The Twisted Road to You (Perfect, Indiana Book 4) Read online

  ALSO BY BARBARA LONGLEY

  LOVE FROM THE HEARTLAND SERIES, SET IN PERFECT, INDIANA

  FAR FROM PERFECT

  THE DIFFERENCE A DAY MAKES

  A CHANGE OF HEART

  THE NOVELS OF LOCH MOIGH

  TRUE TO THE HIGHLANDER

  THE HIGHLANDER’S BARGAIN

  THE HIGHLANDER’S FOLLY

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2015 Barbara Longley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503948242

  ISBN-10: 1503948242

  Cover design by Shasti O’Leary-Soudant / SOS CREATIVE LLC

  Nanci, Chris, Jim and Mary: thank you for your unwavering support and enthusiasm.

  CONTENTS

  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

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  PREVIEW: THIS HANDYMAN’S HEART

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  WESLEY SET HIS BROOM ASIDE and checked the wall clock. Almost the end of his shift. As soon as Langford & Lovejoy’s day crew arrived, he’d head to the Perfect Diner for his daily dose of Carlie, the diner’s pretty assistant manager. The food wasn’t bad, either. Anticipation thrummed through him, bringing a grin to his face.

  “You do that every morning,” Ken grumbled. “It’s creepy.”

  Wes’s smile widened. Ken was always grumpy at the end of his shift. He ought to know, since he’d been supervising the overnight crew of furniture finishers here in the small town of Perfect, Indiana, for a year and a half now. “Grinning is creepy?”

  “It is when you do it every single morning at exactly the same time,” Ken groused. “Makes me think you’re up to something.”

  “Naw, bro. It’s not creepy. That’s just your paranoia talkin’.” Miguel slapped Ken on the shoulder. “Wes is just smiling ’cause he’s gonna go see his girl soon.”

  Wes walked over to his dog’s bed and scratched the old German shepherd behind the ears. Rex had already had his trip outside. He’d be fine here for a while. “I don’t have a girl.”

  “Right. Have it your way.” Miguel chuckled and shook his head. “It takes a woman to put that stupid smile on most men’s faces. But I guess for you all it takes is eggs and bacon. How about I join you for breakfast this morning?”

  “Sure, but won’t your wife be upset when you don’t come home for the breakfast she’ll have waiting for you?”

  “Good point.” Miguel patted his flat belly. “Nobody cooks like my Celia. Guess I’ll head home after all.”

  The back door swung wide, letting in a blast of early November air. “Morning,” Ted Lovejoy said, holding the door open for his fiancée, Cory.

  “Hey, Ted, Cory.” Wes did his customary once-over on Cory to make sure everything was good with her. Her radiant expression said it all. She was doing well and continuing to heal from the trauma she’d suffered at the hands of her staff sergeant a couple of years ago.

  He and Cory had grown up in the same trailer park on the south side of Evansville, and he’d always looked out for her. She and his youngest sister were best friends and had been since the day Cory and her mother moved into the park. “How are the wedding plans coming along?”

  “I’m glad you brought it up,” she said, taking him by the arm. “Come with me. I have a favor to ask.”

  His stomach rumbled, but this was Cory. Hunger could wait. She led him to the storefront, dropped his arm and fished around inside the purse she carried slung over her shoulder.

  Pulling out a thick, butter-colored envelope, she turned a hopeful look his way. “This is your invitation to our wedding. I’ve talked it over with my mom, and she agrees. You’re like a brother to me, Bunny,” she said, reverting to his childhood nickname. “You’re the reason I have my job here. If it weren’t for you, Ted and I wouldn’t have met. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you in my life.” Her voice quavered. “Will you walk me down the aisle?” She handed him the invitation.

  “Whoa, Squirrel. Didn’t see that coming.” Warmth spread through his chest. “I’d be honored.” He stared at the fancy script on the front of the envelope. Wesley Holt . . . and guest.

