Lucy Ryder - Resisting Her Rebel Hero

The strength of it should have scared Cassidy, but for some strange reason it just felt … right. He felt right. As though her hand had been fashioned to fit perfectly into his.

But that was a dangerous illusion and one she needed to get out of her head. He wasn’t perfect, she reminded herself firmly. He was fighting demons as hard as he fought for his country. The combination wasn’t healthy. For either of them.

Dear Reader

My parents can attest to the fact that I was always a dreamer. At age eight I wanted to be a prima ballerina, but that didn’t pan out because I also loved Westerns and ran around the garden with my brother shooting everything. Then I discovered Julie Andrews and wanted to be just like her. Well, as you can see, that didn’t work out either, but my love of dreaming and weaving fantastical stories in my head finally did.

A few years ago a friend showed me an article in a magazine about a Mills & Boon ®writing competition and urged me to enter. With absolutely nothing to lose, I did. I didn’t win, but imagine my surprise and delight when I received an e-mail from the offices of Mills & Boon ®Medical Romance™ saying they loved my writing style and absolutely adored my characters, Cassidy and Sam— especially Sam. It was a dream come true—or rather coming true.

It’s been a hard slog getting Sam and Cassidy’s story perfected, but with the infinitely patient Flo Nicoll and her expert advice it’s done, and I’m finally able to say, ‘I’m a published author.’ What a thrill! Now my colleagues can stop saying, ‘Why is this taking so long? Shouldn’t you try something else?’ And my daughters can stop rolling their eyes at me and admit I am Queen of the Universe—in our house anyway.

I really hope you enjoy reading about Sam and Cassidy’s struggle to overcome their trust issues and admit they’re perfect for each other. I also hope you enjoy your visit to Crescent Lake, with all its quirky characters. I’ve had such fun with them and hope you do too.

Happy reading!

Lucy

Resisting Her

Rebel Hero

Lucy Ryder

www.millsandboon.co.uk

After trying out everything from acting in musicals, singing opera, travelling and writing for a business newspaper, LUCY RYDERfinally settled down to have a family and teach at a local community college, where she currently teaches English and Communication. However, she insists that writing is her first love and time spent on it is more pleasure than work.

She currently lives in South Africa, with her crazy dogs and two beautiful teenage daughters. When she’s not driving her daughters around to their afternoon activities, cooking those endless meals or officiating at swim meets, she can be found tapping away at her keyboard, weaving her wild imagination into hot romantic scenes.

RESISTING HER REBEL HERO is Lucy Ryder’s debut title for Mills & Boon ®!

I couldn’t have done this without my wonderful supportive family—especially my beautiful daughters, Caitlin and Ashleigh. I love you to infinity and beyond.

A special thanks to Dr Jenni Irvine, who started it all, and to Flo Nicoll for seeing something in my writing she liked.

And lastly to my colleagues—ladies, it’s amazing how people bond through complaining.

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 ONE

THE LAST PLACE Dr. Cassidy Mahoney expected to find herself when she fled the city for a wilderness town deep in the Cascades Mountains was the county jail. She could honestly say it was the first time she’d ever been in one, and with the smell of stale alcohol and something more basically human permeating the air, she hoped it was the last.

And absolutely nothing could have prepared her for him—all six feet four inches of broad shoulders and hard muscles, oozing enough testosterone to choke a roomful of hardened feminists.

Draped languorously over a narrow bunk that clearly couldn’t contain his wide shoulders and long legs, the man lustily sang about a pretty señorita with dark flashing eyes and lips like wine. The old man in the neighboring cell cheerfully sang along, sounding like a rusty engine chugging up a mountain pass while his cellmate snored loudly enough to rattle the small windows set high in the outside wall.

Pausing in the outer doorway, Cassidy felt her eyes widen and wondered if she’d stepped onto a movie set without a script. The entire town of Crescent Lake had turned out to be like something from a movie set and she was still having a hard time believing she wasn’t dreaming.

Quite frankly, even her wildest dreams couldn’t have conjured up being escorted to the sheriff’s office in a police cruiser like a seasoned offender—even to supply medical care to a prisoner.

From somewhere near the back of the holding area a loud voice cursed loudly and yelled at them to “shut the hell up.” Hazel Porter, the tiny woman currently leading Cassidy into the unknown, pushed the door open all the way and gestured for her to follow.

“Full house tonight,” Hazel rasped in her thirty-a-day voice, sounding like she’d been sucking on smokes since the cradle. “Must be full moon.” She nodded to the cell holding the old-timers. “Don’t mind them, honey: longstanding weekend reservations.” Her bunch of keys jangled Cassidy’s already ragged nerves.

“And ignore the guy in the back,” Hazel advised. “Been snarlin’ and snipin’ since he was hauled in a couple hours ago. I was tempted to call in animal control, but the sheriff said to let him sleep it off.”

“I’d be sleeping too, you old crow, if it wasn’t for the caterwauling, stripping paint off the walls.”

