Copyright © 2014 by Terri L. Austin

Cover and internal design © 2014 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

Cover design by Dawn Adams

Cover image © Roberto Pastrovicchio/arcangel-images.com

Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Austin, Terri L.

His every need / Terri L. Austin.

pages cm

(trade paper : alk. paper) 1. Young women—Fiction. 2. Domestic fiction. I. Title.

PS3601.U86365H57 2014

813’.6–dc23

2013045381

Contents

Front Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Back Cover

To Jeff.

Thanks for always believing.

Chapter 1

Allie Campbell frowned at the black SUV parked in her driveway. One of Monica’s friends? Damn it, if her sister ditched school again, Allie was going to handcuff herself to that kid and haul her delinquent butt into class. And even though Monica was an adult—technically—and could make her own decisions—really stupid ones—she was going to graduate high school this year if it killed them both.

Allie parked on the curb and shoved open the driver-side door. It groaned, sounding as tired as it looked. And for a Ford Festiva that had seen seventy-five thousand miles too many, it looked exhausted.

Before she could grab groceries from the backseat, a man strolled around the side of the house, clipboard in hand. Middle-aged and slightly paunchy, he waved at her with a tape measure.

“Great, you’re home. Would you mind letting me in so I can get some measurements, ma’am?”

Allie shut the car door with a bump of her hip and adjusted her purse strap. Ma’am? Twenty-five wasn’t ma’am territory. She walked across the narrow strip of yard, stopping directly in front of the stranger who wore a polo shirt with the name Dave embroidered on his chest.

She had been on her feet for the past nine hours soothing unhappy hotel guests. The Festiva’s air conditioner was on the fritz. Again. And her polyester uniform—hot and itchy on a good day—stuck to her in all the wrong places. Add the ma’am comment, and she didn’t have any niceties to spare. “Who are you and what are you doing in my yard?”

He pointed at the truck. “Dave Buchanan, home appraiser. I’m taking measurements for the owner.”

Allie glanced at the white magnetic sign affixed to the truck’s door. Sure enough—Dave Buchanan, Home Appraiser. “My dad is the owner, and he didn’t mention this to me.”

Dave examined the clipboard. “Says here Trevor Blake ordered an inspection.” He shrugged. “Maybe he forgot to tell you?”

Who the hell was Trevor Blake? “No, you’ve got the wrong house. Would you mind moving, so I can pull into my driveway?” She turned and walked toward her car. Crisis averted. No need to have another pointless argument with Monica. At least not about this.

“Nope,” Dave called after her. “This is the place. I need to get inside. I have a couple more houses to see this afternoon.”

A small tingle shot up Allie’s spine. She spun around to face Dave, if that was even his real name. Was this some kind of scam to get into her house? If so, he’d picked the wrong place. They didn’t have anything worth stealing.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she glared at the man. “If you don’t leave immediately, I’m calling the police.”

He shrugged. “Whatever, lady. It might speed things up.”

Well, that wasn’t the response she was expecting.

He squinted down at the form. “The signature says Trevor Blake. There’s a second one here too—a Brian Campbell?”

Alarm bells started clanging in her ears. This had to be a mistake. She speed-dialed her dad’s cell number, her eyes tracking the stranger as he pointedly looked at his watch.

“Yeah, Al,” he answered, “I already know. School called this morning. Monica never showed up. I don’t know what to do with her. I’m out of ideas.” He sounded weary.

Allie pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s okay. I’ll deal with it. Listen, a guy’s here at the house, says he’s an appraiser?”

There was long pause on the other end. “Damn, he’s there already?”

She blinked. Something was wrong. Seriously wrong. Her dad didn’t make a sandwich without asking her opinion. “You’re not thinking about refinancing, are you? You never even mentioned it.”

“I, uh.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know how to tell you this, honey.”

His answer scared her. The afternoon sun seemed brighter, hotter, making her skin feel prickly. A bead of sweat slid down her back. “Just say it.” For some reason, her voice didn’t sound like her own.

“We…” He trailed off. “No, not we. Me.” He stopped. “This is my fault. I did this. I lost the house, Al.”

Despite the dry Vegas heat, Allie went cold all over. “What are you talking about?”

Dave tugged on his earlobe and wouldn’t make eye contact.

“I’ll explain it all tonight.” Another drawn-out pause. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

She shook her head, gripping the phone like it was a lifeline. “Tell me now. And who is Trevor Blake?”

“He’s an investor. English guy.” His breath sounded ragged, his voice shaky. “I borrowed money for the business. But when your mom…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

Allie staggered backward a few feet until her ass hit the Festiva’s taillight, her stomach in free fall. She felt a little woozy. “No,” she whispered. “It’s all we have left.” Lose the house? They’d already lost so much. “The business will pick up. We just need more time to pay off this loan. I could get a second jo—”

“No. The business is busted. It’s over. You don’t know how sorry I am.” She heard his pain, as clear and sharp as her own. “Trevor Blake’s the new owner.”

A thousand thoughts flooded Allie’s brain. How were they going to survive? Where would they live? How much time did they have before the new owner kicked them out?

No, she couldn’t think about any of that. She needed to fix this. Now.

She gathered herself together and pushed off the car. “Dad, I’ve got to go. We’ll talk about this tonight.” Without waiting for his reply, she hit the end button and tossed her hair over her shoulder as she strode back to Dave, shoving her phone into the pocket of her slacks.

Another day, another freaking crisis. She needed to get rid of this guy before her youngest sister got home. If Brynn thought they were losing the house—well, Allie had to make sure that didn’t happen.

“Mr. Buchanan?”

A red-faced Dave looked at her with pity. “Sorry. These things are tough,” he said. “The economy’s bad for everyone right now.”