Craving Country by Gorman, A., Vincent, A.L., James, Amelia, Taylor, Camille, LaRoche, Carolyn, Slough, Cristina, Lynne, Genevieve, Wright, J.D., Kurt, Elsa, Summers, Ryan Jo, Bauer,Dobie,Sara, Nemechek ,Shannon (1)

CRAVING

Country

 

 

 

An Anthology

 

Craving Country: An Anthology

 

Copyright © 2018

All rights reserved.

First Print Edition: January 2018

 

 

Crave Publishing, LLC

Kailua, HI 96734

 

Formatting: Crave Publishing, LLC

 

ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-299-6

ISBN-10: 1-64034-299-0

 

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

 

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 locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

 

By Shannon Nemechek

By A. Gorman

By Camille Taylor

By A.L. Vincent

By Genevieve Lynne

By Ryan Jo Summers

By Cristina Slough

By Amelia James

By Carolyn LaRoche

By J.D. Wright

By Sara Dobie Bauer

By Elsa Kurt

 

By Shannon Nemechek

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

As the sun peeked up over the glass mountains and through the curtain of Dakota “Tuck” McGraw’s bedroom window, piercing into his eyes and stirring him awake, it was a clear sign to him that he was late for work.

“Fuck!” he yelled as he sprang from his bed, grabbing his jeans from the back of the chair and almost jumping into his boots, then grabbing his t-shirt and slipping it on over his head. Running out the door to his truck, he revved the engine and sped away. He couldn’t afford to be late again—he was already on the Flanagan shit list—and if he didn’t get to the Four Leaf Ranch before Liam Flanagan came out of the main house to give out the work details, his ass would be proverbial grass, and right now he needed the job. His veterans’ pay was not cutting it, and the extra money he was earning doing work for the Flanagans would help to get him to Las Vegas if he qualified for the National Finals. So what if he did have to deal with the rancher’s daughter, who he thought was a beyond spoiled little girl who always got want she wanted, even if it meant stepping on everyone to get it? Tuck had already had a few run-ins with daddy’s little girl, and if he didn’t get to the ranch quickly, he would be the one stuck being her bitch the entire day.

It only took one day with her for Tuck to come to the realization that Jessie Flanagan was in all senses of the word spoiled and a complete bitch. He could not—no, he refused to spend another day with her again. The first time was plenty, and if he had to run and fetch another rum and Coke for her while she laid by the pool half naked, he would quit. Nothing was worth being her bitch even if she was beautiful and built in all the right places. Nothing would get him stuck with her an entire day again. As he turned down the long dirt drive passing under the entrance sign of the ranch, he could see some of the other ranch hands all gathered near the wood fence by the corral.

“Fuck, not a good sign. Damn it to hell,” he yelled, slamming his fist into the steering wheel. As he pulled up, he could clearly see Liam Flanagan in the middle of the men handing out envelopes and what he guessed were the jobs of the day. Tuck sat in the cab of the truck for a moment debating on if he should just turn tail and quit or just bite the bullet and suck it up and deal with little Miss Spoiled Bitch another day. It wouldn’t be long before the newest rankings would post, and he would know if he made the Nationals, and then he could leave the Four Leaf for greener pastures. It had been his dream since he was a little boy to follow in his daddy’s footsteps…not just as an Army Ranger, but as a buckle-wearing National Finals Rodeo Champion.

Taking hold of the door handle, Tuck decided he might as well bite the bullet and go on over with the other men and take his proverbial beating and babysit little Miss Spoiled Bitch. As he approached them, they all turned to look at him, then started to clap and hoot and holler. Tuck was a little more than a bit confused when Liam Flanagan walked up to him and grabbed him by the neck, pulling him in for a hug and patting him on the back.

“Congratulations, Tuck, you made it.”

Now even more confused, Tuck asked, “Made what, sir?”

“Why, Tuck, you didn’t hear you made the Finals, son? You’re going to Las Vegas!” Liam Flanagan wrapped his arm around Tuck’s neck with pride, like that of a father. “Boy, you going to the National Finals Rodeo. I hope you’re ready because we’re all gonna be watching on television as you win that coveted buckle.”

Tuck stood back for a moment and took it all in; it felt good to be admired, hell even envied, but this felt more like what he had imagined his father would’ve been like in this same situation. Tuck’s dad had died when he was younger. His father, Dallas, was killed in Somalia when their chopper crashed soon after takeoff. He was on his way home to Fort Bragg. Tuck was seven months old. His mom made sure that he knew his father even though Dallas was no longer with them. His mom often said that Tuck was his father in every way, which for him was a huge compliment. He admired his father and wanted more than anything to be just like him, so he did the only thing he could—he followed in his dad’s footsteps and did everything he had done and more. He wanted not only to make his mom proud, but he wanted more than anything to make his grandfather proud. He learned all he could from his grandfather, and with the knowledge his mom and grandfather gave him, he went out to make his family proud and make a name for himself.

Tuck already had a great career in the Army and had earned many awards and decorations for outstanding service to his country. When it came time to re-enlist, he chose to instead go back home to help out his mom and continue his plan to earn what his daddy did, and that was to win that gold buckle. Now was his chance. He made it, and he felt like he was going to vomit; the hardcore former Army Ranger wanted to puke. He now had to prove to himself and the world that he had what it took to be a champion. As he felt it move up his throat, he pulled away from Liam Flanagan’s grip and ran into the bunkhouse to puke.

Standing over the wastebasket inside the bunkhouse, he did his business, and as he reached for a paper towel that sat on the windowsill next to him, a loud laugh resonated from a corner of the room. When he turned to look, he saw Jessie Flanagan, dressed in Daisy Duke shorts, cowboy boots, and a white tank top, laughing at him.

“What’s wrong with you, GI Joe? You afraid you can’t cut it at the Finals? Why they let your ass compete is beyond me. I guess they’ll let anyone in nowadays,” Jessie said sarcastically as she grabbed her bag from the table and sashayed out the door, tossing her purse behind her shoulder and swaying her hips back and forth. As she walked past him, he threw the nearest thing he could reach, and the roll of paper towels slammed against the wall next to her as she opened the door.

“No need to get violent, Tuck. You’re gonna need this job when you get back as a failure, so be nice,” she said as the door slammed behind her.

“Oh that God damned woman! Who the fuck does she think she is? She doesn’t know me or know what I am capable of. I swear to the Almighty, if I have to be her bitch today or any other day, they might not find her body.” Tuck grabbed the paper towels off the floor and walked back outside, where the entire crew still waited. His face red with embarrassment, he stood toward the back and waited for Liam to continue his speech.

“In honor of Tuck making it to the Finals, we’ll only be taking care of the animals, then the wife will be getting a party together for the entire town tonight, so short day men, with a full day pay. Everyone good with that?” Liam waited for a moment, then the men celebrated. “Y’all know what you need to do! Double up and get it done quick and meet back here at eight p.m. We’ll have a live band, an open bar, and the pool is open, so bring your trunks.”

Then men all scattered in different directions. As Tuck started off toward them, Liam Flanagan stopped him.

“Tuck, can you come here for a minute? I wanna run something past ya.”

“Sure, Mr. Flanagan. What’s up?”

“Son, I need you to do me a favor. That damn daughter of mine is about to drive me stir crazy. Can you do this ol’ man a favor and drive her into town? She wants to go to that new shop on Main Street. I would do it, but I gotta help her momma with preparations for the party tonight. Don’t worry, you’ll get paid a full day’s wages—this is your day. I can’t very well not pay the man of the hour now, can I?”

What Tuck had feared had come true. Now he was going to have to be Jessie Flanagan’s bitch for the day, then it occurred to him: not much longer. He wouldn’t. He would be a champion, and then he wouldn’t be anyone’s bitch ever again. “Sure, Mr. Flanagan. It’s the least I could do for the fine gesture you’re giving my momma and me. It’s okay that I bring my momma, right?”

“Well, of course it is, Tuck. Can’t have a celebration for you without your momma now, can we?”

“No sir, we sure can’t. She would have my ass and probably drive out here, and her and your Mrs. would have yours—then we would both be in a bind.”

“Tuck, I think, son, you’re right about that. Those two women get together and then we’re all in trouble. Do you think your momma would want to come out and help?”

Tuck paused for a moment and then said, “Yeah, I suppose she would. She would have us both by the short hairs if she wasn’t included. Oh crap, I still gotta call her and tell her the news.”

“Oh, she already knows. She’s the one who called me,” Liam Flanagan said with a grin. “She’s damned proud of you, Tuck, as we all are. You’re just like your daddy. He was a great man and one hell of a rider. He would be damned proud of you too.”

As Tuck listened, he felt a knot in his stomach, and he choked back a tear as Liam told him about his father. Tuck had no idea that Mr. Flanagan and his daddy were so close. It then made him wonder if his momma didn’t have something to do with him getting the job here, but as he listened to Liam’s stories, it all faded. Really didn’t matter how he got the job, he was just glad he had it and was able to hear about his dad from someone other than his grandpa and momma.

“Oh shoot, I should probably have my mom get Pops. He’s gonna want to come too.”

Liam Flanagan laughed and said, “Come in the house. I got a surprise for you.”

Tuck walked up the stairs of the main house and then stood for a moment, deciding if he should just pop his head in or knock.

Liam yelled to him before he made his decision. “Just open the door and look to your right.”

Tuck pushed open the door and popped his head inside. When he did, he heard a familiar voice. “Boy, get your ass in this house…You letting the flies in.” Tuck’s heart raced. It was his pops, and he turned to look back at Liam.

“Well, you best go in before the old man gets up and swats ya.” Liam laughed. Tuck smiled and headed toward the old man.

Tuck opened the door and met his grandpa before he could get up out of the recliner. “Stay there, Pops—I’ll come to you,” Tuck said. He wrapped his arms around his grandfather and smiled. “How are you, Pops? How is the new place treatin’ ya?”

“Oh, I tell ya what, boy, I have never seen so much pussy in my life, all beggin’ for me to give it to ’em,” the old man explained.

“Oh, Pops, I don’t need all that information,” Tuck said, his face grimacing at the thought of old people having sex. “Yuck, Granddad. Please don’t put that picture in my head—that’s just something you can’t unsee.” His grandfather grinned, laughing.

“Ah boy, it’s all part of life. Get used to it. You’re gonna be as old as me one of these days, and your cock is still gonna work, so work it till it breaks, I say.”

“Well, it’s definitely something I don’t mind waiting a very long time to see, so I guess I have time on my side.” Tuck laughed as he sat down next to his grandfather.

“Yes, you do, my boy,” he said, patting Tuck on the leg. “Now tell me all about this Finals business.”

“Well, Pops, ya know I’ve been riding for a while now, and I guess they saw fit to include me this time around.”

The elder McGraw looked at his grandson and then rubbed his head like he was still eleven and said, “I couldn’t be more prouder of you than I was of your daddy. You, my boy, have made this old man completely delighted to be able to see my grandson on the television. Well, I could die afterward and die a happy man.”

“Pops, don’t go checkin’ out on me yet. We still got a little while before the big show.”

“Oh okay, well, I guess I best stick round a bit longer then before I join your maw and daddy up in heaven then, I suppose.”

“Yes sir. But I would say you’re probably a bit too ornery to die.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right, son,” he said, shifting his hat on his head. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Well, Pops, I have to run Miss Flanagan to town, but I’ll be back soon, I promise. Mrs. Flanagan will take great care of you till I’m back.” Tuck stood up and bent down to give his grandfather a hug before he left. As he approached the door, his living nightmare be-bopped down the stairs toward him.

“I’m ready, Tack.” She grinned.

“That’s Tuck.”

“Yeah, I know, but I prefer Tack. It fits you, Tacky. Tacky and Tidy.”

 

Chapter Two

 

 

“Just get in the truck and let’s get this over with. I don’t wanna be here any more than you wanna be here, so let’s get you to town. Don’t expect me to be carrying bags and your damned purse. I ain’t your bitch, and I ain’t your servant, got it?”

Jessie pressed her lips thin with a grin. “You have to do whatever I say, or I’ll tell Daddy on you.”

“I think not. Your daddy said drive you into town, not be your servant. I’ll drive you, and if you’re not careful, I’ll toss you out of the truck going fifty-five. Got it?”

Jessie seemed to huff and puff as she crawled into the cab of Tuck’s truck, crossing her arms in front of her as if she was pouting. She seemed to pout a lot around Tuck. Maybe it was because Tuck wouldn’t put up with her antics, he would just tell her straight, and Daddy’s little girl hated being told what to do and when to do it.

Tuck started the engine and headed into town. The entire trip he could hear his passenger huff and continue to cross her arms, almost pounding them into her chest. He grinned as he watched her from the corner of his eye as she turned to face the side-window of the truck, trying every means possible to ignore him. It was funny to him that he got under her skin. Today really is going to be a great day. Too bad I can’t put this day on repeat my own Groundhog’s Day. He laughed.

“What’s so funny, Tack?” She turned to look at him, her blonde hair sweeping over her face as the wind whipped through the window.

“Oh, nothin’, just thinking,” Tuck replied, knowing full well she was going to continue to press him. He decided he would just let her stew a bit longer.

“Fine,” she said with another huff.

“Ya know, if you keep huffin’ and puffin’ over there, I’m gonna start to wonder what you’re hiding in those panties of yours,” Tuck teased.

“And what do you mean by that?” she questioned.

“I’m just sayin’ the way you’re huffin’ over there, I’m beginning to think you’re hidin’ one of those small vibrators in your panties. If ya are, and it’s the remote kind, hand over the remote and I’ll give ya somethin’ to call home about.” He smiled at her, but she wasn’t having it.

“I am not, and you’re a pig. I’m gonna tell Daddy what you said.”

“Go ahead, tell him. He probably thinks you need a good fuck too,” Tuck yelled. “If you weren’t such a frigid bitch, then you mighta got fucked a few times. Instead, you wanna go and complain to Daddy every chance you get. You ever think that maybe he gets tired of your bitchin’ just like the rest of us do? You, you are a spoiled little rich girl, and the only ones that would wanna fuck you are the ones that think they can get somethin’ from you. You ever think of that? When’s the last time someone just fucked the shit outta you? Ever? No, I didn’t think so. That’s what you need, Jessie Flanagan, is a good fuckin’. One that will leave you beggin’ for more,” he screamed back at her.

“Oh, and I suppose you can give that to me, Tuck?” she replied, her eyes looked almost glassy.

Tuck looked over at her again and caught a glimpse of a tear as it flowed down her cheek.

“Yeah, I suppose I can. But I won’t,” he replied.

“And why is that?” she asked.

“Well, because till you get the ugly outta your heart, no one will be able to touch it. And you, Jessie, have an ugly heart. I hate to say it, but you do. I don’t know who hurt you or why you’re the way you are, but you are, and it’s sad, cuz you are one hell of a beautiful woman, and if your heart weren’t so ugly, I think I probably would try to get with you.”

Jessie sat quietly the remainder of the ride, no huffing or puffing, just silence—the kind you could cut with a knife. Tuck drove the remaining few miles into town and then parked in front of the new clothing store. He got out and opened Jessie’s door. She jumped out and stumbled past him not saying a word; she just glared at him. But the glare said it all. If looks could kill, I would be dead.

Tuck jumped back into the driver’s seat and pulled out his phone. He needed to text a couple of people and make arrangements for the trip to Vegas.

Vegas. I still can’t believe it. I’m going to the Finals.

Tapping on the keyboard, he typed out a message to his buddy, Bubba Franklin.

 

Tuck: Bubba what you doing next week?

 

Ding.

 

Bubba: Nuttin’, why?

 

Tuck: Cuz I need a co-driver.

 

Bubba: Co-Driver???

 

Tuck: Yeah, a co-driver! Guess who’s goin’ to VEGAS, BABY??

 

Bubba: Oh FUCK YEAH. I’ll be there. What day we leaving?

 

Tuck: Gotta be there this Saturday. Competition starts Monday.

 

Bubba: All right, so we leave this Friday?

 

Tuck: Yep!

 

Bubba: I’ll be ready at six a.m. Friday.

 

Tuck: See ya then. Thanks, buddy.

 

Tuck leaned back in his seat and breathed a sigh of relief. Well, that part is taken care of. Now I gotta call the hotel, then the Professional Bullriders’ Association and find out all the details for next week. Thumbing through his contacts, he found the PBR contact and dialed the number.

No answer! Damn it!

As he pushed the disconnect button, Jessie Flanagan came out of the store, her hands filled with bags, a store clerk following closely behind, his hands filled. Tuck opened the truck door and then popped open the toolbox in the back of the truck.

Jessie’s face changed, and she screamed, “If you think I’m putting these bags in that dirty-ass toolbox, you got another think coming. Daddy just paid over twenty-two hundred dollars for all this stuff.”

“Wait, what? Mr. Flanagan just paid that much for the same stuff you can buy down at the farm store? Really?” Tuck responded as he opened the passenger door and Jessie piled in her bags.

“What you need all this stuff for, anyway?” Tuck scoffed.

“I don’t need, I want, and what I want, I get.”

“Well, ya ain’t getting’ this ol’ cowboy.”

“I don’t want you, anyhow,” Jessie shot back.

 

 

In reality, she did want him, and she wanted Tuck McGraw somethin’ fierce, more than she had ever wanted any man, but she wouldn’t admit it to Tuck. The reason she put on the spoiled little rich bitch act all the time was that she refused to allow another cowboy in her bed or in her heart unless she invited it. She wanted to invite Tuck, that was a given, but she still was unsure of him. So until he showed her he wasn’t like all of the other cowboys, she would be guarded and, in Jessie’s case, a bit of a spoiled brat. Her father, of course, had questioned her on what was going on. He had noticed that Jessie was not herself lately, and luckily she had successfully avoided his questions this morning over breakfast when Tuck’s mom had called to tell him the news from the PBR.

When Tuck’s mom had called, she could hear the excitement in her voice even without the phone being on speaker, and Jessie wanted so badly to celebrate too, but she couldn’t show how she really felt for Tuck. Mr. Flanagan, although he loved Tuck like a son, wasn’t particularly fond of his daughter dating cowboys, especially after the last one. The last cowboy Jessie had dated—her dad had literally run out of town. Liam Flanagan had given the cowboy two choices…well, three actually…stay and go to jail, stay and get shot by him and be diggin’ buckshot out his ass for months then go to jail, or three, leave town and never come back.

Jessie did have to hand it to the cowboy. He took the smart way out and left town. Tuck had no idea of her history, and she really wanted to keep it that way. She was actually surprised that someone hadn’t already told him. Everyone in town knew, and that included all the cowboys at the ranch, but Jessie supposed that her daddy had made sure the incident was never brought up again.

She thought back to last year about this time. Jessie had jumped in her truck, barely getting away from her boyfriend after he had battered and beaten her when she had come back to her place and found him in bed with her best friend. When she had confronted him, instead of defending his actions, he beat her and told her that he could do whatever he wanted and no one could help her. But this cowboy didn’t know Jessie Flanagan or her daddy as well as he thought he did, because Jessie grabbed the nearest object and struck him back with a vengeance, holding her granny’s old cast iron skillet that hung on the wall.

When she swung, she hit the cowboy in the head and knocked him out. When he came to, he knew exactly where she had gone—back home to the ranch—and that’s when he faced a whole new set of life decisions. Liam Flanagan had given the boy more choices than he deserved, but Jessie’s momma didn’t want to have to visit her husband in jail. The young cowboy left town and hadn’t been heard from since. Some around town rumored that Flanagan paid the boy off and he left town. Others think he killed the boy and he’s buried on the ranch, but in reality, Liam Flanagan did nothing except hold a shotgun to the boy and toss him enough money to leave town. He had provided a couple ranch hands as an escort. They went with him to Jessie’s place to get his things, and they followed him outta town.

That was the last anyone had seen or heard from the young bullrider. He was gone now, and Jessie’s wounds had healed, but her heart was still broken and wounded. She didn’t want to risk that pain again, so till Tuck McGraw proved himself, she would continue the spoiled bitch act. If he didn’t accept her that way, then he didn’t deserve her in the first place. It was a risk, of course, but one she was willing to take if it worked.

Jessie squeezed into the cab of the truck, pushing her bags out of her way and taking up part of the driver’s seat. Tuck opened the door, and a few bags fell at his feet.

“Now just hold up. I am not gonna sit in this truck surrounded by these damned bags. Part of them at the very least, Jessie, have to go in the toolbox. I’m askin’ PLEASE.”

Jessie Flanagan sat for a moment, tapped her fingers on the door handle, then hopped out, rummaging through her bags. “Well, come on, here are a few bags.” Tuck got out of the truck, then moved the seat up. Feeling in back of the seat, he pulled out a blanket.

“Here, we can use this to put down over the tools, then we can cover the bags up, so the dust doesn’t get them all dirty. Deal?”

Tuck held his hand out to hers, and she responded: “Deal!”

Jessie handed Tuck the bags she had already identified as ones she could do without and smiled at the thought that he had relented just a bit. As she passed him each bag, Tuck peeked in each one, then finally commented on the contents of the final bag. “Coach? Expensive tastes.”

“And how do you know that?” Jessie responded.

“Well, cowgirl, I wasn’t born yesterday, and I have been around the block a bit. You would be surprised at the knowledge I have. I know all sorts of things, and you aren’t the first high maintenance chick I’ve met.”

“High maintenance?” she snapped. “I am not high maintenance. I just like nice things.”

Tuck burst out laughing so hard that he almost swallowed his gum. “Jessie Flanagan, darlin’, you are about as high maintenance as they come.”

“Am not!” She stood her ground, stomping her boot onto the concrete.

“Yeah, you are!” Tuck stomped back at her.

Jessie turned and flung open the truck door and crawled into the passenger seat. “Well, you’re an asshole!” she screamed back at him.

“And I am proud of it.” He bowed to her as he passed her door and went around the truck to the driver’s side, got in, and started the engine.

The drive back was once again quiet until Tuck’s phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number but went ahead and hit the speaker button.

“Yeah, hello.”

“Is this Tuck McGraw?”

“Yep, you got him. What can I do for ya?”

“Hello, Mr. McGraw, this is Jake Madison. I am the coordinator of Cowboys for the PBR. Do you have a moment?”

“Yeah, shoot,” Tuck responded.

“The reason I’m calling is to give you official confirmation that you will be competing in the Finals and that we have everything arranged. Your hotel and all expenses are paid for by one of your new sponsors, and they have already taken care of everything. Your sponsor has requested that you receive the penthouse suite at the Monte Carlo and that you be given a stipend for your pleasure. Is that acceptable?” he explained.

Tuck was speechless. Never had he been at a loss for words, but this was the moment. A dead silence resonated through the truck, then Jake Madison said, “Mr. McGraw, are you still there?”

“Yeah, I am. I just don’t know what to say.”

It was then that Jessie spoke up. “He accepts, but also add three other people to the room, please. Bubba Franklin, Jessie Flanagan, and Amber Davis. We will be accompanying Mr. McGraw, and we’ll need keycards. Can you make that happen, Mr. Madison?”

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Madison responded.

It was then a light went on in Tuck’s brain, and he finally said, “Just hold up there, Jessie! I can’t bring you and Amber with me to Vegas.”

“And why not?” she snorted.

“Because I don’t have time to babysit you.”

“I don’t need to be babysat. I’ll have Amber and Bubba. I don’t need you.”

“Well, I don’t think your daddy will want you going to Vegas.”

“Well, I don’t care what Daddy wants. I am going whether you or he like it or not.”

“No!”

“Yes! I am,” she taunted.

“We will just see about that once we get back to the ranch,” he snapped back.

Jessie crossed her arms. “Yes, we shall see.”

 

Chapter Three

 

 

When they arrived back at the ranch, Jessie immediately exited the truck and ran into the house screaming for her father. “Daddy! Daddy!” Jessie yelled throughout the house, catching the attention of her mother, who emerged from the kitchen, and finally her father, who stepped out of his office to see what all the commotion was about.

“What’s up, little bird?” Liam Flanagan said as Jessie jumped into his arms.

“Daddy, would it be okay if I went to Vegas with Tuck, Bubba, and Amber?”

Liam laughed and said, “Little bird, you are twenty-six years old. You can do what you want. Just don’t get yourself arrested.”

“Oh good! Tuck thought maybe you wouldn’t let me,” Jessie exclaimed.

“Ha, he doesn’t know you very well then, does he, little bird?” Liam commented as Tuck came through the door, his hands full of Jessie’s bags.

“Tuck, can you come to my office really quick? I wanna go over a few things with you before the party tonight.”

Tuck dropped the bags on the floor, and Jessie picked a few of them up and started up the stairs. Tuck followed Liam into his office and waited as he sat down.

“Take a seat, Tuck. This won’t take long,” Mr. Flanagan requested as he pulled a whiskey bottle from his bottom desk drawer and two shot glasses and began pouring.

“What can I do for you, sir?” Tuck asked as Liam handed him a shot glass.

“You can watch over Jessie in Vegas. I know you’re gonna be busy as all get out, but I really need you to do this. See, she tends to get in a little over her head, and she also has a tendency of picking the wrong guys. I trust you and know that you’ll take care of her as if she were your own child,” Mr. Flanagan said as he held out his shot glass to Tuck for a toast.

“To winning that Gold Buckle and to all the Buckle Bunnies to come.” The men laughed and gulped their drinks down.

“No problem, Mr. Flanagan. I can handle Jessie.”

“I know you can. You’re probably the only one that can. That’s why I don’t mind her going with you. If it was anyone else, I would pull her expense account and she wouldn’t be going, that’s for damned sure,” Mr. Flanagan explained. “Okay, then—it’s settled.” Liam Flanagan leaned back in his leather chair and sighed. “Now to get back to work. Why don’t you go help out with the decorations out by the pool?”

“Will do, Mr. Flanagan, and thanks for everything.” Tuck stood up and then tipped his hat to Liam, who responded with his own tip of his hat, then headed out of the house and over to some of the men already out hanging lanterns around the pool area.

“Hey Tuck, thanks for the party and the half day off. Your hard work really does pay off for some.” The men laughed as Tuck grabbed a couple more lanterns and began handing them to one of the men on a ladder—his buddy, Bubba Franklin.

“So, you ready for Vegas?” Bubba Franklin said from the ladder above Tuck.

“About as ready as I’m gonna be. By the way, we have stow-aways coming,” Tuck replied, trying not to show how utterly freaked he was. Yeah, he had been in some really tight situations in combat even got shot once, but this was a whole new ballgame. He needed to win this purse and bring home the buckle, so that at the very least his mom didn’t have to struggle anymore. She had spent her entire life taking care of him, and when he left for the Army, he sent money home to help make things easier on her. But now that he was home, he wasn’t making the kind of money he made while he served, and it didn’t help that most of what he had saved went to equipment and trips to events. All his extra went to the rodeo and helping his mom the best he could.

“Hey, I got another sponsor. A big one too. Paid for everything plus got us a stipend for expenses, can you believe that shit?” Tuck told Bubba.

“Fuckin’ A. That’s awesome, man. Who?” Bubba asked.

“I don’t know. They said it was privileged information and couldn’t tell me. Said the donor wanted it that way.”

“Well, who the fuck cares then? Everything is paid for?” Bubba asked as Tuck handed him another lantern.

“Yep, everything,” Tuck said.

Bubba replied back with, “Strippers too?”

Tuck laughed and replied, “Doubtful, buddy. I think that will be on you. Hey, I gotta run home and grab a few things. I’ll be back for the party. Can you cover for me?”

“Sure, brother, I got your back. I’ll see you in a couple hours.” Bubba went back to hanging lanterns as Tuck ran to his truck and headed back to his house to change clothes and see if his momma needed any help.

 

 

When he arrived at the house, his momma’s car was gone, so he figured she was probably out doing errands for the party. He was dirty and dusty from the little bit of work he’d done, so he figured it was as good a time as any to get cleaned up and dressed for the party in a couple hours. He still needed to do some packing for Vegas, so while he looked for his best shirt, he grabbed his suitcase and started filling it with clothes he would need for the trip, then took a shower.

It seemed as he loaded up what little clothing he owned he thought back to the last time he packed for deployment and how it felt. It was never easy deploying. He was on his last deployment with guys that had grown to be family, and he felt guilty that in little more than a year he would no longer be throwing on his uniform but instead be strapping on chaps. He never thought in a million years that when he returned from Afghanistan that his unit would be four men short, or that in the time since he would be on his way to Las Vegas to compete for what he had dreamed of doing his entire life.

He wanted so much to be like his father, and so far he was living the dream and accomplishing everything his dad did and more. He hoped his daddy was as proud of him as Mr. Flanagan was. Liam Flanagan was a good man, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how such a loving, giving man and wife could give birth to such a terror of the town. Every time he thought of her, his feelings always went from anger to pure passion, and he didn’t quite understand how that was.

Jessie Flanagan did everything she could to make his life a living hell, and now she would be accompanying him to Las Vegas. Oh, how it pissed him off that she played him the way she did, but he had no choice. She was gonna go no matter what, so it was now his responsibility to make sure she stayed outta trouble and especially not pick up no cowboys. He promised Mr. Flanagan, and he would do his best, even if it meant hog-tying her ass to him and draggin’ her all over Vegas.

Loading up what he could in the suitcase, then grabbing a quick shower, he looked down at his watch at realized he had only a few minutes to get back to the ranch for the party. Grabbing his jacket off the back of the kitchen table, he jetted out the door and jumped into his truck. Revving the engine, he headed down the road toward the ranch. It was only a few miles away, but if the entire town was going to be there, he knew it was gonna be difficult to find a place to park. He pulled in, passing under the Four Leaf Clover Ranch sign that sat at the edge of the property. He could see the abundance of cars, trucks, SUVs, and mini-vans dotting the landscape.

Yep, looks like the entire town was here. His heart fell into his stomach. He had to win now, or the whole town would laugh at him. He had to make that eight seconds every time, or he would come home a failure, and failure was not an option—not for this cowboy and former army ranger. There was no way he would go back a loser, and he really wanted to prove little Miss Bitchy Pants that he could win and win big.

Pulling up close to the main house, he noticed the valet service. What the hell? Valet? They really need valet? How many damn people are here? As he inched closer to where the valet servicemen stood, one of the men stepped up to the driver’s side door—it was Chet Donavon, a high school senior on the football team. Manchester was a small town, and football was the town pastime besides rodeos, and everyone knew everyone. It was small-town life with rich folks by the handfuls, but it was home, and he was proud of the town, and they were proud of him and his service to his country. Now they were celebrating him, and he hadn’t even won the buckle yet.

Handing Chet his keys, Tuck smoothed over his shirt, his jeans, then checked his boots for shine. He bent down to look in the side-view mirror of his truck, then took a deep breath and headed to the party. Tuck could already hear the sounds of a country music band playing, but as he approached the area, he noticed it wasn’t a disc jockey but a live band playing. Shaking his head in amazement, he saw Bubba Franklin and headed over his way. Bubba was standing next to Amber Davis. He and Amber had a part-time relationship that no one could ever quite figure out. Tuck thought as long as they were happy, then no one should be concerned, but this was small town Manchester, where everyone was in everyone’s business, so the question was asked quite often.

As Tuck approached, Bubba yelled for a waiter to bring over a beer and met Tuck with it in hand. “This is for you, tight ass. Relax and enjoy this. It may be your last beer for a while,” Bubba teased.

“And why would this be my last beer?” Tuck questioned.

“Well, cuz when that bull gives you the beat down, you gonna be drinkin’ from a straw for a few months and peein’ in a bag.” Amber slapped Bubba and then quickly rubbed his shoulder. “That hurt, baby!” Bubba said as he continued to rub his shoulder. “Why’d you hit me with the horseshoe?”

“Because you’re being ugly and God don’t like ugly. It’s your toss!” Amber said, handing him the horseshoe.

“Well, ya don’t gotta get violent,” Bubba remarked to Amber as he turned his attention to the game, then quickly back to Tuck.

“Now apologize,” Amber ordered.

“I do love it when you take charge and get bossy.”

“Do it!” Amber ordered. Bubba shifted and kicked his boot in the ground like a three year old.

“I’m sorry, Tuck. I was only kiddin’ around,” Bubba replied.

“Oh I know, I just wanted to watch as Amber gave you the what for. For a big guy, you sure do shudder in fear when Amber gets on your ass,” Tuck said as he waited for Bubba’s comeback, but instead, Amber stepped in. “You wanna get your ass kicked too, don’t ya?” Amber said as she swung the horseshoe toward Tuck, but Bubba caught it mid-swing.

“Now don’t go hurting the man of the hour. He’s gonna need that arm to hold on while the bull kicks his ass,” Bubba said, grinning, then quickly shifting to a loud belly laugh.

The trio watched as the band continued to play, and a few times Amber got Bubba out onto the dance floor. Tuck stood alone, exchanging greetings from some of the townsfolk who had come out not only for the free food, but to give Tuck a proper send off. Tuck soon was cornered by Mrs. Chatterton, an elderly woman who had lived a house over from where he had grown up. Tuck had often gone to her home to help her in the yard and on her ranch as a young man in high school. Tuck, like most men around town, knew ranching, hunting, fishing, football, racing, and women, and he was your typical cowboy in Manchester, Oklahoma.

One thing Tuck disliked was being in front of people. He loathed public speaking. So when Liam Flanagan called him up on stage to talk to everyone, Tuck wanted to turn tail and run, but he didn’t. He passed through the crowd and up onto the small makeshift stage the ranch hands had made several months ago for Jessie’s college graduation party.

“I wanna thank everyone for coming on such short notice. Coming out here to support me…it means an awful lot to me, although I know most of you came for the free food and booze. It’s special just the same. I will do my very best to bring home that gold buckle and make y’all proud of me. Thanks for coming out, and let’s drink some beer!”

The crowd clapped and laughed, and as he stepped off stage and walked through the crowd, he got his back patted, congratulations, and handshakes. As he approached the back of the crowd, Jessie Flanagan stepped in front of him from just inside the house. She was three sheets to the wind, wobbling and spilling beer all over herself.

“Tuck McGraw, have I ever told you how sexy you are?” Jessie mumbled, slurring her words as she lifted the beer, pouring it down her chest and completely missing her mouth. Tuck was stunned and tried not to laugh. Instead, he grabbed Jessie by the arm.

“Your daddy hasn’t seen you like this yet, has he?” Tuck asked as he tried to steady her and get her back inside the main house. “Why don’t I just take you inside and get you cleaned up?” Tuck guided her into the house. Jessie held on, stumbling and hanging on for dear life.

“Why don’t we instead go upstairs and fuck?” Jessie said as she began slipping her hands into Tuck’s wranglers.

“No. No, now let’s not go there, Jess. Let’s get you upstairs to bed.”

“That’s what I’m saying, Tuck. Let’s go fuck.” Then Jessie began to laugh hysterically, and she slipped down to the floor. “Hey, I made a rhyme. Tuck, let’s go fuck! Tuck, let’s go fuck! Tuck, let’s go fuck! It sounds like a cheer.” Jessie then sprang from the floor and began to dance around, flinging her arms like a cheerleader. When Tuck attempted to catch her as she tried to do a cartwheel, her feet flew through the air. They struck Tuck in his face, blackening his eye instantly. Jessie tumbled into her mother’s china hutch, breaking the glass and cutting her foot open. Tuck sprang into action and picked her up and took her into the den. He sat her down on the leather sofa, and pulling his favorite shirt off, he wrapped it around her foot.

Jessie began to cry, and Tuck tried to console her as he tried to get a good view of how severely she was cut. “Not as bad as it looks, Jessie. I can make a butterfly stitch, and no one will ever know. I’ll tell your momma that I broke the glass and will pay for the repairs.”

“No, I can’t let you do that. I will tell my momma I broke it. She’ll understand,” Jessie said, her words slurred as her tears flowed. “You’re a good guy, aren’t you, Tuck McGraw?” Jessie leaned over and kissed him then, and without skipping a beat, she looked at him and said, “I fell in love with you the moment I saw you. Did you know that?”

Surprised, Tuck said, “Jess, I think this is the beer talkin’. I think we need to get this cleaned up and get you into bed. Okay?”

“No, no, it's not the beer—it’s my true feelings. I act like a brat because I don’t want you to hurt me.”

Stunned, Tuck listened as Jessie continued to pour her heart out to him. She told him about her ex and how he had used her and about the night her father ran him out of town. She told him how he had convinced her that he was the only one that would or could ever want her. Her heart still hurt, and she didn’t want anyone else to hurt her the way he had.

“Let’s get you upstairs, Jess, and get you cleaned up. We can talk upstairs. Deal?”

“Deal,” she agreed.

Tuck scooped her up in his arms and carried her upstairs. She tucked her head into his neck and nuzzled him.

 

Chapter Four

 

 

“Which one is your room, Jess?” Tuck asked as he searched the darkened hallway for a light switch.  

“Down the hall to your right, the last door,” she replied.

“Easy enough. Let’s get you down there.”

Jessie was still crying as he got closer to her room. The door was open, so he walked in and set her down on her bed. Tuck walked back to the door and searched for the light switch but wasn’t able to locate it until Jess had crawled up her bed and turned on the bedside lamp.

“Better?” she said.

“Much.” He sat down next to her and began to pull his shirt off of her foot. “Now let’s see if that bleeding stopped.”

It was that moment when Jess realized that Tuck was sitting next to her without a shirt on, and she saw the evidence of his combat injury. Three semi-circular scars dotted his chest and ribs just below his right pectoral muscle. She then began to run her fingers along the scars as Tuck tried to ignore the feelings he had for her that came flooding to the surface.

Tuck grabbed her hand and then moved it around his waist. Leaning in to her, he then kissed her. Cupping her cheeks in his hands, he kissed her deeper as she let out a small moan. Her moans shot right to his core and straight to his now-thickening cock. His mind kept telling him he didn’t want his first time with her to be like this. He didn’t want to take advantage of her in her weakened state. He didn’t want her to think that was all he wanted, so he pulled away, and Jess squealed as he moved away.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

“God, no, not at all. I want you more than I have ever wanted any woman. I just don’t want to take advantage of the situation and have you think that that’s what I did. I would rather make love to you when you’re sober and with a clear head. Is that okay?” Tuck explained.

“I’m not mad. Most guys wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about my feelings,” she said as she laid down on her bed. “Will you stay here with me?”

“Of course. I’m not gonna leave you like this,” he said.

“Will you lay next to me?”

“Sure, but first let’s get you some water. If you drink a bunch of water before you go to sleep, the hangover won’t be as terrible. I promise.” Tuck stood up, adjusted his cock to a more comfortable angle, and retrieved a cup from the bathroom, filling it before bringing it back to Jess.

“Here, drink this. I promise when the morning comes, all will be well with the world.” Tuck waited for Jess to drink the contents then helped her under the covers.

“Lay down next to me, Tuck,” Jess begged.

Tuck covered Jess and then crawled under the covers with her.

“Hold me, Tuck, please,” Jess asked as she turned her back to him.

Tuck wrapped his arm around her waist and shifted closer. The feel of her body next to his was almost unbearable. His cock strained against his jeans as if it was begging to get loose, but he thought ugly thoughts, and he soon drifted off to sleep.

 

 

It was four o’clock in the morning when Tuck stirred, the sound of the shower resonating throughout the room. He could see the outline of Jess in the shower. She was one hell of a beautiful woman. Maybe I shoulda taken her up last night on her offer. Naw, it was better this way. She probably wouldn’t remember any of it anyway. She probably was wondering how the hell I got in her bed in the first place.

Tuck pulled the covers off and sat up on the side of the bed. When he heard the water switch off, he tried to get up slowly and sneak out of the room, but just as he was getting to the door, Jess stood in the bathroom entrance, the dripping water the only thing that covered her body. She smiled and said, “If you think you’re getting off that easy, you are sadly mistaken. I let you off last night, but now I’m sober, and I still wanna fuck you, Tuck.” She grinned and walked toward him. His cock twitched inside his jeans as she moved in closer.

“I have waited a long time to tell you how I really felt about you,” she said as she stood before him, naked and dripping wet.

“And how is that?” Tuck asked, trying with every cell in his body to stay composed.

“I fell in love with you the moment I saw you in Daddy’s office the day you arrived. Do you believe in love at first sight?” she asked as she wrapped one arm around his neck and took her other hand and slowly unzipped his jeans, revealing that he was bare under his jeans.

“Yeah, I believe it. I felt it the day I met you. Then ya got all ugly,” he said with a grin.

“Ugly, huh?” she said, laughing. “Well, I had to test ya to see if you would still want me when I got ugly.”

“Oh, I wanted you, and I wanted to murder you at times too. I prefer this side of you,” he said.

“The naked and wet side?” She grinned.

“Well, yeah, and the sweet, sexy, sensual side of you. I prefer it.”

“Well, how about it, cowboy? Wanna ride?” she teased.

Tuck grinned and scooped Jess up into his arms, kissing her as he gently laid her on her bed. He kissed her entire length and then back up. His hands played her body as if they had been meant to. As he stood in front of her naked and wanton, his eyes sparkled with lust and a love for her he had never experienced in his life. Standing over her, he watched her squirm, begging him to take her, her skin so soft, begging for his touch.

Kneeling down in front of her, he slid his hands up her thighs then slowly pushed them open as he took in her scent, overwhelming his already raging hormones and a hard-on that he could use to break concrete. He dove into her folds and encircled her hard nub, slowly sucking as his tongue danced inside her. She begged and screamed his name as his tongue moved faster, her moans became louder, and her body started to tense as she felt the orgasm build inside her. Reaching up for her breasts, he kneaded them as his tongue swirled inside her.

Rolling her nipples in his fingers, he pinched as his tongue darted in and out of her swollen pussy. Her orgasm building, her moans became louder as she now screamed his name. As her words reached his ears, he could no longer control his passion and began to suck her nub harder as he rubbed his tongue against it, finally sending her over the edge. Tasting her, he wanted more. Without skipping a beat, he continued lapping up her juices as he continued to attack her folds, begging to taste her again.

It was almost too much for Jess to handle. She wanted—no, she needed to taste Tuck. She pulled at his hair until he raised up and looked at her with his haunting light brown eyes. He still kept his hair quite short, but she got enough to get his attention.

“Come here, darlin’,” she whispered, curving her finger back and forth. Tuck did as he was told and moved up her long, slim body until he met her lips with his. Taking in each other’s kisses, Jess motioned for Tuck to take her place, and she covered him with her body. She moved closer to his manhood, licking and teasing. He could feel the heat of her breath, and it made him twitch with excitement.

“Down, boy. We got plenty of time. I ain’t going nowhere,” she teased as she covered his cock with her mouth. The warmth and the wetness felt like heaven on earth to him. It had been so long since he had been with a woman, and as far as he was concerned, she would be the last. As Jess continued her movements up and down his shaft, she could feel Tuck’s cock enlarge and twitch as he moaned for more; that’s when she knew not only was she doing it right, but she could feel against her tongue how much he loved it. But now she wanted him inside her. She needed to feel him inside her.

She wanted to look into his eyes as he filled her and she could feel every inch of him inside her. When she pulled away, Tuck moaned, and Jess smiled as she said, “My turn. Just stay there. I wanna ride my eight seconds first.” She smiled and hovered over his cock, slowly inching closer. The heat that rose off her body was so intoxicating to him that he almost came. As she slid onto him, her hips bucked, and he pushed up against her. They were in perfect union, with perfect rhythmic movements as she slid back and forth on his cock.

Jess moaned as she got closer to climax. The harder she bucked, the harder he bucked. The feeling was almost too much, but she wanted to climax with him. As his moans became louder and more intense, she leaned back just a bit, placing her hand on his knee while she used the other to steady herself.

They continued to come together, riding each other as if the world would end tomorrow, and as their breathing quickened and their moans became louder, Jess called out, “I’m so close, baby. I wanna come with you, baby, please.” Those words shot right to Tuck’s balls, and they tightened, and with a grunting moan, he filled her. Finally, they collapsed into each other’s arms.

As they stared into each other’s eyes, it seemed the air between them was almost nonexistent, like everything was right in the world. Kissing and holding each other was almost like breathing already.

“What are you thinking about, Jess?”

“I’m thinking we wasted a lot of time giving each other a hard time every day when you should’ve been given me a hard time in bed.”

Tuck began to laugh as he thought about the past twenty-four hours. “When’s my turn to ride?”

“Anytime you want, baby. I’m ready for another,” Jess replied. “But don’t you gotta pack for Vegas?”

“Not really, and besides, you can’t go without me,” Tuck replied.

“That’s true. I’m ready whenever you are,” Jess said as she lightly kissed Tuck’s cheek.

“How about we save the repeat for Vegas, and we can get really crazy? Deal?” Tuck asked.

“Deal. I’m ready for breakfast. What about you?” Jess asked as she got up and grabbed her robe.

“Oh yeah, I’m starving. I didn’t get anything last night. Someone decided to profess her love for me,” Tuck teased.

“That’s true, I did. And I will say it again. Tuck McGraw, I love you. Let’s get married in Vegas,” Jess blurted.

“All right. I do,” Tuck responded.

“You do?” Jess said.

“Yes, I do forever and always. I do,” he said as he stood up, grabbed Jess, and tossed her on the bed. “I do, do you?”

Jess smiled and said, “Yes, I do too.”

 

The End

 

About the Author

 

Shannon started her writing career while still serving in the US Army. As an NCO in the Army, she led and trained soldiers.

Shannon grew up in Macomb, IL, where she graduated from high school in 1987 and soon after joined the US Army. Shannon served from 1987 to 2015 during Operation Desert Storm and during Operations in Iraq and Afghanistan.

In April 2015, Shannon retired from the US Army with 23 years of service as a Unit Supply Sergeant in several Army units overseas and in the United States. She served as a US Army Recruiter for four years, and she holds a degree in clinical psychology. She has been awarded multiple awards during her Army service. She is a mother of four children and a grandma to two beautiful granddaughters. She has been married 24 years to her husband, Ken. They reside in Staunton, IL, a small town along Old Route 66.

 

Dedication

 

To the love of my life, you have supported me from day one, and you always have my back. We may have been bucked off a few times, but we always get back up, dust ourselves off, and get back on. It’s been one hell of a wild ride, and I can’t wait to see where life takes us. 

 

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By A. Gorman

 

 

Chapter One

 

Hayden

 

The hot Texas sun shines brightly overhead as barrel racer after racer runs clovers, trying to beat the best recorded time of the event. As the day drags on, nerves take over, and butterflies flutter in my stomach as my time to ride approaches. I walk over to the trailer and mentally prepare for our race.

The sun lowers in the sky, and I warm up, knowing we’re up soon. Barney loves the excitement of the crowd and feeds off their energy to pump him up. I forget sometimes that he’s a horse because he acts so much like a human.

“Next up are the reigning state champions, Hayden Bergman and Barney…”

I lean over and pat Barney’s neck. “We got this, B.” He shakes his head at me, and we trot toward the chute. Barney anxiously chews his bit, ready to run. As soon we cross the start/finish line, our time starts. We’ve run this clover path hundreds of times. I close my eyes, inhale slowly, and I open my eyes as I let the shaky breath out.

The sun sets in the sky behinds us as I tap on Barney’s side with my heel. I grip the reins, preparing for forward movement. He takes off in a sprint, and we rush over the start line toward the first barrel. As we get close, I pull back on the reins to slow Barney, and we round the barrel without touching it. I give his side another tap, and he speeds to the next barrel, and I tug back as we approach the second barrel, clearing it with ease.

The final barrel comes in view, and Barney knows what to do as I tap his side. I pull back on the reins as we round the third barrel, Barney steps awkwardly, and I fly off his back. The left side of my body and head crushes the barrel, and I fall to the dirt as Barney falls onto his side inches from me. The loud arena silences as darkness spots my vision. Whispering voices echo in my head as the sound of pounding feet come toward me.

I blink my eyes to focus on my best friend, and I roll to him. Pain radiates through my shoulder and arm. I look down, hoping it’s not broken, and I push the pain aside. Barney needs me. I rub his muzzle.

“Barney, stay still,” I mumble out. He fights and tries to get up, hitting my arm with his muzzle. The pain pushes back, making everything around me dark, and lulls me to pass out.

“Hayden, you need to get checked out. Uncle Ryan is right behind us,” my dad tells me when he reaches me. Uncle Ryan is the county veterinarian, and equine is his specialty.

“It’s his left leg. I heard it sn-snap, and I think it’s br-broken,” I stutter through the pain.

“We’ll get him taken care of, don’t you worry about it. I need to get you help.”

“Hayden, I need to take a look at you,” James Curtis, a medic I grew up with, says as he kneels beside me. He pulls a flashlight from his pocket and shines it in my eyes.

“My arm,” is all I can get out.

He nods, and with gentleness, he grasps my arm. Pain jolts through my body, like a zap from an electric fence, and I cry out, wanting him to stop touching me.

“Hayden, I need to get you to the hospital. The ambulance will be here in a few.” He pulls tape out of his bag, moves my arm to my side, and tapes it in place. James’s partner comes with a backboard. They work together at a rapid pace to place me on it and load me into the ambulance.

As I look out the back of the ambulance, I see Barney standing, but I don’t like the look on my uncle’s face. He glances up, looking in my direction. Our eyes meet, and he shakes his head. Tears prickle in my eyes. Not only did I lose the race, the championship, but I could be losing my best friend too. Hot tears run down my face, into my hair, and James gently pats my face dry as he takes my vitals.

 

 

Physical therapy the last five weeks has damn near killed me. Broken left clavicle, shattered left humerus, and fractured left scapula are the damages the barrel gave me. I shouldn’t complain. My recovery hasn’t been as bad as Barney’s. At least I can move around.

His fetlock was fractured. He’ll never race again.

Neither will I.

We still don’t know if he has to be put down. He’s recovering well, but the chances of him having to be put down are greater than him recovering. If this had happened a few years ago, he would already have been put down.

I’m glad Uncle Ryan and his staff have been taking care of him. When I’m able, I go to the clinic and check in on Barney. I have to watch doing too much because one accidental bump could redo the damage, even though my breaks are almost fused together, with help from screws and plates.

Next week I can return to my normal activities, but the only thing I’ll be doing is working in the office at the stables. I have no desire to be on another horse. Barney has been my partner, my friend, and he was there for me when Rory left.

Rory Walker. He’s been on my mind with all the downtime I’ve had. I heard he was back in town, but I haven’t seen him. I thought he would come here to check on me because news traveled quickly about the accident, how the four-time champion reign came to a tumbling end. I’m curious to why he’s home in the middle of the PBR tour.

At one time, I thought he was my forever, but life has a funny way of working out. If there was a chance that we could get back together, I would. Everything that happened prior to him leaving was amazing. I had the perfect life. After he left, nothing was important anymore. He was like the other part of my life. I tried moving on, but I couldn’t. No one filled the void that Rory left behind.

I’ve given up too much of my life to have people whisper behind my back instead of being a friend, the friends they claimed to be. And now that I’m not the champion anymore doesn’t mean I’m not the same person I was before my fall. I’m throwing myself a pity party, but I shouldn’t be. I should be looking at a new horse to race instead of letting fall ruin what I once loved doing, but I can’t. I can’t get that scene out of my head, and it plays on a constant loop.

What if the next horse steps wrong and I’m thrown off again? I can’t take the risk of getting close to another racing partner and losing them. Barrel racing is a chapter of my life that I closed. The love that I once had for it is gone…The fall broke more than just my bones.

I’m so sorry, Barney…It’s my fault you’re broken just like me.

 

Chapter Two

 

 

Rory

 

The phone call replays in my mind as I drive down the gravel road to Bergman Stables. Dust kicks up behind my truck, and the view behind me is cloudy, like my future. I’ve been home from Kentucky for six weeks. I arrived the same day as her accident. I was ready to lay it all out for her, but I didn’t have the chance.

I’m a bastard. I should have checked on her, but what would I have said? Sorry to hear about your fall. Oh, and I regret leaving you for the PBR. I failed miserably and missed you. I’m sure she doesn’t want to hear my groveling. Hell, I’m not even sure she wants to hear from me. We faded away from each other after I left over a year ago. Traveling the circuit took up most of my time. When I wasn’t riding, I was practicing or sleeping.

I fell for the fast life of a bull rider, groupies, and everything else that came with being at the top. It got old fast, and I realized I missed her. None of it was her. None of it made me feel the way she did. I’m a love-sick fool…and I don’t know if I can ever get her back.

The red-colored stables come into view. I’m here to look at a colt for a client. Bergmans breed the best Quarter Horses in the region. Plus it gives me an excuse to be here, to see Hayden. I park my truck near the office and quietly walk in. I’m not supposed to be here for another fifteen minutes.

I sit down in a brown leather chair near the door, and that’s when I see her in the back office. Her back is to me; she didn’t see me come in because she’s on the phone. Her body posture is slumped. I’m not sure if it’s from her injuries or if her spirit is broken. She hangs up the phone and turns around. Our eyes meet. She’s unguarded, and her sad, pale green eyes tell me everything I need to know.

Hayden looks away, turning her body from me, and she walks out of her office. She looks happy to see me here, but she looks like she’s at a loss for words.

“Rory…?”

“Hey, darlin’. It’s good to see you.” I lean over and kiss her cheek. My feelings for her bubble to the surface, and I want to do more than just kiss her cheek. I want to familiarize myself with every inch of her body. It’s been too long.

“How have you been?” Her cheeks blush, and she takes a half step back, trying to clear her head. I still affect her.

“I’ve been doing okay. Back in Texas to work for my dad.”

“Oh, how long have you been back?”

“A little over a month.”

“Nice. Staying for good?”

“That’s the plan. Dad wants me to take over a majority of the business, because he wants to go into cattle or some kind of livestock.”

“That’s a big leap from training horses.”

“I think so too, but it’s what he wants to do.”

“Nice. So are you my two o’clock appointment instead of your dad?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Enough of my yapping then. Let me show you the colt.”

She walks by me, and I turn around to follow her out the door. I walk behind her, admiring the view. Her curves go for miles, and her jeans hug her ass. I clear my throat, trying to clear my mind from the thoughts of her luscious body.

“The colt doesn’t mind a halter,” she says, breaking my train of thought.

“Good. Did you work him?”

“No, Matt did.” Her brother? “When did he start working the colts? I thought he was traveling.”

“He came home after I got hurt and took over my duties. I work in the office now.”

“Do you ride at all?” She stops and turns around, facing me.

“No.” Tears well in her eyes.

“Oh, Hayden.” I take a step toward and wrap her in my arms, holding her tight. I feel like an ass for not seeing her sooner. “Talk to me.”

She shakes her head no.

“Darlin’, I’ll listen to whatever you have to say. I probably have no right saying that, but I’m here.”

