Richard Savage's Blog: The Anniversary, page 10
September 5, 2019
Contract Bride
Contract Bride
https://amzn.to/2UoNonB
Ayn Amorelli
Chapter One
“What type of girl are you looking for, old buddy?” asked George, neatly stacking numerous invoices for his topless maid agency at his large gray metal desk. “Maybe I can help.”
“You’re going to think I’m nuts,” Bob murmured, crossing his legs Indian style, as he took a sip of tepid coffee from his paper cup. Hell, maybe he was crazy. But he was also desperate.
Spreading the twenty color photographs of nude blondes, brunettes, and redheads on the floor around him, Bob adjusted his wire-rim glasses as he studied them. All the girls were seductively posed, standing with one shapely hip jutting out and one knee slightly bent. They ranged in age from the mid-twenties to the mid-thirties, and all were pretty and sexy with big, firm, thrusting breasts, shiny nipples, small waists and slender hips. Hell, he got hard just looking at them. If he could afford it, he would try every one. But not only didn’t he have the cash, he was short on time. He’d been racking his brain ever since his late aunt’s lawyers had called him a week ago. He’d finally devised a plan that just, as insane as it was, might work.
“So? That’s never stopped you before. I know whatever it is, is damn important for you to get out this early on a Saturday. So spill it. What gives?”
“You’ve got to keep what I tell you confidential.”
“Oh, shit!” moaned George, stiffening. “I hate cloak and dagger stuff. I’m sorry I asked now.”
“Too late. I’ve got to tell someone.”
“Damn!” muttered George.
“But you’ve got to—”
“I know. I’ve got to keep it confidential. So what is it? You in trouble with the Feds…or is it drugs? Is that it?”
“Nothing as exotic as that,” Bob whispered, glancing around suspiciously, “but it wouldn’t do for what I’m about to tell you to get out. If the wrong people heard about it, they might misunderstand.”
“Hold it! Can I go to jail if I know what it is you’re up to?” George asked, pushing aside the pile of invoices, as he studied his old friend.
“To be honest, I’m not sure. I don’t think so, but then I’m not a lawyer and I haven’t got time for you to consult one. I’ve got a little legal matter that has to be settled by the end of the year. But in order to do that I need to get started implementing my plan right away.”
“How little?”
“How little what?”
George ground his teeth. “How little is the legal matter? Are we talking about a ‘you’ll go to prison if you’re wrong’ legal matter, or a ‘jail-time’ legal matter?” “Neither. I’m....oh, shit!” grumbled Bob, taking a swig of his stale coffee; stalling for time, trying to figure out how to best tell his friend without sounding insane. “What I need is a woman who’s sexy and attractive enough for me to screw as much as necessary to knock her up right away. She has to deliver by the end of the year. But she can’t be cheap-looking. She has to look and act enough like a lady to be my wife and the mother of my child. She has to be able to pass the inspection of some old geezer legal types.”
George looked blankly at him. “You’re pulling my leg, right?” He laughed loudly, shaking his head. “Got to hand it to you, though. You had me going there for a while. I thought for sure you were serious.”
“Do I look like I’m pulling a prank? I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life. A lot of money is riding on this. I’ve got to find a nice-looking girl who’s willing to marry me temporarily, have my kid by the end of the year, and give me a divorce after the kid’s born.”
“Let me see if I’ve got this right. You’ve got to have a kid, correct? One who’s born this year?”
“I need a wife too, George. I’ve got to look like I’m a stable family man.”
“Because?”
“I’m in my late aunt’s will. I don’t get the dough unless I meet her terms.”
“How much dough are we talking about here?”
“Does it matter?”
“Hell, yes. If we’re talking below a hundred, you can take care of the matter yourself. But if we’re talking about an amount large enough for you to generously pay your friend several hundred for his help, then I’ll do what I can.”
Sipping his coffee, Bob kept his face bland. There was no way in hell he’d tell George about the whole twenty million bucks. As much as he liked the guy, George had a strong tendency to be greedy. He’d never passed up the opportunity to make a fast buck, even off his friends. “Let me put it this way, I’d be willing to pay you a generous finder’s fee if you can steer me toward a woman who meets my requirements.”
“How generous?”
“One, maybe two, three hundred.”
“Too bad. My definition of generous is seven hundred.”
“That’s highway robbery. I’ll give you five.”
“Six.”
“Either you know someone or you don’t, and all I need is her name. Five. That’s my final offer.”
“Five-fifty?”
Bob shrugged. “Doable. But for that, you’ll have to help me set something up with her. I’m not going to pay you until I decide she’s the one, and she accepts my offer.”
George studied him speculatively. “That’s fair,” he grinned maliciously, suppressing his welling laughter. “I accept cashier’s checks or cash.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Cashier’s checks or cash.”
Bob went rigid. “Are you out of your mind? I’m your friend, dammit! You think I’d stiff you with a bum check? Hell, man, you know where I live! I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were. But I never take chances with money.”
Bob muttered a curse under his breath, then held out his hand. “Deal.”
“What does this fantasy woman of yours have to look like?”
“She has to be sexy and attractive, of course. And the way I see it, she’ll have to be someone who needs money badly enough to go along with my plan. But she can’t look needy. She’s got to be a sharp dresser with a flair for style. She has to speak well and think fast on her feet. But…you know how easily I get bored. Hell, that’s one of the reasons why I’m still single. I’ve never found anyone who could satisfy me long enough to consider having a long-term relationship, so—”
“Just like your old man, huh?” interrupted George. The minute the words were out, he regretted them. He watched Bob’s face turn stark white and his green eyes gaze off in the distance, filled with so much pain it hurt to look at him. Nervously, George cleared his throat.
But Bob didn’t seem to notice and, instead, nodded slowly. “He had a new girl every week.” He sighed raggedly, his voice raw with emotion. “It was fortunate for him he was so good looking. Girls weren’t interested in him for money.”
George mentally kicked himself for bringing up the subject he knew his friend was the most sensitive about. Bob had scars from that period, still, even though his parents were dead…just as dead as the look now in Bob’s sad eyes. It was small wonder Bob’s father had affairs, though. He’d been married to a bat straight out of hell. And worse, he’d had to stay, because he worked for his damn father-in-law, who’d made him sign an iron-clad contract.
“I think Dad loved Mom on some level,” Bob muttered, as if talking to himself, forgetting where he was for the moment, and that George was listening. “At least he claimed he did, once. I remember their fights three, four times a week with Mom throwing things. Over time, her aim improved and she sent him to the hospital.”
Listening to Bob’s words, feeling his anguish, George had a strong urge to throw up. He’d never felt this uncomfortable before in his life. He had to restrain the need to rush out of there, before he himself was swamped in the palpable waves of Bob’s pain. Nervously, he coughed, very uncomfortable.
But Bob wasn’t through. “I promised Dad I’d never marry. You didn’t know that, did you?” He continued quickly, just as George opened his mouth. “No one did, except Mom. He sighed heavily. “Thank God he isn’t alive to see what I have to do today.”
“Yeah,” George agreed, rubbing his temples, feeling a pounding headache coming on. He looked everywhere but at Bob, hoping he was saying the right thing. “Um…I think there’s a way I can help you.” he said, summoning up the courage to look at him again. “You know how my business is booming now. I’ve even hired a damn secretary to help me keep up. I’ve had to add to my stable of topless maids too.”
“Congratulations. But how does that help me?”
Ignoring Bob’s sarcasm, George grinned wide, showing all his teeth.
“I’m coming to that! There’s one girl I just hired; little Kayla Leigh. She’s so new I haven’t had time to add her picture to the others yet. She’s young; twenty-five to be exact, with long blonde hair and huge brown eyes. A real innocent type. She’s kinda’ a late bloomer too. Her thirty-six inch tits are the firmest I’ve ever seen, and those nipples of hers; so help me God! If my bride wasn’t so mean, I would’ve tried something with her the moment she walked in. I mean, she was dressed real nice, wearing a damn three-piece white silk suit, for Christsake. I thought she was lost at first and had wandered in here by mistake. But when she took off her jacket and I got a look at those breasts of hers poking through that white silk blouse, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I swear those nipples take up a full quarter of her breasts. And they’re very responsive too. When I took her picture, I accidentally bumped against her, you know, then started to steady her. Only, clumsy oaf that I am, my hand missed her arm, and cupped her breast instead. Well, you know me. Of its own accord, my thumb brushed her nipple and it hardened right away.” He sighed heavily. “I mean it, Bob. She’s the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”
Bob laughed. George was an expert photographer and had never been clumsy in his life. “She sounds good, but she’s only twenty-five?
