The Opposite of Wild
Read The Opposite of Wild Online
Authors: Kylie Gilmore
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Romantic Comedy
Table of Contents
The Opposite of Wild
The Clover Park Series, Book 1
© 2014 Kylie Gilmore
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Unleash the wild woman…?
Ex-cop Ryan O’Hare takes one look at buttoned-up control freak Liz Garner and just itches to loosen the woman up. Not that he’s into her. Because a woman like that comes with way too many expectations. Not to mention, she practically works for him, and he didn’t hire Liz to watch after his beloved Harley-stealing Gran so he could turn Liz loose in his bed. Still, there’s something about her, a hidden wild side, that makes him wonder what it would take.
Liz must be crazy to work for the insensitive, arrogant, horribly…hot man she’s avoided for years. Unfortunately, she needs the money and Ryan’s grandmother needs a keeper. (Midnight tango lessons and ziplines with Gran, anyone?) Ryan’s rare smile and swaggering confidence have Liz torn between throwing her favorite pinot grigio at his head or throwing herself at him. Can this control freak find a way to let loose with the tough, no-strings guy who once broke her heart?
Chapter One
Ryan O’Hare sat at the swank bar of the Four Seasons Hotel New York, the beer in front of him untouched, as he kept an eye on his mark. The short, bald man in a suit at the other end of the bar hadn’t ordered yet, and his eyes nervously scanned the lobby. Ryan’s phone vibrated. He glanced at the number, his younger brother Travis.
Not now. I’m waiting for the money shot
.
A young redhead—twenty-five at the most—in a skintight blue dress that barely covered her ass approached, working those hips. He slid the microcamera from his pocket and waited.
Quick kiss hello on the lips. That’s a start
. Now he just needed proof they went someplace private together. He’d have to wait for however many drinks it took the soon-to-be divorced Stew Harbinger to get this one up to his room. Stew’s hand slid up her inner thigh—not too long a wait.
His cell vibrated again. Another message from Trav. Dammit. Trav knew he was working tonight. He ignored it. Mrs. Harbinger wanted before and after pictures of her cheating husband for the divorce battle to come. Cheating spouses were the bulk of his private investigator business.
Marriage was a crock.
Stew pulled a velvet box from his pocket. The redhead was delighted. Diamond earrings.
Oh, Stewie. You’re going to pay for those
. He snapped a few more pictures. His cell vibrated. This time a text from Trav:
Call me. It’s about Gran.
Ryan tensed. Gran was seventy-two and had walked away from a car accident last week on Route 84 without a scratch on her. A fucking miracle. She’d been sideswiped by a truck in her little Corolla, did a few three-sixties across two lanes of traffic and landed on the grassy median. The ER doctor had said she was fine. Still, he and his brothers had taken turns checking in on her over the past week. He’d even placed an ad for more regular care this summer. She’d been doing odd things since the accident, like eating Snickers for breakfast and skipping her cholesterol pills. His sweet gran had even called him an old nag just for checking in on her.
He took one last look at Stew and the redhead cooing at each other, decided to risk it, and slipped out to the marbled lobby to call Trav back. “It’s Ryan. What’s up?”
“Now don’t go ballistic…”
Ryan said nothing. Trav always spilled his guts to fill the silence.
True to form, Trav spilled. “I just saw Gran, and she was really happy.”
“Yeah, so? That’s good.” He scanned the lobby in case Stew and his lover headed for their hotel room.
“When I asked her why, she said it was because she took your Harley out for a ride and, I quote,” Trav’s voice rose to a falsetto, “‘felt the wind in my hair.’”
Ryan let out a string of curses that had heads turning. He lowered his voice. “Who gave her the keys?”
“She said she wanted to leave you a lasagna. I gave her my key to your place.”
How the hell did she know his Harley keys were in his kitchen drawer? Gran on a Harley. She was seventy-two freaking years old! He paced back and forth, imagining all the worst-case scenarios—her frail body flattened or crumpled on the side of the highway. Nothing could happen to her. He wouldn’t let it.
“You still there, buddy?” Trav asked.
He jammed a hand through his hair. “I’m changing the locks on the garage. And don’t give her my key ever again!”
“Sorry, Ry. But Gran and the Harley are both fine. I just thought you should know. Maybe you could talk some sense into her.”
Ryan rubbed his throbbing temple at the headache already building there. “I’ll talk to her.” His grandmother needed a keeper ASAP. He pocketed his phone and slipped back into the bar.
Dammit
! Stew and the redhead were gone.
~ ~ ~
Liz Garner grabbed her cell phone off the kitchen counter, whirled, and aimed the tiny camera at the code on the tub of hummus. “Fitness Woman,” she sang as the nutrition label popped up on the screen and saved to her MyFoodBuddy app. Fifty calories per serving.
She wished she wasn’t celebrating the last day of school alone tonight, but the other teachers were all married with kids. She arranged the chopped veggies by color in a large bowl around the hummus and reminded herself there was nothing wrong with being single. Thirty was the new twenty-five, right? So what was a two-year dry spell? She snatched the pinot grigio from the fridge. It wasn’t like she’d shrivel up and die from lack of—
The doorbell rang, startling her. She wasn’t expecting any visitors.
She peeked through the peephole and flung open the door. “Daisy! You should’ve called me. I’d have picked you up at the train station.”
