Hurricane Bride Read online

  Hurricane Bride

  Devils on Horseback Millennium

  Book 3

  A Magnolias and Moonshine novella

  Beth Williamson

  Welcome to the Magnolias and Moonshine series, where you’ll fall in love with the South.

  Twenty New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon bestselling authors joined together to bring you a taste of Southern charm in this brand-new Magnolias & Moonshine series.

  There is something for everyone with these ten sweet and ten sizzle contemporary novellas. You’ll enjoy stories with cowboys, weddings, county fairs, lovers reunited, and much more.

  Step into the world of the South and hear the cicadas, taste the mint juleps, see the stars, and smell the magnolias.

  Authors in novella release order:

  Ciara Knight (Sweet)

  Hildie McQueen (Sizzle)

  Beth Williamson (Sizzle)

  Susan Hatler (Sweet)

  Lindi Peterson (Sweet)

  Kymber Morgan (Sizzle)

  Amanda McIntyre (Sizzle)

  Lucy McConnell (Sweet)

  Sharon Hamilton (Sizzle)

  Lisa Kessler (Sizzle)

  Kirsten Osbourne (Sweet)

  Susan Carlisle (Sizzle)

  Tina DeSalvo (Sizzle)

  Raine English (Sweet)

  Amelia C. Adams (Sweet)

  E. E. Burke (Sizzle)

  Melinda Curtis (Sweet)

  Merry Farmer (Sizzle)

  Shanna Hatfield (Sweet)

  Jennifer Peel (Sweet)

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  About the Magnolias and Moonshine series

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Excerpt from Moon Over Atlanta

  Other Books from Magnolias and Moonshine

  Devils on Horseback Millennium

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  ‡

  The long, winding road led Claire past beautiful, stately oaks and mature bushes, allowing her peeks at classic Southern houses. It was a gorgeous area of Atlanta she’d not explored before. Not that she had time. Working had consumed her. Not that she had to worry about that any longer.

  She reached the address she’d been given and turned down the driveway. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight.

  The house was magnificent. Six columns stood like sentinels in front of the structure, complete with a wide front porch with half dozen rocking chairs and swirling iron railings. Green bushes ripe with a riot of pink blossoms accentuated the winding path to the front door.

  Sunshine sparkled on the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. Dark green hedges, perfectly manicured, lined the front porch. The grass was a thick, rich green and cut to perfection with a criss-cross pattern.

  The oval sign in front proclaimed it the Peach Bellini Bed & Breakfast in rich, gold lettering adorned with peach blossoms painted with an artisan’s skill. This was definitely the right place.

  She took a deep breath and drove around the back of the house to park. A small cottage was nestled among the trees beside a larger barn. A gazebo sat in a fairy-like garden decorated with iron benches and more gorgeous flowers and bushes. Whoever the gardener was, he or she was amazing. The entire place had a surreal, other-time feel to it.

  Her newly found cousin Pearl had told her the house had been rebuilt in the 1920s after a fire. The original house had been constructed before the Civil War. This was a true antebellum property, converted into a bed and breakfast.

  Claire closed her eyes and fisted her hands. This was a chance to get back on her feet. The other option, calling her family in Texas for help, was a last resort. She could get through this. She would get through this. Atlanta was her new home, and she’d do her damnedest to stay here.

  She got out of the car and noted Manny and Pearl walking toward her from the back of the house, through a sweeping veranda covered with white iron furniture. The sound of birds singing and bees buzzing filled the air along with the sweet perfume of the flowers and trees. It was idyllic and beautiful, a paradise.

  The two of them were a few inches shorter than Claire, with silver hair and laughing eyes. They were a typical elderly couple, holding hands as they walked. According to Pearl, they’d been married forty years. Claire didn’t know them well, but they had made her feel safe and welcome from the moment they’d met six months earlier.

