Fighting for Keeps

He’s kryptonite. And she needs all her strength...

Noah Parks is the ridiculously gorgeous, motorcycle-riding, cage-match-fighting equivalent of kryptonite for Lindsay Harper. And she’s going to need every last ounce of her strength now that she’s the legal guardian of her brother’s five orphaned children. For the sake of her new family, it’s time to give up her carefree single ways. Stop being the cool aunt and become a parent. And fight this crazy attraction to Noah. Sure, there’s a side of him she can’t help falling for...the one who volunteers as a firefighter and helps at-risk youth. The irresistibly kind and caring side. But she is a nurse, after all. She can’t love an MMA fighter, a man she regularly has to scan for physical trauma... Can she?

“I wanted to ask you something.”

Lindsey waited.

He was silent.

“Go ahead,” she prodded.

“I was wondering if you would have dinner with me tonight.”

Seriously? The guy was wearing a hospital gown and booties and had half his body inside an MRI machine, and he was asking her out? Clearly the relaxation meds she’d given him were working. She hesitated. She wasn’t sure of Noah’s exact age, but she suspected he was at least four or five years younger than she, and given his chosen career, he wasn’t even on her radar of potential men to date. A fighter who put constant stress on his body and mind was not someone she would consider as a life partner—and at thirty-five, she thought maybe it was time to start taking relationships seriously.

“I have to work.”

Dear Reader,

Who doesn’t love a man whose beautiful, compassionate inside matches his gorgeous exterior? In book five of the Brookhollow series, Lindsey Harper is struggling with just that—feelings she has for a man she knows she shouldn’t fall in love with.

But Noah Parks makes resisting him so difficult, with his irresistible smile (and abs) and his kind heart. And it doesn’t help matters that he simply won’t take no for an answer.

Fighting for Keeps is a story I’ve wanted to write for a long time. A story about two people with two very different ideas about MMA fighting and how a compromise could ever be reached...if it actually could.

Being the fifth book in my Brookhollow series, it was a tough one to write. Having to say goodbye to two characters that I’ve grown to love as friends to the hero/heroines in these books was heartbreaking, but life is about loss, love, second chances and facing adversity. Through the tragic loss in this story, Lindsey gains her own redemption and happy-ever-after love story.

I hope this story makes you laugh, cry and root for Lindsey and Noah and their chance at love.

xo

Jennifer

Fighting for Keeps

Jennifer Snow

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JENNIFER SNOW lives in Edmonton, Alberta, with her husband and four-year-old son. She is a member of the Writers Guild of Alberta, the Romance Writers of America, the Canadian Author Association and shewrites.org. She is also a regular blogger on the Mills & Boon Heartwarming Authors site and is a contributing author to Mslexia, WestWord magazine and RWR. Her 2013 holiday romance, The Trouble with Mistletoe, was a finalist in the 2014 Golden Quill contest and the Heart of Denver Aspen Gold contest. More information can be found on her website, jennifersnowauthor.com.

For all of the step-parents out there who love unconditionally, opening their hearts and their arms to children who need them. Dad (Robert) and Reagan—twice in my life I’ve been fortunate enough to reap the benefits of such compassion and selflessness, and I can’t thank you both enough!

Acknowledgments

Thank you to Stephany Evans, whose happy faces on my manuscripts sometimes look like little squares, but I know what you mean. Thank you to my amazing editor, Victoria Curran, whose insight always makes the book stronger. A big thank-you to Frontier College, which invited me to host their conference on Youth and the Criminal Justice System—the stories I heard that day inspired a big part of this book. And thanks to MMA athletes everywhere for the entertaining fights and the dedication you put into your careers.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgments

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Copyright

PROLOGUE

10 years earlier...not that Lindsay Harper remembers

WHEN LINDSAY TOOK the microphone from Ben Walker, her brother’s best man, there was a collective groan throughout the Brookhollow community center, which was elegantly decorated for the event. The wedding guests had already sat through the slightly slurred speech the maid of honor had delivered moments before, filled with embarrassing stories about her kid brother. “Excuse me...” she said into the microphone, tapping it. “Is this thing on?” She laughed as she held the microphone too close to her lips.

