Head Over Heels (26 page)

Did you know that ancient lore says if you break a strawberry in half and share it with a member of the opposite sex, you’ll fall in love?

This mask can also be used as a face scrub and is excellent at exfoliating the skin.

Use your blender to chop ¼ cup of strawberries and one banana. In a separate bowl, put one cup of ground oats and just enough lukewarm milk to make a smooth paste.

Add fruit mixture. Stir well to make a refreshing facial mask. Apply to your face and let it sit for 15 minutes. Rinse with cold water.
 

Mallory is a good girl who’s been let down by countless Mr. Rights.

A violent storm in Lucky Harbor brings a new option to her door…
Mr. All Wrong.

When lightning strikes, will sparks fly?

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Prologue

L
ightning sent a jagged bolt across Ty Garrison’s closed lids. Thunder boomed and the earth shuddered, and he jerked straight up in bed, gasping as if he’d just run a marathon.

A dream, the same goddamn four-year-old dream.

Sweating and trembling like a leaf, he scrubbed his hands over his face. Why couldn’t he dream about something good, like sex with triplets?

Shoving free of the covers, he limped naked to the window and yanked it open. The cool mist of the spring storm brushed his heated skin, and he fought the urge to close his eyes. If he did, he’d be back there.

But the memories came anyway.

“Landing in ten,” the pilot announced as the plane skimmed just beneath the storm raging through the night.

In eight, the plane began to vibrate.

In six, lightning cracked.

And then an explosion, one so violent it nearly blew out his eardrums.

Ty dropped his head back, letting the rain slash at his body through the open window. He could hear the Pacific Ocean pounding the surf below the cliffs. Scented with fragrant pines, the air smelled like Christmas in July, and he forced himself to draw a deep, shaky breath.

He was in Washington state, in the small beach town of Lucky Harbor. The ocean was in front of him with the mountains at his back. He was no longer a SEAL medic, dragging his sorry ass out of a burning plane, choking on the knowledge that he was the only one still breathing, that he hadn’t been able to save a single goddamn person.

But hell if at the next bolt of lightning, he didn’t try to jump out of his own skin. Pissed at the weakness, Ty shut the window. He was never inhaling an entire pepperoni pizza before bed again.

Except he knew it wasn’t something as simple as pizza that made him dream badly. It was the edginess that came from being idle and unable to work. His work was still special ops, but he hadn’t gone back to being a medic. Working for a private contractor to the government was a decent enough adrenaline rush and it suited him—or it had until six months ago when on assignment, he’d jumped out a second story window and reinjured his leg. He stretched it now and winced.

He wanted to get back to work.
Needed
to get back. All he was waiting on was clearance from his doctor. Pulling on a pair of jeans, he snagged a shirt off the back of a chair and left the room as the storm railed around him. Shrugging into the shirt, he made his way through the big and nearly empty house he was renting for the duration, heading to the garage. A fast drive in the middle of the night would be good, and maybe a quick stop at the all-night diner for pie.

But this first.

Flipping on the lights, Ty sucked in a deep, calming breath of motor oil, well-greased tools, and rubber tires. On the left sat a ’72 GMC Jimmy, a rebuild job he’d picked up on the fly. He didn’t need the money. As it turned out, special ops talents were well compensated these days, but the work was a welcome diversion.

The ’68 Shelby Mustang on the right was all his, and she was calling to him. He kicked the mechanic’s creeper from against the wall toward the classic muscle car. Lowering himself onto the cart with a grimace at the twinge of pain in his leg, Ty rolled beneath the car, shoving down his problems, denying them, avoiding them.

Seeking his own calm in the storm.

Chapter 1

T
he lightning flashed bright, momentarily blinding Mallory Quinn as she ran through the dark rainy night from her car to the front door of the diner.

One Mississippi.

Two Mississippi.

On three Mississippi, thunder boomed and shook the ground. A vicious wind nearly blew her off her feet. She’d forgotten her umbrella that morning, which was just as well or she’d have taken off like Mary Poppins.