  Pearl was a distant cousin Claire had gotten in touch with when she had moved to Atlanta last fall. The sixty-something woman and her sweet husband had been a lifeline during the darkest day of her life. It was then Pearl had mentioned the job at the Peach Bellini.

  Claire was so grateful for the opportunity. Her life so far in Atlanta had been rocky, to say the least. It wasn’t in her plan to work at a bed and breakfast, but it was a job a place to sleep.

  “Claire!” Pearl’s Southern drawl almost pulled the one syllable name into two. “I’m so glad you see you, darlin’.” Her wide smile helped dispel the tension in Claire’s shoulders.

  The petite woman pulled Claire into a hug, and the smell of vanilla surrounded her. For some foolish reason, her eyes pricked with tears. As the middle of four children—along with her twin brother—and a couple dozen cousins of all types, she’d been surrounded by family her entire life. Moving to Atlanta had been her choice, and she didn’t regret it, however, until this moment, she’d always felt smothered by her family’s attention.

  Now their absence was a bittersweet ache in her chest.

  “Thank you for this.” She pulled back and shook Manny’s proffered hand. “I, uh, brought my things in the car.”

  Claire gestured to her subcompact. She planned to buy a larger, nicer car in the fall but at least this little blue one was paid for. It had carried all her things from Texas to Atlanta, and she hadn’t bought anything since, for the most part. Leaving the plush condo had taught her a great deal about self-control and courage.

  Taking this job would teach her more.

  “Let us give you a tour before you settle in, hm?” Pearl tucked her arm into Claire’s. “We’ll start with the front and work our way back.”

  Whatever the day held, everything was up from here. Claire was a Blackwood, and she would do her family proud.

  *

  Damn sprinkler had a mind of its own. Boyd Rowe glared at the offending valve, but it didn’t move. He’d traced the issue to an actuator, which he’d replaced, but the valve that controlled the quadrant of sprinklers refused to budge.

  As the groundskeeper for the Peach Bellini, his days were never boring. The constant upkeep of the trees, bushes, flowers, and grass kept him busy day and night. The sprinkler in the entire back corner of the lawn had stopped working, but he wasn’t sure when. The hurricane a week earlier had left at least three inches of rain, so he hadn’t noticed the difference until this morning.

  He’d dug a small hole to get to the valve and had wrestled with it for an hour. A few voices had drifted by now and then, but he hadn’t looked up. Probably just some guests touring the grounds after arriving on this gorgeous Friday morning.

  His muscles screamed from the effort, and when his hand slipped, he fell, landing face-first in the moist ground. He was in a shady spot where the morning dew painted his cheek. The humidity was thick as it always was in mid-summer, and he lay there for a minute giving his muscles a break and his dignity a chance to recover.

  Then a woman screamed.

  A body landed, knees first, into his side. Well, hell’s bells, what the actual fuck?

  Someone yanked his arm and
rolled him over. Boyd groaned and blinked up at the most striking woman he’d ever seen. She was curvaceous to the point his hands itched to follow the path of her voluptuous body. Her hair was a riot of rich color with hues of browns, golds, and russets sparkling in the dappled sunlight. Her eyes were the warm brown of good whiskey—and they were filled with panic.

  “You’re not dead.”

  He blinked. “No, and thanks for the diagnosis.”

  She wore a pretty yellow dress with a white cardigan and a string of pearls. She could have walked out of a 1950s magazine ad. No doubt she wore a pair of white pumps, too.

  “Jesus, I thought you were dead.” She glanced down at the grass stains that marked the front of her perfect dress. “Shit.”

  “Thanks for trying to rescue me.” He pressed a hand to his ribs that smarted from her sharp knees.

  “I’m sorry. I saw you lying there and I thought…never mind. It’s obvious what I thought.” She got to her feet, and he had a glimpse of those white shoes with the sexiest ankles he’d ever seen.

  He sat up and, to his surprise, she stuck out a hand to help him up. He smiled, and her cheeks grew pink. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m too heavy. I’d drag you down and get more grass on your pretty dress.”

