Trouble in Loveland Read online

  Trouble in Loveland

  By Jennifer Peel

  © 2015 by Jennifer Peel. All Rights reserved.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader or share it through the Kindle lending feature. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy through Amazon Kindle. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  To Justin, my favorite son and big guy.

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  1935 Mulberry Lane, Lovelend, Colorado. It just sounds so nice. Can you imagine living on Mulberry Lane in a town named for the most prized emotion on earth? It sounds perfect, doesn’t it? And for me, it really was perfect. At least until … well, we’ll get to that part. I won’t go into all the boring details like the first day we moved in; I was nine, by the way, and it was the day after Thanksgiving. Anyway … Let’s start with something better, like that prized emotion I mentioned earlier.

  It was the summer of my fourteenth year, you know the one when you were just about to start high school and you were barely coming out of that awkward stage. The braces had just come off, and I was learning how to apply make-up correctly, and not like a painted lady of the night. And, of course, my chest was finally coming along nicely. I moved up one whole cup size that summer. So life was good, but in July of that year my life was about to get a whole lot better.

  The For Sale sign had finally come down next door, and with that came the Carter family, a family of four with two of the most beautiful men that had ever graced the earth. The only problem was that Kaye and Guy Carter started having their children way too early. Evan, their youngest, was nineteen, and Ryan, the godliest creature to ever walk on the face of the earth, was twenty-two. When you’re fourteen, twenty-two is like forty, and obviously pedophilic, so I knew it was never happening. But that didn’t stop me from discussing him at length with my other neighbor and best friend, Krissy, who had gone up two cup sizes that summer. I hated her, but loved her like a sister.

  Neither of them really paid attention to us, although like idiots, Krissy and I did our best to make spectacles of ourselves that summer; like when we laid out on my trampoline in our bathing suits whenever they were in their backyard. Like they were really interested in looking at the not-fully-formed bodies of juveniles. I honestly tried not to think about our stupidity anymore, especially since, at the time, we thought we were so beyond cool. And had they been interested, there would have been something really wrong with them. My only saving grace is that I’m pretty sure they had no idea we existed.

  The only time either of them talked to me that summer was once, when I was out front shooting hoops. You see, my parents were only blessed with one child, me. They wanted a slew of children, and my dad especially wanted a son to groom as his legacy. But my mom almost died in childbirth, and to save her life, some of her lady parts had to go, so no more kids. My dad got over his disappointment that he would never have a son, but he decided his daughter could be all he’d ever wanted a son to be. That meant I got stuck with a boy name, Charlee. At least my mom insisted it have a somewhat feminine spelling, not that it really mattered, because most people called me CJ (short for Charlee Jensen). I was taught to dribble a ball from the time I was two. My dad and I spent countless hours running drills and playing one–on-one. Believe me, I’m not complaining, my dad was the best. Let me stress was, but we’ll get there. I was the epitome of a daddy’s girl, and I had the man wrapped around my little finger.

  Back to the first time Ryan Carter ever noticed me. Doesn’t “Ryan Carter” sound perfect? Never mind. I had just made a perfect three point shot, swish, nothing but net. It was beautiful, and so was he. He was tall, which was good, since I was five foot eight already. I would only grow one more inch, but add heels with that, I could stand close to six foot. Back to Ryan. He had to be at least six foot two, with light brown hair that glistened in the sun, and he was perfectly tan with bright white teeth (dental hygiene is a must). But it was his eyes that did it for me. They were green, but not just any green, they were bright like the first buds of spring.

  “Nice shot,” he called out as he was getting into his little sporty-looking red car.

  The red sports car only added to his beautifulness. Why, oh why did his parents have to have kids so early? It’s not like they were old. In fact, Kaye and Guy looked too young and beautiful to have kids that old. The family was genetically blessed, but mystery shrouded them. Guy seemed to travel a lot, and as the years passed, government people would come to our house and interview us about him. They asked my parents things like, “Have you noticed any strange activity?” “Does he make a lot of large purchases?” “How much contact do you have with them?”

  My guess was that Mr. Carter was a CIA agent. I thought it was a pretty educated guess, too. Once, my parents had them over for dinner and my dad offhandedly mentioned a news report about waterboarding. I noticed that Mr. Carter turned a tad red and pulled on his collar and cleared his throat. He also changed the subject real quick. All he would ever say about his job was that he worked for the Department of Defense. Yeah, right … I’d seen every Jack Ryan movie with my dad.

  No matter, I wasn’t interested in the spy next door. I was just upset with him for not waiting a bit longer to start a family, because I knew in my teenage heart that Ryan and I were meant to be together. It became even more apparent when we found out that he had recently graduated from the University of Southern California with his Accounting degree and he was getting ready to take his state board exams to become a CPA. It was like fate. You see, my dad owned a large accounting firm, and guess where Ryan was going to be working? You’re right, Jensen Accounting. This made me love Jeffrey Jensen even more.

