One Sweet Day I Found You: A Sweet Romance Book 1 Read online

He held up two fingers and grinned. “That’s two days. One, two. Think you can keep it straight?”

  Courtney rolled her eyes playfully, her cheeks turning rosy again. Silly me, she thought dryly.

  “Absolutely, sir.”

  Moments later, Josh walked her into one of the unoccupied rooms and pulled up an extra chair. She sat down and fired up her laptop.

  “All right, let’s get started,” he said.

  Whew.

  Still in the game.

  Two

  The next day, Nick Bingham peddled through the leafy woods of Door County’s Headland State Park, steering to avoid the muddy center of the well-shaded trail. Knee-high shrubs covered the dense forest on either side of the path and the sweet, earthy scent of hemlock and pine filled the air.

  Rounding a bend, Nick gripped his handlebars tightly and launched himself across a shallow ravine in the trail.

  Behind him, Tom Garcia, Nick’s roommate, followed suit. It was Tom who had talked Nick into joining the team last fall, once they’d become roommates by convenience and then friends by choice.

  Sunlight shot between the trees in various places, speckling the forest floor with a random shock of light every here and there. The park butted up against the lake and boasted flowery meadows, convenient boat launches, a few sandy beaches, and miles of easily accessible trails.

  Nick and Tom were expert mountain bikers and knew by heart the elaborate trail system throughout the park. The problem was that not all of the tourists who used it could say the same.

  It was midmorning, Wednesday, and Nick had just started taking inventory at the Inlet Outfitters Sports Gear and Rental Shop where he worked, when the call from the search-and rescue dispatch center had come in. He expected it to be a slow day, so he’d been able to drop what he was doing and leave. Two other employees were there who could handle things.

  This time, it was a couple of thirteen-year-old boys who needed help. Apparently, they’d gone deep into the woods on their mountain bikes, planning to record a video for their social media channel.

  Three miles in, the stunt man of the two had underestimated what it would take to clear the steep vertical double jump at the bottom of a long hill.

  Nick slowed his bike and pressed the button on his two-way radio to reach the dispatch center. “We’ll be there in ten.”

  He and Tom knew exactly the jump the boy had attempted. It was a long and steady ride down, then at the bottom, a short but steep ascent allowed for an experienced rider to catch some air. Unfortunately, it was a common place for brave hearts like these two to hurt themselves.

  According to dispatch, the boy’s front tire came up short on the double jump and he spun over the handlebars.

  Rookie mistake, and sometimes deadly.

  The next thing the boy knew, he was sailing headfirst over the bike, smacking the ground with his helmet. He’d slid further down the trail, as did the bicycle, and come to rest another eight or nine yards ahead.

  Fortunately, the other boy, the one with the camera, managed to find cell service and dialed 911. The dispatcher apparently had kept the boy on the line long enough to get the whole story out of him.

  With another tight grip on the handlebars, Nick raised his six-feet-two-inch frame in the seat and pedaled up a short but steep hill, with Tom close on his heels.

  Because the boys were too far away from a road wide enough to accommodate a motor vehicle, the fastest way for an emergency crew to reach them was on a bicycle.

  Nick and Tom would head in with gear, stabilize the injured boy, and, in this case, assemble the collapsible stretcher that Tom was currently wearing on his back.

  They’d lock their mountain bikes to a tree and carry the boy out on foot to the closest fire road, where an ambulance would be waiting.

  From there, the nearest major medical center was about half an hour’s drive down the shoreline to Sturgeon Bay. Once the victims were taken away in the ambulance, Nick and Tom would go back on foot for the bikes.

  Nick carried the medical supplies on his back. He had licensed as an emergency medical services paramedic for the state of Illinois during the summer between his first and second years at medical school in Chicago.

  And while, on the surface, he was cut out for medicine—he didn’t mind blood or needles or the nauseating smell of formaldehyde—the pressures of med school had eventually become too intense for him. After months contemplating the issue, he’d finally made the decision to drop out after his second year.

  But it had been complicated.