She raises her head, looking up at me. “Why didn’t you come sooner?”

“Selfishness, I guess.” I release her from my hold. I didn’t want to have this conversation with her now or here. I look around and see we aren’t far from the tack room. I grab her by the waist and pull her into the room, closing the door behind us.

Without a single word, I lace my fingers in her hair and kiss her. She trembles under my touch, but she wraps her arms around my waist, pulling me into her. Her taste drives me wild, and her soft moan makes my cock harden as I deepen the kiss. This can’t happen now. There’s too much that I need to say. I reluctantly end our kiss and place my forehead on hers.

“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m an asshole. I should have come straight here after I got the phone call. I was five hundred miles away when James called. But I didn’t. I didn’t know what to say to you. I still don’t. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder for us. I still love you. Fuck. I have no right to say that to you.”

She reaches up and softly places her hand on me lips, stopping me from talking.

“I understand…So many times I wanted to reach out to you, but I didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me. You were living your dream, and I wasn’t going to bother you.”

“You wouldn’t have been a bother.” I caress the side of her face with my hand. She leans into my touch. “It might have made me realize sooner what I was missing…what I left behind.”

“I was trying to move on…” Guilt flashes in her eyes as she looks at me.

“I thought that’s what I wanted too…but I was wrong. I failed at competing. It was my sign to come home.”

“I’m not the same person you left.”

“I didn’t expect you to be…I was hoping you’d be single, though. Selfish, I know.”

“Maybe I’m not single.”

“Would you have kissed me back like that if you weren’t?”

“No.” She smiles shyly.

“I don’t expect to pick up things where we left them, but I would love to give us a chance again.”

“I don’t know, Rory…” She hesitates.

“Hayden, I won’t pressure you into anything, but I’m not going anywhere. I made that mistake once, and I won’t do it again.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.” I pull her into me again, and her body melts into mine. This feels so right.

She gives me a small smile. “I better show you this colt…” Hayden opens the door and walks out of the room, leaving me behind. I hope I didn’t push her too much, but she needs to know how much she means to me and how stupid I was.

 

 

Chapter Three

 

 

Hayden

 

I watch Rory’s truck kick the dust up as he drives away. Feelings I’ve kept hidden away for the past year and a half kick me in the stomach, and I don’t know if I should be happy he still loves me or mad as hell that he still has an affect over me. He didn’t do me wrong, we just wanted different things when he left the valley, and I refuse to hold that against him. Did it break my heart at the time? Yes, but he tried to stay in contact, and I let him go.

I walk back into the air conditioned office and touch my lips. They are still swollen from his kisses. My heart pounds with excitement from his touches, and my body craves his full attention. I fall back into my office chair a little harder than I mean to, and pain radiates through my body.

Six and half weeks later and my body still hurts from the fall. I feel eighty-two instead of twenty-two most days, and the doctor keeps telling me to give it time, but I don’t want to. I close my eyes, waiting for the throbbing to leave my back, and I sit back softly.

My mind goes back to Rory. Do I want to try with him again? We were amazing together. Could we go back to that again? I think back on all the years we were together. He was my first kiss, my first love, my first heartbreak…Are all those feelings worth it…Is he worth it?

“Hayden?” my dad hollers from the front office.

“Yeah, Dad?” I respond, and he walks into my office.

“Did Royce Walker come in?”

“No, Rory did.”

“Oh, was that who you were talking with?”

“Yes…”

“I heard he was taking over RW Ranch, but I didn’t hear it from any of the Walkers. I was going to ask Royce today.”

“That’s what Rory told me. He said Royce was getting into livestock.”

“Interesting.”

“Equine to bovine…”

“Big difference.”

“Agree.”

“What did Rory think of the colt?”

“He said it would work for his client, and he was going to get the paperwork drawn up today. I think he’ll be back at the end of the week to pick him up.”

“That works. We have one more colt, unless you want him to train and ride.” His eyes beg me to say yes.

“I’m good, Dad. I don’t need to ride.”

“But it’s who you are.”

“No, it’s who I was. I’m not that person any more. My mistake ruined that for Barney and me.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It was a freak accident. How many times have you ridden a horse around the clover? How many times did you ride Barney around the clover? Thousands of times, Hay. Please, you got to see that this isn’t your fault. It couldn’t have been prevented…”

“I’m not ready, Dad. I have no desire to be back on a horse…”

He looks like I just broke his heart…He and Mom poured all their time into letting Matt and I live our dreams. Matt became a traveling farrier, and I was a barrel racer. Was. No more. Now I have to figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. All I know is horses.

“All right. You know your mom and I will always support you in whatever you decide to do. I just don’t want you give up what you worked most of your life toward because of one fall…”

Tears burn my eyes.

“I’m sorry. That sounded insensitive…I love you, Hayden. Don’t give up.” He turns and leaves before I can reply. My dad can be an ass sometimes, because he cares. Sometimes he cares too much. I understand where he’s coming from, but I don’t have to agree.

I blow the piece of strawberry blonde hair that fell into my eyes out of my face. Paperwork I put off this morning needs to be addressed now, but all I can think of is whiskey-colored eyes and the smell of Tommy Hilfiger cologne.

 

 

Friday nights are normally nights spent in town at the bar dancing, but it’s not for me. I haven’t been to the bar in almost two months. Now that I think about it, I haven’t been anywhere but PT and the ranch in two months.

Rory asked me for a date tonight, but I didn’t answer him. It’s not that I don’t want to go with him; it’s that I don’t want to do what we used to do. Go out to eat, find a place to have sex, and call it a night. But I was a teenager then. I shouldn’t assume it would be the same now.

I pick up my phone and dial Rory’s number…

“Hello.” His deep, raspy voice echoes through the line, and my body hums with anticipation.

“Hi. It’s Hayden.” Duh. I’m sure he knew it was me calling.

“Hey, darlin’. How are you?”

“I’m good. I was wondering if your offer still stands.” I bite my lip, waiting for his answer.

“Yes.” I hear horses in the background. Shit. I should have texted.

“Good. Want to meet up, or…?”

“I’ll pick you up. Seven work?”

I look down at my watch, and it’s only a quarter till two.

“Yes, that’s fine.”

“See you then.”

“Yep. Bye.”

The line goes dead.

Damnit. I didn’t ask where we’re going or anything that I need to know. I’ll text him later. I get back to work so I can get out of here earlier than normal. Hopefully no one will be around to ask a hundred questions when Rory picks me up.

My phone dings with a text notification as I replying to my last email.

 

Rory: Dress up but comfortable. We have a little drive.

 

Me: Can do.

 

Rory: Does six work? I’ll be finished sooner than I thought.

 

Me: Yes.

 

Rory: Perfect. See you then.

 

Me: Bye.

 

I turn off my phone and focus back on the last email; it’s regarding the last colt we have. He’s beautiful, and it pains me a little to see Storm go, but he needs a home. I know he’ll make someone a very happy racer. I end the email with all my info, click the send button, and once it sends, I close my laptop. I make my way out of the office, turning out the lights as I walk toward the outside door.

The heat is miserable and almost catches my breath as I step outside from the AC’d building. The yard is quiet. I get in my truck and drive to the house a half mile from the office. The driveway is void of vehicles, so I’ll be able to get ready without questions from my parents or my brother.

I unlock the front door, walk into the house, and shut the door behind me. My boots echo on the dark wood floor, and they thump up each step I take up the stairs. I reach my room and close the door behind me, and I walk over to my closet to decide what is worthy of a date with Rory. I try not to show too much skin. I have scars from surgery, and I’m not ready to show them off to everyone.

I pick out a sun dress that covers me front and back, but it’s sleeveless, and I’ll wear my favorite boots. It’s time for a shower so I have plenty of time to do my hair and makeup. I hope I’m ready for this…Be still my heart.

 

Chapter Four

 

 

Rory

 

Nerves flutter in my stomach like they did the first time I took Hayden out over six years ago. She was almost sixteen, and I was eighteen. So much has changed since those days. I was a senior, and she was a sophomore…The next four years were life changing. I didn’t leave home for college; instead, I went to a community college for Equestrian Studies, worked at the ranch, and graduated early so I could start my future with her.

While in high school, Hayden did a vet tech vocational program, so when she graduated, she was a licensed tech. At nineteen and twenty-one, we thought we were ready for what life threw at us, but we were wrong. However, the experiences made me realize that life here wasn’t too bad, especially with Hayden in it.

I know I’m going to have to work hard to win her back and break through the wall she has built around her feelings about riding. Each passing day she’s not on a horse, I can see a difference in her. She might not realize it, but her family and I do. I had a conversation with her dad Michael the day after I went to look at the colt.

He’s worried about her, and he doesn’t want to see her give up on something she loved so much. So we came up with a plan, because Michael saw the affection between Hayden and the last colt left, Storm. I’m going to pick him up for a “client” and train him at my ranch, and when Hayden’s ready to get back on a horse, he’ll be waiting for her. I know she’ll be upset at us for doing this for her, but we’re here to support her. She can’t let one fall keep her from living life to the fullest.

I park beside Hayden’s truck in the driveway and look at the dash clock to see I’m almost twenty minutes early. Oops. I walk up to the door, ring the doorbell, and wait for someone to answer. A few moments pass, and the door swings open. Hayden stands in the doorway. Her strawberry blonde hair frames her sun-kissed face, and her green eyes sparkle with excitement. The blue dress she has on isn’t form fitting, but it fits where it should.

“Want to come in?”

“Sure.” I take my Stetson off and walk through the door, closing it behind me.

“I’m almost ready. Have a seat in the living room, and I’ll be right back.” She rushes upstairs, taking two at a time.

I walk into the family room—the room hasn’t changed in two years—and walk over to the fireplace mantel. Pictures of the family, including pictures of Hayden and me, decorate the area. I figured that I would be erased from the house, I assumed wrong, and I pick up the picture with me holding her after her first state championship win. She glowed with happiness. I hope to bring back that glow.

“I’m ready,” she says from behind me. I place the picture back on the mantel. “I couldn’t take them down…I tried.”

“I understand.”

“You were a big part of my life then. I can’t erase you from my past.”

“I’m glad that you’re giving me a second chance.”

“Not only you, but us. I look at these pictures daily…but not until the other day did I really look at them. We were happy, in love. Maybe I’m still naïve to want that, but I do. Granny always said, ‘Things fall apart so they can fall back together better.’ I hope this is a time her saying applies.”

“You don’t think we’re rushing back into this, do you?”

“No, you’re the only guy I’ve wanted since I was twelve years old. I’ve loved you since the first time I laid eyes on you at the rodeo when you wouldn’t give me a second glance because I was a girl. Why stop something—”

“That feels so right…”

“Yes.” She puts her arms around me, and I hold her with mine. She looks up. “Maybe it’s because I thought over and over what I would say to you if I saw you again. I played out every scenario in my head, and they weren’t nice. After my accident, I realized that you had to go, just like I had to stay here. We both were to blame for not trying. So I told myself if I was ever given a second chance with you, I was going to give it another try.”

I release her and step back, the heat between our bodies is driving me wild, and I want to do more than just hold her. Hurt shows in her eyes, but the front door opens, and the emotion fades away. The sound of boots comes toward us, and I turn around.

“Hey, Rory. I thought that was your truck,” Mrs. Bergman says as she gives me a hug. “How are your mom and dad?” the older version of Hayden asks.

“They’re busy getting ready for their first herd of cattle next week.”

“Sounds exciting. Tell them I said hi, please.”

“Will do, ma’am.”

“Have a good evening, you two. Hay, let me know if I need to leave the light on.”

“Yes, Mama.” She kisses Hayden on the cheek and pats my arm before leaving the room.

“I think that’s our cue to get out of here.”

“Yes, me too.” I take her hand, and we walk out of the house. I help her into the truck before getting in myself. It’s an hour drive to the next town over for dinner.

The conversation doesn’t stop, and it’s not one sided. The drive went by quickly and dinner even quicker—a steakhouse neither of us had been to before. It’s a perfect place to get a fresh start for our relationship.

A moonlit highway stands between me and getting Hayden into my bed. I hope I’ve been reading her body language correctly. We drive into town, and I’d better ask her to make sure.

“Am I taking you home or to my place?”

“Your parents’?”

“No, my house…”

“Your house?”

“Oh, I thought you knew.” Smooth, dumbass. How did you forget to tell her that? “You know the ranch next to my parents’ place?”

“Old man Miller’s?”

“Yes, that’s the place. He sold it to me for a good price. He and his wife are staying in the guest house until their house is finished in Florida.”

“I was wondering what they were going to do with their place since they didn’t have any children and their family moved away.”

“It’s not a big place, only a few hundred acres. People want land these days, but that’s enough for training horses.”

“Are you going to move the business to your place then?”

“Eventually. I don’t want to jump the gun in case Dad hates cattle.”

“That’s probably smart.”

“So…my place or home?”

She bites her lip as she thinks. “Yours.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

I turn in the opposite direction from her house and head to the county road that takes us to my house. She pulls out her cell phone, I’m assuming to text her mama to let her know she won’t be home. The conversation has stopped, but anticipation has taken its place. I can’t wait to get home.

The two-story plantation style home is dark when we pull up, but motion-activated lights turn on when I pull in front of the garage. I press the button, the garage opens, and I pull in. Hayden takes a deep, nervous breath, and I look over at her.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I’ll never force you.”

“I, um…I know. I’m nervous…”

“It’s okay, darlin’. So am I, to be honest. I don’t want to screw this up.”

She gives me a small smile, and I get out of the truck, helping her out. Once inside, I take her purse and place it on the kitchen table.

“Want something to drink? Water, beer, or Coke?”

“Beer works.” I grab two.

“I’ll give you quick tour of the house…There’s not much here since I just moved in a few weeks ago. Maggie has been trying to come over to decorate, but I don’t want my sister’s design ideas in my house.”

She laughs. “I understand. It would be like me decorating Matt’s place. I would purposely put up stuff that would make women run the other way.”

“That’s exactly what Maggie would do.” I show her the downstairs and tell her about the upstairs. I don’t want to be pushy or assume that’s where this is heading.

“The house is gorgeous. I’m proud of you,” she says as we sit down on the couch.

“Thank you.” I saved every penny I could from the time I was eighteen until now to buy a house without a huge lien, and that’s what I did. “Want to watch a movie?”

“Not really. I’m enjoying you. I don’t need the distraction.”

She places her beer bottle on the table and straddles me.

“Oh, hello.”

“Hey.” She grins mischievously. “Are you going to show me your bedroom?”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Yes. Just be gentle because I don’t know if my shoulder can handle much pressure.”

“You got it.” She moves off me, and I stand, pick her up, and carry her upstairs.

My room is a blank canvas, waiting to be painted. I haven’t decided what I wanted to do to it quite yet. Maybe I can get suggestions from Hayden.

I turn the switch on with my elbow, and my unmade bed comes in view. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company…”

“You’re fine as long as you’re the only one who’s been in those sheets,” she smarts off as I sit her on the side of the bed.

“Yes, ma’am, and in the bed too. Well, you’ve been in this bed.” I smirk.

“Oh, this is your bed from your parents’?”

“Yeah.”

Hayden’s bravado fades, and her posture slumps.

“Hay, what’s wrong? We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to…”

“It’s not that, definitely not that. My body isn’t what it used to be. I have scars…”

“They don’t make me think any different of you…”

“You might once you see them. They’re gross.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

I kick off my boots and unbutton my shirt, and she watches my movements. I undress down to my boxers, get on my knees in front of her, and help her stand up. Hayden’s body trembles under my touch with bated breath. I slide my hands under her dress and caress the skin underneath. Goose bumps appear under my fingertips as I rub down her sides and legs.

The hem of the dress is a loose ruffle, and I gently grab it, pulling the garment over my head. Hayden stands before me in boots and lacy panties. No bra. My dick instantly tents the loose material of my boxers. She tries to cover her body, but I stop her.

“You’re beautiful…” I kiss the red scars on her collarbone, and she turns around. Two other scars line her back, but they aren’t ugly, just red from healing. She turns back around. “And I think you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on…”

She gives me a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Still okay?”

“Yes.”

I grab her by the waist and lay her on the bed, removing her boots and panties. The smell of her arousal permeates the air, and I can’t wait to be inside of her. I grab a condom out of my drawer, and she shoots me a look as I remove my boxers. I smirk. I was feeling optimistic.

I take in her body in my bed, because this is where we were our first time. She was my first kiss, my first love, my first everything. Maybe that’s why I compare everyone to her. We were perfect for each other, and I hope that is the case still.

Foreplay isn’t one of my fortes, but I don’t want to jump her and it be over in two pumps. She has me keyed up. Ready to pounce and conquer, but she isn’t the type to be conquered. Hayden needs to be savored. I straddle her and massage her body, from her toes all the way to her neck. She tenses when I rub her shoulders. I didn’t mean to be rough; my eagerness is getting the best of me.

I make my way down to her sex, and she parts her legs, giving me access. She’s reaching for me, wanting to return the pleasure, but this is all for her right now. I lick her hot center and latch onto her clit, causing her to moan out in pleasure. I don’t let go as I place a finger in her heat and gently work it in rhythm with my mouth. I add another finger, and she bucks into my face. She’s wet and ready. I roll over, grabbing the condom off the bed and rolling it on.

Instead of missionary, I pull her on top of me. I don’t want to hurt her anymore.

“Is this okay?”

Her shyness returns.

“Hayden?”

“Yes.”

I grab her waist, and with her help, I align myself to her sex. She slowly takes me in, and she whimpers in delight as she adjusts to the fullness. I lift her up and slide her back down my cock, stretching her with each stroke. Hayden’s fingers find her clit, and she rubs it in rhythm with my strokes as her orgasm builds.

“Oh, yeah, darlin’. That’s hot.” She flashes the smirk of a vixen and continues to grind on my cock as I thrust in and out of her.

She tightens around me, on the cusp of coming undone. I don’t stop my pace and thrust her up and down as she comes on my cock, and her tightness pulls me over the edge with her. My body tenses as I pour myself into her, and my vision speckles as I gasp for air as I forgot to breathe.

Hayden lies down on me, kissing my lips before she rests her head on my chest. I don’t want to move, this is perfect, and I caress her backside with my hands, so silky smooth. I don’t want to let her go…

 

Chapter Five

 

 

Hayden

 

For a little over three months, Rory and I have been whatever you want to call this. I haven’t spent a night away from him since our date. He’s been very honest about what he wants, but he hasn’t been pushy about it. That’s why our relationship doesn’t have a label. Am I his girlfriend? That’s how he introduces me, but it’s not official because it doesn’t need to be. I’m happy, and I think he is too.

After work today, I’m meeting him at his parents’ ranch, because he has something to show me. I have no idea what it could be, and I hope while I’m there I can see Storm. Rory picked him up a few weeks ago for his client. He didn’t say much about him after he got him. I hope he’s okay.

Today’s paperwork is light, and it allows me to daydream more than I should. I don’t realize I’m not alone until someone clears their throat.

“Oh. Hi, Daddy.”

“Hey. Everything okay?”

“Yes, couldn’t be better.”

“Good to hear. So…are things with you and Rory getting serious again?”

“Um…yes…not really. We’re taking it slow and seeing where it goes.”

“You know our view on living with someone and not being married.” I try not to roll my eyes, but I couldn’t stop it. “I know you think it’s old fashioned, but it prevents a lot of problems.”

“I’m not living with him. I spend the night. My belongings are here.”

“People talk.”

“Well, they need to mind their own business. If something did happen, I’d like to believe that Rory and I are mature enough to handle it. I don’t want to rush into anything, but I don’t want to be away from him either.”

“Okay. I don’t have to like it, but I do love you.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“I have a problem that I hope you can help me out with, though.”

“What is it?”

“I need help finding a horse that got out of the training arena.”

My body stills, and panic rises in my throat. I don’t want to get on a horse.

“I, umm…” My palms sweat.

“You can take the Gator out.”

“Oh, yeah,” I say, calming my frantically beating heart. I wipe my palms on my jeans and get up from my chair.

“The guys are ready, I think you might be able to cover more ground with the Gator, and I checked the gas, so it’s ready to go.”

“Thanks.” I walk out of the office behind my dad. The Gator is out by the stable. This isn’t how I planned to spend my afternoon, and I hope we find the horse before it gets too late.

 

 

Darkness falls, and the horse still hasn’t been located. I text Rory to let him know what was going on, and he and his sister came over to help us. This search isn’t going like I thought it would. I was hoping we’d be finished and I’d be home with Rory, but I was wrong.

I don’t know how much gas the Gator has left, because the gas gauge is broken. I should have gone back the stable before it got dark. I can have someone bring me gas if I run out since I have my phone.

The last hundred acres has a river running along the edge, and I hope this is where the horse is located. I shine the light along the bank, nothing so far. I go down the bank further and shine the light again. Nothing. I give the Gator gas, and it dies. I try to restart it, and it cranks over but doesn’t start. I pick up my phone and call Rory for help.

“I’m behind you,” he says from a few horse lengths back.

“The Gator is out of gas.”

“It’s late. I think it would better if you would ride back and we get out tomorrow.”

My body tenses at his suggestion. I can’t. “I’ll wait for gas.”

“Darlin’…I know you don’t want to, but you need to. You can ride with me…”

“I can’t.” He gets off his horse and sits beside me.

“Hayden, I know the accident has you spooked. I can understand that, but you need to try and get back on a horse. I can see it physically pains you not to ride. I can see it every time you’re around a horse.”

“I don’t want another horse hurt because of me.”

“The accident wasn’t your fault.”

“It was. If I wouldn’t have run him so hard, he would still be able to race.”

“You don’t know that for sure. You can’t blame yourself, because that isn’t fair to you.”

My insides tremble with fear. I can’t do it.

“Hayden, look at me.” Rory places his fingers under my chin, lifting my view up to his eyes. The glow of the moonlight lights his face. “I’ll hold you tight and make sure nothing happens.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can try my damnedest.”

“I’m not ready.”

“Darlin’, I know you might not be, but I’m here. I’ll protect you as much as I can. It’s getting late, and I would like to get you home. Please, trust me.”

My chest heaves as I try to breathe. I suck in a deep breath in effort to get oxygen to my lungs. I can do this. I can do this. I keep repeating in my head. Rory is here, and he will keep my safe…I can do this.

I nod at Rory, letting him know that I trust him…trust him to keep me safe, and I get out of the Gator. My hands shake as my body begs me to gain control of my breathing. Rory gets on his horse and holds out a hand to help me get up in front of him. I close my eyes, step up, and sit down. I try not to wiggle too much because my butt is right on his crotch.

Calmness takes over my body, and my mind is at peace. Rory wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me back into him. I let my body melt into his as he controls the horse and begins the journey back to the stables.

The moon is high in sky when we arrive. The missing horse hasn’t been located, and the search will resume tomorrow at daylight. My nerves are shot from riding, but I’m at peace with it. I’ve missed riding so much, but I didn’t realize how much. Everyone was right…I really needed to get back on a horse, but I’m not ready to race one. I might not ever be ready to do that.

As the night fades into morning, I lie awake in Rory’s bed. I need to get to my parents’ to resume the search for the horse, but I don’t want to get out of bed. I want to spend the day doing nothing. My body is sore from riding. Soreness I had missed. My thighs are tender from the pressure the pommel put on them during the ride home.

“Morning, darlin’. How you feeling?” Rory says as he pulls me into him, his hard cock poking me in the back.

“Sore and tired.”

“I’m sorry. Do I need to rub anywhere?”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay. I need to head back to my parents’.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Are you going to ride…?”

“No, Mable has a sore hoof. I’m not going to ride someone else’s horse. I don’t know if I want to ride alone.”

“Okay…just don’t give up on yourself.”

“I know.” I turn over and kiss him on the lips.

“I think I know a way to stretch your body out so you’re not so sore.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” He smirks and kisses me hard.

His kisses consume my thoughts, and I fall deep into his spell. I hear the crinkle of the condom wrapper. I know exactly what his plan is, and I let him take me. As he claims me, I fall for him even more, and I know that I want him to be my forever…

 

Chapter Six

 

 

Rory

 

A few days later, the crazy horse appeared, nothing wrong with him, just thirsty. I guess he had to get out and experience life beyond the stable. Too bad we all spent two days looking for him, and I had to change up my plans for Hayden.

That Friday, I had planned to use Storm in my proposal for her hand. I know we haven’t been back together long. Hell, we haven’t officially been anything, but I don’t care. Plus, her dad gave me his blessing…only after the “you better make an honest girl out of my daughter” speech.

So I’ll try again this afternoon.

Everything is set up, our families will be here, and Storm’s training has been going perfectly. If Hayden doesn’t want to race him, she doesn’t have to. He loves to ride at any pace.

I made a small sign for his neck that reads ‘Marry Me.’ The one-carat diamond princess cut ring has been in my pocket for a few weeks. I bought it after our first weekend together. I knew Hayden was it. She’s the one that I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with. That’s why I didn’t rush her, but I know she realizes it now too, especially in the past few weeks.

She glows when she sees me or comes home…our home. I hope it will be after tonight. Hayden was the missing piece of my life, and now she’s back in it, I’m complete again. I’m happy…so happy, and I hope I can make her happy for the rest of our lives.

My phone dings with a new text as I replay what I want to say in my mind.

 

Hayden: I’m on my way over. See you in 20. LU.

 

Me. I’m in the arena. LU2.

 

I send out a group text to everyone to let them know she’s on her way, so they can get here too. They’ve all worked out how to get here and where to go so Hayden doesn’t get too suspicious.

Our family begins to filter in and hide behind the seating where Hayden shouldn’t be able to see them until they want to be seen. Our parents arrive, and my dad gives me a thumbs up. Nerves flutter in my stomach. I know I shouldn’t be nervous, but I am.

A few minutes later, Hayden walks in the door, looking around.

“Did I see my parents’ truck out there?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I smirk.

“What’s going on? You still have Storm?” She walks over and moves the sign around on his neck. “Marry Me?” Her eyes go big, and she looks at me.

Here goes nothing, and I get down on one knee. “Hayden Elaine Bergman, I’ve loved you since I found out what love is. My life isn’t complete unless you are in it. I love you, and you are my everything, my forever. Will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?” I place the ring before her.

Her hands go to her lips as tears fall down her face. She nods yes. “Yes, Rory, yes,” she yells out. I place the diamond ring on her finger, stand up, and hug her tight.

Our families hoot and holler from the stands and walk into the arena.

“Congratulations,” echoes through the stable, and hugs are swapped between both families…This is the happiest day of my life.

 

 

Hayden and I got married a year later, and I thought time would slow down and we’d be able to enjoy each other more. I was wrong, so wrong. Time went by even faster. Hayden and Storm became an inseparable team. They worked hard for months, and Hayden got the courage up to race again. They only competed in one race. She wanted to get over her fear of being hurt when competing. They finished second in the event, and I couldn’t be prouder of her.

Not too bad for being out of the circuit for almost two years. Barney is still around, he doesn’t move as fast as he used to, but he fully recovered and is living a comfortable life with us. His recovery helped Hayden heal too.

We moved the training business to our ranch, and my parents sold me a few hundred acres from their ranch, so we could have whatever we wanted with our business, including adding livestock. Soon after Hayden retired from racing, she became pregnant, and we welcomed twins into our family.

They are now five, Raylee and Rylann, and they want to be exactly like their mom when they grow up. The girls watched Hayden ride and train horses to race. They know how to handle horses, but I won’t tell Hayden how nervous it makes me seeing them on a horse—I can’t. It would go against everything I said to her as she overcame her fear of riding again.

Eight years ago, if someone had told me I would be married to Hayden with two beautiful daughters, I would have laughed in their face. I thought she hated me, but we needed time apart to grow back together. I’m thankful for second chances, and I’m glad Hayden gave me one.

About the Author

 

A. Gorman was born and raised in a small community in Central Indiana. She left the slow-moving life of the country for the fast-paced city life. After spending twelve years in the city and becoming a mother to two wild and crazy kids, she chose to move back to the peace and quiet of the country after following her love to his hometown.

As an avid reader, A. never set out to be an author. However, after editing for a client one day, a voice started talking to her and talking and talking. She decided to sit down and write what she had to say, and it turned out she had a lot to say. That one voice turned to two, and another story came to life. Now she’s the proud author of the Their Sins series, Love, With All My Heart, Unwanted Fate, and four short stories with several more series and standalones planned.

When she’s not out in the garden, you can find her at her desk writing her next novel with a cup of coffee and classical music cranked up in her headphones. While she loves reading, A. is addicted to all things British, coffee, and gummy bears—in no particular order.

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A. Gorman Website:

 

 

By Camille Taylor

 

 

Chapter 1

 

 

“I think I killed him.”

Jarrod Bowman blinked. He stood with his best friend, Abby Kildare, at the front door, darkness enveloping her, her unfocused eyes and serious expression highlighted in the soft glow coming from inside his house behind him. His heart damn near stopped as he noticed the cut on her forehead, intersecting her eyebrow. The blood staining her waitressing shirt had dread twisting knots in his belly.

Her toneless voice chilled him, as did the vacant gaze. He pulled her to him and cursed silently as his grip found icy skin, despite the dry heat of the night. She came willing, though he doubted she was aware of anything at the moment, her body trembling against him.

“What’s happened?” He forced the words out of his suddenly dry mouth.

“He’s dead. He’s dead.” Silent tears escaped. “I killed him.”

To him, it didn’t take a genius to figure out who “he” was. Abby constantly fought with her emotionally abusive stepfather, a man she’d lived with since she’d been seven.

“Slow down, Abs. Tell me what happened.”

While she rambled a bunch of nonsensical words, he scrutinized her body, searching for tell-tale signs the blood covering her was her own. None could be found. A small ball of relief unfurled in his belly.

Her head fell against his chest, and her body shook, her knees collapsing so his arm around her waist was the only thing keeping her upright.

Shit! What the hell was he to do? If something had happened to old Hank that night, he couldn’t say he’d be torn up about it. The man was a class A prick. While he questioned Abby’s declaration, too in shock to make sense, the blood was very much real, the copper scent curdling his stomach.

She repeated her confession over and over, filling the once-quiet house with a cold, emotionless drone.

Outside, the twinkling lights decorating the back patio taunted him with their brightness in such a dark time.

“I killed him.” Her voice died off. A hand had fisted in his shirt, twisting the fabric in distress. The trembling kicked up a notch, the heavy shudders terrifying him.

After picking up his landline with his free hand, he dialed the main line for the local police and relayed the bare minimum facts to Harley Lowe, the small station’s only officer. If there was a chance the old coot was still breathing, he was honor bound to help—if only to keep Abby’s conscience clean.

With a promise to keep Abby with him until Harley could investigate, he hung up.

His gaze dropped to Abby’s head. He picked up the fruity apple and cinnamon shampoo she used and the stronger scent of fatty oils and coffee from her job at the roadhouse by the highway.

Now what was he going to do? This situation was well out of his depth. He was a farmer, not a counselor or cop. But Abby had no one else. Probably why in her shock, she’d automatically come to him. She’d been damn lucky not to twist an ankle in a rabbit hole or fall into the dam on her way from Hank’s neighboring house to his property.

Rubbing his hand up and down her arm, a protective surge raced through him. Whatever had happened tonight, he wasn’t going to abandon Abby.

His shirt where she laid her head was damp from tears. A sharp pain pierced his heart. Abby never cried. And she’d had plenty of reasons to in the past. Her mother’s death, being made to stay with Hank, Hank’s continual verbal beat down. But not his Abby. She’d always had a stiff back and her head held high.

“It’s going to be all right, Abs.”

He didn’t expect an answer so wasn’t surprised when there was no acknowledgement to his words. He needed to get her clean, so any further injuries could present themselves. Relieved at having a plan for the woman in his arms, he shuffled her to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

As steam filled the small glass cubicle and spilled out into the 1930s bathroom, he ran his stiff fingers through his hair. Now what? He hadn’t thought this through, not thinking what he’d do if she failed to cooperate.

Shit.

Turning to Abby, he mentally put on his big boy boots and began undressing her, thankful she was still in shock. Despite knowing her since kindergarten, it still felt like he was crossing a boundary.

After heeling his boots off, he stepped in behind her, keeping his gaze firmly on the tiled wall. His shirt and the hem of his jeans were saturated within seconds as he held her upright, her back to his chest. Blowing out a deep breath, he began running the soapy washcloth over her body as impersonally as he would tend to one of his animals.

They’d skinny dipped before, so this wasn’t the first time she’d been naked around him, though they had been ten then, but this time he was conscious of the dips, curves, and rises.

Swallowing hard, he tilted her head toward the spray and gently cleaned her cut, washing away the dried blood from her forehead and chest where it had seeped through her shirt and onto her skin.

He spoke in soft tones, verbalizing his actions so as not to frighten her, though he wasn’t sure how much of the situation she might be taking in. Still, hopefully his voice would snap her out of her daze.

Inadvertently, his fingertip brushed a turgid nipple, and his body tightened. He cursed his unrepentant body and briefly closed his eyes. He—they—didn’t need this right now. Abby needed him. His untimely libido could go take a flying leap. He shifted his mind from recalling how the nipple had stiffened further as though readying itself for his mouth and focused on their situation, the blood which drenched Abby’s shirt.

What the hell had happened? Where had all the blood come from? His stomach clenched, knowing it wasn’t hers. Which only left one answer. One he didn’t want to contemplate.

When the water ran clear, he lifted Abby out and toweled her dry before grabbing the nearest shirt he could find and pulling her arms through, the hem reaching mid-thigh. Scooping her up, he carried her into the kitchen and placed her in a wooden chair.

He shivered, despite the warm air circulating the house, the soaked shirt now cool against his chest.

Pouring two fingers of scotch, he held the glass to Abby’s lips, and like an obedient child, she followed his spoken directions and drank. She coughed, her body jerking from the burn. Hopefully the hard liquor would absorb the shock and ease the tension the hot shower hadn’t.

After tending to her cut, dabbing antiseptic ointment on the wound, he covered it with a butterfly bandage. All the while, he continued to explain what he was doing. He hoisted her into his arms and carried her into his bedroom, the only room which had a bed, and laid her gently on the mattress, where she immediately drew her knees up to her stomach. Quiet sounds of distress escaped her lips.

She looked so desolate. Her body shuddered, sending a sharp poker straight through his heart.

At a loss for what to do, he stripped out of his damp shirt and jeans, remaining in his boxers, and climbed in beside her, curling his large frame around hers protectively, and gave her what little comfort he could. All the while, a million and one questions darted about his head.

The most insistent: Had she really killed old Hank?

 

Chapter 2

 

 

Jarrod woke to the scent of an apple pie, antiseptic, and a loud banging on his front door. He shifted, and a body rolled into him—a female body. The previous night came rushing back, and he was awake quicker than ever. Abby. Blood. Abby’s confession.

He glanced at the woman in question, a frown marring her brow even in sleep, her pink lips parted, and her breathing soft and even.

Dark eyelashes rested against honey-toned skin, speckled with the odd freckle or two.

He really hoped she hadn’t killed the old bugger. He could fix her car, take her to the prom, and distract her from her ass of a stepfather, but he couldn’t save her from whatever came next if she’d taken a life.

Cursing himself, he dressed quickly in clothes he found on the floor and headed to the door. He could’ve prevented this. If only he’d stood up to Hank and told him to leave her alone. He shuddered thinking about what the bastard had done. For Abby to defend herself—and there was no doubt in his mind that that’s what she’d done—Hank had to have done something extremely horrible where she’d had to fight for her life.

Bile rose. He’d failed his best friend. He knew what type of man her stepfather was, and he’d done nothing to encourage her to leave.

He opened the door as Harley rose his fist to knock again. He studied the other man’s face, the harsh lines and morning stubble. He looked like he’d been up all night and no doubt had been.

A cold fist curled inside his belly. That didn’t bode well for Abby…or Hank.

“Come on in, Harley. I’ll make some coffee.”

“Appreciated.”

Harley stepped inside. Only ten years older than Jarrod, he maintained his health and fitness on his own farm west of town, the small community not requiring a full-time cop.

Hitting the button on the kettle, he fumbled around with the mugs and prepared the coffee while he tried to sort himself out. Abby needed him, and he needed to be thinking clearly.

Harley didn’t give him time to prepare. “I need to talk to Abby.”

The protective surge zapped to life. “She’s sleeping.”

“No, I’m not.”

He glanced toward the doorway that led from the kitchen to the hall and further on to the bedrooms at the back of the house. Abby stood nervously, her teeth worrying her lower lip. Her eyes were darkened by shadows. She still wore his shirt, having nothing to change into, her long legs spilling out from beneath the hem and her auburn hair a tangle of knots. Her arms hugged her body.

“How are you, Abby?”

Her gaze moved from Harley’s to his before drifting back. The fear in her hazel eyes left him feeling shattered. He crossed to her and placed a supporting hand on her shoulder, giving her a quick squeeze. She smiled gratefully, and together they approached Harley.

She wet her lips. “I’m fine, Harley.”

Jarrod pulled out a chair and maneuvered her into it before turning back and finishing the coffees, taking down another mug from the cabinet for Abby.

When he was done, he placed them down on the table and took a seat beside her.

“Can you tell me what happened last night, Abby?”

Harley, he noted, spoke softly, like he was dealing with a skittish mare, and he was thankful the man had waited until he joined them to begin his questioning.

Abby needed people on her side. People who gave a crap. He sensed it was about to get a lot worse before it got better.

She swallowed. “I don’t remember much. Just coming home from work. I barely made it inside before Hank went off about how messy the house was. It wasn’t, though. But he’d been like that all week.”

“Like what?”

“Spoiling for a fight. I’m careful about not giving him any ammunition. But lately he’d been drinking more and yelling for no reason.”

Jarrod snorted. Like Hank needed a reason. He was simply a bitter old man who liked terrorizing the one person who ever cared about him. God knew why. Abby was just the type of person to care about everyone and probably too afraid to leave him unattended lest he drink himself to death.

Harley shot him a quelling look. He nodded his head in answer. He would try not to make any further comments.

“So he was yelling at you?”

“At me. At the world. Who knows? I shouldn’t have, but I sassed him. Told him to go to hell. That’s when he threw his beer bottle at me. Hit me in the head.”

She raised her hand and touched her forehead, pulling back in surprise when her fingertips grazed the bandage. The area around had inflamed, but not alarmingly so, and held a purple tinge.

He pushed back his anger. He’d not known Hank to be a violent drunk…though he knew he could tear anyone to shreds with his words. He’d been the perfect emotional abuser.

“That’s when it all goes blurry.”

His hand curled around his mug so tight that the porcelain burned his palm and he thought it might break.

A soft hand covered his, and he glanced down. Anger and humiliation warred. He should be the one comforting her, not the other way around. He wasn’t the one who had been injured by a man who should by all rights protect and love her.

Letting go of the mug, he turned his hand and held hers in a show of solidarity. He was on her side, now, forever, and always.

She seemed to gather strength from his small action and continued, “When I woke, it was dark and cold, and there was a horrid smell. I stumbled…found the light switch…”

Her breathing changed, became erratic. He shifted closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“It’s okay, Abby. Take your time.”

Her face sought cover in his neck, her breath fanning on his skin before the Abby he knew turned back to Harley, back straight, gaze steady. That was his girl. Nothing kept her down long.

“Hank was on the floor. Blood everywhere. I tried to help him. Do CPR. His eyes…what did I do to him?”

So he was dead. He’d been hoping differently. If only to save her the pain. Her distress washed over him in waves. Tidal waves. Endless in their flow, pulling him under until his lungs burned for fear of drowning.

Jarrod forced his brain past the emotions burying him. He needed to think clearly, rationally. He cleared his throat.

“Without an attorney, you can’t use that.”

Harley’s impassive gaze found his. “He was shot, Abby. Did Hank own a gun?”

“Yes.”

She nodded, unaware she was digging her own grave. He squeezed her shoulder hard, and she yelped.

“No more questions.” His voice was a sharp whip.

Abby shook her head. “No. I want to know. He kept a gun in the corner. I touched it once. Hank caught me. I was eleven. He almost broke my wrist. I never touched it again.”

She’d never told him that. Now it made him wonder what else his best friend hadn’t told him. Had last night been the first time Hank had been physically violent, or had she covered for the old man, knowing he wouldn’t have tolerated Hank laying a finger on her? The bastard may have been able to push around a girl much smaller than him, but Jarrod had been his height and weighed forty pounds more at fifteen. Plus, he had the added advantage of not having a liquid diet.

“No, he usually expressed his anger in words.”

Jarrod tuned back to hear Abby’s reply. Harley, too, appeared to be interested in that morsel. The cop surveyed her arms, his gaze running over her exposed skin. A prickle of unease had his muscles tightening. Not in a protective way, but something else.

His breathing returned to normal as Harley stood.

“Am I under arrest? Do you have to take me in?”

He focused his attention on Abby. Her voice broke again. She looked so fragile. He rubbed a thread of hair at the nape of her neck between his thumb and forefinger. Soft like silk. He also knew from memory the color burned like a wildfire in the sunshine.

“We’re not sure what happened last night. We’ll continue to investigate until we have all the answers. Until then, I advise you not to leave town. You’ll also be unable to return home until the residence has been released. For now, it’ll remain a crime scene.”

Abby paled.

He wasn’t sure what to do to help her. Except…“She’ll be here.”

Her bottom lip took a beating. “I promise.”

Harley nodded. “I’m really sorry, Abby, for your loss. Hank was a difficult man, but I know you cared about him. Whatever the investigation uncovers, I’ll remember that.”

 

 

The door slammed after Officer Lowe. The severity of the situation hit Abby hard, leaving her almost unable to breathe. She had awoken when Jarrod rolled from the bed, his familiarity easing some of the confusion she’d been swamped in. She’d wanted to hide beneath the covers, the bedsheets still holding his heat. But more importantly, she wanted to know what happened to Hank. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. And if she’d had anything to do with it like she suspected.

Hank was dead. What would she do now? She might not have a choice in the matter.

Panic collected in her belly, and with each passing second, the intensity of it grew until she was almost swallowed by the tsunami of coppery fear.

Had she killed Hank? Today, she couldn’t believe it, but last night she’d been adamant. She remembered that much, walking through the cold night, the wind howling about her ears and her voice persistent inside her head, words on repeat. I killed him.

The scrape of a chair against the floorboards had her jumping. She’d forgotten Jarrod sitting beside her.

“No more talking to Harley without a lawyer. Am I understood?”

The warning was clear in his voice.

Frowning, she stared up at him. “You think I killed him.”

That hurt. He was her oldest friend. Over twenty-five years and he didn’t know her at all. Why she was upset she couldn’t say. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t questioned herself. But hearing it from his mouth felt like a betrayal.

It didn’t make sense, yet nothing of the past twenty-four hours did.

A headache pounded. She rubbed her temple.

“What I think, honey, is that if you did kill Hank, there was a damn good reason. That you were protecting yourself.”

If you did. Her heartache eased. If there was a time she needed him on her side, it was now.

His dark gaze held her captive. “Why didn’t you tell me it had gotten worse?”

She inspected her nails. “Because I knew what you’d say.”

“I’d have told you to leave him to rot.”

He handed her two aspirins and a glass of water. She choked them down and drank the last of the water before placing the glass in the sink.

“Exactly. I couldn’t do that.”

“He didn’t deserve your loyalty.”

A swipe against her cheek wiped the errant tear away. “I know.”

She couldn’t explain why she stayed. Except that in a way she loved him. He was an old cantankerous prick, but he was also the only father she’d known, her own leaving well before she’d been born.

That and she knew he’d have ended up in a bad way if she’d left. Not that she’d prevented that.

“He’s not worth your tears.”

Abby swallowed with difficulty. “I know. Thank you for being there for me. For taking care of me.”

A sudden memory appeared. A flash, nothing more. His hands on her naked flesh. Her cheeks heated at what he may have seen. She tried to be adult about it, that he was concerned, not ogling her body. Not that she should care. Her body wasn’t too bad, maybe a little too curvy, having been a bit liberal with the bacon and fried chips, but thankfully working at the roadhouse, on her feet all day, kept most of the calories from her hips and ass.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. She melted against him.

“You’re welcome, Abs. I’m glad you came to me.”

She hadn’t been conscious of where she’d been going last night. It appeared she’d headed toward him on autopilot, knowing she would find a safe haven.

 

Chapter 3

 

 

Abby blinked at the sudden light as she stepped outside. Adjusting the wide-brimmed hat she’d found on the peg beside the back door, she glanced around the yard, searching for Jarrod.

The stinging bite from the sun penetrated her cotton shirt. Heat rose from the ground, the air hot and suffocating, providing no relief.

She tugged at her waistband, the old denim unapologetic.

“Hey, handsome. Where’s Jarrod?”

Thunder, a purebred with glossy cocoa fur, trotted toward her as she neared the corral where he’d been placed for exercise.

He was a handsome beast, much like his owner. And like his owner, when it came to her, he didn’t have many boundaries. He sniffed at her pockets, much as a police officer would pat down a suspect. Thunder’s ears flickered when he didn’t find what he was looking for.

She gave him a pat, his short fur soft against her palm.

“Sorry, Thun. I don’t have an apple for you today.”

The stallion snorted and shook his head at her, admonishing her for the oversight.

A smile stretched her lips as she rubbed her hand down his nose. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Stop spoiling my horse.” Jarrod appeared from behind the barn, the muscles of his back playing beneath the tight confines of his shirt as he shifted the hay bales he carried into the bed of his truck. Her gaze lingered, sweeping over the rest of his deliciousness. Toned thighs, wide shoulders, hard chest, chiseled jaw with a couple days’ growth, and sun-kissed skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. His dark hair, currently shielded by a Stetson, was cropped short, and his chocolate eyes reflected concern and friendship, which set her heart pounding.

Abby had trouble finding her voice. “Jealous? I’ll bring you an apple too, if you’d like. Now, what can I do to help?”

She tugged on her shirt, barely breathing in it and the old pair of jeans she wore, leftovers from a sleepover a decade ago she guessed by the tightness of fabric around her bust and hips.

“Wouldn’t want you to get dirty before work.”

Her gaze skittered away. “They told me to take the day off.”

“They’re probably just being considerate. Don’t read anything into it.”

He knew her too well. She had been thinking they wanted to distance themselves from a potential murderer. Even she questioned herself.

Still, it stung.

She’d already cleaned up from breakfast, and Jarrod wasn’t like Hank; there’d been no mess to tidy. Now she had too much time on her hands.

“I guess.”

Even to her own ears, she didn’t sound convinced.

“Well, I could use some help checking the back paddock. Had a few fences down of late.”

Nodding eagerly, Abby trailed behind him as he retrieved Thunder from the corral. She flushed as he vaulted into the saddle of his stallion, his muscles rippling. He held out his hand. As they’d done time and time before, she took his offer, placing her foot on top of his in the stirrups and allowing herself to be hoisted behind him. Using one hand around his waist as an anchor, she settled in as the horse began a slow trot.

Abby shuddered at the feeling of his strong thighs pressed against hers, his muscles flexing as he directed the horse. The moisture in her mouth dried.

Inhaling man, spice, sweat, and horse, she widened her senses to encompass the scent of earth, livestock, and the lavender Jarrod’s mother had planted around the house many years before retiring out west.

Closing her eyes, she tilted her chin toward the sky, her face heating beneath the sun’s hot rays. A warm breeze tickled at the curls framing her face that were too short to fit in her ponytail.

She loved this town, the people, and the life she’d built, little though it was.

She knew nothing else. Born and bred here, she’d die here too, but where would she be? In a prison cell?

All her good feelings left with a whoosh, and uncertainty filled her, knotting her belly.

“Abby.” The warning growl in his voice said he’d felt the bleakness of her thoughts and the tension ratcheting up her body.

Shaking her head to clear her morose thoughts, she sat up straighter, her fingers clutching at Jarrod’s stomach when she almost lost her seat. He caught her leg with his hand as though that alone would keep her astride the horse.

Her heart leaped into her throat, and her eyes slammed shut at the feeling of his hand, the heat seeping through the denim. A tell-tale throb began, as though directly linked to his touch, impersonal as it were. She squirmed, his large body between her legs blocking her from squeezing her thighs together to find relief. She stared at his back and focused on breathing and not on the man she’d known practically all her life and now suddenly saw him as the last ice cream bar in the supermarket during a heatwave.

When they arrived at the far west edge of the property, Jarrod slowed the horse, then deftly slid from the saddle and reached to help her down with strong, capable hands to her waist. He planted her safely on the even ground.

Abby threw herself into her tasks. A sense of peace enveloped her as she became too busy helping Jarrod. They worked side by side, arms brushing, electrifying her skin better than a current from the nearby fence. Things she’d never noticed before, like his scent and the heat of his body, engaged her thoughts. The way said body moved elicited images in her head that had no right to be there.

Her face burned, embarrassed by the turn her thoughts had taken. She should be trying to recall what had happened to Hank, but all she could focus on was Jarrod and their changing relationship, frustration tinging at the edge at not being able to recall the night Hank died. Her fear was that she wouldn’t remember—or worse—that she would.

Abby didn’t see it coming, but suddenly her clothes were wet and Jarrod stood with an empty bucket.

She gasped, more surprised than anything else. “What the hell did you do that for?”

“Thought you could cool off.”

“Oh, really? What about you?”

She ran toward him, but he ducked away, laughing. Abby followed, determined she’d get him. She caught him around the middle, and they both went down in the mud where the excess water had mixed with the soil.

Landing on top, the air was knocked from her lungs. He struggled beneath her, unexpectedly flipping her over onto her back.

He leaned back, straddling her thighs, and grinned, flashing white teeth. She scowled when he held up a handful of mud pulled from the earth and hovered it above her face.

The strong scent of wet dirt tickled her nostrils.

“Don’t you dare!”

She knew he would do it. That was just Jarrod.

Abby squirmed as the cool, thick paste was smeared across her cheek.

He would pay.

He’d taught her a few tricks to discourage overzealous truckers. Jarrod was not exactly thrilled when she took the waitressing job at the roadhouse. He was worried about her dealing with the rough and raggedy crowd who frequented it. She wouldn’t go as far as actually hurting him, but a few nips wouldn’t hurt.

Jarrod bowed when she sent a fist to his stomach. Shaking off the numbness from the impact, Abby used his diverted attention to roll him off her.

The moment he hit the ground, Abby pulled his arm high behind his back and applied pressure with her knee to keep him down.

He blew out a breath, the dusty paddock grains fluttering on the rush of air dancing before him.

“Using my teachings against me?”

“Uh-huh.” She let him loose, panting slightly. Putting Jarrod on his ass took effort, and he easily outweighed her.

He rose to his knees. She caught his ear and twisted. That one she’d learned from his mother.

“Jesus, Abby. I surrender.” She let him go, and he backed away. “You play dirty.” He glanced down at her shirt and smirked. Abby followed his gaze. Mud had absorbed into the cotton.

“Serves you right.”

Swiping at her cheek, she did little more than spread it around.

“Let me try.” He took pity on her and helped. Her skin rejoiced. She may not be a girly girl, but still she hated the feeling of mud caked to her body.

“Now back to work. Still lots more to do.”

“I wasn’t the one making mud pies.”

He smiled at the memory. “You needed to lighten up.”

She rubbed the back of her neck. “I know. But you don’t know what it’s like being on my end. Wondering. Worrying.”

“Yeah, I do. You’re wrong if you don’t think I’m right there with you. You’re my best friend, Abs. We’ve been through so much together. We’ll get through this, too. I’m not about to give up fighting.”

Abby blinked, the world slowing around her. He’d never spoken so passionately before.

“How can you be so calm, then?”

“Because I trust everything will be okay.”

“You believe that much in the system?”

“No.”

“But you just said—”

“I said I trusted. I didn’t say who or what. The answer, by the way, is you. I know you. The person deep down. The one you hide from everyone except me. That person allows me to trust because I know you couldn’t do a cold-blooded act in your life.”

She didn’t know what to say. He’d made it clear before he was on her side, but damn, that speech brought tears to her eyes.

“Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank. I’m betting if our positions were reversed, you’d be standing here saying the exact same thing.”

Abby nodded weakly. Her insides melted, jumbled. Her throat tight, she couldn’t form a reply. She’d always known their friendship was pretty special, but nothing had prepared her for just how much.

Jarrod, not needing a response, turned and stalked back to Thunder, who grazed nearby, and gave him a pat. “We should head back. Soon it’ll be too dark to ride.”

Her gaze went to the horizon, to the sun’s descent, and she nodded her agreement, her body stiff from working, not accustomed to the hard labor like Jarrod. Now she understood why he looked so good.

Whereas she most likely resembled something which had been ridden hard and put away wet, Jarrod appeared sexily rumpled, the kind of man who looked good in anything anytime.

Where had this newfound appreciation for his body come from? Not once in their twenty-plus years of friendship had she ever seen Jarrod as anything but her best friend, the boy who’d rode horseback with her, taught her how to fish, and how to annihilate the men down at the pub in a game of darts.

He didn’t wait for her to make a decision; instead, he bent at the waist, and the world tilted. Abby found herself upside down with a spectacular view of his ass. He clamped his arm around her legs to hold her steady.

“Put me down!”

“Nope.”

“You overbearing, overly muscled—”

“Hunk?”

Abby grunted. She wasn’t about to say that. He might get the wrong idea.

What wrong idea is that, Abby? The man was fine. Every girl in town—not to mention three towns over, knew it.

The world blurred…reds, oranges, purples, and blue melted into one until he placed her back on her feet.

Stumbling, she grabbed his arm to steady herself. The muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt bunched. Her mind blanked.

Jarrod’s lips moved. She focused on their fullness and how they formed shapes. She’d never noticed his top lip was a fraction thinner than the bottom.

His finger against her chin raised her head, and her gaze caught his.

Had he always smelled so masculine? She couldn’t remember, but it was as though he’d bathed in pheromones. They called to her, putting her nerve endings on notice, and had her belly quivering.

Her body no longer felt her own. She hadn’t lost this much control since puberty.

Abby couldn’t get away from him fast enough, scrambling a little in her haste. Ever since she’d woken up, Abby had felt different, seeing the world through another lens. Particularly Jarrod. He’d gone from her best friend to a man. Before, the two had been separate in her mind. Her heated body and wild thoughts both thrilled and scared her.

She wet her lips.

Lord help her, she was in lust with her best friend!

Worse, he didn’t have a clue.

Is it simply because he’d held her naked in his arms? His strong, capable, and comforting arms? More and more memories of Jarrod from the previous night returned, of him pressed against her, his heat liquefying her tension.

All she knew was she wanted more. But she was too afraid to ask.

