Delivering History (The Freehope Series Book 4)

  Contents

  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

  Afterword

  No Love Left Behind

  Also by Jenni M Rose

  About the Author

  Delivering History

  Freehope Book 4

  Jenni M Rose

  Copyright © 2018 by Jenni M Rose

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  for RKM and JMW

  who inspire me every single day to be better than I was the day before

  1

  Alexa Walker contemplated the ramifications of jumping out of a moving vehicle as she listened to the words coming from her sister’s mouth. They were all things she’d heard before, words to the wise and helpful tidbits of information, but how many times could one person hear about the merits of chia seeds in one car ride before they truly just made a break for it?

  Relief filled her as she watched Boston Beans, a trendy coffee shop in downtown Boston, that had bestowed upon her the awesome gig of bringing in baked goods every Thursday and Friday, come into view. For just one moment, she’d get respite from her sister Beth’s “helpful” advice until their return trip to Freehope.

  Amazingly enough, her business was starting to pick up steam and she even had her own hashtag, #BadGirlofSweets. Though her company name was Sweet Sisters, she liked the moniker Bad Girl of Sweets. Her sixteen-year-old niece Jenna had come up with it and the girl tracked it religiously. She’d gained quite a social media following with it and sometimes, when she showed up for her morning deliveries, there was a line out the door, waiting for her.

  She’d been struggling to get her business off the ground for years so the success felt great, satisfying in a way that nothing else in her life had been so far.

  Problem was, her little sister, Beth, was dogging her heels at every turn and driving her crazy. Every week she insisted on chauffeuring Alex into the city just to make sure she was okay.

  That was the price she was paying for being a selfless older sister.

  If she could have, she would have jumped out of the moving vehicle as it pulled up to the curb, but her baskets of goodies were in the trunk, and she wasn’t a freakin’ daredevil, so she waited impatiently.

  Street parking was bumper to bumper up the whole block, leaving Beth no option but to double park while Alex worked to get her things out quickly.

  “I’ll find a spot and meet you inside,” Beth offered. “Then I can help you fix up your display.”

  “No need.” Alex waved her off. “I’ve got it. Just text me where you park and I’ll find you when I finish. Shouldn’t take long.”

  Alex slid out of the car and went around back, popped the trunk, and grabbed her baskets. When she banged the trunk shut Beth leaned out the window.

  “Decaf!” she yelled before peeling away to look for a parking spot.

  “Decaf,” Alex mouthed sulkily at the back of the car, tempted to flip it the bird before making her way inside.

  She shouldered her way through the door, thankful when someone held it open for her.

  “Oh, thank God!” the woman breathed. “I was worried I was going to get here too late to get a sticky bun!”

  The pride she felt at the woman’s words should have been embarrassing, but Alex refused to let that kind of negativity in. She worked hard. She was proud and there was no shame in her game. She was so damn proud she probably preened.

  “I made a ton,” she told the woman with a smile, stepping inside. “You should have plenty to choose from.”

  “You’re a goddess,” the stranger said with a humorous bow.

  Alex hurried to the counter, ignoring the line, and caught the attention of the barista Heather, who sent her a happy smile.

  “I want half-caff,” Alex told her solemnly. “No matter what other words come out of my mouth, you pour me half-caff.”

  Heather’s smile faltered as she looked between Alex and the big plate-glass window. Looking for Beth, no doubt. They played this scene out every week, twice a week.

  “But…” the girl stuttered.

  “Half-caff,” Alex said firmly, drawing her gaze, sending her the meanest mug she could muster. “No matter what.”

  Having made her point, Alex began setting out her treats in the display case. Sticky buns and cinnamon rolls, croissants and lemon squares, classic cream puffs and eclairs. She didn’t know why she went through so much trouble. She knew within minutes the vultures behind her would pick through and make a mess of things.

  Well, she did know why. She grabbed her phone and snapped a picture of the display case and posted it to her social media with the hashtags Jenna had instructed her to use.

  Then she took a step back and watched as people—real, actual customers, bought her food. It was everything she’d ever wanted.

  Well, she wanted her own shop, but this was a huge first step in getting her name out there.

  Next step, getting her own shop.

  Baby steps—she mentally shrugged. Just a few years ago she’d been doing no more than toiling away in her own kitchen and teaching classes at the culinary school she went to.

  She’d just stepped up to the counter and was about to tell them what she wanted when her sister blew in, a tiny red-headed hurricane.

  “Decaf!” she shouted, her arm outstretched like she was about to stop a speeding train with nothing but her hand.

  Alex rolled her eyes and shot the barista a look, mouthing half-caff.

  “Decaf,” Beth insisted again as she made it to her sister’s side.

  “Decaf, toffee-caramel swirl, nonfat latte,” she told the barista, hoping like hell the girl listened to her and tossed a little caffeine in there.

