The forever formula, p.1
The Forever Formula, page 1
Table of Contents
The Forever Formula
About the Book
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Marrying Kind
Acknowledgments
The Forever Formula
Copyright © 2023 Kendall Ryan
Copy Editing by Pam Berehulke
Formatting by Alyssa Garcia
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
About the Book
Welcome to Kodiak Canyon, where the men outnumber the women, the beards are impressive, and the beer is home-brewed.
Second chances and first loves . . .
Rachel Tyson never expected to be single, unemployed, and starting over in the remote mountain town she’d worked so hard to escape.
After inheriting her grandfather’s rustic cabin, her only goal is to sell the thing and move on. The place holds too many memories—not all of them good. But complicating her plan is the big, grumpy, and highly overprotective Noah Hart. They share some ancient history, and maybe a secret or two. But Rachel doesn’t need saving this time. Not really, anyway.
Too bad Noah isn’t about to let her get away again.
Overprotective hero. Free-spirited heroine. Opposites attract. Slow burn. Small-town gossip and loads of feels. This one has it all. Don’t miss The Forever Formula!
1
* * *
MOVING ON
Rachel
After a full day of sitting in the driver’s seat of my little car, my entire body ached. But with each passing mile marker on the long stretch of highway, I knew I was being called home. And while home wasn’t a place I had been in a long time, I could use a little comfort, a little familiarity right now.
Not just because my life had completely imploded a few weeks ago when I broke off my engagement with Roger, or even when I’d been laid off from the hospital where I’d worked for the past seven years. It was so much bigger than that. I’d also recently lost my grandfather, the man who’d raised me, and some days . . . well, the realization that I was officially alone in the world made it hard to breathe.
I twisted the knob on the radio to turn up the volume on a country song I used to know all the words to, and that seemed to chase away some of my more somber thoughts. And if that didn’t totally do the trick, well, I had a five-pound bag of red licorice from my last gas-station stop sitting in my lap that should provide a much-needed jolt. Or at least a sugar rush.
I knew what my best friend Megan would say. Dust yourself off. Put on some lipstick and get on with it.
And that’s exactly what I intended to do.
It didn’t matter that Megan was three years younger than me . . . she had always been somehow wiser than her years. She was the one good thing I had left back at the hospital where we both had worked. We resuscitated a teenager from the brink of death the first day we met, and our friendship was instant after that.
Grabbing another licorice stick, I took a healthy bite and sang along to the twangy country song with my mouth full. Good manners didn’t necessarily matter when you’d been alone for going on sixteen hours.
But I was through with most of my trip now. I’d started off in Houston and driven west, appreciating all the details that I hadn’t in so long.
The pastures in West Texas. The little adobe-style pink houses in New Mexico. Gosh, even the smell of cow manure as I cruised along the highway was comfortingly familiar. Then, the changing landscape in Colorado, rugged and rocky and colorful. The trees were somehow greener here.
It had been muggy when I’d left Houston, but the humidity was no surprise. I’d gotten used to the Texas summers after living there for the past decade. Even the early morning rain hadn’t been enough to cool the air. It had only made it more oppressive—difficult to breathe. Now, though, the air was clean and fresh, and the sky was painted a brilliant robin’s egg blue.
I never expected to be ending an engagement at this age. I’d always felt like a late bloomer, and now I would be starting over from scratch. But that’s exactly what I hoped this was—a fresh start. A chance to reconnect with myself, nurse my wounds, and maybe even make some new goals for myself. There was no use in looking back.
Maybe that’s what my grandfather wanted when he left me his property in the mountains. It was a magical place, after all. Acreage and river access. Miles of hiking trails and towering pine trees. Also, thanks in large part to the family of brothers living next door, the place had always held a special intrigue.
My mouth twitched with a smile for the first time since I began this road trip.
The Hart brothers certainly inspired plenty of teenage fantasies and hope-filled daydreams. We’d spent summers chasing fireflies and catching bullfrogs, and winters building snowmen and sledding on the hills between our two neighboring properties. My first kiss was with the oldest brother, Jameson, which could have possibly led to more firsts had he not been such a gentleman.
With my curiosity piqued, my mind wandered freely.
Would they all be married now, maybe even with a few kids between them? Or maybe they’d all moved away to the city for work, just like I had.
There were four boys in their family. First, there was the stoic Jameson, whose smiles were rare and hard-won, followed by Austen, who was always kind to me. Then came Noah, with a mischievous streak that ran a mile wide, which meant we often got into trouble together—not that I minded much. I would have done anything he asked me to. The youngest of the four was Logan, and he’d followed us everywhere.