 

Chapter 4

 

 

As if on instinct, Abby headed into the kitchen. Jarrod caught her shoulders. She stumbled back into his chest. Thankfully, she was much shorter than him; otherwise she would’ve ended up hitting her head on his chin.

He gently massaged the skin beneath his hands. “Why don’t you go have a shower? It’ll help soothe some of those aching muscles.”

She threw him a look. Oh, yeah, he’d noticed. Abby had always been one to suffer in silence. Well, not while he was around.

“But dinner…”

“Can wait. I’ll get it going while you get cleaned up.”

“Okay.”

She retreated, and he turned his attention to dinner. He decided on something quick and easy and had spag bowl ready by the time Abby returned.

His mouth went dry at the sight of her in another of his shirts. It was decent, yet not, at the same time. He shook his head. She was his friend. She was vulnerable. He shouldn’t be thinking of her like that.

Like what exactly? A woman? That’s exactly what she is. A woman who just happens to be my best friend.

“Better?”

“Yes. Thanks.” She sniffed approvingly. “Smells great.”

“Yeah, but does it taste as good? Dig in.”

She sank into the chair across from him, her hair damp, leaving a wet patch against the fabric of his shirt and over the swell of her breasts. He swallowed hard, his heart thumping and his blood heating. Rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, he questioned his sudden appreciation of Abby. He’d always known she was pretty in a country way—dusty and maybe a little rough around the edges—but she’d been his friend first and a girl second. Now, it seemed his ignored libido was telling him he liked more than just their shared past and friendship; he liked the woman beneath.

Could it simply be a natural reaction to stripping her bare in the shower, seeing her naked, or his need to protect her?

Or was this the natural progression? He didn’t dare risk finding out.

Standing, he headed to the fridge, returning a few minutes later laden down with two glasses, one of beer, the other water, knowing Abby’s distaste for his choice of beverage.

Focusing on her, he noted the tense lines on her face that told him no amount of hard labor could erase the worry that she’d hurt someone.

“How is it?” His voice, gruff with emotion, surprised him.

“Delicious.”

“Good.”

She scraped her fork against the plate, then buttered a slice of tiger bread and chewed thoughtfully.

“How long do you think it’ll take for them to complete the investigation?”

Shrugging, he answered, “No idea. Depends on how many questions they have, I guess.”

She nodded, collected their plates, and began filling the sink. 

He rose. “Leave it. I’ll do it.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “You cooked. It’s only fair I wash up.”

“I’ll wipe.”

Taking the dish towel from its allocated spot, he dried and put away the dishes, all the while keeping her mind from drifting, reminding her of days filled with laughter and joy. Of the night they’d discovered his parents’ sheep had escaped and decided to graze alongside the road and the bugger of a time they’d had rounding them up.

She laughed until happy tears escaped her eyes with the memory. “Those damn sheep.”

He agreed. While a source of entertainment now, they’d been crafty buggers and caused their share of grief.

Her head dropped as silence filled the air. 

“You’re thinking about it again.”

Her mouth twisted up on one side. “You know me so well.”

“I do. Which is why I know you’re torturing yourself.”

Turning, she leaned against the counter. “What’s going to happen if the investigation reveals I did kill him?”

He took her hands and held them captive in his own against his chest. “Hank was known as an abrasive man. That and coupled with his treatment of you should go a long way for self-defense.”

“A part of me says I didn’t kill him, but the evidence seems clear enough. I just can’t imagine what he’d done to make me do something so horrible. What if I never remember?”

“I think it’ll be a good thing if you don’t remember. It’ll take a lot for someone like you to go to such extremes. Do you really want to know what it took for you to snap? The beer bottle could be the least of his crimes against you.”

“I guess.”

Taking one hand from the group, he cupped her neck, stroking his thumb against her soft cheek. He wished he could do something to take her pain away, to give her the answers she sought.

Something inside him clicked as she stared up at him.

He couldn’t seem to resist and leaned forward to do the very thing that had been in the back of his mind since she’d arrived on his doorstep. His feelings toward her had to have always been there. For what he felt was strong and sure and couldn’t have manifested itself in a little over twenty-four hours.

No, this thing brewing between them had been there for years, buried beneath friendship. She stared at him, trust in her eyes as his lips settled over hers. She never hesitated with him, though Hank had given her plenty of reasons to be wary of men. Her mouth opened, lips parting, and gave him access to her sweetness.

Desire swirled around, igniting quickly and bound to burn them both. He reached beneath the shirt she wore and settled his hands on her soft skin, lifting her. Her legs locked around his waist as he devoured her mouth, his tongue grazing sensuously against her own, building the heat.

Placing her on the kitchen table, he kept himself between her open legs, pressing her back against the tabletop, his weight pinning her down.

He could barely think beyond the moment. Though one thought pushed past the sensual haze. They were about to cross a line they couldn’t go back from. He didn’t take it lightly, nor could he stop, and from the hold she had on him, it appeared neither could she.

He guessed he’d only been waiting. It was why he’d remained single all these years. No woman had ever measured up to his ideal, which he now realized was her to a tee.

Gently removing the shirt, he took his time staring at her, ensuring not an inch was missed. The light blaring above acted like a spotlight, highlighting her for his enjoyment. Her breasts moved as her breathing increased.

He hungrily ran his gaze over her exposed skin. He’d been right about those curves. Her breasts were plump, no more than a handful. Certainly, no less. She squirmed beneath his scrutiny, a flush rising from those gorgeous breasts he longed to taste.

Jarrod’s nostrils flared as he stared down at her.

Opening her mouth to protest, he forced himself to look away from her enticing body to soothe her. He sealed his lips against hers and slipped his tongue inside to coax at her own, the texture feeding their desire.

“Sorry. You’re just so damn beautiful.”

“Surely you would’ve gotten your fill last night?”

One side of his mouth hitched up. “I was the perfect gentleman. Didn’t even peek.”

Though he did cop a feel. Accidentally. Now his mouth watered at being so close to sucking on the bead which had haunted him throughout the day and many hours during the night.

Her hot gaze did a sweep of his body, making him wonder how his clothes didn’t burn off. A certain part throbbed from the intensity, and all the moisture in his mouth evaporated.

He bit back a growl.

“My turn.”

He met her eyes. He swallowed hard at the desire he read in her eyes, in the harsh breaths she took.

She leaned forward. So enchanted by the sway of those breasts, he missed what she’d said.

“What?”

She smirked, knowing his brain had been otherwise occupied.

“Clothes. Off. Now.” She tried to be demanding, but the word morphed into a moan.

His cock jumped within its confines, making the denim just a step below unbearable.

Almost frantically, she tore at his clothes. Desperate to be skin to skin, his movements were jerky as he rid himself of all the barriers between them. A button or two popped from the fabric in his haste, but he didn’t care. He wanted to be naked with this woman. His best friend. His Abby.

He glanced up to find her mouth agape as she unabashedly stared at him. She readjusted her position, squeezing her thighs together, which only served to draw his attention to her glistening apex.

Fuck me! He fisted a hand on his expanding cock, pre-cum beading on the head.

There wasn’t a time before he could recall being so turned on. Taking a step forward, he opened her thighs wider, then dropped his head.

Abby sucked in a deep breath. As he lowered his mouth to her, the last thing he saw was her eyes rounding. Her scent enveloped him. Heady. A hint of spice. Her hips rose at his first touch, and she squirmed against him, equally trying to get away and move closer. He held her tightly as he devoured her, her scent and taste intoxicating.

He teased mercilessly, getting lost in the action of giving pleasure as he was anticipating their joining. His tongue plunged, stabbed, then fluttered against her labia, repeated until her thighs quivered and nonsensical words flowed from her mouth—in abandon this time, not shock.

He gripped her thighs hard, just short of punishing. His blood hummed and his heart hammered, delighting in the sounds he pulled from her. So wrong, yet so right. So unbelievably right. His mind cleared of everything except the pleasure he created within her, ensuring he gave her more with each passing moment.

Never before had he thought about being in this position, and yet everything fell into place as though this was always meant to happen.

Abby panted, the sound rough.

She squealed as he dove deeper, driving her higher. Her honey so delectable he could dine on it forever.

After she came against his tongue, he waited her out, allowing her to ride the sensual waves.

While his own body demanded release, he wanted her with him when they finally became one. Stepping back, he rummaged through the junk drawer near the kitchen sink and retrieved a strip of condoms he kept there should, like now, the mood strike.

Her eyebrow rose and her lips curled. When he made no move to go to her, Abby moved restlessly.

“Please…”

She reached for him, dragging him up her body to kiss him soundly, her tongue rubbing against his.

He kneaded a breast, flicking a thumb over a puckered nipple. Arching her back, she pressed her breast more firmly into his grasp. He shuddered. Desire burned hot in his veins, each breath he took labored, as if gasping to draw oxygen into his lungs. He wanted her. All of her. Now. He couldn’t seem to get enough.

His lips followed his hand, and he sucked her tight bud into his mouth.

“Oh my.”

Her hips jerked, begging for more. Pulling back, he blew on the wet nipple, dragging a groan from Abby. One side of his mouth hitched, loving how responsive she was. How he gave her pleasure.

His satisfaction was cut short when Abby fisted a hand in his hair and tugged. He kissed her swiftly before stepping back, putting barely a few inches of space between them. Just enough to roll the condom on and take his place once more between her thighs. He settled against her and hesitated a moment, acknowledging the change in their relationship, and to ensure she was with him.

“Are you sure? There’s no going back once we do this.”

“I’m sure.” Her heels dug into his buttocks, urging him closer.

Her molten eyes confirmed her words, and he caught her lips in a passionate kiss, stealing her breath as he sank into her.

A low moan escaped her, the timbre reverberating through his body. She closed around him. Her slick warmth was welcoming, clasping around him as she tried to hold him there.

He withdrew, then plunged again. Harder. Deeper. His balls slapped her flesh with each pump of his hips. Animalistic. Raw. Loving. Their harsh breaths filled the room, followed by mutual moans.

Sliding a hand between them, he found her clit and circled it. She jerked. Building up momentum, he pushed them to new heights, hitting the sensitive spot inside her with his thrusts. His body tightened, cum boiling in his balls, readying for release. He picked up his pace, determined she come again before he did. Her short fingernails gouged his back, no doubt hard enough to draw blood. The small wince of pain spurred him on, adding to his pleasure.

The table legs squeaked against the wood floor. Never would he be able to look at the scratches without remembering this night. Not just the sensations, but the change in their relationship.

“Jarrod!”

His name torn from her lips propelled him faster, and his effort was rewarded by a long moan as she shattered, her body shuddering in surrender. Internal muscles squeezed like a vise. His own orgasm followed, hard, and black spots danced in his vision. Abby greedily milked him, and he spurt hot streams into the latex. His pelvis ground against hers as he threw his head back and let out a growl of satisfaction.

He collapsed, breathing heavily, only having enough foresight to lean on his arms so not to crush her. Musk lingered in the air, a reminder of the act they’d just participated in. Not that he needed one. He wasn’t sure his legs could hold him, she’d so depleted him. It would be a while before he’d have the strength to do anything but lay over Abby. His cock happy, it too would take some time before it wanted another round.

But there would be another round. And another. They’d be crazy to ignore just how great the sex had been between them. It wasn’t just the sex, he knew. He’d never bought into emotions playing a large part in the pleasure, but now he couldn’t refute it.

Gathering her close, her breasts flattened by his chest, he held her. His heartbeat galloped. Was it any wonder he felt completely and utterly spent? A fine sheen of perspiration coated their skin, and damp, rust-colored hair clung to her forehead.

Jarrod stared into her eyes, sated now. A strange sensation blossomed in his chest. How had he never noticed Abby’s beauty? He’d always known she’d had a heart of gold, but now he saw it extended elsewhere, and he was extremely humbled she’d shared her body with him. In that moment, he realized he wanted everything with her.

She smiled, one speaking of her satisfaction. “Wow.”

He laughed, his shaking body moving over her. In her. “Wow indeed.”

She cupped his cheek, and he rubbed his stubble against her palm. Her gaze ran over his face, as though he were a calculus equation.

“What are you thinking?”

Her expression cleared. “No wonder all the girls in town wanted you in bed.”

He’d known he had a bit of a reputation; he just hadn’t realized she’d been aware of it. Or that the women in town gossiped about his sexual prowess.

“Does that bother you?”

“Why would it? I got the better end of your experience.”

A snort escaped. Typical Abby. Not much fazed her.

“You ready for bed?”

A saucy smile curved her lips. “Are you offering more of that? Because if so, lead the way.”

Shaking his head at her eagerness, he slipped from her body and discarded the condom before turning back to her. Abby’s gaze followed his every move as he approached, her obvious appreciation reflecting on his body.

Hoisting her into his arms amidst giggles, he carried her down the hall and to his bedroom.

No way was she getting away from him.

Even if Harley was stupid enough to come for her, he was going to have one hell of a fight on his hands.

 

Chapter 5

 

 

Laying on her side, Jarrod’s arms securely around her, his chest pressed against her back, Abby had never felt so safe and cherished. She’d reached for him in the night, desperate to feel him against her. Inside her. To taste him like he’d done her. To ensure it wasn’t all a dream. Drinking him in, his presence a comfort, soothing her. She couldn’t help but trace his lips, his jawline, and furrowed brow even in sleep with her fingertips. How could something so wonderful come from such horror? She swallowed against the lump in her throat. Would this be the only time they’d be together? Why would she be given this gift only for it to be taken away?

Had she killed Hank? Could she live with herself knowing she’d taken a life?

Tomorrow could bring her arrest. She still couldn’t remember what happened the night Hank died. Some flashes had come to her, but none completed the picture. Shock at seeing her stepfather had wiped her memory and left her walking around in a daze. She’d been lucky to make it to Jarrod’s without hurting herself.

His arms tightened around her, so in tune with her emotions.

Jarrod. Tears pricked her eyes, and a heavy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. He was the only thing in this whole horrible mess that made her smile. Throughout her life, he’d always been by her side, and last night she’d been closer to him than ever. She wasn’t sure what had changed between them, why they’d all of a sudden looked and seen the other. In the end, it didn’t matter; she was just grateful it had happened. Nothing in her life would top the second Jarrod had stared at her with such heat and intensity her knees had almost buckled. That first slip of his tongue inside her, his hands branding her as his.

He kissed her neck, nuzzling against her skin. It should feel awkward, yet strangely it simply felt right. As if this had been their future. It had only taken a horrific event to make them realize the depth of their feelings.

The kiss stirred something to life, a feeling hidden beneath time and friendship.

“Stop thinking. There’s nothing you can do, anyway. Just let the pieces fall and remember I’m here.”

Facing him, their gazes locked. “Thank you.”

She roused from sleep when the mattress dipped and Jarrod slipped out of bed. She made a sound of protest, only to be silenced by his lips.

“Where are you going?” She reached blindly for him. He caught her hand, squeezed it, and then kissed her quickly on the mouth.

“I’ll be back. Everything will be fine. Go back to sleep.”

She missed him already. His comforting presence. His body, which knew all her secrets. She shivered. His heat. Sitting up, she snagged one of his shirts from the floor and covered herself before burrowing beneath the blanket, waiting for him to return.

A desperate feeling engulfed her, as though she needed to take all she could now. The bed cooled without him yet still did not stop her eyelids from drifting closed. Abby had little rest, her mind and body being active for the most part of the day and night, and without Jarrod there to awaken her senses, she could do little to fight it.

A hand clamped around her ankle. A scream caught in her throat as she was dragged from the bed and down the hall. Darkness filled her vision, her heart pounding at the two male silhouettes before her. She fought, bucking wildly, and yet the hold did not loosen.

In the silver-bathed kitchen, she was abruptly let go. Abby shivered, the pre-dawn air cool against her naked legs. She forced oxygen into her lungs.

The little light brought her no comfort. The two men circled her. Her head whipped around as she tried to keep her eyes on them both.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Her voice betrayed her fear, but there wasn’t anything she could do to prevent it.

“To have a little fun.”

The man’s voice came from close to her ear. Abby jumped, a squeal escaping her lips. Laughter erupted all around her. She clutched at her throat.

Where was Jarrod?

Abby swallowed at the metallic tang in her mouth. “What did you do to Jarrod?”

“We took care of him. He won’t be interrupting us.”

Lightheaded, true fear rolled over her, rippling and gathering with intensity until she thought she might pass out.

“No.” The whisper escaped, an echo of her heart breaking. “Jarrod.” Her throat ached as she held back tears.

“We’re all alone.”

Abby cringed, backing against the cupboards as a man moved in front of the window and stalked toward her. His dark eyes glittered, reflecting the half-moon slowly descending in the night sky outside.

The hairs on the nape of her neck rose as he studied her. She tried to shrink away from his gaze. He laughed.

“A lot of fun.”

Blood turned to ice when he reached down to haul her to her feet. Abby pushed at him. His grip tightened to a punishing pressure, and she cried out. Fear took over, freezing her limbs. Abby whimpered, hating herself.

“Hank should’ve put a pretty little thing like you to work. A mouth like that would’ve paid a lot of bills.” This man knew Hank? She tried not to shudder at the man’s observation.

She’d dealt with men like this on a daily basis at the roadhouse. Slimy. Crude. Threatening. Using her upward momentum, she slammed her elbow hard into the man’s gut, using the element of surprise to knock him off balance. He let go and tripped against the dining table, going down in a tangle of limbs.

Without waiting to see him land, Abby took off, pushing open the screen door and racing out into the early morning. She slid against the dewy ground, her feet unable to find purchase.

“Get her back! You know what the boss says about witnesses.”

Panic rose, her adrenaline spiking. Boss? Witnesses? Her mind leaped from one thought to the next.

The screen door clanged, echoing into the night. Abby picked up speed, unable to hear anything more beyond her own breathing. She had no clue where she was heading or what her plan was; her only focus was to put as much distance between her and her pursuers as possible.

A moment later, Abby plunged into the hard earth. Air escaped her lungs as they deflated at the impact. Her legs remained trapped beneath the weight of the man who’d tackled her. He groaned and lifted himself off her. Abby kicked out, catching him in the head.

Getting to her feet, she ran to the stables. If she could get to Jarrod’s horse in time, they could gallop their way to freedom. She wasn’t the greatest horsewoman, nor was she the worst. So long as she could hold her seat, everything would be okay.

No, not everything. Jarrod was gone. She choked back a sob, stumbling slightly as she reached the door to the stable. Wrenching it open, she acted on memory and headed toward Thunder, unable to see much more than a few steps in front of her.

“Fucking bitch.” She ducked into an empty stall and crouched down as the man joined her in the stable. “You’ll pay for that.”

Blood rushed to her ears, and she slammed her eyes closed to calm herself. Something flickered against her eyelids. A flashlight beam skittered along the back wall. Heart in her throat, Abby scurried backward. If she remained where she was, she’d be found for sure. Shaking, she climbed the small separating wall and landed softly on the hay in the next vacant stall, afraid at any moment the flashlight would illuminate her and give away her position. Abby stopped and listened. The man was still some distance away. As quietly as she could, she continued her slow progress to the occupied stall. Thunder’s ears flattened as she invaded his space. He made a snort of displeasure, and she stilled. Had the man heard?

“Stop messing around, Burke. Let’s just kill her and get out of this fucking town.” Her body tensed at the second man’s voice, his tone chilling her more than his words.

Abby trailed her hand over Thunder’s long nose and pressed against him, hoping her familiar scent would ease him. The stall was small, and even if she managed to get onto his back, unlocking the gate would alert the men and they’d be ready.

What other choice did she have?

From atop the separating wall, Abby awkwardly stretched out her leg in preparation to mount the stallion. Her bare foot slipped against his silky hide, and she almost fell. She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly before trying again. This time, she slid without trouble onto Thunder’s back, hugged his neck. Using her feet, she directed his movements toward the stall gate. Making a quick prayer, she leaned over and unlocked the gate, the slide of the bolt sounding like a gunshot.

“Over there.”

Thunder pranced out of his stall and maneuvered into the walkway with ease. Abby dug her feet into his sides so he’d pick up speed.

A man cursed, and the one called Burke flung himself out of the way. Abby held on for dear life, the horse’s sleek back moving beneath her unsecured body. The stable door was closed, but Thunder obeyed her direction.

She slipped and grasped Thunder’s mane hard. Giving the horse credit, he didn’t break his stride or protest much beside a flick of his head. Out the corner of her eye, movement caught her attention. One of the men moved to intercept. He was bigger than the other. She recognized him as the one who had held her in the kitchen.

She wasn’t going to make it.

He sprang from a bale of hay, smacked hard against her, and brought her down with him. Used to falling in her youth, she was prepared for the landing and relaxed her body, rolling upon impact to her feet. She swung around, her gaze searching for a weapon. Abby grasped a pitchfork, yanking it from the nearby hay bale. She aimed it at her attackers. The man who’d leapt at her hadn’t yet recovered, but his partner stalked her as she backed away, keeping them both in sight. He launched at her, grabbing the pitchfork and making a move to snatch it away. The force dragged her closer. She fought with everything she had, knowing it wasn’t enough.

He smiled, no more than a baring of teeth, satisfaction written all over his face. A face she could see clearly as dawn broke and the sky lightened through the window behind her. Lines bracketed his dark eyes.

Panicking, Abby clasped tighter around the handle. If he rid her of the implement, not only would she be defenseless, but he could easily use her weapon against her. She struggled against his tugging, her feet sliding over the loose hay, hindering her and assisting her attacker. Abby allowed her body to go slack in hopes it made moving her harder.

He cursed, his lips flattening into a narrow line. He suddenly let go, and she fell back, quickly trying to right herself. He stomped toward her, only to be blocked as a chocolate-colored rump backed into his path. Abby slipped around Thunder, using his body as a buffer between the men, the second joining his companion as they both avoided being trampled. Focusing on the first man’s feet, she smacked Thunder, who veered up onto his hind legs, clobbering the second man in the head, then landed, knocking the first man back. Abby rounded to the other side of the horse and plunged the pitchfork as hard as she could into the man’s foot. The prongs sliced through the loafers without effort, and a howl pierced her ears. Burke crumpled and sniveled over his feet, not game to touch the pitchfork.

“I’m going to rip you into pieces!”

Abby swung around as the other man got to his feet. Blood dripped from his chin onto the stable floor, the deep cut on his forehead jagged and angry. She’d never seen a more pissed-off man. Even Hank had never looked so murderous.

He stalked toward her. Abby backed away, turning to the stable doors. He caught her before she could open them and rammed her into the hard wood.

Her vision spun. “W-was it you who killed Hank?”

“Too bad no one will know the truth.” The second man mewled and begged for help. “Shut up!”

Abby jolted as the man snapped at his partner.

Glass shattered, raining down to land softly onto the hay-covered floor. A roar, half man, half beast, filled the following silence as a dark figure burst through the broken window, moving so quickly she couldn’t seem to lock onto the blur as it flew through the air and landed on top of her attacker, pulling him violently from her.

Jarrod’s voice ground out between grunts and blow of fists against bodies. “Keep your fucking hands off her.”

Her heart stopped, then thumped heavily almost to the point of pain. A rush of breath left her lungs in relief. Jarrod was alive!

Jarrod and the man rolled about the floor. Hay clung to Jarrod’s hair and torso. A fist pounded into the man’s stomach. In the next moment, Jarrod let out a sharp breath and faltered slightly. Had he been hurt? It wasn’t long, just long enough for the man to take advantage. Before she knew what happened, the man was on top of Jarrod, and he took a beating.

“Jarrod!” Unsure what to do, but refusing to stand by while that man killed her best friend, Abby launched herself onto his back.

He shook her off, barely taking notice of her. Falling to the floor, she glanced up at the wall, and her gaze locked onto the flat, steel plate of a shovel. Abby pushed herself up with her hands and yanked the shovel down from its designated spot, and brandishing it halfway down the handle, raised it like a baseball bat. Planting her feet apart, she swung. Connected. Spun. A sickening crack filled the room.

The man above Jarrod went slack. Jarrod pushed him off, and the man flopped onto his back, unconscious or dead, she didn’t know which.

Jarrod’s nostrils flared as he looked up at her. In a lithe move, he was on his feet. His arms clamped around her and pulled her close, burying his nose in her hair. The shovel clattered to the floor. Peace settled deep within her.

He took her lips with a desperate passion. Abby clung to him, unable to let him go. She could’ve lost him tonight. Not just to a cell, but in life. Her whole being had been rocked, and her body shook at the realization. A life without Jarrod…she couldn’t begin to comprehend.

Letting her lips go, Jarrod drew a deep breath into his lungs. She wet her lips, feeling his possession, and sagged into him. Abby pressed her cheek against his chest. His heart hammered beneath her ear, comforting her with the knowledge he was still alive.

“I thought you were d-dead. They said they k-killed you.” She could hardly push the words out, her mind protesting the possibility.

Jarrod gave her a tight squeeze. “Nothing will keep me from you. Least of all a couple of nasty thugs. We need to call Harley.”

Abby nodded and stepped back, her legs wobbling. Jarrod’s arm dropped to his side, but his gaze scorched her as it did a slow once over.

“You okay?”

“I’ll be fine.”

His jaw clenched as he took in the two men laying on the stable floor.

“I better ensure they aren’t going anywhere.” Taking a coil of rope down from a nail in the tack room, Jarrod secured the first man to a post, then dragged the second closer so he could do the same with him.

As he dealt with the men, Abby returned Thunder to his stall and indulged in a cuddle, patting the horse’s nose. He, like his owner, had saved her life. She owed him an apple every day.

After testing out the binds, Jarrod held out his hand to her. She greedily took it. What would happen next? Where would they go from there? If these men had killed Hank, did this mean she was free? Abby didn’t dare to believe.

Jarrod led her out of the stable. “Shouldn’t one of us stay with them?”

“I don’t want them anywhere near you.” His body tensed beside her. “Besides, they’re not going anywhere.”

They walked back to the house in silence. Abby frowned. What was going on inside his head?

She wet her lips nervously. “I’m sorry I brought all this to your doorstep. They could’ve killed you. All because of me.”

Stopping, he turned her to face him. His calloused hands cupped her face, and his gaze burned into hers.

“Don’t. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

“You’ve always been there, Jarrod. No matter what.”

He pressed his lips against hers. One second and then they were gone. She ached for more.

“Keep remembering that.”

Like the night before, he pushed her in the direction of the shower. On unsteady legs, she made the short distance and, with an equally quaking hand, turned on the shower. The morning seemed to be catching up with her, and tears began to roll down her cheeks. She swiped at one, then another before she couldn’t keep up. Steam filled the small cubicle. Stripping, Abby stumbled beneath the spray and allowed the heat to wash away the horrid events and the fear she’d held for Jarrod from the moment she’d been abruptly woken.

Nothing had compared to that feeling. She’d been hollow, desolate. She drew in a shaky breath and flattened her palms against the tiles.

The screen door slammed, and she jumped, barely managing not to slip on the tiles. A low murmur of men’s voices reached beneath the spray. Harley. Abby hopped out and, after blotting herself with a towel, redressed in Jarrod’s shirt. She would’ve preferred a clean one, one which didn’t hold such memories, but she wanted to face Harley and get the next few minutes over with.

Joining the two men in the kitchen, Abby’s gaze settled on Jarrod, drawing strength from him before focusing on Harley, decked out in his uniform.

His warm gaze found hers, and he smiled. “Hey, Abby.”

“Harley.”

Without conscious thought, she found herself next to Jarrod, leaning into him for support. She could always count on him.

Jarrod drew her closer, into his arms, and peace settled deep within. Jarrod’s lips pressed against her temple, and she closed her eyes briefly at the depth of emotions swirling inside her. Harley’s gaze bounced between them before taking a long sweep of her body, taking in her attire and disheveled hair.

“I’m so sorry you got caught up in all this, Abby.”

“Caught up in what?”

“Did you know Hank gambled?”

“Yes. Mostly the dogs and horses, but sometimes he was known to bet on football.”

“Well, it appears old Hank wasn’t cutting even. He owed big. His bookie got sick of waiting for the cash.”

A sob escaped her lips. “I don’t know why I’m so upset. Hank was a temperamental bastard. He and I never saw eye to eye, but I’m glad he’ll get justice.”

“Yeah, old Hank ruffled a few feathers. I’m glad at least one good thing came from his death.”

When she gave Harley a blank look, he grinned, then stood. 

“You two finally together. Whole damn town’s been wondering when you’d see reason and realize you were meant for each other.” With a nod of his head, he left.

Turning to Jarrod, she found him watching her intently. “You don’t think that’s true, do you?”

“What? Us belonging to one another, or the whole town knowing before us?” One side of his mouth lifted. “It’s always been you, Abby.”

Warmth blossomed inside her, radiating outward.

“You won’t be able to get rid of me.”

He scooped her up, her legs immediately locking around his waist. She pressed against him, and he stole another kiss, heavy on the tongue. That was all it took for her to become ravenous. She took control of the kiss, urging him into action as he picked up speed. Soon they were a jumble of limbs on the bed, tearing fabric in their haste to rid the other of their clothes. Need, sharp and intense unlike anything she’d experienced before, sprang to life. Urgent. Seductive. Unfulfilled.

Jarrod pinned her hands to the mattress above her head. His dark head lowered, and a sweet pressure engulfed her sensitive nipple. She yearned to claw at him, the juncture of her thighs damp and throbbing. Screw foreplay. It wouldn’t take much to catapult her over the edge. Squirming to spur him on, he only tightened his restraining hand and continued to ravish her breast as though he’d gone days since his last meal.

Her back bowed. Raising a leg, she slid it up his to rest on his hip, forcing his cock more intimately against her sex. She groaned. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

Abby bit his shoulder. Hard. He jerked back in surprise, yet his eyes were dark obsidian pools, smoky with desire. Taking the opportunity now his attention had been diverted, she pulled from his grasp, spun him onto his back and hooked a leg over his body so she straddled him.

His cock slid between her folds as she leaned forward to kiss him. Her tongue met his in a hungry, savage dance. His taste, now burned into her memory, filled her senses as she drank from him. Her hips wiggled over his impressive length, and she pulled her lips from his.

“Condom. Now!”

His husky voice directed her to the bedside table. A moment later, she tore open the foil packet with her teeth. His dick jumped when she slid the latex over him, her fingers enjoying the task far too much. Not that she blamed them. He was beautiful.

Jarrod caught her hips and repositioned her as she held onto his cock, sliding a fist up and down. His eyes closed in abandon, and a thrill sizzled inside her. Jarrod Bowman, putty in her hands. Usually he was so grounded. Practical. In control. Now she was the one in charge.

She’d never had to pretend to be someone she wasn’t with him. He knew her moods and how to read her. If she was feeling crappy, she didn’t have to slap on a fake smile.

She was right where she was supposed to be. She was home.

With Jarrod.

Abby impaled herself, her body immediately clamping around his girth—tighter, she imagined, than her fist had been, and his eyes flicked open and his lips parted. She rocked gently at first, experimentally, seeing what he liked. Rocking turned to rolling her hips, his cock throbbing within her. Inner nerve endings sizzled. Demanded more. Jarrod’s jaw clenched. His fingertips dug into her flesh, drawing out a moan.

With her knees as leverage, she pushed up until only the head of his cock teased her channel before plunging back down. Synapses short-circuited. Her thighs quivered as she rose, setting a punishing tempo. Rise. Fall. Lift. Drop. She rode him hard, each downward plummet more difficult than the last, his shaft pushing through the resistance of her eager body, desperate for release.

Her whole essence had become a jumble of nerves. Heat suffused her, licking her skin. Tingles took over.

“Goddamn, Abby. You’re fucking beautiful.” Jarrod’s gaze fastened on her bouncing breasts. He seemed to be particularly interested in her breasts. She cupped them, her thumbs flicking over her nipples as he watched, his gaze intense. Pinching a hard bead with the fingers of one hand, the other slid down her stomach to her soft curls and sought out her clit. Her fingers slipped awkwardly through the slickness before she settled firmly on it. Using two fingers she set them in motion, rotating over her exposed nub, sending sharp sparks of pleasure throughout her body. Her hips bucked at the multiple attack, so primed it almost became too much. Almost.

Jarrod’s gaze was possessive. Everywhere his gaze touched, he seemed to mark as his. She didn’t mind. Being his sounded absolutely perfect.

Abby continued the sensual assault. Nothing else mattered except her completion. She’d never been a hide-behind-the-covers lover, yet at the same time she’d never been this free. This unguarded.

He’d turned her completely wanton. She liked it. His chest rose and fell with each struggling breath. His hips rose as hers fell, until he’d taken over. She didn’t care. Thrusting with deadly accuracy, he buried himself so deep he bumped against her womb, and she keened loudly, her hyper-sensitive body stupidly protesting it was all too much.

Her inner muscles coiled. Sprang. Untwined. She screamed out his name, convulsing on top of him. Flipping her over, he trapped her between him and the mattress and pounded into her, pushing her orgasm higher. Intense. Powerful. Glorious. Without real warning, she was mentally tossed. She had no control. Nothing to ensure a safe landing. Abby embraced it. Allowed the sensations to wash over her, to take her. Careening higher to uncharted heights. Everything went dark.

She blinked. Her eyelids felt heavy. Jarrod stared down at her, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks.

“You okay?”

She stretched, testing her limbs. Everything appeared in working order, though slightly harder to move, each muscle lethargic. Raising her head, she sealed her lips to his in an answer.

He met her, passion for passion, consuming her. Her exhausted body went up in flames, suddenly recuperated. Her leg rubbed against his, the coarse hairs feeding her desire, highlighting the differences in their bodies—a fact she liked well. Her kiss became frenzied, and he pulled back. He drew in a deep breath. His heart pounded hard, the reverberations against her ribs.

“Fuck, woman. You’re going to grind me down to a nub.”

She giggled, then ran her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. The strands were tousled. Sexy. Like a man who’d been fucked and well. “You’ve got plenty to spare.”

Shaking his head, he laughed softly. “Damn, Abby, what am I going to do with you?”

Abby considered his question seriously. “Never let me go.”

His face changed, realizing she no longer jested. “No chance of that. Don’t you know? I’m freaking in love with you. My brave, wonderful Abby. The woman who’s always held my heart—even before I realized it.”

Her heart thundered, and her breath caught in her throat. His voice had been raw, as though the words had been cut from his still-bleeding heart. She swallowed hard. No man had ever made such a declaration to her. And coming from Jarrod made them all the more important. All the more treasured.

“Jesus, Abby, say something. Don’t leave a man hanging.”

A tear spilled over, trickling down her cheek, only to be captured by his hand still holding her face.

“I don’t know how I’ve gone so long without realizing I love you. But I guess that’s all that matters. I love you, Jarrod.”

Cupping the back of his neck, she brought his lips back to hers and kissed him, this time full of love, happiness, and hope for the future.

He took. He gave. He promised. He was in one word…perfect.

Surprise filled her, knowing now she had everything she could possibly want. Who would have guessed the man of her dreams had been beside her all along?

About the Author

 

Camille Taylor is an Australian romantic suspense author who lives in the nation’s capital. She spends her time reading, writing, and procrastinating on Pinterest, looking at nail art, books, and cake decorating. A bookworm, she enjoys most genres, particularly romance and mysteries, and chases after HEAs. She started writing at sixteen and is currently working on her Harbour Bay Series set in Australia. Camille is also an incurable genealogist and has traced her heritage to England, Scotland, Ireland, and Russia.

 

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A Bon Chance Boonies Short Story

By A.L. Vincent

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

Jasper

 

“So nice to see that you could crawl out of the swamp tonight,” his cousin, Ryder LeBlanc, said, walking up to Jasper. Ryder lit a cigarette and exhaled. He wore a black cowboy hat and leather chaps, and the latest buckle from a rodeo win flashed from his belt.

Jasper and his brothers, Lucien and Julien, had come to watch Ryder ride bulls at the Southern Louisiana Rodeo.

“I wanted to see if you could actually hold on this time for more than a second or two,” Jasper said, grinning and holding his hand out. The hand was ignored as Ryder threw his arms around Jasper in a hug.

“It’s good to see you again, cuz,” Jasper said.

“It’s been awhile. Where are those brothers of yours?”

“They’re here, chasing women. Just like always.”

Ryder grinned. “I don’t chase women. They chase me.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “That’s never been a problem for LeBlanc men.”

Lucien and Julien came up behind Jasper then. They clapped each other on the back and muttered curses and insults. 

“You guys coming to meet me at the Broken Spoke later?” Ryder asked. “I have shots for who can beat me on the mechanical bull.”

The Broken Spoke was a popular nightclub just outside of Lafayette’s city limits. It was a local hotspot. Locals liked to dance to the tunes of popular local musicians. The more adventurous took turns on the mechanical bull.

“I don’t know about that bull business. I’m getting too old for that,” Jasper said. “I do plan to take a turn or two around the dance floor.”

“I’m planning on doing a bit of that myself.” Ryder threw an arm around Jasper’s shoulders. “Come on. I could use a cold drink after that last ride.”

 

 

Gemma

 

Gemma pulled on a t-shirt and fluffed her red hair. It was a bit bigger than she usually wore it, but she remembered the old Southern adage. The higher the hair, the closer to God.

Not bad, she thought, looking in the mirror of her tiny bathroom. The window in the second-story apartment was open, letting the cool fall breeze of South Louisiana drift in through the soft lace curtains.

She was glad she’d let her friend, Mandi, talk her into going out. It had been forever since she’d had time, with starting her own business and all.

Since her divorce from Brent, she’d taken her settlement money and poured that and hours of blood, sweat, and tears, into her dream of opening a specialty sandwich shop, “Bite Me,” as she’d decided to name it. The name fit her attitude since Brent had up and left her, telling her simply he didn’t love her anymore but loved his younger, blonde secretary.

She rolled her blue eyes as she did every time she thought about it. It was all so cliché. The hurt had been real, though, and still bubbled under the anger. Things had finally gotten into a routine after her crazy move from Houston back to Lafayette, then starting her business.

Her days started with a cup of strong coffee as she sat in a rocking chair on her balcony. She listened as the birds sang in the trees and watched as the day began. She’d plan out her day on a small yellow notepad, listing the day’s to-dos in meticulous detail. Then she’d spend the rest of the morning and afternoon running the lunch shift at the shop. They were only open at lunchtime for now, but she planned to add in Friday and Saturday night shifts. Eventually, there was a little alcove off the shop she wanted to use for live music.

One step at a time, she thought as she put a final coat of mascara on her long lashes.

Mandi had talked her into attending the rodeo, then out for dancing at the popular nightclub, the Broken Spoke. Mandi had a weakness for anything in boots and a cowboy hat, and they would be out in herds tonight after the rodeo. A veritable buffet of man candy for her friend. For Gemma? Not so much. She’d go for the dancing, but that was it. No man for her, thank you very much. No. No. No. She didn’t have time for one, nor did she want one.

Taking a last glance in the mirror, she nodded. Padding across the old wooden floor, she sat on her tiny twin bed and slid on boots.

Her cell phone dinged.

 

Mandi: On my way.

 

Gemma: K

 

They had agreed earlier to snag an Uber driver for the night’s festivities. She and Mandi hadn’t been out since Gemma’s divorce had been finalized. Rather than designate one to be the driver, they would split the fare.

She went to the bright, yellow kitchen and grabbed a bottle of red wine out of the white-framed glass cabinets. She poured a small amount into one of the glasses in her collection. This one said, “Besties before testes.” Very apropos for the upcoming evening.

Her dog, Annie Oakley, a blue-eyed Catahoula, followed her out of the kitchen and onto the balcony, plopping down on the wooden floor beside the rocking chair.

Gemma leaned back and propped her booted feet up on the white railing, enjoying a moment of peace and quiet.

She’d lucked into this place. It was a simple garage apartment built in the 1930s. It was close to downtown, close to her sandwich shop—a godsend, considering the hours she spent there. She rented from a retired journalist, and he often came over for coffee, regaling her with stories from his life covering all kinds of news stories. They had become good friends. She enjoyed his company, and he often came by the shop for lunch.

Headlights flashed around the corner, and seconds later the car was in the driveway. Gemma took one last sip of the wine and went inside to grab her things for the evening.

 

 

Jasper

 

Jasper leaned against the wooden railing surrounding the dance floor, sipping from his lukewarm beer. He frowned as he took another drink, then set the almost empty bottle on the ledge. He wished he was on his porch, listening to the sounds of the swamp, his dog Cheauxnuff—pronounced Sho’ Nuff—by his side. This was not his scene. Not at all. His brothers, on the other hand? They were in their element. He knew the twins and his cousin, Ryder, had been out on the floor for every fast song that played. No slow songs for them, not until they had a particular filly in mind to take home. The filly’s home, of course, that way they could leave when they wanted to. No uncomfortable moments waiting for the flavor-of-the-minute to leave.

Jasper was too old for that, for this. But still, he was here. He looked out at all the women. To him, they were all too made up, too much make-up, push-up bras, cleavage hanging out from low-slung shirts. They were trying too hard for attention.

“Evenin’, cowboy,” a woman said into his ear over the din of the music. Jasper made himself not grimace from the smell of smoke and beer on her breath. “Wanna dance?”

He simply shook his head and walked away. He needed another beer.

Walking up to the bar, he saw Ryder talking to a gorgeous redhead. A ma petite file, Jasper thought, as he took a rare moment to admire her.

She wore a black t-shirt with the words “Bite Me” scrolled across her breasts.

Jasper exhaled a deep breath, his body tightening. This was not what he was expecting when he came to see his cousin Ryder at the rodeo. And he shouldn’t be feeling this way either. This woman had trouble written all over her. Trouble for him. Because she was already stirring something in him that he didn’t want to feel.

 

 

Gemma

 

The smells of stale beer and cigarettes and too much perfume assailed Gemma’s nose as she walked into the crowded nightclub. The bass from the music resounded through her body like another heartbeat.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Mandi said as they bumped into a group of long-legged cowboys gathered around the bar.

Gemma smiled. “If you say so,” she screamed over the noise of the crowd and the band. Jamie Bergeron was a popular performer that played a mixture of country and the local genre “swamp pop.”

Playing now was a slow song, and several couples on the dance floor moved in rhythm with the music. Gemma smiled as she watched while Mandi ordered the first round of drinks. Some couples were obviously long-time couples, and some looked like they had just met by the way they moved to the music.

Gemma stiffened as she felt a body press close to hers. Her frown turned to a grin as she heard a familiar growl in her ear.

“Ryder Leblanc,” she exclaimed as she turned around and was enveloped into a hug. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I just got here this morning. Came in for the rodeo.”

“Look at you. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” she said. And he was. Long-legged and lanky, he was no doubt one of the most handsome men in the bar. He had a smile that could charm an angel from Heaven if he so chose. He was also one of her favorite dance partners. The man moved like sin in blue jeans.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he said. “You gonna dance with me later?”

“You bet your sweet ass.”

He turned then, letting her get a look at his derriere. “This ass?”

“Boo, you’re all ass.”

He laughed then. “You haven’t changed a bit. You’re just as feisty as ever.”

“Who’s feisty?” asked a man as he walked up behind Ryder. He was even taller, but not nearly as lean. This man had muscles, not the kind you got from the gym, but from working hard. His eyes were blue and lined with tiny wrinkles that spoke of a life in the sun. His swarthy skin was tanned, and his smile was easy and contagious.

“Jasper, this is Gemma, an old friend of mine,” Ryder said.

Jasper took his black cowboy hat off and held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Even over the din of the music, his voice was warm and smooth, like a glass of fine red wine. A frisson of attraction flittered through her nervous system, and she resisted the urge to shiver. She had no desire for this man to see his effect on her.

“Ryder Leblanc!” a cute twenty-something in a short skirt and cowboy boots said as she grabbed onto his arm. “You simply must dance with me.”

If she could have batted her heavily made-up eyelashes, she would have. Gemma raised her eyes to the black-painted ceiling. Jasper chuckled as the girl all but dragged Ryder onto the dance floor. Not that he was putting up that much of a resistance.

“So how do you know…” both began at the same time.

Laughing, he bowed his head. “You first, ma’am.”

“Don’t ma’am me. And I’ve known Ryder for a long time. He used to work with my husb—ex-husband.” Gemma frowned. Even after a year, she still slipped up occasionally.

Jasper raised a blond eyebrow. “Which is it?”

“Ex. Definitely ex.”

He smiled again, and Gemma felt that tingle all over again. She should probably run in the other direction from this man as soon as possible.

“Well, then, I could get away with a turn around the dance floor, couldn’t I?”

Don’t do it. Don’t. It’s a bad idea, she told herself as she took his outstretched hand and let him lead her to the floor.

 

 

Jasper

 

Gemma was definitely a skilled dancer, Jasper realized as they moved in unison to the fast Cajun beat. One of Jasper’s favorite dances was the quick-stepped jitterbug. Gemma was a good partner. She followed his steps easily and even twirled like a champ.

His breath caught in his throat when he caught the sparkle in her eye under the flashing lights of the dance floor. Like diamonds. Her name definitely fit. He should walk away after this dance. Go back to his quiet corner. Surely the cougar had gone on to other prey by now. He should go grab another beer and get away from this woman. Far away. He had no intention of repeating the sins of his father.

The last few chords of the song drifted off, and Gemma stood there in the light, looking up at him, her chest heaving from dancing, her once pale cheeks pink and rosy.

Unable to resist, Jasper lowered his head.

Ice cold liquid splashed on both of them. Startled, they turned to see two guys rolling on the floor, fighting. Bouncers reached to separate the brawlers and pull them out of the building.

“I…I need to go,” Gemma said.

“Wait,” Jasper said, reaching out to try to stop her, but it was too late. She had already disappeared into the crowd.

“Damnit,” he swore. For a long moment, he considered going after her. She didn’t look like the type who would fancy a one-night stand, though, and that’s all Jasper had to offer.

Swearing again, he headed back to the bar. He needed another beer.

 

 

Gemma

 

Gemma walked into the crowded diner. Mel’s was a popular after-hours hotspot. You got great food at a good price and endless coffee. She had left the Broken Spoke soon after her encounter with Jasper Whatsisname. She still couldn’t believe she had almost let the man kiss her right there on the dance floor. Hell, she didn’t even know his last name. Thank goodness that fight had brought her back to reality.

Mandi had connected with her on-again, off-again flame, and Gemma, not wanting to be a third-wheel at the Broken Spoke, had decided to call it a night. Hungry and restless, she found herself sitting alone at the counter at Mel’s.

Slowly, she stirred her coffee, watching the liquid swirl around in the white mug. The chatter of the crowd was a dim sound compared to the chaos going on in her head.

She didn’t even look up when someone took a seat beside her.

“Well, we meet again,” said a familiar Cajun drawl.

Startled out of her reverie, she looked over to see Jasper Whatsisname.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, sharper than she intended.

“Probably the same as you,” he said, giving her that smile again. “Getting me a little bit to eat before heading home.”

“You didn’t find some young thing to take home?”

“Well, I did find this gorgeous woman, even danced with her once, but she left me high and dry on the dance floor.”

“Is that right?”

“Yep.”

“Sounds like a personal problem to me.”

The waitress approached then, and he placed an order for coffee.

“Miss Gemma, why don’t we just sit here and enjoy our late night dinner like two civilized adults?”

Gemma was chagrined; she was never one to be rude, and he really had done nothing wrong. She smiled and held out her hand in a peace offering.

“Gemma St. John.”

“Jasper Leblanc.”

“Leblanc?” She looked him over again, took away the hat, dress clothes, and boots and replaced it with blue jeans and a t-shirt. Instead of a shiny belt buckle, a carpenter’s belt. “As in Leblanc Brothers Construction?”

“That’s me.”

“You’re doing the renovation project next door for Emily and Noah Devereaux.”

“Next door? You own that lunch place.”

“Yes! Bite Me.”

“Is that an offer?” His eyes went all smoky, making her think of all the places he could nibble.

The waitress slid the plate of food in front of her, saving her from her wayward train of thought. She looked down at her plate while trying not to let the sound of Jasper’s voice stir a hunger in her that had nothing to do with food. This was bad, and to top it off, he was that fine hunk of a man she’d been admiring walk by her store in the mornings as he went in and out of the catering and handcrafted furniture store that would become her new neighbor.

Emily and Noah Devereaux were the new owners of the building next door, a very friendly couple. They’d make great neighbors. Gemma and Emily had taken some courses together as freshmen at the local college, the University of Louisiana. Emily had ended up moving back to her hometown of Bon Chance. She was expanding her own company, the Bon Chance Catering Company, and Noah would be featuring some of his handcrafted furniture—a great draw for the monthly Art Walks held downtown.

Gemma was still looking for artists to display in her store to highlight and attract customers.

“Earth to Gemma,” Jasper said, waving his hand in front of her face.

She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I drifted off for a moment. Was thinking of my shop.”

“What were you thinking?”

“That I need to find some art for Art Walk. I haven’t started opening on the weekends yet, but I’d like to start. I’d like to find some local bands and artists to highlight, at least for those nights for now.”

“Where have you looked?”

“Nowhere yet. We’ve been in the beginning phases, getting the lunch shift down. I’ve reworked the menu a couple of times, as I see what customers like and don’t like. Getting the employees together and working as a unit. I wanted to start off small.”

“That’s always a good thing. What if I told you I could help you out with at least one artist?”

She was intrigued now. “That would be awesome. Who?”

“My younger brother, Lucien. He’s started taking nature photographs lately, and they’re actually quite good.”

She laughed. “You sound surprised.”

“If you knew Lucien, you would be too. I don’t know if you know this, but Ryder is our cousin. Lucien, his twin Julien, and Ryder are all the same age. Lucien can put Ryder to shame when it comes to that devil-may-care attitude. If he was taking portraits of beautiful women with and without their clothes, I wouldn’t be surprised. But his photos are…I’m not sure how to describe them. They’re good. Here, take a look.”

He picked up his cell phone and pulled up some pictures. Even on the small screen of the phone, Gemma could see what he was talking about. The guy had an eye for nature’s small beauties. Stately cypress trees sprouted out of murky swamp water. A close up of an alligator floating by. Beautiful black and white photos of old fishing camps, churches, and other buildings as old as time.

“You’re right. He is good! Good doesn’t seem like a word to describe these, though. I’d love to talk to him. Can you ask him to come by?”

“Yes, ma’am. We are working next door,” he teased.

“I would appreciate it. Thank you so much.”

“Thank you. I’ve been after Lucien to get more of his work out there.”

The waitress brought his food, and then the two finished their meal with small talk.

“I’m stuffed,” Gemma said, pushing her plate away.

She took a slow sip of her coffee and grabbed her phone to summon a ride home.

“Booty call?” Jasper asked with a smile as she picked up her phone.

She laughed. “Not at all. Mandi and I rode in an Uber, so I was getting a ride home.”

“You’re kidding me,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I can give you a ride home. All you had to do was ask.”

As if, she thought. As if she would ask? As if she would go? As if she needed this complication in her life. She should just click the app and be done with it. With him.

“I don’t want to impose.”

“Impose? Miss Gemma, I don’t know how you were raised, but I was raised not to leave a woman without a means home.”

Her house was only ten minutes away. What could happen in that short amount of time? He wasn’t a serial killer. He didn’t give off that vibe at all. Serial heartbreaker? Probably so. But Gemma had no intention of handing that precious part of her over to him.

“Okay, Jasper. I’ll take you up on that.”

He rewarded her with that defense-breaking smile and a wink. “I’m glad to do it.”

He picked up her tab along with his. “Ms. Gemma, your chariot awaits.”

 

 

Jasper

 

He noticed her the moment he walked into the diner. That fiery red hair was hard to miss. And it even seemed to sparkle in the fluorescent lighting. He wanted to kick himself in the ass when he thought that. When did Jasper LeBlanc start waxing poetic about hair and lights? Never.

Nevertheless, he found himself throwing a leg over the stool next to hers. Against his better judgment, of course.

She was prickly at first, as he had expected, but warmed up to him as they talked about Lucien’s photography. His brother was good for something at least, he thought with a smile.

When he had seen her pick up her phone, he couldn’t help himself. Who was she texting, and where was she going? When he realized she was waiting for a ride, he knew he couldn’t leave her there. That went against every code in his book. You simply did not leave a woman stranded. Not that she was stranded, but he couldn’t just leave her there without a ride.

He paid the two tabs, and they walked to his truck together.

She was quiet during the ride home. Other than giving him directions, the sounds of the local radio station, KBON, was the only noise. The diner wasn’t far from her house, and soon they were pulling up to a stop in front of her apartment.

“What a cool little place,” he said.

“You should see the inside,” she said, then her eyes widened as she realized what she’d said.

He smiled and reached out to tuck a piece of that glorious red hair behind her ear. “As tempting as that sounds, I’m afraid I’m going to have to turn you down. You see, I’m not that easy.”

Her snort in response had him laughing.

“Well, thanks for the ride home,” she said, reaching for the car door.

“You’re very welcome.’

She looked at him again, those blue eyes piercing his gut. Not that easy? he thought. One word and he’d follow her up those stairs like she was the pied piper.

“See you soon,” he said as she exited the truck. He watched as she walked up the stairs, giving him one last look before going into her apartment.

“Real soon.”

 

Chapter Two

 

 

Gemma entered the customer’s order into the Point of Sale system and smiled. “That will be eight ninety-nine.”

She took his payment with a smile and handed him a silver holder with a number on it. She blew a lock of red hair out of her face and greeted the next customer in line with an automatic smile that fell when she saw who it was. Jasper Leblanc.

“Well, hello to you too, cher.” He greeted her with that same damnable smile. Two guys that looked like younger versions of him jostled each other for attention. Had to be the other members of Leblanc Brothers Construction.

“What can I get for you today?”

He smiled again. “What you got?”

She exhaled an impatient sigh and gestured to the menu on the wall. “Those are our everyday sandwiches. Right here,” she said, pointing to a small chalkboard, “is our special of the day.”

“What if I want something that’s not on the menu?”

“Special orders are subject to approval by the owner. Me. And right now we’re not entertaining special orders.”

He held a hand over his heart. “How you wound me. I just don’t know if I’ll ever recover.”

“My manager knows CPR. You’ll live. Now what do you want?” She pointed her gaze to the line that was beginning to grow behind him and his brothers.

“I’ll take the Cajun Destroyer and an order of Bite Me Fries and a big glass of sweet tea.”

She noted that on the computer screen as well as his brothers’ orders. She handed him his number, and he and his entourage went to find a table. Gemma continued taking orders until the line had dissipated. When it had, the girl who worked the counter stopped expediting orders and came back to the register. Gemma began helping bus tables. She would never ask her workers to do something she wouldn’t do. It was a vow she had made herself when she opened.

As she bussed, she made it a point to go by each table and visit for a moment. She would ask how they enjoyed their meal, how they were doing, and just generally tried to make them feel at home. Some had become regular lunch customers, and she would ask them how their family was and other questions about their lives.

