A Risk Worth Taking Read online

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

  Copyright © 2013 by Victoria James. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Edited by Karen Grove and Wendy Chen

  Cover design by Liz Pelletier

  ISBN 978-1-62266-072-8

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition March 2013

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Range Rover, Coach, Pepe le Pew, Bozo the Clown, Diet Coke, Tylenol, Lexus, Perrier, Starbucks, Mini Cooper, Tom and Jerry.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Thank you to my parents, who showed me the power of unconditional love—and showed me the value in not taking the road most traveled.

  Love you always.

  Prologue

  Holly Carrington had been waiting precisely six years and four months for this day.

  She was about to get the promotion she had worked her butt off for. She could feel it down to the tips of her toes, which were, at the moment, painfully encased in chocolate-brown leather, three-inch, high-heeled boots purchased specifically for this occasion—and with a blasphemous disregard for comfort.

  Holly’s back stiffened and she scooted a little closer to the edge of her chair as the large glass doors to Martin Laurence’s office opened with a familiar, forceful swoosh. Martin Laurence, the founder and visionary behind the country’s preeminent interior design house, had entered the room. Holly knew from the moment she had graduated six years ago that she wanted to work for him. Only the best got hired, and only the most exceptional and diligent lasted at his firm. Once hired, her next goal had been to make senior designer before the age of thirty.

  The scent of Martin’s pleasant, fresh cologne wafted through the air as he walked by her, his Italian leather loafers echoing on the gleaming marble floor. Holly’s eyes followed him as he gracefully sank into the plush chair behind his massive glass and steel desk and smiled at her.

  “Good morning, Holly,” Martin said smoothly, his blue eyes locking onto hers.

  “Good morning, Martin,” she replied with as much composure as she could manage.

  “Holly, I’m not going to beat around the bush, you and I are both too busy for that. I think you know why you’re here this morning. From day one you have been an asset to this firm. Your dedication, your designs, and your attitude have always made you stand out. I had you pegged for excellence the moment you started here, and you haven’t let me down once. I’m so pleased to offer you the position of Senior Designer,” he said, finishing with his wide, perfectly polished smile.

  It took two seconds for his words to sink in, and then Holly felt the rush of accomplishment engulf her. She wanted to jump out of her leather club chair and scream YES! at the top of her lungs. She settled on a controlled, perfectly acceptable squeal of delight and tapped her feet on the floor. Martin indulged her by laughing.

  “Martin, thank you so much. You have no idea what this means to me. This has been my dream since I started working here. When you hired me, I was intimidated by the talent, but so determined to show you that I could succeed. It has been an honor to work with you, and I’ve learned so much,” she said, her words tumbling out of her mouth.

  “Thank you, Holly. I don’t ever remember hiring someone with such a work ethic. Your designs are fabulous, and our clients love you.”

  Holly waved a slender hand, graciously brushing off the compliment. But inside she cherished his words—Martin didn’t hand out praise very often.

  “I’d also like to take this opportunity to go over your new responsibilities, expectations, and, of course, salary and bonus packages,” Martin said, his eyes twinkling as he slid a black leather portfolio across the desk.

  Holly couldn’t stop smiling as she reached for the folder, her perfect French-manicured nails standing out against the black leather. Poor, small-town Holly was no more. She had been replaced by this successful, confident, twenty-eight-year-old woman who had made a name for herself in a cutthroat business. Tonight she was going to celebrate with her sister, Jennifer, her brother-in-law, and their six-month-old daughter. The timing couldn’t have been better. Jen had invited Holly to dinner tonight, and Holly was going to surprise them with the drawings and plans she had just completed for their home renovation. In a few months, Jen and Rick were going to be leaving the city behind to move back to their hometown of Red River. Holly and Jen had inherited their grandparents’ old home—and it had always been Jen’s dream to live there again. Holly was looking forward to heading up the renovation for them and had already secured a leave of absence to oversee the project. She and Jennifer had come a long way together, and there wasn’t anyone more deserving of that home.

  The low vibration of a cell phone against Martin’s glass desktop yanked Holly from her thoughts, and both she and Martin glanced to see which phone was buzzing. Sure enough, it was hers.

  “If you have to answer that, go ahead,” Martin said, motioning with his chin to her phone. Keeping their high-profile, high-maintenance clients happy was a priority. Holly nodded, her finger already on the button to accept the call.

  “Holly Carrington, senior designer at the Martin Group,” she answered in a singsong voice. Martin chuckled and shifted away from her to look at his computer.

  There was brief static on the other end of the line and then, “Holly Carrington?”

  “Yes,” Holly replied, her smile faltering marginally at the woman’s tight, clipped tone.

  “Ms. Carrington, my name is Kathleen and I’m a nurse at Toronto General Hospital.”

  Holly frowned, her mind scurrying for a reason that the hospital would be calling her.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Carrington, but your sister, Jennifer, has been involved in a car accident.”

  Holly’s heart lurched forward. “Car accident?”