  She stepped back and didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands as they fluttered.

  That’s when the valve decided to let loose. Like a geyser. The water shot at least thirty feet into the air and rained around them like a good old-fashioned downpour. The woman stared wide-eyed at him, and he laughed. A big old belly buster of a laugh. After all the time he’d tried to fix the damn thing…

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. That valve was stuck tight, but I guess I loosened it.”

  She frowned at him as she stepped away from the flow of water. It was too late. That yellow dress had shown him all her secrets. The woman had the curves of a goddess. Hell and crackers.

  “Let me turn the water off.” He managed to twist the valve shut again and then got to his feet. He wiped the water out of his eyes and turned back to the woman.

  “That was not what I needed to happen today.” She dripped with as much water as he did. It was like something out of a romance novel.

  “I really am sorry about that.” He stood and held out his hand. “I’m Boyd Rowe.”

  She glanced at his dirty, sweaty, dripping hand and shook it. Points for her. “Claire Blackwood.”

  Pearl was walking toward the two of them with her usual smile in place. “Looks like you unstuck the sprinkler.” She shook her head. “I see you’ve met each other. Claire is my cousin who moved to Atlanta last year. She’s going to join our little family to help with the horses and the meals.”

  His brows nearly touched his hairline. She was there to work? Dressed like a suburban socialite? Right now, a drowned socialite, but the dress was likely worth more than all his clothes put together.

  “Great. I can’t spend as much time with the horses as I need to.” He noted Claire stood straight, her hands clenched, her gaze somewhere on the horizon while drops rolled down her damp skin. “You have experience with horses?”

  “Grew up on a ranch. Rode almost before I walked.” Her voice was clipped.

  “But have you mucked stalls and cleaned hooves?” He couldn’t help himself from testing her to see if she would respond to his teasing.

  She met his gaze, and he saw an intensity he’d not seen in a woman before. Whomever Claire Blackwood was, she was wound very, very tight. “Yes, I’ve also groomed countless horses, helped birth foals, cleaned teeth, and even made poultices for insect stings.”

  He was surprised, to say the least. The way she’d looked at the grass and dirt, she seemed to be the type to give orders and not put the work in.

  “Good to hear. We have four mares, all quarter horses around ten to twelve years old. They’re all good girls, but I have one troublemaker who needs a special touch.” He pointed at the barn nestled in the corner of the sweeping five-acre lawn. “We go on trail rides every Saturday afternoon, so maybe after breakfast tomorrow we can go for a ride to get you used to the horses.”

  Truthfully, he wanted to give her the mucking duty right away, but he’d already cleaned the stalls that morning. Tomorrow was as good as any time to hand over the reins. He chuckled at his own inner wit.

  Pearl clapped her hands together. “Perfect. Claire, let me show you the cottage and give you an hour or so to settle in and put on some dry clothes. Then you can help me with lunch around eleven.”

  Claire nodded at him and then left with Pearl. Boyd couldn’t help but watch that ass move in the yellow dress. She was a sexy damn woman, but there was little chance they would do anything more than work together. He wasn’t one to socialize with people who were that intense.

  Life was meant to be lived, not worried over. He planned things, but not everything. Surprises were one of the greatest treasures in the universe. Who was he to ruin that?

  *

  The cottage was a fairy tale come to life. It enchanted Claire from the moment she saw it. The building was tucked into thick trees that hung around it in a protective embrace and was painted a French blue with white shutters and a yellow door.

  “This is the only original building still standing as it was when it was built back in the 1800s.” Pearl was giving her the history as they walked up the cobblestone walkway. “As the story goes, it housed the hostler and his family, which was unheard of for a servant like that. The family who built the property always loved horses and employed only the best.”

  Claire winced at word servant since she never expected she would working as one herself, but historically speaking, it was accurate. She breathed in the scent of magnolias from the large tree that sat near one corner of the house, the blossoms open like welcoming hands.