  Nick’s father was a highly respected cardiologist at a prominent Chicago medical center, and Nick’s older brother, Kenny, was completing his first year of residency there with a focus on orthopedics.

  It had been more or less expected that Nick would follow Dr. Bingham, senior and junior, on a similar path. No questions asked.

  Nick steered into a turn and tried to shake off the troubling thoughts.

  The problem was that Nick had spent his entire life watching his father adhere to an extremely stressful existence. People’s lives hanging in the balance, dependent upon the man’s every move. Frequent sixteen-hour days. Insurance costs through the roof. The ever-present threat of malpractice suits. Kenny was already feeling the effects of such extreme pressure, the likes of which Nick wasn’t ready to handle.

  Was that the life that Nick really wanted? Was the money really worth it? Those questions had burned in him as one semester turned into another.

  Finally, as his motivation wore thin and his grades began to fall, he decided to leave it all behind. As much as he’d wished things were different, he’d eventually faced the truth—he just didn’t want it badly enough. He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted, but he knew it was an altogether different kind of life than that.

  Once, he’d googled the numbers on how many students actually made it through medical school programs in the U.S. each year and gone on to graduate. The average was only fifteen percent. Fifteen percent! Still, he was glad to know he probably hadn’t been the only one coming undone.

  Dr. Bingham, Sr. had nearly gone through the roof when Nick told him what he’d done. “How does someone just drop out? How can you throw this away, Nick?” he’d roared. “And all for what? So you can find yourself? Waste a few years scraping by and then start over? And do what?”

  It had not gone well, to say the least. Nick had offered to pay back the money somehow, over time. But his father had thrown up his hands and walked away. “Don’t bother.”

  Nick had never been one for quitting things, but this time, he just felt it had to be done.

  His father hadn’t forgiven him yet.

  Shortly after it all went down, Nick had escaped Chicago for Heritage Bay. He certified as a medic for the state of Wisconsin and, by the fall, had taken the volunteer search-and-rescue position. Unfortunately, his father still did not entirely approve. He wanted Nick at the top of the food chain if Nick was going to be saving lives at all, not working as an unpaid medic.

  Nick braced himself for a jump over one of the muddy tributaries of the main stream that ran through the forest. He missed the dry edge by a couple of feet and mud instantly sprayed up onto his tires, shoes, and shorts.

  He cursed under his breath. Getting sprayed with messy brown liquids was becoming a pastime lately. He laughed. Oh well. What was one more day in stained clothing? No big deal.

  Speaking of that, he’d really blown his chance to talk to the attractive young woman who’d spilled coffee all over him yesterday. Flouncy skirt, big smile. A girl-next-door type. Very cute.

  Nick ran a hand across his shorts to brush off some dirt, but it did little to help. Maybe he’d get lucky and see her around town. He could try to talk to her then, but for now, he’d better get his head back in the game.

  Nick turned around for a quick check on Tom, who peddled just a few yards behind him. Tom gave a thumbs-up. He was fine.

  In the summer, hikers, mountain bikers, and boate
rs in trouble usually called for help. In the winter, it had usually been weekend warriors braving the cold and snow.

  Nick loved the work, even if it was unpaid. There was something to be said about feeling really useful, and maybe even vital, now and then. The adrenaline rush didn’t hurt, either.

  Several minutes later, Nick and Tom reached the boys. With a careful check, they were both relieved to find that Nate, the stuntman, hadn’t injured his spinal column. A fractured collarbone and a lot of bruising seemed to be the extent of it.

  Nick tied up Nate’s arm in a sling, fastening it close to his chest so the pain wouldn’t torment him with every excruciating movement.

  If the doctors found later that Nate had suffered a concussion, from the looks of it, Nick thought it would be a mild one.

  “One, two,” said Tom slowly, “three. Lift.” Nick and Tom transferred the boy to the stretcher.

  “Try to stay calm, Nate.” Tom grinned widely for the sake of the kids. “It’s time for a little hike. For us, that is. You, my man, get to ride.”

