Finding a toddler on my doorstep? Not exactly how I planned for the day to go.

A single father, friends to lovers, spicy small-town romance.

Chapter 1

Garrett

 I reread the text while I wait in line at Picnic & Treats for my turn at the counter. The last time I’d received a text like this from Maxwell Rodgers, my literary agent, was never.

Maxwell: When I call you in forty minutes, ANSWER THE GODDAMN PHONE!!!

Some of his clients had warned me, years ago, if he ever used all-caps and exclamations in a text, I’d better be worried. And I am. What if my sales dropped? Would my publisher drop me?

Maxwell didn’t even give me a hint as to why he needs to talk to me. No email. No voice mail. Nothing.  

I check the clock on my phone. I still have thirty minutes. Plenty of time to get my lunch and drive the short distance to meet my brother before Maxwell calls me. But it just means we have to delay our run.

Loud conversation and laughter from the tables behind me yank my thoughts back to Picnic & Treats. My best friend’s blood and sweat, ambitions and dreams, have been poured into the café. Her grand vision. A vision my stomach always appreciates.

It rumbles at the mouthwatering smells. Smells that only come from my kitchen when Zara visits my house and cooks. For fun. For our friends. For me.

Unfortunately for my stomach, I don’t get to enjoy my lunch until after my run.

It’s not even noon, and the café is swarming with local customers. We’re in the final week of April, the end of off-season in Maple Ridge, Oregon. Tourist season, in the small mountainous town, starts soon. 

And then Picnic & Treats will have a line out the door.

Zara is behind the counter, chatting to a mother with a baby in a car seat. Zara’s wearing the café’s white T-shirt with the P&T logo on the chest, and purple pants. Her violet scarf holds back a halo of black coils that brushes all the way past her shoulders.

With her stunning hair, copper-brown skin, and sparkling chocolate-brown eyes, my best friend is fucking gorgeous. A fact I’m sure her boyfriend—what’s-his-name—appreciates.

The scrawny little girl who’d waved her fists in the face of the kid who’d bullied me has long since grown up. But she’s still as fierce and loyal as she was in elementary school. A true warrior. 

She also might be the inspiration for the love interest in the psychological thriller I’m writing. Not that I would ever admit that to her. Or anyone else.

It’s my turn to step up to the counter.

“Hey.” Zara’s usual smile could light up a room during a power outage. It makes you feel like you belong here, whether you’re a regular or a tourist visiting the mountains for the day. But that smile is nothing compared to the one she gives me now.

This one is several hundred watts brighter.  

“The usual? Or are you gonna try something different this time?” The equivalent of a smirk slides into her tone. She already knows the answer. I’m that predictable when it comes to her cooking.

“Nope. The usual.” I can’t get enough of her African curry—kuku paka—and rice.  

Zara’s gaze travels over my sneakers, running shorts, and sweatshirt. “You meeting up with Kellan?”

“Yep.” I flash her a one-sided grin. “You wanna join us? We’re running on one of the trails near the Warrior cabins.”

Zara shakes her head, giving me a comical cross-eyed expression. “Do I look certifiable? Running with you and Kellan—or Troy and Lucas—would be the death of me. I’ll pass, thanks.” As I knew she would. Running has never been Zara’s thing. 

I fold my arms on the high countertop and lean forward, closing the distance between us. “If you change your mind, Golden Girl, you know where to find me.” 

Zara releases a low, throaty laugh. “Trust me, Garrett, it’ll be a rainy day in Hell before I work out with you.”

“How do you know it doesn’t usually rain in hell? Heavy rain sounds hellish to me.”

Zara snorts. “Even in heavy rain, I bet you two would still go running.”

I puff up my chest, smiling. “You don’t get to skip your run while in the Marines just ’cause it’s raining hard.”

“True…but all that rain would extinguish the flames of Hell.”

I chuckle. “Good point.”

Zara gives my arms a playful shove, hinting for me to remove them from the counter. “I’ll be right back with your order.”

She disappears through the door to the kitchen and returns with my takeout lunch and hands it to me. “Have a good run.”

I drive to the Wilderness Warriors property on the outskirts of town. The land, which covers fifty acres, is mostly open meadow and a forest of maple trees, with the local mountain range beyond.

