Orphaned a novel elkridg.., p.1
ORPHANED: A novel (Elkridge Series Book 4), page 1
ORPHAND
An Elkridge Series Novel
Lyz Kelley
Contents
Blurb: Orphaned
Praise for Lyz Kelley’s writing and a special gift just for you.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Dedication
Author Notes
Also by Lyz Kelley
Exposed: Book 5: Chapter One
Acknowledgments
Thank you for reading: ORPHANED
More Books By Lyz Kelley
Blurb: Orphaned
The search for a sister.
Decades of guilt.
Who to trust?
Jenna is desperate to find her younger sister, who was taken from her when she was seven years old. She believed Caitlyn, who was adopted by a wealthy family, was doing fine, only to discover her sibling vanished under eerie circumstances. Unfortunately, Jenna’s attracted the attention of the last man to see her sister alive.
Grant has returned to town to take over his ailing father’s law practice. When his socialite parents try to interfere in his relationship with Jenna, a woman they consider lower class, he puts his foot down. He intends to marry the adorable baker, and no one will change his mind—not even Jenna.
Jenna and Grant’s lives are upended when a stranger brings upheaval, and their trust in each other is severely tested by this shocking surprise.
The ELKRIDGE SERIES—sensual, contemporary romance novels about wounded women and the men who heal them. If you love heartfelt characters, deep topics with powerful emotional stakes, and happy endings, then you’ll love Lyz Kelley’s moving tales of strength, love, and survival.
In ORPHANED, the fourth full-length novel in the series, you learn more about town characters, and [unearth?]discover more clues to who murdered Sheriff Sam.
Praise for Lyz Kelley’s writing and a special gift just for you.
I’ve got a present for my readers, your very own ebook exclusive: A Soldier’s Wife when you sign up for my newsletter.
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The Molly: Award for Excellence
“A writer who will go the distance.”
“Masterful dialog.”
“I look forward to seeing this book on the bookshelves.”
The Sheila: Finalist
“The story has great bones! The plot is interesting, the characters are unique…there are so many things to love about this story.”
“H & H are both very appealing and certainly not cookie cutter characters.”
“Your opening is a grabber.”
“This is one of the best books I’ve read in a good long while. CONGRATULATIONS.”
“Prose is sleek, polished and smooth, a near frictionless read.”
The Marlene: Finalist
“You have a lovely writing style with dialogue and scene setting.”
“The sensory details are rich, and I was able to visualize the scenes. I chuckled several times at your turn of phrase and thought they were very sassy and smart.”
“The plot seems to have it all: conflict, a mystery and a romance. So kudos for creating an interesting story.”
The Golden Network: Finalist
“The setting is painted well and the characters are engaging with very different voices.”
“The manuscript is clean and tightly written.”
“The manuscript reflects beautiful writing.”
Chapter One
Why, oh why was Grant Newhall standing in the café’s kitchen looking more delicious than one of her chocolate cream pies?
Jenna Dolcy grumbled to the bread dough gently yielding beneath the heel of her hand. She released a puff of air to get her overgrown bangs out of her eyes. “You’re going to get your suit all dirty.”
“I don’t mind getting a bit dirty.”
The corners of his mouth quivered, then rolled slowly into that heart-stealing smile.
Oh man…I’m in trouble.
Grant dropped a red rose on the maple butcher block table, which was covered with a dusting of flour. Its floral damask wafted and danced with the fragrance of buttery yeast. She closed her eyes and exhaled, trying to forget how handsome Grant looked in his elegant charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, polished leather shoes, and a brand spanking new periwinkle tie. Why did she tell him her favorite color was periwinkle?
He slid an arm around her waist and pulled. His mouth skimmed over hers, and her brain went blank. Tingles zipped across her skin, and her heart skipped along, until…wait. What am I doing?
“Whoa.” She pushed him back. “You can’t just walk in here and kiss me.”
“I like kissing you.”
I’m in double-trouble. “We don’t do that.”
“Yes, we do.” He leaned in again, and she braced her palms on his chest. “You were the one who kissed me after I won the dart tournament.”
“That was different.” She stepped out of his grasp. I had one too many beers and wasn’t thinking straight.
She set a bread round on a baking sheet and grabbed another hunk of dough to shape. “It’s Mrs. Bainbridge’s birthday tomorrow. Why don’t you give her the flower? She’s sitting at her usual table.”
“This one’s for you. I’ll bring her flowers tomorrow.”
His persistence and the fact he looked downright scrumptious in his business suit kept punching holes right through her determination to remain indifferent.
“You should go before Maggie busts you for being in the kitchen.”
“Don’t worry about me.” He glanced around the small space as his half-smirk expanded. “When are you going to get one of those bakery convection ovens you want so much? I know you’ve been looking at them. It doesn’t seem practical for you to be splitting your time between the café and your bakery.”