Hell, I’m ten years her senior. Don’t you have someone suitable who’s a little older? Someone more sophisticated with some sexual savvy? I was thinking more late twenties, early thirties.”
“Pardon me for saying, but it doesn’t sound like you can afford to be too picky. And there are advantages with a younger woman. For one thing, you can train her exactly the way you want.”
In spite of his reservations, Bob felt his heart speed up, his interest increasing. “So this girl, Kayla, will do everything I say?”
Without warning, he remembered his fat mother with her bleached blonde hair in huge curlers, her old terry cloth bathrobe tied around her, arms crossed, tapping her bare foot with a cigarette dangling from her lips as she stood in the hall. Like a traffic cop, she stood there, the pudgy fingers of her right hand invariably pointed to him first, waving him into the bathroom, ignoring his father who sprinted awkwardly down the stairs with his legs held as tightly together as he could hold them and still move. No wonder his father had prostrate trouble. Bob’s mother never let him go to the bathroom before he left for work, not caring he had an hour’s drive ahead of him, and, dammit all, he took it!
“Well, not everything,” continued George. “You don’t want a doormat, you know. Doormats have no spunk in bed.”
Bob took another sip of stale coffee. She will if I train her right. But he kept his thought to himself.
“And another thing,” continued George, “you said yourself you need someone with money problems too, right? Big money problems, if I’m reading you right. Kayla Leigh has more than all of my other girls combined. I mean, she checked out okay. Her background’s solid. It’s just that… well, she has a ‘thing’ for the finest money can buy. Her credit rating’s the lowest I’ve ever seen. All her credit cards are maxed out and over-due. The P.I. that works with me found out her apartment manager is threatening to throw her out. Seems the poor girl’s three months behind on her rent, and the repo man for the car dealer’s about to get his orders to take her brand new Volvo. She’s desperate.”
Desperate? Bob started perspiring heavily, and his heart pounded. Like Dad had been that time when he’d tried to win back the food money he’d lost in a ‘friendly’ game of cards before he got to the store? To this day, he still remembered standing beside his mother in the police station, and how his father looked in his torn jeans and white tee-shirt with blood stains on it. His eyes had been nearly swollen shut, and his nose broken. The discoloring flesh had created a strange jigsaw patterned mask of purple, blue and magenta across his face. But his father had held his head high and his shoulders straight, despite Bob’s mother glaring at him out of eyes narrowed to slits, as he tried to explain to his wife what had happened.
What had made it worse was Tommy, who was in Bob’s third grade class, spotted them walking out of the jailhouse together, and had called him a jail bird the next day, in front of everyone. Bob had slugged him, of course. Then he’d had to endure his mother’s wrathful nagging. She’d berated him for starting to be like his dad, and had threatened to refuse to love him if he continued. For an eight-year-old, it was a mortifying experience. The best thing to do was be a law-abiding citizen, at least enough so you didn’t draw attention to yourself. It was a hell of a lot safer.
Shaking his head, Bob came back to the present. “She’s not into booze or gambling, is she?” he asked.
“Hell, no!” said George. “You think I’d take her on if she was?”
“But what I don’t want is someone drawing unfavorable—”
“Look, it’s simple. Kayla just likes fancy clothes, luxury high-rises, expensive jewelry and great cars; that kinda’ crap. But she doesn’t have the patience to wait until she can afford them, so she got in over her head. That’s why she came to me. I’ve got a reputation for paying my girls real quick, in hard, cold cash.” He smiled wide. “All they have to do is go topless and clean a few lousy homes that don’t really need it, if you get my drift. And for that little bit of work, they get to keep half of what I charge the clients, and keep any tips they make for themselves.”
“How commendable,” he muttered, deciding to slug him if he asked him to invest in his business. “But I‘d like someone with a little sexual savvy. The last thing I want is to go to bed with a naïve, wild-eyed innocent who still believes in romance and love, for God’s sake. What I’m offering is a business proposition, period. I don’t want anyone with illusions about what they’re getting into.”
His eyes clouded as he remembered that overcast day in the spring of his junior year. Remember, son, his father had said, walking out of the garage, zipping up his pants after he’d screwed the girl Bob had thought he loved, confusing love with romance is dangerous. It’s how women trap men.
George grinned as he opened a drawer and slid a couple of glossy eight-by-tens over the desk. “Look at this girl. Just look! I haven’t even sent her out on a job yet. I’ve been looking for just the right client so as not to scare her off. My point is, she’s not familiar with the rules. Usually, I don’t allow any funny business. No hanky-panky. But Kayla doesn’t know that. So let me send her over to your place and you feel her up a little. She won’t know you can’t. She’ll think it’s just part of the job.” He leaned back. “If you tried any of that crap with any of those girls you’ve been leering at, you’d get your face slapped, and hard. However, I’ll let you have Kayla on one condition. If you decide on her, I get a generous finder’s fee of five hundred and fifty bucks.”
“Are you out of your mind? Do you know what you’re…” Bob stilled as he looked down at the picture of the blonde. Her peaches and cream complexion in her heart-shaped face was flawless. But, although her pink lips were smiling, the smile didn’t extend to her large brown eyes, which seemed to be drilling holes in the camera lens. Challengingly. If there was one thing he loved, it was conquering challenges; meeting them head-on. Especially if the challenge came from an attractive, shapely young woman. Like this one.
He could easily imagine getting behind her, holding her close to him despite her resistance while one hand cupped a firm breast, teasing her nipple with his thumb while he ran his other hand into black silk panties. He’d rub her clitoris slowly while lightly nipping her silken neck and shoulders until he felt her pelvis tilt in anticipation of its climax. Then, he’d spin her around, kiss the hell out of those luscious breasts of hers, then ease her down over his knees, licking that firm ass of hers, then spanking her for being such a naughty girl; for making him want her like he did.
As his eyes continued traveling down past her golden, fashionably cut shoulder-length hair, which looked wind-blown and sexy as hell, he zeroed in on her thrusting breasts, and his penis stretched in approval. God, he was hard as a rock, wanting to wedge his penis into her, fucking her senseless with his lips firmly fastened on those pert nipples.
Damn! She was built, just like good old George’d promised! Her firm breasts were a good six inches larger than her tiny waist, and those long skinny legs of hers were a turn-on. He could easily imagine them around him, squeezing hard as he pumped her, feeling her clamp that tight little vagina around his throbbing penis.
“How much for the night?” he croaked hoarsely, then quickly cleared his throat. “A hundred? Two? Keep in mind this’ll just be a test. If there’s not the right chemistry; if she’s too stand-offish, too shy, too slow, I’ll have to try someone else. I can’t afford to waste time on someone not right for the job.”
George raised his brows, with a rueful expression on his craggy face. “After all this time you don’t know how much I charge? I’m crushed, Bob. Just crushed. But don’t worry about the damned fee. Not tonight. If you like her, and decide she’s the one for what you’ve got in mind, just give me the seven hundred we agreed on. That’s it. No added charges.”
Bob choked on his coffee. “We agreed on five hundred and fifty.”
“Price just went up. Take it or leave it.”
Draining his coffee while George answered the phone, Bob remembered his late aunt. If it wasn’t for her and her stupid will, he wouldn’t be in this mess. But despite her being a spinster, she was one hip broad who didn’t miss a trick. For one so old (she had been at least fifty) she’d had great eye-sight. He remembered spending the day with her when he was six. Because he liked her so much, and wanted her to like him, he also wanted to get along with her kitty, Tabitha, a huge Siamese. A sweet-natured kid, he’d softly petted her silky fur, cooing to her in what he thought was a sweet voice, telling her how pretty she was, and how smart. While it surprised him she growled instead of meowing like a normal cat, he’d taken it in stride. They were, after all, in New England. Maybe, he reasoned, cats just spoke differently clear up here.
