could help me?" she asked, with a hopeful gleam in her eyes.

  "Catch the cat?" He was amazed by the question. "It's the middle of the night."

  "You don't want anything to happen to her, do you?"

  "From what I've seen, I don't think you're going to catch her, unless you have food."

  "I've already tried that. But she was sneaky and too fast for me. I need to lure her into the house, and then have someone come up behind her and shut the door once she's inside."

  "I'll help you in the morning."

  "But something could happen to her between now and then."

  "You're taking your cat-sitting responsibilities very seriously."

  "Isn't that a good thing?" She challenged. "Oh, it's fine. Go back to sleep. I'll try to get her in on my own."

  He could either spend the night hearing her rustle around in the bushes or he could try to help her. "Just let me put some pants on."

  "Thank you."

  He moved quickly into the house, put away his gun, and pulled on a pair of jeans and his sneakers. Then he made his way back into the yard.

  Chelsea was on her hands and knees, peering into the bushes between his house and the Bakers. She looked up at him. "Okay, here's the plan."

  "We have a plan?" he asked with a grin, thinking that if he was going to be tasked with catching a cat, he could at least appreciate the fact that this beautiful woman was going to soon be in his debt.

  "Yes," she said, g
etting back to her feet. "I'll go next door. I'll get her food bag and shake some food into the bowl. Hopefully, she'll hear it and come running. Then you sneak up behind her and close the door. You'll have to be quiet. She's very suspicious."

  "Got it."

  He followed her through a break in the bushes between the two properties.

  "Try to stay out of sight," she told Brodie.

  "I'll do my best."

  Chelsea slipped through the open back door, and he moved off to the side, away from the cat's direct path into the house. He heard the rattle of a food bag. A minute passed. The bag was shaken once more. The cat came around the far side of the house. She slunk low to the ground, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

  He stayed as still as he could, thankful that it was a warm August night, and he wasn't freezing his ass off hiding in the bushes. He still couldn't quite believe he was doing this much.

  The sound of food being poured into a bowl came once again through the quiet night.

  The cat slid toward the open door.

  He suddenly felt the pressure of the situation. If he moved too fast, the cat would escape. If he moved too slow, the cat might go in and then come back out again.

  Finally, Lady Jane moved through the door. He left his hiding spot, walking as quietly and as quickly as he could. When he got to the door, he pulled it shut, feeling ridiculously triumphant at the completion of such a simple task.

  "Got her," Chelsea said from the other side of the door.

  He blew out a breath of relief, wondering why he cared. He didn't know the Bakers, much less their snooty cat.

  He was about to go home when Chelsea opened the door and waved him inside.

  "Lady Jane went under the bed," she said, as he stepped into the Bakers' kitchen.

  "Mission accomplished."

  "Thank you so much, Brodie." A grateful smile spread across her face and in the light, he finally had a chance to get a good look at her. She had light-brown hair with gold highlights that gleamed under the kitchen lights and fell halfway down her back in wild waves. Her big, blue eyes were the color of a morning sky. Her skin was clear and golden, as if she'd caught some sun in the past few days. The only things marring her beauty were the dark shadow under her eyes, probably the result of little to no sleep the past three days, and several long, red scratches, courtesy of the cat.

  "You should clean those scratches."

  "I'll do it when I get home." She let out a breath. "I'm so relieved to have Lady Jane inside. I almost had her last night, but some kid was flying a drone, and it came right through the yard. The whirring sound made Lady Jane bolt."

  "A kid was flying a drone in the middle of the night?"

  "It was about midnight, but yes."

  "That's odd."

  "I guess." She paused, her gaze narrowing. "Why do you look concerned?"

  "There have been two suspicious fires set at night over the last month."

  "I heard. One of the kids in my second-grade class lives on Carlmont, across the street from the most recent fire. Do you think the drone is connected?"

  "I don't know. Did you happen to notice anyone or anything else while you've been running around the neighborhood the past few nights?"

  She frowned as she considered his question. "Nothing out of the ordinary. I saw the occasional person taking a walk, having a cigarette or letting out their dog, but that's about it."

  "Did you know those people?"

  "I recognized a couple as neighbors, but I wouldn't say I know them. Anyway, I'm ready for bed, and I'm sure you are, too."

  He waited while she turned off the lights and locked the door behind them. "I'll walk you home."

  "That's not necessary. I'm just across the street."

  He shrugged. "I'll feel better."

  "And here I thought I'd moved to a town with little to no crime."

  "There's crime everywhere, but for the most part, Whisper Lake is a safe place to live."

  "Are there any arson suspects?"

  "Unfortunately, no. Thankfully, the fires were set in empty homes, where no one would be hurt. When I heard you rustling around in my bushes, I had the thought that someone might think my house was empty since I only moved in a couple of days ago."

