Broken Hero Read online

  I don’t have time for Lucy Rhodes.

  I’m a former Marine, a ranch owner, and if my sister’s to be believed, a hermit. Since I returned to my small home town, I’ve spent every waking moment turning my family’s ranch into a hotel. The absolute last thing I need is a blonde complication.

  But then little Lucy Rhodes comes to town for the summer. She’s running from demons of her own, and somehow, she runs straight into me.

  She awakens something in me that I thought gone.

  She’s young and beautiful, sure, but it’s more than that. She doesn’t look at me like I’m damaged. She listens when I speak, and when she opens up to me, I know I want to spend my life protecting her.

  But as we grow closer, one thing feels inevitable… I’m going to let her down somehow, just like I’ve let everyone in this town down. I don’t know how to be the man she deserves.

  I’m not the man I once was.

  Contents

  Title Page

  1. Lucy

  2. Oliver

  3. Lucy

  4. Oliver

  5. Lucy

  6. Oliver

  7. Lucy

  8. Oliver

  9. Lucy

  10. Oliver

  11. Lucy

  12. Oliver

  13. Lucy

  14. Oliver

  15. Lucy

  16. Oliver

  17. Lucy

  18. Oliver

  19. Lucy

  20. Oliver

  21. Lucy

  22. Oliver

  23. Lucy

  24. Lucy

  25. Oliver

  26. Lucy

  27. Oliver

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  ARROGANT BOSS

  Chapter 1

  About Olivia

  Copyright © 2019 Olivia Hayle

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be distributed or transmitted without the prior consent of the publisher, except in case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews.

  All characters and events depicted in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and explicit scenes, and is intended for mature readers.

  Cover by Sarah Armitage Design

  Edited by CT Edits

  Proofread by Gray Feather Press

  www.oliviahayle.com

  1

  Lucy

  "Next stop, Claremont!"

  I watch through the window as the town rolls into view. Two-story houses and tree-lined streets, an iron-wrought lamppost on every street corner. I haven't been back here for years—not since I was a teenager. But it looks just like I remember. Just as small, just as cute, and just as empty.

  I shoulder my heavy bag and make my way off the bus. Everything I own is in it; my whole life. In the span of a few weeks, I've gone from a woman with a boyfriend, friends, a job, and an apartment, to a woman with nothing. It’s not an attractive look for a woman who’s nearly twenty-five. The only part I can focus on for the moment is the no job part. I need to find one, ASAP.

  "Luce!"

  I spot my aunt and uncle immediately—they're the only ones waiting by the desolate bus stop. My throat closes as I see them. Auntie Claire is as rosy-cheeked as ever, wrapped snugly in one of her rainbow-colored ponchos. Uncle Phil is waving so vigorously that the watch on his arm is twisting with every movement. Oh, how I've missed them.

  Claire laughs when I tell her. "We've missed you too, sweetie. And we're so happy you're back."

  Her drawl is achingly familiar and more pronounced than my own. Nearly six years away in the big city does that to you, not to mention a boyfriend who used to mock it when he’d been drinking. I had tried to fit in real fast after that.

  Uncle Phil hoists my bag into the back of their small van, and we're off through the quiet little town.

  "Claremont looks pretty much the same."

  Phil snorts from the driver's seat. "Don't let appearances fool you. The old pharmacy on Fourth Street and Maple has closed. It went right out of business."

  "And there's a new bird-watching society visiting," Claire adds. "There is some sort of warbler in these parts, hasn't been seen for a hundred years, and it's thrown the Ornithological Society into a tizzy."

  Phil taps the steering wheel. "A sparrow. It was a sparrow."

  "Oh yes, that's right. It was a sparrow."

  I grin. "Wow, that's quite a discovery."

  "It was featured in National Geographic," Phil says proudly.

  "Are you hungry, dear? You must be hungry."

  "A little. It was a long bus ride."

  "Just as well, then. Let's drop off your things at the studio and then we'll grab something to eat. How about Ricky's? Do you still remember that old place?"

  I lean in between the front seats. "How could anyone who has ever spent a day in Claremont forget about Ricky's?"

  Phil chuckles. "Quite right."

  "Is it still the town hotspot?"

  "Oh, even more," Claire says. "They've expanded the menu. You'll see."

  Phil parks the van outside the bakery. The hand-carved wooden sign is still as beautiful as it was the last time I saw it, nearly five years ago. By the Rhode. It took me a while to figure out the pun when I was a kid. Located right by Main Street, owned and operated by Claire and Phil Rhodes… Typical of Uncle Phil's humor, and the kind of inside joke only people in this town would appreciate.

  The window displays are full of cookies. There are sugar cookies decorated with colorful icing, cupcakes with elaborate frosting, and of course—their signature chocolate chip cookies. They're massive and always stuffed with whatever Auntie Claire fancied that day. Peanut butter cups… coconut flakes… toffee… pieces of candied apple. They’re legendary.

  "I've missed this place."

  "And it's missed you." Phil grins. "Come on, Luce. You have to check out the studio."

