Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 20660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Holly Dawson has a secret. The kind that has big blue eyes, a dimpled smile, and the same crooked grin as the man who doesn’t even know he’s a father.
Years ago, Holly and Jack Rivers were childhood pen pals who shared everything—until one unforgettable Spring Break night changed everything. Her parents tore them apart, raising her baby as their own so she could chase the future they planned for her. But now? Holly’s back, with a hammer in one hand and a plan in the other.
When she answers Jack’s ad for a live-in assistant, she has one figure out if the gruff, gorgeous carpenter is the kind of man she can finally trust—with her truth... and her son. What she doesn’t expect? Jack asking her to play his fake girlfriend at a friend’s wedding to get everyone off his back about being alone.
But there’s nothing fake about the way his touch sets her on fire. Nothing fake about the way he looks at her like she’s already his.
She came looking for answers. What she finds is a man determined to claim what’s his—and maybe a second chance at the kind of love she thought she’d lost forever.
Filled with flirty banter, jaw-dropping reveals, and heart-melting heat, The Carpenter’s Secret Baby is a must-read for anyone who believes love can be built from the ground up.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Holly
The place smells like cedar, sawdust, and something else entirely masculine. Devil’s Peak rises behind the cabin like a protective sentinel, and the Phantom River murmurs just out of sight, winding through trees lit gold by the late afternoon sun.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other on the porch, trying not to let nerves show. My toddler’s sticky fingers wrap tight around mine as she bounces beside me, completely unaffected by the tension crackling down my spine. That makes one of us.
The front door creaks open.
And there he is.
Jack Rivers.
He fills the doorway like a brick wall. Bearded. Sun-kissed. Shirtless.
His jeans hang low on his hips, and his chest is dusted with dark hair that draws the eye south. His skin is tanned, inked, and glistening with sweat like he’s just finished splitting wood with his bare hands. Hell, maybe he has.
His eyes drag over me slowly, from my high ponytail to my too-neat travel outfit. I feel a prickle in my chest as he lingers just a second too long on my lips.
“You’re late,” he says, voice low and rough like gravel under boots.
“Your directions sucked,” I shoot back, chin tilting up.
He crosses his arms over his chest. “I said left at the busted fence. How hard was that?”
“I didn’t realize I was entering Narnia.”
One of his brows twitches. “This Narnia doesn’t got Wi-Fi–are you about to complain about that too?”
I smile sweetly. “As long as there’s running water, we’ll get along just fine.”
He stares at me for a beat too long.
And then, abruptly, he steps aside. “You want the job or not?”
I grip my daughter’s hand and walk inside without waiting for an invite. The place is rustic but clean—open beams, big windows, stone fireplace, and the faintest smell of pine and citrus cleaner. It feels… too perfect. Which is a problem. Because nothing in my life stays perfect.
“I’ll show you the room.” Jack’s already halfway down the hall.
“You always this welcoming, or just saving the charm for a second date?”
“Don’t do charm,” he mutters.
Yeah. I remember.
I pause in the hallway, heart slamming against my ribs as he gestures toward a cozy bedroom at the end. He doesn’t remember me. Not even a flicker of recognition. Sure, I look different now–shorter hair a few shades darker than when he saw me last–but still, I thought maybe, just maybe he’d remember that one night five years ago.
But it gave me everything.
Like the little girl now chasing dust motes on the hardwood floor.
“So, this is the guest room,” Jack says, dragging my attention back. “Bathroom’s through there. You’ll cook, clean, and help out when I’m working. It’s not complicated.”
“And in exchange, we get to live here?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “That was the ad.”
I think of the mail-order bride ad I answered in Mountain Living magazine. I cross my arms. “And what exactly do you do, Jack Rivers? Aside from glare and grunt and pretend like you're not in desperate need of adult supervision?”
His eyes narrow slightly. “I build custom furniture. Mostly commissions. People pay good money for tables that’ll outlive them.”
I glance at his hands—big, rough, callused—and heat coils in my gut like a slow burn. I remember those hands.
“Well, lucky for you I majored in babysitting emotionally unavailable men with tools.”
He cocks his head. “You always this mouthy?”
“Only when I’m trying to impress my new boss.”
Jack steps closer, slow and deliberate, and my pulse quickens.
“You got a kid.” His gaze flicks toward the hallway where my daughter’s babbling to herself.
I tense, just for a second. “That a problem?”
“No. Just didn’t realize there were two of you.” His eyes flick back to mine. “You didn’t mention it. But then again, you failed to mention the attitude too.”
I flash him a grin I don’t feel. “Guess we’re even.”
He doesn’t smile. Just looks at me like he’s trying to pin me down and figure out what the hell I’m doing here.
Fair question.
Because even I’m not totally sure.
He nods toward the front of the house. “I’m making dinner. You want to stay, you pull your weight. Start with peeling potatoes.”
“Yes, Chef.”
I follow him into the kitchen and watch as he starts pulling ingredients from the fridge. The muscles in his back flex under his skin, and I can’t stop staring. He moves like a man who’s spent his entire life in control. Of wood. Of tools. Of women.
But I remember what it was like to make him lose that control. Just once. When he kissed me like he was starved. When he said my name like it tasted better than anything he'd ever put in his mouth. He called me Kat then–he never knew my real name–Holly. I hated the name I was born with so only went by Kat for the first twenty years of my life. A pang of guilt flashes through me as I think about telling him who I really am–but I need him to think I’m a stranger if I’m going to get a real sense for who he is–if he’s someone I can trust to be in me and Josie’s life.