“Lindsay, everyone loved your speech...now it’s my turn,” the best man said.

But she moved the microphone out of his reach and took several steps toward the head table, tripping over the dangling cord as she went in her four-inch heels.

Nathan’s smile had faded and his new wife’s was forced.

“When my brother told me he was going to propose to Ra...Rachel—” she winked at her “—I was jealous.”

Leave it to Lindsay to make her brother’s special day about her in some way. It wasn’t enough that she’d shortened the maid-of-honor dress to way above the knee—and whether or not she was wearing underwear was still a debate among the table of single men in the corner of the room—or that she’d been ten minutes late to the ceremony and was now questionably sober at that early hour.

Unfortunately it didn’t seem as if there was any stopping the train wreck about to happen.

“I mean, he is two years younger than me,” she continued. “Aren’t I supposed to get married first? After all, I am older.”

Yes, she’d mentioned that.

“Lindsay, I think we need to move this along,” said Jim Bishop, the master of ceremony, reaching for the microphone.

“Stop it,” she said, smacking his hand away. She moved closer to the head table. “But then it all made sense—why this we...wedding was ha...happening so quickly.”

Rachel’s eyes widened and Nathan shot his new bride a questioning look.

Lindsay turned and pointed at Rachel. “I mean, Rachel wanted to look skinny in her wedding photos...and a baby bump sure wouldn’t have worked in that dress, would it, Rach?” She smiled at her new sister-in-law.

Nathan’s mouth gaped. Both the groom and the bride’s mothers turned to glare at each other. Clearly neither had known. Rachel slumped in her chair, her cheeks glowing.

“You’re pregnant?” Nathan asked her.

Rachel couldn’t look up at her husband.

You could’ve heard a pin drop in the community center as everyone strained to hear what she would say.

“I was going to tell you later tonight...and everyone else at a later time, but...yes, I am,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She twisted her napkin in her fingers.

“Are you serious?” he asked, cupping his wife’s face.

The two sat there, frozen, staring into each other’s eyes. All the wedding guests leaned in, trying to decipher the moment.

And then Nathan kissed her, whispered something in her ear, and the pair burst into laughter.

The room erupted into applause as congratulations rang out and more champagne was opened in celebration.

The couple shared another kiss and the mothers-in-law hugged, despite it being no secret they weren’t fond of each other, and then went to hug the bride.

Lindsay leaned across the table to join the group hug, but her mother blocked her, so she stood, looking bored and annoyed.

Damage done and no longer in the spotlight, she brought the microphone to her lips again, though no one was really paying attention anymore.

“You’re welcome,” she said, raising her wineglass to the couple before passing out in a heap on the floor—and settling the bet in the corner.

CHAPTER ONE

“I DON’T THINK this is necessary,” Noah Parks said, his eyes wide as he stared at the needle in her hand.

Tough guy was afraid of a needle. What a surprise, Lindsay thought, reaching for his arm. “Well, we do. The last time I slid you in the MRI without the sedative you almost broke the scanner, trying to get out.”

“The noise freaked me out,” he mumbled, shoving up the sleeve of the green hospital gown to allow her access to his arm.

And what an arm it was. At six feet and two hundred pounds of solid muscle, Noah was the definition of chiseled strength and athleticism.

Even though she was a professional—the head nurse of the clinic—Lindsay wasn’t oblivious to the effect his smooth, tanned biceps could have on a woman.

It was too bad he used that strength to beat the crap out of other men... That kind of ruined it for her.

She cleared her throat as she wiped the injection site with an alcohol swab. “That’s why we give you headphones.” The scan was painless but without the noise-canceling headphones, patients were often discomfited by the constant thumping and tapping.

