Page 1 of Anything for You (Veterans of Silver Ridge #7)

CHAPTER ONE

Dove

G rowing up in a cult masquerading as a commune teaches you things. Namely, lock picking.

Happily, I didn’t have to do a whole lot to jiggle the door open. Didn’t even need to enlist the bobby pin holding back the hair straggling out of my ponytail. The deadbolt hadn’t been engaged, only a button-style lock that popped open with a little elbow grease and positivity.

Or maybe I’d developed Hulk-style strength and didn’t realize it. Possible. I was tired enough that maybe the pure exhaustion becoming a living being in me could’ve been gamma radiation for all I knew.

Actually, no. I knew why I could barely keep my eyes open to drive here, and why I felt the clock ticking on my ability to stay conscious and upright. Ten… Nine… Eight….

I’d worked my usual shifts, picked up two at the clinic, and been the on-call nurse at Silverton Springs four nights out of the last ten.

I’d slept a full six hours… last… Saturday?

Maybe? Couldn’t recall for sure. The one day I’d planned to take a nap in a na?ve attempt to apologize to my body and give it a moment’s reprieve, I’d gotten a call from the facility where my nan had recently moved asking a simple question about her medical paperwork, and my brain had latched on and spiraled into worry so effectively, I’d been wired until long after the nap window was over.

And so it goes. It happened. But right now, I needed a bed and I needed sleep, or I’d probably end up endangering myself or someone else.

I’d been a good nurse for a lot of years and, if I didn’t mind being a bit cocky while loopy from lack of sleep, a great one for at least the last few.

Even that wouldn’t keep me safe from myself right now.

Was I annoyed my key didn’t work? Yes. Did I want to take time to call the landlord and meet him for keys or go figure all that out?

No. Maybe a well-rested version of myself would take issue with the corner-cutting, but the absolutely spent woman stumbling toward bed in her new home embraced the logic.

With one last vestige of determination and energy, I hauled my giant Mary Poppins-style bag over my shoulder and stumbled into the home that would be my new place. I’d take time to check out the furnishings and, well, everything else soon.

For now, I stumbled down one hallway, spotted another, and continued my path, losing the bag from my shoulders somewhere just before I nudged open a door with light streaming in from the windows.

Probably a nice view, but I only had eyes for the cozy-looking cobalt blue duvet covering at least a king-sized bed. Hallelujah.

I stumbled out of my shoes and socks, but abandoned any effort to change out of my scrubs. I should’ ve. Please forgive me, new room. I’ll do better , I promised, and collapsed onto the bed. In seconds, I found blissful, peaceful sleep.

Something tickly and… wet?… brushed across my arm and roused me from the deepest depths of sleep.

I slowly came back to consciousness, feeling the heaviness in my body sinking deliciously into the mattress beneath me.

Oh, and the comforter, because I hadn’t even bothered to crawl underneath it.

No way I’d slept all night, but maybe a few hours.

I could get up, get some food, and ideally slide right back here into this pine- and laundry-scented heaven.

Maybe I wasn’t actually even awake—maybe this was an odd little interlude between dreams.

My ears perked when I heard the tinkling of something… a small bell?

Wait. What?

My eyes popped open and gazed up at the ceiling fan, then I scrubbed at the tiredness sinking a ten-pound weight on each orbital socket. Woof, I really should’ve taken out my contacts, but I’d do that in a minute.

Speaking of, I needed to move, or I’d sleep through dinner and wake up at a weird time and that wouldn’t help things. I shifted, sitting up and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.

My head snapped up when I felt more than saw a shadowy figure just feet away from me.

An absolutely huge man stood in the darkness and next to him, some kind of attack dog .

Finally, finally , my brain kicked in and registered this wasn’t a dream, I didn’t know this person, and I was in danger.

So naturally, instead of bolting from the room and booking it to my car, or grabbing my phone and dialing the police as I karate-kicked the stranger, I froze and just screamed.

As someone who loved singing and had the lungs for it, I screamed loudly.

Like, blood-curdling, break-the-windows screamed.

But instead of rushing me with a machete, the man in the corner crouched low and clutched his dog to him close, almost like he was restraining the beast from attacking me.

Run! Flee! Goooo!

No luck. My body was utterly failing the stress test of stranger danger in real time.

I scrambled back to the corner of the bed, effectively placing myself in the location farthest from the exit— well done, Dove, as if you’ve never watched any horror movies —and I couldn’t seem to find my phone through the adrenaline-fueled panic screeching.

Now I knew very clearly the impulse was flight and not fight . Cool, but not a surprise, really.

The person was still just… there. Why wasn’t he leaving? Why was he in my bedroom?

Who—

My screams cut off right in time for me to hear his words and register he wasn’t restraining the dog… he was clinging to it!

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” I demanded, my pulse thready and my breaths uneven.

He released the dog, who stepped forward but sat, blue eyes pinning me and sending a shudder of recognition through me.

Oh.

It hit right as he said it.

“I’m Dorian Forrester. I own this house. And I believe I’m your new landlord.”

My mouth dropped open because how had I not realized he’d be my landlord?

I mean, I knew, but I’d been led to believe I’d never see the man.

I hadn’t at any point in the rental process—we’d done everything over email via a rental agency and I’d picked up the keys at the Saint Security front desk.

In my brain-melt of exhaustion and stress, I’d completely neglected to think about him being in my space because why would he be?

But also… how did I not recognize him? To be fair, it’d been a few months since I’d last seen him.

Still… now that he’d stepped into the light spilling in from the hallway and my contacts weren’t glued to my corneas, it was clearly him.

He was tall—like, he probably had a foot on me, not that I was towering at five foot four, but he was a massive person.

Probably clocked in just shy of Jude Rawlins’s size.

Broad shoulders and a dark beard bushy around his face and neck with longish hair under a hat on top.

He wore a plaid shirt and dark utility pants like so many of the Saint Security guys…

Honestly, even in the dimly lit room, I should’ve recognized him sooner.

But wait, that still didn’t explain this. “Why are you in my bedroom?”

He exhaled, dropping his head and then finally meeting my eyes for the first time.

“Well, Ms. Jensen, this is my bedroom.”