At first, Aunt Hortense had watched him skeptically, then she’d relaxed as the cat stopped swishing her tail with her ears pinned back. It was all right with him that she watched them so carefully. He was a stranger here and not familiar with their customs and things. But when his aunt went to turn off the kettle in the kitchen, he decided maybe Tabitha wanted to play; and that’s when the trouble began.
He had no idea how territorial cats are about their possessions, so when he reached into the big bag of colorful yarn and threw a ball of bright red under the kitty’s nose, he was surprised when Tabitha reared back, pinned her ears back again, bared her fangs, and spit at him with narrowed green eyes. The way she started growling too, startled him, since it was deeper than her growls earlier, and was continuous.
“How are you and Tabitha getting along?” called his aunt from the kitchen. “Everything still okay?”
“Sure,” he shouted, jumping back as Tabitha lunged straight for him, jumping up on him, then chasing him to the fireplace, where he had no choice but to climb the unevenly-spaced bricks, hanging onto the mantle for dear life as the cat paced back and forth on the hearth, her eyes glued on him.
“What the heck?” screeched his aunt, nearly dropping her silver tray laden down with steaming tea and sweet-smelling treats, as she rushed to pick up her kitty and comfort her. “Why are you scaring Tabitha?” she demanded. “Get down from there, this minute!” Although he was bewildered by her thinking he was scaring her cat instead of the other way around, he obediently jumped down. His aunt calmed down and he drank his tea beside her and studied the cat. She was one cunning creature, acting loveable and purring when Aunt Hortense was around, then turning into a spoiled little monster when her back was turned. Well, two could play at that game, he decided, waiting for his chance to get even.
It didn’t take long for him to get it.
When his aunt answered the phone, talking to whoever it was, with her back turned to him, he had seen his chance to get back at Tabitha, who was now asleep. Grabbing the cat before she could react, he stuck her deep in his aunt’s knitting bag, burying her under the numerous balls of colorful yarn.
Unfortunately, the cat was quick too, and, before he knew it, balls of yarn exploded from the bag, bouncing helter-skelter across the floor as the cat shot out of the bag, shaking itself out of the offending yarn, then looked around. But Bob didn’t give her the chance to get even, and instead took off, running as fast as he could…careening head first against Aunt Hortense’s legs. Continuing on with her conversation and without looking, Aunt Hortense literally seemed to jump across the room, swinging a strong arm, to slap some manners into him. After that, Aunt Hortense never asked him to spend time with her again.
“Deal?” asked George, hanging up the phone. “Or not?”
Bob nodded. “Hell, yes. If I don’t produce a child, the money goes to build a damn orphanage for stray cats. The site’s already been picked right beside the park of my own subdivision. That’s to punish me, I’m sure, if I don’t do what she wanted. I’ll have to either look at it every time I go in go in or out, or move away. Something I’m not about to do.”
George’s eyes widened. Then he laughed. “Oh, boy! Does she have it in for you, or what?”
“I don’t see what’s so damn funny. It’s not like I knew her well. I only saw her a few times when I was a kid...and stayed with her for a few hours once when I was six and again for a couple of days when I had leave while I was in the Army. But, apparently, she remembered me. I think she was impressed in spite of herself. She kept telling me what a handsome young man I’d turned out to be, but how surprised she was that I hadn’t married yet. To insure I would, I think, she made it clear in her will that her lawyers have to interview my ‘wife’ and satisfy themselves everything’s legit. At that point, they’ll advance a quarter of the money. I’ll get the remainder only when my bride gives birth. And if she doesn’t give birth within the year, I have to pay back the damned money they extended. I don’t think she died at this time of year just for spite. But that’s how it’s turned out. It’s already April. If I can’t knock up my new wife by next month, I lose it all. And if she’s as much as a month late, I’ve lost it all too.”
George nodded, studying the calendar with the girly picture on the wall. “Your chosen victim should give birth by Christmas. But since this’ll be her first child, who knows? Some women carry ten months.”
“Exactly, and it’s that kind of risk that scares the hell out of me. I’ve got to get started right away. I can’t afford a woman who might have any reservations about this. She’s got to be willing to do nothing but screw for a while, have my kid and then give me a divorce a few months after the kid’s born. But I’ll make it worth her while. She can even keep the kid.”
Looking absently at his nails, George frowned as if he disapproved of them. “A hell of a lot more money’s involved here than just a few paltry hundred, right?” Bob nodded curtly. What the hell? Why shouldn’t he spill it? He knew
George would find out sooner or later anyway. “Twenty million dollars. That’s what I stand to gain if my plan works. Twenty million beautiful greenbacks!”
George’s face turned so red, Bob was afraid he’d have a heart attack right then and there.
“You can see why this is so important, right?”
“Sure as hell can,” George breathed heavily. “I never knew anyone in your family had that kind of dough. Comes as kind of a shock.”
“Well, hell, it did to me too.”
As George’s secretary came in with papers for him to sign, Bob remembered the first time he and his parents had driven up there for a ‘fun’ family vacation.
It had been his first time to meet his old great aunt on his father’s side. His parents, as usual, were arguing; this time about how much gas they’d need to get back to a town that resembled civilization. He remembered they’d turned onto the long, badly pock-holed graveled drive-way, and had made their way to the huge old house that hid behind some trees, with only its red brick chimney visible. Bob had been fascinated by all the trees that looked like they extended for miles in all directions. He’d wanted to explore them while his parents were talking with his aunt. But they had other plans, and promptly put him between them, keeping him there with his mother’s hand on one shoulder and his father’s hand on his other shoulder. He’d only been four at the time, but he remembered it vividly.
When an ancient-looking, bald-headed man dressed in a tuxedo opened the biggest door Bob had ever seen, he tried hard to escape from his parents and hide in the safety of their car. But when they were led through the longest hallway he’d ever seen and he’d seen the huge old woman with the bright red lips and the greenest eyes he’d ever seen amble toward them, and she had reached down for him with a grin, he had been paralyzed with fear. He’d been so terrified he’d had nightmares for over a week. As George’s secretary left, Bob continued. “When we moved down here from Ohio, when I was ten, I never saw her again, ‘till I was in the Army.” George let out a low whistle. “Yeah? Well, you must’ve made some kinda’ impression on the old broad. So do what you gotta, and don’t worry about anything. You’ve got old George to help you now. Don’t even think about the money for tonight or for however long it takes to convince your chosen victim to go along with your plans. I trust you. And if Kayla proves not to be the right one, try another of my girls. Hell, try ‘em all.”
Reaching into the tall metal cabinet behind him, he grabbed another stack of glossy nudes. “These are duplicates of what you’ve got over there. Take ‘em. Study ‘em. If another girl catches your eye, just call. But,” he grinned, “I trust you’ll be just as generous with me as I am with you. So you’ll understand why my finder’s fee just rose to ten thousand, payable after you get your dough. Hell, I’ll even deduct the seven hundred we agreed on, and which you’ll pay me once you decide who you’ll pick. Hell, who knows, maybe you’ll throw in a little bonus for yours truly too. Not that I’m pressuring you or anything. It’s just a thought. One that’ll keep me patient for as long as it takes you to make up your mind.” He grinned archly. “Just as long as you do it damn quick.”
Standing, getting his keys out of the back pocket of his jeans, Bob ground his teeth.
If there was one thing he hated, it was being out of control. Not only had he received the call from the lawyers at the ungodly hour of seven a.m., he was told, in a voice that sounded like a machine gun firing, about his aunt’s death and the need for him to come to their office the following Thursday. They had refused to reschedule for a more convenient time for him, forcing him to cancel an important meeting with a prospective home buyer who was thinking of using him as their architect. But it seemed in the past two weeks, since great-aunt Hortense’s lawyers had first contacted him, he’d had no control over anything.
“Let’s go with victim number one for starters,” said Bob. “Have Kayla or whatever the hell her name is at my place around seven.” That was one hurdle over with, he thought. Only a few more to go. “But don’t spill my plan. I’m not making an offer until I’ve sampled the merchandise. Let her think this is just a job.”
“Of course, old buddy. Of course! She’ll be wearing a black satin skirt, black lace panties, black hose, spike heels and a smile. Nothing else. So she’ll be real easy to recognize.”