I park the Explorer next to Kellan’s Trailblazer on the gravel driveway in front of the main building. It resembles a large log cabin with a wheelchair ramp on one side. The driveway is scheduled to be paved in two weeks. One more thing on my to-do list that has nothing to do with my writing, which pays my bills. But since I’ve got seven more months until my manuscript is due to my editor, it’ll be fine.

Time to make a video for social media. Gotta nurture my connections with my readers.

I shoot a video of the landscape that was buried under a thick layer of snow last month. “Hey, everyone,” I say, the camera still on the meadow. “About to go running with one of my brothers, to help get those creative juices flowing.” I move the camera up. “Check out these snow-covered mountains. Another week or two and everything here will be green, as far as the trees are concerned. Beautiful. What does it look like where you live? Comment below.” 

I tap the Stop button.  

“Thought your readers prefer seeing your ugly face.”

Kellan’s shoes crunch across the gravel, and I turn to greet him. He has on the same running gear as me, minus the hoodie. “Hey.”

When most people see us together, they assume we’re biological brothers. Maybe even fraternal twins, given we’re the same age and our hair is the same shade of dark brown. We’re both in great shape from working out daily, a way to deal with the demons we don’t like to talk about. His eye color is the only obvious difference that separates him from Lucas, Troy, our parents, and me. My adopted brother’s eyes are blue; ours are brown.

“Maybe they would like to see me, but after what happened with the Annie Wilkes clone three years ago, I keep my face out of my social media posts whenever I can.”  

“At least she wasn’t as crazy as that character in Stephen King’s Misery.”

“Yeah, Annie Wilkes 2.0 didn’t lock me in her house and demand I resurrect a character I’d killed off. But remember, she did stalk me and send insane messages, outlining our happily ever after together. She even showed up at all my book signings that year—including the ones overseas.”

Kellan grunts. “The beautiful ones are always the most dangerous.”

A laugh erupts from me. “I doubt Lucas and Troy would agree. Simone and Jessica are beautiful, and they’re far from dangerous.”

Even so, I know what my brother means. I’m not the only one who discovered the hard way that beauty doesn’t always reflect what’s beneath the surface. In Kellan’s case, the beautiful demon from his past cost him three years in prison.

“Anyway, most of my readers don’t give a damn what I look like. As long as the stories are exciting and well written, they’re happy.” Stories that I need at least nine months to write so the characters and plots are gripping and the books are impossible to put down.

My phone rings, and I glance at it. Maxwell.

“I’ve got to get this,” I tell Kellan, tossing him an apologetic look. “Hopefully it will be quick.” I accept the call, and Kellan begins stretching his legs, lunging his right foot forward. “Hey, Maxwell. What’s up?”

“I’ve got some great news…and some not-so-great news.”

“Okay. Hit me with the not-so-great news first.”

“You don’t get a say in the order.” If his tone could take human form, it would guffaw and slap me on the back.

“Okay, just tell me however you’d like.”

“I just got off the phone with Bethany. She sold the movie rights to your next book.”

Surprise sends my stomach into a backward flip. “Holy shit. She sold the rights to Unfallen?”

This isn’t the first time movie rights have been sold for one of my books. But none of the sold rights have resulted in actual movies. It’s just been extra income. Nice extra income. Still, I’ve learned not to get overly excited whenever Max tells me news about movie rights.

“Not exactly.” His barely held-back excitement vibrates through the phone line, the emotion straining on an invisible leash. 

“What exactly did she sell the rights to, then?”

Untold Mercy.”

“The book I haven’t finished writing?”

“That would be the one.”

“Okay, so what’s the not-so-great news?”

“Because of this movie deal, your publisher moved up the deadline for the book. They need the manuscript months sooner than what was originally agreed on.”

Months? Is this deal for real?

I always have words. But now? I can’t think over the explosive pounding in my ears.

Maxwell’s talking, but I don’t even try to listen. I’m only a third of the way done with the book. My synopsis is completed. I know where the plot’s going. But writing fast? Never done it.

I cut Maxwell off mid-monologue. “What did you say?”