A second, brighter bolt of lightning sent jagged light across the sky, and Mallory gasped as everything momentarily lit up like day: the pier behind the diner, the churning ocean, the menacing sky.

Then all went dark again, and she burst breathlessly into the Eat Me diner feeling like the hounds of hell were on her very tired heels. Except she wasn’t wearing heels; she was in fake Uggs.

Lucky Harbor tended to roll up its sidewalks after ten, and tonight was no exception. The place was deserted except for one customer at the counter. And the waitress behind it. Her friend: smartass, cynical Amy Michaels. Amy, whose tall, leggy body was a complete contradiction to the tomboy clothes that said she could and would kick ass at the slightest provocation. Her dark, spiky cap of hair was tousled, as always, her even darker eyes showing amusement at Mallory’s wild entrance.

“Hey,” Mallory said, fighting the wind to close the door behind her.

“Looking a little spooked,” Amy said. “You reading Stephen King on the slow shifts again, Nurse Nightingale?”

Mallory drew a deep, shuddery breath and shook off the icy rain the best she could. Her day had started a million years ago at the crack of dawn, when she’d left her house in her usual perpetual rush, without a jacket. One incredibly long ER shift and seventeen hours later, she was still in her scrubs with only a thin sweater over the top, everything now sticking to her like a second skin. “No King,” she said. “I had to give him up. Last month’s reread of
The Shining
wrecked me.”

“Aw,” Amy said. “Emergency Dispatch tired of taking your ‘there’s a shadow outside my window’ calls?”

“Okay,
one
time.” Giving up squeezing the water out her hair, Mallory ignored Amy’s knowing snicker. “And for your information, there really was a man outside my window.”

“Yeah. Seventy-year-old Mr. Wykowski, who’d gotten turned around on his walk around the block.”

This was true. And while Mallory knew that Mr. Wykowski was a very nice man, he really did look a lot like Jack Nicholson in
The Shining
. “Hey, that could have been a very bad situation.”

Amy shook her head as she wiped down the counter. “You live on Senior Drive. Your biggest ‘situation’ is if Dial-A-Ride doesn’t show up in time to pick everyone up to take them to bingo night.”

Also true, Mallory thought wryly. Her tiny ranch house was indeed surrounded by other tiny ranch houses filled with mostly seniors. But it wasn’t that bad. They were a sweet bunch and always had a story to tell. Or twenty.

And anyway, the house had belonged to her grandmother. Mallory had inherited complete with a mortgage that she’d nearly had to give up her firstborn for. If she’d had a firstborn. But for that she’d like to be married, and to be married, she’d have to have a Mr. Right.

Except she’d been dumped by her last two Mr. Rights.

Wind and something heavy lashed at the windows of the diner. Snow. “Wow, the temp must have just dropped. It sure came on fast.”

“It’s spring,” Amy said in disgust. “Why’s it frigging snowing in spring? I changed my winter tires already.”

The lone customer at the counter stirred. “I don’t have winter tires either,” she said. “I’m in a 1972 VW.” She looked to be in her mid-twenties, and spoke with the clipped vowels that said northeast.

As Mallory’s own tires were threadbare and on their last leg, she gnawed on her lower lip and looked out the window. Maybe if she left immediately, she’d be okay.

“We should wait it out,” Amy suggested. “It can’t possibly last.”

Mallory knew better, but it was her own fault. She’d been ignoring the forecast ever since last week when the weather guy had promised ninety-degree temps and the day hadn’t gotten above fifty, leaving her to spend a very long day frozen in the ER. Her nipples still hadn’t forgiven her. “I don’t have time to wait it out.” She had a date with eight solid hours of sleep.

The VW driver was a petite blonde in a flimsy summer-weight skirt and two thin camisoles layered over each other. Mallory hadn’t been the only one caught by surprise, though the woman didn’t look too concerned as she worked her way through a big, fat brownie that made Mallory’s mouth water.

