More Than Rum (The Maple Leaf Series Book 3) Read online

  MORE THAN RUM

  Book Three

  The Maple Leaf Series

  by Christine DePetrillo

  Copyright 2014 Christine DePetrillo

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover design by Dar Albert of

  Wicked Smart Designs

  www.wickedsmartdesigns.com

  Edited by Janet Hitchcock

  www.theproofisinthereading.wordpress.com

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright owners except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Author Contact:

  Website: www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/christinedepetrilloauthor

  Dedication

  To my favorite bartender

  and to my good friend, Captain Morgan,

  who knows how to pour a happy ending…

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Epilogue

  Other Books in the Maple Leaf Series

  More Than Pizza Sneak Peek

  Chapter One

  Other Available Titles by Christine DePetrillo

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “What do I need a website for, darlin’?”

  Hope Stannard clenched her teeth at the darlin’, but Jake Peters, owner of Black Wolf Tavern, called every woman darlin’. She had to keep her eye on the goal here.

  “To advertise, to book events, to let the community know when those events are taking place, to put up pictures of this place, to get—” She stopped when Jake held up his leathery hand.

  “Word of mouth has always worked for me,” he said. “You’ve been in here enough times. Have you ever been able to hear crickets?”

  Hope shook her head. The man did have a point. For a bar that wasn’t much more than a green barn with a parking lot in the middle of Danton, Vermont, it seemed locals always packed themselves in.

  Locals. Okay.

  “You only attract people who have lived around here for eons,” she said, hoping she’d found an angle. “Imagine if you could get more tourists, eager to part with their money. You could also reach more entertainment options if you had a website.”

  Shadow Hills usually played at Black Wolf Tavern, and Hope would pay extra to see another set of musicians in the bar. She’d had a relationship with Sam Pearsson, the ex-drummer, who was also an EMT. He’d gone off to med school and ditched her. In a text message.

  Prick.

  Her sister, Sage, had told her a long distance relationship wouldn’t work out. Hope hated that Sage had been right, and she hated seeing the remaining members of the band play. They reminded her that Sam sucked… and the drummer they had gotten to replace him also sucked.

  “I suppose reeling in naïve touristy folks might be advantageous.” Jake said the last word as if it were three separate words. Ad. Van. Tageous. He ran a hand over the full salt-and-pepper beard that had nearly overtaken the lower portion of his face. “I could charge ’em extra for their booze and they’d pay ’cause there ain’t any place else to get a decent spirit ’round here.” He let loose a raspy, coughing laugh that had Hope wondering if she might have to call 911. “Attractin’ new people could mean retirin’ early.”

  Attracting new people to the bar also meant attracting new available men to the area. Hope was definitely in favor of that. Since her failed relationship with Sam, she’d only had one other interaction with a potential—Adam Rouse.

  And he kept disappearing on her.

  “Okay, Hope darlin’,” Jake finally said. “Let’s make a website.”

  “Great, Jake. You won’t regret it. Trust me.”

  “I do trust you. No daughter of Joy Stannard would screw me over.” Jake grinned, creases sixty-some years in the making framing his golden-brown eyes. “How is Joy?”

  “Why don’t you stop by the house and find out?”

  Pink instantly colored what was visible of Jake’s cheeks, and he picked up a rag to mop at non-existent spots on the bar. “Oh, I couldn’t… I mean… I…”

  Hope reached across the bar to stop the man’s frenzied wiping. “Jake.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’ll never get anywhere if you don’t take a first step.”

  If only it were that easy.

  “I know, darlin’, but your daddy was my good buddy. It wouldn’t be right.” He shook his head as he turned to straighten some bottles behind him.

  “My dad has been dead for a long time, Jake.” About thirty years long. “My mother has been alone for a long time.”

  Jake turned around. “Didn’t think of it that way.”

  “Maybe you should.” Hope stood. “Why don’t you come by the house the day after tomorrow, and we’ll fill out a questionnaire for what you want on the website. Mom will be around, and we’ll see what happens.”

  Jake nodded as his hand went back to wiping the bar. If he kept that up, he’d wipe the finish right off.

  Hope waved over her head as she walked toward the front doors of the tavern. Her mind was full of new ideas for the bar’s website. She’d have plenty of time to pump out that project, because she’d finished her previous project—a website for her cousin Rick and his wife’s bed and breakfast inn, Hindsdale Inn, which was tucked into the woods. Located one property over from her cousin’s property where he churned out pure maple syrup when the season arrived, Hindsdale Inn was the perfect combination of nature meets glitz. Hope had coined the term “rustic glamour” to describe it. Within moments of officially publishing the site with its description of the enormous log home, photos of the exquisite interior, and a virtual tour of the grounds and mountain views, six people had inquired about booking reservations.

