Legacy Found [Legacy, Book 3]
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by N. J. Walters
Description: She outran her memories. She couldn't outrun her past. Legacy, Book 3 Shelley is a killer. Never mind that her "crime" freed her from thirty-five years of brutal captivity--the bounty hunters on her trail don't care. For the first time in her life, she is on her own, free to put the past behind her and explore what it means to be a werewolf. James Riley is dead tired. After a week untangling legal and financial affairs his brother's death left behind, he's feeling every ounce of his new responsibility as Wolf Creek pack alpha. He's not too tired, though, to notice his sexy waitress is a werewolf--one that strangely doesn't recognize him as one of her own kind. After his questions rattle her composure and get her fired, Shelley figures the least James can do is drive her to the next town, but he wants more. He wants to take her home. And despite her fear, something inside her is irresistibly drawn to his commanding yet gentle presence. James is willing to give Shelley all the time she needs to embrace her heritage, her sexuality, and eventually his love. But her past will not be denied...and her secrets demand a price paid in blood. Product Warnings This book contains a hunky werewolf, a woman with a secret past, a lost family found, nasty bounty hunters, and lots of steamy hot sex!
eBook Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd., 2011
eBookwise Release Date: May 2011
37 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [340 KB]
Reading time: 227-317 min.
He paused in the open doorway and removed his sunglasses, tucking them in his shirt pocket as he looked around. The place was crowded, mostly with men, but there were a few women as well. Almost all the tables were filled. The sound of chatter was punctuated with the noise of utensils clanking as they all ate. The coffeepot hissed and the grill sizzled in the kitchen.
Something else permeated the air, but James couldn't quite place it. Grease, sweat and food all mixed together to dull his preternatural sense of smell. Shrugging it off, he stepped inside and let the door swing shut behind him.
Several men glanced up from their meals and stared, but most ignored him, too intent on finishing their food and getting back on the road. To a trucker, time was money.
James scanned the room and sauntered over to a vacant booth in the far corner. He slid onto the vinyl bench seat and leaned back, trying to fit his large body comfortably into the space.
From his position, he had an unobstructed view of the room and the front door. There was also a window right beside him, which would allow for a quick escape if necessary.
The diner was surprisingly clean but dull. The paint on the walls was chipped, the linoleum on the floor scarred. And the seat cushions had seen better days. But the table gleamed and the condiment bottles were full. He plucked the menu from behind the shiny napkin dispenser and scanned it.
At the far end of the room, which James assumed led to the kitchen, a swinging door popped open. A woman backed into the room carrying a tray laden with plates. She looked like any waitress anywhere--harried and overworked. He went back to studying the menu, but his gaze was drawn again and again to the woman.
Giving up on the menu, he tossed it down on the table and studied her. She appeared to be in her early thirties, but it was hard to tell. She had the look of someone who'd had a hard life. Her hair had been pulled back into a tight bun, giving her face a pinched appearance.
As he watched, she competently served up the food from her tray, distributing plates to various tables, while nimbly sidestepping the roving hands of one of the truckers. His eyes narrowed as a burly driver patted her butt as she passed by. She jerked, but didn't stop. Head ducked down, she kept going.
Anger began to burn low in his gut. It was none of his business, he told himself. He couldn't afford to get involved. Not with paranormal bounty hunters searching for him and his daughter. The last thing he wanted to do was bring attention to himself and, through him, to his pack.
Still, he couldn't take his eyes off her.
She was dressed in a tacky pink polyester uniform that hung on her slender frame. It was hard to tell her shape. It was mostly hidden by the bulky dress, which was zipped up tight to her neck and fell all the way to her knees. Her legs were bare from her knees to her ankles and she wore white socks inside her battered canvas sneakers.
The woman was continually in motion, pouring coffee and serving food. Even though she worked without stopping, there was almost a fragile air about her, as if she'd been ill recently.
He wasn't sure she'd even seen him, but as soon as her tray was empty, she tucked it under her arm and hurried over to his table. "What can I get you?" She pulled an order pad and pen out of her pocket.
James froze in place. All his senses went on full alert. Her scent was ever so faint, almost as if she were masking it somehow. But it was there. "You're a werewolf," he whispered. He was so shocked he spoke before he could check his words.
The woman paled and swayed. His hand shot out to steady her, but she quickly pulled away, taking a step backward. "What? What did you say?" Her voice grew steadier with each word she spoke.
The soft tones of her voice skimmed over James like a caress. He was struck with the urge to draw her close to him, lay his head against her stomach and just listen to her talk. But fright still lingered in her dark chocolate-brown eyes in spite of her bravado. Her fingers clenched around the pen she was holding and she took another half-step backward.