She groaned inwardly when she saw the table of three still lingering in the corner. It would be bad business and manners to ignore them completely.

“Hi, guys,” she greeted as she walked up.

“Hi there,” Jasper said.

“How was everything?”

“It was good, really good. Can’t believe we haven’t come in here already,” one of the brothers said.

“Thank you. Glad you enjoyed it.”

“Jasper said you were interested in my photographs,” the same twin said.

“Lucien, I assume. Yes, I am. I’d be glad to talk to you. At the moment is not good, but maybe some other day before or after the lunch crowd.”

He smiled, and Gemma could see how that smile melted hearts and reservations. She could also see the resemblance to Ryder.

“I’d be glad to.”

She nodded. “Please do. I really am interested in displaying your work here. Now, is there anything else I can do for you guys?”

Jasper leaned back and crossed one leg over the other one. “A date would be nice.”

His brothers, who had been smiling, turned to look at him as if in shock. Lucien raised a golden eyebrow.

“Well, I was thinking more clearing the plates off your table.”

“If you go out with me, you wouldn’t have to clean the table.”

She bristled. “I don’t need some Prince Charming to come rescue me from my chores.”

His eyes widened. “That’s not what I meant at all. I’m damn sure not a prince, and I’m not here to save you. I simply want to take you to dinner. If you’re scared, that’s okay. Just admit it.”

“Scared? I’m not scared.”

“Then why not? It’s just dinner. Two people enjoying a meal. Like we did a couple of nights ago. Nothing to be afraid of.”

“Okay then. You’re on.”

“Alrighty then. I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock. Wear some dancing shoes.”

His smile was victorious, and Gemma groaned inside. She had just played right into his hands. But she wasn’t backing down now. She would show him how just unafraid she really was.

 

Chapter Three

 

 

Jasper

 

Cheauxnuff, his black Lab, stared at him from the comfort of the king size bed as Jasper got ready for his date. Every now and then, he would cock his head to the side as Jasper would mutter an expletive as he showered, shaved, and dressed for the first real date he’d been on in years. Yes, years. After watching his father’s disastrous encounters with four different wives, Jasper had sworn off relationships in general. They weren’t worth the hassle. He had seen his dad start over numerous times, losing money every time there was a divorce. Luckily, the man had the sense to keep the family home. The very house Jasper walked in right now. He had inherited it two years ago when his dad succumbed to cancer. The brothers had gotten some money and were happy to get it. They bought a house in town, close to the action. But still both came back regularly to sleep in their old rooms and spend weekends fishing and hunting the swamp. The best of both worlds, they claimed.

Clad only in jeans, he walked to his closet and flipped through his shirts. He finally decided on a striped blue cowboy-style shirt and black jeans. He’d wear his white cowboy hat tonight.

Showered, shaved, dressed, and a dash of cologne, he was ready to go. He patted Cheauxnuff on the head.

“Be good, girl. You’re in charge.”

 

 

Gemma

 

Gemma stared at the contents in her small closet. She frowned, looking down at her mixed breed dog, Annie Oakley.

“I have no idea what to wear,” she said with a frustrated sigh. Her wardrobe for the past several months had consisted of work t-shirts and blue jeans. She didn’t want to be that casual. But she definitely didn’t want Jasper thinking she had put too much effort into this date. Which wouldn’t happen anyway—she didn’t have any date apparel in her closet anymore. She didn’t have any little black dresses, any revealing shirts, no pants just a little too tight or skirts a little too short. She’d given all of those to Goodwill when she’d divorced.

He’d said dancing, so she’d definitely need some boots. That’s where she’d start. She picked a cute set, a plain black t-shirt, and blue jeans. It was simple and practical. She couldn’t resist big silver hoop earrings. She was putting them on when Jasper knocked on the door.

Annie Oakley barked in response. Gemma went to open the door. Jasper’s tall frame overpowered her small space.

Annie barked again.

“Sorry, Annie Oakley doesn’t take well to strangers,” Gemma said.

“Annie Oakley?” Jasper asked with a raise of a golden eyebrow.

“Yeah, as in, ‘I ain’t afraid to love a man. I ain’t afraid to shoot him either.’”

“You have a gun?”

“Would you like to find out?” Gemma asked, batting her eyelashes.

Jasper laughed. “You are a spitfire. I like that that. Are you ready to go, Ms. Oakley?”

“Yes, let’s.”

He bowed his head and gestured to the door. “Your chariot waits again, ma cher.’”

 

 

Jasper

 

When he saw her in her apartment, it had taken everything he had to resist taking her in his arms. He couldn’t remember when he’d let a woman get under his skin like this. If he had any sense, he’d run now, but he’d made a commitment, and now he was bound to it.

He tried not to inhale her flowery scent as she sat next to him in his truck. He tried not to think about smelling her scent close up when they danced later. Or what she would feel like in his arms.

He shook his head and turned the volume on the radio up.

This was a bad, bad idea.

They made general small talk on the short drive from Lafayette to Henderson. Soon they were pulling into the parking lot of Pat’s on the Basin.

Every time he came in here, he was struck by the history of the place. This place had been here longer than he’d been alive. They’d have a good Cajun dinner and do a bit of dancing and go from there. It had been so long since he’d been on a real date, he felt like he was doing the right thing. He guessed he would see.

 

 

Gemma

 

After a great dinner of local seafood, she and Jasper made their way to the dance club that was next door. The band playing was a popular one, and the dance floor was crowded—more so than what she was used to. After several instances of bumping into other dancers, she frowned.

“You want to go somewhere else, cher?” Jasper whispered into her ear.

She nodded. She’d never been good around crowds, and the closeness of the people, of Jasper, and the heat was beginning to wear on her.

“I have the perfect place in mind, and it’s not that far from here.” He reached out and grabbed her hand. “I think you’ll like it,” he said.

She nodded. She joined him in his truck, and soon they were on their way to somewhere else. Just a few minutes down the levee and they were pulling up in front of a place called Turtles.

It was small, a Louisiana hole in the wall. She looked at him, her eyes saying everything that needed to be said.

“Patience, come on in. You won’t regret it,” he said.

Gemma followed him into the small bar. He was greeted with hugs and hellos. This was obviously a place he felt at home, and the very fact he had brought her here made her uncomfortable. She wondered if they were wondering which flavor of the week she was.

“You want something to drink?” he asked.

“Yes, I need a beer.” He asked what kind, and she responded. He went and retrieved the drinks.

“You want to go outside?” he asked, two longneck bottles in hand.

She nodded. “Yes.”

He grinned. “Let’s go then.”

She followed him outside and around the porch area to a deck that overlooked the swamp. The only thing you could see was the lights from the house boats docked nearby and the boats coming in from fishing all day.

She took a deep breath and inhaled the wonderful earthy smell that could only be found in South Louisiana. Music played from the bar’s jukebox, light music that blended in with the soft sounds of splashing water, the singing of the frogs, and other sounds of the night.

Gemma rested her hands on the wooden railing and looked out at the stars that sparkled on the still water.

“Gorgeous,” she said.

“I agree.” Gemma turned then to see Jasper looking at her.

“Like diamonds,” he said. He reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

As if on cue, an old country song about diamonds and the moon started playing.

Jasper held out his hand, and she took it.

They moved slowly to the music, a bit awkwardly at first, as most couples do when they’re just getting to know each other.

He tugged her closer, her body pressed against his. “Like a gem, she sparkles,” his smooth voice sang close to her ear. She shivered.

The bastard chuckled and pulled her even closer, and she let him, enjoying the feel of him.

The music trailed off, and an old Southern rock staple began playing, but they paid no attention to the new music.

When he stopped dancing, she looked up, lost in his stormy blue eyes. He lowered his head to hers. When their lips touched, any chill that was in her body was instantly burned out. She was on fire. His lips moved slowly over hers, softly exploring, teasing. Her hands drifted from his shoulders to feel the expanse of his broad back. She explored the rippling muscles under the soft fabric of his shirt.

The sound of someone clearing their throat brought them both back to reality. Sheepishly, she looked away, stepping back and turning again toward the water. He pulled up two stools, and they sat there talking about music, bands, favorite local haunts, until finally Gemma couldn’t fight back a yawn.

“Ready to go back?”

She nodded. It was well past her normal bedtime, and after a full day of work, she was exhausted.

Twenty minutes later, they were pulling to a stop in front of her apartment.

“Want me to walk you up?” he asked.

As tempting as the idea was, Gemma was too afraid the walk to the door would end up with him in the door, in the house, and rolling around naked in her bed.

She shook her head to rid herself of the tempting vision. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I think it’s a very good idea…” He winked. “But we can save that for later.”

She grinned. “You’re impossible, you know that? I see where Ryder gets it.”

“I taught the boy everything he knows. Never let him tell you otherwise.”

He reached out and grabbed her hand; he turned the palm up. He touched his warm lips to the sensitive skin. She shivered again.

“Until next time,” he promised. She chose that moment to open the door and all but escape up to the safety of her apartment.

 

Chapter Four

 

 

Gemma

 

“You’ve been looking at that cell phone and smiling for days,” her cook, Zack, said as she slid her phone into her back pocket. “What gives?”

“Nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing to me.”

“Don’t you have some prep to do or something?”

“I’m all done. Just waiting for the first customer to come in.”

The front door swung open. “Saved by the bell.

“Lucien!” she said as one of the younger Leblanc brothers walked in with a few samples of his work under his arm.

“Call me Lucky. Everyone else does. You wanted to see some of my photos for Art Walk?”

She walked around the counter to meet him. “Yes! Definitely! Come see.”

He followed her over the table she used as her “office” when needed. She held interviews there and did paperwork when the shop was slow.

He laid out the framed photographs on the table.

“Those are gorgeous,” she said. And they were. They were larger versions of the pictures Jasper had shown her on his phone that night they’d first met. “I would love to display them in here. Could you have them ready for next month’s Art Walk?”

“I sure will. Will you be charging a commission to display them?” 

“Of course not! I simply want to give some local talent some exposure.”

“Well, I appreciate it. Anyway, I better get back to work. That boss of mine is a real pain in the ass sometimes.”

Gemma laughed. “I bet he is.”

Lucky tucked the frames back under his arms, a gentle move for such a large man.

He stepped back and took a good long look at her. “You know what, Gemma St. John? I think you might just be the one.”

“The one?” Gemma raised an eyebrow.

“You’ll see.” And with that cryptic statement, he winked and nodded before leaving.

She was frowning as he walked out.

“That doesn’t look good,” said a female voice behind her.

“Emily!” Gemma said as she recognized the voice of her soon to be business neighbor. The dark-haired beauty was shadowed by her husband, Noah. When they came to Lafayette to take care of their business, they always stopped in.

“Have a seat!” Gemma gestured toward the booth. “Did you order?”

“Yes, we did,” Emily said as they slid into the seat. “By the way, I saw you talking to Lucky when we came in. Did he say something to you? You were frowning.”

“Oh no. He just said something that didn’t make any sense right before he left. He came in to show me his pictures. I’m going to display them here for Art Walk next month.”

“That sounds great! So you’re finally ready to open on the weekends?”

“Just for special occasions for now. Like Art Walk. As we continue to get our feet wet, as they say, I’ll keep adding shifts.”

“Awesome. Jasper said that we’re still on schedule to be ready to open around the first of the year. Then it will be us getting our feet wet.” She turned to smile at Noah. The look in his eyes as he looked at Emily made Gemma’s heart melt.

Only to ice over again. What was she thinking? Jasper would never be the type to settle down. If she was looking for someone to look at her the way Noah Devereaux looked at his girlfriend, she best look elsewhere. Jasper would never look at her the way Noah was looking at Emily. Jasper, like all the Leblanc men, was not meant to be tamed. Nor did they want to be.

“Did I say something?” Emily asked.

Gemma smiled. “Of course not. It’s…it’s nothing. Tell me more about your business. Are you going to be in town long enough to have dinner this time?”

“Not this time. We’re planning to come back for Festival Acadian. Our friends Grace and Gabe came last year and loved it. We’re making a weekend out of it.”

“Great. We’ll have to make plans then.”

Gemma noticed that the lunch crowd was beginning to pile in. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work. It was great seeing you guys again.”

“You too. We’ll get together soon.”

Soon, Gemma was too busy to think of Jasper. She was taking orders, helping with to-go’s, bussing tables, whatever needed to be done.

After the rush, as was her habit, she went out back to the porch area. It was a place off limits to customers for the time being, until a few repairs were made. This was the place where eventually Gemma wanted to host live music. For now, it was her sanctuary.

She sat in one of the chairs and put her feet up on another that was across from her. She sipped on her glass of tea and let her mind wander. Where did it go? To Jasper, of course. What was she going to do? To keep going would end up breaking her heart. The sex would be great, there was no doubt about it, but would it be worth it in the long run? With Jasper, would there be any ‘long run’? Any future?

She exhaled a frustrated sigh.

“Rough day?” The sound of that familiar smooth voice made her jump.

“You could say that.”

“Anything I can do?”

She smiled sadly. “No. Not really.”

She sat up and moved her feet, and he took the seat.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Jasper, where do you see this going?”

He smiled lasciviously and raised an eyebrow. “All kinds of places.”

“No, seriously. Like would this ever be a relationship? Anything other than a casual, occasional roll in the hay, as they would say?”

His smile fell, and he went quiet.

“You can’t answer, can you?”

He looked away. “I think you know the answer.”

“I think I do.” 

Gemma stood up, gave him a bittersweet smile, and went back into the shop. She didn’t look back.

 

 

Chapter Five

 

 

Four weeks later…

 

Jasper

 

He walked into the courtyard area of Bite Me. Four weeks had passed, and despite his best efforts, he had not been able to stop thinking of Gemma St. John. He had picked up his phone countless times to send her a text just to see how she was doing. Then he would talk himself out of it. He’d even gone so far as to park in a new place that didn’t have him walking in front of her shop. His brothers had raised eyebrows but said nothing—a rare smart move on their part. He was grumpy, fidgety, and overall miserable.

He had come tonight to see Lucky’s artwork on display. He was so proud of his brother. Photography had always been a passion of his, among other things; at least this one was a bit more productive.

After talking with his brother for a moment, he realized he could not leave without seeing Gemma. Just to see how she was doing.

“She’s in the back,” Lucky said, answering his unspoken question. “There’s a live band tonight.”

He glared at Lucky.

“What? You wanted to know.”

“You know too much sometimes.”

“I just know you, brother. Go see your woman.” He reached out and gave Jasper a not-so-gentle push toward the door.

He let that slide and continued the momentum outside, spotting her instantly. She had her back to him, but that hair and that body was unmistakable. He walked over to the bar area and ordered a beer. After all this time of wanting to see her, he was content to wait. To enjoy the anticipation. Did she want to see him? Did she hope he’d come in to see Lucky’s artwork? There was only one way to find out.

He recognized the band; they were local. He had done some contracting work on the drummer’s house. He smiled, a plan forming in his head. He grabbed his phone and hoped he still had the guy’s number.

He did. He typed out a quick text and prayed that the guy would check his messages. When the song ended, Jasper was pleased when he saw the guy look down and pick up his phone. The guy’s eyes searched the crowd, and he smiled and nodded when he spotted Jasper. He whispered something to his bandmates.

Jasper’s heart began to beat faster. He felt like a high school kid all over again. He’d never done something like this before for a woman. Jasper LeBlanc did not get all gooey over women. He also did not woo them or do crazy things like he was about to do.

He watched Gemma, waiting to see her reaction when the song began to play. What if she didn’t make the connection? What would he do then?

He didn’t have long to wait. When she heard the first few notes of the song that had played the night they danced in the moonlight at Turtles, he saw her stiffen. She turned and looked around as if searching for someone. As her eyes met his, she went still.

He smiled and made his way through the crowd, never taking his eyes off her. He stopped in front of her and held out his hand. When she took it, he let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.

As they began dancing, he leaned in close. “I’ve missed you.”

She looked up into his eyes. Probably to see if he was real. She cocked her head to the side as if debating what she should say.

“Can you answer me now?” she asked finally.

He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her lips.

“Baby, when you find a jewel, you don’t throw it away. You keep it. You treasure it. You never let it go.”

Her lips quivered just for a moment before Jasper covered them again with his. “Gemma, you’re my diamond…my very own gemstone.”

About the Author

 

A.L. Vincent is a teacher/writer who lives in the heart of Cajun Country. Born in Oklahoma, Vincent became fascinated with South Louisiana after reading Interview With A Vampire. Finally, she became a Cajun transplant in 2001. When not getting lost in a story line, Vincent can be found cooking or enjoying live local music. She has one son and a furball of a dog aptly named Furby.

 

Want to read more of the Boonies, including Emily and Noah’s love story? Read Tangled Up in You, the first book in the Fleur de Lis Series.

 

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By Genevieve Lynne

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

Ashley

 

Ashley Sayers sighed. “Is it the grass on this side of the road?”

“Nope.”

“The grass on that side of the road?”

“Uh huh.” Javier covered his mouth to stifle a laugh.

“Something green, something green.” She looked around the backseat of the Tahoe where she and Javier had been sitting since they left Dallas. “Are you sure it’s not something inside the car?”

Javier nodded and then removed his hand from his mouth. “Give up?”

“I must be the worst I Spy player in the world.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Ben, Javier’s brother and Ashley’s soon-to-be brother-in-law, said while looking at her through the rearview mirror. “He beats me all the time. Don’t you, hermano?”

Javier beamed. It always got to Ashley when he smiled like that. Normally, he looked like any other thirty-five year old with kind eyes and a handsome face, but when she got closer, looked deeper, she could see that he was different. She could see the surgery scars. She could see what the brutal attack that happened years ago really did to him. She could see the damage below the surface, which was what made her certain that if there was anyone in the world who could understand her, it would be him. She loved him, needed him for that.

“Okay.” She shrugged. “I give up.”

Javier stifled another laugh. “The green bug guts on the windshield.”

He was also, essentially, a fifth-grade boy.

“Well, that’s green and not inside the car. You win. You wanna play again?”

“We have to stop for gas. You want a snack, mano?” Ben said as he pulled into the gas station that looked like something out of a Stephen King novel with its dirty windows and outdated gas pumps. They’d stopped here many times while they were in town, but Ashley still couldn’t figure out the name of the business. In town, it was known either as the station next to the old tire store or Shorty’s, but there was no sign with the name Shorty on it. No tire store, either.

Everyone scrambled out of the Tahoe except for Ashley, who couldn’t stop staring at the metal building. The first time she walked in there, the cashier had leered at her while Ben paid. She'd been so creeped out that she’d left her bottle of water on the counter in her rush to exit. When she went back in for it, he’d offered her a hit. How could someone who didn’t even know her see the damage underneath the surface? Now he made the same lewd gestures and offered her the same hit every time she went in, but she never told her sister.

“Hey.” Mackenna, her sister, opened her door. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Tears pooled in Ashley’s eyes as she stared at the ugly building with the faded sign advertising last year’s Independence Day parade. “I just was thinking about how much easier it’s getting.” That wasn’t a lie. It was getting easier. But this stupid gas station always seemed like some kind of test. Could she buy herself a bottle of water and a bag of pretzels without showing that, like Javi, she was permanently damaged?

She didn’t know everything Mackenna had gone through to rescue her from the life she’d been stuck in, but she knew it was bad. Something dark had gotten ahold of her sister; she could see it now just as clear as she had during their FaceTime visits while Ashley was still in rehab. While Mackenna tried to hide it, sometimes the shadows overtook her. Sometimes Mackenna could be standing right in front of her, but she wasn’t really there. She was somewhere lonely, a place with dark corners and closed doors. It broke Ashley all over again that she couldn’t go there with her sister because she was terrified of the dark.

Ashley pointedly avoided making eye contact with the cashier as they joined Javier in front of the ice cream freezer.

“What looks good, Javi?” Mackenna asked, but he was too engrossed in the display to answer.

“I’ll tell you what looks good.” Ben walked up behind Mackenna, wrapped his arms around her waist, and said softly, “Your ass in those jeans.” Then he moved in closer and whispered something in her ear.

She blushed and then slapped his hand, which was inching its way into the top of her waistband. “Tell me again why I’m marrying you.”

“For my money, right? Isn’t that what you said?”

“That’s right.” Mackenna laid her head back on Ben’s chest, closed her eyes, and smiled. “How about this week you stay here with me, and your money can go on the business trip to Tulsa?”

“Don’t you know? Money doesn’t solve problems.”

Ashley felt the itch again. Maybe if she’d made better choices, been a stronger person, she’d have the perfect man for her. Or maybe she had. She smiled to herself. She’d been doing a little more smiling lately.

The three of them stood there and watched Javier contemplate the ice cream choices. Actually, Mackenna and Ben watched Javi; Ashley watched Mackenna and Ben. Her sister was finally happy, and in one month, once they got Ben’s old family house fixed up, she would marry the perfect man for her. He was a forensic accountant, and she’d become an internet security consultant for some of the biggest retailers in the country. They were a crime-fighting duo.

The cashier cleared his throat. When she glanced in his direction, he motioned for her to come to him. Why did she have to look at him? She told herself she wasn’t going to look at him again. She turned and flipped him her middle finger.

“Did one of you drop this?” he called out and pushed something across the counter underneath his tattooed hand.

Dammit. She could not let Mackenna know that this idiot was constantly offering her drugs. The last thing her sister needed was to worry about Ashley while they were finishing up the work to the country house and finalizing wedding plans.

“No,” Ashley answered back. “We didn’t.”

He drummed his fingers on the counter, revealing a small bag of pills underneath. She stared at the snake tattooed on his hand, following it as it coiled around his arm and disappeared under the sleeve of his black T-shirt. His sunken face and hollow eyes gave him away. He had the look of someone who rode life hard. She could just go take the bag from him and throw it away in the bathroom, but she knew better. She wouldn’t throw it away. She’d hold on to it, safekeeping she’d call it.

“Go ahead,” he mouthed and then pushed his hand farther across the counter.

How did he know to target her? Maybe that first hit of oblivion she took when she was seventeen changed her in ways only visible to those who had the same hit. Funny thing was she could never remember taking that first hit; she could only remember why she took it. She pushed that memory down. It didn’t belong to her anymore. She was not that person anymore. She looked up at her image in the curved security mirror above his head. She may not be the same person who lost herself in that world Mackenna saved her from, but she still looked like her—distorted, uneven, awkward.

Ashley could feel her legs restless to move closer to him, her fingers tingling at the thought of reaching for whatever was under that snake tattoo. Before she could move a muscle, a strong arm wrapped around her waist and twirled her around to face him.

Matt. Her second chance. Her reason for smiles. As relentless as the cashier was with offering her drugs, Matt, the local mechanic, showed the same determination offering her a night out. She’d been turning him down in public, not wanting to take anything away from Mackenna’s wedding. In private, stolen moments, though, she couldn’t get enough of him.

She pretended to push out of his grasp, but she really didn’t want out. Right now, in his arms and completely inaccessible to the snake tattoo was exactly where she needed to be. “Are you stalking me now?” She laughed.

“You’re stalking me. I thought you weren’t going to be back until Friday.”

“We’re a little behind on the remodel. Ben took off work for a few days so we can get the place finished in time for the wedding.”

He searched her face with his soft, brown eyes. “I’m still invited, right?”

“Of course.”

“Y’all mind if I borrow Ashley for a few minutes?” he asked without taking his eyes off her.

Ben and Mackenna both looked over their shoulders at them and smiled. Obviously, they knew about this thing she and Matt had going. So much for trying to stay under the radar for her sister’s big day.

With his arm still around her waist, Matt led her outside to the side of the building, pushed her up against the wall with his body, and held her chin. The way he looked at her was nothing like the way the cashier, and so many other men, looked at her. He was the first man in her life who made her feel beautiful. But eventually, he’d find out who she really was and what she’d really done.

He smiled down at her. “Meet me tonight?”

“I can’t. We’re going out to eat at the restaurant that’s catering the reception.”

“Tomorrow night?”

She should say no. She really should. This was Mackenna’s time. “Maybe.”

“Well, all right then. I’ll text you tomorrow.” He adjusted his cap and stepped back.

It scared her to watch him move away from her like that. She knew it would happen eventually. Matt Hansen was the kindest person she knew, and she had no doubt once he found out who she used to be and what she used to do, he’d lose all interest in her. In another act of utter selfishness, she grabbed his shirt, pulled him back to her, and kissed him. One day she’d be strong. Just not today.

 

Chapter Two

 

 

Matt

 

Matt hurried to his truck, resisting the urge to pull Ashley back to the side of the building and kiss her for another five minutes…or longer. Those stolen moments with her were the best thing in his life, and they always ended too soon. Since pulling her back to him was out of the question, he could go back and slam Theo’s face into the cash register for trying to push drugs on her. He watched the whole thing go down, the despair in her eyes when her body seemed to give in to the call. He felt the rigidity in her when they walked past Theo and out the door. Maybe he should’ve told her he knew what she was struggling with, but the time never seemed right. One day. He’d tell her he knew and didn’t care. He’d tell her he loved her. He wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear that, but even if she was, there was no way around the complications in his own life. He was sure he loved her, but telling her that would only bring her heartbreak.

He climbed into his truck and watched Ashley open the door for Javier. She turned and waved to him before getting in herself. Yes. He loved that woman, and one day…if he ever got everything in his own life straightened out, he’d tell her that.

 

 

The house was dark when Matt walked in the back door. He should’ve left a few lights on, but he didn’t think he’d get home this late. He flipped on the light to the kitchen and called out, “It’s me!” When there was no answer, he hurried down the hall to Pop’s room. He turned on the light and saw Pop sitting in his wheelchair in the same spot in front of his window where he’d left him a few hours ago. His eyes were closed, and for a moment, Matt thought he might be dead. Despite everything, he wasn’t ready to lose the old man.

“Pop?”

Pop opened his eyes, blinked a few times, and smiled. “You caught me resting my peepers.”

“Sorry I was gone so long. Joe Scruggs had a problem with his ignition switch, so I had to go out there, and you know how that goes.” He unlocked the brakes to Pop’s wheelchair and wheeled him to the kitchen. “Ready for your chocolate milk?” He took the carton out of the refrigerator, poured some into a glass, and put a straw in it. “Drink this while I heat up your soup.”

Pops grabbed the glass with both hands, took a sip, and smiled. “I haven’t had chocolate milk in years.”

Hours, actually. Matt gave Pop chocolate milk every night while he heated up his chicken noodle soup. They were the only two things he cared to eat anymore. He pulled up a chair and offered Pops another drink.

“How’s the shop, son?”

“Busy. Can’t keep up sometimes.” Because he had to come home every few hours to check on Pop, but he would never tell him that.

“You have to take vacations, give yourself some rest.”

“I know.” Rest was more exhausting than work. If he wasn’t working with his hands, then his mind was free to wander off into all kinds of dark places he tried to stay away from.

“You need a nice girl.”

“There is one girl, but…you know.”

He nodded and took a sip from his straw. “It’s not that Braxton girl, is it?”

“God no. She’s from the city.”

Pops patted Matt’s cheek. “She must be a real looker to have caught your eye.”

“She’s pretty.” And smart and generous and wounded.

“Bring her out to the pecan tree. That’s how I got Elise to fall in love with me.”

Matt smiled. “Pecans?”

“You betcha. I also gave her some liquor. Yes sir, you need to bring her out to the farm and pick up the pecans before it gets too cold.”

Matt sat back in his chair and sighed. Should he tell him it was March? That they were already at the farm, but the farm hasn’t existed for years? That the pecan tree died ten years ago? That what he was suggesting could never happen? Matt looked around the room and settled on the beige walls with the magazine pages he’d ripped from National Geographic taped to them. Even if Pops had been anywhere special, he’d already forgotten it. He lived in a world where nothing lasted longer than a day, not even pain of loss, and for a long moment, he envied the man.

He said, “Sure. Maybe we’ll come out next week,” even though he knew it wouldn’t happen and Pop wouldn’t remember it.

He got the canned chicken noodle soup out of the pantry and poured it into the pot he used every night to make Pop dinner.

He’d just turned on the burner when his phone rang. He checked the caller ID because he’d learned over the last eighteen months to always check it before answering. It was an unknown.

“Is it her?” Pop asked.

“I can’t be sure. Probably.”

“If it’s her, she’ll leave a message.”

“If it’s her, and she leaves a message, we’re not going to listen to it.”

He and Pop stared at his phone. It was her; he knew it. When the voicemail notification popped up on his phone, he immediately swiped it left to delete it.

 

Chapter Three

 

 

Ashley

 

“Damn it!” Ashley hit the steering wheel of the Tahoe with the heel of her palm. The stupid thing was out of gas, and it was all her fault. She climbed out of the driver’s seat and looked down the street both ways, though street was a lavish term for the dirt road she’d somehow ended up on. Pathway was more like it. She hadn’t seen anyone—or anything—for miles. That wasn’t true. She’d seen that tree with the one dead branch at least four times since she’d gotten lost in this five square mile labyrinth of streets with no names on them and directions from old men in Dickies jeans that included sentences like, “Then you turn right at Hank Ketchum’s old farm.” She kicked the tire of Ben’s car. “I hate the country.”

A familiar truck pulled up and stopped in the middle of the road. Matt. “Did it break down?” he called out through his open window.

“No. Sometimes I like to hang out on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. When I’m really crazy, I’ll drive around pretending like I’m lost until I run out of gas. It’s a city thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Are you lost or out of gas?”

“Both.”

“Doesn’t your phone have a GPS?” he teased.

She threw her hands up. “You know very well that I can’t get a signal on my phone out here. I asked for directions, but I prefer those directions to include actual street names, not landmarks that fell down thirty years ago. And I know what you’re going to ask me…why I didn’t stop and fill up at Shorty’s, or the old station, or whatever they’re calling it this decade because I’ve asked myself this a thousand times, and the answer is because, okay? Just because.”

“That’s gotta be the first time someone has given me the answer to a question I didn’t know I was going to ask.” He was full-on smiling at her, the jackass. 

No. He wasn’t a jackass. He was a nice guy who, within the span of a few months, had made her feel like maybe her life was starting to turn around. One day she’d have to tell him the truth about her past, and she was starting to think sooner would be better than later. It would be better for him to reject her now, before she fell even harder for him. “Do you honestly want to know why I didn’t stop a Shorty’s or whatever the hell it is?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t trust myself to go there alone because that moronic cashier keeps offering me drugs.”

“I know.” He leaned across the bench seat and opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

Ashley hesitated when she caught a whiff of something caustic and familiar. “Do you smoke?”

“Joe Scruggs does. Like a chimney. I had to give him a ride this morning. Are you okay?”

Cigarette smoke in a car always brought back the memory of when her downhill spiral began, and it always came back like a flood. The fear, the dread, and the shame that overcame her to the point that she needed her first hit of oblivion to get through the experience rolled over her even now. Even after all these years, after all the different men, after all the different cars, she could still smell the cigarette smoke and staleness of the old car, feel the man’s cold hands on her neck, hear her boyfriend outside the car, telling her to hurry because he needed his fix. Matt was better off without her. She shook her head. “It’s fine. I’ll walk.”

“But you don’t know where you’re going.”

He was right. She didn’t know where she was going. She never did.

He held up a white paper sack. “I just have to take this medicine to Pop. I’ve got some gas cans there, and we can go somewhere and talk.” His brown eyes softened. “I think it’s time we talked.”

“Okay.” She climbed into his truck and leaned against the door, letting the wind from the open window glide across her face. It was a new sensation—all of it—riding down a country road in an old truck with the windows open, a man being kind to her without asking for anything in return. The newness of this promising relationship.

Ten minutes later, they pulled up to an old wooden house that was probably the same size or smaller than Ben’s whole apartment. She could see its curtains blowing in the breeze. “So this is your house?”

“This is it.”

“Does this mean we’ve taken our relationship to a whole new level?” She said it teasingly but hoped he’d answer it anyway.

He didn’t. He grabbed the white sack. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Ashley watched him hurry to the porch and disappear into the house. He did have a nice ass; jeans and work boots might be her new type. Not that she ever really had a type other than loser. That had been her type until Mackenna rescued her. She checked her phone. She had a little bit of a signal, so she sent Mackenna a text telling her she was with Matt.

After what seemed like forever, she checked her phone again. It had only been five minutes—not a long time, but not exactly what she’d call right back. She got out of the truck, stretched, and then leaned against the cab with her head tilted up to take in some warmth from the afternoon sun, which masked the chill of the March afternoon. God. It was so quiet out in the country. How did people stand it? She took in a deep breath of fresh air and smiled. So that’s what fresh air smells like. Grass and dirt and something sweet she couldn’t identify.

There was still no sign of Matt, so she pushed off the truck and made her way to the side and then back of the house. “Huh.” There was a lake with a small wooden dock back there. She never knew anyone who had their own lake. A few men she knew from when she worked in that club on Mockingbird Street said they had one, but they never invited her to see it.

Drawn by the desire to kick off her sandals and put her feet in the water, she walked to the lake and onto the dock. That sweet scent she couldn’t identify got stronger the closer she got. On the dock, she sat and looked over the edge at her reflection in the water. So different from the curved, distorted image that stared back at her from the gas station mirror. It startled her almost, to see confirmation of a truth she’d been grappling with for the last few months. Despite the horrible directions people gave, she liked it out here in the stillness and quiet. She might even belong here. Well, as soon as she could figure out how to decipher the directions these people gave, she’d belong.

“Going for a swim?” Matt asked from behind her.

“No, I…” She twisted to face him, almost surprised by the smile on his face. She wasn’t used to men smiling at her. Leering, maybe, but not smiling. “Sorry. You told me to wait in the truck, but I—”

“No.” He shook his head. “I took longer than I expected. I thought I could invite you in, but he’s having a rough day.”

“I’m sorry.” She patted the spot next to her. “Sit with me? Maybe you can help me figure out what that sweet smell is.”

He sat down next to her. “Honeysuckle. Over there.” He motioned toward the grouping of trees at the other end of the water. “You’ve never smelled wild honeysuckle before?”

“I’ve smelled what some off-brand lotion company has been trying to pass off as honeysuckle.” She laid down and smiled when Matt lay down next to her. “I had no idea you owned your own lake.”

“It’s a pond, really.” He crossed his arms and rested his head on his hands.

“Do you swim in it?”

“Nah. We fish from it, though. You should bring Javier out here this week. We can have a fish fry on Saturday night.”

“Ohmygod.” She rolled to her side, propped herself up on one arm, and touched Matt’s shoulder with her free hand. “He would love that!” She felt his chest rise and fall a few times and realized the intimate position she’d just put them in, lying there so close to each other, her chest pressed up against him, her hand on his strong body, his body responding to her touch. It was more than his body, though. Another intangible connection had been formed. Like those videos she’d seen in rehab about neurons that reached across the space between them to connect with each other. New habits. That’s what the video was about. “I was in rehab,” she finally said out loud. “I made a mess of my life, and Mackenna went through hell to bring me back. She’s done so much for me, I don’t want her to know that sometimes I’m tempted.”

“Like at the gas station the other night.”

“Yeah. You knew?” She thought about the way he grabbed her right before she moved toward the snake tattoo, the way he ushered outside. “You knew.”

“Yep.” He reached up and twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. “I knew. I’ve seen Theo looking at you, and I’ve seen you desperately try to not look at him.” He pushed the strand of hair behind her ear.

It was amazing, the feel of a man’s gentle touch. She closed her eyes and leaned into it for a second before old demons reminded her she didn’t deserve this extravagant moment. After the life she’d lived, the choices she’d made, she didn’t get to sit on the dock of a private pond with wild honeysuckle swirling in the air around her. She was a drug addict. A whore.

“Hey. Look at me.”

She opened her eyes and felt a tear roll down her cheek.

“I have to tell you something.”

“Okay.”

“God, I hate telling you this now, but I can’t let it go on any further.”

Everything inside her felt heavy. He did care about her past. Of course he wouldn’t want someone with her baggage. The seconds stretched on, giving her brain the space it needed to make up a thousand different reasons for the sudden tension in his body. “What?”

“I’m married.”

“Oh.” A thousand and one. She sat up, wanting to be anywhere but there, wanting to go back to the Tahoe and push it home if need be. Then she’d just be under the same roof with Ben, Matt’s childhood friend who…“Oh my God. Does Ben know about this?”

“No. Ben left to go live with his foster family when we were in junior high.”

“I should go. I don’t belong here.”

She started to stand, but he pulled her back. “She’s a terrible person. She’s in prison and will be for another three and half years, but our marriage was over long before that.”

He said it like it would negate the awful vise that was now gripping at her insides. “Then why are you still with her?”

“It’s complicated. This land belongs to her family. It’s hers. So’s Pop.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Pop is her grandfather, not mine.”

“Oh.” The vise eased a little. “So if you leave her, you leave Pop?”

“Yes. There are other reasons, but that’s a big one.”

Ashley looked around at the land, the house, the pond. It would all be hard to give up, but there was something noble in staying married to a horrible woman so that he could care for her grandfather. There was, wasn’t there? Or was she in one of those self-delusional states where she could explain away anything she didn’t want to have to face? “I need time to think about this.”

“Right. Of course. Take all the time you need. I’d still like to see you, though. You can still bring Javier over to fish, right?”

See each other? Was that allowed? What were the rules for dating a married man? She was sitting on someone else’s dock, talking to someone else’s husband. What did it say about her that she didn’t feel awful about it? Mostly what she felt was numb. “I don’t know. I guess group stuff is okay.”

He smiled at her, obviously relieved. “Group stuff. We can do that.”

“Yeah,” she said, still numb. “Group stuff.”

 

 

 

Chapter Four

 

 

Matt

 

After the fish fry, Matt pushed Pop’s wheelchair up to his bed and engaged the brake. “On the count of three?”

Pop nodded.

“One. Two. Three.” He helped Pop into the bed and pulled the sheets up over his chest. “Like those clean sheets?”

Pop smiled big and rubbed his stomach.

“That was a good meal, wasn’t it? You like Ashley?”

“She’s a real nice girl.”

“Yes, she is. You really turned on the charm.”

It had been a good day for all of them, Pop especially. Javier had spent the day catching fish, throwing back the small ones and cleaning the big ones. Ashley being there had brought something back to the place that had been missing for so long—life. He and Pop had sat out on the porch and listened. Listened to her talk and laugh. Listened to her encourage Javier. Damn, he wanted her in his life. Every day. Permanently.

“Does she know you’re married?”

He sat on the bed next to Pop. “I told her earlier this week. I told her Rebecca was in prison for selling prescription drugs and that she’d be gone for three and a half more years. I also told her the reason I’m still married to her is that this is her land, and you’re her grandfather, and that I’m not leaving her because I’m not leaving you.”

“That’s not the only reason.”

“I know. But I have three and a half years to figure out the rest.” He turned off the lamp. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

When he walked out of Pop’s room, Ashley was the only one left in the kitchen. She was standing at the sink, up to her elbows in soap suds, and humming. It was, by far, the best thing he’d seen in years, and something deep inside his soul pulled at him. He longed to wrap his arms around her and put his lips on her neck, kiss her through the night, and make love to her.

“Are you going to stand there and stare, or are you going to help me?”

“I think I’ll stare. I kinda like the view.”

Their gazes locked through their reflections in the window in front of the kitchen sink. The corners of her mouth turned up, and her focus went back to the task at hand, still smiling, though.

“Where’d everyone go?” he asked.

She rinsed off a plate and dried it as she turned to speak to him. “Javier got tired, so Mackenna and Ben took him home. Ben’s going back to Tulsa in the morning, so he needed to pack anyway. I didn’t want to leave you with this mess to clean up all by yourself.”

“Dishes, huh? That’s why you stayed?”

“I love doing dishes. It’s amazing.”

He pushed up his sleeves and plunged his hands into the sudsy water. She reached into the sink and flipped some of the water up into his face.

He wiped his face with his sleeve and laughed. “You did not just do that.”

“You’re right,” she teased. “I didn’t.”

“Pop had a great night. He really likes you.”

“Good. Maybe I’ll be able to come over more often then.” She was looking up at him with those haunting blue eyes, but this time, he noticed something different about them, about her. She was with him. Even after what he’d told her, she hadn’t gone to that dark place she always managed to fold herself into after a few minutes.

“What?” she asked.

“You look…I don’t know…happier.”

“Oh.” She blushed. “I guess I feel happier.”

“Even after what we talked about?”

“You have three and half years. You’ll figure something out.”

He rinsed off the final pan and put it in the drying rack. “I want to show you something.”

She put the last glass away. “Okay.”

“Wait right here.” He hurried through the house, gathering up two pillows and a couple of blankets. Then he asked, “Do you trust me?” and held his breath until she nodded. She still trusted him. That was a huge relief. “Then keep your eyes closed.” He grabbed the bundle and held her hand as he led her to the pond with instructions along the way to step over that rock and watch out for the hole to your right.

When they reached the dock, he made a pallet for them with the blankets and pillows and helped Ashley lay down on it. Once he was settled beside her, he said, “Open your eyes,” and watched her expression as she took in the clear night sky.

“Oh dear God.” She sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. “I’ve never seen so many stars. I’ve heard of light pollution before, but…oh my God…I had no idea. All this time out at Ben’s place, and I’ve never really gone outside at night. I feel so stupid now.”

“Look over there.” Matt pointed to the stars reflecting in the still water beside them.

“This is amazing,” she gasped. “It feels like we’re floating in the sky.”

Matt pushed up on his elbow. “Can’t see that in the city, can you?”

“This is so beautiful.”

The wind blew, warm and gentle, rippling the water that surrounded them and blowing the honeysuckle fragrance over them.

Ashley closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. “This is the best night.”

“Wanna make it better?” Judging by the way she opened her eyes and the languid smile that formed on her lips, she knew exactly what he meant. It was impulsive and rash and selfish, and he shouldn’t have said it. She’d shared her greatest struggle with him, which meant she trusted him. If he made love to her tonight, she’d hate him. He’d hate himself. “I’m sorry. I should’ve―”

She grabbed him around the back of the neck, pulled him down to her, and kissed him, leaving no room for rational thought. It was just the two of them in the dark with the stars and the honeysuckle. He was powerless to stop. Now he was the addict desperate for a taste of what was forbidden.

He unbuttoned her shirt and marveled at how beautiful her body was. She had a tattoo right above her waistband. Tiny angel wings.

“They’re for Mackenna,” she said. “She’s my guardian angel. My protector.” She sat up and started to button her shirt. “I should go.”

“Yeah.” He stood and helped her up. “Want me to drive you?”

“I’ll walk.”

“So you know the way now, huh?” he asked, trying to keep it light, trying to keep her from being too uncomfortable in this awkward situation he put them in.

“Javier showed me a short cut,” she said without looking at him. “Thanks for a great night.” She waved goodbye and disappeared into the night.

Matt’s phone rang on his way back to his house. He almost ignored it because the only people who called him at this time of day had car trouble, but he didn’t, because he hated to think someone might be stranded somewhere and need help. He cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear. “This is Matt.”

“So you are alive.”

Even if he hadn’t recognized the voice, the bite was undeniable. Rebecca. Dammit. “Yep. I’m alive.”

“I wasn’t sure because you haven’t been accepting any of my phone calls.”

“Been busy. What can I do for you?”

“I’m getting out. They gave me a bus ticket to Durant. You can pick me up on Friday at ten in the morning.”

Did he hear her right? “What the fuck do you mean you’re getting out?”

“I made parole. I’ll be released on Friday. You’d know this if you’d have accepted any of my calls. Didn’t you get a letter?”

Did he? It was possible. Anytime he saw anything with the Oklahoma Department of Corrections on the envelope, he threw it out. “No.”

“Well, pick me up. Don’t be late. We have a lot to discuss.” She hung up, leaving him stunned and depressed.

She’d only served eighteen months of her five-year sentence, so apparently a third offense for pushing prescription drugs meant nothing anymore. Dammit. He should’ve killed her when he had the chance. He always knew the five-year date would come, but he thought he had at least three and a half more years to worry about it. He was just starting to move on and be happy—really happy. He thought about Ashley and the way she kissed him. There was something there, something amazing, and now Rebecca was going to come back and ruin it all. Why the hell did he ever marry her?

 

Chapter Five

 

 

Ashley

 

“What about this?” Mackenna held up a big, blue satin bow.

“Looks great!”

“Okay. That’s it.”

“What?”

“You have got to tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing.”

“It’s so obvious something’s wrong, but you’re acting like it’s nothing, like you don’t want me to know. I know you’re trying to hide something from me.”

Ashley plopped down on the sofa. “I’m not doing drugs, if that’s what you’re worried about. I haven’t told you because I don’t want you worrying about me so close to your wedding. You’ve had to worry about me for most of my life. After everything you’ve done for me, you deserve to have the perfect wedding, and I would feel awful if I ruined that too.”

Mackenna sat next to her and put her arm around her. “You feel guilty for what I did to save you?”

Ashley laid her head on her big sister’s shoulder. “I know it was bad, Mackenna. I know the people I was mixed up with. I know you can’t sleep because you have nightmares, so yeah, I feel guilty.”

“But everything happens for a reason, right?

“I guess.”

“I met Ben while I was trying to find you.”

“Yeah.” Ashley shrugged. “So?”

“So I sacrificed six months and a little sleep for you, but I’m happy now because of you. What I did is nothing compared to what you’ve fought your way through.”

“I guess I…” Ashley had never thought of it that way. Mackenna and Ben were perfect together; they were perfectly matched in every way, and the way they took care of Javier together was beautiful. “I’ve never considered it like that.”

“I don’t care about this stupid wedding, Ashley. Well, I mean I do, but I don’t need the perfect day to make my life perfect. It’s perfect because I have the people I love with me, but I can feel you slipping away again. I know you’re struggling, so I’m going to worry. Tell me the truth so I don’t have to make it up. Talk to me.”

“Matt is married.”

“Oh my God.” Mackenna sat up and twisted her torso to face her. “That son of a bitch.”

“It’s not like that. He doesn’t love her.”

“Oh please.”

“I know. I sound pathetic.”

“So where is she?”

“In prison.”

Mackenna raised an eyebrow. “What did she do?”

“I think she stole Pop’s medicine or his doctor’s prescription pad or something like that.”

“Hang on a minute.” Mackenna left and returned with her laptop. “I can find out.”

“No.” Ashley put her hand on the laptop and pushed it closed. “I will not have you hacking into some ultra-secure database and putting yourself at risk for this. I know you’re very good at it, but I won’t have you do that kind of stuff for me anymore. You could lose your job.”

“First of all, I’m a consultant; I can’t lose my job because I’d never fire myself. Second of all…” She yanked the computer out of Ashley’s reach. “I was going to Google it. What’s her name?”

“Rebecca.”

Mackenna typed in a few words and scrolled through a few pages of results. “That’s not it.” She typed and scrolled, typed and scrolled. Finally, she said, “Got it.”

“What does it say.”

“Oh God.”

“What?”

“Hang on a second.” Mackenna bit her bottom lip as her eyes scanned the screen. When she finally looked up, she cringed. “She’s being released tomorrow. You were right about the prescription drugs. Stealing an old man’s pain medicine? Who does that?”

“Someone who’s desperate.” Her voice came out smaller than she’d intended, but she felt so small at hearing her sister’s disdain. A year ago, she might have done the same thing.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” Ashley interrupted. “It’s an awful thing to do. What else did you find?”

Mackenna gave her that same smile she’d given ever since she could remember when she felt bad about something she’d said and then focused her attention back to her laptop. She read for a minute longer and then frowned. “She was arrested in room ten at the old motel in town about a month before she and Matt were both questioned about a murder at their home.”

“Where he lives now?”

“Yeah. Some lowlife drug pusher attacked her, and he shot the guy.”

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah, but…”

“What?”

“The guy’s cell phone was never found, but according to his records, he’d made a call right before going into the house.”

“What good is a drug dealer if he doesn’t have a phone? How did they explain that?”

“Matt couldn’t. Rebecca blamed it on the police mishandling the evidence.”

“Did they ever find the phone?”

“No. And the case is still open. She was arrested a month later on the drug charges. There’s something that’s really bothering me about all this.” Mackenna looked up at her over the top of her laptop.

“What?”

“I don’t know. A name keeps popping up, along with Tulsa.”

“Isn’t that where Ben’s been working?”

Mackenna didn’t respond, and Ashley realized she wasn’t really talking to her. She got this way when she was trying to work through a problem, and trying to engage her now would frustrate her.

“Ben’s working on a case in Tulsa. Before he left yesterday, I saw him put something into his bag with…” She stood. “Something’s not right here. I’m going to go to the bedroom and work through this.”

 

 

Ashley couldn’t sleep that night, thinking about Matt and Pop and the woman who’d be coming home to them tomorrow. She almost had sex with him—a married man. What did it say about her that she’d wished she had?

Her door flew open. Mackenna stood in the doorway, backlit by the light they kept on in the hall for Javier. She was cradling her open laptop in her arm. 

“What?” Ashley sat up on her elbows.

“Tulsa.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to need your help.”

“Okay.” She sat up. “What is it?”

“Rebecca’s release has some kind of connection to Ben’s case.”

“Oh my God.”

“I have to ask you something I promised I’d never ask you.”

“You can ask me anything.”

“And no matter what your answer is, we can handle it, okay?”

She’d never seen her sister so scared before. Was this what she was like when she was trying to find her? “You’re scaring me, Mackenna. What is it?”

“Do you know anyone in town who sells drugs?”

 

 

Chapter Six

 

 

Matt

 

Matt watched the Greyhound bus pull to a stop and Rebecca climb out. Even coming out of a big, ugly bus, she was gorgeous. They were happy back in the days when love was all they needed and life hadn’t disappointed her. He hadn’t disappointed her. Then she turned, and though he never knew exactly when that happened, it always came back to the grease that was on his hands or the money that wasn’t in his wallet.

She stopped when she got to his truck, threw her hair back, and glared at him through the window.

Matt rolled the window down. “Are you going to get in?”

“I was waiting for my loving husband to open my door for me.”

“If you want a ride, get in. If you want someone to play your games, I’m sure there’s a casino bus somewhere in the area.”

She rolled her eyes and climbed in, slamming the door as she scooted over to the middle of the seat and put her arm around him. He’d rather put his hand into a bed of a million fire ants than have her touch him. She’d been responsible for so many people getting hurt. Except for Ashley. She was his fault, his responsibility.

Rebecca kissed his ear and whispered, “Did you miss me?”

“Not at all.” Matt put the car into drive and pulled onto the road.

Rebecca snuggled in closer and wrapped her other arm around him. “Did you tell anyone?”

“You think if I had, you’d be sitting here right now?”

“Aw. Someone’s feelings are hurt,” she teased.

“I don’t give a damn about my feelings, Rebecca.” He pushed her hand off his shoulder. “You got greedy, and I’ve spent the last year and a half in the hell that you created for me.”

“You’re mad that I got caught.”

“I’m mad at you for a lot of things.”

When they got to the house, he got out and left her in the truck. Inside, he went to Pop’s room, where he was sitting at the window watching for them. “Is she coming in?”

“Yeah.” Matt put his hand on Pop’s shoulder. “She’s just on a power trip. Wants me to come out there and open the door for her.”

“How is she?”

“Same as always.”

“Did you talk about it?”

“Not yet. But don’t you worry. I’m not going to leave you here with her.”

Pop put his hand on his and patted it. “Just don’t forget where my papers are. When I’m gone, that will make it easier for you.”

He kissed the top of Pop’s head. “I’m in no hurry to lose you.” He trudged back out to the truck and opened the door for Rebecca.

“Finally,” she huffed as she climbed out.

He pushed her up against the door with his hands on her shoulders. “Time to talk.”

She wriggled out of his grasp and pushed past him. “I’m going to talk to my grandfather.”

Matt grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to him. “Leave him alone. He’s asleep.”

“What’s the matter?” Her gaze moved slowly from the place where he was holding her wrist, up his arm, and to his face. “You don’t wanna let me out of your sight?” She stepped into him, pushed her breasts against him, and rubbed his bottom lip with her thumb. “Maybe talking isn’t what you really want. Maybe you want to throw me in the back of your stupid pickup truck and fuck me.” She raised up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. “I know I could use a good fuck.”

He grabbed her hair at the back of her head and pulled to get her lips off his. “Don’t forget I could fuck you without even touching you.”

“Clearly you don’t understand how it works, Matthew. You can’t fuck someone without getting fucked yourself.”

How did he ever love this woman? Everything about her was so much less than Ashley. Two different women; two different bonds. His bond with Ashley was satin. His bond with Rebecca was barbed, and he was so damn tired of bleeding. He pulled harder on her hair. “Tell me where it is.”

For the first time since she got into his truck, Rebecca’s expression faltered. Her lips quivered in a rare moment of vulnerability. She blinked a few times, and it was gone. Then she gulped and said, “If I tell you, you’ll leave.”

His anger subsided, and he let go of her hair and backed away. That’s how he’d loved her. Because she once loved him. They weren’t the same people apart from each other, so they couldn’t be the same people together. Her unmet expectations and his dead hopes were all that was left of them now. “I left a long time ago, Rebecca. Right after you left me.”

“Well I’m back now, and you will love me, or I will make your life a living hell.”

“It’s already a living hell.” He went into the house, slammed the door, and went to Pop’s room. He sat on the edge of the bed, put his head in his hands, and fought the urge to cry. She wasn’t going to let him go, and it wasn’t because she hated him. It was because she still held on to some twisted version of love that manipulated and lied.

Pop rolled his wheelchair over to him and rubbed his head. “It’s okay, son.”

“It didn’t go well.”

“I could see that. Give her some time.”

He went to his…their bedroom when he heard the water from the shower. Washing prison off of her. That’s probably the first thing he’d want to do too. He hoped to God he’d never have to. Having Rebecca back was bringing up the awful memory of the night he killed the person attacking her…who he thought was attacking her, in the room across the hall. The room always stayed shut now, but it didn’t matter.

He could still see every detail of that night with clarity. He came home from work to find someone on top of his wife, raping her. Or so he thought. He grabbed the gun from the drawer in the table by the door, shot the man in the back, and watched him go limp on top of Rebecca. After the coroner and police left, she poured him a drink, which he gulped down despite his shaking hands. Then she showed him the text messages on the man’s cell phone. She owed him money but couldn’t pay him. She said she was afraid of her husband because he had a lot of rage. She told him she could have sex with him to pay him off, but he’d have to come there.

She’d set the whole thing up to kill two birds with one stone. Get rid of the man she owed money to and bind her husband to her. It was love, she said, and one day he’d understand. But in case he didn’t, she had the cell phone. The whole time she told him all this, his eyelids got heavier and his limbs felt like weights. She’d drugged him. When he woke up, she’d hidden the phone.

