Audrey’s Inn

  Audrey’s Inn

  Elle Aycart

  Edited by

  Rebecca at Fairest Reviews Editing Services

  Cover designed by

  Sofichinski Designs

  Formatted by

  Pinpoint Editing

  Audrey’s Inn Copyright © February 2021 by Elle Aycart.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  This book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  About the Author

  Also by Elle Aycart

  Chapter One

  Being back home felt awkward as fuck.

  Connor Stonewell downed a flute of champagne and with a polite nod accepted a second one from the waitress. He shouldn’t be drinking, but whatever. There were only three things one could do at an inn’s grand opening: eat, drink, and mingle. He didn’t have much of an appetite on the best of days, and he sure as hell wasn’t up for mingling.

  The party was full of familiar faces, people he’d known for ages—and yet it was so damn weird being around them. It wasn’t their fault. He was the one who had changed. Alden was exactly as calm, peaceful, and content as it had always been. All the things he wasn’t anymore. But not coming this evening would have raised questions, and he wasn’t ready to give any answers.

  So here he was, standing in a corner, smiling and drinking and deflecting left and right any attempt at chitchat. He’d never mastered the art of small talk. His years in the military hadn’t helped matters. The last six months had totally killed any inkling he had about trying it.

  Thank God Rachel and Mike hadn’t drilled him much about his sudden return home. That was the good side of knowing someone forever: they could read you without words. It was the bad side too.

  His gaze strayed to the table where his grandmother and her two partners-in-crime sat. The OGs, Original Grandmas, was what Mike, Rachel, and he had christened them as soon as the grannies started with their shenanigans. They were talking with a dark-haired goddess, the new owner of Audrey’s Inn—Audrey something. His eyes kept straying to her. Gorgeous face. Hourglass body. Magnificent ass, best he’d ever seen. And she wasn’t only beautiful, but clever too; she’d made the rounds, engaging everyone but him. Of him, she’d steered clear.

  Good instincts, that Audrey. Who said looks and brains never went together?

  The OGs seemed to be having a ball with her, which probably meant they were planning something that would bring trouble for everyone, especially their grandkids.

  At that moment Rachel walked into the garden with a man in tow. Waving, she darted to Connor and kissed him. “Con, this is Adrian.”

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Sheriff,” Connor said, shaking hands with Adrian.

  “Good or bad?” Adrian ventured, as if dreading the answer.

  Connor had arrived home to find his father had gone on vacation after filing a petition to have Connor’s grandma declared incompetent. That had not been the only surprise, though. “What do you think? You arrested the OGs, locked them in a cell almost butt-naked, and conspired with the judge to get them community service.”

  “I thought you said he didn’t read Messenger?” Adrian asked Rachel.

  “I had time to catch up,” Conner answered. “I also was told Rachel loves you, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. After all, the OGs like you.”

  Adrian beamed—not about the grannies liking him, probably, but about Rachel loving him. The guy was head over heels. “Thanks. It’s good you’re here. Rachel and Mike were drowning.”

  Connor smiled tightly. “I noticed. Don’t worry, I’ll be pulling my weight now.”

  He had yet to get through all the messages on the OGs’ group chat, but what he’d read had been… crazy. No wonder Mike and Rachel were up to their necks trying to keep the OGs out of jail. Now, though, Adrian and Rachel were living together and blissfully in love, as were Mike and Kyra. Which left only Con to hold down the fort. They’d covered for him all the years he’d been away. Time to return the favor. Besides, he had nothing else to do. It was the upside of having your life go down the drain: lots and lots of free time to contemplate the destruction.

  Rachel, never one to have problems expressing her feelings, hugged him. “We missed you, Con. And not only because of you-know-who regressing to their teens. I’m glad you’re back for good.”

  “I missed you too,” he said, promptly breaking off the embrace. He didn’t use to have problems with proximity or affection. Now he did.

  Excusing himself, he went to the bathroom, hoping he could make an exit soon. There were too many people there, and happy people at that. He wasn’t sure what to do with happy people. He had nothing in common with them.

  When Con came back, Adrian was on his knees, proposing. Successfully, by the looks of it. Good for Rachel. She deserved happiness. Same for Mike. Con loved them like the siblings he’d never had.

  “The man of the hour.” Max, the youngest Bowen brother, clapped him on the back and brought him out of his reverie. “The whole town is talking about your return.” It had happened not even forty-eight hours ago. This place damn sure hadn’t changed.

  Annie, the owner of Alden’s candy shop, was by Max’s side. He was carrying a cute baby, only months old.

  At Connor’s surprised gaze, Max smiled. “My wife and our baby girl, Lizzie.”