  Thinking of that now, Hope gave herself a mental pat on the back. She could crank out a website that hooked people like nobody’s business. All self-taught, she’d figured out things on her own between sugaring seasons. Customers had been happy with her end products. Now she’d be able to link Black Wolf Tavern to Hinsdale Inn and hopefully increase business for both places.

  If she could just find her damn keys in her purse, she could get home and start on a basic design for Jake’s website. Outside in the parking lot, she needed more light to see into that dumpster she carried around on her shoulder. Five o’clock in late January meant the sun had gone to sleep already, and Vermont knew how to take the word dark and mean it. With no other cars in the lot, because the tavern was closed on Mondays, piles of plowed snow were the only company Hope had.

  She angled her purse toward the single lantern light above the bar’s front entrance and shook the sack.

  “I hear you in there,” she said to the jingling sound.

  After another shake, light glinted off something silver in the black depths of the purse.


  “Gotcha.”

  As she plunged her hand in to grab the keys, something big pinned her to the building behind her. She tried to scream, but a gloved hand came over her mouth, muffling her cry for help. The darkness kept her from being able to see her attacker’s face, but he was much taller than she was, broad shouldered, and sweaty smelling. And strong.

  He yanked at her purse, but it was still hooked on her arm, and pain shot up to her shoulder. She would have been more than happy to give him the damn purse—he’d be grossly disappointed by its contents—but he was too close for her to wiggle the strap off her arm. When he growled and jerked at the purse again, tears came to her eyes. If this kept up, she’d end up with a broken arm.

  I hope that’s all I end up with.

  Not a good thought. Not at all. She considered ways to defend herself, but they mostly involved kicks to the groin, and the way he had plastered himself against her left her no options.

  Where the heck is Jake? He’d at least be able to distract her attacker so she could deliver a groin pounding.

  The glove still covering her mouth was getting moist from her breath, and its rough knit chafed her cheeks. Her stomach chose that moment to let out a famished roar which made her attacker snicker. Snickering was never good on the villain’s part. Never.

  “Hungry, beautiful?” He released his hold on the purse and used that free hand to stroke her hair. Her flesh prickled, and she pressed her body farther into the wall behind her. That didn’t offer her much additional space, but every centimeter counted at this point. “I got something you can feed on.” He leaned in closer, rubbing his cheek over hers.

  A full body shiver shook Hope against him, which, if the noises coming from his throat were any indication, he liked very much. She forced herself to stay still and remain calm, both goals slipping away as more time ticked by.

  “Suddenly your purse is not enough,” the guy said. “I want the whole deal.”

  She still couldn’t see his face, but she was more than sure she didn’t—did not—want to give him “the whole deal.”

  When he leaned forward, pressing his entire body against hers in one rigid line, Hope wished to be anywhere, absolutely anywhere, else in the world, but she wasn’t. She was here. She was where she’d lived for the past thirty years. She was where she’d spent every single day since she was born. She was in the town she called home.

  And she’d be damned if this asshole was going to ruin home for her.

  As the man shifted to snake his arm around her waist, Hope gained enough space to jerk her knee up and make contact. At the same time he let out a howl, he was ripped off her and thrown to the ground. She took a second to look at her knee, wondering where enough power to knock him off his feet had come from.

  “Listen, fucker, you do not treat a lady like that.”

  Hope snapped her head up at the familiar male voice. Another dark outline hovered over her attacker, still prone on the dirt parking lot.

  “I just needed money, man.”

  “I don’t give a shit what you need. You’re not getting it from her.”

  A cell phone flashlight threw a circle of light on her attacker’s face. It wasn’t anyone she recognized from what she could barely see, but his bloodshot, glossy eyes were evidence of what he probably needed money for.

  Her savior reached down, grabbed a handful of her attacker’s jacket, and wrenched him to his feet in one fluid motion. “Let me get you a ride.” There was a pause then, “Hey, Kevin. I have a junkie over at Black Wolf. He attacked Hope Stannard. Can you come get him?” Another pause. “I think so. I’ll find out.” Pause. “Yeah. Thanks.” The cell phone glow disappeared into a back pocket.

  “Look, man. Just let me go. I didn’t hurt her. I won’t do that again.”

  “No, you absolutely won’t. We’re going to wait here for my buddy, Officer Kevin Sencotte, to swing by and take over.”

  “Fuck you!”

  Hope’s attacker jostled free of the grip on him. He swung his arm out, his fist cracking into jaw. Her savior backed away from the lowlife for a minute, which was all said lowlife needed to bolt into the darkness.

  A spitting sound was followed by, “I don’t think so.”

  Heavy footfalls took off after her attacker, leaving her still leaning against the tavern. She hadn’t moved since the weight of the assailant had been lifted. She was paralyzed with two contradictory emotions—fear and fascination. She feared for her safety, but that was quickly replaced by fear for her savior’s safety.

  And the fascination?

