Secondhand Hearts (Peak City Romance Book 1) Read online

  Secondhand Hearts

  Jo Noelle

  Contents

  1. Elena Maurell

  2. Chase Dermott

  3. Elena Maurell

  4. Chase Dermott

  5. Elena Maurell

  6. Chase Dermott

  7. Elena Maurell

  8. Chase Dermott

  9. Elena Maurell

  10. Chase Dermott

  11. Elena Maurell

  12. Chase Dermott

  13. Elena Maurell

  Peak City Romances

  About the Author

  Also by Jo Noelle

  1

  Elena Maurell

  Elena leaned against the graying yellow laminate on the pawn shop’s front counter, staring at the calendar. It had been a typical day, which meant not many customers. There’d been too many of those this year. In a couple of hours she could rip today from the stack of dates underneath and crumple it into the trash.

  Maybe it would be better if she could skip today on the calendar, not because it was her birthday, but because it seemed that her birthdays signaled the universe to belch out catastrophes. It was hard not to remember them. It was on her third birthday when her mother walked out of her life after she cleaned the icing off the floor. Two years ago tonight, Elena turned twenty-one. And on the same night, her dad had died. She stared off vacantly. She wished he were there to tell her what to do, now.

  Her dad always told her that it was her mother’s loss, and Elena believed him. As far as parents went, her dad was great. He was a room-mom for class parties in grade school. He explained the birds and the bees after the school’s maturation program terrified her in fifth grade, assuring her that she would love being a beautiful, strong woman someday. He braved a week of prom dress shopping two years in a row. And helped her pick up the pieces of a broken heart a month before his death. There were days before, after, and in between of him just being there. I miss you, Dad.

  The bell on the door jingled as the mail carrier entered. “Got quite a stack of letters today,” Lucas said, waving them at Elena and Tug.

  “You know, I don’t mind coming out to the box to pick that up,” Elena said, walking across the sales floor to meet him.

  “And you know, I don’t mind bringing it inside. Been doing that for more than thirty years. This town isn’t so big that we can’t do business face to face. Maybe I’ll retire, and you’ll have to go out and get it in the rain and the snow everyday.” He handed her three envelopes and then turned to leave.

  Tug walked with him to the door, talking about the upcoming Dutch oven contest they were both entering.

  “I do like seeing your face every day, Lucas,” Elena called out. “Have a good day.” She read the upper left corner of each envelope and shifted them to the bottom. The last envelope was handwritten but there wasn’t a return name or address. It was stiff and the size of a card. Who would have sent it? She slid her finger under the seal and pulled out the birthday card, reading the front to herself.

  Why did it say belated? Today was her birthday, so it wasn’t late.

  She opened it to see who’d signed it. I’m sorry to have missed so many years. Happy Birthday. Mom. Elena’s nerves tensed immediately. She didn’t want Tug to even see it and tucked it under the other envelopes. She wanted to throw it away. She would. It was nothing to her.

  Tug pulled her out of her thoughts, setting a cake and some paper plates near the cash register.

  “Thank you, Tug. My dad did a great job picking his best friend.”

  “He did a great job of raising a kid, too.” He dumped candles on the counter, then poked them in the cake. “Happy birthday, Baby Girl,” he said, igniting a lighter. “Your dad would be real proud.”

  Elena looked around the business her dad had built—a thirty-six-hundred-square-foot legacy with iron bars on the windows called Treasure Mountain Pawn that had passed on to her.

  “Elena, I got ya something I think ya need.” Tug walked toward the back of the store.

  “We agreed. No presents,” she called over her shoulder, but he continued toward the storage room as if he hadn’t heard her. Something I need? I need a huge inheritance from a long-lost relative. Or a millionaire business partner. Or to win a lottery as soon as possible.

  The bell on the front door jingled again, drawing Elena out of her wishes. Tug had turned the sign to “Closed” when Lucas left, but apparently, he’d forgotten to lock it. Glancing up, she found herself looking into turquoise eyes. Not blue, not green, but somehow both. His blond hair was perfectly tousled, and there was a shadow across his jaw, not like he forgot to comb or shave, but like he knew he rocked that look—complete with rolling a guitar pick between his fingers. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing muscular arms ribbed with veins. He walked toward her in a black button-up—tight across his broad shoulders and obviously muscular chest, and then tucked into slim blue jeans behind a large belt buckle. He wore western boots, expensive but not flashy. She couldn’t help taking him in. Oh my gosh! She could hardly breathe. Everything she found attractive in a man was wrapped up in one neat package.

  She thought back to a news article or something she read online that said there was a part of the modern brain that was left over from when people were cave-dwellers that signaled them when a potential mate was nearby, pumping hormones into your bloodstream. That little part of mine is excited and swinging from the trees like a monkey. She noticed her mouth was slack and snapped it shut. I really don’t want that little part of my brain talking for me now. Her eyes settled on his mouth—perfect lips, perfect teeth, perfect smile. The temperature in the room seemed to skyrocket as she wondered what kissing him would be like.