The water turned off, and she walked out, naked and drying her hair with a towel. “I hope you never have to find out how good it feels to wash prison out of your hair. Hand me my jeans, please.” Her jeans were on the bed, within arm’s reach of her, but she wanted him to do it.

He’d forgotten how tiresome power struggles with her were. Always trying to decide which battle to fight was almost as exhausting as the battle itself. When he picked up the pile of denim and passed it to her, a small strip of paper fell out of the front pocket onto his lap. He unfolded it. It had Ben’s name and address written in her handwriting. “What the hell is this?”

“I’m not supposed to talk about it.” She tried to snatch it out of his hands.

He stood and held it away from her reach. “When did you start following the rules?”

“When the rules got me out of prison. Give it back.”

It was another power struggle, but this was a battle worth fighting. “Tell me why you have this, and I’ll think about it.”

“I wasn’t exactly let out for my good behavior.”

“No shit.”

“I was called to the warden’s office. Some guy in a suit said he could make arrangements with certain government officials to get me out early as long as I went home to Bokchito and took care of a little business. They asked me if I knew this guy.”

“Do you?”

“Hell no. But if it would get me out early, I’d tell the Easter bunny I was fucking Santa Claus.”

“What do they want with this guy?”

“They didn’t feel inclined to say. Inclined to say. Those were their actual words. They’re going to use me to set him up. Disgrace him and such, like to keep him from doing his job. And if I can’t do it, I have to go back. They’re going to call me in the next few days.”

“On what?”

She pulled a small phone from the pocket the paper fell from.

“They gave you a phone?”

“They gave me my freedom, and once they tell me what the plan is, you’re going to help me accomplish it.”

“No way.”

“You can help me use this phone to stay out of prison.” She waved the new phone at him. “Or I can use the other one to put you in it.”

 

Chapter Seven

 

 

Ashley

 

Ashley parked the Tahoe in front of one of the gas pumps and went inside the station. You can do this, she reminded herself with every step. You can do this. You’re the only one who can do this. She was glad to finally get to it. Mackenna had spent the day making phone calls, confirming information, and coming up with a plan while they waited for night to fall. This had to be done at night.

The same creepy attendant was behind the counter, looking more disheveled than the last time she’d been in there, if that was even possible. This time she made a point to check his name tag. Theo.

She slid the twenty-dollar bill she’d gotten from Mackenna across the counter. “I need to put this on pump two.”

Theo looked up. He raised an eyebrow and took her money. “You alone today?”

“I am.”

“Wanna have some fun?”

“Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “I’m looking for someone named Angel. Does that sound familiar?”

“Yeah. I’ll tell you all you want to know about Angel.”

“Where can I find—”

“I wasn’t finished. I’ll tell you about her after you sample my product.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a small bag of pills.

She was afraid of this. He knew one taste was all she’d need to keep her coming back to him. She knew it too. Up until this moment, she feared he’d offer her another hit of something, but now that she was in this moment, the temptation wasn’t at all like she’d expected. Did she want to take a hit of something and fall into its oblivion? Absolutely. But not with this guy, and not with his drugs. These last few months with Matt showed her what it was like to have a better yes in her life. Even if things were never going to happen with Matt, she never wanted to lose sight of the possibilities that existed beyond that better yes. If she took this guy’s pills, she’d never get back to that again. However, she needed this guy to talk to her, so she had to do something. “How about I pay you for your product and sample it at home?”

“What’s the matter? You don’t wanna party with me?”

“I’m in a hurry, but I’ll be back.”

“Yeah.” He smiled and nodded. “One hit of this, and you’ll definitely be back.”

She leaned over, exposing as much of her cleavage as she could in her V-neck t-shirt. She didn’t exactly pack for seducing a drug pusher.

“She’s at the motel. Room four.”

“Thanks.” She left the bag on the counter and walked out. She’d done it. She’d walked away from a bag of pills. It felt amazing. Her bond to drugs was by no means broken, but she’d stretched it a little farther. It was a victory.

Back in the Tahoe, Mackenna was waiting to hear from her over the Bluetooth.

“I’m back,” she said.

“How did it go?”

“She’s in room four.”

“Damn. I thought she’d be in room ten.”

“I’m going anyway.”

“Ben’s calling me back. I’ll call you when I find out what he’s going to do.”

On the short drive to the motel, she kept thinking about the pages full of details about Rebecca Hansen’s life that Mackenna had dredged up. All this time, she hated knowing her sister had used her hacking skills to get her out of her old life, but now she loved that her sister was so smart. She loved that she got access to Rebecca’s phone records and visitor log at the prison. She loved that her sister could look at it all and see the connections. What Ben could do with numbers, Mackenna could do with information.

There were five cars parked in the lot of the motel, more than she would’ve guessed for this tiny town, even for a Friday night. She got out and walked to the room with a crooked four hanging from one rusted nail and knocked lightly. A woman with stringy hair opened the door while still in the process of tucking her boob back into her exposed bra. The scent of liquor and weed was so strong, it made Ashley’s eyes water.

The woman looked her up and down, smacked her gum a few times, and said, “We don’t do chicks.”

“I’m here to see Angel.”

“Angel?” she called over her shoulder. “Did you start doing chicks?”

“Hang on!”

A man groaned and said, “Come on! I’m on my break.”

“Honey will take care of you, baby,” a raspy voice answered him. A thin Native American woman came to the door. She wiped her mouth and said, “Honey, go finish him off, will ya?”

Honey left, leaving Ashley alone in the doorway with Angel, which, she knew, thanks to Mackenna’s amazing talent, was not her real name.

“Fifty bucks.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll do you for fifty bucks.”

“Oh, no. That’s not what…I have a few questions.”

“Come on, lady.” Angel rolled her eyes. “You just cost me an easy twenty.”

“I’ll pay you for that and for your time.” Ashley pulled money out of her pocket.

“Put that away,” Angel said. “Not out in the open like that. Hang on.” She disappeared long enough for Ashley to put the money and drugs back in her pocket and returned with a key. She said, “Let’s go to my room,” and led her to room ten. Bingo. When they were inside, she said, “I’ll take that twenty now.”

Ashley pulled out her money and gave her a twenty-dollar bill and then looked around the room while she tucked it under the mattress of the full-sized bed. She had affirmations taped around the room and the Serenity Prayer taped to the television. A Bible too generic to even be a Gideon Bible was open on the nightstand. This woman was trying. This woman wanted out.

Ashley wanted to tell her she could do better, but she knew that was probably a lie. Where was this lady’s hacker sister with the rich boyfriend who had the brains to find her and the means to help her get the support she needs? Did this lady have her own Javier who she loved like a brother and was the reason she got out of bed most days? No. She didn’t, which made it all the more amazing that she was trying this on her own.

“I’ve been sober for over six months,” she confessed. “I never could’ve done it without my sister.” She pointed to the Serenity Prayer.

“Going on two years for me.”

“That’s amazing. Do you have someone to support you?”

Angel lit a cigarette and blew out a puff of smoke. “Me, myself, and I.”

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

“California. I have a daughter there.”

“I can help you. I can take you away from here, put you in a comfortable bed with the most comfortable sheets for the night, and have you on a plane to California by the end of next week.”

Angel rolled her eyes. “Bullshit.”

“All I need is a little information about Rebecca Hansen.”

Angel didn’t take her eyes off Ashley when she took another pull from her cigarette and blew out the smoke. “Never heard of her.”

“She was arrested in this room for multiple drug charges eighteen months ago, but I know she wasn’t buying or selling drugs in here because you’ve been sober for two years.”

“I called the cops on that crazy bitch before I even opened the door to her. Took them ten fucking minutes to get here.”

She was getting close to something; she could feel it. “And during that ten minutes, what did you talk about?”

“She wanted to get high, but I told her I don’t do that no more. The police finally showed up and took her away. That’s when I found it.”

“Found what?”

“The phone. I think she dumped it when the cops banged on the door.”

The missing phone. “Do you still have it? Can I see it?”

She retrieved the phone from the top of the small closet and offered it to Ashley.

“Have you looked at it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want nobody in my business, and I sure as hell ain’t going to go poling around in someone else’s. Especially not hers.”

“It’s been turned off this whole time.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No one came to ask you about it?”

“Of course not. She didn’t exactly embrace me in public, if you know what I mean.”

That meant it might have some battery power left. Even if it didn’t, she could find a charger for it. “This is amazing, Angel. Thank you.”

“She called me from prison, you know? She said she was about to get out and wanted this phone back. I thought, Oh crap, now she’s going to be hanging out here all the time, but I don’t know. She said some people in power was gettin’ her out early so she could do a job for them and might need my help.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“I let voicemail pick that shit up.”

“Would you be willing to tell all this to someone in exchange for an airplane ticket to California?”

“Darlin’…” She picked up her purse and hitched it over her shoulder. “You get me to my daughter, and I’ll talk to anyone you want.”

Ashley held the phone up. “Can you forget about this, too?”

“With pleasure.”

 

Chapter Eight

 

 

Matt

 

Matt could hear Rebecca screaming at the officer in the room down the hall. The town was too small for the police department to have two interview rooms, so they put him in the break room. This was the right decision; even if it meant going to prison for being tricked into killing someone, it was the right decision. Prison was probably safer than living with Rebecca now that he’d turned them in.

Sheriff Owens came in with a file under his arm, poured a cup of coffee, and picked a doughnut from a box. “You want one?”

“Nah.”

He motioned toward the room where the screaming was coming from.

“She’s got a lot of rage, that one.”

“Yep.”

“She sure is mad at you.”

Matt shrugged. “She usually is.”

“What do you make of this cell phone she keeps talking about?”

He knew this was some kind of interrogation, but he’d already told this story three times in the four hours since the police picked them up. “Like I said before, I don’t know where it is. She showed it to me and then drugged me so she could hide it somewhere. I haven’t seen it since.”

“This Angel lady who lived in room ten? She’s gone.”

“Gone? As in died?”

“Vanished. All her stuff is packed up, and the room’s been cleaned out. A witness said a young, pretty lady came to the room in the middle of the night asking for her, but that was the last time anyone saw her.”

The pretty lady. He didn’t have to ask because he was sure Owens was talking about Ashley. What was Ashley doing there? His worst fear was that she’d given in to temptation and was there looking for a hit, but he knew better. Ashley was stronger than that. He wasn’t sure what happened, but he knew Ashley had done something last night to help him.

The sheriff tossed the file onto the table in front of him. “Don’t tell anyone I’m showing you this, but I thought you might want to see it.”

“What is it?”

“The file of the man you shot in your home.”

He pushed it away. “I don’t want to see that.”

“Then I’ll tell you what’s in it. He’d been pushing drugs since he was fifteen. Couple of reports of exposing himself to a minor. Folks over in Texarkana were looking at him for some rapes. I don’t know what your wife did or didn’t do to get you to kill him, but you were acting in defense of another person. You probably saved a few lives down the road.” He took a bite of his doughnut and leaned back against the counter.

“So you’re not arresting me?”

“You’re free to go.”

He could still hear Rebecca screaming down the hall. “What about my wife?”

“Shoot.” He finished off his doughnut and pushed off from the counter. “Even a cheap divorce lawyer could handle that for you.”

 

Epilogue

 

 

Ashley

 

Three Months Later

 

Ashley gathered the wildflowers she’d picked and bundled them together with a piece of yarn. Next year she’d be able to use the honeysuckle she’d planted along the front fence, but for now, the wild flowers were perfect. Last week was too hot, but there was a breeze in the air this morning, so she’d walk there. She smiled to herself at the realization that she knew the way. All she had to do was walk to the old Henderson mailbox and turn right before she got to where the Cutbirth Farms sign used to be.

She opened her front door and gasped when she saw Matt sitting on the swing on her front porch. “Hey,” she said. “I didn’t hear your truck pull up.”

“I walked,” he said.

“You okay?”

“I just had to get out of there for a while. Boxing up all those memories has been tough.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“My divorce is final.”

“I’m glad. I mean, I’m sorry it was so rough on you, and it’s never good when a marriage ends, but you deserve better.”

He noticed the flowers in her hands and smiled. “I figured that was you. Thank you for visiting him. I don’t get around to it as often as I’d like.”

“You’ve had a lot to deal with.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Everything was so crazy that night, and then with the arrest and everything, and then Pop. I just haven’t had the chance to thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He looked around the porch. “Place looks nice.”

“Thanks. They gave it to me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. That whole time I thought we were fixing it up for Mackenna and Ben, it was really for me. They bought the land across the road, so they’re going to build something there. You wanna come in?” She stepped back and leaned against the door to hold it open for him. When he didn’t move, she held her hand out for him. “We have unfinished business.”

Matt stood up and walked, head down, to the front door. He stopped in the doorway, pulled her close to him, and held her tight. “You saved me.”

For as long as she could remember, she’d been the one who needed saving. Not anymore. Now she was strong enough to fight her own battles and help out with a few others. “You’re free.”

“No, I’m not.” He held her face. “I’ll never be free of you. I know what it’s like to be addicted now because I have to have you.” He kissed her cheek and whispered, “I can’t not be with you.”

They were standing in the doorway between two different lives. Being with Matt would mean stepping through that door and never looking back, which was fine with her, because she had no intention of adding another regret to the fire of her past. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in for a deep kiss.

He groaned and picked her up, carrying her into her bedroom and lying her on the bed. When he climbed on top of her, she could feel him hard against her, and her body responded to his with an urgency she didn’t know she was capable of. It was almost startling how badly she wanted him. She’d feared that all those times she’d been with a man for a reason other than love had deprived her of her ability to feel, but that wasn’t the case.

She pulled his t-shirt off and ran her fingers over his chest. When she reached down to unbutton his jeans, he stopped her.

“What’s the hurry?” he asked.

That was a good question. “I don’t know. I thought…I mean…I never…I’ve had sex before, but…”

“But you’ve never made love?”

“Yeah.”

He slid his hand behind her neck and kissed her softly, first on the lips and then moved to her neck. He unbuttoned her top, sending chills through her when he ran his finger along the top of her bra. “Your skin is so soft.”

She tried to work the button on his jeans, but he stopped her. “I want you,” she said. “I want to feel you; I want to feel everything about you.”

He rubbed her cheek with his thumb. “Then trust yourself, trust me, and stop rushing it.”

He was right. She’d spent so long living her life clenched up with fear and regret because she didn’t trust herself to enjoy anything. She trusted him, but more importantly, now she trusted herself.

 

The End

 

About the Author

 

Genevieve Lynne grew up in a small Texas town where everyone knew each other and gossip was considered a legitimate news source. She was raised on heaping helpings of southern cooking, sweet tea, hot summer nights, and maternal guilt. Even after moving to Austin to pursue her bachelor’s degree in English at the University of Texas, she never could shake the small town out of her. She’s still working on the guilt thing. She now lives in Fort Worth with her husband and three sons.

 

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By Ryan Jo Summers

 

 

The Legend of Crazy Woman Creek

 

 

Back in the days when horses ran wild and Native Americans shared the land, a great river stretched between two tribes, the Comanche and the Kiowa.

On one side lived Bear Paw, a promising young warrior. He stood tall and straight among his people. On the other side was Red Feathers, the prettiest maiden of all. Every brave wanted Red Feathers, but Bear Paw loved her. He brought ponies and furs, and they planned to marry.

Then a great war broke out among many different tribes. Bear Paw kissed Red Feathers and promised to return soon, but an arrow pierced his heart and he died. Word came back to Red Feathers.

She rode her pony into the great river, wailing her song of mourning. She lifted her arms high to the skies, her screams of grief echoing off the rock walls and towering trees. Her true love was gone, and her heart bled.

Both tribes could hear her screams and cries all that day, and all that night, and through the following day. She was senseless in her grief. Then in the darkness of the second day, her mourning silenced. Her pony returned alone. They went to search for Red Feathers, but she was never seen again. The river now was colored red.

To this very day, on still nights and foggy mornings, when you go near the water, you can hear the anguished cries of a woman—crazy with grief. Sometimes folks still see her footprints along the shore, leading into the water. And sometimes, depending on the moon, the water turns red.

 

Chapter 1

 

 

This place would give a strong man chills, even on the brightest day. Stretching out from the dark foothills above and winding along the valley thick with pines and scrub trees, the waters had a way of mocking. Brave travelers swore they heard the scream of a woman, especially on full moonlit nights. Maybe there was something to the old legend: a grief-stricken woman and her endless cries of crazy sad pain. And red water was just plain creepy.

Dawson Lonigan shivered and yanked his denim jacket tighter, drawing the collar up. Trust those stupid cows to wander into this god-forsaken place. The wind picked up, howling with a dreadful wail, setting Dawson’s teeth on edge. Sensing his unease, his buckskin gelding beneath him flattened his ears, snorted, and shied.

“Easy, boy.” He tightened the reins. “Just the wind.” He patted Ben’s neck reassuringly. How had such a warm day turned into a dark, cool, and windy maelstrom simply by riding into the dismal Crazy Woman area? Life’s mysteries, he supposed. Or the legend. A chill slithered up his spine. Bawling reached his ears, and he almost whooped for joy. Gratefully, he reined Ben toward the scrub trees the sound came from. “C’mon, Ben, let’s go round up those fool critters.” Personally, he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

He could just make out the white, black, brown, and brindle patterns of the cows when Ben snorted and shied again. Nearly unseated, Dawson tapped his heels against the horse’s flanks.

“Ben! What the hell?” A new sound, a low moan, surfaced, distinguishing itself from the bawling of the cows. He followed Ben’s nervous eye rolls to a low bush, full of thick green boughs. He squinted and made out…cloth, not cowhide. Cold shivers raced over him at the sight of a shoeless, slender foot.

“It’s a human!” Jumping from the saddle, he removed his pistol from its belt sheath—just in case—and approached the prone figure on the ground.

Dawson dropped to one knee and parted the branches. His eyes widened, and his breath hitched at the sight of the unresponsive woman dressed in ivory slacks and a ruffled peach blouse. Bruises and red scratches marred her face and arms. Twigs and leaves tangled in her long, dark hair. His heart beating fast, he scrubbed his jaw, swallowed hard, and tapped her shoulder.

“Ma’am? Can you hear me? Are you all right?” He never understood why one was supposed to ask that last question when the answer seemed obvious. Hell no, she wasn’t all right, you dummy. “Ma’am?” He gave her another—less gentle—shake.

She moaned softly, and her eyelids fluttered open. She blinked rapidly and finally settled on him. He smiled at her confused, coffee-brown eyes.

“Howdy.” He tipped his hat. “My name’s Dawson Lonigan.” When she failed to answer, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “That’s Ben, my horse.” She gave a nod, stopping as if it hurt. Fresh spikes of fear raced over Dawson. “Ma’am, is anything broken? Can you get up?” He looked around. “And where is your horse?” Poorly trained critter to take off after losing its rider. He holstered his weapon and searched around for her missing shoe. This was going to be tricky. He rocked back on his heels and pushed his hat back. “Can you tell me how you ended up way out here alone?”

She slowly scooted to a sitting position, and he could tell it hurt. She clenched her teeth, and the spark in her eye told him she had a fire in her soul. Instantly, he found himself drawn to her spirit and her grit. All great qualities he admired. Then he noticed the dried trail of blood behind her right ear.

“Where is this?” she asked, her voice a faint whisper.

Startled, Dawson stared a moment. “Are you saying you’re lost? This is Crazy Woman Creek.” He gestured toward the sound of the river flowing nearby. “I’m hunting my cattle over yonder. Hear ’em bawling? My ranch, the Tica, is just over that ridge there.”

She followed his hands blankly as he directed and drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees as if cold. Immediately, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it around her slender shoulders, not helping but to inhale her perfume. Flowers and fruit. He liked it.

“That better, Ma’am?” At her stiff nod, he settled back on his heels again, studying her. What a predicament. “So what can you tell me about how you came to be out here?”

She looked out at the landscape, drew her lower lip in, and gave him a sad shake of her head. “I don’t know.”

What did she mean? Thunderbolts shot through him. “Was anyone else with you?”

This time tears formed in her eyes, and she blinked them away. “I don’t know.”

Dawson’s heart thumped fast, like when Sierra told him she had something to tell him and she knew he wasn’t going to like it. That same dark feeling of foreboding. Dread. Oh shit. He wet his lips. The cattle bawled. A coyote howled. “Ma’am. Will you please tell me your name?”

She huddled closer into his jacket, shivering a little and casting an anxious look around. Fresh tears misted on her eyelashes. “I would if I knew it myself.”

Her words, softly spoken as a whisper in the wind, punched Dawson in the gut, leaving him weak. Damnation! Amnesia! That sure explained a lot. But how the devil did a lone woman get the hell out here, afoot, missing her shoe, and injured? It was probable her mount spooked at something, threw her, and took off. Except where did she come from? She wasn’t a local, and she sure wasn’t dressed for a ride in the mountains.

Better yet, now that he’d found her, what was he going to do about her? As Sierra was fond of saying, finders keepers. That hardly applied in this case, but it was a starting point. Swallowing his many misgivings, he pasted on a smile he hoped looked friendly and reassuring, because he reckoned she sure needed friendly and reassuring about now. His rogue cattle would just have to wait. He pulled in an unsteady breath.

“Ma’am, like I said, my name’s Dawson. Do you reckon you can sit up there on top of Ben with me?”

Her bewildered gaze traveled to the grazing horse before returning to him. Long enough for him to think of a plan.

“To where?”

“My ranch, the Tica.” He nodded northeasterly. “You can clean up, rest, and get a bit of grub.” He shrugged. And hopefully remember who you are. “Decide if there is anyone we can call to come and get you.”

She seemed to consider his offer, as if she had others to compare it against. He smiled, amused at her grit even now. Most folks would have jumped at the offer of a rescue with both hands waving. Little Miss Tough-As-Nails would take his rescue—probably—but she’d also make sure he knew she would not be beholden to him. Oh yeah, he liked her a lot.

“All right. Fine.”

Yep, he sure liked her plenty. Likely too much. Especially for a lady who didn’t even know who she was.

 

Chapter 2

 

 

She gazed at the big horse as it cropped grass by the trees. A shiver involuntarily stole over her, despite the warmth and hay smell of the jacket. She returned her attention to the man and his question. Rugged. In a word, that would be how she would describe him. Ruggedly built. He appeared as solid as the trees around them. Ruggedly handsome. Her fingers yearned to tug at his thick dark hair and play with his equally dark beard. Ruggedly commanding. He took charge while she failed to produce something as simple as her own name or how she came to be out here in this desolate wilderness. Both were absolute mysteries to her.

His piercing blue eyes studied her with intelligence and patience and a touch of amusement. She wondered what he found so amusing while pain racked her head and jarred most her body and frustration gnawed at her. One thing she felt certain of, however, was that she had never been on a horse.

“Ready, Ma’am?”

No, but she lacked better deals. She sucked in a painful breath and gripped his hand. She felt the gentle strength that promised a greater strength and the hardened callouses. Electricity passed between them like tiny slivers of lightning. Had he felt them too, or was she delusional as well? She met his blue eyes again, feeling her heart skip a few beats and her mouth move into an “O” of bewildered surprise.

“Ma’am?”

She shook her head, regretting the motion as fresh pain raced through her brain, followed by warm blood trickling from the wound by her temple.

“Wait a second. Here.” Dawson must have noticed it, too. He propped her against a tree trunk and unknotted the red handkerchief tied around his throat. He folded it into squares and gently pushed her hair aside. He laid the folded cloth over the wound and guided her fingers to it. “Hold that steady till it sets. I’ll fix it proper once we get to the ranch.”

She was beginning to look forward to the ranch place he called Tica for several reasons.

He studied her, eyes anxiously darting over her. Now, just inches separating them, she smelled the cinnamon on his breath. Gum?

“Lean on me. We’ll still be an awkward hobble, but we can’t have you strutting around here without two shoes.”

She wordlessly complied, wrapping her arm around his torso. Beneath his shirt, she felt his tight, corded muscles and washboard abs. She knew she’d felt slender men before but none as fit and well-developed as Dawson. How could she be so sure of that and not know her own name?

Dawson gingerly lifted her up into the saddle as though she were made of porcelain.

“Are you sure he can carry both of us?” she asked. She felt his chuckle as she curled her arms around his middle.

“Doubt he’ll notice the difference.” He clucked once. “Get up, boy.”

She felt him lean to the left, and the horse turned left. As it lurched, she slid into Dawson and tightened her grip. “Oh!” The startled exclamation spilled out as she vainly swung her feet in a pitiful attempt to find something to hold onto.

“Hold tight to me. We’ll be to Tica in no time.”

The horse had a rhythmic step once he found it, and she rested her cheek against the rough cotton of Dawson’s shoulder, closing her eyes. Muscles slid beneath the fabric as he controlled the horse, but she barely noticed. All she knew was the cinnamon scent wafting back and the soft words he spoke to the horse.

“Where did you say we were?”

“Crazy Woman Range. Henderson County, Texas.”

Texas? What was she doing in Texas? Instinctively, she knew this was not home. Vacation? Business trip? So where was home? Who was she traveling with? Or was she traveling alone? Thinking about it only made her head ache more. She focused on the rumble of his voice.

She was almost asleep when she felt the shift in stride of the horse. “Good boy,” Dawson praised. She pried her heavy eyelids open and looked around. Brown fencing stretched for miles. Horses milled along some fencing, and cows dotted others. In the center, flanked by tall, red barns, stood a two-story stone house wrapped in a long porch and multiple balconies.

“Yours?”

“Yep. Tica.” He held out his arm, and she grabbed hold to swing down. Within seconds, he joined her, searching her face. “Lean on me. You look pale.”

Exhausted, she nodded. What was his wife going to think of him bringing an unknown woman inside?

They entered through a side door. Stunned, she realized the door wasn’t even locked. Somewhere in the recess of her mind, she pictured an elaborate home security system. Was it hers? If so, what did the actual house look like? Nothing solid came to mind.

“We’re as awkward as a three-legged sack race, but we’ll get there,” Dawson said, cutting her a grin. “I could carry you.”

Her throbbing foot cried out in favor of that, and images of his strong arms hefting her like some sort of prize filled her mind. Sudden heat rushed over her, blood pumped, and she feared her wound might spring another leak. “Umm, no, this is fine. You did say we’re almost there?” Was it just her or did she sound disappointed?

For distraction, she studied her surroundings. Vaulted ceilings with wood beams, large, ample windows flooded with daylight, and overstuffed contemporary furniture in neutral colors. A few green plants spread their stalks toward the light. Photos of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl decorated the walls, either in school poses or playing outside in some barnyard scene. The two people completely absent from any pictures were the little girl’s parents.

“Here, the downstairs guest suite.” He reached past her and swung open the door. “Queen bed, soaker tub, television, and a private patio.” He swallowed as he turned back to her. “You might never want to leave. Umm, I’ll go see about your meal. Ma’am.” Tipping his hat brim, he spun around.

 

 

By the time she had finished a refreshingly warm soak and redressed, Dawson was back, balancing a tray. Steaming aromas escaped to tease her stomach.

“Would you like this on the patio?”

She shrugged. Why not? Wordlessly, she slid the big glass door open for him and followed him out into the fresh, pine-scented air.

“I wasn’t sure what you like, so I stuck with basic soup, a salad, garlic bread, and herbal tea. How’s that sound?”

“It sounds very good. Thank you.” Since her mouth was watering, it told her either that was her favorite dish or, most likely, she hadn’t eaten in a while. Her pinched stomach rumbled in eager anticipation as she debated where to begin.

“I wish I had some other clothes for you. And shoes.”

She smiled at Dawson’s comment and wiggled her bare toes on the cool slate stones, looking at the red nail polish. Then she picked up the buttery garlic bread, not able to ignore the rich aroma any longer. “You weren’t expecting guests with no luggage to show up. The bath and this is plenty, really.”

He grinned. “Don’t get too quick with the praise. The soup is from concentrate, the bread was frozen, and the salad came from a pre-mixed bag.” He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I’m not much of a short notice cook, but I try.”

She took a few more bites of bread, strong with garlic, savoring it on her tongue. “Frozen or not, it’s still good.” She licked her lips and sipped the tea. “Your, umm, wife is all right with my presence?”

His lips thinned, and he folded his arms, his body going rigid. “There is no wife, though you doubtlessly will meet my daughter soon. Sierra, she’s seven.”

“I’m sorry. Did something—”

He held his palm out. “No, there’s no tragic tale to tell. She’s gone of her own accord. I have Sierra and Tica. It’s you, ma’am, I wonder about.” His tone softened, and his hand unfurled to touch her wrist. His calloused fingertip traced a pale circle around her left ring finger. Stunned, she stared at it, the implication slowly sinking in.

Married? Was she married? Engaged? That was what he was insinuating. If so, where was her husband or betrothed? Was she divorced? Widowed? The bread turned to paste in her mouth. She lifted her eyes to see the same questions mirrored back in Dawson’s eyes, and she swallowed the hard lump.

“I don’t know,” she admitted in a hoarse whisper.

He looked like she’d just slapped him. Well, she felt like she’d just been slapped. What if her husband was still out there, lost in the wilderness somewhere? Injured or dead?

Dawson patted her shoulder. “That’s okay, it’ll come. In the meantime, I’ve got to call you something besides ma’am. How do you feel about the name Faith?”

Faith. She tried the name on, mentally saying it to herself. It wasn’t familiar, but it felt comfortable. It would work. “I like it. Anyone particular?”

“No, just a name I’ve always liked. I wanted it to be Sierra’s middle name, but somehow it got switched after I left the hospital. I’ve never had another chance to name anyone, so now seems like a good time.”

 

Chapter 3

 

 

Dawson returned, three plastic bags looped through his fingers. Giggles floated from down the hall as he entered, and he smiled. Maybe Sierra could help Faith regain her memories. Another thought followed that one. If she were married, could she have children? What if some baby or small child was out there, somewhere, wondering where its mama was? His chest ached at the idea.

“Sierra?”

A delighted squeal responded, and he followed the sound to Faith’s room. Sierra met him at the doorway, crushing him into a little girl’s bear hug. He tugged at her blonde braid.

“Have a good day, Button?”

“Yes!” She launched into a monologue describing who did what at school while skillfully dodging his playful tries to tug her braid. While his mind listened to his daughter, his eyes sought Faith.

She sat at the table, hands folded neatly on her lap as she watched their exchange. The other chair now pulled out told him Sierra had been seated there, doubtlessly regaling Ms. Faith with exciting tales of the day. What had she initially thought of his social daughter? Now her expression was a mix of curiosity and amusement. Papers—homework?—stacked at her elbow drew him across the room, Sierra still at his side and chattering away like a magpie.

“I brought you some things,” he said when Sierra stopped to catch a breath. He held the bags out to Faith.

She arched one dark eyebrow and reached for them. “I hadn’t realized you’d gone to town.”

“Naw, I just ran down to The Plaza. It’s not really a town, just a collection of buildings strung together. Dollar store, car wash, thrift store, and a few other little things.”

“Uncle Jack says The Plaza is like lights on a Christmas tree,” Sierra chimed in. “Some good bulbs and some duds.”

“Uncle Jack?”

“My foreman. And best friend since first grade. And surrogate second daddy to Sierra too, I reckon.”

Faith gave a slow nod. He set the last bag down and scooped up Sierra’s homework. “We’ll leave you to this and go finish Button’s schoolwork.”

 

 

Half an hour later, Sierra closed her book and set the table for dinner. Dawson started the makings for a hearty son-of-a-gun stew casserole. He hadn’t lied to Faith. It was just his cooking skills were limited.

“Daddy, can I go outside now?”

He studied the table. It all looked good. “Sure thing, Button. Be back in thirty.”

With a promise, she was gone like shot from a rifle. He swung the top half of the Dutch door open to cool the room and listen for any shouts before he returned to his pasta and beef. The sporadic cow bawl wafted in. What was Faith doing? Did she like the clothes? Did he—?

“Is your door broken?”

He jumped at her soft question. Head jerking up, he realized he had not heard her because she was stocking-footed. She wore green plaid knickers and a blood red top. Hell’s bells, had he really picked that out? Mercy! She looked like someone’s granny fixing to go golfing. What a waste of a good piece of land. And what a waste of yardage of clothing on a beautiful woman. One of his old t-shirts would be better. What had he been thinking? Was everything he got her as hideous as this outfit? Well, he’d just proven the fact men can’t shop.

At least she was game about it and not complaining. Then he realized she was looking over his shoulder at the door.

“Naw, it’s not broken. It’s called a Dutch door. Haven’t you ever seen a split door?”

“Do I look Dutch to you?”

From the look in her eyes, he had a feeling she was talking about more than a door. Her silent agony slammed into him. What was it like to know absolutely nothing about yourself? He shoved the casserole into the oven and reached for her hands. He rubbed his thumbs over her wrists, studying her. “Naw. If I had to guess, I’d say…probably Italian.”

He guided her to the mirror in the parlor and sat her down facing it. Gently he traced her face, locking his eyes with hers in the mirror. His heart beat skipped faster.

“You have a heart-shaped face, rosebud lips, and your complexion is olive. Your cheekbones are high.” Slowly, he outlined each part with his finger as he spoke. “And I noticed the first food you went for was the most Italian-smelling one. You seemed to really enjoy it.”

She swallowed. “Have you known many Italian women?”

“Nope. You’re my first.” He cupped his fingers under her chin and tipped her face up. Leaning down, he kissed her, feeling her warm skin now apple scented from the bath and tasting mint from her toothpaste.

Easing her up, he brought her close, deepening the kiss. She slowly yielded to him, uncertain at first, but bolder as he held his patience. He liked she had to think about what she wanted to do. Fresh desire swept over him. His fingers gripped the worn fabric of her granny shirt, and he yearned to yank it off her but sensed that would be too much. There were too many unanswered questions at the moment. However, he was a patient man, and he knew she felt the sparks zapping between them as much as he did. He heard the low moan rumbling from her throat and saw how she closed her eyes and relaxed her face as yearning pulsed through her.

The buzz of the oven timer startled them both. Dawson pulled back, taking pleasure in Faith’s reddened checks. Hauling in a ragged breath, he stroked a knuckle down her face, winking.

“Go ahead, take a seat. I’ll go ring the dinner bell for Sierra and Jack.”

 

 

Faith wobbled over to the table, her senses reeling. The hairs along her arms and back of her neck still stood up. Was she the only one who’d heard music playing? Or felt electricity crackling? She sat and gazed out the window at the dirt driveway, dirt road, and trees beyond, as her pulse raced like cars on the freeway.

She was a long way from a freeway here. She traced the outline of a ring pattern. Even if she had a husband, she just knew he had never made her feel so alive, so special like Dawson had in the last few moments. Like a beautiful, desirable, fragile doll. Was the man who gave her the missing ring really her husband or lover if she could not remember him?

Sierra arrived, giggling at something a rail-thin man just said. He was dressed like Dawson, plaid button shirt and blue jeans. Seeing him did not set her pulse racing like watching Dawson did. Catching her eye, he removed his hat and stuck out his hand.

“Jack Jennings, Ma’am. You must be that stray heifer Dawson found down by the Crazy Woman.”

Faith blinked, taken aback. She shook his hand before agreeing, “I suppose so. I’m Faith.”

“Daddy’s calling her that ’cause she don’t remember her own name,” Sierra supplied brightly.

Faith appreciated her innocence but felt her cheeks grow warm nonetheless under Jack’s sympathetic stare. Thankfully, he took his chair, two down from her.

“Must be hard, Ma’am. Lord knows there’s things I’d like to un-remember, like a marriage or two, but there’s a whole lot I’d sure hate to forget. My condolences.”

“Thank you. Dawson seems to think it’s only temporary.”

Jack grinned. “Dawson would look at a spinning tornado and say: ‘Aw, shucks, it’s only temporary.’ He sees the silver lining in every cloud or he paints one there himself.”

Faith smiled, unable to help but like the gangly cowboy. His slow drawl was much like Dawson’s and a sharp contrast from Sierra’s energetic chirp. Sierra reminded Faith of a small bird. Dawson’s lolling accent carried a sexy tone that excited her. Jack just made her smile at his wit.

“Dinner is served,” Dawson announced as he entered the room and set a large glass dish in the center of the table. Smells escaped, lifting into the air, and Faith tried to identify them. Beefy and nutty.

“Son-of-a-gun stew, turned into a casserole. Male cooking specialty,” Dawson explained, sitting down and reaching for Sierra and Jack’s hands. Sierra and Jack each reached for one of Faith’s hands, and they formed a perfect square.

Astonished, Faith watched as they all bowed their heads and Dawson prayed. He ended a few sentences later with a thankful comment for her safe rescue and a swift recovery of her memories. Sierra snuck a peek over at her.

“Don’t you pray before meals?” the girl asked after everyone released hands and began passing plates.

Evidently not. She glanced at Dawson as he heaped food on a plate and passed it on. Wherever she was from, meals were never handled like this. “Guess I simply forgot.”

 

 

Dinner was a good—albeit unusual—event. Faith knew she’d never tasted a meal like Dawson’s all-in-one casserole or shared such animated, colorful conversation like she did with Sierra and Jack. Together they were hysterical. She particularly enjoyed the childhood stories told at Dawson’s expense and to Sierra’s acute interest. Her heart tugged at the loving way he interacted with Sierra and the brotherly way he was with Jack. It was a tight, devoted triangle she was suddenly in the middle of, and the emotions and pleasures it created in her were undoubtedly something new. She knew this, amnesia or not.

So what had she left behind her?

“I’ll do the dishes,” she volunteered as dinner and conversation wound down. Jack had said earlier he and Dawson enjoyed going out on the porch after dinner to talk shop. She was eager to repay him for his kindness, and washing dishes was a good start.

 

 

Dawson rocked back and forth, watching the sun slowly sinking over the mountaintop. Behind him, he heard the clank of dishes. Jack hadn’t hung around too long. That was okay; right now, he had two big headaches on his mind and appreciated a bit of time alone. He took a pull on the beer at his side.

Setting it back down, he fingered the envelope curled in his pocket. His lip settled into a curling snarl. A legal notice telling him his former in-laws were suing him for custody of Sierra. Like hell. He’d fight till he was out of breath and dead before they got his daughter. Not his Button.

And Faith. Eagle-eyed Jack pointed out how some of her bruises along her arms were older and already fading to green. Others were fresh, but not as new as the ones he assumed had all been caused from a spill off a horse. So who the hell had been laying bruises on her? Did it have anything to do with that pale circle around her ring finger and why there was no ring there now?

And what was worse—it really bothered him. He was liking Faith far more than he should for a lady he just rescued, and to see fresh wounds was bad enough, but old bruises were sufficient to make him mad enough to go punch a bull in the eye. His protective instincts were flaring off like rockets between Sierra and his former in-laws, and now Faith and her troubles. Lord, what was he supposed to do?

He reached for the beer and took another swallow. The sun dipped below the mountain, blanketing the ranch in darkness. The dusk-to-dawn lights kicked on, illuminating paths from house to barns to bunkhouse. He no longer heard the clatter of dishes. Crickets and bullfrogs filled the air with their chirps and croaks. Somewhere, a night bird called. For the moment, Dawson envied the nightlife their simplicity.

 

Chapter 4

 

 

Faith jerked awake, gasping for breath. What dreadful noise woke her? She scooted up, hugging the pillow to her chest, and the sound rolled across the yard again. The terror-filled scream of a woman being killed.

Where was Dawson? Or Jack? She swallowed. Where was Sierra? Fear for the child goaded her out of bed. One more screech set her teeth on edge. Who was being murdered out there? She slipped from her room and padded to the kitchen. Daylight shone dimly through the uncovered windows, but the room was still shrouded in darkness. Nightlights gave enough glow for her to spot a black skillet on the stove.

She gripped it, scooped it up, and almost dropped it. It was much heavier than it looked. Adjusting her grip, she headed for the door as another ear-splitting wail of terror sent shivers racing down her spine. Where the heck were the men?

Carefully, teeth set, nerves tight, and breath held, she twisted the knob and eased the door open enough to slide out. The yard lights flickered off as daylight spilled over the mountains. Horses snorted, and cows mooed. Another shriek made her jump.

“Morning, Faith.”

Gasping, she whirled, dropping the pan. It landed with a heavy thud on the wood planks. Her hands went to her chest. Dawson sat in the rocker, feet propped on the railing. Despite the murder at the moment, she took the time to appreciate the beautiful picture he made just sitting there. Yummy.

“What are you doing?” she finally asked, once her breath and wits recovered.

“Thinking mostly.”

“What about that?” She flung her arm out toward the region of the shrieks.

He lifted a dark brow, and she caught a whiff of cinnamon gum again. She took a step closer. “The screams?” she clarified.

“You mean Buster?” He chuckled. “He does have a horrible sounding crow, I admit, but he is the most dependable rooster I’ve ever known. Sounds like a gang of stray cats caterwauling each morning, but he loves it when Sierra reads her school books to him. Fool bird is almost her pet.”

She stood, her jaw dropping, trying to make sense of his words. His slow drawl assured her there was no danger. So a rooster was a—?

“What were you planning to do with the cast iron?”

She followed his gaze down to the pan at her feet. Embarrassment flooded her face as she failed to find words to describe her misunderstanding. Dawson stood up, stepped close, and cupped his hands around her face. His smile was tender.

“I appreciate your bravery, Faith. That speaks volumes of your character. A cast iron pan is a great weapon to take into a fight, too. Remember that.” He released her and stepped back. “That old Texas Longhorns t-shirt of mine looks good on you. But I think we need to update your wardrobe. After Sierra’s off to school, we’ll head into town and get you some new clothes, not thrift store finds.”

Images popped into Faith’s mind of boutiques, each lined with racks of dresses and outfits, shoes and accessories. Colors, patterns, styles, and brands, she could almost feel the textures beneath her fingertips. She could see helpful sales associates who carried merchandise for her to the fitting room. She pictured leaving with boxes and bags of goodies. So many images popped into her mind, she knew she had frequently shopped nice stores. She smiled. “That would be good.” Finally, something would be familiar. Or at least as she remembered.

 

 

“We can take my old Wagoneer,” Dawson said, pointing at the vehicle to the left.

Faith examined the two options. She and Dawson stood on the porch, watching as Sierra’s school bus faded into a cloud of dust. The other choice seemed to be a vintage pick-up truck. “Don’t you own a car?” Something with rust not as the dominant color?

He cracked a grin. “Now what good is a car on a ranch? Can’t haul and can’t carry much with it. It won’t make it into the fields or woods when it’s rough. In fact, can’t do much at all with a car.” Shaking his head, he took her hand and led her to the passenger side of the Jeep. He opened her door, and it took Faith a moment to realize his chivalrous intent. Blushing, she slid in. She was startled to see he kept the key in the ignition. The engine started with a coughing grunt, and Dawson patted the dash affectionately.

“These beasts have served me well. Sierra likes to drive this one.”

“She’s only seven!”

“Well, she’s got to sit on my lap to see out and my knees hit the dash so she can reach the pedals, but one day she’ll say her old man had her driving his old truck across the fields where she grew up.”

It was a sweet image and, coupled with Dawson’s lolling tone, stirred something deep inside Faith’s chest. A memory knocked, and she gripped the armrest, trying to bring it up.

“Don’t try so hard. They’ll come when they’re ready.”

She spun to face him, startled at his gentle suggestion. He grinned. “Your face was squished up like when Sierra is thinking real hard.”

They turned off Dawson’s dirt road onto another dirt road, which led to another dirt road. They passed four tractors, numerous barns, endless trucks, six people on horseback, miles of fence and fields, and only one car. Laundry flapped in yards. Flags snapped from poles. Dogs sprawled on porches. Livestock was everywhere.

“What are those white boxes?”

“Beehives. Some folks keep bees for the honey and wax.”

Faith massaged her temples for a moment. Would she ever find her previous life again? Why did every single thing around her seem so foreign?

“You okay?”

“Umm, just starting with a headache. Trying too hard, I suppose.” She studied his profile, an appealing blend of patience and strength. “How did Sierra get her nickname Button?”

His face split into a big smile. “I used to say I wish I had a pause button with her. Five more minutes to enjoy those special moments. Her first smile, first walk, first words. Later, her first hug, first bike ride, and that first time she came to me to fix her world. Over time, it just stuck.” He swallowed and coughed once before finishing. “I wish I could hit the pause button on these years with her now, so she never had to grow up.”

“I think that is beautiful, Dawson.” Faith reached across the space separating them and rested her hand on his arm, feeling warmth. And sizzle. His blue gaze flicked to her, surprised, and he turned to the road, blinking rapidly.

They reached town, and more flags fluttered from porches and storefronts. Trucks of every size and color lined the streets. They rolled through two stop signs, one blinking yellow light, and one traffic light.

“How many people live here?”

“In town? Around eight hundred last census. Henderson County has almost three times that many.”

Faith hoped they never all came to town on the same day. It could be disastrous.

“Reckon we should check with the sheriff first, just to see if anyone has filed a missing person report on you.” He stopped the truck in front of the building and a sign heralding County Sheriff and came around to Faith’s side.

“Do you think they would? File a report?”

He looked her up and down. “Minus your scuffs, you look like you stepped off the pages of some hoity-toity fashion magazine. Stands to reason someone, somewhere, would be looking for you.” He stroked a thumb along her cheek. “I sure would if I lost you.”

 

 

Fifteen minutes later, they left the police station. Faith’s shoulders slumped. No one had reported her missing. No one was looking for her. Except for Dawson, it seemed no one cared she was gone. Then Dawson’s warm hand rested on her shoulder, and she stopped, turning to meet his twinkling smile.

“Looks like we’ll have to get you that new wardrobe now. Appears you’ll be staying on just a bit longer.”

She caught the joy in his voice and smiled. As they fell into step, she leaned her head against his shoulder, and his arm dropped to her waist, bringing her close. She smelled musk and cinnamon. For now, it felt good to be desired.

“Here we go. We should be able to get you properly outfitted in here.”

Faith stared at the sign, wondering if he were joking. What did he expect her to wear from here? Perhaps she’d misread him terribly. With a heavy heart, she followed him into the Tractor Supply store.

 

 

Dawson stood. He’d never shopped for women’s clothes before, and now he was doing it a second time in as many days. This time, Faith was along so he couldn’t screw it up too bad. He knew lots of wives who shopped here, and they always looked nice.

Right now, he was so nervous, he hoped she didn’t notice his shaking. He’d been so scared they had a missing report filed with the police and she would be whisked away, back to whoever left those bruises on her. He prayed all night that would not be the case, but he knew he had to do the right thing and check with the law. For now, it seemed like she was meant to be with him and Sierra, and he aimed to enjoy every moment he was given.

He’d almost burst into tears when she asked him about Button’s nickname. He still had no clue how he was going to counter the custody suit, but he wasn’t losing his girl. He needed to stop chasing strays and go talk to a lawyer. As soon as things with Faith settled down, he’d go.

He scrubbed his hands along his jeans and then reached for Faith’s hand, shooting her a wink. “Ready for some fun?” Her less-than-enthusiastic return made him laugh. “Come on, honey.” He led the charge over to the women’s apparel.

The yellow cotton sundress caught his eye first. She’d set him on fire by wearing that. He grabbed one off the rack and held it up to her for size. Recklessly, he added two more and looked around for the fitting rooms.

“You try those on for size, and I’ll scout around for some more stuff.” He gave her a gentle shove. “Wrangler and Carhartt. We’ll be all set.”

An hour later, Dawson slid over his credit card as two clerks bagged their purchases. He signed his name with a flourish and sent Faith another joyful wink. He couldn’t wait to get her out of those granny clothes and into something nice enough to make him drool.

She was now the reluctant owner of that hot little sundress, a denim skirt, and a sexy silk crinkly skirt. She had a halter dress, denim dress, and a practical plaid shirt dress. For shirts, she had a nice selection of tank tops, t-shirts, a camo sweatshirt, some ladies’ rancher blouses, and two warm coats.

She had enough jeans to last a week that cradled her pretty little backside and a truckload of accessories. He watched as they bagged up her straw hat, sunglasses, leather belt, handbag, and a purse, and a pretty necklace that he caught her looking at and scooped it up into the pile before she could object. Once he found her shoe size, he added butt-kicking boots in turquoise and brown and a pair of pink camo moccasin slippers. Unable to resist, he’d topped the purchases off with a lacy bra, socks, and bikini lace underwear that would feed his fantasies.

She’d fought him over pajamas, saying he’d spent more than enough on her and she was fine with his Longhorns shirt. Unable to deny how mouth-watering good she looked in it, he relented. For now.

Each loaded down like pack mules, they headed to the door. A window ad caught his eye. “Look at that. The Founder’s Day Dance is this Saturday. And lucky you’ve got plenty to pick from to wear. Can you save me a few dances?”

 

Chapter 5

 

 

Flags waved in the wind around the big red barn, heralding the Founder’s Day Dance. White lights sparkled from around the doorway and twirled up tree trunks. Earlier in the day, tractors, horses, and school bands showed off their skills in the annual parade, and prizes were given for events of pie eating, log splitting, weight pulling, best cake, best quilt, and more. The dance was the culmination of the day.

Dressed in the fringed denim shirtdress and her shiny new boots, Faith felt so out of place. Standing in the yard, surrounded by trucks and jeeps, and with smoky smells of barbeque carried on the breeze, she had to admit she physically fit in with everyone else.

“Ready?”

She glanced at Dawson, his hopeful smile lifting something inside her, making her heart skip a few beats and then race ahead. Whatever her misgivings, he managed to erase them. Now, she looked forward to a few dances with him.

Inside the barn, tables sat laden with platters of food and drinks. Rows of chairs rimmed the walls. Center stage stood five men, each holding a musical instrument. Faith identified the violin and tall cello. A memory poked her. Another stage. Men in tuxes instead of blue jeans. Women in fine gowns instead of denim. Hushed tones instead of hearty laughter and handshakes.

The first squeal of the violin made her jump.

“Don’t worry about it.”

She turned up to Dawson. “What?”

“Whatever has your pretty brow all wrinkled.” Gently, he smoothed his thumb over her eyebrows, cupping her chin. “Let’s have some fun.”

“Okay, folks, we’ll get this dance started with some do-si-do,” the center stage man said into his microphone. “I’m ready to call this dance, so grab your partner, form your squares, and promenade right those pretty gals.”

Faith froze. “I can’t do this.” She watched as couples paired up and filled the floor.

Dawson’s hands slid into hers. “Sure you can. I’ll be beside you every step of the way. Just hold my hand.” Crossing the floor, they joined three other couples. Dawson pressed her palm down over his upturned one and tenderly joined her other hand in his. The position felt strange, but she closed her eyes and drew comfort from the contact. Other musical instruments joined in, creating a lively harmony.

The hand and body placement changed constantly as the caller on the stage sang out his calls, allemande right, left circle, right grand, and many more. Dawson guided Faith into circles, half circles, rapid turnarounds, head-spinning turns, and endless parading. At last, the call ended, and he escorted her to a chair.

“Water?”

Breathless, she nodded, grateful at his concern. Another dance started, and Dawson suggested a break. He chatted with friends, introducing her as his acquaintance, with his hand resting comfortably on her knee.

“Interesting no one’s noticed any well-heeled strangers around,” he murmured to Faith after several conversations with others.

“How’s that interesting?”

“Makes me wonder if you’re out here by yourself.”

They both glanced at her left hand, their eyes slowly meeting with the question neither one seemed able to ask. Faith licked her lips. “There could be many other explanations why no one else has been noticed.”

He brought her left hand up and kissed it. A shiver raced up her arm and along her back. Heady anticipation pumped through her like adrenaline. She could have closed her eyes and purred like a contented cat.

“Let’s not worry about explanations and things like that now,” Dawson suggested. “I’d much rather dance with you again.”

The musicians shifted into a slow song. Circles broke into pairs, moving close to each other.

“All right, gents, grab your filly and bring her out. Here’s a waltz that’ll have you dancing on the stars.”

Dawson lifted his eyebrow to Faith. “Care to dance on stardust with me, Faith?”

She couldn’t think of anything else she’d rather do…and nowhere else she’d rather be but in his arms. On the floor, he drew her close with one arm going around her waist. Cinnamon and woodsy aftershave filled her nose. He held her hand with his free hand, linking fingers. He dropped a kiss on her lips, smiling mischievously. She grinned.

He swayed to the slow rhythm. She scooted closer, following his lead. Gradually, she rested her head against his chest, hearing the steady beating of his heart. She closed her eyes, squeezed his hands, and smiled blissfully. If this was dancing to the stars, she only wanted a one-way ticket.

 

 

Monday when Sierra returned from school, she took her books outside. Curious, Faith trailed her to the side of the barn. Nestled against a hay bale, she turned pages of the textbook, reading aloud to her audience of the screeching rooster they called Buster and two of the ranch dogs. Sierra’s face looked so serious, Faith inched closer.

“Hello, Sierra. How was school today?” Gingerly she sat down on another hay bale, well away from the livestock.

“Good. But I need a topic for my social studies class. Something local.” She stopped flipping pages and studied Faith. “Hey, I know. Crazy Woman. That will work.” The girl jumped up, dropped her books, and threw her arms around Faith. “Thank you for giving me a great idea. I need to talk to Daddy. This will be perfect.” Excited, she raced away, the rooster clucking after her, wings flapping.

Stunned, Faith turned to the panting dogs. “Well, I’m glad I was so helpful, whatever I just did.” The shepherd dog barked, thumping his tail in the dirt. Faith brushed herself off and continued her exploration of the ranch yard, aware the dogs now joined her.

 

 

“Daddy, tell me the Legend of the Crazy Woman again,” Sierra asked after dinner. “I need it for a school report. Uncle Jack says being over there reminds him of his ex-wives.”

Faith hid her smile as she watched Dawson clench his teeth, roll his eyes to the ceiling, and grimace. She’d bet “Uncle” Jack was going to have some explaining to do soon. Dawson was tolerant, but only to a point when it came to his more colorful comments around Sierra.

Dawson set aside his bookkeeping and waited for Sierra to settle next to him. “Without including Uncle Jack, tell me about this report, Button.”

Soon he launched into a tale of Indians, lovers, wars, and sorrow. Watching the two of them, the trust and adoration in little Sierra’s eyes as Dawson spoke and the utter love Dawson shone for his daughter gave Faith goosebumps. She rubbed her arms and inched closer to the crackling flames in the fireplace. What a beautiful, tender picture they made!

Her heart cracked at the innocence and magic of the scene. Had she spent time like this with her own father? She had no memories of him, or a mother, or siblings. Her bottom lip quivered as Dawson wove the legend like a tapestry.

