Small-Town Redemption by Beth Andrews Read Free Book Online Page A

were—on sexy Kane Bartasavich.
    “Good luck with the house hunting,” she said, keeping her friendly, but not too friendly, smile in place, and her tone light. She knocked on the patient’s door, then went in, proud of herself for a job well done.
    She hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t made the same mistakes she had with James, trying to rush a relationship. The old Charlotte would have tried to set up a date and time for her to show him the neighborhood, offering to cook him a homemade meal afterward.
    But the new and improved Charlotte knew better. This time she was going to rein in her impatience and take things slow. Let things grow organically between her and the man she wanted.
    Though she wasn’t above using a bit of fertilizer if need be.
    She still had her plan: to be married by the time she was twenty-seven, start having kids when she turned thirty and raise those adorable children in her house by the river.
    No, the plan hadn’t changed, but she’d had to adjust certain areas of it. James wasn’t the man for her. They hadn’t had enough in common, not nearly enough for a lifetime of marital bliss. She’d wondered about it all those months ago, had worried over it, but had brushed aside her concerns about their stilted conversations, the long, drawn-out pauses where neither seemed to know what to say. The dreaded discussions about the weather.
    Whereas she and Justin were well-suited. He understood the demands of the medical profession, the long hours, difficult cases and how stressful it was caring for the ill. How hard it was to lose a patient.
    She and Justin were meant to be together. Of that she was certain.

CHAPTER THREE
    K ANE LOCKED THE back door to O’Riley’s, pulled on the handle to be sure it was secure. A light spring rain dotted his hair and shoulders, the sky an inky black. He breathed in the cool, damp air, but it did nothing to soothe the edginess inside him.
    A couple blocks away, a car revved its engine before the sound faded and all turned silent again. When he’d lived in Houston, his night would be in full swing at 3:00 a.m. He’d take whatever party he’d started in the clubs back to the apartment his old man kept in the city, but rarely used. Outside, sirens would blare, alarms would sound. Inside, he’d do whatever it took to forget how much he hated his life.
    How much he hated himself.
    Three in the morning in Afghanistan meant being hyperalert to every sound, every slight movement, as adrenaline rushed through his body. The occasional shout or, on more than a few occasions, the pop , pop , pop of automatic gunfire, shattering the night. Or else it meant spending the night in the barracks, stuck in the halfway point between sleep and wakefulness. Always fitful. Always on edge.
    It’d taken him months after leaving the service before he could sleep for more than a few hours at a time. Longer before he’d become accustomed to 3:00 a.m. in Shady Grove. The quiet. The absolute stillness.
    The peace.
    It was that sense of calm that was getting to him, threatening to drive him crazy. There was something inside him, a restlessness he’d never outgrown, pushing him to keep moving. Job to job. Town to town. Woman to woman.
    Afraid to stop.
    Palming his keys, he turned the corner of the building and stepped into the alley. Slowing, he frowned. Apprehension tightened his spine. His scalp prickled with unease. The instincts he’d developed as a wet-behind-the-ears recruit in boot camp, the ones he’d honed during his eight years of active duty, kicked in. Call it a premonition, intuition or good old paranoia, but he knew he was being followed. Watched.
    So much for the whole peace thing.
    His muscles tensed. His grip tightened and the sharp edges of the keys dug into his palm as he glanced around. The light above the door leading to his apartment didn’t do more than illuminate the entrance and throw shadows on the pavement. Kane did a slow turn.
    Nothing.
    Blowing out a breath, he