Max Read online

  Max

  Rogue County Rangers – Book 3

  Lisa Lovell

  Copyright © 2020 Lisa Lovell

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval systems, without express written permission from the author/publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Kimber

  “Shit.”

  I clap my hand over my mouth, hoping none of the second graders in my charge heard me. Cadence looks over her tiny shoulder with a small smile on her mouth. She won’t say anything. She’s a cool kid. As far as I can tell, she’s the only one who heard me.

  The cause of my little outburst came in the form of a huge banner hanging over the whiteboard.

  ROSE HAVEN ELEMENTARY SAFETY WEEK.

  I hung the banner myself on Friday then spent the whole weekend doing whatever I could to distract myself from the looming threat of Safety Week. Apparently, whatever I did worked because I’d totally forgotten.

  I don’t have anything against safety week. In fact, I think it’s one of the most important weeks of the school year. Every year, the second graders learn about different kinds of emergencies, who to call when they need help, and what to do if something bad happens.

  I remember sitting through safety week when I was in second grade. I thought the Rangers who came into the school to talk to us were superheroes in disguise. Now, my opinion is a little different. Not of the Rangers themselves, to be clear. I think the Rose Haven Rangers do wonderful things for our community and never fail to keep us safe.

  Unfortunately, Max Jameson is a Ranger now. I make it a point never to be in the same place as Max Jameson.

  This year, he enthusiastically volunteered to lead Safety Week for the second graders. My second graders.

  It’s not that I doubt Max’s ability to teach children important safety protocols. I’m sure he’ll do just fine. The Ranger Chief wouldn’t have agreed to let Max run the show if he wasn’t capable.

  My issues with Max Jameson are entirely personal.

  “What are we doing today, Ms. Evans?” One of my students, Alexander, shouts from across the room.

  “We’re learning how to politely ask questions,” I reply. “Can you try that one more time please?”

  With an overly dramatic eye roll, Alex stands up and walks across the room until he’s by my side.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Evans,” he mumbles.

  “Yes, Alex?” I smile.

  “What are we doing today?”

  “I’m glad you ask,” I say. “Today, a Ranger from the station is going to come in and teach us about safety.”

  “But I already know how to call 911,” Alex says. “I had to call that number when my mommy drank an entire bottle of something and fell over.”

  I blink in surprise. What the hell am I supposed to say to that? That’s the interesting thing about working with kids this young. They have absolutely no filter. It’s time to arrange a home visit with Alex’s mother.

  “There are other kinds of emergencies and we’re going to learn about all of them!” I muster some fake enthusiasm. Another great thing about working with kids this age is that they aren’t paying enough attention to realize you’re faking it.

  I’m going to be faking it a lot this week. I wonder if I can gracefully step out of the room when Max arrives. I’d do it, except I know how my second graders get when I leave the room. I love them, but they are little beasties. I am the ultimate power in this classroom which is hilarious to me because, in the grand scheme of things, I can’t do very much to punish the second graders. The worst I can do is make them stay inside for recess. That only lasts twenty minutes but, to a second-grader, it’s the end of the damn world.

  The classroom door opens and Principal Newman walks in with Max on his heels. It’s been eight years since I last spent any amount of extended time around Max and he still knocks the wind right out of my lungs.

  He’s tall. Like, very tall. Though, I’m only five foot two so everyone looks excessively tall to me. He’s at least six foot two, but probably taller. His shoulders are so damn broad, they’re twice as wide as I am.

  It would be easier to look at him if the Rangers had to wear a dumb uniform, but they don’t. Max walks in wearing jeans that fits him in the best possible way. The Ranger shirt is just a tan, short-sleeved button-down. I want to know what those buttons are made of. He’s muscular, as all Rangers are, but his shirt looks like it’s just barely containing his well-shaped chest.

  And here I am looking like a librarian.

  A cute librarian, but still.

  “All right, everyone!” I shift into Teacher Mode. My mind switches to auto-pilot and I no longer think about Max and his shirt and his muscles. “Circle up!”

  All of my second graders rush to their numbered spot on the round rug in the center of the room.

  “This is Ranger Max Jameson,” I say without looking at Max directly. “He’s going to teach you all about being smart and safe!”

  “Thank you, Kimber,” Max’s voice sends shivers down my spine. He joins me in the center of the round rug. I move away from him.

  “Ms. Evans,” I correct with a smile pasted on my face. “I’m going to let you take it from here, Ranger Jameson.”

  I’ve never high-tailed it to my desk so fast. My heart races a million miles a minute. Am I sweating? I feel like I’m sweating.

  This is exactly why I stay away from Max Jameson.

  Eight years ago, he broke my heart. As much as I like to say otherwise, I’m not over it.

  Chapter Two

  Max

  I’m not surprised that Kimber doesn’t look my way.

