“I’m sorry about last night.”
She glanced at Jesse, and knew instantly he was talking about the kiss. Her pulse quickened and her mouth felt dry.
“It’s me who should be apologizing,” June said. “For locking you up. But I had to be sure that you weren’t the mole who’d brought the henchmen so close last night.”
June looked up at him and her heart kicked.
“You’re the reason they came looking, Jesse. Samuel is after your blood. I’m really sorry I locked you up.”
Jesse’s gaze went to the door.
“It’s not locked. You’re free to go.”
He took a step toward her. June’s knees felt weak.
“June, I am sorry, about the kiss.”
“I’m not,” she said, very quietly, her cheeks warming.
Dear Reader,
I love stories about second chances. We all make mistakes. Sometimes the results of those mistakes can be devastating, leaving us trapped by feelings of guilt that dog us through the remainder of our lives.
But what if, as in a fairy tale, a wand could be waved and a wish granted that enabled us to forget, just for a while, the guilt and pain that traps us in the past and stops us from truly living and moving forward into the future?
In romance, amnesia is often the magic wand that grants our characters that second chance. This is what happens to my hero in The Perfect Outsider when an accident temporarily steals his memory. But when my heroine, a rescuer at heart, tries to save him, it’s he who saves her instead. By being forced to live solely in the present, he shows her how to forgive herself, and how to live again.
I hope you enjoy June and Jesse’s journey toward their second chance at love.
Loreth Anne White
About the Author
LORETH ANNE WHITE was born and raised in southern Africa, but now lives in Whistler, a ski resort in the moody British Columbian Coast Mountain range. It’s a place of vast wilderness, larger-than-life characters, epic adventure and romance—the perfect place to escape reality. It’s no wonder she was inspired to abandon a sixteen-year career as a journalist to escape into a world of romantic fiction filled with dangerous men and adventurous women.
When she’s not writing you will find her long-distance running, biking or skiing on the trails and generally trying to avoid the bears—albeit not very successfully. She calls this work, because it’s when the best ideas come.
For a peek into her world visit her website, www.lorethannewhite.com. She’d love to hear from you.
The Perfect Outsider
Loreth Anne White
MILLS & BOON
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To editors Patience Bloom, Keyren Gerlach and Shana
Smith. And to fellow authors Marie Ferrarella, Linda
Conrad, Kim Van Meter, Jennifer Morey and Carla
Cassidy—for making this series happen. It’s been
a pleasure to work with you all.
Chapter 1
Eager was trained to alert on human scent.
And that’s exactly what his handler, June Farrow, was hoping to find as she worked her four-year-old black Lab in a zigzag pattern across the wind, the glow from her headlamp casting a pale beam into blackness. It was 4:00 a.m. Cold. The cloud cover was low, and rain lashed down through trees.
As June and her K9 worked their way up the thickly forested slope, the terrain grew treacherous, with steep gullies and hidden caves. June prayed that Lacy Matthews and her three-year-old twins, Bekka and Abby, were holed up in one of those caves, dry and safe from the storm.
Safe from Samuel Grayson’s men.
Because if Samuel’s men had found them, they were as good as dead.
Swaths of mist rolled down from the peaks and June’s hiking boots began to lose traction. More than once she had to grab onto brambles to stop from slipping down into one of the ravines hidden by the darkness and bush. Sweat prickled under her rain jacket and moisture misted her safety glasses. Water ran in a stream from the bill of her hat and it trickled uncomfortably down her neck.
While Eager was able to barrel like a tank through the increasingly dense scrub, the twigs began to tear at June’s clothes, hooking into her hair, clawing at her backpack, slowing her progress. This, she thought, as she stilled a moment to catch her breath, was why search-and-rescue teams used dogs—they could access places with ease that humans could not, especially a dog like Eager, who, with his stocky, deep-chested frame and thick coat, was impervious to the claw of brambles. And, having been bred from gundog stock, he was able to remain calm in the presence of loud rescue choppers and the big excavation machines often present in urban rescue.
June listened carefully to her surroundings, hoping to catch the faint sound of a woman’s cry on the wind. But a forest was never quiet, and in a storm like this, trees talked and groaned and squeaked as their trunks and branches rubbed together in the wind. Pine cones and broken branches bombed to the ground, and rain plopped from leaves. The pine needles in the canopy above swished with the sound of a river.
She could detect no cry for help amid the other sounds of the stormy night.
Tension coiled tight in her stomach.
Working solo was foolish, particularly for an experienced SAR tracker who knew better. But a desperation to find those three-year-old twins and their mother burned like fire in June’s chest, outweighing all caution.
Her own son had been three when he’d died.
If June had managed to dig deeper into her own reserves, search harder, faster, sooner, all those years ago, she might have arrived in time to save Aiden. Now she had to save Bekka and Abby. The reason they were lost in the woods was partly June’s fault, and they’d been missing for two nights now. The clock was ticking and guilt weighed heavy.
“Eager!” she yelled over the wind. “Go that way, boy!”
Eager more sensed than saw his handler’s directional signal, and he veered in an easterly direction, moving across the base of glistening-wet rock. All June could see of him was the pale green glow of his LED collar, and every now and then the wet reflection of his coat as he cut across the beam of her headlamp.
The moisture was actually working in Eager’s favor—it enhanced his scenting abilities, but the wind was confounding. It punched down through holes