  Beth was being a lunatic. People, especially exhausted people, needed some caffeine in their lives. It was their lifeblood. It was Alex’s lifeblood and if she didn’t get some soon, her sister might die a slow, painful death at Alex’s hands.

  Though, then she’d have to explain herself to Logan, Beth’s husband, and that would be like walking in front of a firing squad. Just a year before, she and Beth had been involved in what Alex liked to call a small, sisterly kerfuffle. Beth had ended up with a split lip and Logan had looked positively murderous.

  In her defense, Beth had come at her and Alex herself had walked away with a gash on her forehead that left a damn scar.

  Logan hadn’t cared and it was probably the angriest she’d ever seen the laid-back Southern boy who stole her sister’s heart. Alex wasn’t in any hurry to replay that little scenario, so strangling her sister wasn’t an option.

  “A little caffeine isn’t going to kill anyone,” she argued for the thousandth time. “I read somewhere that it can be healthy.”

  Beth scowled. “For you, maybe. You promised me you’d behave. You promised you’d make this easy for me. Instead, you fight me at every turn.” She snapped her head to the barista who was about to use regular coffee. “Decaf!”

  Alex rolled her eyes. Okay, so she’d said that, but she hadn’t known Beth was going to turn into a raving lu
natic the minute her and Logan’s baby was implanted into Alex’s uterus.

  Now she had a bean growing inside of her, and Beth had turned the corner from protective and into stark raving with one word from the doctors. Alex wondered if she knew ahead of time that this was how things would shake out—Beth taking the bus into crazy town, she’d have still gone ahead with carrying her sister’s baby.

  She had offered and while she was getting up there in years, she didn’t see herself settling down anytime soon. Not that she had any prospects. Her hometown of Freehope wasn’t exactly a hotbed of dating activity, the men there all people she grew up with.

  She was happy though. She had her sisters and her brother, her father and Jenna. They made a good team. If she didn’t find someone for herself, she’d be fine. She’d just be the old spinster aunt that Jenna and Beth’s bean came to for money when her own parents wouldn’t fork it over.

  Beth was still scowling at her.

  “Fine,” Alex conceded with an eye roll. “I’ll behave.”

  The barista handed over her coffee, and Alex grabbed a little paper holder, slipping the cup inside.

  “Why don’t I grab the car and swing back around and come get you? I had to park a few blocks away.”

  Moodily sipping her stupid latte, Alex shrugged one shoulder. “Sure.”

  Beth took a few steps and then turned around, concern written all over her face, making Alex feel like a total shit.

  “You know I just worry, right? This might be our only shot.” Her hands were balled into fists at her side and her eyebrows were pulled down.

  Alex disagreed that it was their only shot, but Beth, despite taking Alex up on her offer of carrying a child for her and Logan, felt guilty. Like she was taking up too much of Alex’s time.

  “Stop worrying,” Alex told her confidently. “I’ve got this.”

  Beth turned on her heel without another word and stalked out of the coffee shop. Alex watched the spot where she’d stood for a minute, contemplating.

  She’d essentially given up more than a year of her life for Beth and Logan, so they could have a child. She’d been poked and prodded, drugged up with hormones, and had her entire life turned upside down. Most days, she focused on the end result of what she was doing—the goal.

  It was easy to live day in and day out worrying about herself. But now she held Logan and Beth’s future in her hands and when she stopped to think about it, the weight of that responsibility was far heavier than anything she’d ever carried before.

  “Half-caff- toffee-caramel swirl, nonfat latte?”

  A cup appeared in front of her and Alex looked up, startled. A man, a god, stood there, paper cup in hand, smiling at her.

  Without thought, she took it.

  Boston Beans was his place. It was where he went to get away from his regular life when he didn’t want to be seen or answer to anyone. There was a coffee shop way closer to his house, but he’d stopped going there in favor of The Bean. The coffee was better, the people were friendlier, and the food was out-of-this-world fantastic.

  A few months ago, they’d started bringing pastries in from outside vendors and God, those things were his weekly treat. Pride kept him from perpetuating the hashtag #BadGirlofSweets. He didn’t need everyone knowing his guilty pleasure, but he liked the company name, Sweet Sisters.

  He’d come in earlier than his usual, hoping to get his Thursday sticky-bun fix before getting stuck in the office all day. He had a hell of a schedule on the books and he wasn’t sure he’d get through it without the sweet treat.

  He’d been early enough to see the beautiful woman rush in, basket in her arms and a winning smile on her face. She was a whirlwind of long, black hair and the kind of energy not many people possessed. She attracted attention, even in a casual nondescript dress and slip-on shoes. Her eyes were a bright blue that flushed with pleasure when a passerby complimented her pastries.

  Dylan James knew what he wanted when he saw it, and he wanted the Bad Girl from Sweet Sisters.

