The morning sun spilled through the forest canopy, casting golden stripes across Jack Johnson’s workbench as he shaved down a slab of walnut wood. The scent of cedar, sweat, and sawdust lingered in the air like musk—thick and earthy. Jack’s…
The air was thick with silence. Vanessa stood frozen in the doorway. Celeste, one step behind her, arms folded tight, body rigid as steel beneath her silk wrap. And Maddie? She was still tangled in Graham’s sheets, the dim bedside lamp tracing…
Her name was Miranda Blake. Forty-one. A stunning woman with a smoky voice, soft laugh, and curves that made heads turn even when she wasn’t trying. She was the kind of woman who walked with the confidence of someone who knew…
It began with a garden walk. Maddie didn’t announce herself. She simply appeared beside Graham the next morning as he pruned the hydrangeas, his sleeves rolled up, sun dappling his forearms. There was a quiet strength to him—clean, earthy, grounded in a…
The summer sun was high over Timber Hollow, pouring golden light over dusty pickup trucks, porch swings, and the faint scent of cedarwood from the sawmill drifting down Main Street. Jack Johnson, all six-foot-five of him, stood outside the hardware…
The morning sun spilled through the forest canopy, casting golden stripes across Jack Johnson’s workbench as he shaved down a slab of walnut wood. The scent of cedar, sweat, and sawdust lingered in the air like musk—thick and earthy. Jack’s…
The air was thick with silence. Vanessa stood frozen in the doorway. Celeste, one step behind her, arms folded tight, body rigid as steel beneath her silk wrap. And Maddie? She was still tangled in Graham’s sheets, the dim bedside lamp tracing…
Her name was Miranda Blake. Forty-one. A stunning woman with a smoky voice, soft laugh, and curves that made heads turn even when she wasn’t trying. She was the kind of woman who walked with the confidence of someone who knew…
It began with a garden walk. Maddie didn’t announce herself. She simply appeared beside Graham the next morning as he pruned the hydrangeas, his sleeves rolled up, sun dappling his forearms. There was a quiet strength to him—clean, earthy, grounded in a…
The summer sun was high over Timber Hollow, pouring golden light over dusty pickup trucks, porch swings, and the faint scent of cedarwood from the sawmill drifting down Main Street. Jack Johnson, all six-foot-five of him, stood outside the hardware…