Picture Perfect sneak peek

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“We want you to come shoot a stud muffin calendar for us.”

Renee Miller pulled the phone from her ear to look at it, since she must have been wrong about who it said was calling when she answered. Nope. It still said Mom on the screen. “I’m sorry, you want who to do what now?”

“We want you to come shoot a stud muffin calendar for us.”

That’s what she thought she’d said. Huh.

“And the ‘we’ being?”

“The historical society.”

Just one of the various leagues, groups, and committees her mother belonged to back in their little North Carolina home town. The Silver Bluff Historical Society was one of the big two, the other being the Silver Bluff Ladies Quilting Bee. Which, come to think of it, consisted of pretty much the same women. Kind of like all of the town groups did.

Silver Bluff wasn’t all that big.

“Dare I ask why?”

“For the old Jeremiah homestead, of course.”

Oh, sure. That made perfect sense.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What does a”—she cringed—“stud muffin calendar have to do with the Cockburn place?” It was juvenile, yes, but she still wanted to giggle when she said it. Which was why most people referred to what was left of the town founder’s homestead by poor old Jeremiah’s first name. To save a little dignity. The same reason the town had voted over a hundred and fifty years ago to change their name from Cockburnville to Silver Bluff.

No dummies, her ancestors.

“Because the board declared the main building unsafe, and there isn’t any money in the budget to do the necessary repairs. So, if we don’t find another way to come up with the funds by the end of the year, they’re going to condemn the house and tear the whole thing down come January.”

“They wouldn’t!”

Yes, she might not live there anymore, and yes, she tried to avoid going back as much as possible. But the thought of such a significant piece of the town’s history being reduced to a pile of rubble still roused an ember of civic indignation in her chest.

“They will. They already voted on it. So now it’s up to us to save it.”

“Okay, but why a, um, calendar?” She couldn’t say the words stud muffin to her mother again. It would be like talking about a bikini wax in front of her father. Just wrong on so many levels. “Don’t you and your friends usually raise money for this kind of stuff by selling raffles and jars of pickles and whatever?” Her mother was a mad fiend when it came to canning and preserves.

“We did all of that.” Her mother sounded frustrated at the admission. “Sylvia even auctioned off two of her best quilts last month at the Fourth of July picnic.”

Mouth dropping open, Renee sagged back in her kitchen chair. “You’re kidding.”

That was huge. Sylvia Maddox, eighty if she was a day, was the reigning matriarch of the ladies quilting bee. She’d had lots of offers over the years from people who wanted to buy her quilts, which were each gorgeous and heirloom quality.

“She wouldn’t even sell to the Eckersons for their B&B!” They’d wanted to put one in each of the rooms to up the quaint quotient. But despite knowing them all their lives, she’d turned them down, too. The only way a quilt ever left her hands was as a gift, and even then, it was a rare occurrence for one to leave the family.

Sylvia putting two of them on the auction block meant things were truly desperate.

“But even with all that, we still haven’t raised half of what we need. So, at our last meeting we were trying to come up with more ideas, and Laura Dean showed us this calendar her granddaughter sent her last Christmas with some very good-looking firemen on it. She said it was quite popular and sold lots of copies. And judging by how very…fit those young men were, I can understand why.”

She knew exactly which calendar her mother was talking about. There was one hanging on the wall in her bedroom, where she could enjoy the scenery while she was lying in bed alone, thinking about lying in bed notalone.

Although knowing her mother had been admiring those same “fit young men” left that particular fantasy pretty much ruined for her.

Thanks, Mom.

“Anyway, Laura suggested maybe we could do one of those types of calendars ourselves to help make up the difference. So of course, we thought of you.”

Because sure. Shifting gears from selling peach preserves and quilts to pimping racy calendars was a logical leap. 

Her head was starting to hurt.

“Mom, you do remember I’m a pet photographer, right? I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for guys who do that kind of thing.” Not without risking a solicitation charge.

“Oh, no, dear. We don’t want just anyone in our calendar. We only want men from right here in Silver Bluff. You know, for the town, by the town. Completely homegrown, grade-A hunka-hunka beefcake.”