  Pearl unlocked the door and held up the peach-shaped key chain. “We don’t stand on ceremony, so here is your key.”

  Claire accepted the offering and stepped into the small cottage. It was one large room with a fireplace, sofa, a scarred wooden table that held two chairs, and a kitchen with the basic appliances and a large island.

  “Your room is just down here on the left.” Pearl pointed at an open door. “The linens are fresh, changed them myself this morning. I’ll get you a towel to dry off, then you can get yourself unpacked and freshened up. You might want to wear something less formal to make lunch.” She smiled and Claire found herself smiling back.

  “I wanted to make a good impression. This was a job interview.” Claire’s father had taught her to always bring her best to every situation, including the way she dressed. A job interview, no matter if it was for kitchen maid and stall mucker, was a big deal.

  “You’re a gem, Claire. Now, let me get you a towel.” Pearl left the room and Claire glanced down at the grass stains on her wet dress and frowned. It would take a supernatural act to get that out of linen. Damn. She didn’t have money for new clothes and wouldn’t for some time.

  “Here you go.” The older woman breezed back in and handed her a fluffy blue towel. “I’ll see you up at the main house in an hour.” Pearl kissed her cheek and, with a cloud of her vanilla scent, left the cottage.

  After drying off as best she could, Claire returned to the car and wheeled her suitcases into the cottage. She tried to forget about what had happened with that man. Boyd Rowe. She was horrified to discover a man face down on the ground, but mortified to discover he was very much alive. Then the water burst had paralyzed her. She didn’t know whether to run, cry, or laugh.

  Boyd was different than her former fiancé, Richard, in every way possible. While Richard was tall, with an athletic build, blond hair, and green eyes, Boyd was dark. He had jet-black hair, bright blue eyes, and a rather nasty scar running down his whiskered cheek. Lord only knew how often he shaved. His body was ripped, and given how close she’d gotten to him, the muscles were from hard work and not from a gym.

  He set her off balance, and she didn’t l
ike it. How much would she see him anyway? After he introduced her to the horses, she would take over their care and work in the kitchen. Perhaps a passing hello now and then would be all their interaction. She had to get her life together, and that didn’t include another man.

  Claire took a deep breath and took a good look at her new room. It had a queen-size bed with an enamel and brass headboard, which looked as original as the building. There was a small chest of drawers with beautiful inlays down the sides and a matching nightstand. Half a dozen hooks on the wall were going to be handy for lots of things, because the closet was the size of a box of cereal.

  She changed into a pair of capris, Keds sneakers, and a clean blouse, then ran a brush through her hair. The antique mirror on the wall revealed a wild-eyed woman with no idea what she was doing. She clenched her hands until her still-manicured nails bit in her palms.

  Claire glanced around and decided it was better than the inside of her car and the cheap motel she’d stayed in for the last three days. Her throat tightened, and she sat on the edge of the bed and closed her eyes. Claire knew she could call her brother Kyle and he’d be at her side as fast as he could get there from Texas. Her twin had texted her several times this past week begging her to come home.

  She couldn’t.

  Atlanta was a place she felt a connection to, and the Blackwoods were originally from the area until after the Civil War. After living in the shadow of her insecurities for so long, Claire needed to stand on her own two feet and figure her shit out.

  No matter what happened, she had risen like a phoenix from the ashes of her life. This job would be what she needed and she could plan the next steps from here. It was a roof over her head and food to eat. For now, it would be enough.

  After putting her clothes away in the chest and closet and on the hooks, she tucked the suitcases under the bed. Claire set her laptop on the bed and stacked the books she’d brought with her on the dresser. She’d ask Pearl if there was a small bookcase she could borrow.

  She left the cottage, locking it behind her and pocketing the key. The morning heat was building and the humidity closed around her like a wet, warm washcloth. She walked toward the back of the house and took the time to look at the beautiful grounds as she walked. It was peaceful. An Eden in the middle of a city, which was incongruous and made it that much more special.