  I suddenly became very interested in going in to work with my dad whenever possible. Of course my dad thought this was terrific; he had not only wanted me to be a star basketball player like him, but he was hoping that, someday, I would love numbers as much as him, too. He used to point to the sign outside his office and say, “Someday, baby girl, that will say Jensen and Jensen Accounting.” I always promised him I would never change my last name and he would always be the number one man in my life. It was a stupid promise to make.

  Fast forward a few years. At seventeen I was definitely past that awkward stage, and my chest had grown to the perfect C cup. Not too big, but still ample and perky. I looked more like a woman than a kid; my dad would always say I looked too old for his liking. I was the starting forward and all-star for my high school team. Life was just about perfect, or at least it was for like two minutes. My unrequited crush for Ryan was as strong as ever, th
ough I knew he only saw me as a kid, and I knew I was a kid. I knew I would never realize my dream of becoming Mrs. Jensen-Carter (for Ryan I would at least hyphenate), so I had a boyfriend, Chance Wallace. He was gorgeous and tall. He played basketball, too, but he was nothing compared to Ryan. Even though I knew it was hopeless, I would daydream that when I turned eighteen and legal, Ryan would magically see me as a woman and discover that I was perfect for him.

  My dreams ended up being crushed that summer before my senior year. First, Chance broke up with me; I guess I accidentally called him Ryan one too many times. He kept asking who Ryan was, but I could never say, and I tried to play it off like he just reminded me of Ryan Reynolds, which was sort of true, but he didn’t buy it. The only person that knew about my Ryan obsession was Krissy, and I didn’t even really talk to her about it anymore because she, too, realized the farfetchedness of it. Besides, she thought I was crazy for not being in love with Chance. By the way, Chance and Krissy, let’s just say there is another story there, but first we have to discuss why my whole world came crashing down in a matter of mere months.

  So, the summer before your senior year is supposed to be what Neutrogena commercials are made of, but mine was turning out more like a horrible infomercial about digestive issues; it was truly nauseating. You already know about the no boyfriend thing, which wasn’t a big deal, but admittedly I kind of missed him, or at least the making out part. Hey, I was seventeen, don’t judge. But while I was breaking up, Ryan was hooking up. Ryan still worked for my dad and was quickly working his way up in my dad’s firm. My dad loved him. There was a time or two he mentioned that he kind of thought of him like a son. It didn’t hurt my feelings. I honestly thought it was perfect. Son-in-law was just like a son.

  Anyway, I digress. So I had been spending my summer working at my dad’s office, just like I had the summer before, soaking in ledgers, credits, debits, balance sheets, payroll, taxes, you name it. I had a knack for it even though I found it tedious and dull, but the scenery more than made up for it; and by scenery, I mean Ryan. Of course, I loved spending time with my dad and making him proud. My dad really had his heart set on me being an accountant, so I faked it.

  There I was one day, in my own little cubicle, and in walks Victoria. Ryan only dated women that had proper names like Elizabeth, Josephine, Francesca, or Isabelle. Definitely not Charlee or CJ. Coincidentally, Victoria looked like a Victoria’s Secret model: long, flowing red hair (Ryan had a thing for redheads, that’s all I ever saw him with, remind me to tell you someday about my hair dying experiment); tall; flawless skin; bright blue eyes; you get the picture. She was perfect. I couldn’t help but compare myself to her. I felt plain next to her with my ash-colored hair and hazel eyes. She was even a little taller than me.

  I watched her walk into Ryan’s office, and she greeted him with a small kiss on his cheek. Even from where I was, I could see his beautiful green eyes light up. I had never seen him behave in such a way with any of the other women that had come to visit him. He certainly didn’t lack for female companionship, but Victoria had been more of a permanent fixture. I had seen her at his parents’ house, too. With all of that, I shouldn’t have been surprised that they announced that they were engaged and were planning a wedding for the end of August, right before school started in the fall.

  I won’t lie, I cried a little in the privacy of my bedroom when I found out. In public I was all smiles and congratulatory. “Congratulations, Ryan,” I said as he dropped off a stack of papers at my desk the day after the big reveal.

  He smiled like he was the happiest man in all the world.

  I’m not going to lie, that hurt. I mean, why couldn’t he wait just one more year, you know, to see how I turned out and all?

  “So, Charlee, we need someone to serve punch at our reception. Would you be interested?”

  I tried my hardest not to let my shoulders slump or my head drop. Of course I wasn’t interested. I didn’t even want to go to his dumb wedding. In my heart, I knew Victoria wasn’t the woman for him. She was so serious, and she always looked like someone had peed in her Cheerios. I mean, seriously, if Ryan had asked me to be his wife, I would be turning cartwheels and I would have a permanent smile on my face. But it didn’t matter what I thought. What did I know? I was only a kid. “Yeah, sure,” I responded.

  “Great, I’ll give you more details the closer we get.”

  I smiled, and he walked away.