She wrapped a rubber tourniquet around his arm and tapped his skin. A quick look at his expression revealed he was already nauseous. “I haven’t even poked you yet.”

He flinched and gripped the edge of the exam table a second later as the needle pierced the skin.

She shook her head. “You get punched in the face for a living and a tiny prick of a needle makes you woozy.” She steadied him. “I’ll leave the room for a moment to let you get settled. When you are ready, lie on the table, head pointed toward the machine—” She stopped. “You probably know the routine better than I do by now. I’ll knock before I come in.”

Picking up his medical file, she left the room and stood outside the door. Scanning his history, she sighed. Three MRIs this year so far. Luckily the magnetic resonance machines didn’t involve X-radiation, otherwise the frequency of these brain and tissue scans could be more detrimental than they were worth.

She didn’t understand why mixed-martial-arts fighters insisted on a career path that made it necessary to have their brains checked for signs of trauma before each fight. The clinic often saw fighters training at Extreme Athletics for their prefight medical clearance, but none as often as Noah. Three fights since January—what was the guy thinking?

She didn’t follow MMA, but even she knew three fights in six months were too frequent to be safe.

A glance toward the reception area revealed it was full. And she had to waste a half an hour of her time and everyone else’s on this scan. She shook her head as she placed Noah’s file on her desk.

Every day she cared for patients with injuries and diseases beyond their control. Patients who would love to be healthy and free of their medical issues.

And then there were guys like Noah—perfectly healthy guys who put their bodies in danger every time they went to work. She’d never understand the sport or the mentality of the men who competed in it.

Tapping once on the door, she let herself back into the room. In most city clinics, a technician performed the scans, but here in Brookhollow, the five nurses on staff had been trained to perform a variety of duties—operating the MRI machine was one of them.

“How do you feel?” she asked Noah. The sedative worked quickly in most cases, but with his body mass, she wanted to be sure of its effect.

“Fantastic.”

“Okay.” She handed him the headphones. “Put these on and relax. Remember to stay as still as possible. If you move, the pictures will blur and this will take longer.” She handed him the communication button. “If you need to talk to me, hit the button.”

When he nodded his understanding, she turned her attention to the controls on the side of the machine. She placed the helmet-shaped scanner over his head and he flashed a wide smile.

“You don’t like me much, do you?”

“I’d like you better if you stayed still.” She readjusted the metal frame over his ears, checking to make sure his head was centered. His last couple of scans had been clear, but anything could have changed since his last fight.

At least the fighting commissioners took proper precautions, she’d give them that much.

“But you don’t approve of what I do.”

“I don’t approve of any activity that routinely requires a brain scan. Now, shh, and stay still.” She hit the button on the side and the table slid into the tubular machine even further. She noticed his grip tighten on the communication button. “You okay?”

“Perfect,” he said, but his voice was strained.

“Okay, I’ll be in the other room, press the button if you need me.”

In the lab, she sat at the computer as the scanner performed the first series of scans. Images appeared on the screen in front of her and, to her experienced relief, nothing seemed to be a cause for concern on immediate viewing. Of course the radiologist and the doctor would review the images in more detail that afternoon.

His communicator beeped and she hit the intercom button. “Noah? Something wrong?”

“No, I wanted to ask you something.”

She waited.

He was silent.

“Go ahead.”

“I was wondering if you’d have dinner with me tonight.”

Seriously? The guy was wearing a hospital gown and booties, had half his body in an MRI machine, and he was asking her out? Clearly the relaxation meds she’d given him were working.

She hesitated. She wasn’t sure of his exact age but she suspected he was at least four or five years younger than she was and, given his chosen career, he wasn’t even on her radar of potential men to date. A fighter who put constant stress on his body and mind was not someone she would consider as a life partner, even though at thirty-five, she thought maybe it was time to start taking relationships seriously.