“They have several actors in mind for William and Safina.” The excitement in Max’s voice is amped up, like a cheerleader on amphetamines. He throws out a few names I recognize, including two previous Academy Award nominees.

And it feels like I’ve walked into the path of a grizzly bear. That oh-shit moment when you haven’t had a chance to process the danger. Only this, what Maxwell just told me, isn’t dangerous. No, I must have misheard him. Misunderstood what he just said.

Because…what he’s saying…is big. Holy-fucking-shit big.

None of my other books have resulted in actual movies. But this deal? It’s the real freaking thing.

My book will be a movie.

With big names playing my characters.

HOLY. MOTHER-OF-GOD. SHIT.

I want to run and scream and jump up and down and hug Kellan, like I’ve just shot the winning goal during the final game of the Stanley Cup playoffs. In overtime. And the whole crowd is cheering for me, chanting my name.

“Bethany has also included in the contract that you’ll be involved with writing the script.”

Wait, what? My excitement screeches to a standstill. “I know nothing about script writing.”

Kellan pauses in his calf stretch and glances at me, one eyebrow cocked.

I mouth the word later and turn the other way. I don’t want to be distracted right now.

“You learned how to write novels; you can learn how to write scripts. You won’t be the only writer working on it. Plus, it’s a bigger deal when an author is involved in writing a movie script. More money. Bigger name recognition.”

I can do this. I know I can. Right? “Okay. I’m in. First, I’ll finish the book, then worry about my script-writing skills. Exactly when is it due?”

“August fifteenth.”

Shit. “What? Like…in four months?”

“Three months and three weeks, to be exact. That won’t be a problem, will it?” He isn’t really asking if it’s possible. Not when he’s using the tone that says, Sorry, not sorry, but this is the way it is.

I don’t have a fucking choice. Not unless I want to turn down this career-changing opportunity. And I’d be an idiot to do that. A mountain-sized idiot.

“What about my contract? Can the publisher legally move up the date?”

“Do you really want to quibble over the due date when your book is being made into a big-ass movie? A movie that will be shown in theaters all over the world?” He releases a long breath, his patience with me clearly teetering on a super-sharp edge. “Or do you want Bethany to tell them you’re not interested?” Now his tone implies he’ll hop on the next flight from New York to Oregon and strangle me if I say yes.

“No, I’ll do it, but it’ll be tight, what with Wilderness Warriors starting for the summer again soon. As long as nothing else unexpected pops up, I should be able to finish it before August fifteenth.”

“Should?” His voice has an eyebrow-lifted tone. A challenge.

“Will. I will finish it by then.” Who needs sleep anyway? 

“That’s what I needed to hear. It’s a good thing you’re a free agent. Because your partner and kids wouldn’t get to see you for the next four or so months.”

“Yep, no worries about that here.”

“I’ll let you go now, Garrett. And I’ll send you the contracts this afternoon.” Maxwell ends the call.

“What’s going on?” Cautious curiosity hangs on Kellan’s question. He’s not one for prying, but even he can’t ignore my reaction to Maxwell’s news.

“My subagent sold the movie rights to the book I’m currently writing.” I give him the short version of what Maxwell just told me. Of my three brothers, Kellan is the reserved one. The brother who usually keeps his emotions locked away. But even he can’t keep his excitement at the news off his face—in the subtle rise of his eyebrows.

Or at least it’s there until I tell him the catch…that my deadline has been moved forward.

“How long do you have to write it?” Kellan continues stretching.

“Three months and three weeks.”

“You think you can finish it?” 

“I can do it. I think. It’s not ideal, what with the release of Unfallen. I’ll be ramping up my presence on social media over the next four and a half months as I build up buzz for the book.”

“You’re gonna be busy.”

“It will be tough to get the book done in time but not impossible. Most of my interviews and public appearances have been scheduled for late August and early September, after Untold Mercy is now due to my editor.”

I yank off my hoodie, toss it onto the front passenger seat of the Explorer, and nod at Kellan to indicate I’m ready. I’ll have to stretch later due to lack of time now.

We run along the dirt trail that meanders through the meadow and disappears into the trees. The temperature is perfect for running, the sun peeking from behind the clouds and the cool spring breeze. I barely notice it with the shock of Maxwell’s news sinking in.