  “Good.” Cory patted his forearm. “One more thing.”

  “What’s that?” He raised his gaze to hers.

  “Bring a date.”

  “Uh . . . no. I don’t think so.” He rubbed his forehead and shifted his weight, edging toward escape. “I’m not—”

  “Ask Carlie. We’d like her to be there, but we don’t know her well enough to invite her.” Cory’s chin angled up a determined notch. “You and Carlie have chemistry. Neither one of you can keep your eyes off the other when you’re at the diner.” She poked him in the chest. “Ask her.”

  Memories swamped him—an e-mail sent by his wife, now his ex, while he was deployed. Two short paragraphs. That’s all she wrote, but those two paragraphs had plunged him into a deep, dark well of misery and rage the night before a mission. His throat tightened, and a familiar image flashed into his brain. Wes forced the image of the young Marine’s face back into the far recesses of his mind, but then the anger and betrayal living in his gut like a parasitic worm raised its ugly head. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, while visualizing himself stomping the worm into the rocky desert with his Blackhawk Desert Ops combat boots.

  He no longer risked getting involved. Who needed that kind of pain? Not him. His heart was no longer up for grabs. Coping with his PTSD was about all he could handle, thank you very much.

  “It’s time, Wes.” Cory’s brown eyes filled with concern as she peered up at him. “Just because your heart was broken once doesn’t mean the same thing is going to happen again.”

  It had been a struggle, a constant uphill climb, but he was content with his life and somewhat at peace. Admiring Carlie from a distance was all he could handle. What did he know about her, anyway? Sure, he lusted after her, but . . . nope. Not worth it. The dreams he’d had for a family of his own were long dead. Besides, he was almost forty—too late for a do-over. He’d gotten into the habit of sleeping during the day, because he had fewer nightmares then, and even though he’d come a long way in the past year and a half, he still experienced the occasional flashback. Irritability and paranoia still got the best of him sometimes, and he never could predict what might trigger a reaction. What kind of parent and partner would he make? “I’ll think about it.” No, I won’t.

  “Good.” Cory nodded. “Think about it all the way down the street to the diner, and then ask her.”

  He raised the invitation. “Consider me RSVP’d. I’d be honored to walk you down the aisle.”

  “Thanks, Bunny.” Cory’s voice went shaky again. “My dad was a Marine, too, you know? Havin
g you stand in his place means the world to me.”

  The next thing he knew, she had him in a hammerlock hug. His heart melted, and he hugged her back. “Me, too,” he mumbled before disentangling himself. “Get to work, Squirrel. I’ve got to go get something to eat.”

  “All right.” She glanced at him, her eyes bright. “While you’re at the diner, don’t forget to ask Carlie to be your date for our wedding.”

  “Humph. Think I’ll head on out to the truck stop for breakfast this morning,” he teased.

  Cory’s laughter brought his smile back. He handed her the invitation. “Put this in my in-box in the production room, would you? I’ll grab it when I get back.” His smile once more firmly fixed, Wesley headed the two blocks down the street to the local diner. Pancakes sounded mighty good this morning, or french toast with a side of thick-cut bacon and extra-crispy hash browns with onions.

  Half a block away from the diner, the air carried the scent of sausage, bacon and onions. He salivated, and not just for food. The sight of Carlie Stewart bustling around the retro fifties diner in her snug black jeans, equally snug white T-shirt and red apron did that to him. In the summer, she’d worn shorts, giving him an eyeful of her shapely legs. Even better.

  The small bell chimed as he opened the door. He looked around . . . and frowned. Someone was sitting at his corner table—the table Carlie always reserved for him. She was nowhere to be found. Disappointment fogged his brain.

  Jenny Maurer, the diner’s owner, approached. “Good morning, Wes.” She motioned him toward a different table.