  He didn’t say anything at first, but Elena could tell he liked what he saw just as much as she did.

  “I’m looking for a guitar, a ’77 Fender Strat, but…” Elena stared into his face, and it looked as if his lips were moving into a smile until he saw the huge man who stomped up behind her.

  “You want me to get rid of him, boss?” Tug asked. At six feet, five inches, and two hundred-plus pounds, Tug was intimidating.

  Elena rolled her eyes. She knew he was going to do that no matter what she said, but he always asked first. Before she could answer, Tug was in front of the guy. “We’re closed for a company party.”

  “Just the two of you?” the man asked as he backpedalled toward the door, his voice tone lifting like he wondered if they were kidding. Elena noticed that he was about the same size as Tug. She reminded herself that he came in looking for a Strat, not her, and not a fight with Tug.

  “Yeah, just us,” Tug barked. He opened the door and gave him a push to guide the man out.

  The man didn’t budge. For a moment, he looked at Elena. Did he want an invitation to stay? They looked into each other’s faces for a long moment, but Elena couldn’t—wouldn’t—invite him to stay. He finally walked through the door Tug held open. The man grabbed the doorjamb. “Are you open tomorrow?” he called across the room. Then pulled his hand free of the frame before the door slammed shut.

  Tug locked the door and pointed to the “closed” sign, then returned to the party with a hint of a scowl between his eyebrows.

  Tug never looked back, but the guy didn’t leave, and he wasn’t looking at Tug either. He smiled at Elena, and she found herself holding her breath. Then he dug his phone out of his pocket, motioning that he was going to call her. Elena guessed he was looking up the store’s number.

  Sure enough, the desk phone rang. Her hand hesitated for a moment, hovering above the receiver. He smile broadened in anticipation as if willing her to pick up the receiver. If she did
, she’d be admitting she was interested. And she was. Elena’s mouth went dry. He was leaving, and they didn’t even get to say hello. He looked like every daydream she’d ever had. And she’d just stood there.

  Her logical brain finally caught up, stopping her from running to the door and reminding her that heartbreak looked like that guy and played a guitar. That kind of guy had stage charisma. His smile said he loved an audience, and they loved him. One night, he’d play a song he wrote for her. Then that song would get played in clubs and events all over the state while he tried to build a fan base.

  He might say he was doing it for the future they could have together, but the texts would dry up, and the phone calls would be short, and then they would stop altogether. She would only see him in magazines and on sites following his latest exploits with the models he dated.

  The last thing she needed was romance drama to add to her current mess. She shook her head enough to let the guy know she wasn’t going to pick up.

  Tug looked at the phone. “This is a party,” Elena said. “Let it ring.” She hoped her voice sounded happy, because that little monkey-part of her brain was shriveling like yesterday’s balloon. Something hit the counter—a present.

  Tug forked a huge piece of cake into his mouth and pointed at the package. Elena held the gift and could feel the wooden frame under the paper. She pulled off the wrapping to reveal an ink and watercolor of a building.

  “Thank you.” Her voice was barely a whisper. The rendering showed a small but classically-styled building with columns flanking the front door. The large windows in the front would let in a lot of natural light. It was something she’d always wanted but would never have. It was a dream, but only a dream. She couldn’t imagine building the antiques shop now—she could barely make monthly expenses on her pawn shop as it was.

  Tug leaned over the counter, resting his forearms on the top. “You always talked about how you wanted to run your own store on the back lot. I thought you might could use a reminder.”

  She shook her head. “Wouldn’t that be like spitting on Dad’s dream?” Tug had been listening to her describe the business for years, and the artist’s rendering had all the elements she’d mentioned. He’d been right about one thing—Elena was losing her dream, and maybe her dad’s, too.

  “Don’t go and let past hurts rob you of the future. He’d be real proud of you, makin’ what he loved into somethin’ you love.”

  Elena thought over what Tug had said all the way home. She knew he was right. For a split second the mystery guy that had come in flashed through her head. His eyes stared into hers. Her pulse jumped at the memory. Not going there. She pushed the face out of her mind and tried to refocus. Tug was right about one thing—Dad would have hated to see her give up her dreams, but the back of her mind reminded her that she had bills to pay and past due notices to sort out.

  2

  Chase Dermott

  Dropping into the driver’s seat, Chase cranked the engine and lowered the windows. It was a clear day, and the interior was warm. Outside the wind was chilly, and there was still snow on the mountain peaks around town. He sat in the car for a moment, adjusting the radio before heading home. At least that’s what he told himself. He was really hoping the party would end, the sign flipped to open, and he’d go back inside to talk with—he hadn’t even gotten her name.

  As much as he hated to admit it, he’d forgotten all about his stolen guitar when he saw her face and her long, dark hair falling in tempting waves around it. He’d only said one sentence—he didn’t even think he’d said it was stolen. She was beautiful, and it got to him.

  He was expecting . . . well, not her. Hairy men with scars ran pawn shops, like her guard dog. Not only that, though, she was calm when that giant had tossed him out. Well, tried to anyway.