  When she’d told me she’d never look at me again, I greatly underestimated her. She always was stubborn but this is some next-level dedication.

  She only spoke to me once, just because she had no other choice. She can’t very well tell a room of seven-year-olds that she hates the man about to teach them all about safety. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to.

  She settles down at her desk and concentrates very hard on a stack of papers. I don’t think she’s actually reading them. She’s not even blinking.

  I get it. I messed up bad in high school.

  Kimber and I started dating at the beginning of our sophomore year. We created quite the stir in our little high school. No one ever thought we knew each other, let alone wanted to date each other.

  Everyone, especially the other girls in the school, always asked, “why her? What’s so special about her?” Honestly, I couldn’t give them an answer because I lacked the emotional intelligence at the time. Now that I’ve had eight years to reflect on it, I know exactly how I should have answered those questions.

  When I was with Kimber, she let me be me.

  I didn’t have to be Max the quarterback. I didn’t have to be Max the team leader. I didn’t have to be Max the coolest guy around. With her, I just had to be me. That was enough for her. That was never enough for anyone else in my life. br />
  Of course, I had to go and ruin it. I’m paying the price for that mistake to this day, in more ways than Kimber realizes. If she’d just let me talk to her…

  “Are you going to teach us about emergencies, mister?” A little girl with glasses and fiery hair asks.

  “I am,” I say brightly. “What’s your name?”

  “Claire.”

  “Okay, Claire.” I clap my hands together. “Do you know what to do if there is an emergency?”

  “Call the police,” she says.

  “Right. Very good. Who picks up the phone when you call 911?”

  “A police officer,” she replies.

  “I can see why you’d think that, but that’s not the case.”

  As I go through my overly rehearsed safety speech, I have to stop myself from looking at Kimber. I make do with watching her from the corner of my eye. I can tell she’s chewing on the end of her pen. She hasn’t broken that habit in all these years. I wonder what else she still does?

  I understand what I did to her was horrible. I don’t blame her for making it impossible for me to know her. If she knew I’d end up living in Rose Haven permanently, working as a Ranger, I doubt she would’ve moved back home after college.

  When the Chief asked for a volunteer to lead Safety Week, I didn’t think about it. I practically leaped out of my chair and shouted that I’d do it. I was prepared to beg the Chief to let me do it. He always did it himself. He’d never asked for a volunteer before.

  Taking over Safety Week is a chance to get closer to Kimber than I’ve been since I made my terrible mistake. I’m going to take full advantage of it.

  When I finish my lesson, the second graders look to their teacher for further instructions. I look at her, too.

  Kimber is just as lovely as she was in high school.

  She has a huge personality. So huge that people don’t realize how short she is until they’re right next to her. She always says exactly what she’s thinking and she doesn’t care if people don’t like her for it.

  She also got a lot of flack from the cheerleaders, dancers, and basically anyone who starved themselves to fit into size zero jeans. Kimber carried a few extra pounds in the best way. Her curves were, and still very much are, perfect and voluptuous. No matter how many people called her fat, chunky, or any other horrible name, she let it roll right off her back. She didn’t have any desire to fit the mold and she stood by it.

  That’s one of her many amazing qualities that drew me to her in the first place. People, especially the other kids at our high school, put so much pressure on her to be like everyone else. They wanted her to fit into a perfect, neat, defined box. She wouldn’t cramp herself to fit any mold, not like I did.

  She looks up from her papers. Her honey-blonde hair grazes the surface of her desk. Her gaze snaps to mine, her eyes grey, steely, and unyielding.

  Kimber wasn’t popular in high school, partially because of those eyes. The other people in our grade said she had a creepy stare. I see what they mean. It doesn’t feel like she’s looking at me, rather than she’s looking into me. It’s like she can see past all of my bullshit.

  It’s no wonder people didn’t like her much in high school. At the time, everyone was constructed solely of bullshit. Somehow, all of us in that high school had been tricked into thinking we had to fit in our boxes. Most of us went along with it. We didn’t know any better. Somehow, Kimber did. I always admired her for it. I always will.

  Kimber’s gaze slides past me to look at the clock mounted on the wall behind me.

  “You may return to your desks and work quietly for the next fifteen minutes,” she tells her students in a kind, but authoritative voice. The kids scurry back to their desks and pull out their school work.

  “You run a tight ship around here,” I say with a smile.

  “Thank you for that informative lesson,” she says, returning her attention to her papers. “You will be here at the same time tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” I nod. “I can stick around if you want. The kids will probably have questions.”

  “They go to lunch in,” she glances at the clock, “fourteen minutes. That’s all they’re thinking about right now. You may go.”

  I don’t want to. I want to find an excuse to linger and talk to her through the lunch period. However, if I know anything about Kimber it’s that she hates feeling forced. Try to force her to do something, and she will rebel with every ounce of her petite body.

