Page 3 of A Tempting Seduction

“That’s too close of a connection,” Little Grandma said decisively. “Java Jolt will be perfect.”

My head spun with the speed of their planning. “You're willing to do this? To lie for someone you barely know?”

Little Grandma sat back down and took my hands in hers. Her skin was papery soft and warm, but her eyes were fierce and determined.

“Honey, family takes care of family. You're Gladdy's great-granddaughter, and you're my great-grand-niece. Family doesn't ask family to face monsters alone.”

“Besides,” Miss Gladiola added with a grin, “this town could use some excitement. It's been too quiet around here lately.”

I felt the tiny spark of hope I’d carried in my chest all the way from California begin to grow. But, I was still in danger.

“What if they find me here?”

“Then they'll have to go through us first,” Little Grandma said. “And honey, I've been protecting people in this town for over a century. I'm not about to stop now.”

“A century?”

Miss Gladiola laughed. “Esperance is one hundred and three years old. She's the unofficial matriarch of Jasper Creek. Cross her, and you'll have the entire town to deal with.”

I sat back against the floral cushions, overwhelmed by the kindness of these strangers who had only met me hours ago. They were offering me a new life, a new identity, a chance to become someone other than the broken girl who'd fled California in the middle of the night.

“What do I need to do?”

Little Grandma smiled, and for the first time in days, I smiled back.

“First, we're going to get you cleaned up and fed properly. Then we're going to introduce you to some people. By tomorrow morning, Ruby Miller is going to be a permanent resident of Jasper Creek, Tennessee.”

She stood up and headed toward what I assumed was the kitchen.

“And Ruby? Welcome home.”

I sat in that flower-scented living room, holding a box of my mom’s letters, and felt something I thought I'd lost forever when Dad died.

I felt safe.

Outside, the sun was setting over Jasper Creek, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. Somewhere out there, Lance Leeds and Horace Waters were probably still looking for me. But for the first time since I'd fled Los Angeles, I wasn't looking over my shoulder.

I was home.

Chapter One

PRESENT DAY

The cowbell above Java Jolt's door clanged like a fire alarm when Renzo and I walked in Tuesday morning. I stopped dead in my tracks, blinking at the transformation. Gone were the mismatched plastic chairs and wobbly tables that had looked like they'd been rescued from a garage sale. Instead, bright velvet couches in emerald green and deep purple dotted the space, paired with low coffee tables stacked with books and local newspapers. String lights hung from exposed beams, and plants were tucked into every available corner.

“Dang,” I muttered, taking in the cozy reading nooks and study areas. “This place actually looks like somewhere you'd want to hang out.”

Renzo grinned and nudged my shoulder. “Ruby's been working her magic. Wait until you taste what she can do with an espresso machine.”

The line snaked halfway to the door, filled with new faces along with the usual suspects. Florence Horton sat at a corner table, her purple hair teased high, holding court with Alice Draper. Bernie Faulkes was sitting next to the window, reading a newspaper. The morning rush buzzed with conversation and the hiss of steam from behind the counter.

“Goodness, when did Java Jolt become Grand Central Station?” I asked, counting at least fifteen people ahead of us.

“Since Ruby Miller took over as manager.” Renzo checked his watch. “If we're lucky, she's working the machine and not Jordan. Trust me, the coffee will be worth the wait. Sublime doesn't begin to cover it.”

I'd heard Carrie mention Ruby Miller a few times, usually in the context of her kids' babysitting adventures, but I'd never actually met the woman. After eighteen months of Nashville's chain coffee that tasted like burnt water, the idea of decent coffee had me willing to wait.

We shuffled forward in line, and I found myself studying the menu board above the counter. Hand-lettered specials in colorful chalk included things like “Cinnamon Roll Latte” and “Maple Bacon Mocha.” For some unknown reason maple bacon coffee didn’t sound half bad.