  Chase imagined the guy had to rid the place of more than one gawking man who hit on her instead of picking up whatever it was that took them into her store. Probably frequently. His fingers strangled the steering wheel, and his arms tightened up to his shoulders at the thought of how many men might find her attractive. Any man with eyes.

  The women trying to worm into his life lately were nothing like this pawn shop owner. If she wore makeup, it was very little. Her clothes fit her perfectly with just enough interest and mystery, and Chase definitely felt both. No doubt he wasn’t the first to notice.

  But she only saw me. Not the music or concerts or backstage passes. Doubt kicked him in the gut. Even if it started out genuine, experience had taught him that relationships didn’t stay that way for long.

  Since when did a pawn shop need a bouncer? The “Closed” sign swung on a hook, clicking against the glass door, but all he’d thought about was the beautiful woman with dark auburn hair, her golden-brown eyes staring at him, her expression bright with curiosity and appreciation. It continued to draw his attention. Her hand had hung above the phone. He willed her to pick it up, but she ignored it—ignored him. At first, he was stunned. She’d kick herself if she knew who he was. He took a deep breath. That’s exactly why his interest grew for her. He laughed, reminding himself that he didn’t want a woman who wanted to date a celebrity. She couldn’t hide that she’d checked him out. What made her stop?

  Maybe there was a challenge there. Maybe there was a connection worth working for.

  Yeah, I’ll go back, he thought.

  The intersection ahead was crowded, and he was inching along with the rest of the cars, giving him time to admire the clapboard buildings, standing shoulder to shoulder, their unique facades staggered above them. The narrow roads of this old town didn’t fit the crowded tourist traffic.

  He wasn’t going to make it through on the next light anyway. He turned up the radio to help clear his mind and listen to the guitar solo in the song, imagining the movement of his pick, the slide of the strings under his fingers as the music built. The heartbeat of the drums thumped behind the guitar. The vocals came in strong, and the riffs dropped to a lower key—cars honked behind him, pulling his attention back to the streetlight. He made it through on the yellow, but the cars behind him didn’t. He waved an apology to the car behind him.

  Before his band had made it big, Chase thought he wanted people to know who he was. He wanted them to hear the fusion of his guitar and the words he wrote, and those words would speak to their heart. That was his life—the music. Not the tours or parties or VIP events. Women might have started off interested in him or as fans of the music, but they became addicted to the life. They didn’t want the guy, only what the guy could give them.

  I don’t need another lesson in gold diggers. Writing music and being the lead guitar instead of the lead singer left him some anonymity. Even when people knew the band or the music, they didn’t usually connect it back to him. Even if Elena did find out who he was, he doubted it would change what she thought of him. For all she knew, there was a wealthy customer asking to buy merchandise, and she chose to have the party with her employee. Chase couldn’t help admiring her for that.

  He decided to go back to the pawn shop Monday, but not so he would see her. In fact, he’d get Big Foot to help him and avoid her. If his stuff was there, he’d pick it up or buy it back or whatever he had to do. She’d surprised him—that was all. He hadn’t expected an exceptionally beautiful woman to own the place or even be there. Now he knew, and in a few days, it would be cool.

  He hadn’t moved to Peak City to find love anyway. He could have bought a home in any number of places. He had wanted a place to get away from all things that were the band. Sometimes the environment of the music world suffocated him. He wanted a place to breathe and get back to who he really was. He’d been worried that he’d rather quit the band than live that way every day. Here, he was already feeling the stress melt away.

  Chase checked the address one more time before pulling into the parking lot for the Main & West Gallery where he was meeting his interior designer. He was supposed to pick up some pieces for the living room, mast
er bedroom, and guest rooms. He walked into the gallery, feeling the cool air conditioning. It looked a lot larger inside than it did from the parking lot. There were “rooms” made out of moveable dividers that housed art in several different styles. This was definitely not going to go well, or quick. He had no idea how to choose design or colors.

  Deciding to ask for advice, or really, someone who might just point out something he would just like, he walked around looking for a worker he could ask.

  “Welcome to Main & West Gallery. What brought you in today?” A guys voice came from behind him.

  “I was supposed to meet my designer here.”

  “Is Lizette Thomas your designer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She isn’t going to make it in, but I’m supposed to get you started. She emailed the color pallet and some pictures of your walls. Do you want to look around?”

  Chase pulled out his phone and saw that she’d sent him a text. His mind had been occupied at the time. “She wants me to pick out a couple paintings.” Chase looked around at all the canvases. “Honestly, I have no clue what I’m looking for.”

  “No worries.” The man put out his hand. “I’m Emil Bara. I own the gallery. We’ll find something you like here or online.” He led Chase to the back. “New house or remodeling?”

  “New to me.”

  “What brought you here? People come here to vacation, but not a lot to live permanently.”

  “I like the small town. It’s peaceful.”

  “Everything in this section and the next could fit your colors. If you like photography, you can check out the room at the front left too. Is there a certain kind of painting you’d like or maybe a hobby you’d like portrayed?”