All In Read online

  E-book published in 2019 by Blackstone Publishing

  Cover design by Alenka Vdovič Linaschke

  Book design by Blackstone Publishing

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

  Trade e-book ISBN 978-1-5384-4090-2

  Library e-book ISBN 978-1-5384-4089-6

  Fiction / Romance

  CIP data for this book is available from the Library of Congress

  Blackstone Publishing

  31 Mistletoe Rd.

  Ashland, OR 97520

  www.BlackstonePublishing.com

  To Annette Friesner, Pilates Instructor Extraordinaire,

  thanks for everything.

  Letter to Readers

  The realization caught me by surprise. About two years ago, I was having lunch with an editor and searching for things to talk about besides work. That’s when it occurred to me that I didn’t actually do a whole lot besides write books and walk my dogs. Oh, my husband and I travel quite a bit, and I have a great group of friends. But somehow, around the time I became an empty nester and my husband’s travel schedule picked up, I began to fill all my extra time with work. And while I love to write, I realized in the middle of that lunch that my life had gotten pretty unbalanced. I didn’t actually need to work fifty to sixty hours a week.

  Something had to change.

  When I got back home, I thought more about my schedule and did a little bit of praying, too.

  And that’s when I decided to take a Pilates class.

  I’d been thinking about starting some kind of exercise routine for a while. However, I also had lots of excuses about why that couldn’t happen! I was busy. I had deadlines. I was out of town a lot. Then, one evening, I admitted to myself the real reason I had been holding back—I was afraid to fail. I knew I was out of shape, not very strong, and not all that young anymore. I wasn’t especially eager to have sore muscles, embarrass myself in front of other women, or admit to my husband that I had both started and quit yet another exercise routine.

  But then I reminded myself how scared I used to be when I first started writing. I figured if I could get used to showing things I made up to complete strangers, I could commit to Pilates.

  Years ago, I read something about how it takes forty times of anything to make a routine. That always made sense to me, so I decided to commit to forty private sessions. I was going to go to my Pilates class once a week—no matter what. I wasn’t going to schedule appointments or give myself excuses why I “couldn’t go.” I was just going to do it.

  In other words, I decided to go all in.

  I’m not going to lie. It wasn’t easy for me. It still isn’t! But I have gotten stronger, I’ve met some great people, and it’s been a wonderful stress reliever. And yes, it’s even given me something else to talk about besides writing.

  This idea of committing to something wholeheartedly was my inspiration behind All In. I wanted to write a novel about a group of people who were starting over—and who ultimately realized that achieving their dreams was only going to happen by committing 100 percent. Maybe you, too, have done this very same thing a time or two?

  I hope you enjoy getting to know Ace and Meredith and returning to the fictional town of Bridgeport, Ohio. Look for Hold on Tight, the third book in the Bridgeport Social Club series, in June.

  With my blessings and my thanks,

  Shelley Shepard Gray

  CHAPTER 1

  From Les Larke’s

  Terms for Poker Success:

  All In: When a player bets everything he’s

  got. Be advised that this can be a

  risky undertaking. If you lose,

  there’s nothing left.

  Saturday

  The shove came out of nowhere, hitting Meredith Hunt hard on her shoulder and knocking her down onto the paved walking path. Feeling both shocked and confused, she threw out her hands in a weak attempt to break her fall. But instead of helping the situation, a sharp, fierce pain reverberated along her right hand. Pebbles tore into her other palm, her knees, and parts of her thighs. She felt dizzy. Stunned. Half in shock.

  What the heck had just happened?

  Panic overtook her as she realized that whoever had just rammed her to the ground had taken off with her backpack—the backpack that would have been secure on her back with its chest clip had she not been retrieving her water bottle at that exact moment.

  Just like that, a dozen images of what was stashed in there flitted through her head. Her wallet. Her phone. Her keys … Her address. The idea of any of that coming into a stranger’s hands was enough to make her jump to her feet.