But when I thought about the Hart brothers, it was inevitable that my mind drifted to Noah. I still felt guilty about the fact I went away to college and never looked back, even though we’d both whispered promises of more. I was sure those were only wistful hormone-fueled things that teenagers said but didn’t really mean.
Weren’t they?
It didn’t matter now. There was a lifetime of experiences and broken promises and dreams that had taken detours between us. Even if Noah still lived next door, he probably didn’t even remember the silly secrets we’d once shared.
The road signs became increasingly concerning the closer I got to home.
Moose Crossing.
Beware of Falling Rock.
And then finally, Avalanche Area, Next 4 Miles.
But it was September. There certainly wasn’t any threat of an avalanche now.
Years ago, though, when I’d lived here, you’d occasionally hear of some accident up on the mountain—a skier who found trouble, an unfortunate snowmobile accident, or the infrequent, but always terrifying, avalanche.
Finally approaching Kodiak Canyon, I soaked in all the details, both familiar and new.
The little diner called Lotaburger was still there. It had easily been standing for three decades now, and it was starting to look its age. I recalled outings there with my grandfather, sitting in the sticky vinyl booths, and the green chili burgers on the menu.
A small pinch formed in my chest for the man who had raised me, along with disbelief that he was gone. It still didn’t seem real. Surely, he’d be out on the porch to greet me, just like always, when I arrived.
There was a new brick building with a sign that read Tribal Courthouse, and a few marijuana dispensaries that must have cropped up with the changing laws over the past several years. There was also a new veterinary clinic called Paradise Pet Hospital, and a vegetarian restaurant that I couldn’t imagine Grandpa Paul eating at.
He thought gravy was its own food group, smoked a pack a day, and ate aspirin like it was candy. It was a miracle he’d lived as long as he had. He’d survived two heart attacks and a bout with cancer. He’d had his knee replaced and was supposed to use a breathing machine when he slept. I don’t think he’d ever taken a vitamin in his entire life. And yet he seemed invincible like he’d live on forever.
Of course he hadn’t. Eighty-four years, and now he was gone.
I hated that we wouldn’t have any more long conversations, or Christmases spent together around an evergreen tree he’d cut down just for the occasion, the wood-burning fireplace crackling softly in the background.
Grandpa was completely unnerved by crying. He didn’t know how to react to tears, so it was something I learned not to do too often. Maybe that was the reason I hadn’t cried yet.
As I made the final turn off the main road that led to town onto the dirt mountain road, my nostalgia only deepened.
< br /> I finally pulled up to the cabin and parked in the gravel driveway, stepping out into the fresh mountain air. I stretched and let out a quiet groan. A squirrel dashed away at the sight of me.
Grandpa had insisted we didn’t have a funeral; he always found those to be depressing. Instead, his ashes would be waiting for me at the funeral home per his carefully written instructions. I was to scatter them around the property.
Considering that I was leaning toward selling it, though, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to honor his wishes. Not if I’d never be able to come back to this place and be in his presence.
But that was future Rachel’s problem. For now, all I wanted to do was stretch my legs a bit and make sure the cabin was in a livable state, since I was exhausted and would need sleep very soon.
Sticking my key in the old lock, I gave it the familiar wiggle to the right. The thing always stuck, but Grandpa called it our security system.
As the door creaked open, the familiar smell of the place hit my nostrils, sending another pang of loss through me. It was surreal to be here without him.
2
* * *
NO LOOKING BACK
Noah
“Did you hear what happened to old man Tyson?” my brother Austen asked, joining me in the work shed.
I was hunched over a label maker, trying to get the damn thing to cooperate. “Yeah, Mom said something yesterday. It’s a damn shame.”
Austen nodded, adjusting his ball cap.
Paul Tyson, our elderly neighbor, died a few days ago when his truck hit a moose out on the stretch of two-lane highway. Moose tended to become disoriented this time of year—during rut. Paul had been a good neighbor for as long as I could remember, and I hated to think he was gone. Just like that.
“Probably smelled a female on the other side of the road,” Austen said.
I nodded and smoothed my thumb over the label I’d just affixed to a bottle of beer.
“Looks crooked,” Mom said, coming in behind Austen.
I rolled my eyes. Way to be helpful, Mom.
“Brought you breakfast,” she said, placing a couple of foil-wrapped breakfast sandwiches on the workbench between Austen and me.
“Thanks,” I grumbled.
Mom produced a thermos of coffee next and two enamel mugs. “Eat up. It’s going to be a long day.”
She wasn’t wrong. There were three cases of beer bottles that needed labeling and firewood to split, not to mention loading the truck for an upcoming shipment.