Your bakery. Dreamy Delights. Her dream.
A coffee-and-croissant warmth seeped into her, and she savored the happy moment for a few seconds before a cold shiver deflated her bliss. What if she couldn’t make a go of the business? What if she couldn’t make enough to pay off her loans?
“I’ll get an oven when I find one for less than five grand. For now, baking breads here and the other stuff at my shop works.”
“I could lend—”
“No!” She rolled her shoulders back, squeezing to suppress the building tension, wishing the local macho magnet would find someone new to lavish his attention on. “I know you Newhalls have bulging bank accounts, but I’ll purchase one when I have the cash. Until then, Maggie’s fine with me splitting my time.” She grabbed another piece of dough. “Weren’t you supposed to be going over case files this morning?”
“Mom called to tell me Dad isn’t feeling well. We rescheduled for tomorrow.”
“Is everything okay?”
“I think so. Mom said he just needs rest.”
“Yesterday I overhead Dr. Brennan say quadruple bypasses can take up to four months to heal. I hope your dad isn’t pushing too hard.”
“He’s getting bored, so I doubt he’ll follow the doctor’s orders.”
“Last night it sounded like you’re thinking about staying on after your dad is well enough to manage his clients. Are you really thinking of staying?”
Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.
“I’m planning on it.”
Bummer. That makes things messy.
“This is my home,” he said, “and I want to settle down, build my life here. Once I get my permanent Colorado license to practice law, I plan to take over my dad’s practice.”
Uh-oh. I hope you’re not planning to add me to that settle down bit.
He moved closer and leaned his backside against the butcher block counter. “Hey, meet me at Sparky’s after you get off. I’m tempted to barbecue up some ribs.”
Oh, no. Your yumminess is way too tempting. “I’ll have to pass. I’m already exhausted, plus I have a lot of baking to do. I got up late because you kept me up past midnight chatting on the phone. You guys have fun without me.”
“You can’t work all the time, you know. You’ll burn out.”
“I don’t work all the time. You know that, since you popped out of the bushes and scared the poop out of me the other night. Promise me if we go running you won’t do that again.”
“You shouldn’t be running alone on that ridge, especially at night. That reminds me. I picked you up some bear spray. It’s in my car.”
She pushed on the dough again and again and again, trying to get her pitter-pattering heart to remember why even being friends with Grant Newhall wasn’t a good idea, much less doing the fri endly-kissy kind of thing.
“What did you decide about adventure racing?” he asked, then tilted his head to get a better look at her face. “We’d make a good team.”
“Sounds like a blast, but again, between getting my business up and running and helping out here, I don’t have the time to commit to anything beyond putting a smile on every face in this town.”
“Still think you don’t fit in?” Grant’s manly brow arched higher, demanding an answer.
Dang the man. He could read her like a book, which frankly frightened her more than a scary movie.
Besides being quite the walking Wikipedia, a couple of times she’d wondered if he could read minds. Why the man was all gung ho to hang out with the likes of her, though, she hadn’t quite figured out. He was way too fancy for her lifestyle. Plus, being in the presence of a Newhall stirred up all sorts of angst, and brought back suppressed childhood memories. Memories she’d been doing her best to muzzle.
Grant took a step further into the no-customer zone. “Why don’t you take a break? Let’s get some coffee.”
Why do you keep pushing? Jenna glanced over her shoulder but kept working. “Sorry. I’ve already had my quota, and still have a good caffeine buzz going.” She pointed to the black liquid in the container sitting on the hot burner. Its strong, bitter scent wafted around the kitchen, confirming the four-am brew should be tossed. “If you want some coffee, Maggie’s got a fresh pot out front.”
His finger-licking grin gave her innards a lurch of uneasiness. Determined to ignore him, Jenna focused on pounding the buttery dough into submission. Ten seconds passed, then another ten, then another. His lack of response, and the tickling feeling he was staring at her boobs made her glance up to confirm her suspicions.
He wasn’t gawking.
He never did.
That’s the thing. The guy was perfect in every way. His dark brown hair had the perfect amount of fuss, and his mouth formed a perfect made-you-look grin. Even his dimples were perfect.
Dratted man.
Grant pushed remnants of powdering flour into a pile with the tip of his finger. “How about I meet you at your place after work, instead? We can go for a quick run. I’ll bring takeout.”
His voice was so soft and sensual her stomach wadded into a bite-sized knot. The Newhall family history should be enough to guarantee she never forgot where she came from: she didn’t have time for such foolishness, or additional complications. She didn’t want Grant Newhall crashing into her life, even if he was the best-looking lawyer this side of the Continental Divide.
She took a long, weary breath. “Really, I’m exhausted. An early night is what I need. Why don’t you ask what’s-her-face out to dinner?”
“Do you mean Rachelle Clairemont?”
