Page 1 of Revival in Laurel Valley

Chapter One

The mountains were supposed to bring peace. That’s what Blaze O’Hara had promised when he’d called three weeks ago, his voice holding that easy confidence that made people trust him.

Yeah, right.

Grant Boone stood at the window of the sheriff’s office and stared out at Twin Peaks rising behind the town like white-capped sentinels. The Bavarian-style buildings below looked like something from a storybook—peaked roofs and flower boxes, cobblestone streets and old-world charm. Picture perfect. Pristine.

Nothing like Detroit.

Nothing like the life he’d left behind. There was a restlessness inside him. And anger. Oh, so much anger.

“You’ve been staring at the bakery for a long time,” Blaze said. “Go get a donut. And get me one too.”

“Just because I’m a cop doesn’t mean I crave donuts,” Grant said. “That’s a myth. My body is a temple.”

He glared toward Heavenly Delights Bakery in the distance, where warm light glowed from the curved windows. He could practically smelled the sugared dough from where he stood. Was this what retirement was like? Craving things that would give you heart disease and watching your waistline grow?

Blaze O’Hara snorted from behind his desk. “You were a cop. You can have all the donuts you want now.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Grant’s hands fisted at his sides, and he felt the familiar rage simmer just beneath the surface. He knew Blaze hadn’t meant anything by it. Blaze was one of the few people who understood what it meant to lose everything in a single night. But that didn’t make the truth any easier to swallow.

“Right,” Grant said, his voice flat. “I was a cop.”

“Grant—”

“Forget it.” He turned from the window, running his fingers through his hair. It was too long, hanging past his collar, but he couldn’t seem to care enough to get it cut. “You didn’t say anything wrong.”

Blaze studied him with those sharp green eyes that saw too much. He had the kind of presence that came from hard-earned experience. The sleeve tattoos visible beneath his rolled-up uniform shirt told stories of a past that didn’t quite fit with the respectable sheriff image. But then, Laurel Valley seemed to have a way of taking in strays and giving them a second chance.

Grant wondered if there was a second chance here for him.

“How long are you planning to stay mad at the world?” Blaze asked.

“However long it takes.”

“That’s healthy.”

“I gave Detroit twenty years.” Grant’s jaw tightened. “Worked undercover in the worst neighborhoods, with the worst people. Built cases that put away drug dealers and killers. And they threw me away like garbage because one psycho ex-cop decided I was her enemy.”

“Internal affairs didn’t have a choice⁠—”

“They had a choice.” The bitterness tasted like ash. “They could have believed me. Could have backed me up. Instead they forced me into retirement and made it clear I was lucky they weren’t pressing charges.”

Blaze was quiet for a moment. They’d known each other since Grant was fourteen—those summers his parents had sent him to stay with his uncle’s family just outside Laurel Valley. Blaze had been the local kid who’d shown the city boy the ropes, taught him to fish and ride and navigate the mountains. They’d stayed friends through the years, even when Grant went into law enforcement in Detroit and Blaze eventually became sheriff in Laurel Valley.

When everything fell apart six months ago—when Caine nearly killed him and internal affairs forced him into retirement—Blaze had been one of the few people who’d reached out. “Come to Laurel Valley. Get your head on straight. Figure out what’s next.”

Grant’s hand went unconsciously to the scar along his jaw—the jagged reminder of the night Caine had ambushed him in a Detroit warehouse. The bullet had missed his head by two inches. He’d been alone that night. No backup. No one to blame but himself for being too obsessed with bringing her down to follow proper protocol.

Internal affairs had seen it. His captain had seen it. And in the end, they’d decided Grant Boone was a liability.

So here he was. Forty-one years old with nowhere to go and nothing to do but watch the world move on without him.

A bright red BMW SUV suddenly roared past the sheriff’s office, engine loud enough to rattle the windows. The squeal of tires echoed as it disappeared around the corner.

Grant straightened. “Good grief. Who’s the maniac?”

Blaze grinned and stood, grabbing his cowboy hat from the stand. “That would be our new baker. I’m going to have to give her a ticket this time. We’ve warned her about the speed three times already.” He shrugged into his sheepskin coat. “But you’re going to want to steer clear of that mess. She’s nothing but trouble.”