As satisfied as he could be under the circumstances, Bob went out, listening to his friend muttering something unintelligible. Alone, George studied Kayla’s picture. Although she was luscious, she was also, unfortunately, stand-offish. But then she was inexperienced in the ways of the world. Chances were, though, she could be easily bluffed, especially if the lure was money. Not that he’d tell her Bob’s plan, of course. But a few white lies would work wonders, if told in the right way.
https://amzn.to/2UoNonB
Ayn Amorelli
Chapter One
“What type of girl are you looking for, old buddy?” asked George, neatly stacking numerous invoices for his topless maid agency at his large gray metal desk. “Maybe I can help.”
“You’re going to think I’m nuts,” Bob murmured, crossing his legs Indian style, as he took a sip of tepid coffee from his paper cup. Hell, maybe he was crazy. But he was also desperate.
Spreading the twenty color photographs of nude blondes, brunettes, and redheads on the floor around him, Bob adjusted his wire-rim glasses as he studied them. All the girls were seductively posed, standing with one shapely hip jutting out and one knee slightly bent. They ranged in age from the mid-twenties to the mid-thirties, and all were pretty and sexy with big, firm, thrusting breasts, shiny nipples, small waists and slender hips. Hell, he got hard just looking at them. If he could afford it, he would try every one. But not only didn’t he have the cash, he was short on time. He’d been racking his brain ever since his late aunt’s lawyers had called him a week ago. He’d finally devised a plan that just, as insane as it was, might work.
“So? That’s never stopped you before. I know whatever it is, is damn important for you to get out this early on a Saturday. So spill it. What gives?”
“You’ve got to keep what I tell you confidential.”
“Oh, shit!” moaned George, stiffening. “I hate cloak and dagger stuff. I’m sorry I asked now.”
“Too late. I’ve got to tell someone.”
“Damn!” muttered George.
“But you’ve got to—”
“I know. I’ve got to keep it confidential. So what is it? You in trouble with the Feds…or is it drugs? Is that it?”
“Nothing as exotic as that,” Bob whispered, glancing around suspiciously, “but it wouldn’t do for what I’m about to tell you to get out. If the wrong people heard about it, they might misunderstand.”
“Hold it! Can I go to jail if I know what it is you’re up to?” George asked, pushing aside the pile of invoices, as he studied his old friend.
“To be honest, I’m not sure. I don’t think so, but then I’m not a lawyer and I haven’t got time for you to consult one. I’ve got a little legal matter that has to be settled by the end of the year. But in order to do that I need to get started implementing my plan right away.”
“How little?”
“How little what?”
George ground his teeth. “How little is the legal matter? Are we talking about a ‘you’ll go to prison if you’re wrong’ legal matter, or a ‘jail-time’ legal matter?” “Neither. I’m....oh, shit!” grumbled Bob, taking a swig of his stale coffee; stalling for time, trying to figure out how to best tell his friend without sounding insane. “What I need is a woman who’s sexy and attractive enough for me to screw as much as necessary to knock her up right away. She has to deliver by the end of the year. But she can’t be cheap-looking. She has to look and act enough like a lady to be my wife and the mother of my child. She has to be able to pass the inspection of some old geezer legal types.”
George looked blankly at him. “You’re pulling my leg, right?” He laughed loudly, shaking his head. “Got to hand it to you, though. You had me going there for a while. I thought for sure you were serious.”
“Do I look like I’m pulling a prank? I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life. A lot of money is riding on this. I’ve got to find a nice-looking girl who’s willing to marry me temporarily, have my kid by the end of the year, and give me a divorce after the kid’s born.”
“Let me see if I’ve got this right. You’ve got to have a kid, correct? One who’s born this year?”
“I need a wife too, George. I’ve got to look like I’m a stable family man.”
“Because?”
“I’m in my late aunt’s will. I don’t get the dough unless I meet her terms.”
“How much dough are we talking about here?”
“Does it matter?”
“Hell, yes. If we’re talking below a hundred, you can take care of the matter yourself. But if we’re talking about an amount large enough for you to generously pay your friend several hundred for his help, then I’ll do what I can.”
Sipping his coffee, Bob kept his face bland. There was no way in hell he’d tell George about the whole twenty million bucks. As much as he liked the guy, George had a strong tendency to be greedy. He’d never passed up the opportunity to make a fast buck, even off his friends. “Let me put it this way, I’d be willing to pay you a generous finder’s fee if you can steer me toward a woman who meets my requirements.”
“How generous?”
“One, maybe two, three hundred.”
“Too bad. My definition of generous is seven hundred.”
“That’s highway robbery. I’ll give you five.”
“Six.”
“Either you know someone or you don’t, and all I need is her name. Five. That’s my final offer.”
“Five-fifty?”
Bob shrugged. “Doable. But for that, you’ll have to help me set something up with her. I’m not going to pay you until I decide she’s the one, and she accepts my offer.”
George studied him speculatively. “That’s fair,” he grinned maliciously, suppressing his welling laughter. “I accept cashier’s checks or cash.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Cashier’s checks or cash.”
Bob went rigid. “Are you out of your mind? I’m your friend, dammit! You think I’d stiff you with a bum check? Hell, man, you know where I live! I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were. But I never take chances with money.”
Bob muttered a curse under his breath, then held out his hand. “Deal.”
“What does this fantasy woman of yours have to look like?”
“She has to be sexy and attractive, of course. And the way I see it, she’ll have to be someone who needs money badly enough to go along with my plan. But she can’t look needy. She’s got to be a sharp dresser with a flair for style. She has to speak well and think fast on her feet. But…you know how easily I get bored. Hell, that’s one of the reasons why I’m still single. I’ve never found anyone who could satisfy me long enough to consider having a long-term relationship, so—”
“Just like your old man, huh?” interrupted George. The minute the words were out, he regretted them. He watched Bob’s face turn stark white and his green eyes gaze off in the distance, filled with so much pain it hurt to look at him. Nervously, George cleared his throat.
But Bob didn’t seem to notice and, instead, nodded slowly. “He had a new girl every week.” He sighed raggedly, his voice raw with emotion. “It was fortunate for him he was so good looking. Girls weren’t interested in him for money.”
George mentally kicked himself for bringing up the subject he knew his friend was the most sensitive about. Bob had scars from that period, still, even though his parents were dead…just as dead as the look now in Bob’s sad eyes. It was small wonder Bob’s father had affairs, though. He’d been married to a bat straight out of hell. And worse, he’d had to stay, because he worked for his damn father-in-law, who’d made him sign an iron-clad contract.
“I think Dad loved Mom on some level,” Bob muttered, as if talking to himself, forgetting where he was for the moment, and that George was listening. “At least he claimed he did, once. I remember their fights three, four times a week with Mom throwing things. Over time, her aim improved and she sent him to the hospital.”
Listening to Bob’s words, feeling his anguish, George had a strong urge to throw up. He’d never felt this uncomfortable before in his life. He had to restrain the need to rush out of there, before he himself was swamped in the palpable waves of Bob’s pain. Nervously, he coughed, very uncomfortable.
But Bob wasn’t through. “I promised Dad I’d never marry. You didn’t know that, did you?” He continued quickly, just as George opened his mouth. “No one did, except Mom. He sighed heavily. “Thank God he isn’t alive to see what I have to do today.”
“Yeah,” George agreed, rubbing his temples, feeling a pounding headache coming on. He looked everywhere but at Bob, hoping he was saying the right thing. “Um…I think there’s a way I can help you.” he said, summoning up the courage to look at him again. “You know how my business is booming now. I’ve even hired a damn secretary to help me keep up. I’ve had to add to my stable of topless maids too.”
“Congratulations. But how does that help me?”
Ignoring Bob’s sarcasm, George grinned wide, showing all his teeth.
“I’m coming to that! There’s one girl I just hired; little Kayla Leigh. She’s so new I haven’t had time to add her picture to the others yet. She’s young; twenty-five to be exact, with long blonde hair and huge brown eyes. A real innocent type. She’s kinda’ a late bloomer too. Her thirty-six inch tits are the firmest I’ve ever seen, and those nipples of hers; so help me God! If my bride wasn’t so mean, I would’ve tried something with her the moment she walked in. I mean, she was dressed real nice, wearing a damn three-piece white silk suit, for Christsake. I thought she was lost at first and had wandered in here by mistake. But when she took off her jacket and I got a look at those breasts of hers poking through that white silk blouse, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I swear those nipples take up a full quarter of her breasts. And they’re very responsive too. When I took her picture, I accidentally bumped against her, you know, then started to steady her. Only, clumsy oaf that I am, my hand missed her arm, and cupped her breast instead. Well, you know me. Of its own accord, my thumb brushed her nipple and it hardened right away.” He sighed heavily. “I mean it, Bob. She’s the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”
Bob laughed. George was an expert photographer and had never been clumsy in his life. “She sounds good, but she’s only twenty-five?