  He didn’t budge. “Where’s Carlie?” Since he’d moved to Perfect, he’d never known her to miss work. His gaze roamed the interior of the diner, even though he knew he wouldn’t find her there. Her absence was a tangible force pressing him back against the wall. Overreact much? Nothing more than his PTSD acting up. Slow inhale. Slow exhale.

  “We don’t know. She didn’t show up for work this morning, and she hasn’t called.” Jenny’s brow creased with worry.

  That brought him up short. A prickle of unease raised the fine hairs at the back of his neck. “Did you call her?”

  Jenny nodded. “Several times. She’s not answering.”

  Twenty years of finely honed combat instincts flared to life. Something was wrong. He hadn’t overreacted. Images of Carlie trapped in the wreckage of her car somewhere along the highway flashed through his mind. What if she was unconscious in her house from a fall or a carbon monoxide leak? “Where does she live?”

  “Do you know the McCurdy farm?” Jenny asked. “It’s about ten minutes west of Perfect. Carlie rents the little white house about a mile down the road from there. It’s the only other house on that stretch of road.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “But if you have an address, I can put it in my GPS.”

  “I don’t. You know how it is when you’ve lived your entire life in the same small town. I know where everything is, but I couldn’t give you more than a handful of addresses.” Jenny moved to the cash register. “Harlen, hand me a piece of paper and a pen. I’ll draw a map.”

  “Way ahead of you, honey.” Harlen glanced at Wes. “I was about to head out to check on Carlie myself, but that would leave Jenny even more shorthanded here at the diner.” He handed Wes a piece of paper. “I drew a map while you two were talking. Sheriff Taylor’s personal cell phone number is at the bottom. I was going to give him a call just as you walked in. I still will, though at this point there’s no real reason to send him out to Carlie’s. Would you mind heading out that way to check on her?”

  “No, I don’t mind. I have the time.” Wes caught something in Harlen’s expression as he took the map. The older man knew something he didn’t. Harlen was also a veteran. He’d been in the military police during the Vietnam War, plus he’d been sheriff of Warrick County for twenty-five years before he retired. Wes pulled out his cell phone and entered the sheriff’s number into his contacts before folding the map and stuffing it into his back pocket. “What do I need to know, Harlen?”

  “Carlie has . . . history.” The retired sheriff glanced at his wife. Jenny nodded slightly. “It could be that her past has come looking for her. Then again, her absence might be nothing at all. Maybe she had car trouble this morning, and she’s on her way right now. She could have misplaced her cell phone, or her son might be sick.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “We’d appreciate your willingness to give her a hand if she needs one.”

  Wesley frowned. He had a feeling her absence wasn’t as simple as a lost cell phone or a sick kid. Adrenaline flooded his system and he tensed, battle ready. “On my way.”

  “Wait a minute,” Jenny called as she disappeared into the kitchen.

  He didn’t want to wait. Worry for Carlie twisted his gut. “What kind of history are we talking here, Harlen?” he asked. Carlie was divorced and had a son named Tyler, that much he knew.

  “I’m most concerned about her physically abusive ex-husband.” Harlen’s voice dropped to barely audible. “All we know about him is that he’s a real piece of work with a criminal record.”

  Wes nodded. A bully he could handle. He rolled his shoulders and turned his head from side to side to loosen up, forcing himself to remain where he was until Jenny reappeared. She came back to the register, holding a white paper bag in one hand and a to-go coffee in the other.

  “On the house,” she said, handing him the bag and the cup. “It’s a fried egg, bacon and cheese sandwich, and the coffee is just the way you like it. You can eat on the way.”

  “Thanks.” He took the bag and the coffee from her. “I’ll call you when I find out what’s going on with Carlie.” In its current knotted state, his stomach couldn’t take food, but Rex would appreciate the treat. Sucking down the coffee on the fly, he hurried back to L&L.

