Better Late than Never: Huckleberry Ridge Romance, #3

By K.T. Raine

If only she could be invisible

 

Kara Grissom has spent twenty years in hiding. Ever since suffering a severe facial burn the night after her college graduation, her only refuge has been the childhood home she shares with her mother. She's long since given up on any possibility of finding love, so when a handsome stranger suddenly invades her safe place, Kara's stunned by the sudden awakening of desires she thought had died years ago.

 

Dawson Wickham loves life as a bachelor. With his own home, a great family, and the perfect job, he's got everything he needs. But he also loves mysteries, and when he accidentally stumbles upon the reclusive Kara and she flees from him, her bizarre reaction is a mystery he just has to solve.

 

Kara knows that no man who sees her face could ever love her, so she does her best to rebuff Dawson's interest. But he's not the type to give up easily, especially once he begins to fall for her charm, wit, and intelligence. But will his love be enough to break through Kara's phobia of rejection and convince her to trust him? Or is she destined to live out her days alone?

 

Better Late than Never is the poignant third book in K.T. Raine's clean, contemporary Huckleberry Ridge Romance series.

 

Pick up your copy of Better Late than Never today to experience the reforming power of true love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.T. Raine
• Release date: Feb 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223866121

K.T. Raine

Always a sucker for a happy ending, KT Raine writes clean and swoon worthy romance from her home in beautiful north Idaho, where she lives with her husband and their beagle-mix rescue, Stella. She's the author of Holding Out for Special, and the Huckleberry Ridge Romance series. 

Book preview

Chapter 1—Dawson

Dawson turned his ball cap around backward and wiped an arm across his sweaty forehead. Had to be at least seventy-five in the shade—eighty-something in the sun—unseasonably warm for late May in north Idaho. If it kept it up the huckleberries would ripen early, which was fine as long as they got some rain mixed in as well. If not, they’d come on, dry up and be gone in a flash. Unusually warm, dry spring weather increased the fire danger later on in the season as well.

He fished his phone from his back pocket to check the time—2:20 p.m. Ten minutes before the last batch of kids came through his station for the day. Then tomorrow he’d get to do it all over again. Dawson backed up to sit on the stump of a large fir and scratched at his beard, trying to remember how he’d gotten himself rooked into this gig to begin with.

He was either too nice of a guy or a sap. Coupled with the fact he wasn’t fully aware of what he was saying yes to when he’d agreed to be a chaperone for the annual Idaho State Forestry Contest at the end of the school year. It had sounded harmless enough when his 10-year-old nephew Dillon approached him about it three months back. Dawson had quickly perused the signup form and didn’t have any problem with it. After all, the contest had been going on for over fifty years on the same piece of land. The Grissom homestead—five miles outside of Huckleberry Ridge.

The event was all about teaching kids the importance of conservation and protecting natural resources like the timber and logging industry along with Idaho’s many lakes and rivers. Who wouldn’t want to advocate for that? Lofty goals as far as Dawson was concerned. Plus, he had great memories of participating in the contest himself when he was a kid—especially his freshman year of high school when he’d won $45 bucks for the highest score in silviculture.

The problem was, not long after Dawson agreed to be a chaperone, Dillon’s teacher had called to thank him, discovered he worked in the woods for a living and asked if he might consider running the tree and plant ID station for the second through sixth graders. Dawson had hemmed and hawed for a few minutes but couldn’t come up with an honest excuse to refuse, especially with the teacher on the line, so he’d said yes.  

And to be completely truthful, he didn’t mind helping out. It’s just that there were a couple of things about the contest he’d either forgotten or paid no attention to as a kid. The event lasted a full two days, and over 500 students from all over the county participated. That amounted to a whole heck of a lot of commotion and sweaty little bodies running around. A fresh batch of ten or twelve kids rotated through his station every twenty minutes with a ten-minute break between each group.

Dawson did his best to keep it lively and fun, and most of the kids were surprisingly well-behaved with only a few knuckleheads in the mix. But still, for someone who spent his days surrounded by the solitude and serenity of the woods, it was all a bit much. He couldn’t wait to get home, kick off his boots, and spend a quiet evening recharging for tomorrow.

Hey, Uncle Dawson. Dillon staggered over to him, his face blotchy and red and his glasses slipping down his nose. I took second place in map reading.

Dawson gave the boy a high-five. Hey, good for you, buddy. How come you look like you just ran a marathon?

Oh, we were just messing around in between is all, Dillon panted. But then one of the other kids kicked over my water bottle and now I feel like I’m gonna pass out. He held out his empty aluminum flask, turning it upside down as proof. Do you know where I can get some more water?

Dawson crossed his arms and frowned. Did you check the big cooler over by where the buses are parked?

Uh-huh. But it’s empty.

Probably because the day’s about over. Can you survive a little longer?

The boy bent forward with his hands on his knees. I’ll try. But I feel a little sick.

Want me to call an ambulance?