  Nate held back tears. “Do you think it’s broken?”

  “Not sure. But don’t worry,” said Nick. “We’ll get you taken care of.”

  The boy winced at the pain in his shoulder.

  “Have you ever done a jump like that before?” Nick asked, securing Nate on the stretcher.

  “Sort of.”

  Nick attached his and Nate’s helmets to his backpack. “You know, I tried a jump like that when I was your age. Broke my ankle. Walked on crutches for six weeks. I’d say you got a little lucky today.”

  “You call this lucky?” Nate pouted.

  Nick grinned at him. “Trust me. Things could’ve been worse.”

  Nate let out a sigh.

  Tom strapped his bicycle helmet to his backpack then ran a hand across his short, dark hair. He addressed the other boy. “All right, Jonas, why don’t you lead the way, my man? We’ll try and keep up.”

  Jonas nodded, having loaded up his own backpack with the digital recorder and phone. He slung his helmet over the handlebars and glanced at Nate then at the long uphill climb ahead. “Okie doke.”

  Nick and Tom loaded their gear back onto their shoulders, and Nick spoke into the two-way radio again. “Departing the scene. ETA fire road forty-five minutes. Victim awake, alert, secured. Over and out.”

  Nick and Tom lifted the stretcher and Jonas began to push his bike on foot.

  Nick gazed down at Nate, who appeared to be trying his best not to cry. “Don’t worry, dude, we’ve got you. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

  Three

  Courtney glanced at the clock then out the kitchen window of the guesthouse she’d now be calling home. A quiet, late morning with blue skies revealed a gentle field of marsh not far from the cottage and a trail that led to the sandy edge of the lake.

  She stretched her slender, five-foot-six-inch frame to inspect the contents of the kitchen cabinets. They seemed to contain everything a very lucky single girl might need.

  She’d taken the trail to the docks and back before sunset last night, happy to discover that the town’s marina was only a little over a mile away. Her family had been to Door County only twice when Courtney had been very young, but never to Heritage Bay, so her surroundings felt as fresh as they had when she’d first landed in Sydney.

  Yesterday, after a few hours at the office, when the rideshare driver had dropped her off at her new place, the key had been waiting for her under the mat.

  Courtney yawned and sipped from her mug of coffee, remembering the exhausting trio of mishaps yesterday. She was eager to put the day behind her. At least nothing else had gone wrong since.

  Courtney returned to the window and gazed at the shimmering water about forty yards ahead.

  A hundred yards from the cottage, opposite the lake, a dense cluster of trees sheltered a substantial two-story, pale-yellow colonial from the road where her retired landlord lived. Boasting white shutters and trim, with a rust-red roof and a long row of pink hydrangeas lining the front, the large home radiated a quiet, peaceful charm. Courtney’s guesthouse was a cottage that matched the larger structure.

  She went into the bedroom to finish getting ready. Her parents would be here any minute. The bedroom alone was nicer than her old apartment in Chicago. Courtney neatened the pillows and the fluffy down comforter on the queen-sized bed.

  Chicago already felt like another lifetime. She’d left the city for Australia six months ago after a painful break-up with the guy she’d thought was the one. Turned out she’d been wrong about Austin. Dismally, pathetically wrong.

  But the escape to an unfamiliar land abroad, coupled with the chance to give her freelance travel writing dreams a shot, had done wonders for her soul. She’d made a lot of progress.

  Courtney headed back to the kitchen for more coffee and heard the quiet hum of a couple of car engines out on the driveway.

  Mom and Dad!

  Courtney set the coffee mug on the kitchen countertop and bolted outside. Her parents had made the three-and-a-half-hour drive from Madison to deliver Courtney’s car.

  After the warm greetings and long hugs, her dad tossed her the keys to her old red Camry.

  “Thanks so much!” She peeked inside then waved them toward the house. “Come on, I’ll tell you all about my trip. Who needs coffee?”

  Forty-five minutes later, Courtney sat back as they finished the last bites of the cherry Danish her mother had picked up in south Door County.

