Second Chance Hero

SECOND CHANCE HERO A FORCED PROXIMITY, SECRET IDENTITY JADE KNIGHTLY Copyright 2023 by Jade Knightley - All rights reserved. In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved. Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher. CONTENTS 1. Judith 2. Logan 3. Judith 4. Logan 5. Judith 6. Logan 7. Judith 8. Logan 9. Judith 10. Logan 11. Judith 12. Logan 13. Judith 14. Logan 15. Judith 16. Logan 17. Judith 18. Logan 19. Judith 20. Logan Did you like this book? Sneak Peek - Chapter One FREEBIE CHAPTER 1 JUDITH I open my eyes to find my room full of early morning light. I turn my head toward the window, watching as the dust swirls through the air, catching the light and shining like glitter. I’m nowhere near ready to get out of this bed, but living on a ranch, there’s always work to be done. I take a moment to stretch and wake up before crawling out of bed and walking to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed and, in the kitchen, making myself a strong pot of coffee to give me enough energy to get things done around the property today. While my coffee brews, I take an egg out of the bowl on the counter and move to the stove to fry it. I heat up my cast-iron skillet and drizzle it with some olive oil before cracking the egg in the pan. It starts to cook immediately and I leave it while I toss some bread into the toaster. I grab a knife from the drawer and open the butter dish to coat the bread. I flip my egg and let it cook on the other side before tossing it all on a plate. I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit at the table alone to eat. I remember a time when this house was always full of life, never a quiet moment unless it was the middle of the night. All of that died when my father did though. Dad was always in the kitchen, cooking—banging around pots and pans. He couldn’t go anywhere without whistling and humming, and he always invited the ranch hands in for meals. This kitchen was often full of laughter and life. Since then, it’s just been me—and the guys that help with the ranch but they don’t come into the house very often anymore. I’ve had to learn to live with the silence, and that’s hard to do when there’s been noise of some kind your entire life. I thought it was going to drive me mad the first couple of months. I had to leave the TV on just so I couldn’t hear my ears ring. That was a long time ago now and I’ve adjusted. More than adjusted. Now I find comfort in the silence. I was lucky enough to grow up on this ranch, just my dad, myself, the land workers, and the animals. I wouldn’t take it back for the world, but I didn’t realize that it would all be mine one day either. I thought I’d go off to college, probably marry my high school boyfriend, then we would settle down, have kids, do the whole thing. None of my plans worked out and instead, I’ve been right here for years. I worked side by side with my father up until the day he died in the field from a massive heart attack. I’ve been running the place ever since, stuck living in my past and refusing to look to the future. Every day is a struggle to keep going, but that’s what I do because that’s what I have to do. I think of selling sometimes, taking the money and creating a new life for myself, but a part of me still clings to this place, to our family land, to my dad’s memory, to my past. Until the day comes when I can let it all go, I spend my time fixing it up. This month’s project is revamping the front porch. The paint is old and flaking. I’ve been working on sanding it so I can apply a fresh layer of paint. I finish my breakfast and wash my dishes in the sink before filling up a thermos with coffee. I gather up the supplies I’ll need to work on the porch today and I open the door, heading out. The guys’ trucks are already parked in front of the barn, letting me know they’ve already started on their morning work. I set everything down on the floor of the porch and plug in my electric sander to get started on the steps. I sit on the bottom step as I work on half. When I’ve got half the step sanded down to the bare wood, I move over and work on the other side. The job itself isn’t hard, but it’s tedious and dirty work. Bits of paint and dust are clinging to my arms and face, and every so often I have to wipe my goggles off to be able to see. The sun doesn’t help matters because as it rises into the sky, it only makes the day hotter and my body sweatier. It takes around an hour just to sand down two steps before I finally take a break. I remove my goggles and walk up onto the porch to grab my thermos of coffee. I’m just about to twist off the top when the sound of gravel crunching hits my ears. I look toward the tree line where the drive cuts through. Slowly, that old police cruiser pulls in, rolling to a stop just a couple of feet from the porch. I put