The Lost Sheenan's Bride (Taming of the Sheenans Book 6) Read online

  The Lost Sheenan’s Bride

  A Taming of the Sheenans Romance

  Jane Porter

  The Lost Sheenan’s Bride

  Copyright © 2016 Jane Porter

  Kindle Edition

  The Tule Publishing Group, LLC

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-944925-61-1

  Dedication

  For my middle son

  Ty Thomas Gaskins

  I get you

  and love you

  more than you’ll ever know

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Dear Reader

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Away in Montana

  The Taming of the Sheenans

  About the Author

  Dear Reader,

  I confess, I put off writing The Lost Sheenan’s Bride for a long, long time. It wasn’t because I didn’t like or know the story, but because I knew when it was finished, my The Taming of the Sheenans series would be complete, and it broke my heart a little bit. These tough Montana brothers have been with me for three years now. I started the first, Brock’s Christmas at Copper Mountain, late summer 2013, and here we are, summer of 2016 saying goodbye.

  I love connected stories, especially stories about families. My family is my world, and when I lost my dad at fifteen, it was my close relationship with my two brothers and sister that saw me through the loss and grief. Whenever I write about family, there is struggle and challenge, as well as change. Change is part of life. We can’t avoid it. Which is why I create strong families that might not always see eye to eye, but when the chips are down, they show up to support each other through good times and bad.

  Thankfully, endings also become beginnings, and with the closing of The Taming of the Sheenans, I introduce my new series, The Douglas Ranch of Paradise Valley. From reading The Taming of the Sheenans, you know the Sheenans and the Douglases lives are intertwined. They aren’t just neighbors. McKenna Douglas and Trey Sheenan were high school sweethearts and have a complicated relationship (The Kidnapped Christmas Bride), and now with the The Douglas Ranch of Paradise Valley, you’ll get the rest of the story.

  I’d love to hear from you. Please drop me a note any time to [email protected], and do sign up for my newsletter so you can hear about all my future releases.

  Happy summer! Happy reading!

  Jane

  Chapter One

  The glass door swung open and then shut, sucking cold air and a flurry of snowflakes into Marietta’s Java Café on Main Street.

  Even before the heavy boots thudded on the wooden floorboards, Jet felt a rush of awareness, the skin at her nape tingling. He was here.

  Jet Diekerhof sat up a little straighter, trying to act blasé, wanting desperately to be indifferent as she was so over men—finished, done with—but biology seemed to have a different idea because every time he was around, her brain lit up, synapses firing, body warming, skin tingling, screaming at her that the hottest guy she’d ever seen had just entered Marietta’s coffee shop.

  She didn’t want to be interested. She didn’t want to think about guys—hot, handsome men with hard bodies, sinewy biceps, and chiseled jaws—but it was impossible to ignore the crazy adrenaline rush when he was close by. And the adrenaline was surging now. Her hands shook and her skin flushed hot, before turning cold. Even her heart was beating double time.

  Jet didn’t know why he had this effect on her. She didn’t know anything about him. Didn’t even know his name. He was just gorgeous. Hot, sexy, smoldering, heart palpitation kind of gorgeous. He had a whole sleeve of tattoos—she thought that was what they called them when they covered an arm—and long, thick, dark hair and a dark scruff of a beard that made her stare at his mouth.

  He had a sexy mouth. Sexy muscles.

  But best of all—or maybe worst of all—he had a brain.

  She never saw him without a stack of books, tons of books, and notebooks, and a laptop. He’d show up and turn his table at Java Café into a mini-office, books and notepad and laptop spread out around him, and he’d read, pen in hand, ready to jot down notes.

  He was always scribbling something. She loved that. No, hated that. Hated that he fascinated her, especially when he’d sit there working with that fierce focus, oblivious to everything around him.

  He had to be a teacher, a grad student, a writer. Something like that. Who else would sit for hours in a coffee shop, pouring over books, biceps beautifully bunched, brow furrowed in concentration?

  He was intense and edgy and intriguing and she’d never met anyone else like him.

  Not that she’d ever actually met him.

  And not that she wanted to meet him. Men were trouble. Men were distracting and confusing and they’d break her heart and she wouldn’t even see it coming.

  So no. She didn’t want to know him. She didn’t even want to be aware of him, and yet her skin prickled with goose bumps, and her pulse was jumping…

  But that didn’t matter. She didn’t care. She didn’t care that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and that no one ever joined him at his table. She didn’t care that he drank tea, not coffee, and that the café served him tea in a china cup. With a saucer.

  And she most definitely hadn’t fantasized about him. She hadn’t pictured him dropping into a chair at her table, long muscular legs outstretched, big muscular torso angled carelessly away, even as his dark eyes watched her with sexy, lazy, delicious intent.