Hell, I’m ten years her senior. Don’t you have someone suitable who’s a little older? Someone more sophisticated with some sexual savvy? I was thinking more late twenties, early thirties.”
“Pardon me for saying, but it doesn’t sound like you can afford to be too picky. And there are advantages with a younger woman. For one thing, you can train her exactly the way you want.”
In spite of his reservations, Bob felt his heart speed up, his interest increasing. “So this girl, Kayla, will do everything I say?”
Without warning, he remembered his fat mother with her bleached blonde hair in huge curlers, her old terry cloth bathrobe tied around her, arms crossed, tapping her bare foot with a cigarette dangling from her lips as she stood in the hall. Like a traffic cop, she stood there, the pudgy fingers of her right hand invariably pointed to him first, waving him into the bathroom, ignoring his father who sprinted awkwardly down the stairs with his legs held as tightly together as he could hold them and still move. No wonder his father had prostrate trouble. Bob’s mother never let him go to the bathroom before he left for work, not caring he had an hour’s drive ahead of him, and, dammit all, he took it!
“Well, not everything,” continued George. “You don’t want a doormat, you know. Doormats have no spunk in bed.”
Bob took another sip of stale coffee. She will if I train her right. But he kept his thought to himself.
“And another thing,” continued George, “you said yourself you need someone with money problems too, right? Big money problems, if I’m reading you right. Kayla Leigh has more than all of my other girls combined. I mean, she checked out okay. Her background’s solid. It’s just that… well, she has a ‘thing’ for the finest money can buy. Her credit rating’s the lowest I’ve ever seen. All her credit cards are maxed out and over-due. The P.I. that works with me found out her apartment manager is threatening to throw her out. Seems the poor girl’s three months behind on her rent, and the repo man for the car dealer’s about to get his orders to take her brand new Volvo. She’s desperate.”
Desperate? Bob started perspiring heavily, and his heart pounded. Like Dad had been that time when he’d tried to win back the food money he’d lost in a ‘friendly’ game of cards before he got to the store? To this day, he still remembered standing beside his mother in the police station, and how his father looked in his torn jeans and white tee-shirt with blood stains on it. His eyes had been nearly swollen shut, and his nose broken. The discoloring flesh had created a strange jigsaw patterned mask of purple, blue and magenta across his face. But his father had held his head high and his shoulders straight, despite Bob’s mother glaring at him out of eyes narrowed to slits, as he tried to explain to his wife what had happened.
What had made it worse was Tommy, who was in Bob’s third grade class, spotted them walking out of the jailhouse together, and had called him a jail bird the next day, in front of everyone. Bob had slugged him, of course. Then he’d had to endure his mother’s wrathful nagging. She’d berated him for starting to be like his dad, and had threatened to refuse to love him if he continued. For an eight-year-old, it was a mortifying experience. The best thing to do was be a law-abiding citizen, at least enough so you didn’t draw attention to yourself. It was a hell of a lot safer.
Shaking his head, Bob came back to the present. “She’s not into booze or gambling, is she?” he asked.
“Hell, no!” said George. “You think I’d take her on if she was?”
“But what I don’t want is someone drawing unfavorable—”
“Look, it’s simple. Kayla just likes fancy clothes, luxury high-rises, expensive jewelry and great cars; that kinda’ crap. But she doesn’t have the patience to wait until she can afford them, so she got in over her head. That’s why she came to me. I’ve got a reputation for paying my girls real quick, in hard, cold cash.” He smiled wide. “All they have to do is go topless and clean a few lousy homes that don’t really need it, if you get my drift. And for that little bit of work, they get to keep half of what I charge the clients, and keep any tips they make for themselves.”
“How commendable,” he muttered, deciding to slug him if he asked him to invest in his business. “But I‘d like someone with a little sexual savvy. The last thing I want is to go to bed with a naïve, wild-eyed innocent who still believes in romance and love, for God’s sake. What I’m offering is a business proposition, period. I don’t want anyone with illusions about what they’re getting into.”
His eyes clouded as he remembered that overcast day in the spring of his junior year. Remember, son, his father had said, walking out of the garage, zipping up his pants after he’d screwed the girl Bob had thought he loved, confusing love with romance is dangerous. It’s how women trap men.
George grinned as he opened a drawer and slid a couple of glossy eight-by-tens over the desk. “Look at this girl. Just look! I haven’t even sent her out on a job yet. I’ve been looking for just the right client so as not to scare her off. My point is, she’s not familiar with the rules. Usually, I don’t allow any funny business. No hanky-panky. But Kayla doesn’t know that. So let me send her over to your place and you feel her up a little. She won’t know you can’t. She’ll think it’s just part of the job.” He leaned back. “If you tried any of that crap with any of those girls you’ve been leering at, you’d get your face slapped, and hard. However, I’ll let you have Kayla on one condition. If you decide on her, I get a generous finder’s fee of five hundred and fifty bucks.”
“Are you out of your mind? Do you know what you’re…” Bob stilled as he looked down at the picture of the blonde. Her peaches and cream complexion in her heart-shaped face was flawless. But, although her pink lips were smiling, the smile didn’t extend to her large brown eyes, which seemed to be drilling holes in the camera lens. Challengingly. If there was one thing he loved, it was conquering challenges; meeting them head-on. Especially if the challenge came from an attractive, shapely young woman. Like this one.
He could easily imagine getting behind her, holding her close to him despite her resistance while one hand cupped a firm breast, teasing her nipple with his thumb while he ran his other hand into black silk panties. He’d rub her clitoris slowly while lightly nipping her silken neck and shoulders until he felt her pelvis tilt in anticipation of its climax. Then, he’d spin her around, kiss the hell out of those luscious breasts of hers, then ease her down over his knees, licking that firm ass of hers, then spanking her for being such a naughty girl; for making him want her like he did.
As his eyes continued traveling down past her golden, fashionably cut shoulder-length hair, which looked wind-blown and sexy as hell, he zeroed in on her thrusting breasts, and his penis stretched in approval. God, he was hard as a rock, wanting to wedge his penis into her, fucking her senseless with his lips firmly fastened on those pert nipples.
Damn! She was built, just like good old George’d promised! Her firm breasts were a good six inches larger than her tiny waist, and those long skinny legs of hers were a turn-on. He could easily imagine them around him, squeezing hard as he pumped her, feeling her clamp that tight little vagina around his throbbing penis.
“How much for the night?” he croaked hoarsely, then quickly cleared his throat. “A hundred? Two? Keep in mind this’ll just be a test. If there’s not the right chemistry; if she’s too stand-offish, too shy, too slow, I’ll have to try someone else. I can’t afford to waste time on someone not right for the job.”
George raised his brows, with a rueful expression on his craggy face. “After all this time you don’t know how much I charge? I’m crushed, Bob. Just crushed. But don’t worry about the damned fee. Not tonight. If you like her, and decide she’s the one for what you’ve got in mind, just give me the seven hundred we agreed on. That’s it. No added charges.”
Bob choked on his coffee. “We agreed on five hundred and fifty.”
“Price just went up. Take it or leave it.”
Draining his coffee while George answered the phone, Bob remembered his late aunt. If it wasn’t for her and her stupid will, he wouldn’t be in this mess. But despite her being a spinster, she was one hip broad who didn’t miss a trick. For one so old (she had been at least fifty) she’d had great eye-sight. He remembered spending the day with her when he was six. Because he liked her so much, and wanted her to like him, he also wanted to get along with her kitty, Tabitha, a huge Siamese. A sweet-natured kid, he’d softly petted her silky fur, cooing to her in what he thought was a sweet voice, telling her how pretty she was, and how smart. While it surprised him she growled instead of meowing like a normal cat, he’d taken it in stride. They were, after all, in New England. Maybe, he reasoned, cats just spoke differently clear up here.