“I have to work.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. You were totally flirting with me at Bailey and Ethan’s wedding last weekend.”

She cringed. She’d known dancing with him had been a mistake, but when the roster of single men in town was made up of high school boys and the over-fifty divorced crowd, her options had been slim.

It had nothing at all to do with the fact that dressed in a suit and tie, Noah had been the hottest man in the room and his occupation had momentarily escaped her mind.

“I also danced with Mr. Grainger, the seventy-year-old manager of the bait-and-tackle store. Don’t read too much into it.”

“I’d like to think I was the better dancer at least.”

“’Bye, Noah.”

A moment later the intercom beeped again. She hit the intercom. “Maybe I should have specified—unless you’re in pain or experiencing anxiety, you don’t need to hit the button.”

“Wait. I am in pain.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“I’m heartbroken.”

Leaving the room, she walked into the scan area and took the communication device from him.

“Hey, what if I need you?”

“You won’t.”

* * *

OPENING THE DOOR to Victoria and Rachel’s B and B later that afternoon, Lindsay ushered Melissa inside, handing her niece her backpack. Several guests lounged in the sitting area and she waved as she scanned the room for her brother. His truck had been parked in the family’s designated parking space, which she hadn’t been expecting.

“I thought your dad was in Newark this week?” she asked Melissa.

“He got back this morning,” the girl grumbled, obviously not pleased about it, either.

“What is on my daughter’s lips?”

Ah, there he was.

Aunt and niece rolled their eyes in unison. “The shade is called Pretty in Pink,” Lindsay said.

“Tell me you did not have that on at school.” The frown lines on her brother’s forehead were so deep, he looked like the older sibling...by a lot...she liked to think.

Melissa sighed. “No, Dad. Aunt Lindsay let me try it on in the Jeep on the way home.” Lindsay watched as the girl hid the lipstick she’d given her—last season’s shade—in her back pocket.

“Well, go wash it off and start your homework,” Nathan said.

“Aunt Lindsay wants to watch the episode of Gossip Girl we recorded last night,” Melissa protested.

“Well, Aunt Lindsay can watch it. You have homework first. Besides, I need to talk to your aunt...” His voice trailed as his cell phone rang in his pocket and, reaching for it, he frowned. Again. “I have to grab this. Don’t go anywhere,” he told Lindsay.

“Where’s Rachel?”

“Upstairs bathing the two of my daughters you haven’t corrupted yet.” Answering the phone, he turned away from her. “Hello? Nathan Harper here...”

Saved by one of her brother’s demanding clients. Maybe it was Ben Walker, the friend who’d co-founded the land development firm with him. Lindsay’s most recently failed setup. Apparently, according to Ben, they’d met years ago at Nathan and Rachel’s wedding. She had no recollection of it.

Bending to whisper in Melissa’s ear, she said, “I’ll hide from your dad in your bedroom after I talk to your mom. Hurry, so we can watch the show.”

Thursday nights were Aunt and Niece Night, but the night before she’d been stuck at work. She hated disappointing the kid. The oldest of five, Melissa was expected to help out, stay out of trouble and, naturally, received the least amount of attention. Lindsay could relate.

“Okay, remember—no smoking.”

Seriously, the girl was worse than her own conscience. As a nurse, she knew the habit was a bad one, she knew the health risks, she also knew how terrible it looked to the patients when they caught her outside the clinic doing exactly what she preached to them not to do. The truth was, she’d tried many times over the years to quit and she’d failed miserably every time.

But how could she not attempt it for the fifty-eighth time when her niece had tearfully asked her to stop the month before when they’d watched a video in school about lung cancer?

She lifted the sleeve of her uniform to reveal several nicotine patches. “I’m trying,” she told her. And she was. So far she’d only caved twice in a month.

“I think you only need one,” Melissa said.