  Ryan’s nuptials were just the tip of the iceberg of bad news that summer. Soon my life would come crashing down around me. Everything I ever thought I knew and believed in would be brought into question. August twentieth of that year would go down in the history of Charlee as the day the sky came tumbling down.

  It was Ryan’s wedding day, a day I prayed wouldn’t happen. The more I saw of Victoria that summer, the more I knew in my heart and gut she wasn’t the right person for him. She didn’t seem that into him. She didn’t act how I would have expected a bride-to-be to act. She was kind of bossy, and anytime I saw Ryan try to give his opinion, she acted like it didn’t matter and was completely dismissive. A couple of times, I wanted to jump in and say, “Hey lady, look how nice he’s being to you, can’t you see how much he loves you? The least you could do is try and deserve him.” But I never did. My dad even offhandedly mentioned once, on our way home in the car, how he thought perhaps Ryan should think twice.

  Ryan never gave it a second thought, so I found myself sitting behind Jeffrey and Monica, the best parents ever, or at least I thought so at the time, in my dad’s new Audi, on the way to the Fountains of Loveland to some stuffy wedding. It was so stuffy, Victoria ordered me to wear a horrible eggplant-colored satin full-length gown just to serve punch. It cost two hundred dollars, and I would never be caught dead in it again. In fact, I was planning on burning it in tribute of their unholy union.

  So, there we sat in the hoity-toity ceremony room that was sprayed with different shades and hues of purple. It looked like Barney had thrown up in there. I’m sure I remember it being more horrible than it really was, due to my frame of mind, but even my mom arched her eyebrow in scrutiny.

  The ceremony began. There was my lovely Ryan standing up front with his brother by his side. They were both handsomely decked out in black tuxedos, again stuffy. I was definitely having a much more fun and relaxed wedding when my time came. Ryan looked like he was the luckiest man in the world, and Evan was looking around for his next conquest. Oddly enough, he looked my way and winked. He had been paying a lot more attention to me that summer since he had been home on break from Georgia Tech. He was still as gorgeous as ever, but he knew it, while his brother never seemed to let it go to his head.

  Did I mention Victoria had nine bridesmaids, and they were all gorgeous like her? They also had that air about them, too. Apparently they’d all eaten peed-on Cheerios. I couldn’t believe this was the life my sweet Ryan was destined to live. He was too nice and fun to be around such stuck-up boringtons. The wedding march started, and all eyes turned to the bride. There she was, in all of her redheaded glory, in a dress fit for a queen. It was mermaid style and fussy with more beads than a bedazzle factory, but she looked stunning. She also looked bored and stiff. Really? If I had Ryan waiting for me at the end of the aisle, and smiling at me like he was smiling at her, I would have been running and jumping into his arms and kissing off his face. Not her, though. She moved at a snail’s pace and looked more at her bridesmaids than she did at the man that looked at her like she was his everything. I felt so sorry for Ryan, but as he took her hand from her father, he only had eyes for her.

  The actual ceremony was long, flowery, and quite honestly, fake and insincere. They both read poems from somebody I’d never heard of, but they had nothing to do with love, joy, or even romance; it was more like how a business contract read. As they and the priest droned on, I looked at my parents, who were sitting close together. My dad held my mom’s hand in his like he never wanted to let go. His other arm was
around me and he would squeeze me from time to time. That was what love was. At that moment, I felt sorry for Ryan. I knew he wasn’t getting what my parents had. Sure my parents had their issues like everyone, but I knew they loved each other. I vowed then that I would make sure to never settle for less. My mom had told me for years, the most important decision you’ll ever make is who you decide to spend your life with.

  Well, rings were exchanged and the “kiss the bride” moment happened; sadly, Victoria pulled away before Ryan was done, but he took it in stride. They walked back down the aisle together as Mr. and Mrs. Carter. He looked like he was on top of the world, and she looked haughty, with her head held high and stiff. She didn’t even crack a smile.

  I sighed.

  My dad looked over to me and smiled. “Don’t go getting any ideas. You’re still way too young to think about marriage.” I guess he mistook my sigh. I wasn’t envious of what I just saw. In fact, I was a little sad.

  After the long procession of bridesmaids and groomsmen, we all followed them into the ballroom. There I took up my duties serving punch. I don’t know why I agreed to it, but my mom said it was the neighborly thing to do. Easy for her to say. She didn’t have to stand all night in ridiculously high heels. I looked like a grape fruit roll up.

  My only source of entertainment came from Krissy. She and I scanned the crowd and dance floor for attractive guys that were relatively our age. Unfortunately, there weren’t many. I guess I really had been born too late. Admittedly, I also watched Ryan and Victoria. A lot. I was fascinated, not in the good way, with her behavior. She spent more time chatting with her friends than she did with Ryan. Sure, Ryan stood near, but she seemed to ignore him. I also watched Guy and Kaye, and I got the feeling they weren’t all that impressed with their new daughter-in-law’s behavior. Then I watched my parents on the dance floor and the way my dad held my mom close. I sighed again, but this time it was a happy sigh.