Page 1 of The Night Ride
Chapter one
Kirkwood,Missouri
The first time I saw Aiden Miller, I was fifteen.
Our first introduction had been a scene right out of one of those teen movies.The hero walked into a room and when the heroine saw him, the entire scene went into slow motion.Suddenly, wind whipped through his hair and a halo of golden light shone upon him with a corny love song proclaiming this was a love story.
Aiden was everything a man should be.Tall, incredibly fit, with dirty blonde hair tinged with ginger and steel-blue eyes that reminded me of a calm lake, until one spied the flame within.It was a spark that burned brighter and hotter than any I’d beheld before.
He entered the room, and I fell in love.
Instantly.
Irrevocably.
As much as my battered fifteen-year-old heart could love.It’s hard to love anyone else when you don’t even love yourself.
Back then, I wanted a savior.I yearned for someone to take me away from the drudgery of my life.Except he barely looked my way.
I didn’t blame him.In those days, I had been a chunky, shy, awkward teen with braces, frizzy black hair, and the weight of the world on my shoulders.Plus, he was ten years older and one of my brother’s military friends.
But to me, he had been this golden Adonis who stole my awkward heart.Cue the teen angst and all the mushy pop love songs I played on repeat.In Your Eyesby Peter Gabrielwas still my favorite song, probably because I played it hundreds of times as I mooned over him.
I would never forget that weekend he stayed at our house eleven years ago.One of my jobs was cooking our meals.And my mom liked having breakfast by eight, even on the weekend.It turned me into an early riser.And it’s why I had already been up and at the stove by seven making pancakes, a special event because we had a guest.My mother always pretended as if we were a normal functioning family when we were anything but.
Anyhow, I stood at the stove with a spatula in my hand, preparing to flip the pancakes, whileWilson Phillips’ssongHold Onplayed on the radio.It had been another one of my favorite songs, because I lived for the day when I could leave that house and it gave me the courage to keep pushing through.When my brother and Aiden returned from their morning run, the front door slammed shut as they entered, their male laughter booming as they teased each other about who was the better sprinter, and swaggered into the kitchen—without their shirts on.
At the memory I smiled.I burned the pancakes and had to pour a fresh batch.Because the sight of Aiden shirtless fueled my young, rather tame, childish fantasies.The ones of a knight in shining armor—or, in this case, a Navy SEAL—rescuing me from the tower with the wicked witch.
Aiden became the blueprint for what I looked for in a guy, even now.But then, first crushes had a way of shaping our visions of what we considered attractive in a partner.When I compared him to the men I’d dated since, they had qualities similar to Aiden.I think it’s because we never truly forgot that first rush of young love.When it takes more than a chiseled jawline and intense steel-blue eyes to make a relationship work.
I shook myself from visions of the past.
At twenty-six, I’d stopped looking for knights to swoop in and rescue me.Because to survive in the real world, the princess learned swiftly that there weren’t any knights coming to her rescue, and she had to save her own damn hide.But it’s how a princess transforms into a queen, by taking up the sword herself and learning to fight to survive.
I shook myself from my maudlin thoughts and hefted the care packages from the back of my twelve-year-old Mazda.The one on top was postmarked for Aiden.It’s likely why on the drive home I’d thought about him.I sent all the members of my brother’s SEAL Team care packages with baked goods.And even though he had been reassigned to a new team, I still sent all his former teammates care packages.My brother said they were always a big hit.
The pale blue catering van with the Sweet Dreams Bakery logo on the side needed the engine fixed or I would have driven it to the bakery instead.I doubt it’s in my budget this month because of all the accounting discrepancies I’d come across lately.Anytime I thought about it, my blood pressure rose.
Because I think one of my employees was stealing from me.I wasn’t certain, though, and wouldn’t be until the forensic accountant I hired finished examining my books.If someone had been stealing…I sighed, then I would deal with it the same way I did everything else.One day at a time.
If the bakery snagged a catering job, I might be able to swing it.Otherwise, out of desperation, I might have to toss it on a credit card.
I juggled balancing the boxes and closing the trunk.But I was a multitasking queen.I’d had to be since I was a kid.
My father died when I was eight.I barely remember him, other than he liked butterscotch hard candies, served in the Navy, and was gone a lot because of his service.Shortly after he died, my older brother, Evan, followed in our dad’s footsteps and left home to join the Navy.At first it happened slowly.Mom began handing over responsibilities to me, starting with taking care of my younger sister, Nora.It didn’t stop there.More and more, as mom descended into the bottle, unable to deal with life now that dad was gone, she handed over the bulk of the household duties.
By the time I turned eleven, I did the cooking, cleaning, helped Nora with her schoolwork, got her ready for school each day, and put her to bed each night.After school, I would walk with Nora in her red wagon to the grocery store because mom had been too drunk to remember she had kids that needed to eat.With my brother halfway around the world fighting for our country, I was left to fend for myself.
Balancing the boxes, I used my keys and entered the small three bedroom Tudor style red brick house I bought a year ago.I loved my house.Mainly because it was mine.But the red brick made it stand out with flair because it wasn’t a cookie cutter house.It had character with arched roofs, giving the place this dramatic windswept cliff type of dwelling, even though it was located in the heart of suburbia in Kirkwood, Missouri.I’d scrimped and saved for a few years after culinary school to buy it.
It had been risky taking on a mortgage.I just started my business two years prior, but had figured this way I would build equity and could refurbish the interior if I wanted.And the moment I viewed it, I knew it was perfect.The only changes I made to the original design were, of course, the kitchen.The kitchen remodel had been an added expense to be sure, but it had been worth every penny to have a professional grade dual oven, eight burner stove installed and redo the cabinets.
My shoes squeaked on the hardwood floor.Before I set the boxes down on the table against the foyer wall, my phone rang.I swore.Kicked the door shut and fumbled for my phone.If people only knew how much I cursed in my head, they wouldn’t think me the sweet and biddable type.
Dropping my keys, they clattered to the floor as I answered the phone, rolling my eyes.It was my brother’s wife, Paige.She was his second wife.I liked her, although I barely knew her.
Pressing the speaker button as I answered, “Hey Paige, how are you?”