Staying on time with shipments was important to our business. Austen and I had a certain reputation of being more reliable than other small brewers. And if every label was going to be as painful as this one to affix, it was going to take me a long-ass time to get this right.
I unwrapped a sandwich and took a bite while Austen inspected the label. It was definitely crooked.
“If we can get a good price on that land next door, we could increase the size of our growing operation,” he said, helping himself to one of the sandwiches.
“The earth’s barely settled on the old man’s grave, and you’re talking about buying the land out from under him?” Mom scoffed. “I’m sure the place is going to Rachel. She’s the only family he had.”
The mention of Rachel’s name shouldn’t still affect me after all these years, but the food in my mouth might as well have turned to dust. I swallowed unevenly and pushed the sandwich away.
Once upon a time, Rachel had meant a lot to me. But that was a long time ago, and there was no sense in rehashing things that might have been.
“He wasn’t buried,” I said.
We’d have definitely attended a service if there’d been one, but Paul had made it clear to people who knew him that he didn’t want any fuss about him. He never even let us get him a birthday cake.
“You know what I mean,” Mom said, chiding me.
Austen ran a hand over his beard while he watched me, waiting to hear what I’d say on the subject.
“Wouldn’t we be helping them out? Can you actually see his granddaughter staying here? Living here?” I asked, which only threatened to spark my own imagination of what that would be like.
Not that I knew her anymore. It had been almost ten years since she left town, and when she came back for holidays, her trips were short.
Austen smirked. “It would certainly help the male-to-female ratio in this town.”
There was no way Rachel was still single. Even back as a teenager, she had been gorgeous.
I imagined time had been kind to her, but I wouldn’t know. Once she left this town in the rearview, she left it for good. Me included. Not that I wanted to take a trip down memory lane right now. I had too much to do.
The farmers’ market was tomorrow. In addition to selling things from Mom’s garden, plus her homemade candles and honey, my brother Austen and I would be debuting a new craft beer we hoped would be a hit.
The only product we had in our line right now was an IPA, and we needed to sell our new lager if we wanted to increase profits at this point. We had a few breweries who were regulars, but so far, expanding distribution to more places was proving next to impossible. The logical next step was to add new products to sell to our existing customers.
Mom made a displeased sound and scowled at Austen. “That poor girl lost the only parent she’s ever known, and all you can see is dollar signs? I’m sure she’s not selling, and even if she were, we’re not buying.”
“We need to consider it,” Austen said around a mouthful of breakfast sandwich. “I’m going down to the bank today to see if we can qualify for a small business loan.”
I couldn’t remember the exact size of the property, but it had to be at least a dozen acres or so. How we would afford it, I had no idea.
But Austen was right. We should look into it. He and I had to make this work.
We were under a growing financial strain to get everything to come together. Our land—all thirty-five acres of it—had been in the family for three generations. Our great-grandfather had moved the Hart clan out here during the time of the Gold Rush. He’d never found his fortune, but maybe we could claim ours.
It wasn’t gold that my brother and I were after, though. The land was plentiful, and the soil was rich.
We’d discovered quite by accident that we liked making our own beer. Once we had the fermentation process down, it was only logical that instead of buying the hops and grains we needed, that we take a stab at growing them.
Money might not grow on trees, but growing beer in your garden is almost as just as cool. Plus, it’s pretty fun showing at to a party with a couple of growlers of ale you’d made yourself. So, while I had figured out harvesting and bottling, my older brother Austen was busy shaping and reshaping the business plan.
If he thought that included adding more land to our portfolio, I was hesitant to question him. He had a certain eye for details that I didn’t have. Even if he got on my nerves a lot, we made a pretty good team. I ran the production operation, and he was the money guy.
“Did you get that elk jerky that sold so well last time?” Austen asked.
“Shit.” I knew I’d forgotten something.
Austen let out a heavy exhale. I was used to disappointing him—that was nothing new. He was always on me to make a calendar, or a list, to set reminders in my phone.
That just wasn’t who I was, though. I was happy to wake up at dawn and work all day, but writing out some list to follow? Not my thing.
All the more reason not to let myself get distracted by thoughts of the girl who broke my heart once upon a time. I needed to stay focused on the vision.
Going back to working while someone else got rich off my efforts wasn’t going to happen. I’d spent too many summers already, breaking my back for other people’s dreams. After nearly four years of brewing beer for fun and two more years hustling to get this far, nothing was going to stop me.
Especially not Rachel Tyson.
3
* * *
BLAST FROM THE PAST
Rachel
Arriving at the empty cabin where I grew up was harder than I’d expected it would be.