  She didn’t want that. She couldn’t want it. Because the last time she’d been attracted to someone heart meltingly handsome he’d broken her heart and she wasn’t going down that road again. She was only just starting to feel better. Just beginning to feel almost whole again but, even now, she could still feel the deep bruise in her chest where her heart should be.

  She still didn’t know if Ben had played her, or she’d been naïve, but either way, falling for anyone, much less falling hard, was dangerous and foolish.

  But that didn’t stop her from watching her mystery man cross the Java Café as he headed to the counter.

  He was wearing old, faded jeans that hung from his lean hips, jeans that outlined his hard quads and hamstrings before falling to the tips of his black boots. They weren’t combat boots or cowboy boots, but something a guy who rode a motorcycle might wear. Bad ass. Take no prisoners.

  And then he turned abruptly and his dark eyes—deep, deep brown, almost black—met hers and held.

  Her heart fell all the way to her feet.

  She went blistering hot and then icy cold.

  She couldn’t look away. She didn’t know why. Maybe it was because he’d never once even glanced her way before, and now he was giving her a long, slow once-over and she didn’t know what to do with
that.

  Hot again, cheeks burning, she finally dropped her gaze, grabbed the student papers in front of her, forcing her attention back to her grading. Breathe, she told herself, breathe. Act normal.

  Not that she had the faintest idea what normal was.

  Jet had never been normal.

  Geeky, smart, happy, confident…she’d loved school from her first day of kindergarten. She’d excelled in every subject, all the way through elementary school, a perfect student on into junior high, winning prizes for most books read during the summer, ribbons in the annual essay contest and science fair. She’d been the quintessential book girl…even teacher’s pet… and she’d thrived in school, all the way until the day in eighth grade when she overheard girls ridiculing her in the bathroom.

  And they did it, knowing she was in there.

  Knowing she was a captive audience in the stall.

  They didn’t stop, either, not even when she finally emerged; face blotchy from holding back tears.

  She didn’t cry while she washed her hands. She kept her chin up while she dried her hands. She walked out of the bathroom, head high.

  It wasn’t until she was home that she gave into tears.

  She’d known since second grade she wasn’t popular, but she hadn’t realized how unpopular she was until that day. But Jet refused to change. If she was going to be mocked for being smart, she’d show them just how smart she was.

  She studied harder than ever, never letting anyone know in high school that her amazing grades weren’t effortless. She wanted the haters to think it all came easy, so she let them believe she whizzed through, and she did a pretty good impression of loving life, with her 4.4 GPA—thanks to all the AP and honors classes—and near perfect scores on the SAT and ACT.

  But once she’d finished college—which had been a lot of work—she didn’t know what to do with herself.

  She didn’t know what she wanted.

  She’d spent so much of her life trying to prove she was smart and successful, that she didn’t really even know who she was…other than smart, and academically successful.

  After graduating, Jet earned a teaching credential, making sure to qualify as both an elementary teacher and a single subject teacher in English, social studies, science and math.

  If she was going to be an overachiever, why not do it to the max?

  But after a year of teaching she was more disillusioned than ever.

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to be in a classroom for the rest of her life. She felt as if she’d only ever been in a classroom—

  “Can I join you?”

  The deep voice was paired with denim clad legs and heavy, black boots.

  Jet jerked her head up. Heart pounding, face hot, she looked into dark eyes.

  Him. It was him.

  “There are no open tables.”

  Her mouth opened, shut. “Sure.” She choked, hands trembling ever so slightly as she gathered her papers and pulling her laptop closer, giving him space.

  “You’re fine,” he said, setting his leather backpack on top of the empty chair. “Don’t move your stuff.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t need—” She broke off, swallowing the words, since he’d walked away, returning to the counter to collect his order.

  Blushing furiously, she forced her attention to the paper in front of her. She felt stupid and gauche and she wished she could disappear, and she kept her head down even as he placed the bagel and tea on the table and drew his chair back.

  Focus, focus, focus.

  “I’m Shane,” he said, taking a seat.

  Shane. Not the Shane…the one renting the Sheenan house…the one that had everyone talking?

  “Jet,” she replied, extending her hand, amazed at how calm she sounded because on the inside she wasn’t calm.

  On the inside she felt positively wild.

  His hand closed around hers. One black eyebrow lifted. “Jet?”

  His grip was firm, his skin warm, and she felt a little tingle all the way through her. “It’s Dutch.”

  “You’re the first Jet I’ve ever met.”

  “Then you need to go to Holland. It’s a popular name.”

  “Are you Dutch?”

  “Both sets of grandparents emigrated from Holland, some before WWII, and some after.” Handshake over she slid her hand beneath her leg, trying to ignore all the crazy butterflies filling her middle, making her resent him for turning her into a gum-smacking teenager who couldn’t handle herself.