Oh, there was just something so wrong with hearing your mother say things like that.

“Oookay. But you do realize it’s going to take time to organize all this, right? Getting the word out. Creating a pool of potential models. Doing test shots. Choosing the top twelve candidates. It won’t be a quick process.”

Especially with her fumbling her way through it.

“And since you’d probably need to have a calendar ready to go on sale by say, November, and it’s already August, I don’t think you’d really have enough time to get it all done.”

Thank god.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about any of that, dear. We already have everyone all picked out and raring to go. All you have to do is come here and work your magic with the camera.”

Crap.

There went her best excuse for diverting the ladies to a different idea.

“Although you do need to keep in mind this is Silver Bluff and not the city,” her mother went on, oblivious to Renee’s lack of enthusiasm. Or maybe just ignoring it. “You’ll need to be careful not to violate any indecency ordinances. I’m sure there will be some people just waiting for a reason to point fingers and cause trouble.”

Yeah, in her experience, that about summed up life in Silver Bluff to a T.

“But I’m sure you’ll know how much skin to show to keep everything decent and still sell lots and lots of calendars.”

Okay, this had to be both the strangest and most uncomfortable conversation she’d had with her mother since ‘The Talk’ back when she was nine and accidentally saw Billy Palmer’s winky when his bathing suit fell off at the creek.

“Oh, sure. Got it. Hot enough to sizzle, but not so steamy as to cause a fuss. Totally easy peasy.” Not.

“Good! I knew we could count on you.”

Wait, what?

“No! I didn’t mean I was agreeing—”

“We’re hoping you could get here soon. Maybe by next weekend?”

“Mom, really, I have clients booked—”

“That way you can come to the meeting Friday night and talk to everyone about what it is we want.”

Renee finally managed to wedge in a full sentence on a panicked rush. “I really don’t think I’m the right person for this job.”

“Of course you are, darling. Your work is wonderful. You’re a true professional, which is exactly what we need to make this project a success.”

“Professional petphotographer.” Somehow, she doubted her mom had mentioned that tiny detail to anyone.

“You’re still a professional,” her mother said with stubborn certainty. “You should have more confidence in yourself. I know I do.”

The unshakable faith in her mother’s voice made her chest go all gooey. Her resolve wobbled despite her common sense blaring like a tornado siren.

“I don’t know, Mom.”

She did know. It would be a disaster.

“Sweetheart, it would mean so much to me. And to everyone in town. You’re really our only hope of making this work. And just think, you’ll be known as the savior of the Jeremiah homestead if you do it.”

And the one who let it be torn down if she refused.

The homestead wasn’t the only thing under threat of being bulldozed here.

You’d think at some point in the last thirty-one years she’d have learned how to avoid her mother’s guilt-baited traps. Now, the thought of disappointing not only her mom, but all of the other ladies, and maybe a large chunk of the town as well meant she couldn’t wiggle her way out of this. No matter how much she wanted to.

And she really, really wanted to.

Accepting the inevitable, she sighed. “I suppose I can move some things around and clear a few days on my schedule.”

“Lovely, dear. We’ll go over all the details when you get here. I’m so excited! I have to call and tell everyone. Love you!”

She looked at the phone as Call Ended blinked onto the screen. That was it, then. No backing out now. No changing her mind. She was well and truly stuck.

Well, it could be worse. It was only twelve pictures, after all. She could knock that out in three days, easy. Two, if she really hustled. And everything went right. And the men the ladies had lined up were really stud muffins and not more like bran muffins.

Oh, who was she kidding? This was going to be a nightmare.

And because she loved her mother, she’d do it with a smile.

Even if it killed her.

###

The radio was mocking her.

In the past five-plus hours since hopping onto the seventy-four west out of Wilmington, she’d had Michael Bublé opine about feeling all alone, Daughtry warble about going back to where he belonged, and Bon Jovi and Jennifer Nettles harmonize about the one place they were called one of their own.

Okay. She got it.

She hadn’t been home in a while.

