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  Praise for Something to Prove

  “Something to Prove is a heartwarming story about a bad girl returning to her small hometown, finding romance, and discovering that you can go home again. Loved it!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Linda Howard

  “Lang’s latest contains smooth, modern storytelling filled with lighthearted touches. . . . The town of Magnolia Beach is the true highlight of this story, though, with its distinctive charm and its colorful residents; it’s sure to appeal to readers. . . . A truly delightful read.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “A wonderful romance, with a storyline that had our interest from start to finish. Kimberly Lang . . . pulls on your emotions and never lets go until the end.”

  —The Reading Cafe

  “A fun, small-town romance . . . [about] regrets, redemption, meddling families. . . . Fans of Beth Ciotta will enjoy Something to Prove.”

  —Harlequin Junkie

  Also by Kimberly Lang

  Something to Prove

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  ONE LITTLE THING

  An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2015 by Kimberly Kerr.

  Excerpt from Everything at Last copyright © 2016 by Kimberly Kerr.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  For more information about the Penguin Group, visit penguin.com.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-98984-5

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  InterMix eBook edition / November 2015

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

  Penguin Random House is committed to publishing works of quality and integrity. In that spirit, we are proud to offer this book to our readers; however, the story, the experiences, and the words are the author’s alone.

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  Contents

  Praise for Something to Prove

  Also by Kimberly Lang

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Excerpt from Everything At Last

  About the Author

  To all my Facebook friends and Twitter peeps—you keep me informed and entertained and, most importantly, connected to the world. Thanks.

  Chapter One

  Magnolia Beach certainly had some great scenery.

  Seated on her porch overlooking Mobile Bay as the sun rose, Sophie Cooper sipped her tea and sighed. While the tourist brochures might tout the quaintness of the town or the white sugar-sand beaches and warm blue-green waters, Sophie’s view surpassed all the ad-speak adjectives because it included the bronzed, broad shoulders and narrow hips of the man she’d privately nicknamed Studly.

  Every morning without fail, Studly and his dog arrived on the beach shortly after sunrise. Studly would throw a ball or a Frisbee and the two of them would run and wrestle and splash about. It was charming and sweet and picturesque. Definitely picturesque.

  She really should feel bad about the stalkerish way she covertly watched Studly from the upper balcony—where he really couldn’t see her unless he was specifically looking—but in all honesty, she didn’t. She could, should, and definitely would—eventually—go down and introduce herself, but there was really no rush. Right now, Studly was the perfect mix of reality and fantasy—a dark-haired, chiseled-jaw canvas on which she could project whatever personality she wanted without the danger he might ruin that perfection with annoying habits or serious personality flaws. It was shallow and terrible, and she was ashamed of the way she was objectifying another human being, but damn.

  Magnolia Beach was too small of a town for Studly to remain anonymous to her for very long, so for the time being, she wanted to enjoy the flexing of those impressive biceps and the play of muscles across his back and oh, look, he was bending over . . . Yum.

  He and the dog would play for a while, then sit and watch the water until people began making their way down to the shore. At that point, Studly would snap a leash onto the dog’s collar, hose the sand off both of them at the base of the public walkway, and then disappear into the wilds of Magnolia Beach to do whatever it was Studly did when he wasn’t on the beach.

  Sophie knew his routine by heart, having watched it nearly every morning for the last three weeks. It was a nice, even-better-than-yoga way to start her day—a peaceful sunrise to bring on the Zen, a happy visual of a man and his dog to make her smile, plus a little jolt from her libido to energize her before she got to work each day.

  Because there was plenty of work awaiting her.

  She’d purchased the old Palmer House B&B based solely on the potential it held—an excellent location that was right on the beach and still an easy walk into downtown, meaning it would be popular in both the high and off-season; a manageable number of rooms that could be kept up by a small staff and still turn a profit; and an owner’s suite so she could live on-site. It had been a little more run-down than advertised, but the Palmer heirs had negotiated fairly and she didn’t feel like she’d been sold a money pit.

  The contractors had been hard at work the last couple of weeks, going room to room to repair and refurbish, and she expected them to be done in another few days. She certainly hoped so, as the furniture was due to arrive next week, and she’d need a place to put it. There was cleaning and painting and decorating to be done, plus staff to interview and hire and train . . . So much to do if she wanted to be able to open her doors and reap what she could of what was left of the season.

  The long list of chores wasn’t overwhelming or even frustrating, though. Just the thought of getting everything ready and starting her new life here filled her with energy and excitement.