  Her dad beamed. “Australia sounded wonderful, and this seems like a great situation for you here, honey. I’m so proud of you.” He sighed with relief. “And I’m so glad you’re back.”

  Courtney’s temporary move to Australia had gone surprisingly well. Between her savings, her credit card, and a part-time job at a coffee shop, she’d been able to tour the hot spots, explore, research, and write.

  She’d submitted to travel blogs and online publications, taking full advantage of free Wi-Fi in public places, and things had finally started to take off. Most of the stories that sold were unglamorous pieces about travel gear or tips for flying in coach, not exciting things like the Great Barrier Reef or the Sydney Opera House, but still, they’d sold. She’d begun to crack the code.

  Courtney’s mom rested her chin on an elbow. “I’m so glad you’re back, too, sweetie, but I don’t understand. You were planning to stay through August, weren’t you? What happened?”

  Courtney shrugged. “I don’t know. I just felt like it was time. I guess I got a little homesick. I started looking for jobs, and I was lucky enough to find one, so I jumped on it.”

  The truth was Courtney had, for the most part, accomplished what she’d gone to Australia to do—mend her broken heart and finally get her freelance career off the ground.

  “Well, that’s a relief. But—really? You’re not in any sort of trouble?”

  Courtney straightened her shoulders and sat up straighter. “No. Why would I be in trouble?”

  Here we go.

  “Is it your credit cards?” She looked around at the tastefully furnished cottage. “Have you racked up a balance again? Do you need help? You know we’re—”

  “No, Mom. My finances are fine.” Although, her bank account hadn’t exactly runneth over in the past several months.

  Australia had been very expensive. In fact, she was all but broke, although she still had a few freelance payments coming. “I snagged this place for a steal, and it came fully furnished. None of this fancy stuff is mine. Oh, and by the way, I’ll be getting paid monthly here, so you don’t need to worry about a thing. I’m writing mostly sponsored content. Businesses pay to be written about. It’s basically glorified ad copy.”

  Her father visibly relaxed. “That’s fantastic, honey.”

  Her mother hesitated. “Then, is it Austin again?”

  Courtney tilted her head and shot her mother a look. “No,” she said, lowering her brow. “I haven’t talked to Austin in, like,
seven or eight months.”

  “So you didn’t come back for him?”

  “You mean the guy I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with who I found on the couch with my roommate? No, I didn’t come back for him.”

  Tall, dark, and handsome, Austin McDermott was a go-getter with more than his fair share of charisma and a promising career as an advertising executive.

  Courtney had dated him for almost a year in Chicago. Twenty-five at the time, she believed they’d buy that house in the burbs with the white pickets and the tree swing someday. Raise three kids, host dinner parties, vacation every summer at the beach.

  She had fallen hard. What an idiot she’d been. Six months into their relationship, he hadn’t approved when she left the security of her copy-editing job to go out on her own. Nor had he approved of her choice to take an evening job waiting tables to make ends meet when the articles weren’t selling.

  The problems between them had just snowballed from there. They’d started spending a lot less time together because of Courtney’s new schedule, and when they did see each other, things were just—well, distant between them. And then of course, she’d walked in one night after a late-night shift to find him with her roommate, Alicia.

  Courtney shuddered.

  But all of that was behind her now. She took a deep breath.

  Courtney’s mother sat back. She knew the story. “Did someone else break your heart then, honey? You can tell us. Australia’s a very romantic setting. All those beaches—”

  “Mom— I’m fine! Why can’t I just be ready to come back?”

  Her mother looked away. No one spoke for a moment.

  Many a day in Australia, Courtney wished things hadn’t come undone and that Austin could’ve been there with her—the way things used to be. How did her mother always manage to get inside her head?

  There, she said it—but only to herself. It had been a lonely trip, in some ways.

  “Courtney,” her father began.

  Things were different now. She’d been ready to leave Australia because she felt like she could finally face home again without him. She had moved on. Courtney looked at them and softened her tone. “I’m sorry. But Mom, I’m fine, okay? Better than fine.”