  The bakery smells the same; sugar and flour, vanilla and chocolate. It's the apple of my aunt and uncle's eye and the beating heart of this town. The morning rush for my uncle's donuts—he only makes them once a week—is out of this world.

  Claire leads the way up the narrow stairs at the back. "We finished this just a month ago. You'll be the first to stay here. Isn't it perfect? A Rhodes girl actually staying in By the Rhode… fancy that!"

  "Thanks again for helping me out like this. I honestly don't know what I'd—"

  Claire cuts me off. "Sweetie, don't you worry about a thing. That's what family is for. Besides, your uncle and I are just so happy to have you here with us for a while. You're welcome to stay for as long as you need."

  My throat tightens again. She's so like my mother in that moment, the same almond-shaped eyes, the same kind smile. There's some grey in her hair now, a few wrinkles around the eyes, but if anything, it's only made her more beautiful. I spent some of the best summers of my life here, in this small town, with her—far away from my own loving but busy parents.

  "Thank you," I whisper.

  She squeezes my arm. "Come now, honey. Let's get you settled so we can go get some food."

  The small attic is hardly recognizable. The dusty corners where I remember playing with my cousins, chasing them around bags of flour and old sieves, are gone. It's a transformation worthy of an HGTV show. There's even white-stained shiplap on the walls. I know of at least one interior design specialist who would be very proud.

  Claire sits down on the small sofa. "What do you think, Luce?"

  "It's perfect. It's so pretty. Did you and Phil really do all this?"

  "We had some help, of course. Gavin from the hardware store helped with the railing over t
here, and Oliver kindly donated some wood from last year’s batch of trees, when they cleared areas of the ranch. And—"

  I laugh. "Okay, okay. I remember this ‘it takes a village' mentality. If I let you continue, you'll be citing the woman at the grocery store for her invaluable services."

  Claire smiles. "It does take a village. I know that a ton of them will be happy to see you again."

  "Auntie, I imagine half of them don’t even remember me."

  "Of course they do! Phil and I talk about you all the time, so they could hardly forget, even if they wanted to."

  “Really?”

  “Yes. The Lucy cookie sells like hotcakes.”

  My stomach decides that it's waited long enough and lets out a loud grumble. Claire smiles and takes my bag, setting it down gently. "This studio isn't big, and it's not much, but it's yours for as long as you need it."

  I pull her into another hug. "Thank you."

  She smells of vanilla and pistachio. "You'll get back on your feet soon enough, don't you worry. We Rhodes don't give up easily. Now, let's go to Ricky's before your stomach decides to eat itself."

  The drive to Ricky's takes exactly three and a half minutes, despite Uncle Phil saying that it is all the way across town. The realization makes me smile. There are no hidden areas in Claremont, no places you can get lost in. Things are predictable… safe.

  Phil throws an arm around my shoulders as we walk in. "Does it look the same?"

  "Yes. It hasn't changed at all."

  The same neon sign is up, the same homey booths and oversized menus. Only Ricky's can manage to have a menu of nearly forty main dishes, all made up of different variations of the same ingredients. I know what I want—I want chicken fried steak, I want mashed potatoes, and I want a side of cornbread. It's home in a meal and just what I need.

  But as I scan the menu, I spot something odd. "The Morris special? I've never heard of that before. Is that a local dish?"

  "Oh, yes. That's for young Oliver Morris."

  "Not so young anymore," Phil points out. "The boy has to be at least thirty-five."

  I smile into my ice tea. "So not technically a boy then?"

  "He's certainly not a boy, and he's not thirty-five either, Phil. Not a day over thirty-three, I'd reckon. I used to bake his birthday cakes when he was a child, so I would know."

  Phil shoots me an amused glance and I look away to hide my smile. "I'm sure you're right, Auntie. Who is he?"

  "He's the old mayor's son. Played varsity basketball at the nearby college. Was quite the star. Surely you remember him from when you were here during the summers?"

  I open my mouth to reply, but Phil beats me to it. "He was one hell of a player. Could probably have gone pro, but he wanted to stay close to home."

  "I've never had the pleasure. But then, I was only here for a few weeks every summer, and it was a long time ago."

  Claire snaps her fingers. "That's it! Oliver would have been in the Army when you were here. He enlisted right out of college."

  "The Marines," Phil corrects.

  "Oh yes, that's right. Well, he's back now."

  "He's turned the old Morris Ranch into a bed and breakfast. Has a standing order with the bakery. A stand-up fellow, Oliver."

  I shake my head. "I'm sure he's a great guy, but why does he have a special on the menu at Ricky's?"

  "To honor him, of course! Ricky put that on the menu the second Oliver shipped out for his first posting."

  I look down at the description of the Morris special. It's… interesting, to say the least. "And, um, is it a best-seller?"

  "Sure, sure. It's been a while since I've had it." Phil reads it over. "I think I'll go for it tonight, actually. Why not?"

  I grin. "I can't wait to see this."

