~Tamalyn~
Three Days Later …
I break the code. I don’t care. I miss her, and my gut tells me I need to check in.
Sitting on the stoop in front of my shed, the pinwheel sits still.
A pinwheel is whimsical and the perfect icon for the childhood many wish they could have had.
With the phone in my hand, I dial the office line, and then her extension. It’s mid-morning here, so it would be early afternoon for her.
“Tempest Adams, Haven’s Harbor; how may I help you?”
“It’s me,” I whisper like someone may hear me, even though no one is around.
“Oh, my God,” she gasps.
“I know I broke code, but I miss you and there is so much going on. I have about two days left here, and then I need to move on.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“Not exactly.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“My boss has a son who got himself into something I’m not sure what, but it’s trouble and it’s bellied up to the bar I’m behind.”
“Is he there yet?”
The question makes me pause.
“Who?”
“Bladen.”
“Tempest, why would he be here? No one knows where here is, not even you!”
“A lot has happened; a lot that shouldn’t be said over an unsecure line. Stay put; let him find you.”
Before I can comment back, I hear the phone shuffle.
“Tamalyn, this is Deacon. Give me a single city, a name of the bar—give me something, and I’ll have Judge to you by the end of the day.”
Doing what any rational, heartbroken, scared out of her mind woman would do, I quickly hang up the phone.
Pacing in front of my shed, I let all the panic, insecurities, and fears win.
Where do I go? How do I get out here fast enough?
Then I think.
It takes a bit, especially since the phone keeps ringing with Tempest calling me back, but I finally settle enough to think clearly.
Tempest saw me last. Bladen hasn’t been face to face with me in years.
Maybe he won’t remember me.
After all, no one here will say they know Tamalyn Andrews. I am Amanda Horte.
With a new plan, I go inside and get ready. I take the time to wash and towel dry my hair. For the first time since I was a teen, I actually wish I had a curling iron or hair straightener. However, my lifestyle doesn’t afford me such luxuries.
Making due with what I have, I put my makeup on a little heavy, knowing Bladen is used to me natural, and say a simple prayer no one finds me tonight.
Maybe they will ride in and out with no leads. Then I can leave without notice.
The shift goes without a hitch. I am ready to flip the open sign to closed when they walk in.
Immediately, the air shifts.
My heart races.
I’m alone and in walks three men and one woman, all with leather cuts on.
Deciding I have nowhere to run, I stick with my plan.
“ ’Bout to close; I can get you one round,” I say, making sure not a single word gives hint to my Carolina roots.
“Water,” a man with long hair pulled into a ponytail orders.
I nod then turn my back to get him a glass of water.
“I’ll take a Jameson neat with you as my embellishment,” the shortest of the group says as he settles on a bar stool.
“Ignore him. Trapper’s just wired from a long ride,” the woman says. “Just give us each a beer; coldest ya got.” Her southern accent stands out, and I have to focus so I don’t slip.
“What’s your name?” a dark-haired man with a two- to three-day-old beard beginning on his face asks.
“Amanda, but everyone calls me Mandee,” I say confidently.
Serving the beers, I avoid eye contact.
“Maaaaaaannnnndeeee,” the short man says my name. “Amanda, oh, oh.”
I can’t help looking at him and draw my eyebrows together, not understanding.
“Want to practice your name. That way, later when you’re calling me God and riding my cock, I get it right.”
“Oh my—”
He cuts me off, laughing.
“See? She’s calling me God already. Now come over here. We’ll remove the necessary clothing only, and I’ll show you the masterpiece in my pants.”
The man who asked my name immediately stands. “Get him out! Y’all take him somewhere and find some prostitute to suck him, fuck him, or take it up the ass—I don’t care—but he goes and he goes now. I’ll meet up tomorrow morning.”
They each look to me, and then look back to the dark-haired stranger.
“Your call, Judge. Are you sure?” the man with his arm around the woman asks.
“Amanda, Mandee—it’s all a ruse.” His eyes come to mine. “That’s Tamalyn.”
Rolling my shoulders back slightly, I make no moves. He looks familiar. Those dark eyes, the dark hair that is short and a little wavy on top, and that straight, strong jawline. It couldn’t be, I try to tell myself and play it cool.
They exit, and then Bladen turns the open sign to closed and locks the front door behind them.
“Um, sir, it’s time for you to go.”
“Cut the shit, Tamalyn.” I jump at his words.
He notices. I am fucked.
“I don’t know who Tamalyn is. My name is Amanda Horte, as I explained.”
He closes the space between us, backing me into the wall behind the bar.
“Amanda, you say? Hmmm?” He studies me, and I swear he sees right through me. “Kiss me,” he commands, and my body shudders.
Bladen Jacob Jones is tall, built, and there is a blend in his eyes that tells a story of a man who has walked a thousand miles in pain. And he’s done that for me.
“Kiss me, Mandee, and I’ll know you’re not Tamalyn.”
Softening, I don’t think as I let him win. Pushing up, I press my lips to his.
Slowly.
Tenderly.
His lips don’t part, and neither do mine. Top lip to top lip, and bottom to bottom, we are connected.
He exhales, the heat from his nose making me open for a split second, which he takes advantage of, darting his tongue in and commanding my mouth. The onslaught is rapid, controlled, and domineering. Bladen Jones could kiss as a boy. As a man, this is more. This is igniting a flame.
My hands unconsciously come to his neck as I willingly open my mouth wider, accepting his gift.
Devouring.
Hungry.
Explosive.
The kiss continues until I am a true puddle of mush.
Only when I slump into his hold does he soften and slowly pull back. A small suckle to my bottom lip, a release, and then he looks at me and smiles.
“Mandee, huh?”
Dazed, I shake my head. “What?”
“Tamalyn Mary Andrews, those eyes don’t lie, darlin’.”
Fuck me.
Bladen Jacob Jones just kissed me senseless and fucked up my entire plan.