  “Wow, congratulations.” Last time Con had been in Alden, Max had been a chick magnet riding the wave of careless bachelorhood. Now he was a husband and a dad and looked sappily in love. Talk about pulling a 180. Then again, Connor had been a career soldier and a productive member of society, not a mental case and a wreck of a civilian like he was now. At least Max’s 180 had been for the better. “I’m so happy for you.” And he was, but so much bliss made him feel queasy. As if he hadn’t felt out of place already.

  “Thanks.” Annie waved to someone and excused herself.

  “Mike said you’re back for good this time,” Max observed. “What are your plans?”

  Ha! That was the question of the century. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around not being a soldier. Although nowadays, he couldn’t even wrap his mind around being human. He should have had time to master it, after all the months he’d spent being patched up in hospitals. He forced a smile. “Not sure.”

  “If you’re looking for a job, Cole would be ecstatic to hire you. James too.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind, but I think I’m going to take a break before starting anything.”

  He liked all the Bowens, especially Cole. The oldest of the Bowen brothers had served three tours in the Marines. He was Con’s kind of guy. Stoic. Dependable. Man of
few words. But Con didn’t trust himself around people, much less in a hardhat area full of loud sounds and dangerous machinery. He needed a quieter workplace, preferably one with no humans around. James Bowen ran a security company, which meant fewer people but still too many, especially when they were hired for big events.

  “Yeah. Take a break,” Max assented. “You’ve earned it.”

  Connor wasn’t sure what he’d earned.

  Suddenly, the sounds of dogs barking and growling from afar reached him. He froze, his heart jumping to his throat. Fuck.

  Max frowned. “You okay?”

  Con nodded curtly. “I have to…” Get the fuck out of here.

  He didn’t need to say anything, though. Max was a chatterbox, but a perceptive one. The baby started fussing, and using that as an excuse, Max left Connor in peace. Before walking away, he said, “So glad to have you home.”

  He might have said something else, but Connor didn’t hear. His brain was stuck on the dogs barking, madly spinning its wheels. He knew it was nothing but sound, totally unrelated to him, but his mind didn’t care and sent his body into overdrive. His heart rate sped up, his breathing too. Fuck, and here came the cold sweat and nausea. He was going to barf his lunch—or rather his breakfast of two days ago, which was the last time he’d eaten. He had to find a private place pronto, so he could have his little meltdown in peace. No need to lose his shit in front of the whole town and freak everyone out.

  He stepped backward and faded into the shadows. All the guests were gathered by the pool. Breathing heavily, heart about to explode, he staggered in the opposite direction, where the lakeshore was.

  Fuck, he hadn’t had such a strong response to a trigger for months. He’d heard dogs barking and growling before, and he’d managed to stay grounded and avoid the panic reaction. But he’d lowered his defenses and dared to relax at the party. Mingle with normal people. Bad idea.

  His intention was to reach the dock, let the sound of water calm him, but he wasn’t going to make it that far. Struggling to keep upright, he tried to take in the crisp smell of freshly cut grass. He knew the drill; he had to concentrate on evening out his breathing. And talk himself down.

  He looked up and felt momentarily relief; staring at the night sky always gave him a wondrous sense of joy. It was the windowless shitholes he couldn’t stand. Their rancid smell was of blood and death, while dogs barked ferociously, demanding their pound of flesh.

  His mind reacted right away at that thought and started racing again. Crap, wrong turn. Back to the crisp smell of grass and the stars and the vastness of the sky. It wasn’t helping this time around, though. He opened his mouth, but he could barely take in any air. It looked as though he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself from losing his shit.

  * * *

  “Are you sure we’ll have enough finger food?” Audrey asked her chef. Being understaffed was bad enough. Running out of food would be a disaster.

  “Stop fretting. It’s all good. There’s more than enough.” Red, her chef, handed her a tray of raspberry tartlets. “Go out and mingle.”

  “Right.” Audrey was tapped out. Being the perfect hostess was exhausting. Besides, she’d been fretting over all sorts of things for so long, she wasn’t sure how to relax. And she had to bring her A game to the table. She needed this inn to succeed—otherwise, not even selling her organs would make the payments.

  “I took a peek,” Red added, giving her a sidelong smile. “The place is full of good-looking men.”

  “No time for good-looking men.” Or any other men, for that matter.

  Red countered, “You have to promote the inn. It’s the perfect excuse to get to know some sexy stranger.”

  No, thank you. The last sexy stranger she’d met had destroyed her life and that of her roommate, getting her so deep in shit that she was still treading water. Her roommate hadn’t been that lucky.

  Poor Pudding. Thinking about her roommate was a bad idea. This was not the time nor place.

  Blinking back tears, Audrey sighed out loud and, tray in hand, went through the kitchen door into the back yard. She’d walk the perimeter before joining the crowd by the pool. The timeout would do her good.

  Near the dock, she saw a shape crouched on the grass. An animal? Did they have wolves thirty minutes from Boston? She was from Texas. There were wild beasts all over that state.