At first, Aunt Hortense had watched him skeptically, then she’d relaxed as the cat stopped swishing her tail with her ears pinned back. It was all right with him that she watched them so carefully. He was a stranger here and not familiar with their customs and things. But when his aunt went to turn off the kettle in the kitchen, he decided maybe Tabitha wanted to play; and that’s when the trouble began.
He had no idea how territorial cats are about their possessions, so when he reached into the big bag of colorful yarn and threw a ball of bright red under the kitty’s nose, he was surprised when Tabitha reared back, pinned her ears back again, bared her fangs, and spit at him with narrowed green eyes. The way she started growling too, startled him, since it was deeper than her growls earlier, and was continuous.
“How are you and Tabitha getting along?” called his aunt from the kitchen. “Everything still okay?”
“Sure,” he shouted, jumping back as Tabitha lunged straight for him, jumping up on him, then chasing him to the fireplace, where he had no choice but to climb the unevenly-spaced bricks, hanging onto the mantle for dear life as the cat paced back and forth on the hearth, her eyes glued on him.
“What the heck?” screeched his aunt, nearly dropping her silver tray laden down with steaming tea and sweet-smelling treats, as she rushed to pick up her kitty and comfort her. “Why are you scaring Tabitha?” she demanded. “Get down from there, this minute!” Although he was bewildered by her thinking he was scaring her cat instead of the other way around, he obediently jumped down. His aunt calmed down and he drank his tea beside her and studied the cat. She was one cunning creature, acting loveable and purring when Aunt Hortense was around, then turning into a spoiled little monster when her back was turned. Well, two could play at that game, he decided, waiting for his chance to get even.
It didn’t take long for him to get it.
When his aunt answered the phone, talking to whoever it was, with her back turned to him, he had seen his chance to get back at Tabitha, who was now asleep. Grabbing the cat before she could react, he stuck her deep in his aunt’s knitting bag, burying her under the numerous balls of colorful yarn.
Unfortunately, the cat was quick too, and, before he knew it, balls of yarn exploded from the bag, bouncing helter-skelter across the floor as the cat shot out of the bag, shaking itself out of the offending yarn, then looked around. But Bob didn’t give her the chance to get even, and instead took off, running as fast as he could…careening head first against Aunt Hortense’s legs. Continuing on with her conversation and without looking, Aunt Hortense literally seemed to jump across the room, swinging a strong arm, to slap some manners into him. After that, Aunt Hortense never asked him to spend time with her again.
“Deal?” asked George, hanging up the phone. “Or not?”
Bob nodded. “Hell, yes. If I don’t produce a child, the money goes to build a damn orphanage for stray cats. The site’s already been picked right beside the park of my own subdivision. That’s to punish me, I’m sure, if I don’t do what she wanted. I’ll have to either look at it every time I go in go in or out, or move away. Something I’m not about to do.”
George’s eyes widened. Then he laughed. “Oh, boy! Does she have it in for you, or what?”
“I don’t see what’s so damn funny. It’s not like I knew her well. I only saw her a few times when I was a kid...and stayed with her for a few hours once when I was six and again for a couple of days when I had leave while I was in the Army. But, apparently, she remembered me. I think she was impressed in spite of herself. She kept telling me what a handsome young man I’d turned out to be, but how surprised she was that I hadn’t married yet. To insure I would, I think, she made it clear in her will that her lawyers have to interview my ‘wife’ and satisfy themselves everything’s legit. At that point, they’ll advance a quarter of the money. I’ll get the remainder only when my bride gives birth. And if she doesn’t give birth within the year, I have to pay back the damned money they extended. I don’t think she died at this time of year just for spite. But that’s how it’s turned out. It’s already April. If I can’t knock up my new wife by next month, I lose it all. And if she’s as much as a month late, I’ve lost it all too.”
George nodded, studying the calendar with the girly picture on the wall. “Your chosen victim should give birth by Christmas. But since this’ll be her first child, who knows? Some women carry ten months.”
“Exactly, and it’s that kind of risk that scares the hell out of me. I’ve got to get started right away. I can’t afford a woman who might have any reservations about this. She’s got to be willing to do nothing but screw for a while, have my kid and then give me a divorce a few months after the kid’s born. But I’ll make it worth her while. She can even keep the kid.”
Looking absently at his nails, George frowned as if he disapproved of them. “A hell of a lot more money’s involved here than just a few paltry hundred, right?” Bob nodded curtly. What the hell? Why shouldn’t he spill it? He knew
George would find out sooner or later anyway. “Twenty million dollars. That’s what I stand to gain if my plan works. Twenty million beautiful greenbacks!”
George’s face turned so red, Bob was afraid he’d have a heart attack right then and there.
“You can see why this is so important, right?”
“Sure as hell can,” George breathed heavily. “I never knew anyone in your family had that kind of dough. Comes as kind of a shock.”
“Well, hell, it did to me too.”
As George’s secretary came in with papers for him to sign, Bob remembered the first time he and his parents had driven up there for a ‘fun’ family vacation.
It had been his first time to meet his old great aunt on his father’s side. His parents, as usual, were arguing; this time about how much gas they’d need to get back to a town that resembled civilization. He remembered they’d turned onto the long, badly pock-holed graveled drive-way, and had made their way to the huge old house that hid behind some trees, with only its red brick chimney visible. Bob had been fascinated by all the trees that looked like they extended for miles in all directions. He’d wanted to explore them while his parents were talking with his aunt. But they had other plans, and promptly put him between them, keeping him there with his mother’s hand on one shoulder and his father’s hand on his other shoulder. He’d only been four at the time, but he remembered it vividly.
When an ancient-looking, bald-headed man dressed in a tuxedo opened the biggest door Bob had ever seen, he tried hard to escape from his parents and hide in the safety of their car. But when they were led through the longest hallway he’d ever seen and he’d seen the huge old woman with the bright red lips and the greenest eyes he’d ever seen amble toward them, and she had reached down for him with a grin, he had been paralyzed with fear. He’d been so terrified he’d had nightmares for over a week. As George’s secretary left, Bob continued. “When we moved down here from Ohio, when I was ten, I never saw her again, ‘till I was in the Army.” George let out a low whistle. “Yeah? Well, you must’ve made some kinda’ impression on the old broad. So do what you gotta, and don’t worry about anything. You’ve got old George to help you now. Don’t even think about the money for tonight or for however long it takes to convince your chosen victim to go along with your plans. I trust you. And if Kayla proves not to be the right one, try another of my girls. Hell, try ‘em all.”
Reaching into the tall metal cabinet behind him, he grabbed another stack of glossy nudes. “These are duplicates of what you’ve got over there. Take ‘em. Study ‘em. If another girl catches your eye, just call. But,” he grinned, “I trust you’ll be just as generous with me as I am with you. So you’ll understand why my finder’s fee just rose to ten thousand, payable after you get your dough. Hell, I’ll even deduct the seven hundred we agreed on, and which you’ll pay me once you decide who you’ll pick. Hell, who knows, maybe you’ll throw in a little bonus for yours truly too. Not that I’m pressuring you or anything. It’s just a thought. One that’ll keep me patient for as long as it takes you to make up your mind.” He grinned archly. “Just as long as you do it damn quick.”
Standing, getting his keys out of the back pocket of his jeans, Bob ground his teeth.
If there was one thing he hated, it was being out of control. Not only had he received the call from the lawyers at the ungodly hour of seven a.m., he was told, in a voice that sounded like a machine gun firing, about his aunt’s death and the need for him to come to their office the following Thursday. They had refused to reschedule for a more convenient time for him, forcing him to cancel an important meeting with a prospective home buyer who was thinking of using him as their architect. But it seemed in the past two weeks, since great-aunt Hortense’s lawyers had first contacted him, he’d had no control over anything.
“Let’s go with victim number one for starters,” said Bob. “Have Kayla or whatever the hell her name is at my place around seven.” That was one hurdle over with, he thought. Only a few more to go. “But don’t spill my plan. I’m not making an offer until I’ve sampled the merchandise. Let her think this is just a job.”
“Of course, old buddy. Of course! She’ll be wearing a black satin skirt, black lace panties, black hose, spike heels and a smile. Nothing else. So she’ll be real easy to recognize.”