  Three sets of eyes turned to him the minute he burst through the back door. His boss, Noah Langford, glanced at the clock, and Ryan Malloy, L&L’s design genius, raised an eyebrow. Wes took the egg sandwich from the bag, unwrapped it and tossed it to Rex. The dog caught it midair and devoured the treat in seconds flat. The empty coffee cup and paper bag Wes tossed into the trash bin.

  Ted Lovejoy, co-owner and business manager of L&L, straightened up from whatever furniture design the three of them were studying. “You’re back fast. Is everything OK at the diner? Is my aunt Jenny—”

  “Jenny’s fine.” Not wanting to waste any more time, Wes took the stairs two at a time to his third-floor apartment. Once he was inside, he headed for the closet in his living room where he kept his handgun in a locked metal box. He unlocked the box and took out the handgun, its cold weight fitting against his palm familiar. Too familiar.

  He loaded the M9 Beretta, put on the safety and shoved it into the back of his belt. Years of training and experience took over, and he went through the mental steps preparing himself for the job ahead. Rescue and protection. Carlie and her son, Tyler, were his mission. If her bully of an ex-husband had anything to do with her absence, he’d set the man straight. As he ran back down the stairs, he planned how he’d go about getting the job done. He crossed to the hooks on the wall where he kept one of Rex’s leashes.

  “Why the gun, Wes?” Ryan followed him and blocked the back door.

  Grabbing Rex’s leash from its hook, Wes shook his head. “We’ll talk later. Might be nothing.”

  “Do you feel like it’s nothing?” Noah studied him.

  Shortly after retiring from active service, Wes had met Noah through the VA center in Evansville. They’d gotten to talking, and the next thing Wes knew, he’d been offered a job in a growing furniture business that only hired veterans. Plus, Noah had offered him a place to live in the small, quiet town of Perfect.

  If anyone understood the way battle-honed instincts acted upon a veteran, it would be Noah. They had both commanded a platoon during their military careers. They were both haunted by the loss of good soldiers under their command. Ever since that first meeting, they�
�d been in the same PTSD support group, along with Ryan Malloy and a couple of the other L&L employees.

  “Carlie didn’t show up for work this morning.” Wes’s grip tightened on the leather leash. “Harlen and Jenny are worried. She never misses work, and she’s not answering her phone. They asked if I’d check it out, offer her a hand if she needs one. Harlen is worried her abusive ex-husband might have something to do with her absence. The gun is just a precaution.”

  “You want backup?” Ryan asked.

  “No, but thanks. Harlen already called Sheriff Taylor. He’s on standby.”

  “All right.” Noah straightened. “Be careful, and call us if you need anything.”

  “Roger that.” Wesley clipped the leash onto Rex’s collar and commanded the three-legged dog to heel. Pulling Harlen’s map out of his back pocket, he strode to his SUV. Rex’s right hind leg had been shattered beyond fixing by mortar fire in Afghanistan, and jumping into Wes’s vehicle was no longer easy for the retired explosives-detection dog. Like all military dogs, he’d undergone two trainings—explosives detection and bite-to-capture. Wes had been required to learn what the dog’s training entailed before he could adopt him. He needed to know the commands in order to avoid inadvertently causing Rex to go into attack mode around other people. He lifted the dog and placed him on the front seat. “Time to work, buddy.”

  Rex’s tail thumped, and his ears stood up at full alert. Wesley ruffled the fur around the dog’s head for a second before circling around to the driver’s side and climbing in. He studied the map. Not too complicated. Not a whole lot of chance for error when it came to the few rural roads he’d have to navigate. He started his car, pulled out of his space and headed west.

  Scanning the side of the two-lane road, he searched for any sign of a car accident. Relieved at not finding Carlie’s car in a ditch, he searched the side of the road for the green fire marker with the number Harlen had written down. There it was—the intersection with an oak tree on the west side, a winter-wheat field on the east and the McCurdys’ farmhouse set back at the end of the long gravel driveway. He turned left onto the narrow road. Carlie’s house would be a mile down on the right.