  “Did your parents speak Dutch at home?”

  “To their parents, yes, but only a little bit with us kids. But our grandparents would only speak Dutch to us, which proved useful when I was traveling this year.”

  He nodded at the stack of papers in front of her. “You’re a teacher.”

  She grimaced. “It’s that obvious?”

  “You’re always grading papers.” He paused. “Which grade?”

  “All grades, K-8.” So he’d noticed her before. Another shiver coursed through her. “I’m a long-term sub,” she added, “at a one room schoolhouse in Paradise Valley. And you? What do you do? I always see you with a stack of books and papers.”

  “I’m a writer.”

  He had to be the Shane Swan renting the old Sheenan homestead then. She sat up a little taller, aware that the Sheenans were not happy he was in their home, but she didn’t know why.

  She’d like to know, though. “What kind of writing?”

  “Nonfiction.”

  “That’s a pretty broad subject area. You can squeeze a lot into that…biographies. History. Crime. War.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And so you write…?”

  “History, crime, war.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Pretty dark stuff.”

  “Can be. My job is to try to make it personal. Make people care.”

  “And do you?”

  He laughed, flashing white teeth. “Sometimes.”

  “Have you been published?”

  He hesitated. “I should have something out next year.”

  “That’s great. Congratulations. I’ll have to look for it. I like nonfiction. That’s kind of my thing to read.”

  “Oh, yeah? Any favorite authors?”

  “Jon Krakauer… Sean Finley… too many to name them all.”

  For a moment there was a flicker in his eyes and then it was gone. His expression turned thoughtful. “Which Sean Finley?”

  She frowned, thinking. “I’ve read virtually everything by Finley, but my favorite is probably the first one I read by him, the one on Custer’s last stand. Heartbreak & Heaven.”

  “Why?”

  “It was brutal. Sad. But really powerful. It’s like reading about the Alamo. You know what’s going to happen ahead of time, but the details in the retelling brought it to life and made the massacre that much more painful.”

  His mouth curved, and yet his dark eyes held hers, intent. “So you are Team Custer.”

  “No. More like Team Crazy Horse, but I feel for Custer. I do. He was foolishly brave and I had to respect him even though I didn’t want to. The whole thing was tragic.”

  “He was in over his head.”

  “But I think most people are! I think most of us learn on the job…and we just kind of hope no one knows that we’re wildly underprepared.”

  His smile widened. “Are you speaking from personal experience?”

  Jet grimaced. “I might be in a little over my head at the school, but I can promise you that no one will die on my watch.”

  “That’s good.”

  A table was suddenly open across the café by the bay window. Jet watched Shane’s face. He was going to head over there and grab the now empty table.

  Her heart fell a little. It was absurd. She was absurd. There was no reason to like this man so much. She still knew virtually nothing about him. “I can watch your stuff if you want to claim it,” she said.

  He turned to look at her, amusement in his dark ey
es. “I’ve worn out my welcome already?”

  For a second she couldn’t think or breathe, too lost in his dark eyes. He was really ridiculously good-looking. Too good-looking. She didn’t like feeling so shallow.

  “I just know you like your space,” she said, and then blushed as one of his black brows lifted. “I mean, you never talk to anyone,” she added quickly, “you just work.”

  He leaned forward, elbows on the table, biceps bunching beneath the smooth fabric of his gray Henley. “Is that why you never said hello?”

  For a long moment she couldn’t think of anything to say. “I’ve kind of sworn off men.”

  He looked at her, waiting.

  She hurriedly added, “Not forever, obviously, but for awhile. Just until I have my confidence back.”

  “So it’s not my tattoos. I thought maybe you weren’t a fan.”

  Jet’s cheeks burned hotter. A dozen different emotions swamped her. But being the youngest in a big family had taught her some basic survival skills, and so she held his gaze, and kept her chin up. “I think you know you’re…appealing.”

  He stared right back into her eyes for what felt like endless seconds before he lifted his cup, and took a sip, all without breaking eye contact. “I think you have plenty of confidence. You just need a little nudge.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart thumped. Tattoos and muscles and long, dark, wavy hair and ass-kicker boots…

  Jet swallowed hard.

  The black eyebrow lifted quizzically. He set the cup back down. “So what happened? Who stomped on your heart?”

  Jet wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. But it didn’t. And Shane just watched her and waited for a response as if he had all day.

  The silence stretched. Her heart thumped harder. Clearly he had all day.

  “He’s not important,” she finally managed, struggling to sound careless and not at all sure she pulled it off.

  “He must be if you’ve sworn off men.”

  “Maybe I am a little banged up.” And then, dammit, her eyes filled with tears and she looked away and blinked hard and cursed him for making her cry.