  Well, she would’ve jumped up—or even simply sat up—if she hadn’t been feeling so dizzy.

  “Hey. Hey, are you all right?”

  Opening one eye, she realized a man was kneeling next to her. He had short black hair, dark eyes, scruff on his cheeks, and a very concerned expression. He was what her best friend in high school would have called “dreamy.”

  “I think so,” she muttered, horrified to realize that she sounded gritty and hoarse. Like she was barely hanging on. Which, unfortunately, pretty much summed up exactly how she felt.

  The guy’s expression grew more concerned. “I saw some punk push you down. Looks like you hit the ground hard.”

  Hating that she was still sprawled out in front of him, she stretched a leg experimentally. “I need to get up.”

  “Hold on. What hurts, darlin’?” he drawled. Though she knew better than to be taken in by a drawl and a cast-off endearment, she relaxed a little. This man was a stranger but he didn’t seem dangerous. Just as her conscience started to remind her that good looks and charm really didn’t mean anything at all, he reached out to slip a hand under her head. “Is your neck okay?” he asked quietly. “Can you move?”

  Thinking that was a good idea, she moved her head, realizing as she did that it was being supported by a very big hand. “I’m all right. I hit my head, but I think my hand got the worst of it.”

  He shifted and took a knee, which was covered in faded denim. “Just your hand?”

  She knew what he was getting at. She was acting a little peaked for someone who had just a cut palm. Thinking of all her students who powered through her classes even when they were struggling or in pain, Meredith tried to get a grip on herself. “Maybe … I guess I hit the ground kind of hard. I’m a little stunned.” Maybe a lot stunned, since she’d just mentally compared the color of his eyes to her favorite dark Ghirardelli chocolate bar.

  After studying her a moment longer, he slid his hand out from under her head to her arm. “Ma’am, I’m going to take your elbow, okay? We need to get you sitting up.”

  Ma’am? She swallowed. Did she really look that old?

  “Dad, what are you doing?” a voice called out. “Oh my gosh. Miss Hunt?”

  Surprised, Meredith focused on the person just beyond her rescuer. Finn. He was a sophomore at Bridgeport High—one of the kids she helped out when she volunteered in a friend’s class once a week. Finn was fifteen, muscular, almost six foot, and a little on the chunky side. He was built like the football player she’d recently learned he was.

  However, in spite of all that brawn, there was still a sweetness to him. His face still had a touch of peach fuzz that most underclassmen boys at the school had. He also had dark-brown eyes and dark hair. Pretty much the spitting image of the man who was still kneeling by her side.

  “Hey Finn. Fancy seeing you here.” Inwardly she winced. Had she really just said that?

  Finn blinked, then grinned, like she’d really amused him. The man by her side, the one whose hand was still curved protectively around her elbow, looked confused.

  No doubt that was not only because his kid knew her, but also because she’d spouted such an idiotic phrase while lying on the ground. When she noticed that his free hand was hovering in her general direction, that he didn’t want to manhandle her without her permission, she tentatively smiled at him.

  That was all he needed to wrap that hovering hand around her side. A little above her waist. A little below her breast. Not that she should be noticing anything like that. After all, she was a Pilates instructor. She knew that positioning other people didn’t mean anything personal. Usually, it really was just an offer of assistance.

  But still, she was aware of his touch as she moved to a sitting position. She breathed deep, hoping to get her bearings. But all she got was a good whiff of him. He smelled like soap and tobacco and peppermint. It shouldn’t have been a good combination. Neither should have been his underlying scent—the one that signaled he was all man.

  She really needed to get her bearings. Like, immediately.

  “You all right?” he murmured.

  “Um-hum,” she whispered back, though why she was whispering, she didn’t really know.

  Finn stepped closer and looked down at her. “Miss Hunt?”

  She summoned what she hoped was a sunny smile. “I’m going to be just fine.”