This soon changes as the rugged terrain becomes tougher, requiring my full attention if I don’t want to trip on a stone or exposed root. The route is one of Kellan’s favorites, because it deters us from talking while we run.

And talking is something he prefers to avoid if possible.

By the time we have finished, Kellan and I are breathing hard and our T-shirts are sticking to our sweat-drenched bodies. We each disappear into separate cabins and have a quick shower. I emerge soon after, wearing clean sweatpants and a dark-green Henley, my hair damp.

The clouds grew steadily heavier with rain during our run. The first drops begin to fall as we drive to my house. We have Wilderness Warriors business regarding the upcoming season the two of us want to discuss before Kellan is due back at his office.

Now that I’m not navigating the challenging trail, the excitement and shock at Maxwell’s news return, as well as a heavy dose of anxiety at having to finish the manuscript in such a short time.

Holy shit. I still can’t believe it.

I pull into my driveway, the rain coming down harder now. A garden of trees, bushes, and flower beds creates a private oasis between my sprawling single-story house and my neighbors’. And that’s even before the spring leaves are fully out.

I reach up to press the garage door opener on my visor, but movement on the front stoop catches my attention. A woman who looks to be in her late twenties is sitting on the top step with a toddler on her lap.

What the heck? Who are they?

There’s no other vehicle in the driveway, nor is there any parked near my house on the street. I don’t recognize them, and I’m not expecting anyone.

They’re lucky where they’re sitting is sheltered from the rain. Otherwise, they might have been drenched, depending on how long they’ve been there. Neither of them has on a jacket—and…are they reading a book?

Damn, they must be cold. The temperature has dropped over the past few minutes. It’s about fifty degrees.

I park near the garage door, kill the engine, and slide out of the driver’s seat. Kellan stops behind me. I have no idea if he’s seen the two individuals, who are no longer visible from where I’m standing.

I walk around the corner to the path leading to my front door. Neither the woman nor the toddler looks up. Their attention is still on the book. The woman’s skin is pale, and her long strawberry-blond hair is tied back in a ponytail. The toddler’s dark hair is pulled up in some sort of bun on top of her head, and her skin is a shade lighter than Zara’s golden-copper coloring. Wearing only jeans and T-shirts, they aren’t dressed for being out in the rain.

“Hi? Is there something I can help you with?” I ask, raindrops soaking through my Henley.

The woman’s and the girl’s heads snap up, surprise rounding their eyes. The toddler whimpers. Probably because she’s damn cold.

Kellan’s Trailblazer door slams shut. At the noise, the toddler releases a shriek and presses herself farther into the woman’s side, as if trying to hide or stay warm. She’s clutching a stuffed animal to her body, its black-and-white shape pinned under her arm.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” I tell them. “I thought you heard me pull up to the house. Is there something I can help you with?”

The woman closes the book and pushes to her feet, the toddler cradled against her body. The little girl buries her face into the woman’s chest and keeps it there.

“Is she okay?” I take inventory of the woman’s features, but nothing about her is familiar. She’s not a neighbor. Door-to-door canvassers don’t usually bring small children with them when they knock on doors, especially not when it’s raining heavily. And they don’t usually wait for people to come home, nor do they read on the homeowner’s porch.

The woman’s gaze darts to something over my shoulder, possibly Kellan. She shifts on her feet, as if she’d rather be anywhere but here, her attention returning to me.

“She’s your…” She adjusts the girl a little higher on her waist, her eyes never leaving me, her skin a little paler than before. “She’s your daughter.”

I stare at the pair for a fraction of a second, positive I’ve misheard her, the heavy rain drowning out her words.

Like I thought I’d misheard Maxwell when he’d told me about the movie deal?

Anger flares in me. Why would someone think it’s okay to accuse me of being a father—and think I won’t call bullshit on their lie? This is my house. Is she some hyper fan who found out where I live and is trying to infiltrate my life? “She’s absolutely, definitely, not mine.”

 © Stina Lindenblatt, 2025


One More Heartbeat ebook releases on Apple Books, Nook, and Kobo/Kobo Plus on September 11 and will be available for only ten days there.

The ebook will then release on Kindle/Kindle Unlimited and in paperback on September 25.