“And now on certain nights you can see the maiden’s footprints leading into the river. You can still hear her cries of anguish. They say she won’t allow another couple to remain in love and even today will drag one of them into the river to drown them.”

What a tragic ending to a sad legend. The logs hissed and spit, spending sparks into the air.

 

 

Cicadas chirped, still defiant against the cool of the night. Dawson sank deep into the rocker, letting the swallow of beer slide slowly down his throat. He set the bottle on the plank on his downward rock and eased out a long breath on the upward swing. The longer Faith stayed on, the less inclined he was to have her leave if she ever recovered her memories and found there was another life out there somewhere. He’d read where some amnesiacs never recovered their memories and just settled into new lives. He’d be okay with that.

After the night of dancing, he knew it would tear his heart out to see her pack her things and leave him. And he also knew she’d been having some flashbacks of memories. Nothing concrete enough to piece together, but he feared it was just a matter of time.

And there was the problem of Sierra’s maternal grandparents wanting her. He felt the snarl form on his face just thinking about it. The first court date was next month. He’d go into town tomorrow and see the lawyers. He’d procrastinated long enough; he needed to face this head on.

He needed to fight for his daughter. And for Faith. Because he couldn’t stand to lose either one of them.

“Care to share what’s on your mind?”

As if conjured by his thoughts, she stood before him, sexy as hell in her overall jeans and beaded slippers. Damn. He reached for his beer, and she bent, handing it to him. He grinned at the bottle in her hand. He nodded to the adjacent rocker and smiled at the picture they made, rocking on the porch and sipping a beer. Oh, man…

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a lot on my mind.” Boy, wasn’t that an understatement.

She took a delicate sip of beer as though it were wine in a crystal goblet. “I’ll listen.”

He hardly knew where to begin. He studied the evening sky, alive with colors of pink, purple, and orange.

“Have you ever wondered about the lasts in life?” he finally asked, hoping he didn’t come off sounding like a wimpy sap.

“What do you mean?”

He gestured around them. “We never know the last time we get to do or see anything. The last time you toss a ball with the dog, last night out with your buddies, last sunset.” He stopped, his voice catching. He coughed. “Last time to see someone in their dress, the last hug, the last dance. And the last kiss.”

She nodded. “Actually, yes, I have considered that. What…lasts…are behind me and I don’t remember them? Only I can’t bring back the emotions and memories of that last dance or kiss I might have experienced. Was it good or bad?”

She blinked and wiped at her eyes. Was she crying? She had plenty to cry about. Here he was getting all sappy while she had no clue what last time of anything was in her past. What was wrong with him lately? The evening train chugged through town, its whistle blasting in the distance.

Faith pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. He had to wonder if she kept a supply handy for when those emotional moments overwhelmed her. “Here’s something I’ve wondered about,” she said. “Why did you name your place Tica?”

A grin tugged at his lips. “When Lucy and I married, she knew I wanted to be a rancher. When Sierra was about three, we bought this place. She stuck around maybe two months. One day she said she’d had enough of living a lie, living out here, without any of the things I could no longer afford for her. Off she went, leaving us. I hadn’t settled on a name for the ranch yet and immediately thought of Tica. Things I Can’t Afford.”

He watched her reaction in the porchlight glow. She tilted her head to one side for a moment. Did she appreciate his satirical humor?

“Witty, but sad. Especially for Sierra. She seems to have adjusted well.”

His breath caught. “She has. She barely remembers her mama. Kind of like what I imagine you’re experiencing, just a few pieces here and there.” He paused, pulling in a tight breath. “Lucy’s parents want custody of Sierra. They haven’t seen her in almost four years, but they figure they can raise her better than I can.”

“What would make them think that? Particularly since they haven’t seen her in so long?”

Dawson took a drag of his beer and shook his head. “I don’t know what bee flew into their bonnet, but they’re taking me to court next month to prove how unfit a parent I am.”

She gasped, her hand going to her throat as she turned to face him square. Red stained her cheeks as she stared at him, light sparking in her eyes reflecting off the porch glow. “Anyone who watches you with her for any length of time will easily see you are a fantastic father. I was so moved tonight as you were telling her that folklore.”

“Thank you, Faith. That means a lot to me. But I am also a single parent. Her grandparents can give her a male and female parental figure.” He smiled in spite of himself. “All I can give her is myself and Jack.”

She looked out at the silhouetted barns and trees. After what seemed like a short eternity, she reached across and gripped his hand. He stopped rocking. Her expression was serious. Her voice was soft. “Maybe together, you and I could give Sierra a male and female parental figure. I could be a good mother to her.”

Dawson’s heart took wings. His soul sang. His pulse leapt. His mind raced. Her words were soft as feather down. They would make a fine parental team for Sierra. She would make a great wife. And he would be a good husband.

Reality slammed into him with all the tenderness of an angry steer. He could have kissed her, but instead, he gently traced her left ring finger. Chest heavy, he fought to get the words out. “Maybe you already are.”

 

Chapter 6

 

 

Dawson hummed a happy tune as he drove home. He’d had to make a special trip to town to get fencing supplies Jack just happened to mention they needed—after he chewed on Jack’s backside a spell about the things he said around Sierra. While he was in town, he stopped in to chat with a lawyer and for a peek inside the new ladies’ boutique. He had a feeling this would be more to Faith’s liking, though she had not complained about her wardrobe.

In a box beside him, neatly giftwrapped, nestled a silky blue nightgown, trimmed in little roses and pretty bows. He wasn’t guaranteeing how long it would stay on her, particularly after last night. Following their discussion about Sierra and the custody issue, she’d silently gone to bed. He’d headed upstairs a short while later. About half an hour later, she’d softly knocked at his door and slid in. He’d been pleasantly shocked when she crawled into bed with him, nuzzled up against his shoulder, and whispered a single request.

“Hold me, Dawson.”

Her pain-riddled voice cut him like swords. He’d held her silently all through the night, never acting on one single thought that crashed through his mind like wild horses. He’d remained a gentleman, and she’d cried herself to sleep, her hot tears scalding his skin, her body melded against his. At times his breathing became tight and painful.

This morning, he awoke with a new resolve. Two of them. Whatever Faith had in her past did not matter. He wanted her in his present and future. And he was pretty sure she felt the same way. He wanted his ring on her finger. This silky gown was a start, then he’d make an honest woman of her by proposing proper-like.

And if her past caught up with her somehow, they’d deal with it as a married couple. Just like how they were going to deal with Lucy’s parents. She’d promised him that this morning.

 

 

“More coffee, Patsy?”

“Goodness no, but thank you. Your coffee has more grounds than a spring pond has tadpoles.”

Faith drew back, stunned. Frog-loving Sierra had already shone her pictures of millions of swimming tadpoles. She peeked at the carafe. Perhaps. “Dawson’s never said anything,” she said slowly.

Patsy reached across the table and patted Faith’s arm. “Dawson never would, sweetie.”

Faith smiled. She had met Patsy and Hank Perkins at the dance. Turns out they were neighbors, in a how-the-crow-flies distance. She was learning time and locations were different here than she somehow expected them to be. She dusted off the apple-designed tablecloth. “No, I suppose he wouldn’t.”

“Now, before I forget, Dawson had been asking around, inquiring about any newcomers to the area. He might want to know this if you could pass it on; my Hank spotted a couple city-slicker men driving a long, shiny car day before yesterday. Then he saw those same men walking over near the back of our spring pasture today. Hank didn’t engage them because they weren’t trespassing, but he said he felt funny knowing they were walking around out there.”

Something sliced through Faith, a mix of heady excitement tinged with sorrow. Those men were part of her past. She just knew it, deep in her heart. And they were here! She had to learn more.

She plied Patsy with questions, making a map in her mind. With the coffee and pound cake gone, Patsy stood to leave. “You’ll remember to tell Dawson about those men?”

“Of course. I’ll even make a note of it.” After seeing her guest to the door and off with a wave, she dashed to the kitchen drawer. Taking paper and pen, she scribbled a note.

 

Dawson, Patsy was here for a visit and said her husband noticed well-dressed men near their spring pasture. I know they are part of my past. Lately I feel so strongly that I want to remain in your life, and Sierra’s, here at Tica. I want to be a permanent part of your life. But, Dawson, please understand I have to go find these men and find out who I am. I can’t be your Faith until I know, and these men can help me unlock that door. And, darling, once I know my past, I will come back to you to create a future. – Faith

 

Going outside, she wryly eyed his battered pickup. “A child of seven drives it. With help. You can drive it, Faith.” Bolstered, she climbed behind the wheel. It was huge. Sucking in a breath, her heart beating, she turned the key. With a grunt, it roared to life. Gingerly, she shifted the gearstick on the floorboard. It screeched like the rooster. Jumping, she stomped on the pedals and tried again. The truck inched forward. Exhaling, she tapped the gas.

Eventually, she ran out of road and path and finally trail. Stopping, she turned the truck off and eased out a grateful sigh. What an experience with the beast. Maybe she’d walk back after finding the men. They had to still be in the area. Her gut told her so. One thing amnesia had taught her was to follow her gut.

She stood, surrounded by woods and hills, which opened to lush ranch land. She turned in a circle and knew this land was the reason she was out here. Something to do with this land. This area. This what?

She walked, driven by instinct, a guiding finger leading her through the trees, and up the hills. She was thankful for the sturdy boots Dawson insisted she have. She regretted not bringing a thermos of water.

Topping the hill, she headed down into the valley. Sunlight glinted off the river and glass. She squinted. Hidden in the trees sat a car. Not a rusty truck but a real car.

Eagerly, she trotted down, listening for voices. She heard them, talking softly, before she spotted them. Ducking low, she watched.

Two men, one tall and wide-shouldered, the other not as tall and slender. Both about mid-thirty. Both wearing slacks, loafers, dress shirts, and sport coats. Her pulse raced, knowing they were connected to her past. No names came to mind. Their conversation was too low for her to catch more than a stray word. She had to get closer. Her gut warned caution, but she had to catch them before they left. They would know her.

A twig snapped, and she froze, breath held. They both turned, and the wide-shouldered man slowly smiled at her. With caution still flashing in her mind, she took heart at his welcoming smile. He did know her.

“Isobel. I hardly recognized you in those bohemian rags.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Isobel. Isobel? Was that her?

He took two steps toward her, and instinctively she backed away, yielding to the screaming caution. His smile did not seem so welcoming now. Her hands went up in defense, and she marveled at her body’s automatic reaction to him.

“You were a bad girl to run away from me, Isobel. You embarrassed me in front of my friends. You made me have to lie to cover up your misdeed.” His voice dropped to a low growl, and his eyes narrowed. “I would have thought you learned your lesson by now.”

She inhaled and whirled. He was faster. He caught her shoulder and spun her around, slamming her into the nearest tree. Breathless, Faith stared up into his hard eyes, void of any compassion. She looked over at the other man, hoping for help, but he was busy smoking a cigarette and staring in the opposite direction.

She twisted, desperate to get away. He held her in an iron grip as he smoothed back his hair with his free hand. His gold rings sparkled in the dappled sunlight. Finished, he turned his full attention back to Faith, his lips lifting into a snarl and eyes narrowing to slits.

“Let me go, please. I don’t know you.”

“Since you don’t learn well, maybe I need to break a leg or two so you can’t run away. Would that do it, Isobel?”

She swallowed against the fear as her throat constricted. He would do it; she knew he would do it.

“No, please don’t.”

Faith felt him coil his arm like a snake and braced herself. He hurled her away from the tree and to the ground. She landed with a thud, forcing the air from her lungs. He grabbed her by the arms and lifted her as if she were a ragdoll and slammed her against the tree. Her head cracked alongside the trunk, and her fingers dug into the bark. Stars exploded behind her eyes.

She’d have dropped if he still hadn’t been holding her. Giving her a jerk by the shirt collar, he pounded her against the tree again. She felt the warm blood flow down her face. She clutched the tree as her world spun.

Isobel. Now she remembered, memories tumbling loose through the pain. She was Isobel Cantillini. Her fiancé, Roberto, was giving her yet another pounding. And he most likely would break a leg or two before he was finished. His partner, Marsalis, was always present and never any help. And they were to be married soon. Once they returned to Jersey from this venture Roberto was obsessed with.

He learned there was natural gas in this area. He wanted to buy out the ranches dirt cheap, rip out the farmsteads, and mine the natural gas. While on a scouting expedition days ago, she finally saw a chance to escape Roberto. She slid off her engagement ring and ran until she could run no more.

Now he would haul her back to Jersey, make up something about how she was injured in some accident, and force her to go through with the wedding before she could recover. As he berated her and assaulted her, she thought of Dawson.

How she wished she had just stayed with him and become his Faith. It would have been so easy, if only she could have let her past go. Isobel had nothing to live for. As Faith, she had so much. And now it was all lost. Foolish, foolish woman.

As darkness dropped down on her, she cried for Dawson, for Sierra, and for the life they could have had. The legend was right. The Crazy Woman of the creek would never allow anyone to live happily in love.

 

Chapter 7

 

 

Dawson returned to an empty house. He found Faith’s note. Cold fear shot through him. What if these people convinced her to go back to her old life? Would she really leave him? Could she?

He folded the note and stuck it in his pocket. Next, he called Hank and Patsy. Hanging up, he had a good idea where they’d seen those people. And where he might find Faith. He went out the door at a sprint.

When he reached where Faith parked his truck, he parked the Wagoneer. According to Hank, they were seen between Bald Gap and Crazy Woman. He heaved a sigh. Back to Crazy Woman and that dismal valley. Well, he found her there once, and he’d find her there again.

Unless she already left with the men. Her husband?

Sour bile rose in his throat at the thought, and he quickened his pace. He topped Bald Gap and eyed the valley. He spotted the sunlight reflecting off some glass. A car perhaps. Hank said he’d seen a car. Then he spotted the people. And his blood went cold as he recognized the woman on the ground.

Faith!

Racing down the incline, lungs laboring for air, he took in the scene. The slender man stood idly by, disinterested. The beefy guy was at Faith’s side. He must be her man. She appeared to be unconscious. Had she fallen?

Then the beefy guy reared back and lifted a foot, his intention clear. Red anger tore through Dawson as he raced on. Gasping for breath, he barreled shoulder first into him. The force lifted both of them off the ground. They landed, Dawson on top, and he scrambled to grab the man.

The other fellow sprang to life. “Stay back!” Dawson barked. He slugged his fists into the man’s chest. Enraged, he only saw Faith lying helpless and this scumbag trying to hurt her. He drove his fists repeatedly, raining blow after blow upon the man, until his movements stopped. With a final grunt of disgust, he shoved the still form away. “Take that cur and go!” he snapped at the thin guy, dismissing them and rushing to Faith.

Blood poured from her old scalp wound and many new wounds. Gently, he cradled her to his side and brushed her hair away. His heart splintered at the sight, and for a moment he hoped he killed the pile of crap who did this to her.

“Faith. Can you hear me, Faith?”

She moaned and pried one eye open. He realized the other was swollen shut and already turning black. Fresh rage covered him. He bent and kissed her split and bleeding lips. “Oh, Faith.”

“Isobel,” she whispered. “That’s my real name. And he’s my fiancé, Roberto.”

“You remember?” He wasn’t sure he was glad about that.

“I remember everything. He is a very bad man.”

He took her hand in his. “He will never touch you again. Now you know your past, and you will always be Faith to me. So what do you want to do with your future?”

She ran the scenario through her mind when Roberto and Marsalis returned without her. Roberto would never admit he’d been bettered by another man. He would make up a story of how she fell off a mountain or was mauled by a bear or something equally appalling. He would even show his wounds where he bravely tried—and failed—to save her. He would tearfully proclaim there wasn’t even a body to bring back. They would mourn her and then go on.

She gave him a small smile, wincing at the discomfort. “I want to be your Faith. Forever.”

“Me too. Will you marry me?”

Tears filled her eyes. “Only if I can do it as Faith. Let Isobel fade away.”

He wanted to burst into song. “Sounds good to me, sweetheart.” Giving her another kiss, he helped her up and into his arms.

It was the most wonderful feeling she could ever remember experiencing. How beautiful it was to be cherished by a good man like Dawson.

About the Author

 

Ryan Jo Summers writes contemporary romance, non-fiction, and magazine articles. When not busy writing, she operates a pet care service. She is always craving chocolate, coffee, and frequent trips to the country. Her hobbies include birding, chess, crafts, houseplants (about fifty-five at last count), painting, reading, word-find puzzles, and writing poetry. She lives in Western North Carolina in a century-old cottage with a menagerie of rescued pets.

 

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By Cristina Slough

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

Pamela

 

Day One

 

Fear surges around my body; it feels like acid burning through my organs. My heart thuds against my ribcage; I swear I can hear my bones rattle. His cereal bowl sits on the countertop; I frantically stomp my feet, marching toward the cat to stop him licking the tiny puddle of milk sitting at the bottom of the bowl. Leftover milk is evidence he was at home this morning, and despite the humid weather, it still smells fresh, it hasn’t spoiled, which means he hasn’t been that long at all: But long enough for the police to be called, long enough for the town to be searching the woods where he was last seen, the worried voice in my head reminds me. It’s been two hours since sundown; I imagine the four of them out there, afraid, the thickness of the trees playing tricks with their eight-year-old minds. They know they’ll be in trouble, taking an adventure too far—at least it’s the scenario I am so desperately praying for. I haven’t prayed in years, not since my mother passed, but tonight I am clutching rosary beads and reciting a hundred Hail Marys, promising God I’ll be an upstanding Christian if he returns my baby home safe to me. The police told me to stay at home, just in case he shows up. I hate being here not actively looking for him; it feels so wrong. I feel so helpless. I enter his room, searching for clues or anything to give me the slightest hint of where he is. I sit on the edge of his bed and touch the cool sheet his warm clammy body should be tangled up in. This time last night, he was in the spot where I lay my hand—yesterday, he was sleeping soundly, safe, and today he is gone. My heart begins to flutter; cold beads of sweat pop up on my forehead. Where are you, Brent?

I push myself onto my feet, my thoughts firing from one extreme to the next. I’m waiting to hear his overenthusiastic voice boom through the house, stomping up the stairs with the rest of his friends. The four of them have been inseparable since kindergarten, always together, always in trouble, but never in a malicious way. It surprises me Shelly, Amber, and Tammy aren’t here—why are we not trying to put the pieces together and find our missing boys? Then it suddenly dawns on me they must be out searching. I am the only one sitting at home, waiting, doing nothing to find my boy. I straighten my body and spin on my heel, my eyes frantically searching for one last clue before I leave this house and join the search party. I ignore the pulsing headache building up around my temples as I fly downstairs; I ignore the bile building up at the back of my throat as I search for my car keys. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to push away how unwell I feel. I need to find my son.

When Brent was little, I always encouraged him to play outside. Being a fresh air enthusiast myself, I didn’t want him to spend hours in front of the TV playing video games; I wanted him to learn through real play, being outdoors. I didn’t stop him from jumping in mud, I encouraged dirty play, and I wiped away his salty tears when he cut and bumped his knees, sending him on his way again. I always reminded him cuts and bumps were a sign of a good time. Even after his daddy left, I continued to allow Brent to have his freedom to explore. I knew our split was hard on him, and having just turned eight, I knew he blamed me; I must have been the one who sent his daddy away. I bore the brunt of his pain; there were times over the past few months I have found myself staring into the eyes of an angry child, as if time fast-forwarded and he’s already a teenager. I’m certain I have a few more years before he screams out loud he hates me. The police asked me if Brent had any changes in his life that would entice him to run away from home. I told them about my divorce, I told them he missed his daddy, but I quickly followed up with the fact his friends offered him escapism. I told them we hit a rough patch as we tried to find our groove, just the two of us, but we were fine now—he started to let me kiss and hug him again without squirming away. I’ve finally made it out of the door; I get in my car and adjust my seat, hands on the steering wheel, focusing ahead: it is my job to find my son. The radio booms to life, I catch the tail end of a song, and then the local news floods the speakers:

 

Search underway for four local missing boys Colebrook

 

The full weight of my headache kicks in; hearing the news on the radio terrifies me. Bad news happens to other people, not me, not my boy. I have a strange nagging feeling he won’t be found tonight. I try and push my negative thoughts out of my head, but there is a lump in my throat I cannot swallow—an instinctive gut motherly emotion flashing around me like a police siren, a warning I am about to step into the worst period of my entire life. I turn the radio up, hoping the newsreader might have received information I haven’t, since she is reporting at the search area, but her report abruptly finishes and moves on to the weather forecast. Maybe this means they aren’t concerned. Maybe it means they have a lead, and the boys are safe. I try and stick with positive thinking on the drive to the woods. My hands start to tremble as I steer the car into Salber Creek, the charcoal grey road suddenly disappearing from the dark canopy of trees above me. I keep moving until the flash of blue and red lights illuminate the area; police, reporters, faces I know and some I don’t form a large circle—the search party. I pull my car to the side of the road and step out onto the over-grown grass. I see the detective who was at my house a few hours earlier. The area is concealed with yellow tape. The air is thick and humid, but no sounds of nature, no singing crickets, or wildlife scuttling through the bushes. There are so many people, all there in search of my child and his three friends. It gives me a feeling of comfort, knowing so many people will be able to cover the density of the woodland, flashlights will illuminate dark hidden places—maybe the boys are trapped behind a fallen rock? The more people searching, the more likely their voices will be heard. Brent and I were at the woods together just a week ago. I took him here so we could tell him his daddy was moving away for good. I didn’t want to be at home when I delivered the news. I wanted home to be his safe place. Here out in the open, we kept walking, kept talking, and home offered a refuge after the blunt blow of words I’d been left to deliver. I remember the night so clearly, I tucked him up in bed; he’d grown so much over the past few months, the sweet chubby little boy is now a tall, thin, angular child, his once deep auburn hair had lightened from days spent out in the sun, bleached to a pale red; his freckles deepening around his nose and forehead. One of the officers tries to deter me away until I step out of the car and let my shaky voice tell him: I am Brent’s mother. Leaning my body against the hood of my car, I glance across to the detective; she’s seen me too. She waves across to me, gesturing she’ll be right over. I try to read her facial expression, searching for hints on whether she knows something, anything!

She quickly finishes her conversation with one of the uniformed cops and keeps her gaze focused on me. I feel my throat closing as she approaches. She feels like the grim reaper, a messenger of bad news.

“Any news?” I ask hopefully.

“Not yet. The search party has extended, which is good. The more ground we cover, the better chance we have.”

I study Detective Petree’s face—she looks tired, but even though there are dark circles under her eyes and she clutches a flask of coffee close to her chest as if her life depends on it, there is still a youthful glow to her skin, a sparkle in her eyes telling me she is a determined woman—this gives me comfort.

“Y’all find the boys, won’t you?” My question finally bursts free; I can’t keep it concealed any longer. She inhales a deep breath and then looks at me firmly in the eyes.

“We are doing all we can.”

 

Chapter Two

 

 

Him

 

Day Two

 

In crisis, they unite.

Where were they when I needed help?

A so-called hard-working member of the community, they once called me, until I fell on hard times.

They expect a broken man to rise from the ashes without any help.

In my darkest hour, they denied me.

They must pay and, the boys who laughed at me, I will teach them a lesson they will never forget. The people of the town I once called home only have themselves to blame. They are the ones who have blood on their hands…

 

The deed has been carried out. I expected to feel more than I do—at the very least, satisfied. The musky smell of damp gets caught in my throat, and I can’t stop coughing: what now? I hadn’t planned this far ahead. I’d done the hard part, days of watching their movements, waiting in the wings for the perfect opportunity to swiftly strike. Unseen. Un-heard. Untraceable. I slumped down, poking my fingers in the cigarette-burned holes on the shabby sofa. An untouched tuna sandwich sat in front of me on the stained table, the crusts of the bread hard and stale. My mouth parched, I reached for a quart of milk, but before my lips touched the brim of the glass, the foul stench of sourness made me heave. It had been days since I’d been able to afford fresh milk, days since I’d eaten properly.

 

 

When the plant first shut down, Jimmy Beaven took pity on me and gave me breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day at the diner for a week. He’d serve me up his famous tar-black coffee—sludgy but warm; bacon, eggs, and grits—it was enough to keep me going. After every serving, I always offered to wash up, help out in the kitchen, my way of expressing gratitude, but he waved his fat hand in my face and told me to pay him back when I was back on my feet. On a hot Sunday afternoon, tired and hungry, I walked into Jimmy’s, desperate for a cool drink. The church-goers had emptied out of the chapel and spilled into the diner; they sat at tables like gaggles of geese talking and laughing—until they noticed me come through the door. You could’ve heard a pin drop. Time stood still, my once white t-shirt now stained and clinging to my unwashed skin. I tried to make eye contact with Penny Jones, the local butcher’s wife, who’d always stopped for friendly chit-chat on my way home from work—but she quickly averted her gaze, staring down at her half-eaten plate of French toast. Tammy, blonde and fat, with her cheeks circled pink with too much rouge, stepped forward, ushering me to the corner of the diner.

“Ewww, that man stinks.” I turned toward the voice; it belonged to a boy, his thin lips curled into a smile, his friends nudging one another, pointing at me like an animal in a zoo.

“I’m sorry; you can’t be here right now,” Tammy whispered.

“I just need a cold drink is all. I promise I’ll be out of here—please, just one drink.”

For a moment, I thought she’d take pity on me, at the very least take me out back with an ice-cold bottle of water and send me on my way. I could look past the humiliation if she just gave me a darn drink.

“Jimmy has been kind to you, but I’m afraid you’ve taken his generosity too far. We’re not a soup kitchen. We all got to make a living too, can’t be handing you out freebies day in, day out.” I survey the diner, feeling my cheeks burn, hoping one of these God-fearing people would take pity on me, but not one of them look at me, not a single one.

“Didn’t y’all just come from church?” I’ve nothing more to lose, but I have plenty left to say. I grab one of the light blue wooden chairs and scrape the legs along the floor. I stand on top of the chair so I am in full view; I refuse not to be seen, not to be heard.

“Whoever oppresses a poor man insults his maker, but he who is generous to the needy honors him, Proverbs 14:31. I’m sure you wonderful God-fearing folks should know the verse, don’t you? Or maybe you know it but choose not to practice what you preach?” Once again, I am met with silence and people awkwardly shuffling in their seats. I survey the room, hoping at least one person will stand with me. Breaking the silence, I hear a snigger, the same group of boys mocking me when I came in. I’ve said my piece, but my actions will speak volumes louder than my words.

 

 

Day Five

 

The disappearance of the boys had now leaked out of the local news and hit national. The town had come together, united in finding Colebrook’s lost children. People assume there is so much humble honesty in small southern towns; it’s as if nothing bad could ever or should ever happen. Like every corner of the planet, no place is ever perfect, no place is ever truly safe. Everyone has secrets: I remember the cops cuffing Coach Rogers during a high-profile football game, his face in the ground, spitting dirt, burly officers pinning him down—Coach Rogers, a pillar of the community, upstanding citizen, was part of a drug ring; did folks really think he lived in his million-dollar mansion by coaching high school football? 

Or the preacher’s wife—lovely lady—always perfectly kept, polite, but behind her smile was a broken woman, hiding her house of pain. The secrets she kept finally reached a boiling point. Cracks began to show when she started missing church on Sundays, and then one day she took a bottle to the back of the preacher’s head. She calmly told the 911 dispatcher, “He deserved it.” Years of abuse and beatings can indeed drive a person to insanity. I was a beaten man. I’d played by the rules, given my all to this town. The preacher’s wife killed a man, and yet she was forgiven by the community, because she had justification, reason. The humiliation of the day in the diner is what sent me over the edge; goodwill had run out. I was not looked at as a man in desperate need of help, I was the town’s problem, and it was made clear I should go away. Just sweep the problem under the carpet and forget about it, then we can all go on living our lives in our happy utopia, perfect small town. I wasn’t going to be a bit of dirt they could sweep under the carpet; this is what I’ll tell them when they finally catch up with me. “Those kids deserve what I did. Let it be a lesson to you all.”

 

Chapter Three

 

 

Pamela

 

Day Five

 

I waited until midday before I call Tammy; I wanted to give her long enough to sleep the Bourbon off. She offered me a glass several times last night, but I don’t want to numb the pain by drinking alcohol. I want the pain to go away by having Brent back home safe. I don’t judge her for it; we are both mothers of missing children. I see I have several missed calls on my cell and several messages. I listen to them one by one, feeling my blood start to boil as I reach the last well-wisher’s voicemail. None of those messages are from the police. It’s now the fifth day, and the only progress in the case is of the boys’ disappearance hitting national news. I feel like a ghost, waiting in the shadows. Soon I’m due at a press conference with the other parents; it’s being held at the church hall. The police have ransacked each of our houses looking for clues, asking us all invasive questions about our lives, our parenting choices. Primary suspects always seem to fall on parents. I have nothing to hide, and I couldn’t care less if the police want to go through my underwear drawer. Nothing else matters but Brent and the other boys. I sit in his room, holding one of his sweaters close to my face. Silence can be quite the opposite of quiet; it can be a deafening reminder of loneliness, of emptiness. There were days I had wished for quiet, needed a little time for myself, but now all I want is the loud clatter of a bike being hauled through the front door, corny songs blaring out from the TV speakers, and his voice shouting down from his room asking when dinner will be ready. I’m sitting on the bed, a towel wrapped around me. I stare into my wardrobe. I need to pick an outfit, but what am I supposed to wear to a press conference? The world will be watching. The world will be judging. I need the world to be on my side, to help me bring my little boy home safe and sound. Will the color of my blouse really make a difference to how people see me and this dire situation I have found myself in? I don’t want to wear black; it looks like I am mourning. I don’t want to wear pink, much too happy, and it might tell the world I don’t care. So I go with grey, the color of uncertainty—a grey area, neither black nor white, but somewhere in between. The police offered me a ride to the town hall, but I declined. I wanted to hold onto some sense of normality. Maybe if I act normal, normal will return? After I finally dress myself, I slip into the car; I grip the steering wheel and take in a long shaky breath, the familiar pulsing headache returns to my temples, forcing me to squeeze my eyes shut. I had planned to head to the police station first; I wanted to speak to them in private before falling under the eye of the media. I drive down Main Street, pass the beauty parlor and a hardware store called Nuts-and-Bolts, a clothing store called Shellie’s, which caters to older ladies who once paraded in beauty pageants back in their youth. These are stores I’ve passed a million times before, running errands in a town I call home. Its familiarly was like a warm blanket on a freezing cold day. Even after my husband left, walking around this town still gave me a sense of belonging, a community of people who supported me, even when life didn’t. Today, I don’t feel connected to the town; everything looks the same, but nothing feels the same. It’s as if I am having an out-of-body experience. A nightmare from which I cannot wake up, but I keep telling myself, “It’s a dream, Pamela. It’s not real.” I don’t feel connected to myself, because as his mama, I should know where he is. My instincts should lead me to him. I grew him in my belly for nine months, I knew his every little kick, his every roll and punch, and when he was born, I knew what each pitch of his cry meant, what he needed. How can he be eight years old and be so disconnected from me?

How can I not know where my own child is?

What kind of a mother am I?

I used to think I was a good one, but not now. I park a street away from the police station and look up at a group of blackened clouds beginning to fury together. A lump rises in my throat: Brent and his friends, out in the stormy weather. I keep repeating the same mantra to myself over and over, telling myself they are all fine, and this press conference will give them the exposure they need to be found. I’m taken out of my thoughts by a gentle tap on the window. I bolt upright, startled, and it takes me a second to identify Tammy. Her usually loose blonde hair is slicked away from her face, and she’s wearing more make up than usual, but even under the thick layer of orange foundation and over-applied pink rouge, the thick dark circles under her eyes still penetrate through.

She moves round to the passenger side and slides in next to me. I instantly smell cigarettes, and the stench clings to her clothes like a putrid old ashtray in a bar.

“I didn’t think it would come to this…” Tammy says. Her voice quivers; she’s breathless. Her hands are placed on her lap, and I see them shake…I wonder how much she’s drank in the last couple of days.

“I know why we’re here,” Tammy continues. “I know the reason is to tell the world. The more eyes we have, the better chance we have of finding them, but…”

The word but hangs in the air. I don’t want her to finish her sentence; but is a bullet of doubt, and I know it will penetrate fast and furiously though my peaceful mantras of hope. My gaze is fixed on her, and it’s evident she too does not want to openly admit how scared she really is, neither of us do, but there is no doubt we are the most afraid we have ever been in our entire lives. Nothing could possibly compare to this—nothing.

“Jimmy and I have been fighting. Last night I threw an empty coffee cup at his head. It missed. We should be united right now, but I need somebody to blame.”

“For what it’s worth, I blame Howard. If he hadn’t left, maybe Brent would not always feel the need to venture away. I blame myself too, because I haven’t given him the boundaries I should at his age.”

“I’m so scared, Pam.”

I reach across to her hand, offering her comfort for a fear we both share, a comfort we both need. Our boys are so close; it seems impossible we are sitting here waiting to tell the world they are missing. Tammy takes the back of her hand and wipes her tears away; her make-up has already streaked long white lines, a reminder her mask cannot shield the pain of a grieving mother.

Tammy clears her throat and straightens herself. “Where is Howard?”

“He’s on his way. He’s in New York. Said he was catching the first flight out, but that was two days ago. Flights to Georgia are pretty scarce, you know!”

“Are you mad?”

“No, I’m not mad. I’m too worried to be mad. I guess if I had to express my feelings toward Howard, hurt is the word I’d use. Brent thinks the sun shines out of that man’s back-side, he’s the one who left, and I’m the one who had to deal with a broken-hearted child. I’m the one who’s carried the burden of blame.”

“Pam, the police…have they?”

“The boys are not with Howard; the police have checked.”

“What do you think about the police handling the case?” Tammy asks.

I manage a weary smile and shake my head. Time is ticking on, and right now we should be inside the town hall. It will no doubt be crammed now, sweltering bodies of all the local people pushed together.

“I don’t know what to think.” I mean it, too.

 

 

Tammy and I enter the town hall. I try not to make eye contact with all the glassy, pity-filled eyes boring into me, surveying me for my deepest emotions, which I try desperately to conceal. I know they’re all here to help, all here to bring the boys back home safe, but I can’t help but wonder how many people are here just for the show. We pass a sea of journalists, climbing over one another to get the best shot. I climb onto the wooden stage. Set across its length are several rectangular tables wedged together and several microphones wired up from the floor like black snakes. Cameras flash like lightning, the clicks going off simultaneously. I fold my arms in front of me; it’s the only barrier I can give myself. I glance across at Tammy. A camera flash illuminates her face, her chin begins to quiver, and her hand shoots up to her mouth quickly—she’s desperate to hold it together.

A low boom bursts through the speakers, and the chatter of the hall comes to an immediate silence, with the exception of a few hushed whispers. An immaculately dressed police officer steps onto center stage. I vaguely recognize him, but I can’t quite place where I’ve seen him before—I’m confused as to why he is here. Why haven’t I met him?

I can feel my chest start to tighten. In a straight line we all sit, parents of missing children, the boys so close and yet I don’t really know their parents too well, with the expectation of Tammy. Everyone had always been polite enough, we spoke only for our boys, and I know some of them held dinner parties, but I’d never once been invited. Howard never included himself with the people in the town. He always made it clear he was onto bigger and better things; I just never bothered to push myself on people where I felt I wasn’t welcome. Not being part of a few parties never made me feel I wasn’t at home in Colebrook. After a few moments, the uniformed police officer took a microphone and held it close to his burly chest. My breath caught itself in my throat—a lump I tried desperately to swallow away. I look up; tears stinging my eyes, my body begins to rock back and forth. A long black camera lens points toward me like a black tunnel wanting to swallow me whole. I hear the click, capturing my painful moment.

“Five days ago, four boys—Justin Pinkman, Dirk Miller, Brent Sharpe, and Darryl Brenner—were reported missing. They waved goodbye to their parents in the morning, but when they left school, they never returned to their homes.”  

I feel as though I’m having one of those dreams where I’m waiting to wake up. The reality of my situation scares me. The town hall was a place I’d been so familiar with over the years. I could never imagine in a million years I’d be sitting on stage, appealing to the public to find my baby.

“The Devil is among us,” a voice boomed over the crowd. The room fell silent, searching for the voice: it belonged to Edna Cutter. A fragile old lady, a devout Baptist, mother of the fallen preacher who was killed by his wife. After her son died, she went off the rails; she was certain her son was not responsible for the ill-doing his wife had accused him of. She blamed Satan for his death, convinced her daughter-in-law was possessed by a demon. I was furious Edna was asserting her ridiculous beliefs when the sole focus should be the boys. Without thinking, I rise to my feet, banging my fists on the table. I feel rage take over, and the grief and worry I’d felt finally rose to the surface, taking hold of me.

“We are here to appeal to the public to find our missing children. We are not here to listen to your loony bible-bashing bullshit. Enough already, have some damn respect.” When there is no more air left in my lungs, I let my body fall backward onto my chair and put my head in my hands. I don’t recognise the long, painful sobs as they escape from me. I feel arms around my quivering shoulders. I look up to see Tammy and the other parents of our missing children huddle close; we all embrace and form a united circle. The cameras are going wild; journalists are crawling over one another to record the drama. I know this will be making headline news, and although it’s not for the right reasons, at least it will make people hear and see our story. Maybe there will be enough exposure to find our boys and bring them home safe.

 

Chapter Four

 

 

Rachel

 

A strong gust of wind knocks me backward. Leaves rise from the ground, swirling in mini tornados. A piece of tattered yellow tape that once served to conceal the dense wooded area has torn, and the small remainder is still tied to a bent out of shape post. A flock of crows swoop down from the brooding sky, their dark shiny wings reminding me of cloaks: shadows of death. Before tonight’s vigil, I head to where the lifeless bodies of the four missing boys were finally located. The search had lasted for ten days. By day seven, we knew we weren’t investigating a disappearance but a murder. Colebrook has been shaken to the very core. The once sleepy country town of Colebrook is now known throughout the world for the gruesome and heinous act of a murderer we still haven’t found. We have a few suspects, but they all have solid alibis for the approximate time of death the county coroner has ruled. I was called from out of state to help solve the Colebrook missing boys’ case because of my high-profile involvement in Dallas nailing a child-killer known as “Mr. Sparky.” As I drove through Colebrook for the first time, I remember feeling uneasy as I steered through the quieter streets, folks sitting on their front porches waving at my car as I passed by. When news of the boys broke, the community pulled together, and feelings ran deep, because in small towns like Colebrook, everything seems personal.

Telling a parent their child has been found dead is something I will never get used to. Out of all the years I have been involved searching for missing children, very few cases have had happily ever afters. When I came to Colebrook, my instincts told me this was a town that seemed wonderful—but there were many secrets bubbling under the surface. Maybe it was the way people were overly nice, smiling from ear to ear, too eager to please…Something didn’t sit right with me. I grew up in a small town until the age of fourteen. Instead of dreading leaving my old friends behind, I welcomed the new chapter in my life with open arms. I couldn’t wait to walk the streets of a big new city: Chicago is a melting pot of so many diverse communities. I loved turning the corner, never knowing what to expect—a Jamaican hair salon or an old record store selling vintage vinyls. In my experience, small towns equal small minds—always knowing exactly what is expected of you—always the same old stores selling the same old stuff. Colebrook is no different than many of the other small towns I’ve worked.

I sometimes think boredom can drive people to do crazy things, maybe crimes like stealing, but killing people, specifically children, can only be born out of a person who is truly heinous. This case has me baffled; every lead leads to a dead end, and it seems this multiple homicide is a one-off act.

I walk further into the dense woodland, the soil hardened and cracked like the shell of a hard-boiled egg, the fiery heat wave finally showing signs of cooling down in the last week. My cell phone buzzes in my pocket, taking me out of my thoughts. Its buzzing takes me by surprise; I am in an area where cell phone reception doesn’t usually reach. By the time I pull the phone out of my pocket, the screen already displays a missed call—a number I don’t recognise. I immediately call it back. It rings for several seconds, and just as I am about to hang up, I hear the whisper of a voice so faint it almost sounds ghostly.

“Detective Petree?”

“This is she.” I realise my tone sounds too harsh—too authoritative.

There’s a long pause.

“I’m still here,” I say, this time softer. My instincts scream at me, telling me this is a call I need to take. Fifteen years as a detective and my gut feelings have never failed me yet.

The cell phone static is terrible, I can only hear every third word or so, but I piece the small words together enough to hear the words: Colebrook boys. Then comes the sound of four bleeps, the life-line of the call failing.

 

Chapter Five

 

 

Pamela

 

I dream of the faceless killer. I hear the screams of the boys, begging for mercy. In my dream, he wears a long dark coat, and he moves through the woods like a shadow, an entity rather than a man. I run after him, and although he moves slowly, I can never catch up with him. I hear Brent’s voice in the echoes of the wind, so far away. I push my body through the brambles, ignoring the pain of the thorns as they scratch and pierce the surface of my skin.  The woods are neither dark nor light, and my vision is distorted. One minute I am fighting though tangled weeds, my feet tied up in knots, and the next I am running freely through a clearing, but the voices of the boys have silenced. I am alone. Grief overwhelms me. Then in the far distance I see the shadow once more, and just as he is about to unveil his hood…I wake.

 

Three weeks have been spent mourning his loss, knowing he will never return to me. Nothing will ever bring him back, nothing. I cannot sit around and let go. I cannot allow the monster who did this to my child and his three friends walk free. I will not rest until justice is served, and a jail cell for the rest of his sorry life will not be enough—when he is found I want him brought to death; it is the only punishment remotely suitable. My dreams are a true reflection of my state of mind: chasing shadows. I lay in the silence of my bedroom; my only motivation these days is roaming the streets, looking for clues.

At first, the other parents and I sat for hours at a time together. Cradling cups of tar-black coffee in our hands at the local diner, we spoke of our grief, we spoke of our anger, and then we spoke of our revenge. Over the last few days, our meetings have dwindled down, each of them retreating to the privacy of their own pain. Brent’s father, Howard, came as quickly as he went, the shoulder of burden clearly weighing him down. He openly admitted he blamed himself and his choices, and for that very reason, he did what he does best—he ran away from his problems. The truth is I am past caring what that man does anymore. I am past caring about so many things.

Sometimes I wake in the night after a nightmare and get in my car. I drive to the woods where the boys were eventually found. I’m told their death was quick. Blows to the head in quick succession, like this information is supposed to bring me comfort? There is a menace that lives inside me now. Feelings of hatred I have never known before burn through my soul like a raging inferno. Last night, a candlelight vigil was held. Each of us held a pocket-sized photo of each of the boys, but the gentle hum of prayer offered me no comfort. I was angry. Where was God when our children were murdered? I begged God, pleaded with Him to return my boy. Main Street still has posters of the missing boys plastered to every lamp post in sight. When the bodies were found, I walked through the street and saw some people trying to drench the paper with hot water and pull the posters off with wooden rulers. I stopped them immediately. I wasn’t ready to go from the status of missing to dead. I wanted those posters to remain a ghostly reminder there was once hope.

 

Brent Deacon Sharpe

Age: 8

Missing since 08/15

Last Seen: Salber Creek

 

His photo showed his messy red hair with his feral grin and gappy smile. It was taken just a couple of months ago in the backyard. I never imagined for a single second when I snapped the photo it would be used on a missing poster, and I certainly didn’t imagine it being used alongside the word dead. I stare at the blank wall in my bedroom, my body is still, but my thoughts never are. The phone rings. I ignore it. I became a slave to the telephone, jumping at its every shrill, reaching for the receiver, holding my breath. When the phone rings immediately after, the ring actually sounds like it is pleading with me to answer it. I push myself out of bed and grab the receiver on the kitchen wall. I still hope it will be the police telling me they’ve caught the sonofabitch who killed my little boy.

“I know who killed your son.” I grip the receiver tight in my hand. I know I’m standing still, but the room is spinning, and I can’t find any words.

Thirty minutes later, I am standing in the police station. The scent of sweat hangs in the air, and I feel sick. Yarman, a slim man in his fifties, comes to the front desk. It’s early in the day, but he’s already sweated through his uniform. His shirt clings to his chest so tightly, it looks like a second skin.

“Sorry, we’re not taking media drop-ins today.” He stares at me, his bulging belly pushing up against the desk. “You’ll have to make an appointment.”

“Officer Yarman. Don’t you find it disturbing I know who you are, but you don’t know my face?” He stares at me hard until the familiarity creeps back to him, and his jaw drops.

“Mrs. Sharpe. I’m sorry, ma’am.” He bows his head to deepen his apology.

“I need to see Detective Petree. I had a call this morning, somebody claiming to know who killed my son. I have a name, and I want this investigated, now.”

 

 

“I got a call this morning. A woman told me she knows who killed the boys.”

“Mrs. Sharpe.”

“I have a name: Turk Anders. I want you to go to his house now and arrest him.”

Detective Petree looks at a skinny man with beady eyes and glasses slipping down his large hooked nose; his arms are crossed, and he’s hanging on to my every word. I don’t know who he is, but given he’s in a suit, I assume he must be working on the case. The phone rings on Petree’s desk; she answers it immediately. “Hold all my calls; I’m in an important meeting.” Then she gently replaces the receiver on its cradle and holds my gaze.

“Late yesterday afternoon…” Petree begins; the skinny man shoots her a look as if he’s warning her not to go further, but Petree ignores him and turns back to me. Her fingers intertwine and rest in front of her on the desk. “I also received a tip off, but I didn’t get a name. The call was brief, and I was in a restricted cell phone service area. You’re certain the caller gave you the name Turk Anders?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Okay, well, we cannot just arrest somebody because of a tip off,” Detective Petree says matter-of-factly. I feel heat rise to my cheeks. No wonder they haven’t found the killer. My body bolts upright, and I rise to my feet. I’m done playing the rules. I’m done co-operating with this circus of an investigation.

“This is the first name you’ve actually got and you’re going to do nothing?” I hiss.

“Mrs. Sharpe. Please sit down and let’s be calm,” the skinny man says.

“And just who the hell are you?” I wipe away the saliva that’s just dripped down my chin with the back of my hand. My dignity and composure were lost a long time ago.

“This is Detective Unwin. He’s studied high-profile child killers; he’s come to help us.”

“High-profile?” I actually laugh. “You have no idea who the killer is, no leads, and all of a sudden you bring in some celebrity killer cop.”

“We’ve been trying to trace the number of the anonymous tip off who called me yesterday, Mrs. Sharpe, and…”

“Let me guess, you’ve drawn a blank yet again?”

“Now we have a name, an actual name, we are going to investigate it fully. If there is any evidence pointing toward this man, Turk Anders, I can give you my word we will make an arrest. I understand how frustrating this all is for you, Mrs. Sharpe, and the truth be told, I’m pissed we’ve not been able to hone in on a lead. I’m more pissed we didn’t find the boys in time, and I am truly sorry.”

“You need to call the other parents,” I say.

“We will,” Detective Unwin says. He smiles at me gently.

I’m told to wait at home and the police will visit me once they’ve tracked Turk Anders down and brought him in for questioning. I reluctantly agree; sitting at the police station isn’t going to help calm my nerves. I decide to call Tammy; I need to talk to somebody who understands. I walk out of the station with my cell firmly pinned to my ear and wait for her to pick up, which she does on the fourth ring.

“Somebody called me,” I say.

“Me too. Just now. Jimmy and I are headed to the station now.”

“I’m already here.”

There’s a pause. “When did she call you?”

“An hour ago. I came straight here; the police are trying to trace him.”

“Pam. Turk Anders.”

“Yes. That’s the name I’ve been given too.”

“We know him. Jimmy and I know him.”

I feel dizzy. Sick. “What do you mean, you know him?” Thoughts begin to whirl in my head. How do they know him?

“We need to get to the station, Pam. Wait there and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

The phone goes dead. I stand in the parking lot and try to steady my body against a parked car. My heart thuds, and my thoughts race. I look across the lot and see a woman holding a little boy’s hand. He is the spitting image of Brent, and I feel my legs begin to wobble as she draws closer, my gaze pinned on him, but when he’s next to me, I see he is another child. I don’t remember anything after that.

 

Chapter Six

 

 

Rachel

 

After another hour with no results and not much more information on Turk Anders, I walk out of the station just to take a minute and breathe. This investigation is by far the most challenging one I’ve ever dealt with. I understand Pamela Sharpe’s frustration; the resources and budget I’ve been given by Colebrook are nothing short of despicable. It astounds me the cops in the station even know how to recite the Miranda rights, let alone track down a cold-blooded child-killer. I’ve been teamed up with Unwin, he’s supposed to be one of the best, we have upstanding reputations, and together we are supposed to be able to crack this case. The problem is I see straight though Unwin. Maybe he was once in it for the passion of the job, good guy catches bad guy, but now I know he has ulterior motives. He’s a celebrity detective now, featuring on those cringe-worthy late-night crime shows with the suspense-building music playing in the background, depicting a crime in progress or dramatic find. He’s also written two best-selling novels, his latest, The Boy Who Cried Wolf, based on the tragic events of Charlie Kempton, a twelve-year-old boy who accused his teacher of molesting him. Charlie later confessed it was all a lie because his teacher had flunked him in math and his parents banned him from his beloved basketball as a punishment. The weight of reality hit him just before he was due to appear in court; he buckled under the pressure and confessed his lie. A few months later, Charlie’s lies still haunted him; sorry wasn’t enough. The bullying started with anonymous taunts on social media. When he told his parents and the police he was being cyber-bullied and his life was being threatened, nobody believed him. His body was found in the school bathroom a few weeks later. He’d been beaten to death.

My cell phone rings, informing me we finally we have a trace on Turk Anders; I’m not at all surprised when I am told he has no prior record. I have a feeling we aren’t looking for a prolific child-killer. If we are, something would have shown up by now. I am given an address less than ten miles from the station, still within Colebrook limits, but a remote side of town. I scribble the address down on a napkin. I don’t want to call Unwin, but I know this is no time to let my pride get in the way. I need back-up. When you’re searching for a cold-blooded killer, you have to protect yourself.

 

 

Steering through the long winding roads, Unwin tries to make conversation. I give him yes and no answers and sometime the occasional um and ah. He talks about himself a lot and, of course, his celebrity status. I don’t want to feed his already swelled ego, but it seems the more I ignore him, the more he talks; I want to reach for a button and turn him off.

We finally reach the address of Turk Anders, but the house looks far from habitable. The grass is overgrown in front of what can only be described as a wood-planked shack. The ghost of white paint has long weathered, and several of the windows are boarded up with plywood. It is an idyllic location for a horror movie. A stereotypical house of horrors, and any minute now I half-expect to hear the hum of a chainsaw and a brute of a man bursting out of the front door like the Incredible Hulk. For the first time in what seems like forever, Unwin is quiet, carefully surveying the area, looking for obvious dangers. The only sounds to be heard are squawking crows flying above the roof of the house in a circular motion, occasionally landing on the gutters filled with dead leaves and muck, keeping their watchful beady eyes on us.

I step up onto the porch, where old beer cans and shriveled old plants lay abandoned. The door has no bell, just a rusty old knocker hanging on for dear life to the porous wood. I reach for it and use it to knock anyway. Sure enough, it clatters to the ground. I listen for a sign of life, perhaps footsteps, a grunt of a person, the bark of a dog—but I am met with silence. At the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a notice in blood red bold print, but the thick dirt smearing the window makes it difficult to read. I whistle to get Unwin’s attention. He dutifully cooperates and comes to my side.

“What does that say? I can’t make it out.”

He drops to one knee and takes his glasses off as he draws closer. “Foreclosure.”

We both look at one another. Maybe this was Turk Anders’ address, but it isn’t now. I bite the bottom of my lip and gather my thoughts for a moment. We have our first clue: Turk Anders is down on his luck. Now we need to find out why.

“We need to get hold of the bank that carried out the repossession of the property, find out Anders’ employment status and his reasons for not keeping up on the payments. We also need to get inside the house, which shouldn’t be a problem now the bank owns it, no need for a warrant, but we still need to get to the bank.”

Before we go back to the car, I decide to walk the perimeter of the property. There’s a pathway at the rear where roots bump up from the ground and branches and leaves strangle the pathway, but just right of the path is an old shed in the distance with flattened grass, which is a stark contrast against the rest of the grass standing tall and overgrown. With my eyes to the ground, I see a few recent cigarette butts; now of course this could be from the police who evicted him, but it is also entirely possible somebody is living in the old shed. Unwin follows. We both say nothing, but I know we are thinking the same thing. He has one hand on his holster, ready to pull out his weapon if necessary. I’ve been in this position so many times in my career, but the adrenaline surging though my body never dies down; it is not something you ever get used to. The smell of fresh tobacco wafts through the gap at the top of the shed door, which is swollen open.

Unwin and I face one another, guns gripped with both hands and mirroring one another’s movements. I nod my head, and Unwin kicks the door open. A piece wood flies across the floor. There in the corner of the shed is an unmade bed, sheets tangled into a knot, and a hatch at the back where a man is trying to escape.

 

Chapter Seven

 

 

Pamela

 

“Truth is he was a man down on his luck, and I just wanted to do the Christian thing and help him out, y’know. That’s why I gave him a good meal and something to drink.” Jimmy Beaven sits with his hands crossed in front of him. The diner is quiet, so he keeps his voice hushed.

“I don’t get it,” I say, shaking my head. “If you did all those nice things for him, why would somebody suggest he killed our boys?”

Tammy lets out a heavy sigh, her face even more flushed than usual. She yanks up her low-cut top, trying to cover her breasts spilling out on the table.

“Tammy?” I ask suspiciously. “Tammy, you need to talk to me.”

She looks up at me with tears pooling in her eyes; my heart begins to pound heavily in my chest.

“He was putting the other customers off, y’know, coming in here daily, stinking to high heavens, and getting a free meal on us, and everybody else paying their way…so I…I…”

“Go on,” I prompt.

“I told him he couldn’t come in here anymore…and the boys, they made remarks about his hygiene. I thought he would understand, but something inside him seemed to switch. He grabbed one of the chairs and started preaching verses from the Bible.”

“Saying what exactly?”

“Something about him being a poor man and insulting his maker. He looked unhinged…feral.”

“So because you refused him, he sought revenge by killing the boys. It’s insane, absolutely insane.”

“What did she say to you on the phone, the caller?” Tammy asks.

“None of what you just told me. Only his name. I’ve never heard of Turk Anders before, and I sure as hell don’t understand why he would kill children over this isolated incident. Was it an isolated incident?”

“As I said, Pam, until that day we took care of him.”

A woman in her late fifties walks past us, looking at the four of us sitting at the table with interest. She looks familiar, but I don’t know her name. Maybe she’s one of the grandmothers from the children’s school.