  “Yes, Ms. Carrington. I’m afraid we need you to get to the hospital as soon as possible. Your sister and her husband were badly injured,” the nurse said, her tone softening.

  The impact of those words hit Holly with the force of a falling building. She didn’t move. She stared at Martin’s perfectly coiffed black hair. His pleasant, expensive cologne had suddenly become overpowering and stifling. The low rumble of traffic below, the honking horns, and muted pedestrian chatter circled around her. She could not process. Could not breathe. Could not speak.

  “Ms. Carrington, are you still there?”

  Holly bit her lower lip, feeling the sting of blood creep into her mouth. She cleared her throat and forced out the only question that mattered. “Are they okay?”

  The nurse sighed. “Ms. Carrington, I wish it were better news. We will tell you everything when you get here. Are you able to get to the hospital?”

  “Yes, of course,” Holly murmured, standin
g, adrenaline finally kicking in as she scrambled with hands that felt like rubber to gather her belongings. She needed to get to her family.

  “Come to the Emergency Department. Identify yourself, and you’ll be escorted inside.”

  Holly stopped abruptly, her bag dropping to the ground with a loud thud as a chilling thought stole through her.

  Holly asked a question that her heart already had the answer to. She asked it with a voice she didn’t recognize, and with a heart that was breaking. “But they are going to be okay? My sister is going to be okay, right?”

  “I’m so sorry, Ms. Carrington.”

  The tremor that began in her heart exploded like a bomb throughout her core, consuming everything inside her as the voice on the other end confirmed news she would never be able to accept.

  Slowly, the carefully put together ensemble consisting of a new silk suit, matching chocolate brown leather boots, perfectly highlighted caramel-colored hair, and meticulously applied makeup began to feel as though it were being peeled, pulled, and stripped from her body.

  All of it superficial, unimportant trivialities.

  Chapter One

  “Daniel, this is my first day off work, remember? My high-maintenance clients are now yours. Enjoy,” Holly teased, her eyes focused on the country road ahead. “I know it’ll be boring over there without me for two months, but I’ll be back,” she promised, her smile wavering as the “Welcome to Red River” sign came into view. The blue, wooden billboard was a little weathered, a little beaten, but it was achingly familiar.

  “I’m sure I’ll manage. But first, you need to give me your opinion on that color,” Daniel whined.

  Holly didn’t answer him. The jolt of sentimentality that clogged her throat as she approached her hometown rendered her incapable of giving a damn which shade of taupe paint should be used in the Thorntons’ front foyer. “I’m sorry to cut you off, but I’m going to have to call you back,” Holly whispered, not waiting for her colleague’s response. She threw her hands-free earpiece onto the empty passenger seat beside her.

  Holly eased her foot off the gas, allowing her life in the city to fade away as she entered the town she hadn’t called home for ten years. A barrage of memories she didn’t even know she possessed pummeled through her tired mind and hijacked her senses as she drove down the hill she and Jennifer had once bicycled on daily as children. She wondered if it still smelled of fresh-cut grass and dewy fall leaves. The old lift-bridge looked the same, but the view was different from her SUV.

  Holly almost missed the turn onto the road that led to her grandparents’ vacant house. Her sweating hands gripped the leather steering wheel and her stomach turned at a nauseating pace as the faded yellow-brick Victorian home came into view. It was no longer the same majestic, proud structure it had been when her grandparents were alive. Instead, it was a sorry shell of the house that once was.

  The grass that her grandfather had meticulously cut every week was now knee high and unkempt. Her grandmother’s spotless veranda looked more brown than white. And it didn’t look nearly as welcoming without the overflowing flower baskets that her grandmother had hung at every post on the porch. The bright yellow watering can she so clearly remembered from her youth wasn’t on the ledge, and the white wicker furniture was in storage. Holly frowned as she stared at the sight before her. The property was achingly deserted. If a house could have shed tears, this one surely would have. Neither she nor Jen had the heart to sell their childhood home after their grandparents had died, especially since Jen had always made it clear that when she had a family, she’d move back to Red River. It should have been the four of them driving here today, ready to embark on the renovation. It was Jen’s dream to return the old house to its former glory, and to have Ella’s laughter filling the rooms, just as Jen’s and Holly’s had done so long ago. Except things hadn’t gone according to plan. Jen had never even seen Holly’s plans for the home. Now Jen and Rick were gone…

  Ella’s gentle snore from the backseat forced Holly to get a grip on her emotions. She clutched the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles turning white. She needed to remember why she was here—renovate, decorate, and sell the house. Then all her ties to this town would be permanently severed. She wouldn’t be forced to remember all the people she’d lost. She wouldn’t have to fight the images of them when they’d all been alive and living here together. Eight weeks. She had to survive eight weeks in Red River, and then she could get back to her regularly scheduled life in Toronto.