  "Good point. I assume that's why you came out with your gun. But you scared the hell out of me."

  "You didn't look scared; you looked pissed off."

  She smiled, and he felt his gut clench.

  "Well, that, too. Mostly because you made Lady Jane jump out of my arms." She paused when they got to her front door. "I owe you one."

  He nodded. "You do. Maybe we could have dinner one night."

  She immediately shook her head. "I don't think so."

  "Why not?" He was surprised by her abrupt and rapid rejection of his invitation.

  "I'm really busy. Good night, Brodie."

  She closed the door in his face while he was still trying to come to grips with the fact that she'd just blown him off.

  He frowned. She hadn't even bothered to make an excuse. Maybe she had a boyfriend, or a fiancé. Although, it appeared she lived alone. But that didn't mean anything.

  Shaking his head, he headed home. The block was quiet, and while there were two streetlights, there were also lots of dark shadows. He thought about the drone Chelsea had mentioned.

  Could it be tied to the fires? Was the drone casing the homes? Or was it a completely unconnected incident?

  It was something to think about.

  In about six hours, he thought with a sigh, as he entered his house. It was three now, and he had to be at work at eight. Hopefully, the rest of the night would be uneventful. He needed to sleep. But as he got into bed and closed his eyes, his mind went straight to Chelsea Cole.

  As the sister of a fellow cop, she needed to be off-limits.

  Not that she was interested in him. She'd made that clear. He'd just been someone to help her catch a cat. His past fame certainly hadn't impressed her, either.

  There had been a time when women had hit on him, just because they wanted to sleep with a celebrity. But Chelsea didn't want to sleep with him. She didn't even want to have dinner with him. He smiled to himself. He'd always liked a challenge. He'd just have to change her mind.

  Chapter Two

  Eight more days of summer school, Chelsea told herself, as her second-grade class wrapped up at three o'clock on Monday afternoon. She really shouldn't be counting down the days, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. She'd only planned to teach music and substitute as needed this summer. But Emily Harper, the second-grade teacher, had found herself in the midst of a high-risk pregnancy, and Chelsea had become a permanent sub for that class.

  She loved the kids, and she enjoyed teaching, but there was still a big hole in her life that she couldn't seem to fill, and more and more she'd begun to feel restless. She'd changed her life eighteen months ago, and it might not be the life she'd thought she would lead, but it was what it was, and she was happy…enough.

  She'd come to Whisper Lake to start over, to heal, to find a new life. Her sister and brother both lived in town and she'd spent most of her childhood summers at the lake.

  Maybe calling herself happy was a stretch, but she was settling in.

  Forcing those pointless thoughts out of her head, she said good-bye to the last few stragglers, her gaze moving to Travis, now the lone child in the room. Travis Walker was a seven-year-old brown-haired kid with dark eyes that rarely met hers. He was on the autism spectrum, having difficulties engaging or communicating. His problems had gotten worse since both of his parents had deployed, and he'd moved in with his grandfather, who worked part-time at the post office and was trying to manage his job and being a surrogate parent for the next two months.

  She'd been trying to connect with Travis throughout the six-week summer session, with very little success. At times, she'd thought they were making progress, but last week after the fire in the house across the street from his, Travis had
become even more withdrawn. He seemed reluctant to leave her classroom, always being the last one out of the room, sometimes only walking out when his grandfather or older cousin came inside to get him.

  She walked over to his desk, where he was slowly putting his artwork into his backpack, one piece of paper at a time. As one drawing slid off the desk, she picked it up from the floor, frowning at the picture. He'd once again drawn a house on fire. It was at least the tenth drawing she'd seen with that subject matter. Travis was clearly obsessed with the fire.

  But what surprised her with this one was the stick figure standing next to the house, a big smile on its face. The smile seemed out of place with the roaring orange and red flames, and it sent an uneasy feeling down her spine.

  "Is this a picture of the fire you saw last week?" she asked.

  Travis nodded.

  "I bet that was scary. Who's this?" She pointed to the figure.

  Travis shrugged and grabbed the paper out of her hand, shoving it into his pack. Then he ran out the classroom door, as if afraid he'd revealed something.

  She frowned at his speedy exit. Did Travis know something about the fire? Had he seen something? Maybe someone watching the fire?

  Hurrying out of the room, she caught up to Travis in the roundabout in front of the school. His grandfather was standing next to an old gray truck. George Walker was a tall, thin man, with gray hair and a square face, and the impatient expression on his face did not invite conversation, but she barreled ahead anyway.

  "Mr. Walker, can I have a word with you?" she asked.

  He didn't look happy about her request, but he urged Travis into the passenger seat of the truck and closed the door. "Something wrong?"