Ignoring the squiggle of guilt that rode through her belly at the admission, she changed radio stations, cutting John Denver off in the middle of a refrain about country roads. It wasn’t her fault she was busy. Business had been good. Booming, even. It was a legitimate excuse not to get back as often as her mother would like.

Excuse being the operative word.

“Because I’m just a big, fat wussy wuss,” she admitted to the empty car. The fact was, she wouldn’t have made this trip until Thanksgiving if her mother hadn’t roped her into this project.

Although maybe, deep, deep down, she knew it was past time for more than just phone calls and video chats with her folks between birthdays and holidays.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t delay the inevitable by a few more minutes, though.

With an acute sense of reprieve, she pulled over. The lookout spot was one of many dotting the twisty road cutting through the thick forest of the foothills and mountains that made up the northwestern part of North Carolina.

She tried not to worry about the little wheeze of relief the car gave when she shut it off. The Camry might be getting old, but it was reliable. It probably just wasn’t happy about the mountain elevation. Wilmington was basically at sea level, while Silver Bluff was “practically halfway to heaven,” as her grandmother had always put it.

A wistful pang hit as she got out of the car.

Her grandma had been gone for almost two years, and she still couldn’t get used to driving by her house knowing it belonged to someone else now. That they’d never share a family dinner around her kitchen table ever again. Just one of the reasons visits home had gotten fewer and farther between over the past few years.

But mostly it was the wuss thing.

Walking toward the lookout’s railing, her breath caught on a small hitch. It didn’t matter how many times she saw it. The impact was always the same. From this point in the road, the view was an immense landscape of greens and browns and hints of muddy blue where the Cane River peeked out from the dense foliage along its snake-like course.

To the north sat the imposing rise of Rowan Mountain. And nestled in the foothills at its base, like a southern Brigadoon, was the small town of Silver Bluff, population 1241.

Home.

Ignoring the tug the errant thought gave on something buried deep inside, she retrieved her camera from its padded bag on the passenger seat of the car. She already had dozens of shots from this very spot. But every time she was here, she couldn’t seem to help herself.

Something was always different when she squared it up in her viewfinder. The particular mélange of seasonal colors. The natural light reflecting through the clouds or shining from a clear blue sky. The angle of the sun hitting the mountain’s sheer granite face that the town below had been renamed for.

The view was ever-changing, and yet at its core always the same.

Kind of like her life.

Because despite the years that had passed, no matter how successful her career, every time she came back to Silver Bluff, she still felt like that same kid she’d been when she left for college determined to make a name for herself. To show everyone that despite what happened at graduation, Renee Miller was going to leave her mark on the world. That she was going to make a difference.

“And look at you now,” she muttered with self-mockery. “Puppy portraitist of the year. Yeah, you sure showed them.”

With a sound of disgust, she turned back toward the car. Only to realize she’d left the passenger door open when she retrieved her camera, and someone—or rather, something—had taken it as an invitation.

“Oh, crap!”

All she could see were two black furry legs planted on the ground. The rest of the animal’s body was hidden by the door as it stretched inside rooting around, most likely for food. She clapped her hands sharply, trying to startle it into running away. “Hey! Get out of there! Shoo! Shoo!”

With a squawk, the intruder fell back out of the car, the takeout bag with the remnants of her lunch stuck on its little head.

Holy crap. It was a bear.

Just a cub, judging by the scrawny size. The realization started her heart beating faster. Where there was baby, there was sure to be momma.

She cast a wary look at the trees around the lookout, half expecting to see two-hundred pounds of furious maternal wrath come blasting out in response to the sounds of distress the little guy was making as it tried to wriggle free of the bag.

Good sense told her to get in the car and drive.

But the soft, gooey part of her that could never stand to see animals in trouble couldn’t just leave the poor thing like that. It was her fault he was stuck in the first place. What if in his struggles to free himself, he blindly wandered out into the road?

Or worse, right over the side of the lookout?

She’d never be able to live with herself.

She waited another moment, hoping the cub would work its way loose on its own. No such luck. It batted ineffectually at the bag, its cries getting more frantic by the second. The piteous sound spurred her to action.

