Page 3 of Hearts Don't Lie
Hardin paced in his beautiful modern-rustic suite at the Urban, Piñon Ridge’s most upscale boutique inn. The details pleased him—a utilitarian mixture of galvanized metals, reclaimed wood, and glass. A gas fireplace took up half the exterior wall; the other half was taken up by doors that opened to a large balcony with a hot tub, a table and chairs, and a panoramic view of the massive Taurus Range, which embraced Piñon Ridge from the west.
Trepidation suppressed the euphoria that had first flooded him. Mac was here. He would see her again in the morning, and she wouldn’t be able to ignore him. He’d have her undivided attention for three days and two nights and would find out how she had become Kenna Eliot.
He’d been recruited before his junior year out of North Carolina University, and as soon as the ink dried on his multimillion-dollar contract, he hired Liberty Quinn of Sentry Investigations to look for Mac. While Liberty searched, he moved to Spain to play soccer professionally in the Men’s European Fútbol League and finished his undergraduate long distance in between training, games, and appearances. Playing in the MEFL was a dream come true, but his other dream, that of spending his life with Mac, remained out of reach.
Able to blend in anywhere, Liberty Quinn had proven to be a stealthy private investigator, working tirelessly to track down Mac, but to no avail. It was as if she had vanished after boarding a bus for Joliet, Illinois, years earlier—the last information Liberty had been able to dig up. The trail had gone arctic-cold after Joliet. No one recognized the petite teen with long auburn hair, and cameras turned up nothing. There was no social media presence, nor was there any electronic record of a McKenna Rose Vesley.
He was faced with scouring every state and checking local newspapers and schools. Recently, a woman fitting Mac’s description had turned up in an outdoors magazine in Denver, a story highlighting companies that provided the best adventure experiences in Peaks County. She was in a photo with a group of people, but there had been no identifying information, like all the previous leads that hadn’t panned out. Liberty forwarded the photo to Hardin, expecting another dead end.
This time though, itwasMac, but she was going by the name Kenna Eliot. Liberty was powerless to provide more. Vital records in Colorado were not accessible to the public, so she wasn’t able to search Mac online or access any information. Hardin had Liberty fly to Colorado immediately and see what else she could dig up. She quickly tracked Mac to Piñon Ridge, where she owned Intrepid Adventures with her partner, Corinne Wainsom.
Liberty drove to the quaint Victorian town nestled in Peaks County and stayed overnight, spending time with residents, even popping into Intrepid Adventures and talking to Mac herself, discovering she had moved to Piñon Ridge over a decade earlier and was an active, well-liked and respected member of the community. Mac was single and had a child who shared her last name. The child’s information was protected by the same Colorado laws.
Now he was here to get more answers—about their past and to determine if a future with Mac was possible.
Illinois, August, Twelve Years Earlier…
A clearing near one of the least-traveled country roads, long forgotten after county residents decided against extending the walking and biking trail in that direction, became their spot. It was where Mac and Hardin’s friendship grew and evolved into love. Where they could be vulnerable with one another and not be subject to the influences of family and friends. Where they shared their hopes, dreams, and fears.
Heat lightning flashed along the edges of the thick clouds blanketing the moon, darkening the sky.
“No thunder,” Mac observed, sitting cross-legged while Hardin lay prone, his head resting on his forearm. She finished a piece of watermelon and licked her fingers with satisfied smacking. “I think we’re good.”
“One of the many things I love about the Midwest,” he mused, watching the play of light above. “I don’t know if North Carolina will be able to measure up.” Hardin sat up, his kiss lingering on her shoulder. “I want you again,” he murmured. When he wasn’t burning to play on the pitch, he was on fire for her.
She smiled and reached for him, her eyes full of heat. “Only if we can forget about North Carolina tonight.”
Their galloping hearts were chasing mutual orgasms when the distant beam from a flashlight caught the corner of the ground blanket, narrowly missing their writhing, naked bodies. It continued arcing over the ground and trees, moving closer.
Hardin withdrew from Mac suddenly and shoved an extra blanket at her. “Shit. Someone’s here,” he whispered breathlessly, urgently, hastily pulling on his shorts.
Steeped in a postclimactic haze, Mac struggled to dress quickly under the summer-weight blanket. She was pulling her skirt down over her thighs and in the process of sitting up next to Hardin when they were hailed by the people approaching.
“Hello? I’m Officer Kozak and this is Officer Smiley,” the policeman said, continuing toward them and stopping several yards away. His beam took in their disorderly appearance and heavy breathing. “You two okay? We saw the Jeep off the side of the road. We were concerned given the hour.”
Hardin scrambled to stand and helped Mac up. “Yes, sir,” they chimed soberly.
Officer Kozak’s watchful eyes bounced between Mac and Hardin. “There’s a strong storm brewing behind this heat lightning. Probably best not to be out in it. First though, how about some ID?”
Hardin pulled his wallet from his rumpled shorts and extracted his license, handing it to Officer Smiley, who came closer and seemed amused after reading it. “Koz, we’ve got ourselves a celebrity here,” he smirked, handing Hardin’s ID to his partner.
Officer Kozak’s brows rose, and he whistled before pinning Hardin with a steady look. “Hello, Hardin Ambrose. I’ve seen you play. Trident is lucky to have you on their team. You’re nothing short of remarkable. Maybe the next Messi. My sons want to play like you.”
“Hello,” Hardin said, not sure where this was going other than he was often compared to Argentine Lionel Messi, one of soccer’s greatest players. It was always a humbling honor. “Thank you, sir.”
Mac clutched her hands tightly in front of her. “I don’t have mine. It’s… It’s at home.”
“What’s your name, young lady?” Officer Kozak asked, studying her.
“McKenna Vesley.”
“How old are you, McKenna?”
“Sixteen, sir. My birthday was last week.”
“We lost track of time, Officer,” Hardin said. “Mac’s my girlfriend. Eighteen months now.”
“Uh-huh.” Officer Kozak nodded slightly. “Where do you live, McKenna?”