Her older sister stood on the other side of the door, her long, blond hair up in a messy ponytail, her eyes red and puffy. “I took a cab. Oh, Liz,” she cried before throwing her arms around her sister.
Liz blinked and pulled back to look at what pressed between them. Through the outline of Daisy’s flowing pink sundress was an unmistakable baby bump.
She gasped. “Daisy, you’re—”
“I know!” she exclaimed before bursting into tears.
Omigod
. Liz guided her to the sofa. Daisy had to be at least six months along, and not once had she given a clue about her current predicament—single, pregnant, and living on a receptionist’s salary. Handing her a tissue, she put a comforting arm around Daisy’s heaving shoulders. Daisy leaned in and sobbed into Liz’s favorite lavender button-down shirt.
Daisy is my priority. I’ll have the shirt dry-cleaned tomorrow.
She waited until Daisy’s sobs slowed before gently urging, “Tell me everything.”
“Can I get a drink of water?” Daisy asked in a shaky voice.
“Of course.” She got a glass out of the cabinet and poured filtered water from the pitcher.
My impulsive, flighty sister—a mother? Children need structure, routine
.
Liz would take care of everything. Even though she was the younger sister by three years, she’d been looking out for Daisy for as long as she could remember. Covering for her, making excuses for her, and when Liz was old enough, helping Daisy fix whatever mess she’d made, of which there’d been plenty. From sneaking out on school nights to meet her friends, to underage parties in the woods, to joy rides without a license. Their parents still didn’t know about most of that stuff. The driving without a license they did know. Daisy was a speed demon and got pulled over her first time out. And her fifth time. A few more times after that too.
Liz peered over the half wall separating the kitchen and living room. “Are you hungry?”
“Always,” Daisy replied, reaching into her bright orange and purple boho bag and pulling out a box of Sno-Caps.
A flash of alarm went through Liz. She snagged the veggies and hummus bowl, grabbed the water, and hurried back to the living room.
“Why don’t we save this for later?” she asked, neatly substituting the veggie bowl for the Sno-Caps in Daisy’s hand. She slipped the candy behind a cushion to be disposed of later.
Daisy merely shrugged and dug into the veggies. “You wouldn’t believe how hungry being pregnant can make you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Liz asked softly. Daisy had always called her at the first sign of trouble. It stung that it had taken her this long.
Daisy set the veggie bowl on the coffee table and sighed. “At first, I was just in shock. Did you know the pill isn’t one hundred percent when you’re on antibiotics?”
Liz shook her head.
“Well, it’s not. Then I thought,
I can’t keep this baby
. I don’t know the first thing about babies. I’m not married. I have no money. I share an apartment with two roommates.” She gripped her hands tightly together. “I even went to the clinic, but I couldn’t go through with it.”
“I’m glad,” Liz managed. She’d almost lost her niece or nephew. It hurt to think about. Her own biological clock had been ticking louder and louder.
“I’m still not ready,” Daisy confessed. “I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat that I forgot the baby somewhere, or I don’t have enough money to feed it, or that it rolls off one of those tiny little changing stations they have in the ladies’ room.” Her voice came out tiny and choked at the end. She took a deep breath. “I’m giving the baby up for adoption.”
“No!” Liz stood in her agitation. “We’ll back out of the contract. Mothers have rights. Wait, did you sign anything?”
“Not yet—”
“Well,
don’t
. We’ll raise the baby together.” Her mind flew. “We can take childcare in shifts! I’ll take afternoon to night, so you can waitress at Garner’s, and you take the school day—”
“I’m getting too big to be on my feet—”
“We’ll put you at the hostess stand. Mom and Dad will get you on Garner’s insurance plan. And you can live here. You can have my room and—”
“Oh, I couldn’t take your bed,” Daisy protested.
“You wouldn’t be comfortable on the sofa. Anyway, it’s just until you’re ready for a place of your own.”
Or a bigger place for the three of us
.
Daisy’s blue eyes, so like her own, reflected equal parts hope and worry. “Are you sure?”
She sat next to Daisy and took her sister’s hands in hers. “I’m sure. And you wouldn’t have come to me tonight if you hadn’t been having doubts about the adoption. We’ll get through this together. You are
not
alone.”
“I know,” Daisy said with a watery smile. “Sorry.” She choked out a laugh. “Damn hormones make me cry at insurance commercials. You know the one where the squirrel almost gets hit by that car?”
Liz nodded solemnly.
Daisy rubbed a hand over her belly. “It’s a boy. Seven months already.” She fumbled around in her bag and pulled out an ultrasound picture.
Liz clapped a hand over her mouth and blinked back tears.
Omigod, I’m going to be an aunt!
He was so beautiful. She could see his face with pursed lips, a tiny button nose, closed eyes. His body was curled up, with one hand on the side of his head. “Oh, Daisy! When are you due?”
“August twenty-second. I haven’t told Mom and Dad yet, so don’t say anything.”
Liz kept quiet. The people of Clover Park, Connecticut, were not known for their discretion. Their parents were sure to hear the happy news the moment Daisy stepped foot out of this apartment. She glanced at her sister chomping on a red pepper slice and tossing back the box of Sno-Caps. So much for her hiding place. “Um…does the father want to be involved?”
And do you know who the father is?
Daisy shook her head. “He’s a minor league baseball player on the Norwalk Tigers. He didn’t want anything to do with the baby.” She looked away.