Wise or not, she had to do something.

A quick and simple plan formed. Snatch the bag, jump in the car, and lock the door.

What could go wrong?

“You’d better tell your mother I’m the one who helped you,” she warned as she psyched herself up for the snatching part.

Oh god, this is stupid, stupid, stupid.

Still not quite believing she was doing it, she sprinted forward.

Grabbed the bottom of the greasy take-out bag.

And yanked, already turning for the open door as it cleared the cub’s nose.

Jumping into the passenger seat with the camera around her neck while not squashing the bag on the seat with her other lenses was a feat worthy of an Olympic gymnast. Somehow, she managed to get all her body parts in and slam the door without damaging herself or any of her expensive equipment.

She sat there for a few long seconds, heart pounding in the back of her throat.

Holy crap, I did it!

Outside, the cub let out a loud high-pitched howl. Probably calling its mother, the little traitor. But she’d done her good deed and freed him, so she could leave him to wait for momma bear with a clear conscience.

With one leg straddling the center console as she climbed over into the driver’s seat, her brain slowed from its panicked whirl and went Wait a minute.

Did bears howl?

Twisting back, she looked out the window. The little guy was on his broad butt, a sad-looking piece of tomato dangling from his snout as he sang his heartache to the sky. As if sensing she was watching, he stopped in mid-crescendo and lowered his head. Chocolate-brown eyes met hers.

The shock as she got a good look at the shape of his head was instantaneous.

“You’re a dog!”

Feeling like an idiot, she opened the door and slowly got out, not wanting to spook the pooch into running. Not that he seemed inclined to go anywhere. He just sat there, watching her as she inched closer.

“Did you get lost, baby?” she crooned. “Is someone missing you?”

The dog sniffed her offered fingers, then gave them a quick lick. Encouraged, she knelt in front of him and first flicked the tomato off his nose, then ran a gentle hand over his head and down his neck. No collar.

And judging by the smelly, matted condition of his thick black fur, he’d been outside for days, if not longer. Which brought to mind a very awful, but very real possibility.

Trash wasn’t the only thing people sometimes dumped at the side of the road.

“Did some mean person leave you out here all by yourself?” Fury burned in her belly, but the reproach in those big brown eyes as he whined almost gutted her.

“I know, and I was about to leave you here, too, wasn’t I? I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t know you were a sweet little doggie. I thought you were a big, bad bear.” A mistake she could be forgiven for, since his thick black fur, short legs, and barrel-like body closely resembled her foggy memory of what a bear cub looked like.

Add in the power of suggestion and a few too many Cokes over the six-hour drive making her already frazzled nerves jittery, and it was no wonder she’d freaked out a little.

Okay, maybe more than a little.

But his face? That was all dog.

Mostly Newfoundland, if she had to guess. The breed could easily top eighty pounds by the time they were six months old. Which meant this little guy was still a baby, probably less than three or four months. And made the act of leaving him out in the woods even more reprehensible.

Nothing pissed her off more than someone who abused an animal in their care.

And like it or not, this poor pup was now in hers.

Digging into the supply bag she kept in her trunk for work, she set out a small collapsible bowl with the rest of the water in her bottle. After he lapped some up like a sloppy drunk, she coaxed the dog into the car with a few treats.

He curled up in the passenger foot well without complaint. As he industriously gnawed on a Milk Bone, she pulled out of the lookout, windows down to clear the dog stink, and got back on the last leg of her journey home.

Silver Bluff might only be a few miles away as the crow flies, but it took a good twenty minutes of twisty up-and-down-and-all-around driving before she reached the turnoff onto the secondary road leading to downtown.

The line from Frost’s poem flitted through her mind the same way it did every time she came home. Two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the one less traveled by.

Only this wasn’t just the road less traveled.

It was the one time forgot.

Okay, maybe that was overstating it a little. And maybe she was still a bit cranky about being coerced into being back here. But as she drove down the narrow two-lane Main Street with its old-fashioned street lamps and solitary traffic signal outside town hall, there was no denying it. The quaintly-named shops and neatly swept sidewalks looked the same as they always had for her entire lifetime.

