“Nice car. Maybe someday you could take me for a ride.”
Reily fully expected Joe to balk at the idea, just to prove he wasn’t at all interested in being anything but her landlord and boss—and even that he did grudgingly.
She was both surprised and a little dismayed when he dug a set of car keys out of his pocket and jingled them.
“But I’m sure you’ve probably got things to do,” she protested.
“What’s the matter?” he asked with a look that was pure temptation. “You afraid of a little speed?”
Was he actually daring her to go for a ride in his car? A woman who used to ride along for drag races down Hickory Creek road back in Montana?
She propped her hands on her hips. “Honey, your car can’t go fast enough to scare me.”
The thrill of the challenge was clear in his eyes and the sly grin curling his mouth. “Give me ten minutes to polish it up, and we’ll just see about that.”
“You’re on.”
Dear Reader,
I’m so thrilled to be back with the Cherish™ line. My main focus for the past twenty-four years as a wife, mother and now a grandmother has been my growing family. It’s both fun and satisfying to take those experiences and explore them in my stories. The possibilities are endless!
Paradise, Colorado, the setting for this story, is brimming with small-town charm and a bit of quirkiness, and its residents quickly stole my heart. I’m looking forward to visiting them again in future books. Maybe I’ll run into you there…
Until then, all the best,
Michelle
About the Author
Bestselling author MICHELLE CELMER lives in southeastern Michigan with her husband, their three children, two dogs and two cats. When she’s not writing or busy being a mom, you can find her in the garden or curled up with a romance novel. And if you twist her arm really hard, you can usually persuade her into a day of power shopping.
Michelle loves to hear from readers. Visit her website, www.michellecelmer.com, or write to her at PO Box 300, Clawson, MI 48017, USA.
No
Ordinary Joe
Michelle Celmer
A special thanks to Hillary Scott, Charles Kelly and
Dave Haywood of Lady Antebellum, whose songs, “Home Is Where the Heart Is” and “Things People Say,” inspired the idea for this book.
Chapter One
Reily Eckardt sat in the back of the Colorado State Police cruiser, palms sweaty, hands trembling, feeling sick down to her soul with dread. Since she’d left Montana three days ago it had been one disaster after another, but this time she had sunk just about as low as she could go.
First, in her excitement to make good time, she was pulled over for speeding as she crossed the border into Wyoming and had received a costly ticket for her carelessness. Then, halfway across the state, the water pump on her car blew and she’d had to spend the night while the part was ordered and replaced. She’d blown out a tire driving into Colorado, which turned into a four-hour fiasco that put her even further behind schedule and over budget, and she hadn’t gotten back on the road until nearly four-thirty in the afternoon. But the icing on her disaster cake hadn’t happened until she’d stopped at a gas station just off the highway around eight to grab a cup of coffee. She’d figured she could make up lost time by driving till midnight or so before stopping at a motel for the night. Bad move.
Apparently she’d been more tired than she had realized, or she wouldn’t have left her keys in the ignition when she ran inside. And when she’d walked back out, coffee in hand, no car.
The officer who had taken her statement opened the rear door of the cruiser and gestured for her to come out of the air-conditioned interior. She grabbed her purse and climbed out. The sun had dropped below the mountains and a gentle breeze moved the hot, dry air around her. “Did you find it?” she asked, her voice filled with hope and desperation.
He shook his head grimly. “We put an APB out on the plate, but nothing so far.”
Her stomach sank a little lower. It had been more than an hour since her car was stolen. Everything she owned in the world, including the money she had saved for the past two years for her new life in Nashville, had been in that car. Her clothes, her photos, her mom’s guitar… it was all gone. All that was left of her worldly possessions was her purse and the change from the fifty-dollar bill she’d grabbed from the stash in her suitcase before running inside.
How could she have been so careless?
“What do you think the chances are that it’ll turn up?” she asked him.
His grim expression was her answer. “You’ll probably want to file a claim with your insurance. Even if it’s recovered, I doubt it will be in one piece.”
The car was so old, it wasn’t insured for theft.
She took a deep breath and steeled herself against the wave of hopelessness and despair, fearing she might be sick right there in the parking lot. Yes, things seemed pretty bad, but life had taught her that they could always get worse. She would get through this and come out swinging. She always did.
She’d already called her cousin in Arkansas and told her she wouldn’t be stopping in for a visit. Sweetheart that Luann was, she’d offered Reily a place to crash for a few days. But as a divorcée on welfare with three small children to care for, she didn’t have the space or the money to be taking in destitute houseguests. Reily’s aunt barely got by on her Social Security so she was in no position to be loaning Reily the money to get to Nashville, and Reily refused to go running back to Montana with her tail between her legs. Besides, she was used to taking care of herself. She would get to Nashville, and she would make it big as a country singer. It just might take a little longer than she anticipated.
“Is there somewhere I can drop you, Miss Eckardt?” the officer asked.
Reily turned to him, really seeing him for the first time. He had a kind face and a paunch belly, and that middle-age softness where there had perhaps once been lean muscle. His name badge said he was Officer Phillip Jeffries, and though he’d probably told her that when he’d arrived on the scene, she had been too shaken to absorb much. Stepping out of the gas station to find the spot where she’d left her car empty had been without a doubt the most surreal experience of her life. Even now it was hard to believe it was really gone. But dwelling on her troubles wouldn’t solve them. She needed a plan of action. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.
“You could give me a lift to the nearest town,” she told Officer Jeffries.
“That would be my hometown of Paradise, about five miles up the road.”
It’s not as if she had a whole lot of choice. Denver was two hours in the opposite direction. Besides, a small town would be cheaper than a big city. And a town called Paradise, small or not, would have to be pretty nice. “I don’t suppose Paradise has a women’s shelter or a YWCA?”
“Nope. But we’ve got the Sunrise Motel if you’re looking for cheap. Tell Roberta I sent you and she’ll put you up for twenty-five dollars.”
It was that or the gas station parking lot. “Sounds good to me.”
He let her back into the cruiser—the front passenger seat this time—then