“Is there something you need?” I scowl. Nowadays, everybody is a suspect. I don’t hold back in letting my thoughts out in the open. Why the hell should I?

“I’m sorry about your children. All of you.” Then she turns on her heel and quickly makes a dash for the door.

“You don’t think she was the caller, do you?” I say.

“Didn’t sound like her, and I always get people coming in here telling me how sorry they are. I feel like a celebrity for all the wrong reasons. I. Hate. It.” 

A short while after, I leave the diner and head to the woods. I park my car in the same spot as the first night of Brent’s disappearance. I walk off the crunch of the gravel and into the woods; the moist grass brushes against my bare ankles. I inhale a deep breath, wanting to ingest Brent’s spirit into my own. In the distance, I see a younger couple walking a dog—it all seems so normal. Nothing feels normal to me anymore, even the simple act of brushing my teeth. I still have Brent’s toothbrush next to mine. It’s a haunting reminder he is no longer there; I’ll never have to nag him to brush his teeth before bed again. I stay in the woods for a while, finding a fallen log to perch myself on and gather my thoughts. I’m giving the police exactly one hour before I return to the station. The name Turk Anders is at the forefront of my mind, for all this time I want to find the person who carried out this heinous crime. I imagine how I’ll act when I come face to face with them for the first time. I wonder what I’ll say, what I’ll do; I fantasize the pain I will inflict upon him. A small cricket suddenly lands on my hand. Brent loved crickets. I look up to sky. A shard of sunlight beams through the canopy of trees, and for the very first time I feel my son’s presence next to me. I hold my hand where the cricket sits out into the empty space in front of me. I expect the insect to jump into the pile of leaves, never to be seen again, but when it doesn’t, I take it as a sign Brent is really there with me.

 

 

Chapter Eight

 

 

Rachel

 

When we have Turk Anders in custody, he sits silently in the interview room. I’ll never forget the putrid smell of piss and sweat; it’s clear he hasn’t washed in weeks. His body is malnourished, all skin and bone, and his hair is an unnatural rusty orange with long strands sticking out from his t-shirt, reminding me of pieces of dried beef jerky. I imagine his lifestyle at the address we located him, alone, living in the deep outback, feral and hostile, with animals stripped and split hanging in his kitchen. We have a pair of bloodied tennis shoes sitting in the middle of the table concealed in a clear plastic bag marked as evidence. They were found in a hatch underneath the shed. Forensics ran an urgent check, and the blood matched Justin Pinkman. Later, we found more damning evidence linking him to all four boys. We have our guy, but we don’t have a confession.

Turk Anders is a dummy—merely existing. I’ve been in the room with so many killers in my time, listened to their denials and sometimes motives, but the eerie silence and emotionless being of Anders frightens me more than anything. Unwin and I fired question after question—and nothing.

The trial puts the small town of Colebrook on the map for all the wrong reasons; the once small town is now at the center of a huge media storm. Some of the locals hungrily peruse five minutes of fame, giving their portrayal of the murders, but not one of them has any clue that the once hardworking, quiet man, Turk Anders, was a cold-blooded killer. We looked into his history, convinced there had to be something more sinister in his past to make him snap, but we found nothing. Anders fell on hard times, and when his town rejected him, he took his revenge out on four innocent little boys. It took a Colebrook jury less than forty minutes to find Turk Anders guilty of first-degree kidnapping and first-degree murder of minors Justin Pinkman, Dirk Miller, Brent Sharpe, and Darryl Brenner.

With bated breath, the nation watched as the judge clamped his stern gaze onto Turk Anders and began his sentencing:

“There is no act more evil and heinous than the fate you deliberately brought upon four innocent young boys. You robbed them of their future, a chance to explore the world, to one day have families of their own. Their families will never again feel at true peace; you are solely responsible for the misery they have to learn to live with for the rest of their lives. I do not pray for you, Mr. Anders—I pray for the peace of the families you have destroyed—I pray in time the town of Colebrook will be able to only find fond memories of the four lives you took and not remember you—The Devil in Dixie—because you do not deserve to be remembered, not after the way you ended those boys’ lives. With all that said, I submit to you the only appropriate punishment in this case for these inconceivable crimes—the death penalty.

 

Chapter Nine

 

 

Pamela

 

“He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

 

I read aloud a bible verse to the group of people who form what I have named The Circle of Trust. It took me months after Brent’s death to feel any emotions besides anger and pain. My little boy had been cruelly taken from me, but no matter how much I wanted to turn back the clock and re-write history—it was impossible. I decided to leave Colebrook County; I couldn’t stand to be met with the sorrowful faces every time I went to carry out normal tasks like a trip to the grocery store or avoided when I went to the post office because some people were afraid of me—scared my horrible fate would somehow rub off on them. In a few weeks, Turk Anders will die by lethal injection. A life for a life, or in this case, four. It does not feel like the right punishment. Nothing ever will, not until I die and see my beautiful boy again. My faith is somewhat repairing; I need something to hold onto, to believe in the power of something so much greater. When I moved to a larger city, I felt great relief in walking the streets where nobody knew my dark history, but I still needed to heal the gaping hole in my heart, so I decided to run a non-profit group for families whose children had been murdered. At first, I wondered why I was pouring salt in my wounds, but there is a lot that can be said for group therapy. It may not be for everyone, but it has helped me. I’ll never ever be the same again, but I promise to be a better person for Brent.

 

The End

 

About the Author

 

Novelist, movie addict, and animal lover, Cristina Slough is the author of Till Death Us Do Part and Nelumbo Nucifera. She has also contributed to three anthologies with Limitless Publishing. Cristina has always been a bookworm and loves delving into a fictional world of her own.

Cristina is married to Adam, who runs a successful business; together, they share their Bedfordshire home with their son and several spoiled pets. They will be adding a new baby to the family early next year.

 

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By Amelia James

 

 

Bitterweed, Wisconsin, population twelve and dwindling. Ariel Petty’s hometown was so small her GPS app couldn’t find it. Not that she needed directions. She could find her way home any number of ways. She’d scoffed at the invitation to her high school reunion. Not even a real card. Patti Wallace, the class president, had added her to a Facebook group without asking. Ariel had only stuck around long enough to catch the date, time, and location, then bailed without comment. The only people she wanted to see she’d kept in touch with, and that happened to be no one.

She’d woken up at two o’clock in the morning, morphing the edges of a bad dream into her favorite glorious return home fantasy. Walking into that bar—yes, her hick friends had booked their reunion at the town’s one restaurant—in a fabulous dress and killer heels to rub their backwoods noses in her rockstar chef career. Catching his eye, making him want her, taking him out to the crumbling old barn and kissing—no. She wouldn’t pursue that idea even if she wanted to.

She’d left Bitterweed right after graduation to go to college in Minneapolis and never looked back. Her culinary success would bloom like a rose in a pile of cow manure. No one had to know the truth.

Decisions made in the middle of the night rarely ended well. She’d sprung out of bed, packed a few things, and hit the road, leaving the bright lights of the big city behind and driving toward the past. God, what am I doing?

A deer jumped out of the woods and ran across the road in front of her car, but Ariel had seen its eyes glowing in the dark, so she stopped in plenty of time to let the creature pass safely. Some things never change. She slowly drove past the rest of the herd standing in the ditch staring at her, but she barely saw them, her mind suddenly occupied by the one person she missed.

Would Eddie be there? Her high school sweetheart. Of course he would. He’d never leave that dead-end town, which was exactly why they’d broken up. Did he still hate her? He’d been mad when she left. She’d waited for him at the barn, but he didn’t come. She’d needed to say goodbye. He wouldn’t.

Sunrise lit the tops of the trees as she drove over a hill. From this point, she could see the highway winding toward her destination. Home. Once. But had it ever really been where she belonged? Bitterweed didn’t have a hotel, but Ariel didn’t need one. She’d stay at her parents’ house. Damn thing still hadn’t sold after her mom died three years ago. Just another sign that the town had nothing to live for.

The car descended, swallowed up by darkness as the thick forest cut off the early morning sun. A red light on her dashboard caught her eye. Is that the engine symbol? “Shit.” Something clunked, and then the whole car shuddered. Ariel pulled over on the narrow shoulder choked with yellow weed flowers as the engine coughed then died. “Damn it!” She pounded on the steering wheel and turned the key, but nothing happened. Dead silence from the car and the woods around her.

She pulled out her phone and prayed for a signal. “Yes! Two bars.” Sunlight filtered through the trees, bringing the forest to life. Birds sang an annoyingly cheery morning tune while Ariel stood beside her car, trying to communicate her location to the roadside service. “Highway 45, about six miles west of Bitterweed. Yes, Bitterweed, like that ugly yellow flower that grows by the road.” She’d parked in the pervasive plant. “Up to an hour? All right, thanks.”

Welcome back. Ariel grumbled and leaned back against the car. What the hell was I thinking? She never should’ve come. She really didn’t have anything left to brag about anyway.

 

 

Some people called him crazy for getting up before sunrise to work in his garage, but Eddie Grayhawk had been called a lot worse. He ducked under the hood of the 1987 Ford F150 that Jack, former classmate and current high school principal, had brought in yesterday. The thing had seen better days, but Jack refused to part with it. Eddie couldn’t blame him. The man didn’t want a car payment hanging over his head. Jack could’ve taken it to another mechanic closer to home, but Eddie had built a solid reputation for quality work. People from all over the county brought their vehicles to him.

When Jack had mentioned the reunion, Eddie lost his grip on the socket wrench and dropped the damn thing into the engine. He’d found it within seconds but spent a good five minutes pretending to search so Jack wouldn’t see the heat on his face. Would Ariel be there? God, he missed that woman. He should’ve gone to the barn to say goodbye, but he’d refused to believe she’d never come back. In the last fifteen years, she’d only come home once, when her mother died. She hadn’t come to see him or anyone except the real estate agent who put her family’s house on the market. He’d tried to get her attention at the funeral, to offer some comfort, but she’d held his gaze for only a moment then returned to her grief.

Since then, the only time he’d seen her was when her Minneapolis restaurant made the local news. She’d sent him a Christmas card the year after she left. He’d sent her a birthday card every year, but she’d never acknowledged them. Had she forgotten him? He’d never forgotten her. Sometimes he’d go for weeks or months without thinking about her, but other times, like today, he couldn’t get her out of his head. How could he be so hung up on a woman he’d never even slept with?

Fortunately, the phone on his workbench rang and snapped him out of his longing. “Who the hell is calling this early?” He wiped his oily hands on a rag and grabbed the receiver. In this remote part of the country, landlines were more reliable than cell phones. “Grayhawk Motors.”

“This is June from Shield Insurance. One of our policyholders is stranded on Highway 45. Do you have a tow truck?”

He glanced at the beat-up vehicle parked between the garage and his house. “Yes.”

“Good. She’s six miles west of Bitterweed. Do you know where that is?”

“I’m standing in it.” Eddie smirked. Outsiders had never heard of the place, couldn’t find it on a map.

“Okay. You’re looking for a silver 2012 Acura TL.”

That kind of car was too fancy for a local. A vehicle only a few years old shouldn’t be having engine trouble. Idiot probably ran out of gas.

“The driver’s name is Ariel Petty.”

“Who?” Eddie blinked and moved the phone from his right ear to his left, trying to hear through the blood roaring in his veins. She couldn’t have said—

“Ariel Petty. I’ll give you her cell phone number so you can let her know you’re on your way.”

He grabbed a pen and scrawled the number on the nearest scrap of paper, but he wouldn’t call her. “Thanks. I’ll go get her.” He dropped the receiver in the cradle and picked up his cell phone, sending a quick, impersonal text to the number the insurance company gave him. He patted his pockets, searching for the keys to the tow truck, then remembered he’d left them in the ignition. Everyone in Bitterweed left their keys in their cars and front doors unlocked. Ten miles east, in Woodland where the high school was located, people locked up every night. But here, looking out for each other was a way of life.

Eddie jumped in the truck and headed west on forty-five, his palms sweating on the steering wheel. Ariel. After all this time, he’d finally get to see her, just the two of them, stranded on the desolate highway in the middle of the woods. What would he do with her? Hold her? Kiss her? Slip his hand under her shirt and unhook—

Snap out of it, man! This is a tow job, not a booty call. He mashed his lips together in a useless attempt to smother a smile. Back in high school, he’d gotten pretty good at unhooking her bra with one hand. They used to park his truck down by the river and make out for hours in the dark. His cock stiffened as the memories teased him.

A silver sedan appeared at the bottom of the hill, and Eddie caught his breath when he spotted the woman he’d loved so long ago. The rising sun gleamed off her strawberry blonde hair, and her eyes sparkled as she peered toward him. Her figure had rounded out a bit more since high school, making her breasts full and lush. His erection pressed painfully against his zipper as he pulled to a stop. Damn it, I can’t let her see this!

Eddie tugged his t-shirt loose and let it drop over his crotch, hoping it would hide his excitement. Then he stepped out of the truck and flashed a smile. “Hello, Ariel.”

 

 

Ariel gasped at the vision before her. Eddie Grayhawk had been a hottie in high school, but damn, he’d turned into a drop dead gorgeous man. His straight black hair hung to his shoulders, dancing around his chocolate brown eyes as a cool breeze tossed strands in his face. His wicked grin curled her toes, and the snug, oil-smudged t-shirt did nothing to hide the obvious hard-on in his fitted jeans. “Eddie.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed, licking her lips. “Hi.”

He shifted, as if trying to adjust his pants without touching himself. “Need help?” He grunted the words.

Help getting my bra off? He’d been really good at that. But his gaze slid from her lips to the propped-up hood of her car, and Ariel’s face heated. “Oh, right.”

Denim stretched over his finely toned ass as he bent over to study the engine. “What happened?”

Her brain sputtered as it shifted from ogling his backside to recalling exactly how she’d ended up in this position. “It just died at the bottom of the hill.”

He tinkered with a couple of parts then frowned and fixed a glare at her. “Got any gas in the tank?”

Ariel huffed. “Yes, I’m not an idiot.”

Eddie grinned and stood up. “Sorry, a lot of out of towners don’t realize how far apart gas stations are out here.” He moved closer to her, staring into her eyes with an unspoken message much more important than vehicle maintenance.

“Out of…?” Oh, right. She hadn’t called Bitterweed her home since high school. Had she ever really belonged here? “Is that what I am to you?”

“You left.” His lips flattened as he spat the words at her.

As if getting out of this dead-end town as soon as she could was a crime? At least she’d done something with her life. “You’re still here.”

He reached out and swept a windblown strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m always here.”

His touch triggered a landslide of memories. Their first kiss while hiding under the bridge during a thunderstorm. Slow dancing at prom. Their last kiss in his truck at the barn. Dreaming about him just last week. Yes, she’d left town, but she’d never gotten away from him. “Why? You were as much of an outsider as I was.”

He stepped back. “I made my place. I’m happy with my life. Are you?”

 

 

Ariel’s cheeks turned red, and she hesitated, her lips parting as if to answer him, but then she bit her lip. Eddie knew that look. She wouldn’t lie to him, but she wouldn’t tell him the truth either.

“Talk to me.” They’d been able to talk about everything once.

She shook her head. “Do you care?”

“How could I not? It’s you, Ariel. I want to know if…” You’re happy without me? No, he didn’t want to hear her say that. “If you’re all right.”

“Can you fix my car?”

A flash of indignation heated his face. He’d fix the damn thing if it killed him. No one else in the county could. She didn’t know that, but she would if she’d stuck around. “You’re damn right I can.”

A little smile fluttered on her lips. “Good.”

He hadn’t been able to see the problem, so he’d have to run some diagnostics. “I’ll tow you to my garage.” He held his hand out to her. “Where are you staying?”

“At Mom’s.”

Her soft, warm palm melted into his, nearly bringing him to his knees. Eddie resisted the urge to pull her up against him and kiss her senseless. Instead, he helped her climb into the passenger seat then hooked her car to his truck.

Ariel was finger-combing her hair in the rearview mirror when he climbed in the driver’s seat. Memories of her doing the exact same thing flashed into his head. Prom, baseball games, or just a Saturday night parked down by the river. Her hair had always been perfect, but she was never satisfied with it. The woman didn’t know when she had something good. He suppressed a sigh as she turned the mirror toward him and scooted over.

“Thanks for the ride.” She buckled her seat belt.

He nodded, started the engine, and pulled out onto the highway. “I never expected to see you again after your mother’s funeral. What brought you back home?”

She flinched at that word. “I found out about the reunion and decided to go on a whim. Are you going?” Her voice held a casual tone, but he caught a flicker of hope in her eyes.

He hadn’t given one damn fuck about the event. “I am now.”

“Good. It’ll be nice to see a friendly face.” She seemed to tense up as he slowed the truck for the stop sign at the intersection of Highways 45 and 86. His gas station/repair shop/towing service sat on the southwest corner. Every building in town lay in walking distance of each other, including her family’s home up a slight hill and down a dirt road just off the highway. And yet Eddie could avoid seeing it and often did.

“This place hasn’t changed a bit.” Ariel scoffed out the window, fixing her gaze toward the sunrise revealing their surroundings.

“Actually, a lot has changed. Patti owns the restaurant now. The post office closed last month, and Tyler Jenkins runs a bait shop out of it. I took over the service station after Dad died.” He paused to recall what else had happened since she left. “Your mom’s house is still on the market though.”

“I know.”

He wanted to ask about the love of her life—her restaurant. An odd twinge of jealousy stabbed at him, and he let the subject go. He couldn’t force her to tell him what happened. She’d do that on her own terms, if at all.

They pulled up to the garage, and she opened the passenger door before the truck completely stopped. Eddie parked and scrambled to help her out, catching her as she slid to the ground. “Trying to get away from me?”

“No.” She blushed. “I forgot how high this thing is.” Ariel stepped away from his hold and glanced around at the work-in-progress garage and the house he grew up in. “All this is yours now?”

“Yep.” He ambled toward her car and released it from the towing hookup. “Dad tried to sell it, but no one was interested. So I bought it from him.”

She spun, and her blue eyes bore straight through him. “What would you have done if he had sold it?”

He knew she wanted him to say he would’ve left this place and gone after her. And while he’d resisted the urge to chase her down, he would’ve dragged her back here, kicking and screaming most likely. So no matter if the garage had sold or not, he’d still be in Bitterweed. She definitely didn’t want to hear that. “I don’t know. Probably work for whoever bought it.”

She shook her head as if she’d expected as much. “Well, I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

“Yeah.”

“Um…” Ariel glanced toward her motionless car. “I could walk home from here, but…”

Eddie suddenly remembered how she’d come to be in his garage. “You need a car.” He hurried to his office and grabbed a set of keys from the rack on the wall, clutching them to his pounding heart. She wouldn’t run away in his car, would she?

She walked into the office. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Where else are you going to get a vehicle?” He nodded toward the door. “It’s parked next to the house.”

She followed him and then gasped as he opened the driver’s door on a classic Mustang. “Is this the same piece of crap you drove in high school?”

“Yep.”

“It’s beautiful.” She ran her hand along the gleaming red finish. “I can’t believe this gorgeous machine is the same rust pile you drove back then.”

“I put a lot of work and love into it.” He slid into the driver’s seat and jammed the key into the ignition. The car started like it had just rolled off the assembly line. He ran his hand over the polished black steering wheel. “Be good to her.”

“You’re trusting me with your precious Mustang?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He stood and smiled. “I don’t trust the truck not to leave you stranded, and Jack has the loaner car.”

She glanced toward the old Chevy parked beside the car and shuddered. “You’d have to come rescue me again.”

“I would. Whenever you needed me.” He would’ve gone after her the first time she left, but she hadn’t needed rescuing then.

“Thanks for everything.” She curled her arms in his direction and moved toward him. At the same time, he stepped close and bumped into her.

“Oh, sorry.” He stepped back and wrapped his arms around her shoulders while she curled against him. They didn’t quite fit, but he maintained his hold.

Ariel pressed her hands on his chest and leaned back. “Hi.” Her soft pink lips made the simple word sound like an invitation.

“Hey.” Eddie closed his eyes and moved in, surprised when his kiss landed on her cheek instead of her mouth.

“Oh. Sorry. I thought…since it’s been so long.” She rose up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. He’d kissed other women since Ariel had left him, but damn, no one could kiss like her. Even a short, soft sweep like this left him wanting more. He’d never had much more than some secretive groping with her, so his cock rose to the occasion.

“Good night. Er, good morning. Shit. I gotta go.” She slipped from his grasp and dropped into the driver’s seat, gunning the engine and spraying gravel as the car tore out the driveway.

“Always running away from me.” Eddie grumbled and adjusted the bulge in his pants. He steeled himself, knowing she’d most likely go back to Minneapolis after the reunion. Did she have anything to go back to? Would he survive if she left him again?

 

 

Ariel looked fabulous. And she could say that about herself because she was dressed far better than anyone else in the room. Fire engine red cocktail dress, patent platform heels, sparkling jewels, hair half up, half down. Fab. U. Lous.

“Well, if it isn’t Chef Petty,” Patti snarled and slapped a name tag on Ariel’s chest. “I’m surprised you managed to drag yourself away from the big city to come to our little backwoods party.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Ariel ground through her teeth. Did Patti have an agenda? The two had never gotten along. Ariel had tried to encourage her in culinary arts class, but Patti never took it well.

“Wasn’t my idea.” Patti brushed her off and moved to hug another long-lost classmate.

No one else seemed to notice Ariel’s entrance. She wandered past the pool table dominating the room and stood beside the juke box. Someone had selected an odd assortment of songs, both country and rock. She glanced into the dining room where a waitress filled glasses of ice water and set them on round tables draped with plastic tablecloths, paper napkins, and the same plastic flowers she’d seen in high school. Elegant enough for this town, she supposed, but no one had decorated for the reunion. No balloons or streamers, no class colors, no cake. The place looked exactly the same as the last time she’d seen it—prom night with Eddie.

A tingle ran down her spine when she spotted Eddie leaning against the far side of the horseshoe-shaped bar, talking and laughing with Jenna. The man looked hotter than ever in clean dark jeans, a crisp buttoned shirt, and just as she suspected, well-worn cowboy boots, the men’s dress shoes of the Midwest. Damn it, I’m overdressed. She’d wanted to stand out, not like the outsider she’d always been, but like the rockstar she wanted to be. But maybe in this disguise no one would notice her failure.

Eddie noticed her. He stood upright and whistled through his teeth. She couldn’t hear the sound, but she recognized the shape of his mouth and the unmistakable outline of an erection behind his zipper. The man always seemed to be hard in her presence. Why hadn’t she ever taken advantage of that?

Before she could pursue that thought, her name on a high-pitched squeal sent a shudder down her spine. Mrs. Wooten, the Culinary Arts teacher, wrapped her in a crushing hug. “Ariel! I’m so glad you came.”

Ariel had thought she didn’t care to see anyone, but hugging the woman who’d nurtured her love of cooking brought tears to her eyes. “It’s so good to see you.”

“My star student. I’ve seen you on Food Network. You’re famous now!” Mrs. Wooten clapped her hands together and beamed at her favorite former student.

“Yes.” Ariel decided not to offer any evidence to the contrary.

Patti snorted. “Infamous is more like it.” Somehow, she’d snaked into the conversation.

Ariel’s mouth went dry, and she croaked, “What?”

Eddie stepped between them, cradling Ariel’s elbow and pulling her close. “Come with me.”

He placed her trembling hand on his shoulder and slid his arm around her waist, swirling her into the dining room. Now their classmates noticed her, gawking as they stumbled around the tables and tripped over scattered chairs. This was not how her triumphant return fantasy was supposed to play out.

“What’s she talking about?” Ariel rose up on her toes to peek at Patti while Eddie swept her out to the deck overlooking the riverbank.

“Patti? Juicy gossip, no doubt. Forget about her.” He shoved the sliding glass door closed, leaving their audience unable to hear, then planted his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why did you come here?”

Her gaze snapped to him, drawn by his intense brown eyes. God, she’d missed him. He’d been on her mind when she’d gotten out of bed at two a.m. More than that. The thought of seeing him had propelled her to her feet, packed her bag, and driven her car. “I—” she faltered, attempting to resurrect the victorious fantasy she’d wanted to live. “I wanted to come back to this blasted place and flaunt my success in the faces of everyone who made fun of me.”

Eddie snorted. “I figured as much.”

She snarled at him. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through in the last fifteen years.”

“Then talk to me, woman! Tell me who you are.”

“I’m—!” A failure. She couldn’t tell him that. Oh, she’d run off to the big city and built her fancy restaurant, become the most acclaimed chef in Minneapolis, and had gotten an offer for her own show on Food Network. But it had all crashed and burned. And then she’d had nothing. No one to turn to for comfort. While she was building her success, she’d failed to build relationships, so when it all came crumbling down, she’d suffered alone. “I missed you. I’m nothing without you.” Sweet Jesus, it’s true!

“That’s bullshit.” He slipped his fingers under her chin and tilted her face to look up at him. “Do you know what you are?”

She shook her head.

“You are the reason I wake up every morning.” Eddie pulled her close, clamping his hands above the swell of her hips. “I fell in love with you because…”

Her heart pounded as the warmth of his body seeped through her limbs. “Because I’m a magician in the kitchen?” She could work magic in the bedroom too, but he’d never gotten a chance to experience it.

Sparks flared over her skin as he drew his fingertip down her cheek. “I love you because you were never afraid to be yourself.”

Present tense? “I’m always afraid.” A sudden breeze rushed across the river, cooling the muggy air and sending a chill down the back of her neck.

“I didn’t see it. You and I were both outsiders, but that didn’t stop you from doing what you loved. You gave me the courage to make my place here, to become the man I am today.”

But he’d done it without her. “Why did you let me go?”

“You didn’t want to stay. That was never a secret. If I’d made you stay with me…” A short laugh escaped him. “You wouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to leave this place. I didn’t want to leave you.”

His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know that.”

She glared back at him. “You would’ve if you’d come to the barn.”

He clamped his hands on her hips and pulled her close, resting his forehead against hers as a sigh escaped him. “I’ve been kicking myself for that for the last fifteen years.”

“Good. Then I don’t have to.” She tilted her head to one side as his lips came down on hers, soft and yet possessive, as if he wanted to reclaim what they’d lost all those years ago. Ariel slid her arms around his waist, holding him close as his tongue slipped into her mouth. Their bodies fit together like they’d never been apart.

But did they belong together now? She couldn’t stay here, and he wouldn’t leave. One kiss wasn’t enough. She drew back and pressed her hands on his chest.

Eddie stole another taste of her lips then glanced over the top of her head. “We’re being watched.”

She turned and gasped as their entire class and even the restaurant staff stood in the dining room, applauding their kiss. “Well, I wanted the spotlight. I may as well bask in it.” She pulled away from him and yanked the sliding glass door aside, stepping into the dining room to live out her fantasy. As her hand slipped from Eddie’s grasp, she turned to reach for him.

But he folded his arms across his chest, encouraging her with a nod and a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Go.”

Is this how he would’ve said goodbye? She didn’t know and never wanted to find out.

 

 

Eddie hung back, nursing a beer while Ariel stood surrounded by their classmates as she gushed about her restaurant. “Just last week I got a five-star review from the Minneapolis Star-Tribune. They love my food. They called me a shining star in the culinary industry.”

He cringed as the lie tumbled easily from her lips. He had to stop her, but how? Kiss her again? He set the half-full beer glass on a table and moved forward, but Patti stepped in front of him.

Ariel glowed among her admirers. “As soon as I get back, I’m going to be shooting the pilot for my Food Network show.”

“That’s just so amazing!” Mrs. Wooten clasped her hands together and sighed. “I can’t believe you’re a star.”

Patti snorted. “No, you shouldn’t believe it. It’s all a lie.”

“Patti, don’t.” Eddie grabbed her arm and tried to drag her away from the growing crowd, but she jerked free and turned on him.

“Oh, come on, Eddie. Her restaurant was all over the news last month. We all heard about the E. coli outbreak and how she had to shut down for good.”

Eddie’s heart stopped as silence swept the room. Besides Ariel, Mrs. Wooten appeared to be the only person shocked by Patti’s claims.

“What?” Color drained from Ariel’s face. “You couldn’t have heard about that.”

Patti whirled and gloated at her. “You were headline news on all the TV stations here. ‘Chef with Bitterweed roots embroiled in scandal.’ It was a freaking media circus!” And Patti reveled in her role as ringmaster.

Eddie’s heart started again, racing as he pushed through the crowd to get to Ariel. He slid his arm around her and pressed his lips to her ear. “I’m sorry.” Everyone in the restaurant had gathered around them. If anyone in town had somehow missed the story, they all knew about it now.

Patti laughed. “The news reports were loaded with drama. People got sick, went to the hospital…” Mock concern twisted her face. “Didn’t someone die?”

“No one died.” Ariel wrung her hands. “The board of health cleared me of any wrongdoing. The outbreak wasn’t my fault.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Patti marched in her face. “All the blame fell on you and your hoity-toity restaurant became a pile of shit because you served bad lettuce.”

“I didn’t know.” Ariel trembled, and her words strangled.

“And you thought that I’d never amount to anything.” Patti drew herself up, standing proud over her shamed classmate. “My restaurant is flourishing, and I haven’t killed anyone.”

“I never killed anyone!”

“No, you just killed your career. But hey, welcome back to Bitterweed, baby. It’s so good to see you fail.”

“I never should’ve come back.” Ariel swallowed hard and clutched her stomach.

“You’re damn right you shouldn’t have. Stay in the city where you belong. You and your snobby friends and your fancy food. Nobody here cares about that shit.”

Eddie stepped closer to Patti, his gut twisting in knots. “Back off.” He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to wrap his fingers around her throat to make her stop talking.

“Hell no,” Patti snarled. “She’s been a snob ever since high school, hell, all her life. Fifteen years later, she comes back to lord it over us all.”

Ariel gasped. “I wasn’t a snob. I just didn’t have the same interests as you. I wanted more from my life.”

“More what? Fame? You sure got that. I’ll bet Food Network is thrilled to have a killer chef in its lineup.”

Ariel shook her head. “There is no show. We didn’t even shoot the pilot.” She shuddered, and her eyes dimmed. “Everything’s gone. My restaurant, my reputation…all gone.” She raised a quivering hand to wipe away the tears trickling down her cheek, smearing black mascara over her pale face.

Eddie growled. “Why’d you have to do that, Patti? We all knew.”

“You knew?” Fire returned to Ariel’s eyes.

Shit. “Yeah, it was on the news.”

“No, you knew? And you didn’t say anything?”

“Darlin’, I didn’t know what to say.”

“I can’t believe you let me walk in here and…oh my God, Eddie!” Her white face turned as red as her dress. She shoved him and ran out the door.

He stumbled after her, but Patti caught his arm.

“Do you really think she wants you to follow her? You didn’t go after her the last time she left. What makes you think it’s going to be any different now?”

“Because I’m not gonna make the same mistake twice.”

 

 

Eddie ran out to the parking lot just as his Mustang roared onto the highway, heading west. Damn it, was she running back to Minneapolis in his car? He thought she wouldn’t take off if she was driving a borrowed vehicle. Apparently not. He jumped in his truck and took off after her, but the old engine barely kept up with the Mustang’s horsepower. She could’ve left him in the dust if she knew how to handle the powerful car. He nearly lost her around a curve but spotted the car’s distinctive taillights when she turned off the highway onto a dirt road. Memories guided him. Is she going to the barn? Does she know I’m following? Maybe she wants me to.

The Mustang’s taillights dimmed as he approached the decaying structure. Turning off the truck’s headlights, he parked behind an old oak tree and watched the moonlight glint off her sequined dress as she picked her way through the brush toward the barn. “That place isn’t safe anymore.” He slipped out of the truck and followed her, keeping his distance so he wouldn’t scare her off again. Crickets chirped, surrounding him as he ducked from one tree to another.

One of the old double doors had collapsed entirely, and the other hung from its hinges, the rotting wood pointing daggers at anyone who approached. She paused in the opening and peered into the darkness. Then she stepped inside.

“Ariel, wait!” Eddie bolted from his hiding place, catching up with her as she turned to gasp at him. “This place is rotting apart. The whole thing could fall on you.”

She backed up a step, further into the decaying barn. “Don’t come near me.”

He ignored her and closed the distance between them with a quick step, grabbing her arm and pulling her out from under the creaking roof. “Trust me. I just want to keep you safe.”

“Keep me safe?” She attacked him, pounding his chest with flying fists. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me go in there and flaunt my false success? That’s what set Patti off!”

Her fingernail struck his face, leaving a burning sting behind. He grabbed her flailing arms and pinned them to her sides as he backed her against the car, forcing her to look at him. “Because I believe in you!”

“Believe in me?” A bitter laugh escaped her as she struggled to pull free. “I’m a fucking failure!”

He dared to let go of one of her wrists and cup her chin. “But you’ll overcome this. You always have.”

“How?” The fight went out of her, and her lower lip trembled. “What kind of success can I find now?”

“What kind do you want?” Hopefully something that would keep her with him this time.

 

 

Ariel blinked at him, barely catching the tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. “What does that mean?”

“Do you want money, fame, a show on Food Network?”

A few months ago, she would’ve responded, yes, without a doubt. But she suspected Eddie wasn’t finished, and she wanted to see what other options he offered.

“Or do you want love, family, and a good dog?”

After her mother died, her aunt had taken in their family dog. Ariel had wanted to, but her building wouldn’t allow pets.

“I want…” Could she have it all? “I don’t know anymore.”

He took her hand and led her to the riverbank. The noisy crickets ceased their chatter as they strolled through the grass. Ariel kicked her shoes into the wildflowers, the damn bitterweed, then sat on a rock to dangle her toes in the chilly rushing stream.

“You still love the water.” Eddie sat beside her, his dark eyes glittering in the moonlight.

“It’s where I belong.” The cool river swirled up to her ankles. “The water flows around me. It doesn’t force me to become something else to fit its ideal.”

“I never wanted you to be anything but yourself.”

“I know.” She blinked again, and her eyelashes turned wet. “Why does everyone else hate me?”

He shifted closer and reached out to stroke her arm. “You acted like you were better than us, and no one ever understood why. You were born here just like everyone else, but you seemed to think you were too good to be here.”

His words stung, but his touch drew her closer to him. “No, it wasn’t like that. I saw how my parents struggled, how hard they worked for nothing. I wanted better for my life, and I knew I wouldn’t find it here. So I got out as soon as I could.”

“You left me.” His eyes hardened, and he withdrew his hand.

Ariel’s face heated. How long had he been waiting to shoot that accusation at her? It wasn’t about him. “I left to pursue my dream!” Cold water splashed up to her knees as she stood and marched onto the grassy bank.

“Yeah?” Eddie scrambled up from the rocks and followed her. “How’d that work out for you?”

Her wet feet squished as she stepped into her shoes then whirled to face him. “Didn’t you have dreams? Or is this piece of shit town good enough for you?”

He caught up to her and grabbed her arms, pulling her close. His eyes softened, and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her. “All I ever dream about is spending my life with you.”

Present tense again. “You still do?”

“Always.” This time he kissed her—hard and hot—a sharp contrast to his gentle words.

She responded with equal force, nicking his tongue with her teeth as it swept her mouth. He nipped her lower lip, and she felt it in the heat pooling between her legs. She staggered back, panting. “Why didn’t you come after me?”

“Because I belong here,” he answered too quickly. “Your world of fancy things…that’s not for me. This is my home.” He held out his hand, and she took it, following him through the shadowy woods to the Mustang.

They couldn’t go into the barn and hide in the hayloft like they did in high school, so they leaned back against the hood of the car, staring at the stars through the trees.

One thing had been bugging her for fifteen years. “You waited for me to come back? All this time?”

“I knew you would.” He smiled and laced his fingers with hers. “This is your home no matter how much you deny it.” He winked and squeezed her hand. “And I’m here.”

Ariel laughed. God, I never should’ve left him. She should’ve dragged him along with her. She was going to ask him to come, but when he never showed up at the barn, she knew what his answer would’ve been. “Pretty sure of my feelings for you, aren’t you?”

He leaned close, his lips hot and soft on her ear. “Always.”

A heated shiver shot down her spine. She’d wanted him to be her first. That was another thing she’d wanted to ask him that night. She turned into him and ran her fingertip down the buttons on his shirt. “I’ve been with other guys, you know.” He doesn’t need to know that!

“It’s been fifteen years.” Laughter underlined his words as he caressed her cheek. “If you’d never been with anyone else, I’d be a little worried.”

Whew. Of course, if he had no reason to worry, then…“Have you been with other women?”

“Several.” Moonlight illuminated his smirk.

She shoved him and sat back. “You don’t have to brag.”

He slid off the hood to stand directly in front of her. “Isn’t that what you came here to do?” His eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

Her heels sank into the ground as she jumped off the car, planting her against him. She grabbed his firm biceps, and he caught her to keep from toppling over. “I wanted to come to the reunion and live my fantasy of being a big deal in this town. To prove that I’d made something of myself.” Wow. Her plans had failed spectacularly.  

“Is that the only reason you came home?” He rubbed her arms from her elbows to her shoulders and back as if seeking comfort.

“No. There’s another part of the fantasy I didn’t dare pursue.” But she should have. From the beginning. And if she was honest with herself, she had. The dream about showing off at the reunion hadn’t got her out of bed. The thought of seeing him had. She slid her hand over his pounding heart. Tell him! “You. Kissing me.”

“Just kissing?” He brushed his nose against her cheek, his lips a breath away from hers.

“So much more.” The words escaped in a breathless rush an instant before his mouth came down on hers with intent and purpose. More? Yes, now!

She pushed back, panting as the invitation she’d planned to give him long ago rolled off her lips. “Make love to me, Eddie.”

 

 

His cock hardened, jutting against her with swift certainty. Eddie could’ve let his carnal reaction serve as his answer, but he needed to say words. Speak, idiot! “Yes,” he managed to croak through dry lips. He clasped her face in his hands and met her gaze. “Yes,” he said, biting off the word so she’d have no doubts. And neither would he.

Ariel leaned back on the hood of the Mustang, pulling Eddie with her as she sat down. He stepped between her parted thighs, sliding her skirt up and stroking her leg while they kissed. His whole body trembled as they touched. Memories rattled him. Kissing in the front seat of his truck. Slipping his hand under her shirt and stroking her small, soft breasts, stopping with a painful hard-on mashed against his zipper when she said they’d gone too far.

She moaned in his mouth and pressed against him as his hand slid behind her, his fingers toying with the zipper of her dress. “Please.”

He drew his hand away to cup her cheek. “We don’t have to rush. There’s no curfew tonight.”

“Waiting fifteen years isn’t slow enough for you?” She reached for his belt buckle and tugged it open with a swift yank.

He choked on a laugh as she pulled his zipper open then shoved his jeans down his thighs. His naked cock smacked into her hot palm.

“You’re not wearing underwear.” Her fingers curled around his erection in a twisting stroke.

“I never have.” Heat licked his body.

Ariel gave him a pretty pout. “Why didn’t I know that?”

Whatever he might have said faded away as she bent down to suck him. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he gasped as her tongue swirled around his hard dick. God, he’d imagined her doing this for so long, but he had to stop her soon. He didn’t recover as fast as he did in high school. Many nights he’d come in his pants while sucking her breasts only to get hard again a few minutes later. She never knew.

He bent over, gasping for breath as he pulled her zipper down. Her dress parted to expose a black satin bra strap. Eddie smiled and slipped his fingers under it, pushing up with his thumb. The strap snapped apart, and she sat up, clutching her loose top to her breasts.

“You can still undo it with one hand.” She smiled.

“I haven’t forgotten how to do that.” He hooked a finger in the front of her dress and pulled it down, exposing the breasts he’d longed to touch again. To kiss, lick, and suck until she gasped and cried out. Had he given her an orgasm back then? They didn’t know it at the time, but now he suspected he might have.

She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder as he cupped her breast. “You were the first man to make me come.”

Her confirmation made him smile as he dragged his thumb over her taut nipple.

“And you did it so well.” Her arms went slack, and he leaned back slightly to let her dress slide to the grass in a pool of sparkling red.

He pressed her down on the car and caught both breasts in his hands, sucking each fat tip in turn. The hood bowed underneath them with a resounding thud as he crawled on top of her, but he didn’t care. He’d dent the thing to hell and back fucking her. At least the damage would stick around.

 

 

Ariel hooked her toes in his belt loops and pulled his pants down, leaving him in nothing but his shirt and her in flimsy lace panties. She’d never been this naked with him before. Eddie had only ever taken off her bra under her shirt, and sometimes she’d let him take a peek at her bare breasts. But now only a tiny scrap of fabric kept him from penetrating her. She had to be rid of it. “Take it off.”

“Huh?” A wet nipple popped from between his lips as he pushed up on his elbows.

She wriggled under him. “Take my panties off.” She rolled them down her hips as far as she could reach. “I want you.”

“Oh.” Eddie swept the bunched-up lace down past her knees, and she kicked them off. A gasp escaped him when he looked back at her. “You’re naked.”

Heat flashed over her skin. “You’re not.”

“I’ll take care of that.” He sat up and bent over to pull his boots off, exposing his beautiful bare ass. Her fingers itched to grope the hot man flesh, but he slid off the car and turned to face her as he shoved his jeans down and jerked his shirt over his head.

A sticky breeze blew across Ariel’s naked body, puckering her nipples while she watched him strip. She leaned back on her elbows, trembling as they stared at each other, his cock standing erect and eager, straining for her. Moonlight glinted on his stark muscles, and the wind tossed his black hair around his blacker eyes. The man was a fucking vision of lust.

Eddie licked his lips. “I’ve waited fifteen years to see you like this.”

She raised one knee and let it fall at a wide angle, catching her breath as the wind tickled her wet flesh. “Like it?”

“Fuck yeah.” His eyes glittered as he brushed his palm over his quivering cock.

The hard metal under her ass buckled as she squirmed, aching for him to touch her. “I need you, Eddie.”

“I know.” He slid his arms under her thighs and pulled her down the hood, spreading her legs around him as he knelt in the grass, breathing hot on her exposed flesh. Starting at her knee, he nibbled and teased her shaking legs, licking his way up, then skipping over to bite down the other leg.

Ariel groaned and tangled her fingers in his long hair, trying to direct him, but the stubborn man ignored her, taking his sweet time while her body practically begged for more.

“I wanted to do this to you a long time ago,” he whispered as he flickered licks along the inside of her thigh. “But I didn’t know if you’d like it.”

She giggled then gasped as he nipped the tender skin. “Back then, it probably would’ve freaked me out.” Back then, neither one of them knew much about sex.

He blew a hot stream across her spread flesh then kissed the other thigh.

“But now your patience is driving me crazy.” She shuddered and closed her eyes, no longer able to watch his slow torture.

Eddie chuckled and shifted, then his tongue touched her clit.

“Oh God!” She arched and mashed into his mouth. His teeth grazed her, sending shockwaves through her limbs. Sweet heaven, how long had she wanted him like this? Wanted his tongue to make her blood sing, his lips to kiss her to oblivion. The stars above them sizzled and popped, raining sparks down on her quivering skin.

His arms clamped around her hips as she nearly slid off the hood. A harsh moan escaped him, tickling her flesh.

Ariel bucked under his relentless mouth. “Don’t stop!” She wished the moment would never end, but it had to. Love couldn’t stay buried. It had to grow. “Oh God, I need more.” She sat up and slid a hand behind his neck, pressing her forehead to his while they both breathed hard.

Eddie stood between her spread legs, rubbing his hot cock up and down her wet slit. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you.” She reached down between them and grabbed his hard shaft. “Inside me. With me.” Always. She kissed him before she could say the word.

He pressed his tip to her entrance, lingering for a throbbing moment before pushing in, slow but certain. “Oh God, I wanted this for so long.”

She slid down the hood, shoving him deeper, desperate to have all of him after longing for this hot connection for years. He filled her, burying his cock to the hilt while she moaned and pressed closer. “Yes! Finally.” She sighed on his neck.

He pulled out and thrust in again, rushing as if he couldn’t bear to be without her. She gasped, and he groaned, holding tight, breathing hard. Their pace increased, hurried, becoming frantic.

Ariel lost her balance as Eddie’s knees buckled, and they slid off the sweat-slickened metal, tumbling down onto the grass and their clothes. He rolled on top of her, claiming her body with desperate need.

He pinned her to the ground with his weight, driving hard while she dragged her fingernails down his back. “You belong to me,” he hissed as her nails scored his ass. “We belong together. Always.”

What? How? “Shut up and fuck me.” She wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him in harder. How could she belong to him when she didn’t belong anywhere? Not in Minneapolis. Definitely not in Bitterweed. But did it matter where they were?

The stars sparked again, and she closed her eyes, unable and unwilling to think. Just feel. His cock surged inside her. Feel him. Her body tightened around him. Feel us. A loud wail tore from her lips, ripping with frustration and longing.

“Come with me, darlin’,” Eddie panted on her neck, then bit down, holding her in place while he pounded her.

“Oh God! Don’t leave me.” Which made no sense because she’d left him. But she didn’t care. She wanted him, one way or another, and right now she couldn’t imagine leaving him behind again.

“Fuck!” He planted his knees and shuddered, spurting hot and hard inside her.

Ariel twisted, holding him tight as the night sky flashed white hot and glittering. She settled under him with a long, draining sigh. “Oh sweet mercy. Getting naked with you was definitely worth coming home for.”

 

 

One by one, the crickets resumed their song. Eddie chuckled on Ariel’s shoulder. He knew he should get up. He knew his limp, sated body was crushing her, but he’d be damned if he’d let her get away so easily. “I’m glad you came.” He realized what he’d said when he said it. Eh, it works.

She arched an eyebrow.

“Yes, that’s what I meant.” He grinned and kissed her.

She smiled. “I am too.”

Grass crunched underneath him as he rolled to his side and wrapped her in his arms. The muggy air still hadn’t cooled, and the stickiness mixed with the sweat on their skin. “You feel so good.” This was where she belonged. With me. Had he told her that? He vaguely remembered mumbling something about her belonging to him. Had she responded? Oh, right. She’d told him to shut up and fuck her. After that, he hadn’t been able to think at all.

Ariel sighed and rubbed her cheek on his shoulder. “I don’t want to go.”

“Good. I don’t want you to leave.” He tightened his arms around her and plunged off the deep end. He’d probably drown, but at least she’d know he needed her. “I have a life here, but it’s only half a life without you.”

“No, I meant, I don’t want to get dressed and go back to Mom’s house tonight.” She sat up as much as his firm embrace would allow and met his gaze. “I can’t stay just for you.”

Dammit. “Why not?” It’s not like this town has anything else to offer.

She stared off into the dark woods, apparently pondering her options. Then she looked back at him with concern in her eyes. “Would you leave with me?”

“Yes.” No deliberation required.

“But my world isn’t for you.”

“That doesn’t matter anymore.” He tugged on her arm, pulling her down on his chest. Her heartbeat matched his. “I wasted too much time doing nothing, wishing things had been different, hoping you’d come back. My home is with you—wherever you go.”

 

 

She’d wanted to hear him say that for so long, but now that he had, she didn’t quite know what to do with it. “Then follow me into the water.” Ariel stood and held her hand down to him. Eddie grinned as she pulled him up then scrambled after her as she splashed into the river.

The cold water shocked her senses. Damn river never warmed up, even in the dog days of summer. She stepped carefully on the rocky bottom as the current swirled up to her bare thighs. They’d gone swimming in this very spot hundreds of times but never completely naked. Once, she’d taken her bikini top off and nearly lost it when the rushing water swept it out of her grip. He’d swum after it and brought it back to her while she ducked under the water with her arms clamped over her chest. This time she stood facing him while the current flowed around her waist, her arms floating on top of the water, open to him. Nothing to hide. He knew all her secrets, all her failures. And he still wanted her to stay.

He grinned through gritted teeth, obviously chilled. “I haven’t done this since high school.”

“You don’t swim anymore?”

“Not here. Too fucking cold.”

“You’ve got to duck under all at once.” She took a deep breath and dropped to her knees. The river rushed over her head, sweeping her hair across her face. The cold cleared her mind, and she surfaced with a gasp. “Better to do it quick and get it over with.” She should’ve done that tonight. Stepped on the gas all the way to the Minnesota border. But something had drawn her here. And Eddie had followed just as she knew he would.

He caught up to her, just as she expected, and wrapped his warm arms around her chilly body. “Then why are you still here?”

“I have nothing to go back to. Minneapolis isn’t home.”

“Am I?”

“You, yes. But—”

He cut her off with a swift, heated kiss. “Let’s start with that.”

She nodded, shivering.

“I thought you loved water.” He smiled and kissed the goose bumps on her wet shoulders.

“Not at the moment.”

“Come with me.” He took her hand, and they waded through the cold current, splashing as the river got shallower, and they climbed up on the bank. The stars twinkled bright, and the crickets chirped, apparently having decided to ignore their presence.

Eddie searched the cab of his truck. “This should do.” He pulled out a rolled-up sleeping bag. “I’ve only got one, so we’ll have to get cozy.”

“Please tell me that’s not the same sleeping bag we used in high school.” They’d lain on top of a sleeping bag in the back of his truck for hours, talking about everything. They’d made out too, kissing and touching. A sudden urge to recreate that magic made her stomach flutter.

“No.” He laughed as he dropped the tailgate. “This thing has seen better days, but it’s not that old.” He unzipped the bag and spread it in the truck bed.

Ariel crawled up onto the thick, warm bed and into Eddie’s arms, curling her chilled body against his muscled heat. For once she was grateful the humidity didn’t allow the night air to cool much.

He pulled her in close, resting his cheek against her wet hair. “When are you going back?”

She didn’t want to answer that. “I can’t leave until you fix my car.” She rested her chin on his chest and fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“Oh.” A short laugh. “I did. It’s ready to go.”

“And you didn’t tell me because?”

A leering grin twisted his lips as his gaze drifted down. “You’re naked. I can’t be expected to remember things when you’re naked.”

“That’s acceptable.” Ariel sighed, and Eddie stroked her bare back while she drew swirls on his chest with her fingertip. She could easily give up the hectic culinary life for nights like this. “I don’t know if I’ll go back to Minneapolis. I sold my restaurant. All I’ve got there is my apartment.”

“No friends? Boyfriend?”

“No, I was too busy working for a social life.”

“Yeah, I get that.” He slid his hand behind his head and gazed up at the stars.

She leaned up on her elbow. “Really, the garage keeps you that busy?”

“Some days, but I’ve always got something going on: town council meetings, school board meetings. I play and coach baseball in the summer and plow snow in the winter. I’m a volunteer firefighter. We saved Joe Wallace’s barn last week.”

Hot damn. “You don’t have a fireman’s calendar, do you?” The thought curled her toes.

“We joked about the idea.” He winked at her. “It’s still under consideration.”

“Wow, you…you’re not doing nothing with your life.”

His eyes narrowed. “Is that what you thought? That I was just sitting here pining for you?”

“Well no, but I had no idea your life here could be so full.” And hers had been so empty even with activity filling up her days, nights, and weekends. “Makes me wonder what I’ve been missing.”

He caressed her cheek. “I’ve been missing you.”

Her heart pounded as a crazy idea took root. “Do you think I could make my place here? Like you did?”

“Do you want to?” Eddie seemed skeptical.

She didn’t blame him, though. “I don’t know what I want.”

He frowned slightly.

“I want you.” She leaned over and pressed her lips to his until she felt him smile again. “But other than that, what would I do? I can’t be a mechanic’s wife.” Whoa, where did that come from?

“I could be a chef’s husband.”

She loved how he never got freaked out by her ramblings. He took her wild thoughts and rolled with them, never once making fun of her. She’d missed this—him—but more than that, she missed the way he made her feel. At home. Like she belonged here, but not because she fit in, she never would, but because he was here. With her. Leaving hadn’t been her mistake. Leaving him behind was. But she’d had to do it. “Where would I be a chef? There’s only one restaurant in town, and I’m never going there again.”

He leaned up on his elbow so they lay face to face and smiled into her eyes. “You know Mrs. Wooten retired last year. The reunion was also her retirement party.”

“Damn it, why didn’t anyone tell me? She was my favorite teacher. This night should’ve been about her, not me.” She’d come here for all the wrong reasons. Could she stay for the right ones?

“She wasn’t just the culinary arts teacher. She was also the nutrition director and head chef for the district.”

An elementary school, one junior high, and one high school, less than four hundred students all in the same building made up the entire district. “Who’s taking her place?”

“We haven’t hired anyone yet. I could recommend you…if you’re interested.”

“I’m a world class chef…and you want me to be a lunch lady?” The idea was insane, but she almost liked it.

“Who says lunch ladies can’t be world class chefs? Our kids need good food. For some of them, a school lunch is the only meal they get.”

Ariel’s heart pounded. She’d often wondered why she wasted her time cooking for rich snobs who didn’t appreciate her work. Cooking for students, teaching them to eat well…could that be what she wanted? “Can I think about it?”

“As long as it keeps you here.” He pressed her knuckles to his lips. “Can I sweeten the pot?”

“What do you mean?”

“I love you, Ariel. I never stopped. I’ll stand by you, whatever you choose. I just want you to be happy.”

She blinked back tears.

“But will you give me the chance to make you happy?” He reached out and caressed her cheek, his touch adding fuel to the confusing fire.

She bit her lip and curled up into his chest, unable to answer him. For the first time in her life, staying in Bitterweed offered so many possibilities.

 

 

Eight weeks later

 

A squealing third-grader bounced off Eddie Grayhawk as he walked into the Woodland School District cafeteria. He caught the girl by the shoulder and directed her frenetic energy back toward a harried teacher, then paused and searched the chaos around him. The school board had gotten good reports about the new cafeteria chef from both students and staff, so he decided to taste her cooking himself.

He spotted Ariel in the middle of the kitchen, giving her staff directions while she stirred a pot of macaroni and cheese.

Jack, the principal, waved him over to the faculty table. “Thank you for recommending her.” He smiled and nodded toward Ariel. “The food has improved one hundred percent. The students love her cooking and her classes, and she’s planning to start a school garden in the spring.”

“That’s great. I knew she’d be good for the school.” Eddie pasted a smile on his lips. Ariel had been nervous about the job in the weeks leading up to the new school year. He hadn’t had much time to talk to her since she started. She appeared to be happy, but she’d seemed to be happy the first time she left.

Eddie slipped into the kitchen and watched Ariel, waiting for a break in the activity.

She turned away from the stove and smiled as she caught a glimpse of him. “Hey, I’m glad you’re here.”

“You look right at home.”