  The Palmers had built their B&B in the late sixties, right after Hurricane Betsy did its best to remove most of South Alabama from the map, but the architecture was very Victorian, with high ceilings and French doors opening onto porches to catch the breeze. The first floor had a nice-sized common room where guests could gather for games or a glass of wine in the evenings and a huge dining room overlooking Mobile Bay. The kitchen, tiny office, and her suite were in the front part of the house, facing the street, saving the money-making views for the eight guest rooms on the upper floors. Sophie had poured over catalogues and scoured estate sales, personally picking out each and every piece of furniture, rug, dish, linen, and knickknack that would grace the place.

  All she had to do was close her eyes and she could see the now-empty rooms full of beautiful things and happy people having wonderful vacations.

  That’s what Magnolia Beach was famous for, after all. Small-town charm, nice people, family-friendly activities, beautiful beaches, lots of water sports—and now, a romantic luxury B&B, perfec
t for couples.

  She had a good feeling about this. She’d made the right choice.

  While her parents might have left Magnolia Beach in shame, Sophie had good memories of her years here. She’d known this was where she’d move to start over before the ink was even dry on her divorce decree.

  It wasn’t just that she wanted to ride back into town, blaze-of-glory style, making those small-town, small-minded gossips eat crow—although that thought didn’t exactly suck—but it seemed like a nice way to come full-circle, providing closure and all that. And since there wasn’t much holding her in Boston, Magnolia Beach seemed as good a place as any.

  And the weather was better, too. No more snow.

  She hadn’t had the chance to really get involved in town life yet, but she’d caught up with a couple of old friends, and once the doors were open, she’d really start making herself at home again.

  The low rumble of trucks pulling into the graveled parking area out front pulled her out of her reverie by heralding the arrival of the workmen and the official start of her day.

  She stood and stretched and took one last appreciative glance at Studly. He and the dog were sitting side by side, and as she watched, the dog lay down and propped its head on Studly’s rather muscular thigh. He looked down and spoke to the dog, dodging the lick aimed directly at his face before petting the dog’s head fondly.

  There was sexy and there was sweet. That was both. She sighed.

  See you tomorrow, Studly.

  * * *

  Quinn Haslett knew when she went back inside, and he was a little disappointed she’d gone in earlier than usual.

  At first, he’d thought the syncing of their morning routines was coincidental, but her not-very-surreptitious spying had become obvious pretty quickly.

  But he wasn’t too proud to admit he liked it, even got into it and played it up, flexing a little more than was necessary, carefully applying sunscreen, stretching at every opportunity, and going shirtless more often than he normally did. It was flattering and basically a harmless ego boost first thing in the morning.

  But eventually Sophie would stop playing voyeur, and he dreaded that day more than he liked to admit. This was fun, and he wasn’t necessarily ready to give it up just yet.

  He also didn’t know if that day would come before or after she realized who he was. Or, even worse, found out what he’d done.

  Scoop sighed and looked up at him, as if she, too, realized their audience was gone. He scratched her absently behind her damp ears. He felt a little bad that Sophie didn’t know he knew she was watching him, but other than some extra showboating on his part for her entertainment, he wasn’t doing anything he wouldn’t normally do.

  Or maybe Sophie did know who she was watching. Not that there was any way she’d recognize him now—hell, he could barely recognize himself in old pictures—but it wouldn’t be hard for her to find out, even without coming down to introduce herself. Pretty much everyone knew he and Scoop came down to the beach in the mornings, so she might know already.

  He laughed quietly, earning him a strange look from Scoop. Either way, it was going to be an interesting “first” meeting.

  The news that Sophie Cooper had bought the old Palmer B&B had spread through the Magnolia Beach grapevine long before she arrived back in town, and though she’d been all but a hermit since she’d gotten here, spending every waking minute working on getting ready to open, details about her had come in bits and pieces as she’d hired on help and interacted with people in the course of business.

  So Quinn knew Sophie had most recently lived in Boston, leaving there after her divorce—which people assumed she’d received a nice settlement from since she’d bought the B&B in cash, and everyone knew she didn’t come from old money. He also knew that she planned to run the B&B herself and live on-site, claiming a pre-divorce career in the hotel industry.

  And of course everyone knew the old Sophie Cooper—girls’ track star, a decent Audrey in the junior class production of Little Shop of Horrors, homecoming court princess, and two-time winner of Best Smile at Magnolia Beach High School.

  He’d had a couple of glimpses of her—beyond their mornings together—and the intervening years had been kind. Before, she’d been tan and her hair had had natural highlights from so much time outside; now that tan was gone and her hair had darkened to a chestnut brown. She was still tall, of course, with long legs perfect for running track, but he hadn’t been close enough to see how her features had matured.

