Stirred Up By a SEAL

Chapter 2-2

Having been a professional baker all of her adult life, Rachel was accustomed to keeping early hours. Being up well before the sun suited her most of the time. But that was with coffee and the freedom to move around without having to worry about waking anyone. When not on shift at the firehouse, John had slept like the dead. Jonah’s training as a SEAL meant he tended to be alert and awake at the slightest noise, so she hadn’t even tried to start coffee, and she’d carried her shoes with her to the door, figuring she’d walk softer in bare feet. It felt like doing the walk of shame. As if she were sneaking out of his bed, instead of just his house.

His truck was in the drive when she eased down onto the front steps to put on her shoes. She hurried through the process, expecting the porch light to go on at any moment. When she made it to the car without interruption, she heaved a sigh of relief. Now if he’d only sleep through the starting of the engine, she’d be home free. At least for a few more hours. That’d be hit or miss, depending on whether his good or bad ear was aimed toward this side of the house. And that just sent her brain on a merry little trip wondering how he slept. On his back? On his side? On his stomach, with those long, strong limbs spread out like a starfish?

Focus, McCleary.

She cranked the engine and eased out of the driveway, keeping her eyes on the house in the rearview mirror as she slowly rolled down the street. No lights came on to indicate she’d woken him.

Finally relaxing, her mind shifted to recipes as she headed toward town. Though it had been more than a year, her brain clicked into planning mode automatically, mentally reviewing the contents of the walk-in cooler and storeroom she’d perused on Friday, and calculating what different things she could juggle to best maximize oven capacity and the time she had before the bakery opened. She realized she’d missed this, missed the anticipation of the work and the challenge of beating the clock. For the first time in a long time, she felt like doing things again. That was another little sign of healing. She’d finally reached a place where she could celebrate those small milestones instead of grieving them.

No one else was on the road. She enjoyed being awake when everyone was asleep. No one was giving her looks of pity or asking questions in that hesitant, careful way. No one was checking on how she was doing, eying her as if she were seconds away from falling apart. That had been the recurrent theme of her life since John died, and she was beyond tired of it. She’d loved her husband, and she’d grieved him. But her life wasn’t over, and it was past time for her to start living it again. She just didn’t think she could do it in Syracuse, where memories slapped her in the face on every corner.

That was part of what this stint in Tennessee was about. Testing out the small-town life, seeing if it was something she could be happy with. She liked the idea of it. Of becoming part of a smaller community. Somewhere she could learn the locals and where they could get to know her as her, not as that poor, young widow.

Eden’s Ridge was a cute little town—emphasis on the little. Downtown consisted of about three blocks along Main Street, with a handful of other streets running crossways and parallel that hosted a variety of businesses. She drove past several on the way to the bakery, which was, itself, on the outskirts of town. The two-screen movie theater. The grocery store, Garden of Eden. Gift shops. Jonah’s mom’s salon. Crystal’s Diner of the famed grilled mac and cheese sandwich, which she had yet to try. All shuttered and dark at this hour. But later on, the sidewalks would be filled with people moseying about their day. Her “Yankee sensibilities”, as Jonah would say, couldn’t consider the speed at which Southerners seemed to go about life as bustling. But she liked the slower speed. Liked the fact that people here felt as if they had the time to stop and talk to their neighbors and friends. It felt more personal. Not that she didn’t have those connections back home. But she had them because it was home. Starting over somewhere entirely new seemed less intimidating to do in a small town.

She’d thought maybe of doing it here. Not because of Jonah—or, at least, not entirely because of him. But because of all the guys and their wives. Because she legitimately liked the town. But after The Incident, she’d probably screwed that up as a possibility. She didn’t want to analyze the fresh surge of grief she felt at the idea that she’d taken that choice away from herself. Those were thoughts for after coffee. She’d brew a pot when she got inside, and start on dough for some cinnamon rolls.

Gravel crunched under her tires as she pulled into the bakery’s driveway. She drove up the little hill and parked in front of the building. The original structure had been an uninspiring cinderblock rectangle. She hadn’t seen it in person, but Jonah had sent pictures when he’d asked for her opinion on converting it into a bakery. Brax’s wife Mia had done the design, gutting the inside and covering the outside with siding now painted a rich forest green. A wide porch wrapped around three sides, and a bright tin roof accented the whole. It was woodsy and masculine and absolutely fit the three men who’d opened Bad Boy Bakers. The teacher in her was beyond proud of what her students had accomplished.

Mind on the coffee to be brewed, Rachel climbed out of the car and strode toward the rear entrance that led into the kitchen, one hand groping in her purse for keys. Okay, seriously, where the hell were they? She really had to clean out all the receipts and other garbage in here. No one who wasn’t a mom should have a purse with this much crap in it.

A scraping sound had her head whipping up, her feet coming to a halt. Gooseflesh erupted along her arms, all the hair standing up.

I shouldn’t be here.

The certainty of it was immediate and visceral, even before she spotted motion by the back dumpster. Was it an animal digging for food? s**t, they had bears here. But the shape she could make out against the dark blue of the dumpster wasn’t an animal. It was very definitely human.

Holt’s truck wasn’t here, so it wasn’t him. Lights weren’t on inside, and he would’ve called out, anyway. Heart pounding, she began to back away. She needed to get to the car and call Jonah. Or 911. Something. But she had to get to the car first. Turning to run, she cursed when she bumped into one of the tables set outside for customers who wanted to enjoy the view.

Shit. s**t. s**t!

Footsteps sounded behind her, and the acrid taste of fear coated her mouth and throat as she stumbled on a chair, nearly going down. But she caught herself and lurched forward in an awkward run, digging for some more speed as she neared the corner of the building. Someone cursed and then a weight hit her square between the shoulders. She screamed as she lost her balance, flying forward toward the rail. Then the world exploded in a shock of white and pain before everything went dark.