She nodded, grinning brightly as she surveyed her domain. “I am. I love coming to work every day, planning the menu, creating healthier recipes. I’m getting the students involved, and they love it. I love it. Thank you so much for encouraging me to take this job.” She rose on her toes and planted a smacking kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you for taking a chance on us.” He took her hand and squeezed it.

She quickly led him away from the busy kitchen to a relatively quiet hallway, bursting with barely contained excitement. “I got the best phone call right before the lunch hour started. James Gifford, a rockstar chef in Chicago wants me to cook in his five-star restaurant!” Glee practically gushed from the woman.

Eddie’s gut twisted. He’d been afraid something would lure her away. “Are you going to do it?”

Her eyes sparkled, and she bounced on her toes. “I want to—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Searing pain boiled over, fueling the rage that had been simmering for fifteen years. “After all we’ve meant to each other, everything we’ve been through, you can just walk away? Again! And for what? Some chef?”

“Chef Gifford! It’s a huge compliment.”

“Is that what you need? Compliments?” He sagged back against the wall and ran his hand over his face. “All right. You’re beautiful.”

“Stop.” Ariel blushed and scowled as if trying to figure out where he was going with this.

Eddie didn’t quite know either, but the words rolled on. “You’re smart, you’re funny, and you’re an amazing chef.”

“You’ve told me all that.” She blinked fast.

“You’re the one person in this shithole town who never made me feel like an outsider. When you left, I buried the pain in work, community service, and mountains of snow. I don’t know what I’ll do now. There’s nothing else left. Not without you.” His eyes stung, and he mashed his trembling lips together. “Maybe I’ll take up knitting.” He pushed off the wall and strode into the noisy lunchroom.

“Eddie, please.” She reached for him, but he evaded her grasp.

Chicago. Fine. He’d let her go and get famous. Let her have the fancy things she apparently wanted. She was always too good for this place.

The bell rang, the same one that had sent him and Ariel to class years ago, and students scrambled past him, swarming like the memories that suddenly overwhelmed him. They’d met right here, on the first day of kindergarten. The principal had sent him and the other Native American kids to stand at the back of the lunch line. He’d bumped into Ariel when his friend had pushed him, but she’d smiled and given Eddie her gum, right from her mouth. He’d given her a kiss on the cheek. They’d been happy together, all through school, no matter what anyone else said or did. They made their own world, and they loved each other in it.

Damn it, I will not let this woman leave me! He’d make her happy whether she wanted it or not. Eddie spun around and marched toward her, stopping short when he rounded the corner and heard her on the phone.

“Yes, that’s perfect. I’ll meet you tonight at six.” She slipped her phone into her apron pocket and smiled at him.

What the hell is going on? “So that’s it? You’re leaving me again?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Let me finish my sentence before you get all huffy again. I want to stay here.”

Eddie blinked, not comprehending.

“Yes, that’s what I said. I’m staying here.” She drew out the word as if trying to explain the concept to a particularly dimwitted man. “With you.”

“Here with me?” Blood roared in his ears as the room spun.

Ariel moved close to him and laid her hand over his pounding heart. “I’m not leaving you again. I’m not leaving Bitterweed.” She sighed and shook her head. “You’ve always been home.”

He caught her face in his hands and searched her eyes. “You’re sure?”

She nodded as much as she could in his vise grip. “You’re stuck with me.”

Eddie wrapped his arms around his love and held her tight, kissing her with all the love and lust that had been brewing for the last fifteen years, his entire life.

She moaned on his lips and sank her hands in his hair, clutching him closer. He stumbled forward and crushed her against the wall. He’d caught himself on his hands, but she kept pulling.

Laughing, he pushed back. “I’m going to hurt you.”

“You’ve never hurt me.” She frowned and refused to look at him, staring at her feet instead.

He curled a finger under her chin and tipped her head back, one last doubt still nagging at him. “Who are you meeting tonight?”

Her eyes brightened, and she smiled. “The real estate agent. I’m taking Mom’s house off the market.”

“Wow, you really are stuck here.” Eddie’s already pounding heart sped into overdrive while the woman he’d love from beginning to end melted in his arms.

She shook her head. “Not this time. I’m staying because I want to. I choose to.” Ariel let out a deep, soul-cleansing sigh and rested her cheek on his chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this content.”

“Content? Is that all?” Eddie grumbled, fearing he’d disappointed her somehow, but all his worries disappeared when she smiled into his eyes.

“That’s everything.”

About the Author

 

When I was in the third grade, my teacher wrote “tends to daydream” on my report card. What did she expect from a girl raised on fairy tales? Those fanciful stories led to the romance novel addiction I acquired in junior high. When I’m not lusting after my next bad boy hero, I’m looking for inspiration in sci-fi and action movies, football players, morally ambiguous lawyers, muscle cars, and kick-butt chicks. We all need to get away from reality for a little while. I prefer to escape with a flirty, fun, sizzly sexy romance.

 

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By: Carolyn LaRoche

 

 

Brady

 

“Okay, kid. Which one is it?” Brady looked in his rearview mirror at the teenage boy slouched in the back of his patrol car.

The boy scowled and answered without making eye contact. “The white one.”

Every other house they passed was some version of white. This kid now danced on Brady’s last nerve. He should have just arrested him and let the system take over. A twinge of guilt flared as he caught another glimpse of the kid in his rearview mirror. That same sad, lost expression that had haunted him for over a decade reflected back at him.

“Could you be a little more specific? Like maybe a house number? If you make me look it up—” Brady asked, working really hard to keep his annoyance in check.

“Three ninety-eight,” the boy mumbled.

Brady scanned the numbers painted on the curb and the sides of mailboxes until he spotted the correct one. Pulling his patrol car over to the curb, he let out a long breath.

“Oh my God,” he heard the boy mumble. “What is wrong with her?”

The boy sounded as annoyed as he felt, but when Brady looked at the yard in front of the modest rancher style home, he let out a chuckle. Sure enough, the woman cutting the grass wore sky-high red heels.

“Can you just let me out here? I promise I won’t skip school again.” Now the kid sounded desperate.

“Oh, I’ll be letting you out. Just as soon as I have a word with your mother.”

“That’s not my mother. She’s my aunt, and she’s freaking crazy. Why don’t you just take me to the police department and put me in jail?”

Brady glanced back over at the woman. She had her long, blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. The thick waves cascaded over the shoulders of her red sweater, and big sunglasses sat perched on top of her head. Tight-fitting jeans stretched over curves that went on for miles as she studied something on the ground. A little movement in his boxer briefs at the site of her caught him off guard, but he ignored it. “Just because she’s cutting the grass in red high heels doesn’t make her crazy.”

“No, it just makes her an idiot.”

The woman looked up at him, and as they made eye contact, he felt a little jolt of electricity shoot through him. Ignoring that as well, Brady got out of the car and pulled open the back door. “Look, Michael, you aren’t in a position to be criticizing other people’s choices right now.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Everyone cuts class. It’s not like it’s against the law.”

“Actually, yes, it is. Come on, man, get out of the car.”

“Please don’t talk to her. Just drop me off and leave. I’ll explain everything, I promise.”

Damn, the kid actually looked desperate. “Sorry, son. I don’t have a choice. Unless your mother’s home?”

Michael laughed, without an ounce of humor. “Yeah, right.”

“Well, then Aunt Idiot it is.”

“Who’s an idiot?”

Brady spun around to face the woman suddenly standing behind him. “Um, hello, ma’am. This your nephew?”

She glared at the boy standing next to the police car. “What’d he do now?”

“Thanks, Aunt Dee. Nothing like throwing me under the bus.” Michael crossed his arms over his chest and glared right back at his aunt.

“Looks more like a police car to me, pal. What would your momma say?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t we ask her? Oh, wait, we can’t.” Michael walked over to the front porch and dropped down on the top step, looking like a lost puppy.

Brady returned his attention to the oddly familiar woman standing in front of him who now had that hot glare of hers focused on him. He tried to ignore the way her hands rested on her hips, accentuating the perfect curve and remember why he was there. His gaze wandered to the bright red shoes she wore, and a smile tugged at his lips.

“You got a foot fetish or something?”

He nodded at her feet. “Those are an unusual choice for doing yard work.”

“I’m pretty sure my footwear isn’t a legal issue. So, what’d Mikey do this time?”

Brady shook his head. She was a feisty one. That kind of appealed to him. He extended his hand. “I’m Sheriff Collins.”

She ignored the gesture. “Yeah, I know.”

He lowered his hand and let it rest on the butt of the gun on his duty belt. “Well, I don’t know who you are.”

“Deanna Loomis. Are you going to tell me why you’re hauling my nephew home in the back of a cop car when he’s supposed to be hating his life in Algebra class?”

Brady leaned back against his cruiser and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, Ms. Loomis—”

She waved a perfectly manicured hand in the air between them and sighed in exasperation. “Just call me Dee.”

“Okay, Dee. I found Michael hating his life behind the old community center building, experimenting with fancy vocabulary and a can of spray paint.”

“Aren’t they tearing that place down now that the new one is almost done?”

“That’s not the point. He’s supposed to be in school. And tagging the F word on buildings that don’t belong to him is against the law.”

She frowned, looking over her shoulder at the boy on the steps. “Then why didn’t you arrest him?”

Brady shrugged. “Who knows? Because I’m a nice guy?” It definitely had nothing to do with the fact that Michael had reminded him of his own little brother. Maybe if someone had given Ryan a second chance, things would have turned out differently.

Dee pursed her lips and studied him, her gaze roaming up and down the entire six feet of his frame, and shook her head. “Sheriff Brady Collins, I believe you are a lot of things. I’m absolutely certain you are cocky and probably totally full of yourself. I can see you are as sexy as sin in that uniform, but you know it, and I can see that too. Yes, Sheriff, I’m sure you are a lot of things, but I am not sure nice guy is one of them. I do, however, appreciate you bringing Michael home, so thank you for that.”

Brady kicked at a rock on the ground in frustration. “What’s your problem, lady?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, pulling the neckline of her top down low enough to expose a perfect cleavage and the fullness of her breasts. Brady forced his gaze up and away from all that creamy skin, reminding himself that he had a job to do, and checking out this woman’s tits was not in that job description.

Her glare burned into him. “What is my problem? Well, I’ll tell you, since you asked so nicely. Three months ago, my life was perfect, and now I am stuck in this backwoods hell hole that only has three stoplights, one supermarket, and not a single nail salon for miles. I’ve got some mountain man standing in front of a house that isn’t mine, telling me a kid I never asked to raise is a hoodlum, and he, the nice guy that he is, brought him home so he can just run off and do something stupid again.”

“Well, no one asked your stupid ass to come here, Aunt Dee! Why don’t you go back to Hollywood and blow some director to get another part in another stupid ass movie!” Michael jumped up, stomped his way into the house, and slammed the door.

Brady looked back at Dee. “Hollywood?”

Dee stomped one of her ridiculous red shoes against the ground and scowled. “You can’t seriously be that dense. I’ve got to go deal with my nephew. I wish I could promise you he won’t get in trouble again, but I can’t. The way things are going around here, you two are probably going to be great friends.”

Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Dee turned and stomped off. Brady watched as she tripped going up the steps of the porch and slammed the door as hard as her nephew had. Maybe harder. The whole scene was beyond humorous, and Brady laughed as he slid in behind the wheel of his patrol car.

Speaking of hard, his trousers were now a whole lot tighter below his duty belt, and it was all Ms. Hollywood’s fault. Nearly two years of living like a hermit had obviously affected his libido. Any hot blonde in tight jeans and sexy heels could have given him a Smoky Mountains-sized hard-on. Except no other woman in this tiny little town had even turned his head since the day he’d been sworn in.

It wasn’t until he pulled into his spot out front of the station that it dawned on him. How had he not recognized her? Deanna Loomis. The hottest Hollywood starlet of the decade had crashed and burned when her manager stole all her money and run off with her sister. It had been all over the news for weeks. Hell, he’d just seen her picture on the cover of a tabloid that morning at the gas station on his way in to work.

No one ever mentioned the slut sister had a son she’d abandoned. The son Brady had just found tagging Fuck You on the back of an abandoned building.

 

 

Dee

 

Dee slammed the door so hard, pictures rattled. She was furious with Michael, but Sheriff Brady had taken her to her boiling point, and she didn’t even know why. She peeked out the window in the door and watched Brady slide in behind the wheel of his car and drive away. Infuriating wasn’t his only trait. Downright freaking sexy sat high on that list as well.

“You want to screw him, don’t you?”

Dee spun on the pointed heel of her red shoe and glared at Michael. “Don’t you talk to me like that.”

“Why not? I saw the way you were shaking your ass out there.”

“Michael Aaron! You watch your mouth!”

Michael met her glare with one of his own. “What you gonna do? Ground me? Run off and leave me with a crazy aunt?” A mock look of fear crossed his face as he dramatically glanced around the house. “Wait. There aren’t any more of you, are there?”

“I don’t know who you think you are, but you need to stop. I’m not the sister that runs off with men I hardly know. You should talk to your mother about that!”

“I’d like to. Any idea where the bitch ran off to?”

Dee took a step forward so that she and Michael stood nose to nose. “I don’t care how angry you are at her or me, you will not call her names like that. She is still your mother, even if she’s made some crappy choices lately.”

Michael broke their stare down, taking a step back. “I hate you. And her.”

Before she could respond, he disappeared down the hall. The slam of his bedroom door shook the pictures on the walls again.

Dee fell back against the door and sighed. This whole parenting thing so wasn’t for her. When her private investigator finally caught up with Miranda and that snake Neil, there was going to be hell to pay. Not only did Miranda and Neil steal a good chunk of her money, they’d stolen her freedom and the great life she’d had. Not that Michael was actually her responsibility. She’d never even met the boy but once when he was an infant. If she hadn’t run to small town Tennessee looking for that lying, thieving bitch sister of hers, she never would have known a fifteen year old had been left to fend for himself.

The sound of a car door closing caught her attention. Dee turned and yanked open the door just in time to see a police cruiser pull away from the curb. Sitting on the top step of the porch was a business card. She leaned down and picked it up. The front read Sheriff Brady Collins with the address and phone number of the police department. When she flipped it over, the back had a handwritten note. In neat, even letters it said

 

Call if you need anything.

 

She wadded the card up and tossed it on the hall table before heading back to the abandoned lawn mower. This time when she pulled the cord, the darn thing started right up. Figures. The cards had been stacked so high against her lately, it was possible she might not ever find her way out of this mess.

Half an hour later, Dee kicked her red heels off and cursed when one of the spikes made a hole in the drywall. She headed to the kitchen to start dinner, still having no idea what to do with Mikey. The kid was hurting. She understood that. She just didn’t have any idea how to help him.

The sun had begun to go down earlier now that the end of October had arrived and the house filled with shadows set on fire by the bright reds and oranges of sunset in the mountains. If there were one redeeming thing about this God forsaken hole-in-the-wall town she’d ended up in, it was that sunset.

Cooking had never really been Dee’s specialty, but she had perfected pasta and sauce from the jar years ago. Soon enough, the entire kitchen smelled of garlic and oregano and crispy Italian bread with melted butter and cheese sprinkled on it. Perhaps she could win her nephew over with food.

“Mikey! Dinner’s ready!” She dished up two plates and set them on the table and sat down to wait for him. After a couple of minutes, she got up and walked down the hall. Maybe he hadn’t heard her. That boy played his music so loud it screamed from his headphones. He’d be deaf by twenty-one for sure.

Dee rapped on the closed door. “Mikey! Dinner!”

No response.

She pounded a little louder this time and raised her voice. “Michael! I know you’re mad at me. Let’s eat dinner and talk about it!”

Oh, Lord. Now she sounded like her mother.

Pressing an ear to the wood, she heard absolutely nothing. The knob turned when she tried it, so Dee peeked in around the edge of the door. “Come on, Mikey. Let’s have—”

Dee stopped in the doorway and looked around. The room was empty. The window by Michael’s bed was open, letting in a chill breeze that fluttered the curtains.

“Are you kidding me?” She crossed the room and pulled the curtains apart, sticking her head and shoulders out into the night. The screen stood propped against the brick of the house, and her nephew was nowhere to be seen.

Slamming the window closed against the night air, Dee ran to the front hall and slipped on her red heels. Grabbing her purse, cell phone, and car keys, she caught sight of the wadded-up card Sheriff Collins had left. Snatching it up, she dropped it in her purse and ran out to the car. Once she sat in the driver’s seat, she sent Mikey a text, asking him where he was. After a full five minutes of waiting for a reply, she pulled her car out of the driveway.

After driving up and down the main road in town twice without success, Dee drove to the high school. Maybe there was a football game or something going on that Mikey had decided to go to. The fields were dark and the lots empty when she pulled in and looked around.

“Oh, Mikey, where are you?” She leaned her head against the steering wheel. She so wasn’t cut out for this.

For the hundredth time since she’d discovered her nephew was missing, Dee checked her cell phone. Nothing. She pulled up his number and sent yet another text.

 

Where are you?

 

It took a full sixty seconds for a reply to come in, but at least he answered this time.

 

With friends.

 

Where?

 

She waited for almost five minutes, but no response ever came. What did she do now? Dee had zero experience in the kid department, and she was far from a natural caregiver.

When she dropped her phone back in her purse, she spotted the crumpled card she’d tossed in there earlier. She was in no mood to deal with the gigantic ego of Brady Collins, but Mikey could be in trouble. Of course, calling the Sheriff could also get him in trouble. Frustration overwhelmed her, but she fought back the urge to cry and took a deep breath. Michael’s safety was most important. Fishing the card out of her pocketbook, she entered the number into her cell phone and held her breath while the call connected. On the third ring, she heard a gruff, “What?”

“Is this Sheriff Collins?”

“Last I checked.”

“Sheriff, this is Dee Loomis. We met this after—”

“I know who you are.”

Dee took a deep breath, biting back the scathing reply begging to be released. “My nephew, Michael, is missing.”

“Missing?” Brady’s tone changed from annoyed to all business.

“Yes. I went to get him for dinner, and he was gone.”

“Did you try his cell phone?” This man was too much with the mightier than thou attitude.

“Now why didn’t I think of that?” Dee didn’t even try to hold back the sarcasm this time.

“It’s a standard question, ma’am. You called me, remember?” Brady’s frustration radiated through her cell phone in thick waves.

“Of course I did! He just said he’s with friends and stopped answering my texts.”

“Sit tight. I’ll be right there.”

“I’m at the high school.” Dee rested her head against the seat back. “I’ve looked everywhere I know to look.”

“I’ll be there in three minutes.” The call disconnected, and Dee set her phone on the passenger seat.

In less than two minutes, the flashing blue lights of Brady’s patrol car filled the lot. He pulled up next to her and put his window down. “Get in. I just got a call for a breaking and entering. Four teenagers. It could be your boy.”

“What about my car?” Dee fumbled for her phone, keys, and purse even as she asked the question.

“Leave it. Come on!”

Jumping from her car, she ran around to the passenger side of the police car. She’d barely shut the door when Brady slammed on the gas and raced from the lot, blue lights flashing.

“You don’t really think Michael is involved, do you?” Dee tucked her phone and her keys in her purse and set it on the floor by her feet.

“That boy is walking a slippery slope. I don’t know what happened with his momma, but whatever is going on in your family has him lashing out. So, yeah, it’s possible.” Brady spun the wheel and took the car around a corner. The speed and force sent Dee into the door, digging the armrest in her side.

Dee gripped the door handle and spoke through clenched teeth. “Mikey’s really a good boy. Do you have to drive so fast?”

“We do if you want to get there in time.” Brady took another corner at breakneck speed.

“What’s that supposed to—” Brady slammed on the brakes in front of a small electronics store. A second car pulled in behind them.

“Stay here.” Brady jumped from the car and met up with the other officer on the way to the storefront. Dee watched as they disappeared inside. Her anxiety threatened to get the best of her, but she fought through it, refusing to take an anxiety pill to calm herself. She needed her head clear around Brady.

Instead, she picked at the polish on her nails and had made it through three fingers when she looked up and saw Brady coming toward her, a shadowy figure beside him.

The knots in her stomach tightened when they passed under a street light. The shadowy figure was Michael. And Brady had cuffed his hands behind his back like a criminal.

Brady pulled open the back door of the car and waited while Michael awkwardly climbed inside and sat down. “What’s she doing here?”

Brady leaned over and looked in the car at Michael. “Remember your right to remain silent? I’d use it.”

After closing the door, Brady got in the car and spent a minute typing something into his computer while Mikey grumbled in the backseat. Dee looked from one to the other, not exactly certain who she should ask the question she really already knew the answer to.

When she just about couldn’t stand the suspense anymore, Brady spoke. “Your nephew is under arrest for breaking into the electronics store. Lucky for him he didn’t leave the building with any stolen property, but he’s still in a good bit of trouble. There was damage to the store and some of the merchandise.”

“Under arrest? But he’s just a kid.”

“Who has committed a serious crime.” Brady’s tone stayed serious, but she could see a little bit of warmth in his brown eyes as he looked at her. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take him in. He will go through booking and have to appear before a judge in the morning for arraignment. You’ll be able to get him in the morning after his bail is set. With any kind of luck, he’ll be ROR.”

“ROR?” This was all too much to process.

“Released on his own recognizance. It’s a fancy legal term for on his word that he will behave until his trial.”

“Trial?”

“He committed a crime, Dee. You do understand that, right?”

“I told you she was an idiot,” Michael said from behind them.

“Right to remain silent, remember?” Brady’s tone had turned hard again. He pulled the car from the curb and headed to the station.

It took nearly three hours to get Mikey processed. By the time they took him away, he’d lost all his anger and bravado. Dee watched as an officer led him through a door, feeling helpless.

Once he was out of her sight, Dee had no idea what to do next. Her car was at the high school, and it was well after midnight. There were no taxis in the tiny town, and Uber was probably unheard of. Not to mention, her feet were starting to ache. Well, the walk would do her good anyway. She grabbed her purse off the seat beside her and headed to the door.

“Where are you going?”

Dee stopped walking as the now-familiar voice filled the room. She tried to ignore the way his scent permeated her senses and made her want to jump in his arms and kiss him, so she just said, “I’m going home. It’s late, and I’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

“I’ll drive you.” Brady stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“My car isn’t far from here.”

“It’s at least two miles, and it’s thirty-five degrees outside. You don’t have a jacket, and it’s the middle of the night.” He looked at her feet. “And you aren’t exactly wearing good walking shoes.”

“You take a lot of interest in my footwear.”

Brady ignored her comment. Instead, he stepped off the walk and opened the door to his cruiser. “I’m going to drive you.”

“I said I’ll walk. I’m a city girl, remember? I know how to take care of myself.” Dee started walking, faster than before. She almost made it to the corner when Brady pulled up beside her, driving real slow.

“Get in the car, Deanna.”

“I said I’m fine. Just leave me alone already.”

“If I have to stop this car, I’m arresting you.”

Dee stopped walking. “For what?”

“Soliciting.”

“I’m not a prostitute!”

He glanced down at her feet again. “If it walks like a duck—”

“Oh, for crying out loud! Fine.” She stomped her way over to the passenger side of the police car, yanked open the door, and climbed in.

“Are you always this stubborn?” Brady asked as he started driving again.

“Are you always this bossy, or does it only happen when you put your uniform on?”

“Always. It’s my best trait. I make sure to put it at the top of every online dating profile.”

Dee turned to look at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. I’m very proud of my ability to make people do what I want.” He actually smiled at her then. A real, genuine smile. The first one she’d seen from the gruff man, and to be honest, she kind of liked it.

She punched him lightly on the arm. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Brady shrugged. “I know.”

He’d become almost playful, and it was unnerving. And now she really wanted to know if he actually had online dating profiles. It would totally change her opinion of Sheriff Brady Collins. As soon as she got home, she’d be doing an online search, for sure.

 

 

Brady

 

As soon as he slid behind the wheel of his patrol car, Brady had to open a window. Dee’s perfume wrapped around him in a vise grip, the scent filling him and stroking the desire to touch her to a hot flame deep in his gut.

He didn’t get involved with victims.

Except Dee wasn’t a victim. Or a perp, for that matter. She was just the aunt of a troubled kid he was forced to arrest.

He couldn’t deny that she was sexy as sin. Even the way she yanked on some loose strands of hair and ran the tip of her tongue over her full lips had him thinking dirty thoughts.

“I don’t understand.” She spoke so quietly he almost didn’t hear her. Then he wasn’t sure she even meant for him to hear.

“Don’t understand what?”

She turned to look at him. “How I got here. How any of this happened. What I am supposed to do now. Should I continue?”

Forgetting all the reasons why he shouldn’t, he reached over and took her hand, giving it a little squeeze. “He’s a teenager. They make stupid choices.”

“And then they spend the night in jail?” She pulled her hand from his grasp and rested it in her lap.

“Sometimes. If he’s a smart kid, and I think he is, he’ll learn from this.” Brady let his hand rest on the center console and fidgeted with the light bar switches.

“I never planned to have kids, and now here I am, raising a teenager. Isn’t there some kind of manual or something? I don’t have any idea how to do any of this.”

“Seems to me like you’re doing okay so far. I mean, you went to look for him. You called me for help. That’s what a mother would do.”

She sighed, long and heavy. “I keep thinking if I knew what I was doing, he wouldn’t be in trouble right now.”

Brady turned the car into the high school parking lot and pulled up next to Dee’s car. After shifting the gear into park, he turned to look at her. “His decisions have nothing to do with you.”

“I’m the adult. I’m supposed to be in charge.”

“Being in charge doesn’t mean you control all the choices he makes.”

“Do you have kids, Brady?”

He laughed. “No. But your nephew reminds me of someone I used to know.”

“Someone you were close to.” It was a statement more than a question.

“Yes.”

She undid her seatbelt and opened the door. “Thank you for the ride to my car.”

Brady stepped from his car as she did and followed Dee. “Of course. You weren’t really planning to walk now, were you?”

Dee laughed, her whole face lighting up in the dim glow of the street light she’d parked under. Her first real smile he’d seen. “Well, I’d originally planned to call for an Uber, but I wasn’t sure you had that in this town.”

Brady chuckled. “We do have running water and toilets inside the buildings, just so you know.”

“Good to know.” He could see the flush as it filled in over her cheeks. He resisted the urge to follow it with his fingertips.

She fumbled with her keys as she tried to unlock the vehicle, dropping them on the ground. Brady leaned over to pick them up at the same time Dee did. When they hit heads, Dee stumbled. Out of instinct, Brady wrapped his arms around her to steady her. It did not escape him that she fit perfectly against his body. All her best soft places fit neatly against all his best hard ones.

If he had to testify in court under oath and in front of God and a jury, he couldn’t begin to explain why he did what he did next. Moving his hands to rest on Dee’s perfectly curved hips, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. He felt her resistance, so he kept the contact light at first. Her soft lips were cool from the chill of the night. The full body contact elicited a warmth between them that was completely out of place in the cold night.

Dee wrapped her arms around his neck and parted her lips in response to the gentle probe of his tongue. With one quick stride, he backed her up against the side of her car, creating a delicious pressure against his body.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard words of warning, but he ignored them. It had been so long since he’d felt a woman’s body and tasted a woman’s lips. He wanted to feel all of her. Every delicious, curving inch.

Brady moved his hands slowly, exploring the planes of her body as his tongue conquered her mouth. When he reached her neck, he knotted his fingers in her hair, releasing the tie that held her ponytail and letting all those long, thick waves settle around her shoulders. He caught the scent of something light and fruity, and his mind immediately went to an image of her in the shower, washing her hair.

Dee let out a moan that shot straight to his dick, hardening it so painfully that he groaned against her lips as he ground against her. It took more self-control not to tear her sweater off right there in the parking lot than it had to not shoot the guy he’d arrested last week for beating the crap out of his wife and daughter while he was high on heroin. For Brady, that was a lot of self-control.

It wasn’t until he felt Dee pull away that common sense began to creep back in. He dropped his hands that currently rested at the sides of her breasts to his sides and stepped back. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was—unprofessional.”

She smiled as she smoothed her hair back and tucked it behind her ears. “It’s okay. It takes two to—uh—tango.”

“Still, you’re a case—”

“Um, no, I’m not. That’s my poor choice-making nephew. I’m just Aunt Idiot, along for the ride.” She said it with a smile, but he could tell the earlier comment had hurt her feelings.

He felt a different heat from a moment ago flush his face. Embarrassment was an unfamiliar emotion for him. “Um, about that. I was just trying to deal with the kid. I didn’t mean you were actually an idiot.”

She shrugged. “It’s okay. I am an idiot. I didn’t see what my sister was up to. For months, she went behind my back, and I trusted her. Trusted them both. Now they have almost everything I’ve ever worked for. What kind of a woman runs off and leaves her kid, anyway?”

Dee hugged herself against the cold night as she gazed across the empty parking lot. Brady resisted the urge to take her in his arms again; instead, he reached around her and unlocked the car door with the keys he’d fished off the ground earlier. “It’s cold. You should get home and get warm.”

She smiled. The kind of smile that could keep a man warm for a long, long time just imagining what else she could do with those lips. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m feeling pretty toasty right now.”

Brady cleared his throat. Yeah, he knew what she meant, but he needed to get his mind back on the job. Considering he technically was on duty another five hours.

“Good night, Dee. Drive safe. Court will be in the morning. Be there at eight. The judge does arraignments first.”

He watched as she slid in behind the wheel and turned her car on. Closing the door, she let the window down at the same time. “Okay. And the court house is where we were tonight?”

Brady nodded. “Yes.”

“Will you be there?”

He knew he should say no. There was no real reason for him to be there for an arraignment, but the thought of seeing her again was enough of a reason to say yes. “I’ll do my best to be there.”

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then. Hopefully.” She put the window up and drove away.

Brady watched her car until the taillights disappeared into the night, wondering the whole time how his carefully constructed life of no commitments, no attachments, and no human interaction off the job had all just crumbled in less than ten minutes.

He had to put a stop to it. Not that there was an it. Just one really hot kiss with one smoking hot woman.

Just a kiss. That’s it.

Easy enough to forget.

 

 

Dee

 

The eight minutes it took her to get home confused the heck out of Dee. She oscillated between smiling at the lingering tingle of Brady’s kiss on her lips and being totally pissed at Mikey for getting himself in so much trouble.

It had been a long time since a man had paid her any genuine attention. In Hollywood, it was always about what she had or could do for them. Men wanted her on their arm but not in their life in any meaningful way. Brady knew who she was but didn’t seem to care. There were no stars in his eyes or flirtatious undertones that said she was just an object. She had no idea why he’d kissed her, but once they’d made contact—damn.

Of course, seeing as how he’s the man that had just arrested her nephew, things were triply complicated.

When the alarm sounded at six-thirty the next morning, Dee was deep in a dream where Brady held the starring role. Her entire body hummed with the memory of his touch, both in the parking lot and her dream as she showered, dressed, and blow-dried her hair. It’s quite possible she may even have taken a little extra care with her black pencil skirt, white blouse, and black heels, knowing she might see Brady at court.

As she parked her car, she had no idea if she had more anxiety over dealing with her nephew or seeing Brady in the light of day. Maybe she’d dreamed everything. What were the chances that all of it—her sister, her career, Michael—was just one big nightmare and Brady was the part she’d written in just to make it less freaky?

Once she got past security, Dee followed the signs to the juvenile and domestic relations courtroom. Pushing through the door, she stepped into the small room and looked around.

Mikey sat at a table near the front of the room with a man she didn’t recognize. He looked official, and that made her a little wary. Walking to the table, she stopped beside the man and looked down at him. “I’m Deanna Loomis, Michael’s aunt and current guardian. And you are?”

The man looked up at her, his expression serious. “My name is Cal Hollandsworth. The court-appointed attorney here to represent your nephew.”

Attorney. Damn it. She’d not even thought of getting Mikey an attorney. “Mr. Hollandsworth, it’s nice to meet you. Michael, are you okay?”

Her nephew glared at her. “How you do you think I am, Aunt Dee?”

“Ms. Loomis,” the attorney said.

She turned her attention back to the man seated beside Michael. “Yes?”

“Today is the arraignment. Michael will be informed of the charges against him. We’ll enter a plea, and his bail will be set. Are you prepared to post his bail?”

Something else she hadn’t thought of. She just nodded, too overwhelmed to respond.

“I’d like to push for a guilty plea. It will make it easier to move him through the system and put this behind you both.”

“What happens if he pleads guilty? I mean, he’ll have a record—”

“Juvenile record,” Mr. Hollandsworth replied. “A juvenile record is sealed once they turn eighteen. Since this is his first offense, I’m going to ask the prosecutor for a deal that includes community service and probation. No time in juvie.”

“I’m not pleading guilty. I didn’t do anything,” Michael mumbled.

Dee just about lost it then. “Excuse me? You didn’t do anything? I was there, remember? I watched Sheriff Collins arrest you.”

“Thanks for throwing me under the bus again, Aunt Dee.”

“It’s hard for me throw you under it when you’ve been playing chicken with that bus since I got here.”

“I hate you.” Michael folded his arms over his chest and slouched in the chair.

“So you’ve said. Hate me or not, I really don’t care. Right now, your only concern is doing what Mr. Hollandsworth says so we can minimize the damage you’ve done to your future.”

The judge entered the room then, and the bailiff requested everyone be seated. Dee took one last look around, hoping to spot Brady, but he wasn’t there, so she sat on the bench behind Michael and his attorney.

The process was quick, a trial date was set for two weeks out, and the bail determined was manageable. Dee didn’t even have to dip into the off-shore savings account she had thankfully kept secret from her manager, the lying, thieving bastard. Good thing too, or he’d have taken off with that also.

As they left the courthouse and headed to her car, Dee caught sight of Brady walking in to the police station across the street. All her nerves began to hum at once, and her blood felt like fire in her veins as the memory of his lips and hands on her the night before flooded her mind.

He met her gaze briefly but made no motion of recognition or being happy to see her.

What the hell? He wanted to pretend like nothing happened? Really? Well, two could play at that game. Tossing her hair over one shoulder, she marched the rest of the way to her car. As she and Michael got inside, she caught sight of Brady once more. This time he watched her intently. At least she thought he did. It was hard to tell with his sunglasses covering his eyes. If her entire body hadn’t started to tingle, she wouldn’t have even suspected it.

Dee took Michael home to shower then drove him to school to finish the rest of the day.

“I can’t believe you’re making me go to school for three classes,” Michael grumbled from his slouched position in the passenger seat.

“You don’t get arrested then get a vacation.”

“I spent the night in jail, Aunt Dee. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Yeah, it counts for you being a dumbass. We go back to court in two weeks. You stay out of trouble until then.” That was not a request, and the glare she gave her nephew coated the statement in plenty of emphasis.

“Whatever.”

Dee pulled up in front of the school, and Michael jumped from the car without another word. He did, however, slam the door so hard it actually hurt her ears.

The next two weeks passed quietly. Every day after school, Michael locked himself in his room, only stepping out to eat. At first, it made Dee angry, then she resigned herself to the fact that if he was in his room, at least he couldn’t be out getting arrested again.

The night before they had to return to court, Dee left Michael alone for a bit and ran out to get a coffee. It had been weeks since she’d allowed herself the indulgence of a coffee shop, but her nerves were so frazzled about court, she gave in to the need. There was only one to choose from, and it sure wasn’t the one she was used to, but at this point, Dee would take anything that reminded her of actual civilization.

As soon as she saw him, she almost turned the car around.

Parked about half a block from the coffee shop, Brady sat in his police car and watched her pull into a spot along the curb. When their gazes met, Dee swore she felt electricity jolt through her entire body. Secretly glad that she had checked her makeup before leaving the house, Dee smoothed her hair away from her face and did a quick check of her reflection in the rearview mirror. Brady watched her as she stepped from her car and walked into the small corner shop. She kept waiting for him to follow her in, but he never did. By the time she got her coffee and walked out the door, Dee was pretty pissed off at Brady Collins. It’s probably why she never noticed him as he stepped in front of her on the sidewalk, causing her to drop her cup of coffee. The hot liquid splashed all over her feet and legs. Thank goodness she’d worn tennis shoes with her jeans instead of her favorite high heels she’d had on earlier in the day.

“What the hell, Brady!” Dee kicked at the cup and missed, throwing off her balance. Strong hands clasped her by the upper arms and led her away from the sidewalk into a dark area between the coffee shop and a laundromat.

When they were out of sight of the street, he stopped walking and let her go. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? I just burnt the crap out of myself with a brand-new cup of hot coffee I haven’t even had the chance to enjoy yet, and you ask me if I’m okay?”

Brady shifted his weight so he leaned against the brick wall across from her and folded his arms over his chest. “Well, yeah. I mean, it seems like the right question. Am I missing something here?”

“Are you missing something? Wow. Forget it. I need to get home.”

“What about your coffee?”

“It’s all over the sidewalk, remember?” She started to walk away, but Brady grabbed hold of her elbow. The fire he set there with that simple touch spread quickly through her body, causing a tingle in long-neglected places and amped up her anger even more.

“Can you hold on a minute?” he asked.

Dee shook her head. “I don’t think I have anything to say to you. You were supposed to be at Mikey’s arraignment, and you never showed.”

“I said I’d try to make it. Something came up.”

“Yeah, sure. If you say so. I saw you, but you pretended you didn’t even know me. I’m pretty sure we don’t have anything to talk about.”

“I think you’re wrong.” Brady turned her to face him, then backed her up against the bricks he’d been leaning on. “What about this?”

His hands settled on the wall beside her head, effectively caging her in. There was no way to escape his mouth as his lips pressed against hers in a less-than-gentle kiss. In fact, the emotion he put into it felt like downright hunger. She pushed him away.

“You don’t get to do that.”

“Do what?”

“This.” She motioned to the two of them and the alley they stood in.

He shook his head slowly. “I’m confused. I thought—”

“You thought since your dating profile says you like to be in charge that it’s okay to kiss me whenever you want then not talk to me for two weeks?” Brady responded by kissing her once more, and when she tried to say something, he slipped his tongue past her parted lips. After he’d thoroughly explored every inch of her mouth, he kissed a trail along the line of her jaw and nipped at her earlobe. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel it.”

“I feel it all right. That’s the problem. You seem to have the issues, not me.”

“The only issue I have is how it makes me want to rip your clothes off right here in this alley.”

“What makes you think I’m not okay with that?” Dee tilted her head to the side and let out a low moan as Brady made his way from her earlobe down to the place where her shoulder and neck met.

“You’re playing with fire, lady, saying things like that.” His mouth now sat at the edge of the low v neckline of her top. He flicked his tongue out a couple of times, tracing a line along the fabric while he slid his hands back down below her ass.

“I’ve been burned enough times, I know what that means.”

“Sheriff Collins? Is that you? Everything okay back there?”

Brady stepped away from the wall and put her back on the ground, stepping in front of her. The old man waved with his cane. “It’s me, Jonah. I’m good. Thanks for asking.”

“Okay. It looked like you were in a bit of a struggle. Didn’t know if you needed me to kick a little ass for you.”

Brady chuckled. “Not this time, but I’ll be sure to call you if I need back up. I’m sure you remember a thing or two from your days on the street.”

“Got it, Sheriff. I kicked more than a few asses in my day, you know.”

“I bet you did, Jonah. You have a good night now, ya hear?”

“Will do. You too, Sheriff. Good night, Ms. Loomis!”

“Oh my God.” Dee sagged against the wall and let out a long sigh of frustration. “That old man is half blind. How the heck did he know it was me?”

Brady shook his head and laughed. “I don’t know how he does it, but he was quite a cop when he was on the force. Or so I’ve heard.”

Suddenly remembering her nephew at home alone, Dee pushed past him and headed back toward her car. Brady fell into step beside her. “Where are you going?”

“Home. Mikey’s got court in the morning. Not that you’d know, since you didn’t show at the last one.”

“Yeah. I really am sorry about that.”

Dee stopped walking and turned to face him. “You’re sorry? Oh, okay. That makes things better. A few kisses won’t change the fact that you arrested my nephew and couldn’t even be there to support us when I don’t know anyone in this rinky dink little town.”

His expression changed back to the familiar hard stare of Brady Collins on duty. “You don’t understand.”

“What’s there to understand? I know exactly how men like you think. Did you have your body camera rolling just now? So you could show all your buddies how you got a little from the pathetic former movie star? Is it on now?” She leaned in close to the small camera attached to his uniform. “Hi! Yup! You just witnessed the second installment of Deanna Loomis is a moron! Hope you enjoyed the show, because this is the grand finale!”

Brady grabbed her by both elbows and held her in place. “What the hell are you talking about, woman? Have you lost your mind?”

“That’s what this is, right? You feeling a little horny? Or maybe you just get off on humiliating pathetic ex-actresses? So, as soon as you see me alone in a dark place—I’m not sure, but that has to be some kind of crime?”

“You’re ridiculous. And you have no idea what you are talking about. Can’t a man just be attracted to a woman?”

People had stopped to watch them, but she didn’t care. Dee Loomis was tired of letting people take advantage of her. Starting with the incredibly sexy, super annoying Sheriff Brady Collins. “As sexy as you are, with those talented lips of yours, you could get any woman in this town. Any woman but me. Stay away from me.”

A couple of random cheers went up from somewhere in the dark, but Dee ignored it all. Sliding into her car, she slammed the door, turned the key, and drove off.

 

 

Brady

 

As he watched Dee’s taillights disappear into the night, he tried to figure out what had just happened. One minute they were making out like a couple of teenagers, and the next Dee turned into a mad woman accusing him of all sorts of wild things. That right there—that explained why he’d avoided relationships. He didn’t need that kind of crazy in his life.

If only his dick would accept that and stop making him do crazy things like kiss Dee every time he saw her. Ignoring the few bystanders that had gathered, Brady got into his police car and headed back to the station. There wasn’t much left to his evening shift, and he needed a cup of coffee. Or a cold shower. Maybe both.

Unfortunately, a cold shower did nothing to help him sleep that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he could feel the perfect curves of Dee’s body pressed up against his. Any bit of sleep he managed brought on wild, sexy dreams that left him hard and painfully wanting. By the time the sun rose, he was on his third cold shower of the night and he’d made absolutely no sense of Dee’s outburst or the ridiculous amount of desire he harbored for her. Maybe it had been a lot longer than he’d thought since he’d been with a woman.

Brady didn’t think too hard about why he dressed in a suit or headed to the courthouse that morning. He knew there was no way he’d actually show up at Michael’s court case, knowing Dee would be there. He just didn’t need that hassle. Yet, there he now stood, in the back of Courtroom A, listening to the judge give Michael a sentence of probation and community service.

Because he had no intention of being there at all, it took him completely by surprise when the judge addressed him. “Ah, Sheriff Collins. I’m glad you’re here. I want this young man to do his community service in your Clean Up the Streets program.”

Brady looked from the judge to a very pissed-off Dee and back again. “Um, yes sir, Your Honor. We meet on Saturday mornings at six-thirty in the park.”

“Six-thirty! On a Saturday?”

“Shhh, Michael! You’ll do whatever the judge says, you hear me?”

“But Aunt Dee—”

“Quiet!” he heard Dee whisper and watched as she pinched her nephew’s arm. The boy scowled and rubbed at the spot but didn’t say another word. She looked so damned sexy in her tight skirt and navy-blue blouse he didn’t hear another word anyone said over the rush of blood in his veins.

“Michael will be there, Your Honor,” Dee said.

“Good. Case is continued for six months, at which time, if the conditions of the sentence have been met, I will vacate the conviction and throw out the case.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. Michael will do exactly as you’ve said, won’t you?”

“Yes,” the boy mumbled without looking up.

Once the bailiff dismissed everyone, Dee led Michael from the courtroom without even acknowledging his presence. He let her go. Saturday wasn’t that far away. Maybe by the weekend, she’d have cooled off some.

Of course, he wasn’t that lucky. Dee showed up with Michael bright and early Saturday morning and signed him in without giving a single sign that she recognized Brady. Her attitude was cooler than the fall air. The project for the day was trash clean up and graffiti removal at the city park. Dee sat at a picnic table several hundred feet away and watched as her nephew angrily met the requirements of his probation. She never even noticed when Brady walked up to the table until he sat on the bench next to her.

“You were right about him. He’s really a good kid, you know.”

She turned to look at him long enough to give him a good, hard glare before returning her attention to the boy. “What makes you an expert on my nephew?”

“Damn, woman, can you give it a rest? I’m trying to make some conversation here.”

“Don’t waste your precious breath. I told you to stay away from me.”

“I’m trying, okay? Relationships are not my strong suit.”

Dee didn’t reply, just kept her eye on her nephew.

Brady reached over and grabbed her hand under the table. She tried for a moment to pull out of his grasp, but the effort was half-hearted at best. That gave him a little hope. “He reminds me of someone I once knew. I don’t want him to end up like that boy.”

She turned her head to look at him, her expression a little less annoyed. “You’ve said something like that before.”

“I had a brother. He was about six years younger than me. Got himself in trouble when our mom died. I was halfway around the world in Iraq. All he needed was someone to care. My father was so wrapped up in his grief, he had no idea what was happening. If I’d have been here, I could have saved him. But I wasn’t. And now he will spend the better part of his life behind bars for a series of really stupid choices. A series that started with skipping class and spray painting the Catholic church with swastikas and ended in armed robbery and murder.”

Dee turned on the seat to face him. “Is that why you joined the Sheriff’s department?”

“Yes, ma’am. I couldn’t save my brother from himself, but I can try to make a difference in this town.”

“And that’s why you tried to get to Mikey before he actually hurt anyone.”

“Yes.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ve been alone a long time, Dee. Once I got out of the Army, I needed time to process. Losing my mother and my father checking out of reality were one thing, but visiting my baby brother in prison? That was, well, there are no words. I’ve kept to myself. No friends, no relationships.”

“Plenty of one night stands though, I bet.”

He shook his head. “Not a single one. In fact, until that night in the parking lot, I hadn’t kissed a woman in years.”

She looked shocked. “You’re too damn hot to be celibate. I don’t believe it.”

Brady chuckled. “I’m not sure if that was supposed to be a compliment, but I’ll take it as one. Thank you.”

“I’m not sure either.” She pulled her hand from his and put both of hers in the pockets of her jacket. “Maybe we need to start over. I make a mean pot of coffee. Once this frozen version of hell is over, want to drop by and I’ll pour you a cup?”

Brady rubbed his hands together. “Fall in the mountains does have a certain bite to it, doesn’t it? Coffee sounds good. I’ll be by about noon. I can bring Michael home for you if you want? Then you don’t have to sit here and freeze.”

“I need to keep an eye on him. He’s a runner.”

That made Brady laugh. “I think it’s a family trait. I promise not to let him escape.”

Dee glared at him, but he saw the twinkle in her eyes. “Maybe. Make sure he behaves, and if he doesn’t, let me know. I’ll get Jonah to kick his ass.”

A quick memory of the night in the alley caused a flush in his face and a pool of heat in his lap. Dee winked at him as she stood up, and he watched her walk away, thinking about all the things he’d rather do with her than drink coffee.

By eleven-thirty, the park looked pretty good, and the five teenagers in his watch were tired but smiling and joking. Well, all of them but Michael. He looked around the park and scowled. “Leave it to my stupid aunt to be late picking me up.”

“Oh, she’s not late, son. She never left when she dropped you off. I finally sent her home with the promise of delivering you to her myself.”

“Figures.” Michael shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at a rock.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Brady asked as he directed Michael to his patrol car.

“Come on, you saw her trying to cut the grass.”

“You need to lighten up on your aunt, boy. Dee is doing the best she can. How do you think you would survive if you were suddenly thrown into a situation like that? She’s never raised a teenage boy before, and you aren’t exactly making it easy on her.”

“Easy on her? Do you know how it feels to lose your mother?”

“Actually, I do. Mine died a long time ago.” Brady opened the passenger side door for the boy.

“Oh,” Michael replied, getting into the car.

“Look, you’ve been dealt a bum hand. I get it. Your mom taking off like that was a crappy thing to do. But your aunt Dee stepped in without giving it a thought. She gave up a career and a life in Tinsel Town to come out here to Mayberry and take care of you.”

Michael snorted. “I guess that makes you Barney Fife.”

“Pay attention, kid.” Brady turned the car on and pulled away from the curb.

“I get it. I’m an asshole.”

“No. I don’t think you are. But you have been acting like one.”

He slouched in the seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. I’ll be nice to Aunt Dee.”

“Good.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence, and when Brady parked the car, Michael was out of it and in the house before Brady had the keys out of the ignition. He walked slowly to the front door and raised his hand to knock, but the door swung open.

“I thought you’d never get here.” Dee looked absolutely beautiful with her long, blonde curls hanging loose around her shoulders. The flush in her cheeks brightened the blue of her eyes, and there was a sparkle there he hadn’t seen before. “Michael’s in his room. We won’t see him again until dinner time.”

“Ah, when he comes out of the cave to hunt?” Brady teased.

“Something like that.” She took his hand and pulled him in the direction of the delicious smell of fresh-brewed coffee. When they reached the small kitchen, she closed the door behind them.

“I’ve never been in a kitchen with a door.”

“Me either until I moved here, but it’s handy, don’t you think?” She smiled up at him as she handed him a steaming mug.

“Yeah. I’d have to agree with that.” They both took a sip of coffee. Brady watched Dee carefully. She was up to something, and he hoped he knew what it was.

She set her cup down and leaned against the counter. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what I said the other night.”

“Oh?” Brady set his mug down as well and stepped in nice and close to Dee. He actually saw the shiver that passed through her, and it made him want to wrap her in his arms, but he held back.

“I want to say I’m sorry for accusing you of—well, you know.”

“Being a video voyeur? Or filming porn on my department-issued body camera?”

“Yeah. That.” Her face turned bright red, and she looked at the floor. “I don’t know where I come up with stuff like that.”

“Well, you are an actress.” He chuckled. “And it confused the hell out of me. I mean, it’s like you’ve never actually been liked by a man before. And I don’t live under a rock, you know. I’ve seen you on the arm of some good-looking guys in the magazines at the supermarket.”

She shrugged. “In the business, you never know if people like you or what being with you can do for them.”

This time, he did step in close, grasped her waist, and lifted her to the counter so he could step in between her legs. The hardest part of him was in such close proximity to the softest, wettest part of her, he almost forgot how to form words. “I’m not in the business.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him in close. “I know.”

He felt her breath feather across his lips as she whispered those two little words. Before he could think about what was happening, she had her lips on his.

“Dee—” He ran his hands up her sides and cupped her breasts. She pushed forward into his palms. The small action made him dizzy with need.

“Shhh…don’t talk. I want this. I want you.”

He reached down and pulled her shirt up over her head, returning his hands to the lace-covered perfection of her breasts. “Oh, I wasn’t going to talk you out of anything. I was just going to mention Michael is home.”

Dee reached behind her back and undid her bra, pulling it away and tossing it on the floor. “Yeah, and I locked the door when we came in here. You ever made love in a kitchen before?”

Brady lowered his head and sucked one of her nipples in between his lips, nipping the hard bud lightly with his teeth. “Nope. But I’m about to take that off my bucket list right now.”

“You sure as hell are.” Dee tugged at his t-shirt, yanking it up his body. Brady pulled it over his head and tossed it to the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

“I’d like to thank the dumb-ass contractor that put a door on a kitchen.” Brady moved to her other breast and made a couple passes over the rock-hard nipple with his tongue before kissing a path down her abdomen. With a swipe of his tongue around her belly button, Dee threw her head back and moaned.

“I think maybe he knew something we didn’t.” Her breath came in gasps as Brady fiddled with the button on her jeans. She reached over and undid his. He didn’t wait for her to try, just pushed his pants down and kicked them off his feet before working Dee’s jeans down her hips. Once he got them off her completely, Dee wrapped her legs around his waist. Now that only a little bit of fabric separated them, Brady’s body turned rock hard, all of his need heading straight to his cock.

He brought his lips back up to hers, plunging his tongue in the warmth of her mouth and passing it in and out, emulating the motion he really wanted at the moment.

“I have protection,” he whispered against her throat.

“You better,” she whispered back, panting. “This whole foreplay thing is cool and all, and I’m willing to give it a go later, but I need you inside me. Now.”

“A woman who knows what she wants. A total turn on. Your wish is my command.”

He trailed the fingertips of one hand down her abdomen until he found the place he wanted to be. She pushed against his palm as he cupped her. “Brady, you tease.”

“Just wanted to be sure you were ready for me, darlin’. And yup, I’d say you were ready.”

“I was ready two weeks ago!”

Brady took her mouth with his at the same time he took her body. The scream she let out as he sunk himself deep inside her heat caught in his mouth and echoed through his body. They moved together, as one, like they were always meant to be in that place at that moment.

Thoughts fled his brain, replaced with only feeling. Overwhelming, heart pounding, sensation that set his nerves on fire. Grabbing her backside, he pulled her as close as he could, sinking himself into her over and over again. Dee clutched at his shoulders, the sting of her nails as she gripped him adding to the sensation. He felt the moment she orgasmed. Her muscles clenched around his dick over and over as she rode it out. He never stopped moving, never broke the rhythm even as his own orgasm roared through him. His muscles twitched, his dick throbbed, and his legs buckled, taking them both to the cold linoleum floor. Dee landed sprawled across his chest, her blonde hair spread over her. His breath came in heaving gasps, as did hers. They lay that way for a long time, not speaking. Brady listened to the sound of their heartbeats as they slowed and kept pace.

“Wow,” Dee said.

“I know. What the hell was that?”

“I’m not sure but…wow.”

Brady pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and ran a finger over her soft lips, swollen from kissing. “How far is your bedroom from here?”

“You need a nap?”

“Nope.”

“You want to go again? Okay—but I need a minute.”

“Oh, I want to do it again. And again. And about two dozen more times after that. But I think I have a spatula poking me in the ass.”

“And that doesn’t turn you on?”

He laughed. “Not so much.”

She lifted her head to look at him and smiled. “I think that is a good thing.”

Brady sat up and pulled her into his lap. “This was more than just sex.”

She nodded. “Yes, it was. I’ve never felt this way with anyone else.”

“Me either. I kind of want to see where this goes.”

Dee looked up at him, her expression serious. “I’m a little unpredictable.”

“I’m counting on that to keep things interesting.”

“You got it, Sheriff.” She pulled his head down so his lips met hers. When they parted, she asked, “You ready to test the locks on my bedroom door now?”

Without a word, Brady stood up and pulled Dee with him. Like two school kids trying not to get caught, they ran to Dee’s bedroom.

For the first time in a decade, as he held Dee close, Brady felt totally relaxed and at peace. He’d long since given up on love, but maybe, just maybe, love hadn’t given up on him.