  The man looked from her to the boy in confusion. “I’m guessing y’all know each other.”

  “I help out in one of his classes,” she replied. “Finn, well, he’s currently my favorite sophomore.”

  Blushing, Finley ducked his head as he drop
ped to one knee next to his dad. “You tell everyone that.”

  “Maybe. But right now it’s true.” Looking at his dad, she attempted to act like the situation was normal, even though she was lying on the ground in the middle of the bike trail. “Hi. I’m Meredith Hunt.”

  “You work at the high school?”

  “Work? No, not really. I’m just a volunteer.”

  “She helps out in Miss Springer’s classroom, Dad,” Finley explained before turning back to her. “Miss Hunt, are you really gonna be all right? That guy who shoved you was really big.”

  Still feeling out of sorts, she tried to nod, but was immediately hit with a monster headache. “He grabbed my backpack.”

  Finn frowned. “I thought that was what he did. Sorry we weren’t close enough to grab him.”

  Even imagining Finn getting tangled up with the man who’d shoved her made her tense up. “I’m glad you weren’t any closer! He was kind of big. You could have been hurt. No backpack is worth that.”

  While Finn looked like he was about to start laughing, his dad looked affronted. “That kid wouldn’t have hurt us. But to be honest, I wasn’t thinking about your pack.”

  He’d been thinking about her.

  “I wish I’d been more aware of what was going on. My life is in that backpack.”

  “Like you just said, it’s just a backpack,” Finn’s dad said softly, a thick drawl accentuating every word. “We’ve also got more important things to worry about.”

  “Oh?”

  He smiled sympathetically. “In case you didn’t realize it, you’re bleeding.”

  She looked down at her bare legs. In spite of it being January, she’d decided to wear shorts to run. The sun and fifty-degree temperature were too welcome to ignore. But now, seeing the scrapes, she was coming to regret that decision. They did look kind of bad, but there wasn’t that much blood. “My knees will be fine.”

  “I was talking about your hand, Meredith.”

  To her surprise, he pulled out a worn, soft bandanna from a pocket and pressed it over a cut on her hand. Right then, a slicing sharp pain entered her wound. She sucked in a sharp breath.

  Finn’s dad curved a palm around her shoulder. “Easy, now. It’s deep. You need stitches.” Still looking at her hand, he frowned. “It’s swelling, too. You might need an X-ray.”

  Finn pointed to her head. “I think you’re gonna have a big bruise on your head, too. You might have a concussion.”

  Shifting, Meredith looked at her hand in confusion. Blood oozed from her palm. “Gosh. You’re right. I guess I better go …” Her memory returned—as well as the knowledge that everything she’d been carrying had been stolen. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t have my license or keys.” Or her insurance card. Or any money. Or her phone.

  Crap!

  Panicked, she struggled to her feet. “I need to—”

  Resting both hands on her arms, Finley’s dad held her steady. “Hold on, now,” he drawled. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

  “You don’t understand. My phone was in there with my wallet.” Which, for once, was full. And her credit cards.

  Crap again!

  Oblivious to the minor meltdown she was having in front of them, Finn said, “Dad’s right, Miss Hunt. You need to be careful. Sorry, but you look pretty bad.”

  She felt pretty bad, too. Though she was feeling fuzzy, she had recovered enough to start making sense of the situation. “Do you think that guy might have only taken cash then dropped my bag or something?”

  “It’s worth a try. Finn, go look up ahead. Maybe go a couple hundred yards or so. What color is the pack, Meredith?”

  “Teal blue.”

  “I’m on it.” Finn got to his feet but his attention was still on her. “You gonna be okay?”

  Everything inside of her turned to mush. Just mush. In the three weeks since he’d arrived in Bridgeport, Finn Vance had been kind of hard to read.