  When she approached, she realized it was a man on his knees. Frakity frak. Had she poisoned someone already? Granted, she’d hired her chef on a whim, but setting aside her last place of employment, Red had graduated from a top culinary school. And Audrey had helped out very little in the kitchen—that ought to have minimized the chances of fucking shit up.

  As she moved even closer, she realized the man was gasping for air. “You dizzy?” she asked, hoping it was booze that had him on the ground.

  No answer. No signal he’d even heard her.

  She reached for him. The second she touched him, he spun and lunged at her, closing his hands around her throat. He moved so fast, she didn’t even have time to react. The tray fell, tartlets scattering in the grass as he pushed her until her back slammed against the side of the barn.

  She grabbed his wrists and tried breaking his hold. Not a chance. His eyes were feral, his mouth a scowl. She pulled at his strong arms in a silent plea, but there was no mercy to be had. He was enraged, his face a harsh mask of violence.

  He loomed over her, his fingers curling tighter around her neck, body shifting to increase his leverage, until the movement brought a beam of light into his eyes from a lantern on the wall. It blinded him for a second, making him squint. Suddenly he jerked his head, snapping out of whatever had him in this state.

  He released her, looking horrified, as if he’d just realized what he was doing. “Fuck. Sorry,” he gasped, lifting his hands and struggling to breathe. He staggered back. Then his legs buckled and his ass landed on the grass.

  Audrey brought her hands to her throat, gulping air and trying to calm her galloping heart. Her first thought was to run away, but then she looked at him. He was in much worse shape: chest heaving and eyes rolling like he was about to pass out. She’d seen this. This was a PTSD attack. She should avoid sudden movements or loud sounds. “Should I call someone?”

  “No,” he growled, his shirt wet with sweat. “Go.”

  Fuck go. He was about to hyperventilate. The cords at either side of his neck were bulging, his knuckles white in a clenched fist.

  Now that she wasn’t being choked to death, she recognized him as the gorgeous guy she’d seen several times near the buffet. The one whose smile didn’t reach his eyes. He obviously wasn’t used to parties. Worst of all? Everyone appeared to know him and had approached to greet and chat with him.

  She’d avoided him, feeling she wouldn’t be welcome.

  She probably wasn’t welcome now, but tough shit. She approached, this time slowly. Without touching him, she kneeled close by. “Breathe deeply. Slowly. In and out. You’re okay.”

  He grunted something she didn’t hear. He must have known the drill because he didn’t waste much air complaining. He lay down and obeyed.

  When he seemed to be able to breathe a bit better, she said, “Open your eyes and tell me five things you can see.”

  “What?” he croaked.

  “Five things you can see.”

  The silence stretched uncomfortably. When she thought he wasn’t going to say anything, he spoke, “Stars. The sky. Trees. A barn. A woman.”

  Good. “Now four things you can feel.”

  “I feel like shit.”

  She’d walked into that one all by herself. She scoffed. “I mean things you can feel with your body or touch with your hands or your feet.”

  That would work better if he were barefoot, but she didn’t dare reach for him.

  He closed his eyes. “I feel the grass against my body. The breeze on my face.” He dug his fingers in the ground. “Earth.” He reached out and touched her skirt
. “Silk.”

  By now his breathing was much more even. “You’re doing great. Now three things you can hear.”

  His voice wasn’t annoyed anymore. “Waves breaking against the shore. Chattering from the party. Music from that shitty band.”

  She smiled softly. Yeah. That band played elevator music. But he was using adjectives with his nouns, so they were almost there. “Two things you can smell.”

  “Fresh-cut grass. A floral scent from the plants.”

  “One thing you can taste.”

  “I can taste nothing but fear,” he said in a whisper.

  She would have loved to tell him that fear wasn’t a taste, but she’d learned not long ago that it was. A rather strong one. Metallic. Cold. Foul.

  “Don’t be startled.” He seemed grounded enough to safely approach, so she leaned forward and grabbed a tartlet from the grass. “Five-second rule.” She placed the morsel in his mouth.

  He chewed. “Raspberry. And dirt.”

  “Okay. Ten-second rule. Are we splitting hairs now? It was a tartlet or my lip gloss. We don’t know each other well enough for that.”

  He turned his face to her, his expression stoic. “No, we don’t. Connor.”

  “Audrey.”

  This close, she realized he had beautiful dark-chocolate eyes, the kind that very seldom paired with blond hair like his. His face was all harsh planes and angles, and even sporting a grim expression, he was handsome in a very sexy, rugged sort of way.

  “Thank you, Audrey.” He tried to stand up, but she stopped him.

  “No, no, please. I’m going to lie down myself. My legs are trembling too much for me to stand.” Her hand flew unconsciously to her throat, and he caught the gesture.