As satisfied as he could be under the circumstances, Bob went out, listening to his friend muttering something unintelligible. Alone, George studied Kayla’s picture. Although she was luscious, she was also, unfortunately, stand-offish. But then she was inexperienced in the ways of the world. Chances were, though, she could be easily bluffed, especially if the lure was money. Not that he’d tell her Bob’s plan, of course. But a few white lies would work wonders, if told in the right way.
Holly’s Big Bad Santa
Holly’s Big Bad Santa
https://amzn.to/2Ct74A6
Starla Kaye
Chapter One
Thirteen years, was a hell of a long time. Some people said you couldn’t go home again and Jared had believed that. He’d left Danville, Kansas and done his best to never look back, never regret the choice he’d made at nineteen.
Sitting in his Yukon SUV—loaded with every bell and whistle available—at the end of his parents’ long, winding driveway, he drew in a deep breath. The substantial Victorian house he’d grown up in sat on the hill above him, overlooking the town his great-great-something grandfather had founded. Every son and daughter of every generation since had stayed here, had brought wives and husbands here, and had helped grow the town. Except him. He hadn’t been able to stay another minute after high school graduation in small town USA.
Right now, with all the twisted turns in his life lately, small town Danville held a lot more appeal than it once had. It felt like Home.
He owned a condo on the beach in Santa Monica, lavishly decorated thanks to his last ex. Prime property. As he cautiously stretched his still-healing body, he finally understood what “home” really meant. It wasn’t how valuable the house was or how big. His California condo, because of where it was, easily had a higher monetary value than this huge two-story house with its elaborate gingerbread trim, wraparound veranda, and turrets. But this was a real home. His condo was really only a place he stored his stuff.
Even though it wouldn’t officially be Christmas season until the day after tomorrow, his parents had already put up the thousands of tiny white lights along the roof’s edge and up and down the turrets. When he’d been a teenager, he’d tried to help with putting up those lights. All youthful macho man, he’d gotten careless and rolled off the roof from a high spot. He’d broken an arm, sprained a leg, and badly bruised his pride. That had pretty much ended his holiday decorating.
And he’d stopped celebrating Christmas altogether after he’d left here following his high school graduation.
He squeezed his eyes shut on that raw memory.
Pain. His upper left chest and his lower ribs on the same side throbbed from too many hours sitting in one position and from trying to help steer with his left arm when his right arm got too tired. He needed to lie down, although he probably should take one of the pain pills first. Which he really didn’t want to do. He hated feeling weak, mentally or physically.
Disgusted, he opened his eyes. He shifted his gaze toward the cottage-style house next door. Holly Jacob’s home. How many times had they sat snuggled together on that porch swing? How many kisses had he stolen there with her mother inside the house? Her kisses had been so sweet and yet filled with youthful passion. God, he missed them. Missed her.
Smoke curled lazily up from the fireplace. Christmas lights twinkled in the towering Scottish pine tree in the center of the yard. The three-foot tall plastic Santa and Mrs. Claus with two slightly smaller elves had been put out this time of year for as long as he could remember. They looked worn by age, but they were a Jacob’s family tradition, one that would stop after this season. The worn Santa and Mrs. Santa and the elves would probably be thrown out as Holly thinned her belongings.
His gaze hardened and moved to the For Sale sign only a few feet away from the Santa scene. His jaw tightened. He thought about the much read and sadly wrinkled email message he’d received from his dad just over three weeks ago. His friends had printed it out to bring to him in the hospital. The timely contact had been uncanny. It had come when he’d been thinking about selling out of the private security business. After having broken up with yet another woman he’d considered asking to marry him. Just when he’d been balanced in the precarious state of “there’s a 50/50 chance he’d make it,” according to what his doctors had told his partners in the ICU while his body fought back infection from the gunshot wound and the collapsed lung from the fractured ribs. As if they’d known how much he really needed them, his dad had sent him another of his quarterly emails checking in. This one had gone a step further, with a request, a plea: “Come home for the holidays, son.”
Something pinched in the region of his heart. Here he was after all these years. Home.
He’d never thought this would happen. He’d left during a rainstorm in the middle of the night. Now he’d returned just after a snowstorm. The remnants of it were all around him. Cold. He felt chilled to the bone even in the heated car. Frustrated, too. “Holly is leaving us. You’d best come back and say your good-bye before it’s too late.”
He’d read that part of his father’s email while still groggy in the hospital. The words had kick-started his heart again. He’d thought his father had meant she was dying. He’d dropped the paper, started ripping out IV lines, and caused all kinds of warning alarms to go off. Nurses had streamed into the private room; even a doctor had raced inside. He’d been an irrational man determined to get the hell out of there to go to Holly. The only thing that had stopped him was one of the nurses finding the message and reading it to see what had set him off.
“This Holly person moving bothers you?” she asked.
“Moving?” He’d slumped on the bed. “Not dying?”
“I don’t see anything about her dying. Just leaving. Moving to San Diego in January,” she’d said as the other nurse and doctor worked at getting him to lie back.
“Not dying?” His fuzzy brain had only read part of the message. He’d stopped too soon.
The note had troubled him, made him strive to heal faster, battle back the tenacious infection, and then charge into doing more physical therapy than recommended. He’d ignored all cautions against pushing himself too hard. Urgency had built within him. He needed to finally confront his past and the wrongs he’d done to his family. He felt an even more powerful need to see Holly again. His gut told him if he didn’t get back to Danville and face Holly he would regret it for the rest of his life.
He already had a boatload of regrets. His gut feelings had seldom been wrong, so he’d heeded them and decided to discontinue the therapy and the scheduled follow-up session with his doctor. He was on the mend now and could deal with it on his own. When he made his mind up about something, nothing and no one could sway him. The only concession he’d made to his friends’ loudly voiced concerns was he wouldn’t fly home. Air pressure changes would have played havoc with his many healing stitches and his recovery from the fairly serious concussion. So he’d driven. Two and a half days of fighting fatigue, staying off any kind of pain med, and disregarding everything but the demand to see Holly.
He leaned his head back against the headrest. His mind was getting muddled. Tired, so tired. He’d left here a strong-willed, tough kid with a boulder on his shoulder. He’d become even harder, more dogged. He rubbed at his shoulder. His partners called him Alpha Stud on Steroids. There’d been plenty of times when he fit the label, mainly because he’d been searching for the right woman. The one who fit him, who understood him, who wouldn’t put up with his macho crap and even butt heads with him. Holly fit the description. He’d never deserved her faith in him and it had actually scared him back then. But his gut told him Holly was the woman he would always need. Unfortunately, he’d not only burned his bridges with her, but also blown them to hell and beyond.
With a weighty sigh, he rotated his left shoulder. Damn, that hurt. His partners also called him Kiss-ass Badass. At the moment he didn’t feel like he could kick anyone’s ass.
Something thudded against his windshield.
He automatically reached for the lock box beneath his seat and the gun inside. Then he noted the smashed partially muddy snowball on his window and the water dripping down. He sucked in a stabilizing breath and the tautness eased from his body. A snowball?
Before he could open his door, five foot maybe two of pissed off female tramped over to glare at him. In the light from the driveway’s lamppost, he gawked in astonishment at brown eyes darkened so much they looked black, at a nose scrunched in loathing, at pink lips pursed tight. Holly. Even buried within a leather jacket and furious, he ached to yank her into his arms. He’d missed this hell on wheels. He’d changed, but it appeared she hadn’t. When she got upset with something or someone—and he’d definitely disappointed her all those years ago, she attacked. At other times she was the gentlest….
She stepped back from the car, glowering, all but shaking with anger. “You sonofabitch!” She spun on her heels and thundered away.
Not sweet. Not gentle. Not that he had earned that kind of treatment, but he could work with anger.
“Come back here!” he shouted as Holly trudged back toward the cottage.
Holly couldn’t believe she’d actually thrown a snowball at Jared’s SUV. How immature!
She’d come outside to check on her lights and watched the big car pull into the Danville’s driveway and stop, right under the light. It hadn’t been necessary to get up close to identify him. His face might have seasoned over time, but she’d recognized the roughly carved cheekbones, the proud way he held his head. All the hurt she’d felt had torn through her again. Just the sight of him had peeled away thirteen years of maturing from the gutsy, often-reckless teenager, to the woman known in the community for being calm and serene. She’d always had strong reactions to Jared Danville. Darn it! Darn it! Double darn it! She was sooo over him. She was! Really!