Dillon managed a grin. Naw, that’s okay.

Dawson studied his nephew with mild alarm. The boy was a good kid, polite, and not a complainer. If he said he needed a drink, he probably did. Okay, hold on. Dawson stepped over to his backpack, retrieved his water bottle, and handed it over. Here. Not much left but you’ll get a few swallows.

Dillon accepted it eagerly. Thanks, Uncle Dawson.

Uh, huh. He looked around. The eighty-acre property was teeming with noisy throngs of kids, running, squealing, and scurrying to their final stations for the day. Surely, there were a few bottles of water left someplace, but Dawson didn’t see any other adults nearby to ask.  

He gazed toward the Grissom’s house at the edge of the property about a hundred yards away. The old place looked about the same as it had when Dawson was a kid—a big, sprawling farmhouse with faded red and white paint and a weathered wrap-around porch—well used but still serving its purpose. A green hose snaked its way from a standpipe in the yard, across the lawn, and around the side of the house, and it gave him an idea. He grabbed Dillon’s flask. Stay put, okay? I’ll see if I can snag some water from the hose over there.

Dillon dropped to the ground beside the stump looking hopeful. Okay, thanks.

Dawson strode toward the farmhouse, aware that he had only a few minutes before needing to be back at his station. Joan and Howard Grissom had been hosting the forestry contest forever. And though Dawson remembered hearing that Howard had passed several years earlier, it appeared Joan was continuing to allow the use of the property to educate all the local kids. Pretty big of her.

The contest itself was sponsored by the Idaho Department of Lands and handled by numerous timber and resource management professionals, teachers, coaches, and parent chaperones. Still, though, Dawson wondered what would happen once Mrs. Grissom passed away. She had to be getting pretty old by now. And as far as he knew there were no Grissom children, pretty weird considering the size of the farmhouse.

He trailed the hose, circling wide around the porch, feeling like an intruder. As generous as Mrs. Grissom was, it didn’t mean she wanted people at her private residence. If Dillon hadn’t looked like he was near to passing out Dawson would have made him wait, but the kid really did look like he was about to overheat. Hopefully, he could quietly fill the water bottle without anyone being the wiser. He quietly edged around the corner of the house and halted in surprise.

Behind the farmhouse was a private, rectangular piece of ground, sheltered by several giant, old-growth pines. Any one of which would more than fill his truck and trailer with firewood. The area wasn’t really a garden, more of a natural alcove, with rich, loamy soil covered with pine needles, and at least 100 tamarack seedlings planted in neat rows. A woman kneeled among them with her back turned, a trowel in hand. A gorgeous mane of ebony hair hung down both sides of her face, glistening in the golden light slanting through the trees.

He stood frozen with indecision. It certainly wasn’t Mrs. Grissom. This woman was much younger and slender, her arms toned and tanned by the sun. A delicate rose tattoo peeked out from the narrow strip of exposed skin between the waistband of her jeans and the hem of her sleeveless shirt. Dawson’s body stirred to attention, and he was unable to pull his eyes away from the alluring tattoo.

The nozzle of the hose lay temptingly close. But the woman had no idea he was there, and if he spoke he’d no doubt give her a heart attack. He stealthily backed away several feet before quietly clearing his throat. Hi there, ‘scuse me.

The woman gasped, shrinking into herself like a turtle retracting into its shell. But oddly, she didn’t whirl toward him as logic would dictate. Instead, she only turned her head enough to reveal the angles of a high cheekbone and perfectly straight nose. Y-yes?

Hey, I’m sorry, Dawson stammered, his neck prickling with guilt. If she’d faced him he would have held up his hands as reassurance he meant no harm, but she didn’t. Didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m Dawson Wickham, one of the chaperones. And my nephew’s water bottle is empty and he wasn’t able to find any more, and I saw the hose and just thought ... He stopped, feeling like an idiot for rambling on as he was.

Oh, of course, she said, hitching her head toward the nozzle. It’s no problem. Go right ahead and take what you need. She quickly scrambled to her feet and made a beeline for the porch a few yards away. The screen door screeched as she yanked it open, then slammed behind her as she disappeared inside, bouncing twice for good measure.

And just like that, she was gone. So quickly Dawson wasn’t sure she’d ever been there at all.

Chapter 2—Kara

Kara pressed herself against the washing machine just inside the door, the bitter taste of fear in her mouth. Her heart drummed as if she’d been confronted by a knife-wielding assailant in a dark alley. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing her heart to slow, fully aware she was overreacting. Not that it was anything new. Her whole life was an overreaction. But still ... it had been way too close of a call.

Usually, she felt safe out there tending her little trees in the privacy of the backyard. Too bad they’d lost Ol’ Red, the loyal Irish setter would never have allowed anyone to sneak up on her like that. But as it was, she’d had no indication anyone was there until the man cleared his throat. What if she’d been facing his direction? Anxiety clawed through her at the thought.