“Sorry,” Amy said, reading her mind. “That was the last one.”

“Just as well.” Mallory wasn’t here for herself anyway. Dead on her feet, she’d only stopped as a favor for her mother. “I just need to pick up Joe’s cake.”

Joe was her baby brother and was turning twenty-four tomorrow. The last thing he wanted was a family party but work was slow for him at the mechanic’s shop, and flying to Vegas with his friends hadn’t panned out since he had no money.

So their mother had gotten involved and tasked Mallory with bringing the cake. Actually, Mallory had been tasked with
making
the cake but she had a hard time not burning water so she was cheating. “Please tell me that no one from my crazy family has seen the cake so I can pretend I made it.”

Amy
tsk
ed. “The good girl of Lucky Harbor, lying to her mother. Shame on you.”

This was the ongoing town joke, “good girl” Mallory. And okay, fine, so in all fairness, she played the part these days. But there’d been a time she hadn’t, not that she wanted to go there now. Or ever. “Yeah, yeah. Hand it over. I have a date.”

“You do not. I’d have heard about it if you did.”

“It’s a secret date.”

Amy laughed. And okay, so that had been a stretch. Lucky Harbor was a wonderful, small town where people cared about each other. You could leave a pot of gold in your backseat, and it wouldn’t get stolen.

But there were no such things as secrets.

“I have a date with my own bed,” Mallory admitted. “Happy?”

Amy wisely kept whatever smartass remark she had to herself and turned to the kitchen to go get the birthday cake. As she did, lightning flashed, followed immediately by a thundering boom. The wind howled, and the entire building shuddered, caught in the throes. It seemed to go on and on, during which the three women gravitated as close as they could to each other with Amy still on the other side of the counter.

“Now
I
can’t stop thinking about
The Shining
,” the blonde murmured.

“No worries,” Amy said. “The whole horror flick thing rarely happens here in Mayberry.”

They all let out a weak laugh, which died when an ear-splitting crack sounded, followed by shattering glass as both the front window and door blew in.

A fallen tree waved obscenely at them through the new opening.

Mallory grabbed the woman next to her and tugged them both behind the counter to join Amy. “Just in case more windows go,” she said. “We’re safest right here, away from flying glass.”

“I’ll never laugh at you about Mr. Wykowski again,” Amy said, her face pale.

“Yeah, right.” Mallory got up on her knees and took a peek over the counter at the huge fallen tree blocking the front door. Several more large pines were lining the front of the restaurant. Any of them could go down as well, maybe across the entire diner this time. Not good.

“I can’t reach my brownie from here,” Blondie said shakily. “I really need my brownie.”

“I’d say we need to blow this popsicle stand,” Mallory said. “But it’s coming down so bad right now I think we should wait it out. We need to call 9-1-1 though.”

Blondie pulled out her cell phone. “Podunk here has some pretty crappy reception.” She grimaced, realizing that she was talking to two locals. “Sorry. I just got here today. I’m sure Lucky Harbor is a very nice town.”

“It’s got its moments.” Mallory slapped her pockets for her cell before remembering.
Crap
. “I left my phone in my car.”

“And I don’t have one,” Amy said.

Mallory and Blondie gaped at Amy, who simply shrugged. “What? They’re expensive. Besides, the diner has a phone in the kitchen. At least we still have electricity.”

Just then the lights flickered and went out. Mallory’s stomach hit her toes. “You had to say it,” she said as Amy made her way blindly into the kitchen to try the phone anyway.

“Dead,” Amy said on a sigh.

Blondie rustled around for a moment, and then there came a blue glow. “It’s a cigarette lighter app,” she said, holding up her iPhone, indeed lit up like a Bic lighter. “Can’t call for help, but we have light. Only problem, it drains my battery really fast so I’ll leave it off until we have an emergency.” She turned it off and everything went really, really dark.

Another hard gust of wind sent more of the shattered window tinkling to the floor, and the Bic lighter immediately came back on.

