The Next Day (Foothills Book 2), Carrie Thorne [easy readers .TXT] 📗

The Next Day

2nd in the Foothills Romance Series

Carrie Thorne

Copyright 2021

Amazon Edition

ASIN: B086RXNB7R

carriethorne.com

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This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, brands, media, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or actual events is entirely coincidental. As with many pieces of fiction, there may be settings in certain long-standing institutions, agencies, and public offices, but the details are wholly imaginary. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associates with, or sponsored by the trademark owner. This is a work of romantic fiction. This is intended for mature audiences. There are no taboo topics presented; this is simply a story about two consenting adults that fall in love. There are scenes describing sexually explicit situations and the occasional expletive, delivered in the same fashion as romance and other fiction has delivered for years. Links found in this book may change, expire, redirect, yada yada yada, you know what I mean, time passes, and links may not always work, so no guarantees that any of the links may go anywhere.

Table of Contents

Dedication

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

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Newsletter Access

Sample from A Day Late

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For my family. All of them.

Pacific Northwesterners to boot.

Characters that will appreciate the loving references dabbled throughout.

Like the note on the door about the key under the mat. Yeah, that happened.

1

The Key is Under the Mat

“Supposedly there are mountains around here.” Shifting his weight with the truck as he rounded yet another bend in an endless series of S-curves, Zane remarked on the thick trunks that lined the narrow road. Pressure built in his ears as the altitude climbed, forcing him to swallow to equalize.

After another few miles of rapidly alternating light and shadow, flipping his sunglasses up and down as he was either blinded by burning sun or dense shade, the forest opened beyond. An unfamiliar pang clenched and loosened in his chest as the vast valley beyond glowed under supernaturally blue skies, feathery green trees coated the jagged slopes, and diamonds glinted off the anastomosing river beyond. As the wind kicked up, no longer diffused by the trees, the tarp over his possessions in the back of the truck flapped against the tie-downs.

“What do you think, Jack? Hell and gone from San Diego or New York.” He glanced to the simple steel box buckled into the passenger seat at his side. The urn didn’t respond. Rubbing his eyes, he chuckled at himself. “No offense pal, but it’s time to scatter you somewhere around this absurdly beautiful place. If I keep this up, people are going to think I’ve lost my fucking mind.”

In her digitally smooth voice, his phone advised him to turn right in two miles. “About time,” he muttered. He eased up on the brakes, delicately balancing burning out versus losing control at ninety miles an hour, thanks to the heavy load down the steep decline.

A few more miles, and he reached a carved wooden sign reading, Welcome to Foothills. Population 8,698. There had been a three at the end, but it had been painted over with an eight in its place. Another sign behind it congratulated its football team on winning state last year, then another advertising local trails and campgrounds.

Foothills proper was excessively charming. Colorful buildings dotted Main Street, and the sidewalks were packed with a whole lot of hiking boots. In under sixty seconds, he’d reached the opposite end of town. The sultry voice interrupted his music again, urgently demanding he take the next right. Keep your panties on.

More windy roads. More trees with the occasional gorgeous view that flashed by in a blink. Shit, this place was isolated.

From nowhere, a deer leaped out in front of him like a damn suicide bomber. Slamming on the brakes, he cringed as he waited to hear the crash of his stuff breaking free from the tie-downs and shattering the rear window. Holding his breath, he looked back and confirmed the load was still secure. Phew.

Pleasantly ignorant, his GPS informed him that his destination was on the left.

The narrow drive was canopied with more green; maple and cedar that had been there since early last century. The house was a faded-brown craftsman style home sat at the top of a sprawling park-style front yard. Some of the shutters were at odd angles, the paint chipped, but it was sturdy. Nice place to call home.

Asher was a lucky guy.

Zane pulled into the carport off the detached garage. Tucking his phone into his back pocket, he hopped out. His joints crunched as he stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders. Just under thirty-six hours on the road. Not bad considering he hadn’t cared to make a road trip out of it. He’d been lucky it hadn’t rained; his tarped load might have done the