  At first, she’d thought it was simply because he was the new kid. That would be hard for anyone. But then she heard from one of the coaches she worked with that Finn was destined to be a starter on the varsity team in the fall. She’d also heard from her friend Emily that he seemed to be struggling in her class.

  She’d also noticed that he never looked all that happy in class, either. Always serious.

  That serious attitude, combined with his fake diamond earrings, faded jeans, and collection of black concert T-shirts made him definitely stand out in the school.

  But though he also seemed tough, he behaved well and always watched her like he was trying to figure her out. Just last week, when her arms were full of notebooks, and she was having trouble managing them all, he’d helped her carry them to her car.

  She’d suspected then what he was proving now. Underneath all those muscles, T-shirts, and attitude was a kid who’d been raised to be something of a gentleman. “Finn, I wish every kid in Bridgeport was like you. Thanks.”

  The blush that reached the roots of his hair made her smile. When he trotted off, she turned to his father. “I think I can stand up now.”

  He nodded, but looked at her steadily. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, in a completely new way. “Careful, now.”

  Feeling awkward, she stood up, accepting his hands on her elbow and waist again. Once they were both on their feet, she blinked as she lifted her head another couple of inches to meet his gaze. “Thank you again. And, um, I guess we should probably introduce ourselves a little better. As I said, I’m Meredith Hunt.”

  “And I’m Ace Vance, Finn’s dad.”

  His voice was serious, gravelly. Meredith thought that it went well with his eyes, which looked like they had seen too much and were ready to take on anyone’s burdens. “Thank you for coming to my rescue. I don’t know what I would have done if you and Finley hadn’t arrived.”

  His dark eyes turned stormy. “Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything yet.” Before she could refute that, he visibly scanned her from top to bottom. “We need to get that hand taken care of.”

  Looking at the bandanna that was slowly getting soaked, she resigned herself that he was right. “I guess I better call the police. Maybe they can help me?” Of course, that was going to be kind of hard to do, since she no longer had a phone. Thinking of all she’d lost, panic set in. “Could I borrow your phone for a minute? Would you mind?”

  “If you need the cops, I’ll call. But give Finn a sec, okay? I think there’s a good chance he might find it nearby. Most muggers are only after cash, not backpacks and keys.”

  Imagining the worst, she said, “I hope that mugger isn’t nearby. I’d hate for Finn to get hurt.”

  “Finn already weighs one eighty. He’s played football since he was six. No backpack-stealing punk is going to get the best of him.”

  Releasing a ragged sigh, she knew he was right. One step at a time. Seeking to take her mind off her misery, she said, “Um, your son is really great.” “Thanks.”

  “No, I’m not just saying that. He helped me carry some equipment to my car the other day. Half the kids I work with wouldn’t do something like that. That’s how we met.”

  His eyebrows lowered. “They should be helping you.”

  “What I’m trying to say is that he’s really composed and mature for his age. You should be proud of him, Mr. Vance.”

  A reluctant smile appeared on his lips. “Thanks. Finn’s not much of a student, but he’s a good person. At least, I’ve always thought that. You know, when he’s not being a teenager with a chip on his shoulder.”

  She laughed. “I’d guess half the kids at Bridgeport High have chips on their shoulders, Mr. Vance. My friend Emily says it comes with the territory.”

  A reluctant smile crossed his features. “Why don’t you call me Ace, Meredith? I’ve never been the type of guy to be called ‘mister’ anything.”

  “That’s reserved for your father?” she teased.

  “Nah, he ain’t that kind of man either.” Looking bemused, he said, “Now that I think about it, I can’t think of a single person to ever call my dad anything but Hank.”

  Hank. Ace. Finn. Interesting names. Country names. “All right.” She smiled slightly, thinking how odd it was that she felt so at ease with a man who looked so different than the majority of the men she knew. He had to be at least ten years older than she was, seemed to favor black as much as his kid, and had earrings in his ears as well. Two tiny silver hoops. One of his arms had a bunch of tattoos, all inked in black.