  She breezed in, cutting in front of everyone already in line, barking at the barista to make sure her coffee was half-caffeinated, no matter what she said. It was a strange request and Dylan found himself cracking a smile at the brisk seriousness in her deep voice. Like this coffee was her life and death.

  She didn’t pay him, or anyone else for that matter, any attention as she set to work putting her pastries on display. She had a ton in her basket, just unloading more and more and making sure they looked perfect.

  She stood back a few times, either admiring or criticizing her work, he wasn’t sure. But she looked with a keen eye, adjusting a few things here and there, then snapped a picture with her phone. He watched, hands in pockets, as she grabbed the barista’s attention and opened her mouth to speak. Just then a small redheaded woman, that looked like a charging bull, came into the shop, the look on her face nothing but determination.

  “Decaf!” she shouted.

  Dylan’s eyebrows raised, caught off-guard by the ridiculousness of the statement. He watched their heated exchange, wondering what exactly was going on.

  Was the redhead the wife? Girlfriend?

  He had a relatively accurate gaydar, but there was always room for error.

  No, the way they fought wasn’t like that. There was no passion or real anger; it was all annoyance. The redhead gave off a definite nervous vibe.

  Dylan knew people. He read people for a living. Made millions on reading people.

  Definitely, not lovers.

  He caught sight of the redhead’s face.

  Sisters.

  They had the same bright blue eyes, the same scowl on their faces, and he knew they were sisters.

  They argued some more about the coffee, which was totally beyond him as to why, but he listened, unashamed. If they wanted to fight in public, it was up for public consumption as far as he was concerned.

  At this point, anything that concerned the Bad Girl was his concern. She was fierce in her annoyance, her eyes snapping as she glared at her sister.

  Eventually, the barista handed her a decaf latte, and the disappointment on her face nearly broke Dylan’s heart. She’d wanted that latte but she’d conceded to her sister for whatever reason. He was an only child himself but he knew love and he knew concession when he saw it.

  She wasn’t happy about it but she’d do it. For her sister.

  He stepped up to the counter and ordered, waiting and watching the sisters as they spoke in hushed tones. There was a definite tension between them, something that said they weren’t overly close or struggled with their relationship. But there was love; he could see it on both of them.

  Interesting.

  He grabbed the coffees handed to him just as the sister stalked out the door, the bells jingling happily after her.

  Dylan stepped up, handing her a cup.

  “Half-caff, toffee-caramel swirl, nonfat latte?” he asked, knowing that’s what she originally wanted.

  She looked startled, like she wasn’t quite sure where he came from. In her defense, he’d been standing off to the side, staying out of her line of sight. He knew she hadn’t seen him.

  She was magnificent, her pale skin delicately soft, freckling on her nose. Her blue eyes were a bright electric blue, looking at him like she had no idea what to say.

  He liked it. He put on his most charming smile and pushed the drink farther into her hand, boldly taking the decaf one away.

  “This was what you wanted, right?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Half-caff,” he pointed out.

  “Thank the Lord,” she whispered, taking a long pull from the cup. It had to have been still steaming hot, but she persisted, her eyes sliding closed in pleasure.

  Yeah, that was a surefire way to get hard in public. Watching a woman react so viscerally to something. Anything.

  She eyed him as she took the cup from her full lips.

  “Thank you. What do I owe you?”

&n
bsp; “Chocolate croissants,” he answered.

  She laughed in response and the depth of it sent a heated skitter down his spine. Her voice was low and rough, not a light lilt or melodic inflection. It was unexpected and he wanted to hear it again.

  “I wasn’t expecting that,” she said with another laugh, fulfilling his unspoken request.

  “I come in every Thursday and Friday. You made chocolate croissants once, and I came back for more on Friday but they were gone. You haven’t made any since. I’ll take some as payment for the coffee.”

  It was a start, he thought.

  “Done. Next week?” she asked.

  He nodded, pleased enough that he’d laid a foundation.

  “I’ll be here,” he told her. “I’ll keep an eye out in case you need a coffee bailout too.”

  She sent him a wink and took a step backwards. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  Dylan watched as she hustled her sweet ass out the door and slid into the redhead’s car. They scowled at each other and he went with his gut, thinking they were probably sisters.

  He tossed her wasted decaf, grabbed his own things, and headed for his downtown Boston office. He could have walked but it was later than he’d planned so instead he called an Uber, opting to get there quicker.

  Dylan was a negotiator of sorts, working to figure out exactly what it was that people wanted versus what they needed, and helping them meet in the middle somewhere. It just happened that he negotiated for an investment firm, his investment firm, and negotiated millions and millions of dollars every single day.

  He and his friends had started the firm a few years ago. They’d known each other forever—their entire lives to be exact, and working together was as natural to them as anything else. They’d grown up together, children of the high Boston social scene, featuring debutante balls and Sunday tea.