Hazel shook her head. “Mean as a cornered badger, that one,” she snorted, closing the outer door behind them. “Even when he ain’t drunk.”

Cassidy sent the woman a wary look, a bit nervous at the thought of being closed in with a bunch of offenders—one of whom was apparently violent—and a pint-sized deputy who could be anything between sixty and a hundred and sixty.

“So...the patient?” she prompted uncertainly, hoping it wasn’t the fun guy in back. Hippocratic oath aside, she drew the line at entering his cell without the sheriff, a couple of burly deputies and a fully charged stun gun as backup.

“That’ll be Crescent Lake’s very own superhero.” Hazel headed for the baritone’s cell and Cassidy couldn’t help the relief that left her knees a bit shaky. “He’s a recent addition and a wild one, so watch yerself,” wasn’t exactly something Cassidy wanted to hear.

The deputy slid a key into the lock and continued as though she’d known Cassidy for years. “Wasn’t a bit surprising when he up ’n left med school to join the Navy.” Her chuckle sounded like a raspy snort. “Heck, ‘Born to be wild’ shoulda been tattooed on that boy’s hide at birth.”

Cassidy blinked, unsure if she was meant to respond and uncertain what she would say if she did. She’d learnt over the past fortnight that mountain folk were for the most part polite and taciturn with strangers, but treated everyone’s business like public property. She’d even overheard bets being placed on how long she’d last before she “hightailed it back to the city.”

The sound of the key turning was unnaturally loud and Cassidy bit her lip nervously when the cell door slid open and clanged against the bars. Drawing in a shaky breath, she smoothed damp palms down her thighs and eyed the “born to be wild” man warily.

One long leg was bent at the knee; the other hung over the side of the bunk, large booted foot planted on the bare concrete floor. Although a bent arm blocked most of his face from view, Cassidy realized she was the object of intense scrutiny. Her first thought was, God, he’s huge, followed almost immediately by, And there’s only a garden gnome’s granny between me and Goliath’s drunk younger brother.

“Is that why he’s in here?”

“Heck, no,” Hazel rasped with a snort. “Was the only way Sheriff could be sure he stayed put till you arrived. Boy thinks he’s too tough for a few stitches and a couple of sticking plasters.”

Cassidy hovered outside the cell, aware that her heart was banging against her ribs like she was the one who’d committed a felony and was facing jail time. Besides, she’d heard all about people going missing in wilderness towns and had the oddest feeling the instant she stepped over the threshold her life would never be the same.

Turning, she caught the older woman watching her and gave a self-conscious shrug. “Is it safe? Shouldn’t we wait for the sheriff? A couple of deputies?” A shock stick?

Small brown eyes twinkled. “Safe?” Hazel cackled as though the idea tickled her funny bone when Cassidy had been as serious as a tax audit. In Boston, violent offenders were always accompanied by several burly cops, even when they were restrained.

“Well, now,” the deputy said, wiping the mirth from her eyes. “I don’t know as the boy’s ever been called ‘safe’ before, but if you’re wondering if he’ll get violent, don’t you worry about a thing, hon. He’s gentle as a lamb.”

Cassidy’s gaze slid to the “boy,” who seemed to be all shoulders and legs, and thought, Yeah, right. Nothing about him looked gentle and “boy” wasn’t something he’d been for a good long time. Not with that long, hard body or the toxic cloud of testosterone and pheromones filling the small space and snaking primitive warnings up her spine.

Even sprawled across the narrow bunk, he exuded enough masculine sexuality to have a cautious woman taking a hasty step in retreat.

Hazel Porter must have correctly interpreted the move for she cackled gleefully even as she planted a bony hand in the small of Cassidy’s back and gave her a not-so-gentle shove into the cell.

Her pulse gave an alarmed little blip and Cassidy found herself swallowing a distressed yelp, which was ridiculous, considering he’d done nothing more dangerous than sing in that rich, smooth bedroom baritone.

“Whatcha got for me, sweetheart?” the deep voice drawled, sending a shiver of fear down Cassidy’s spine. At least she thought the belly-clenching, free-falling sensation was fear as goose bumps rushed over her skin beneath the baby-pink scrubs top she hadn’t had time to change out of. The baby-pink top that was covered in little bear doctors and nurses and an assortment of smears and stains from a day spent with babies and toddlers.

Not exactly the kind of outfit that gave a woman much-needed confidence when facing a large alpha male.

“You get the rare steak and fries I ordered?”

Hazel snorted. “We’re not running some five-star establishment here, sonny,” she rebuked mildly, eyeing him over her spectacles. “You wanted steak and fries you shoulda thought about that before you decided to pound on Wes.”

A battered lip curved into a loopy grin. “Aw, c’mon, Hazel.” He chuckled, sounding a little rusty, as though he hadn’t had much to laugh about lately—or had awakened from a deep sleep. “He was drunker than a sailor on shore leave. The coeds he was hassling were terrified. ’Sides, someone had to stop him trashing Hannah’s bar. He threw a stool at her when she tried to intervene, for God’s sake.”