“Well, it can’t hurt. Go do your homework,” she said, the urge for a cigarette stronger now that they’d been talking about it.

The kid rushed off to do her homework at one of the dining room tables and Lindsay headed upstairs.

In the bathroom of the B and B’s living quarters, Rachel was perched over the bathtub. The eighteen-month-old twin girls, Mackenzie and Abigail, splashed in the bubbles while Rachel tried to wash their dark hair.

“What’s got my brother out of sorts now?” Best to get a heads-up from Rachel—the rational one of the pair—before dealing with her uptight sibling.

“The Facebook profile you created for Melissa.” She didn’t exactly sound pleased herself.

The girl wasn’t supposed to have told her parents Lindsay’d set up an account for her. Besides, she wasn’t stupid, she’d restricted the security settings. “What’s the point of being the cool aunt if she’s going to rat me out?”

Rachel rinsed the twins’ hair. “She didn’t. We got a call from Isabelle Thompson’s parents. Apparently, Isabelle was complaining that Mel was allowed to have Facebook and she wasn’t.”

“Wow, do all parents get up in each other’s business like that?”

Rachel shot her a look. “Nathan deleted her account.”

“Well, at least she won’t be upset with me.”

“Spoken like a true aunt,” Rachel said with a laugh. “Someday when you have kids, you’ll realize if they’re not mad at you, you’re probably not doing the job right.”

“I’m thirty-five and Mr. Right is nowhere in sight...I’m not exactly rushing out to buy parenting books.”

“Which reminds me, what happened on your date with Ben? He told Nathan you faked an emergency call halfway through dinner.” She frowned.

Great. He’d seen through the lie. She hadn’t thought he was paying attention long enough, answering his cell phone twice and replying to several “important” client emails. She’d seen her brother act that way on so many family dinners—and she wasn’t sure how Rachel put up with it.

If a man couldn’t put work aside for an hour, then she wasn’t interested.

“I’m sure he didn’t mind. We weren’t exactly hitting it off.”

“Really? He said he liked you and hoped you could try again sometime.”

Not likely. The man was nice and charming and good-looking but there hadn’t been a spark between them. He was too much like her brother...probably why they worked so well together, and exactly why he didn’t work romantically for her. Her brother was too serious and often far too stressed.

She took life one challenge at a time. The fact that Ben wanted to see her again was surprising but not going to happen. “I wasn’t feeling a connection.”

“Maybe you need to lower your standards a little. Your one-strike-you’re-out philosophy doesn’t really give the guys a fair chance, Linds.”

Lower her standards? “That’s not exactly easy, surrounded by perfect, disgusting couples all the time.”

Rachel laughed.

Lindsay sighed as she sat on the edge of the bathtub and lifted Mackenzie from the water, wrapping her in a ladybug towel.

The little girl shivered and she hugged her, wiping the soap bubbles off her legs and feet. Mac giggled and wiggled in her arms.

“‘Perfect, disgusting couples’?”

“Yes. You and my brother are the best example of the kind of nausea-inducing love hitting me in the face whenever I turn around.”

Rachel and Nathan had been high school sweethearts, which was status quo in the small town, and the couple had five adorable children. As co-owners of the Brookhollow Inn, they were family focused and as solid as any couple could be.

Lindsay had yet to find true love or anything close. Most of her short-lived relationships lasted a month at best. She couldn’t find someone who made her laugh, made her weak in the knees and wasn’t in too much of a rush to settle down. She wasn’t sure how she felt about marriage and kids. Most days, being cool Aunt Lindsay was enough.

“Well, we’ll try not to love each other so much,” Rachel said, wrapping Abigail in her butterfly towel and letting the water out of the bathtub.

“Rachel, you up there?”

Lindsay winced. Victoria Mason. Another blissfully happily married woman—one who was eight and a half months pregnant.

“In the twins’ room,” Rachel answered, as they carried the girls into the bright purple-and-pink bedroom they shared.