  Holly turned onto the long, gravel-filled driveway lined with evergreens and parked in front of the detached garage. She glanced over her shoulder at Ella, who was still sleeping peacefully, her lips hugging the pacifier. Holly pulled her keys out of the ignition and eyed the distance from the front porch to her SUV. She decided she could safely leave Ella in the car while she opened up the house. Ella had only fallen asleep twenty minutes ago, and she had no intention of waking her, especially since the baby wouldn’t be able to nap until Holly figured out how to assemble the crib. Ella’s nanny, Mary, had emphasized repeatedly the importance of Ella having a daily nap. Holly wished that Mary could have made the trip with them, but it was against agency policy. So now Holly was about to have a crash-course in dealing with her little niece—and it terrified her. Back in Toronto, Mary had done all the day-to-day caregiving, while Holly maintained her grueling work schedule. Now it was all up to Holly. She glanced over at Ella one more time, made sure the back window was open slightly, then quietly stepped from the driver’s seat, locking the car after she’d shut the door.

  Her running shoes crunched softly against the gravel as she walked up the uneven path to the porch. Images flashed before her eyes: her grandfather mowing the lawn, her grandmother standing with the door ajar, calling them in for dinner, while she and Jennifer chattered about the latest school gossip on the front porch. If she could just have one more minute with them, one moment to tell them how much she loved them and to feel the warmth of their hugs… She refused to let the tears that were incessantly filling her eyes fall. But oh, she wanted a good, long cry. She wanted to weep for the couple that had given her courage and love and strength, and cry for the sister that she missed every single day. She cleared her throat and shook her head. Get a hold of yourself, Holly. She buttoned her chunky sweater coat with a slight shiver, the damp fall air adding to the chills that were already weaving through her body as she made her way to the front porch. There were boards covering the windows and front door. She knew she was early, but she had hoped that Quinn would have gotten around to opening up the house for her. She’d obviously thought wrong.

  The smooth, low rumble of a car engine approaching ripped through the silence of her thoughts. A black Range Rover crunched against gravel and rolled to a smooth stop behind her SUV. Her heart picked up pace because she already knew who was in that vehicle.

  Holly had contacted Quinn Manning months ago, letting him know that she was coming back to Red River and needed his company to handle the restoration and renovation of her grandparents’ house. She had no choice but to contact Manning & Son Construction: they were the best renovation and building company around. And despite the many passing years, her stomach still did a few traitorous somersaults and her heart skipped when Quinn’s deep voice had greeted hers on the other end of the line. And then her mind had gone to her last night in Red River—when she’d humiliated herself in front of the man. Of course, she knew Quinn would never bring it up. He had probably dismissed it as just a silly teenage crush. Better he thought that.

  Holly wiped her clammy hands on the front of her jeans as Quinn approached. This would be the first time she’d seen him in years… Maybe he’d lost his appeal. Maybe age had turned him into someone that didn’t resemble the young man she had fantasized about in high school. As Quinn rounded the corner, her question was answered: unfortunately for her, Quinn had only gotten better looking with age. A jolt of energy stronger than a grande non-fat cappuccino co
ursed through her veins. Quinn’s face had become more rugged, his chiseled features more striking—almost as striking as the blue eyes that were staring at her intently. The navy crewneck he wore hugged broad, sculpted shoulders and a flat, narrow waist. His dark blue, faded jeans outlined his long, powerful legs. With each step he took in her direction, it was as though he erased each year that had passed. His walk was casual, but so sexy, so confident, so…Quinn. He had the walk of a man who knew himself and didn’t give a damn what the world thought of him.

  Holly waved, and then, feeling awkward, quickly put her hand back down.

  “Welcome back, Holly,” Quinn said as he reached the front porch. His voice held a note of tenderness, and it ignited a flame in her heart. He perched his right work boot on the first step, his large, tanned hand leaning against his denim-clad leg, and she found herself reacting to the very masculine pose.

  “Thanks, it’s nice to see you,” she answered, trying not to cringe at the awkwardness she heard in her voice.

  “You, too,” he said, his eyes flickering over her. Holly clutched the corners of her sweater together tightly. He’s not checking you out, he’s just, well, looking at a person he hasn’t seen in a long time. Holly wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Gone was the girl from his past, that much was obvious. She wasn’t as skinny as she had been at eighteen. She felt old, like she’d aged twenty years in the last four months. And then there was the matter of her weekend “uniform,” which consisted of jeans and T-shirts and, if she were lucky, a sweater. Today, she was lucky. And if she grasped the curled edges of said sweater together tightly enough, she might even be able to hide the remainder of Ella’s lunch she was sure was crusted on the shirt beneath it. She had no idea how Ella’s nanny always seemed so neat and tidy. After only a few minutes with Ella, Holly was always covered in either juice or food.

  “I’m so sorry about Jennifer,” he said, frowning, his voice gruff with emotion. It was the softness in his deep voice, the empathy she saw in his eyes, that made her breath catch and her heart ache. But she couldn’t talk about it. She didn’t want to talk about it. Because if she did, she would break down. And she couldn’t do that.