Exactly. The. Same.

Nothing ever changed in Silver Bluff.

Ever.

Especially not the itchy feeling that she didn’t want to be here anymore now than she had thirteen years ago when she’d left for college.

Turning off Main onto Walnut Street, she drove two more blocks and pulled into the small parking lot of the building whose sign read Michael Miller, Veterinarian. Since she didn’t have a leash in her trunk’s little bag of tricks, the only way she was getting her new friend inside was to carry him.

Which turned out to be easier said than done.

“Jesus Christmas, you weigh a ton.” Thirty pounds, at least. With a grunt as she hefted the squirming dog into her arms, she dodged his tongue as he tried to bathe her face in stinky puppy spit. “Ugh, stop that. You reek.”

Because not all the smelly stuff matting his fur was dirt and leaves. This close up, there was also the distinct aroma of poop involved.

“Oh, perfect.”

Well, too late now. Feeling the strain in her thighs—maybe it was time to dust off the gym membership she’d started the year with then kind of forgotten about—she climbed the three steps up and managed to push the door open with her fingertips.

Whether it was the smell of the place, the sound of barking from the rear kennel, or some innate sense animals seemed to have that they were at the dreaded vet’s office, the dog started to squirm in earnest the second they were inside. The struggle to hold on was real. And since the door was still open, chances were good he’d make a break for it the second his paws hit the ground. If she could just find the edge of the door with her foot first…

“Need help?”

The deep-timbered voice sent a quiver through her belly. Surprise, she told herself. Because she hadn’t noticed someone else was in the waiting room with her.

Her belly disagreed.

The dog gave a wild torque of his body, dragging her from her internal debate over quivers and back to the furry problem at hand. “Yeah, actually, if you can get the—”

Before she could say ‘door’ the guy had plucked the dog from her arms like he weighed nothing.

And to him, he probably did. The man was massive. Not big and bulky, but tall and well-muscled. Reallywell-muscled. The way his biceps bunched was enough to make her mouth run dry.

Part of some kind of tattoo peeked out from under the left sleeve of his gray t-shirt, mostly obscured by the dog’s fur as it stretched its neck like a snake and tried to take a few licks at the guy’s face. Where the most incredibly pale-blue eyes, almost the color of a husky’s, were glaring at her with barely concealed accusation.

Why would he…

Oh, right. The poop.

“I was going to say get the door,” she said, both defensive and a little dazed. Those eyes. Holy mother of hotness. Framed with those lush, dark lashes, they were beautiful enough to make a woman weep in envy. Or pant in heat.

Not that she was, of course.

But come on. Everyone was allowed to have one weakness. Hers just happened to be eyes. 

Gorgeous, gorgeous eyes.

Which were still glaring at her, now in exasperation.

“Oh, right! Sorry.” She closed the door, cutting off the stinky mutt’s escape route. After grabbing one of the slip-leads always kept behind her father’s currently unmanned reception desk, she gestured for him to put the dog down, which he did with gentle care.

She slipped the loop over its head. Thankfully, the dog just planted his butt on her foot and stared up at the man, tongue lolling out one side of its mouth.

I’m totally with you on that, pal.

Smacking aside her lusty thoughts, she offered a weak smile. “Thanks for your help. And I’m really sorry about…” She gestured to the dark smear decorating his gray Carolina Panthers t-shirt, which she could now see hugged a torso just as sculpted as his arms.

Oh, my, my, my.

His only answer was a shrug that could have meant anything from ‘it doesn’t matter’ to ‘screw you and your crap-covered mutt’. With the same ease as he’d held the dog, he hefted the fifty-pound bag of dog food at his feet over one shoulder and left.

She watched him go—to make sure the door closed all the way behind him, certainly not to stare at his tight butt in those well-worn washed-out jeans—and sighed.

It figured. For the first time in, like, ever, something in Silver Bluff had caught her interest. Something dark and mysterious and oh-so yummy.

Too bad she wouldn’t be around long enough to do anything about it.