  She does what she wants in her own time. Hovering around her won’t make her want to talk to me at all. I know for a fact, it will only make her want to hide more.

  “All right,” I shrug. “See you tomorrow!”

  Chapter Three

  Kimber

  It feels like it’s been the longest day of my life by the time I walk into my home. My one-bedroom house was left to me by my grandfather. He used to rent it out but renters stopped showing up long ago. No one wants to vacation is Rose Haven. There isn’t anything to do here. We don’t even have a movie theater.

  That doesn’t mean we don’t get movies, though.

  My phone rings an hour or so after I get home. When it does, my stomach tightens. I expect to see Max’s name on my caller ID even though I don’t have his number anymore. I blocked him after high school.

  Instead, my display reads Cherrie Williams.

  “Hi Cherrie,” I say with forced enthusiasm. “What’s up?”

  “I just downloaded that amazing new Matt Damon movie. I’m going to set up the projector against Phil Masterson’s house. Half the town is coming for movie night! Want to join?”

  I debate saying no, but quickly realize if I don’t get out of the house, I’ll be pacing my living room thinking about Max until I fall asleep.

  “I will definitely be there,” I say. “Should I bring anything?”

  “Chip and dip?” Cherrie suggests. “We always need way more than we think we do. Lord knows my hips aren’t going to thank me for it, but I plan on eating at least half a jar of that French onion stuff.”

  “All right,” I chuckle. “I’ll pick some up. I’ll see you soon.”

  I have no idea which Matt Damon movie she’s talking about. It could be one that came out three months ago or three years ago. Rose Haven sometimes feels like it’s paused on the edge of time. We don’t get new things often. Thank goodness for the internet or else we’d be completely disconnected.

  If Ellie, the Assistant Mayor, decided to open up an off-the-grid spa retreat, it would make a killing. Celebrities love that kind of thing, so I’ve heard.

  I change into jeans and a sweater before hopping in my car. It only takes me five minutes to get to the main street of town.

  I dash into the grocery store and grab three bags of chips and two jars of dip. I’m certain I won’t be the only one bringing something. I’m about to leave when I decide to go back for a third jar of dip. There’s only one jar of the French onion flavor Cherrie likes. I reach for it just as another hand darts forward.

  “Sorry,” I laugh, preparing to move on.

  “I’m not.”

  My blood simultaneously heats up and freezes as I look up to find Max smiling down on me, one hand still on the dip.

  “Are you going to movie night?” He asks.

  “No,” I say quickly.

  “So, you’re buying three bags of chips and three jars of dip for yourself?”

  “No,” I scoff. “I could be having a party. You don’t know anything about my life or what I do.”

  “I know I don’t and it’s a damn shame,” he says. “But I know you’re not having a party.”

  “Excuse me?” I frown and turn my attention to the dip jar. It’s too hard to look at Max for more than a few moments at a time. It would be so much easier to hate him if he didn’t look like some kind of demi-god. Unfortunately, my hormones still haven’t gotten the memo that Max is the enemy.

  “If you were having a party, I would know about it,” he says. “Everyone
in this town is a gossip. That’s how I know you nearly went to Norway last year but stayed behind because you’re grandmother had the flu.”

  “Have you been asking people about me?” I scowl. “That’s creepy and my life is absolutely none of your business. You lost that privilege senior year.”

  “Still upset about that, huh?” The fact that he looks genuinely ashamed is a nice touch, but not nice enough. “How many times do I need to apologize?”

  “Once would be nice,” I snap.

  He blinks, confused. “I-”

  “Haven’t apologized once,” I cut him off.

  “I’m sorry, Kimber.” His eyes lock onto mine. I can’t make myself look away. “I’m truly sorry for the way I treated you.”

  “I accept your apology,” I say when my mouth starts working again. “However, I have no interest in being friends or even acquaintances. You’ve shown me how little my feelings and time mean to you. I don’t allow people like that in my life anymore.”

  “Would you believe me if I told you I’ve changed?” He asks.

  “They all say that and guess what? They never change,” I huff.

  “I don’t know who they are, but I’m not like that. I learned my lesson. I would have apologized to you years ago if you’d given me a chance.”

  “I’m not obligated to give you that chance,” I say. “I’m going to Cherrie’s movie showing and I’d apricate it if you didn’t go.”

  “I already told Cherrie I’m bringing chips and dip,” he grins.

  “Well, that’s what I’m bringing so I’ve got it covered,” I insist.

  “Then I’m going to bring popcorn or candy,” he says.

  “Fine,” I huff. “You may as well take the chips and dip. I won’t go.”

  “Seriously?” Max laughs softly. “You hate the idea of being around me that much? I know how stubborn you can be, but come on. You’re really going to miss out on movie night just because of me?”

  I hate the idea of being in the same place as Max for more than an hour, but I hate the thought of him thinking he has this big of an effect on me even more.