“Emergency,” Grace said as the three of them scooted closer together.

“Stupid cake,” Mallory said.

“Stupid storm,” Amy said.

“Stupid life,” Blondie said. “Now would be a great time for one of you to tell me that you have a big, strong guy who’s going to come looking for you.”

Amy snorted. “Yeah, right. What’s your name?”

“Grace.”

“Well, Grace, you’re new to Lucky Harbor so let me fill you in. There are lots of big, strong guys in town. But I do my own heavy lifting.”

Grace and Mallory both took in Amy’s low riding, army camo cargo pants, her shit-kicking boots, and her snug, thin, plain white tee. The entire tough, tom-girl ensemble was topped by an incongruous Eat Me pink apron. Amy had put her own spin on it by using red duct tape to fashion a circle around the Eat Me logo, complete with a line through it.

“I can believe that about you,” Grace said to her.

“My name’s Amy.” Amy tossed her chin toward Mallory. “And that’s Mallory, my polar opposite and the town’s very own good girl.”

“Oh, stop,” Mallory said, tired of hearing good and girl in the same sentence as it pertained to her.

Of course Amy didn’t stop. “If there’s an old lady to help across the street, or a kid with a skinned knee needing a Band-Aid and a kiss, or a big, strong man looking for a sweet, warm damsel, it’s Mallory to the rescue.”

“So where is he, then?” Grace asked. “Her big, strong man.”

Amy shrugged. “Ask her.”

Mallory grimaced and admitted the truth. “As it turns out, I’m not so good at keeping any Mr. Rights.”

“So date a Mr. Wrong,” Amy said.

“Yeah?” Mallory asked. “Like who?”

“Like…I don’t know. Anderson?”

“The guy who owns the hardware store and flirts with anything with boobs?”

“Yeah,” Amy said. “Or that hottie, Dr. Josh Scott. Or—”

“Shh, you.” Not wanting to discuss her love life—or lack of—Mallory rose up on her knees to take another peek outside. The gusts were blowing the heavy snow sideways, hitting the remaining windows and flying in through the ones that had broken. The rain water on the ground had frozen up. She craned her neck and looked behind her, into the kitchen and at the back door. If she went that way, she’d have to go around the whole building to get to her car and her phone.

In the dark.

But it had to be done, so she got to her feet, just as the two windows over the kitchen sink shattered with a suddenness that stopped her heart. Grace let out a stifled scream. Dropping back down, Mallory huddled close to her and Amy.

“Holy shit,” Amy gasped, and holding on to each other, they all stared at the offending tree branch waving at them from
that
opening. “Jan’s going to blow a gasket.”

Jan was the owner of the diner. She was fifty-something, grumpy on the best of days, and hated spending a single dime of her hard-earned money on anything other than her online poker games.

The temperature in the kitchen dropped as cold wind and snow blew over them. Grace’s Bic app went back on, and she blinked owlishly at them. “Did I hear someone say cake?”

They ro-sham-bo’d, and Amy lost, so she had to crawl to the refrigerator to retrieve the cake. “You okay with this?” she asked Mallory, handing out forks.

“Very,” Mallory said. “Joe will live. This is definitely a cake emergency. Much better than attempting to drive in this freak snow storm.”

They all dug in. And there in the pitch black night, unnerved by the storm but bolstered by sugar and chocolate, they talked.

They started with Grace, who told them how when the economy had taken a shit, her hot career as an investment banker had vanished, along with her condo and her credit cards. There’d been a glimmer of a job possibility in Seattle so she’d traveled across country for it. But when she’d gotten there, she found out it involved sleeping with the sleazeball company president. She’d told him to stuff it and now she was thinking about maybe hitting Los Angeles. Tired, she’d stopped in Lucky Harbor earlier today. She’d found a coupon for the local B&B and was going to stay for a few days and regroup. “Or until I run out of money and end up on the street,” she said, clearly trying to sound chipper about her limited options.