The soft gurgle of running water drew her over to the laundry room window, and she separated the plaid curtains just a crack. Even with a slightly distorted view through the dirty glass, Kara could see the man was fairly tall and lean, his broad shoulders filling out his navy T-shirt nicely. The cuffs of his jeans pooled on the top of leather logging boots. Toffee brown hair peeked out beneath his ball cap and matched the color of his beard. She didn’t much care for facial hair on men, but this guy’s beard was short and well-groomed and made him look ruggedly handsome. 

Kara continued to study him as her heart slowed, enjoying the guilty pleasure of observing him without being seen. Longing whispered through her as memories of Chase filled her mind. Normally, she tried hard not to think about him, and usually she succeeded. Until something unexpected jolted her into remembering—a photo, a smell, or the sudden appearance of a good-looking stranger in her yard. Then, the ensuing memories would rush in with an intensity that left weak in the knees.

Chase.

It had been so long ago—another lifetime. Almost too long to recall his adorable lopsided grin, the prickly feel of his mustache on her nose, the sweet taste of his kisses. Too long to remember what it felt like to be young and carefree and head over heels in love.

Almost.

Once a year Kara allowed herself to google him. It was ridiculous and stupid to intentionally inflict that type of pain on herself. But she did it anyway. Simply for the fleeting, bittersweet joy of seeing his face. Last she’d checked he was married with three kids, and a successful bank manager at a Wells Fargo in Colorado. Did he ever think of her, or search for her online? Just out of curiosity. Just for old-time’s sake. If so, he’d find almost nothing. Kara worked remotely but seldom surfed online and avoided social media like the plague. Certainly never posted any pictures.

Of course, Chase didn’t need pictures. He’d seen the real thing. No wonder he’d fled. Who could blame the poor guy?

Kara forced the memories away and focused back on the attractive stranger in her yard. He filled the water bottle and then chugged half of it before topping it off once more. Dawson? Yes, that’s what he’d said. Dawson Wickham. Her eyes traveled over his face once more. If only she could grow facial hair like that. Not that she had any desire to look like a man, but it sure would make life simpler.

Dawson glanced toward the screen door as he twisted the cap back on the water bottle, and Kara could only imagine what he must be thinking about her bizarre actions. Weirdo. Flake. Skulking off like that. A moment later he lay the nozzle down and raised a hand, smiling in her direction. Hey, thanks.

Kara shrunk back from the window. She knew he couldn’t see her, he was just being polite on the off chance she could hear him, but it was still unnerving. She tipped her head against the wall. You’re welcome, she whispered.

Kara, sweetheart? Are you in here?

She gave a start and pushed away from the wall. Yeah, Mom. Just came in. Kara walked into the living room. Did you need something?

The elderly woman smiled over from her well-loved brown recliner near the large window overlooking the property. Do you know how things are going out there?

Oh, yeah, I think pretty well. I’ve been hearing lots of whooping and hollering and laughing if that’s any indication. She glanced at the old grandfather clock in the corner. Things should be winding down for today soon now.

Her mother rubbed her slender hands together. I must admit I miss being around all the cheerful chaos. Sure does remind me of Dad, though.

A weight settled on Kara’s heart. I know, she said. Me, too. It’s a Grissom legacy for sure. Something you should both be proud of. She smiled warmly at her mother. Want to make the rounds with me tonight to gather the lost and found items? We can use your wheelchair.

The woman’s eyes lit up as though Kara had suggested a special outing. I do indeed. What time shall we go?

After supper. Once we make sure everyone’s gone. Sound good?

Sounds perfect. I put a chicken in the crock-pot this morning.

Kara sniffed the air. I know. I’ve been smelling it all afternoon. She hitched a thumb over her shoulder. Guess I’ll go finish watering my seedlings unless you need something.

No, no go ahead. I just thought I heard you come in.

Yeah. She took a shaky breath. One of the chaperones came around looking to fill a water bottle from the hose.

Her mother’s mouth puckered with surprise. Oh, my.

Yeah. Kara flattened a hand to her chest. Scared me half to death. He said his nephew was thirsty and there was no more bottled water left.

What did you do?

Kara shrugged, trying to play it cool. Just told him to go ahead.

Her mother cocked a brow, and Kara knew her ruse had failed. Who was it? she asked.

I didn’t recognize him. But he said his name was Dawson Wickham, I think.

Ohhh. Her mouth formed an O before she smiled. I know his parents. Arthur and Elaine. They’ve been here in Huckleberry Ridge forever. A fine family.

Ah. Well ... Kara gave a resigned smile. I don’t know many people.

Her mother clucked with sympathy. I realize that, sweetheart. And I’d do anything to help you change that if only I could figure out how.

Kara swallowed. Yeah. Well, I guess it is what it is. She screwed up her face and forced a laugh. Actually I hate that saying. It makes no sense at all.

Her mother chuckled. "That’s the English language for