  So he knew a lot about her, including the fact that she liked to sit on her porch in the early mornings, drink coffee, and watch him—which was something the rest of the population didn’t know.

  And in Magnolia Beach, knowing something no one else knew was a major accomplishment.

  Scoop’s head jerked up at the sounds of children rushing onto the beach. He quickly clipped on her leash as she began to vibrate in excitement, her tail whipping against the sand and sending it flying. Scoop loved kids, but the kids—and their parents—were often put off by a sixty-pound boxer rushing headlong toward them. Scoop gave him a sad-eyed stare then reluctantly followed him back up to the boardwalk over the dunes where she stood and watched the kids running into the water while he hosed the sand and salt off her coat.

  Magnolia Beach was beginning to wake up as he made his way home, and by the time he’d showered and started heading toward the office, the streets were alive and busy—or at least as busy as the streets could get in a town this size.

  As a tourist spot in the summer and a popular winter nest for Yankee snowbirds, Magnolia Beach had a steady stream of visitors most of the year. It had a laid-back reputation since most of the college-aged partiers looking for a wild time flocked to the Redneck Riviera on the other side of the bay or farther along the Florida Panhandle.

  Although it was still pretty early, the mercury was already climbing, promising another scorcher of a day, and the air-conditioning that greeted him as he opened the door to the Clarion’s office felt good. Scoop rushed ahead as soon as she was off her leash, disappearing into the break room, where her water bowl awaited.

  Marion Carter, the only other Clarion employee who wasn’t a freelance writer, was already at her desk, fingers flying over the keyboard. “Morning, Quinn,” she said, without looking up.

  Marion pulled double-duty, helping run the office as well as reporting, but this wasn’t the normal paperwork shuffling that usually greeted him first thing. “Morning. You’re awfully busy already. Big breaking news story?”

  “Big story. Huge,” she deadpanned. “A particularly virulent strain of strep throat has swept through the choir at First Methodist, requiring them to cancel their concert next week. Dr. Tanner has provided a sidebar on symptoms and treatment in case this spreads to the wider community a la Outbreak.”

  “Wow, that is big news,” he said, as his phone pinged, alerting him that there was an article in the approval queue waiting for him.

  “I know. I see a Pulitzer in my future.” Marion had moved to Magnolia Beach five years ago when her much-older husband retired, leaving behind a job at the Memphis Free Press, where she’d covered crime and corruption and blood and fire for at least fifteen years. She claimed to like the more positive outlook of the Clarion, even if it didn’t give her journalism skills much of a workout, but he could tell she occasionally longed for something a bit meatier than youth sports and community activities. “And, I’ve already hit my advertising sales goal for the month.”

  “Really? That’s excellent news. How’d you do that?”

  “I answered a phone.” At his look, she shook her head and tsked. “You should come into the office earlier. Sophie Cooper, the lady who’s redoing the Palmer B&B, called this morning and bought a whole bunch of ad space, both print and online.”

  Not that he didn’t appreciate the advertising revenue, but . . . “Why
would a B&B advertise in the local paper? If people are here, they already have a place to stay.”

  “I asked her that, actually. She’s going to be doing some weekend brunches and wine tastings in the evenings that the locals—and some of the tourists staying in other places—might enjoy. It sounds smart to me.” She got up and refilled her coffee. “I think I’m going to do a write-up on her—former resident returns to town, buys an older building, and restores it to glory . . . It’s human interest and pro–Magnolia Beach.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “She’s about your age, isn’t she? Do you know her?”

  “Of course. I haven’t talked to her since she got back, but I do remember her from school.”

  “Y’all were friends?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” he hedged.

  Marion leveled a motherly look—suspicious, yet concerned—at him. “Then what would you say you were?”

  “We were . . . acquaintances. We didn’t exactly run in the same crowd.” He tried to shrug it off casually. “I doubt she even remembers me.”

  Marion sipped at her coffee and stared at him. The silence dragged out until he couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “She was popular. I was a big ol’ dork, so we weren’t friends.”

  Marion’s eyes widened and she stifled a laugh. “You were a dork? I don’t see it.”

  He nodded. “Shy, glasses, bad skin, poor fashion sense, overly interested in computer games and anime, the chess club and the school paper. I was an awkward, angsty dork. The longest conversation I ever had with Sophie Cooper was when I interviewed her for the write-up I did on the junior play.”

  Marion’s mouth curved up slightly. “Did you have a crush on her?”

  He wanted to say no, but he knew Marion wouldn’t believe it, and there was really no shame in the truth, either. “I was a teenage boy. She was a pretty girl. Of course I had a little crush. Half the boys at school had a crush on her.”