  Well, what wasn’t fascinating about a man you didn’t quite understand coming to your rescue?

  She squinted in the darkness, but couldn’t see that man now. She dragged in a couple of deep breaths and yelled, “Adam!”

  ****

  His name echoed in the darkness, and every piece of him wanted to turn back toward Hope, but he was not going to let this jackass get away. Not going to happen. Adam shifted into highest gear, his baseball cap flipping right off his head, and in a few long strides, he was beside the druggie and sending an elbow into his gut. The jerk keeled over, and as Adam went to wrap his arms around the guy to bring him to the ground, an arm flailed out again. Fortunately, Adam was quicker this time. One fist to the mouth had been enough. He tasted blood from that earlier contact and didn’t plan on shedding any more bodily fluids tonight.

  Not my own anyway.

  He couldn’t make promises not to spill this shithead’s blood all over the parking lot. Ducking just in time, Adam swept the douchebag’s legs out from underneath him and took great pleasure in smashing his face into the dirt.

  “You lose,” he said, as red and blue lights flashed over them both.

  A police car stopped just shy of them, the headlights sizzling Adam’s retinas as he kept his weight on the fuck-up beneath him. Two car doors opened and closed, followed by jogging feet.

  “I got it, Adam,” Kevin said.

  Handcuffs swung into view and Adam backed off, taking a moment to sit on the ground.

  “You okay?” Kevin’s partner, Officer Diana Landis, asked.

  “Fine.” He accepted Diana’s outstretched hand and got to his feet. “But I need to go check on Hope.” He started back toward the tavern.

  “We’ll get this guy secured and then be over to get Hope’s statement,” Diana said.

  “Understood.”

  When Adam reached the building, Hope wasn’t outside, but her black Jeep Compass was. He pulled open the door of the tavern and found her sitting at the bar with Jake.

  “Did you catch the sucker?” Jake asked as he stood and walked toward Adam.

  “Yeah. The police have him now.” Adam pulled out the stool next to Hope and sat facing her, but she didn’t look his way. She appeared to be staring at an invisible spot on the bar top. “Hope,” he said gently, “are you okay?”

  She nodded slowly and reached to the stool on her other side. She set his baseball cap on the bar and nudged it toward him.

  “She ain’t said much since she slipped in here,” Jake said. “I thought she was long gone and home already. I didn’t hear a thing out there.” He ground his teeth hard enough Adam heard it.

  Hope rested her hand on Jake’s forearm. “It’s okay, Jake. You had no way of knowing what was happening.”

  “I’m puttin’ a light out there,” Jake said.

  “I’ll do it,” Adam said. “Tomorrow.” He slid behind the bar and slammed two shot glasses down. He filled them with Captain Morgan Tattoo Rum and slid one toward Hope.

  At first, she merely looked at the glass, and Adam didn’t think she was going to drink it. A long shuddery sigh fluttered out of her as her delicate fingers closed around the glass. In one swift movement, she downed the contents and wiggled the glass at him.

  “More.”

  He obliged, pouring more for himself as well. They both tossed the rum back and set the glasses down at the same time.

  Then Hope’s
bottomless brown gaze lifted to Adam’s lips. “You’re bleeding.”

  Adam ran his tongue over the split and winced at the sting. “Hardly.”

  She slid off the stool and grabbed a few paper towels from under the bar. Without saying a word, she moistened them at the sink and squeezed them out. She stepped up next to Adam, and he held his breath as she looked at his lips again. He would have paid big money to know what she was thinking at that moment. Her jaw was tightly set, but her deep brown eyes were warm and her lips were full, maybe even waiting for something. Something he could give them. Something he wanted to give them.

  But I’m not ready.

  He’d tried to be. Months ago. When he’d first met Hope at his buddy Orion Finley’s house. They’d hung out a few times at this very bar in fact, but it had been too soon for Adam. Ghosts from his time as a Marine in Afghanistan plagued him at night. If he were being honest, they beat the crap out of him during the day too. Every time he blinked. Every time he drew in a breath. Every time his heart beat.

  There was no escape.

  So, he’d done the only thing he could think of. He buried himself in his lumberjacking. People pointed out the trees they wanted taken down, and he wielded his chainsaw like a mighty sword. That was the thing about lumberjacking. Every fight was a victory for Adam. The trees never won. He never lost any members of his squad. He never had to hear their screams. He never had to smell their blood. The trees dropped to the ground and allowed him to do as he pleased. He always met his mission goals while lumberjacking, and he filled in the rest of his time with making furniture for folks.

  He’d had some hope for a little while: a scientific study the government was conducting for victims of post-traumatic stress disorder. He’d signed up as soon as he’d heard about it. Said toodles to his sister, Wendie, adios to Orion, and gave his parents down in Florida a super quick call. He’d packed little and took off to Nevada for the experimental treatment with high expectations.

  All he’d gotten was disappointment.