  We spend nearly ten minutes talking to the waiter—who Claire used to babysit ten years ago—and I have to wave hello to both chefs in the kitchen. It's simultaneously oppressive, this everyone-knows-everyone environment, and incredibly reassuring. It's a complete 180 from my life in Dallas.

  Phil and Claire make it nearly half-way through dinner before they broach the topic carefully. I know my mom has already filled them in on a few of the gorier details, but I know I'll have to face the facts soon enough.

  "Honey, you know we want you here. You're welcome to stay for as long as you need, and there's always work for you in the bakery."

  "Thank you. It's been a long time since I was behind a counter."

  "It's like riding a bike," Claire says. "You never forget how."

  "How about you take tomorrow to settle in, and then you can do a morning shift the day after?"

  "That sounds great. Honestly, I'm excited to get back."

  Phil clears his throat. "What happened, Luce? I thought Dallas was everything you needed."

  "It was, for a while. But then… things changed. My work changed and I couldn't stay there anymore. I broke up with Kyle, and I wanted to get away."

  Both my aunt and uncle look pleased with the last bit of information, proving what I'd really known for months but been hiding from—he was a complete deadbeat. Word of advice; when your family doesn't like the guy you’re dating, run, don't walk.

  "I wanted to get away and rethink things. On where I should go from here." I shrug. "Get some fresh perspective."

  They must sense that there's more to it, that I'm not saying everything, but they just give me the same, kind smile as always. The concern in Phil's eyes twists my heart.

  "Take all the time you need, sweetie."

  "Thank you. And while I'm in Claremont, I was thinking of maybe taking on some clients? In case there are any?"

  Claire nods. "I can think of a couple of people that might be interested, off the top of my head. I'm sure there's work for you here too."

  "Maybe I can put up some posters tomorrow."

  "You do that. You'll be back on your feet in no time, you'll see."

  I smile at them both and feel more optimistic than I have in weeks. There's a waiter who knows my name, a small studio above a bakery, and family who cares. And the best ice tea in America.

  I'll be alright.

  2

  Oliver

  I've employed idiots. Idiots who can't use a wrench, who can't work as a team, and who can't seem to concentrate. If it's too early in the morning, they're too tired. If it's too close to lunch, they're too hungry. Too soon after lunch? Well, then they're too full.

  Idiots.

  "Boss, I think it's stuck." Tim runs a hand across his forehead. It's a warm day in Claremont, and it's not even June yet.

  "No shit," I sigh. "Are the boards still in place?"

  Tim drops to his knees to check. The heavy rainfall last night turned a whole section of the ranch's parking area into mud, and one of the four-wheelers is stuck. The plan is to pull it out with my truck, but we've been at it for nearly thirty minutes and it's not budging.

  "Yeah, they're in place, but they don't seem to help."

  Jack clears his throat from his spot in the driver's seat. "Maybe we could leave it? The sun will dry the mud in time and we can crack it."

  My jaw clenches. "It's in the middle of the parking area. We have a major reservation for tomorrow. Where will the guests park?"

  He gives a chagrined smile. "You're right. Sorry, boss."

  I take another deep breath and force myself to be calm, to focus on problem-solving and solutions. It used to be easy—effortless, even—to pull out the leader side of me. It's a side that once led a group of soldiers into battle. I might take orders well, but I'm usually better at issuing them. Nearly a decade in the Marines will do that to you.

  "Jack, I want you to accelerate—slowly!—when I say so. We need to put the boards in place by the front tires. I'll get back in the truck and tow. Listen for my command, Jack."

  He nods. After a bit of maneuvering and the loud growl of the truck's engine, the four-wheeler slowly makes its way out of the mud hole. It'll need a good wash and some care, as
will we, but the gravel parking lot is at least cleared.

  I disconnect my truck from the four-wheeler with quick, experienced tugs. "See if you can cover the worst of the mud with a few bags of gravel, if we have any left. We can't have this happen to a guest’s car."

  "We're on it."

  Jack jumps off of the four-wheeler and pretends to give me a little salute. I roll my eyes at him, but he's ultimately a good kid. His mother is one of the elementary school teachers, and he’s spending the summer as my farmhand before his senior year picks up in the fall. It’s become somewhat of a rite of passage in town now, spending the summer working up at my ranch.

  I don't mind—I need the labor. Morris Ranch and Retreat employs nearly twelve people, and I have plans to expand. My family's ranch has more acres than I know what to do with and some of the most beautiful horse-riding trails in the region.

  I hear a car pull up behind us. The sound of the engine is familiar, as is the chipper voice that rings out across the parking lot.

  “Ollie, there you are! Oh, hi boys. How are you today?”

  “All good, Mrs. McKinley.”

  “Christ, Tim, call me Sarah. I’ve known you since you were a toddler.”

  Tim blushes at my sister’s comment and ducks his head. At some point, most of the young farmhands I hire have a crush on her, which, true to Sarah-fashion, she is always entirely oblivious of. Not that she’d care—a happy marriage and two small children does that to you. She still works part-time at the Ranch, commuting from her house in town.