Who else would I be talking about? “Yeah, her.”
Grant leaned in, his warm, sweet-smelling breath caressing her neck and sending shivers skittering across her skin. “Now why would I do something stupid like that when you’re the prettiest in Colorado?” His baritone triggered a shower of goose bumps.
Prettiest? Not even. “Grant. I’m just a simple, ordinary gal who just wants to make her customers happy.”
Surprise sparked in his eyes. “Jenna, ordinary you are not.”
“Whatever you say,” she said brushing his words away with a wave of her hand.
Jenna patted the ball of pastry before glancing at the café’s wall clock, confirming the time was, indeed, marching toward the breakfast rush hour. She turned back to Grant. “I’ve got a lot of baking to do. Maggie’s gonna take a large chunk out of my ass if I don’t get this bread in the oven.”
As if on cue, Maggie, the café’s owner, pushed through the kitchen door—her flustered face peered around the corner.
“Grant, get the hell out of my kitchen! You can’t pester Jenna whenever you feel like it,” Maggie’s voice reverberated off the pots and pans like a kick-started vintage Harley. She retrieved a tray of apple spice muffins before glancing Jenna’s way. “Hon, I need some help out front. Sheila’s kid is sick again, and food’s stacking up at the grill. Oh, and, everyone is raving about your new orange rind muffins. Mrs. Bainbridge said you were sweet to make them. She said they are her favorite.”
I know. “I wanted to bake her something special for her birthday.”
“That’s my sugar girl, always thinking of others.” Maggie’s gaze swung to Grant. “Newhall? Why are you still standing there?”
Jenna shook her head at the rumbling force of Maggie Connor, who’d already disappeared, leaving only a swinging door in her wake. Three-plus years ago, Maggie’s leather layer of gruffness hadn’t fooled Jenna. The oversized, quick-witted woman had a heart wider than an interstate highway. She’d given Jenna a job, a place to live, and more importantly, space.
Jenna tucked a piece of plastic wrap around the dough so snugly she could have been swaddling a newborn. “Go ahead, Grant. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“How about we go over your marketing plan?”
Thank goodness her back was turned to the man, or he might have experienced the most amazing Guinness-Book-worthy eye-roll ever. “Grant,” she turned up the sweet in her voice as high as it could go, “Would you pretty-please take a seat in the café before Maggie decides to find another baker?” She pulled her latex gloves off with a snap.
“You know Maggie won’t fire you.”
His fixed, lawyerly stare triggered a gut-gripping panic. It was like he could see her fears, her flaws.
“Why won’t you accept help?” he asked gently.
His tone conveyed disappointment, and made her reconsider his offer for a split second, but she didn’t like accepting handouts. And she couldn’t accept help—not from him—even if the local church suddenly offered him sainthood. “I’m not good at accepting handouts.”
“Helping each other isn’t a handout.”
It is where I came from. “I appreciate the offer. I do. But I’ve got everything covered.”
Grant pushed away from the counter and made his way through the thick steel door. The door swung back and forth while Jenna rolled her head in slow circles and dropped her shoulders to help release the tension.
Too bad he had the last name of Newhall.
The first time she heard his full name she almost dropped a tray full of plates and glasses. Figures he’d be related to that family. Her stomach folded over like dough in a mixer. So, no, she wouldn’t accept his help, no matter how sweetly he offered. He might insist on running with her, or she might bump into him at the café, or they might watch the sun set together, but that’s where she drew the line.
Donning her River Creek Café apron, she made her way to the grill area, trying to shake the afterimage of those broad shoulders.
In a matter of moments, she delivered ten meals, stopped to say hello to several regulars, refilled four coffees, and took two orders—all to avoid the sizzling source of testosterone sitting on the far side of the café.
Turning from the counter with a fresh pot of coffee, Jenna took a deep, lung-filling breath, glued on her best customer-friendly smile, and walked the twenty feet toward him. She filled his coffee mug and spun to grab a fresh cream pitcher from the back counter. Before she could release the cold metal, his warm fingers brushed her hand. She broke the trace of heat rolling up her arm by grabbing the closest rag to wipe the counter. If she could, she’d wipe away her increasing infatuation.
Grant swirled the spoon in his coffee, creating a whirlpool of creamy brown.
“Want some breakfast?” She picked up an empty plate while wiping the counter and waiting for a response.
He retrieved the menu from the metal holder. “Sure.”
She turned toward the kitchen to avoid the eyes full of interest that made her squirm.
“Hey,” he waved the menu at her. “Aren’t you going to take my order?”
Setting the empty plate in the dirty dish bin, she rotated and placed a fist on her hip. “Omelet, egg whites only, no cheese. Mushrooms, green pepper, ham. Wheat toast buttered lightly. Fruit, no home fries. And a small orange juice. Did you want something different?”