“Holly! Dammit, Holly, stop!”
His voice had deepened into a gruff rumble but the same hint of sensuality in it was still there. It had always affected her, still did. Warmth spiraled through her, especially low in her body. It made her think of…. No!
“Go. Away! Just disappear like you did before.” She hated the way her voice had choked up. She refused to look back at him and moved faster.
She’d almost made it to her porch when a snowball hit her neck. With her short, collar-length hair there was nothing to prevent cold drops of melting snow from going down her back. She stiffened, curled her hands into fists, and rounded on the man she’d believed she would one day marry.
As Jared stopped a few feet away, she took in the physical changes the years had made. The boy she’d teased and fought with in their pre-teens had turned into the hottest eighteen-year-old rebellious teenager in Danville, and she’d stopped fighting him. She’d hungered for him, wanted him to desire her as much as she did him. But this was no boy.
This was a breath-stealing man who could put some sizzle in any woman’s dreams. His hair was still pitch black, but not scruffy as it had been in the past. He wore it short, tightly trimmed, not a buzz cut but close, and it was thinning a bit in front. Crow’s feet etched the corners of familiar deep blue eyes. His rugged jaw line was smooth enough to make a woman want to skim her fingers over it, see if it was as soft as it looked. She’d thought she preferred men with a constant five o’clock shadow, but she changed her mind. This look was very, very sexy. Beyond those changes, his striking face was pinched with white lines of…pain?
“Are you done yet?” He ended her close examination with his grumbled question.
She blinked in aggravation. “More than done.” She lied, spun around and continued trudging to her house. Something she’d seen nagged at her. What had it been?
A strong hand caught her arm and Jared drew her to a stop.
“Let me go or else….”
“Or else what?” He sounded amused. With another tug, he hauled her to him.
All thoughts of threat faded from her mind the instant she bumped against him. She got the impression of well-defined pecs beneath a black cable knit sweater. He’d gotten out of the car without a coat and it was freezing cold out here. Yet heat blazed between them. Beads of sweat formed on her back, in her cleavage and her heart raced. All of that ticked her off. She tried to wriggle free.
“We need to talk.”
His blue gaze held hers, so many emotions she couldn’t put labels to swimming within it. He didn’t look like a man who accepted defiance. He looked hard, dangerous. Long ago his parents had told her that he’d been in the Marines for eight years and that alone would have buffed up his physique. After leaving the service, she’d heard he’d gone into business with a couple of ex-Marine buddies, a security company, if she remembered right. Clearly whatever work he did now kept him in finely honed physical shape. Or he worked out religiously. To her irritation, she found this dangerous man captivating. But she’d spent years trying to get over him walking—no, running—out of her life.
“I don’t think so.” She pushed against an unyielding physical brick wall and accomplished nothing. “Why couldn’t you have stayed away? Haven’t you done enough damage?” She shoved harder and managed to free herself.
He sucked in a breath, jaw tensing. It took a second before he said, “Because it’s time I made peace.” He reached for her again, but stopped. Instead, he brushed his gaze over her once more. “You haven’t changed a bit…and yet you’ve changed so much.”
Holly frowned. Sure she hadn’t grown beyond the five-foot-two that she’d reached in high school. But she’d cut off the hair that had hung down to her waist and she’d recently added the popular red and blonde highlights to what she considered mousy brown hair. Plus she had a tattoo on her left buttock, something he would never find out about.
“What the heck is that supposed to mean?” she asked in irritation.
His gaze warmed. “You’re still the antagonistic female I remember. But you’re also damn cute.” A hint of a grin appeared.
Bristling, she bit out, “Cute! Not pretty, not beautiful, but cute!” She snorted.
He had the gall to chuckle, though she had the impression he wasn’t a man who laughed often. In spite of her anger with him, she wondered what had happened to him over the missing years. There was an underlying sense of hardness about him. In the rigid way he carried himself. In the hints of having seen too much that lingered in the depths of his eyes. Yet she felt a vulnerable side to him as well, something she was sure he didn’t want anyone to see. This was a complex man.
“Babe, you’ve puffed out to probably twice your normal size in that jacket. You’re wearing thickly lined suede boots. You could have the shapeliest legs I’ve ever seen, but I sure can’t tell now.” His rusty grin widened a bit. “Cute is the best I can do at the moment.”
“Well, you’ll never know if my legs are shapely or not,” she gritted out and realized what a ridiculous retort that was.
He chuckled once more, deep and gravelly.
She struggled against an unwanted attraction. Her old immature ways reappeared and she shoved him a third time, then leaped back even further.
Caught off guard, he winced and landed on his butt in the mushy, wet brown grass. A string of curses that would have mortified his mother spewed from his mouth. When that was done, he glared up at her and rubbed at his upper left chest, his face paling. “What the hell!”
A lesser woman would have been alarmed by the fierceness in his tone. She wasn’t, but her childish behavior disturbed her. She cast aside whatever minor pain he was in and sped toward her house. But she didn’t escape fast enough.
“First chance I get, Holly Jacobs, I’m warming your ass!”
Face flaming, she gripped the handle of her storm door and hoped no one had stepped outside their house and heard what he’d said, or had witnessed her behavior. When she didn’t see anyone, she shouted back, “In your dreams, Stud Boy.”
He climbed gingerly to his feet, one hand spread across his left side for an instant, and then he brushed off his wet slacks. “Did you call me ‘Stud Boy’?”
Unable to believe she’d actually said such a thing, she thrust open the inner door and fled into the safety of her house. She slammed the thick door and leaned back against it, heart racing. She’d made plans to leave Danville and begin a new life. Ever since her mother had moved to Omaha to live with her sister, the house she’d always loved seemed too quiet. Even with the shop she loved and everything she did in the community, she’d felt lonely and lost. Through a friend’s urging she’d risked checking out a matchmaking website.
She’d “met” Eric Adams, an accountant from San Diego. After nearly a year of emails, phone calls, and a couple of trips to California to meet in person, she’d become comfortable with him. Enough that she’d eventually told him about Jared and her feelings for the troubled young man he’d been. Eric had listened and gently pointed out that she had stayed in Danville because a part of her was waiting for the boy she’d loved at eighteen to come back. He’d reminded her that Jared would have made a new life somewhere. He wouldn’t be the person she’d grown up with.
She thought about the man she’d confronted only minutes ago. Jared was definitely not the boy she’d remembered and fantasized about even though she’d tried not to. She realized Eric was right. She didn’t know him anymore.
Eric. She’d finally met a man who was solid, steady, and dependable. She had accepted his challenge to make a fresh start, although she’d balked at first. Changes in her life always made her uneasy. They might or might not end up in a serious relationship, time would tell on that. But she needed to cut her ties here and move on with her life. Everyone else had…at least her mother had…and Jared had.
Darn it all, why did Jared have to finally show his face in town?
“And why do I care?” she groused into the empty house. Jared being in Danville had nothing to do with her. His parents would be beyond happy, after he did a whole lot of groveling and they forgave him, which they would do. They loved the blasted man. You did too.
“Did!” she barked and was furious that she was talking to herself. Maybe she had felt strongly about him in the past, but things were different now. She was different. She was selling her business, selling her house, and moving halfway across the country. Done deal.
***
His body aching, Jared started to follow Holly. He wasn’t finished with her. He just needed to catch his breath, force down the stressful demand for the painkillers he’d avoided taking. He hesitated, cautiously put a hand over his still healing ribs, and steadied his breathing. Damn, he wished he mended as fast as he had when he’d been younger. Not that thirty-two was old, but his body had been battered, damaged, and shot too many times in the last twelve years.
Footsteps sloshed their way down the driveway behind him and then across the lawn. He braced. The flight or fight feeling he’d experienced far too often while part of the Marines elite fighting force was back. He hadn’t suffered PTSD in years, but part of him always waited for its unexpected return.
He drew in another deep breath and stood his ground. Eight long years and four deployments into hell had forged him into a man who could face anything. Besides, this wasn’t that godforsaken desert part of the world with menace lurking everywhere. This was middle-of-the-good-old-USA, Danville, Kansas.
Slowly he turned. His mother hurried across the yard toward him. For a seventy-two-year-old woman she still had a lot of zip. And she sported the reddest hair he’d ever seen, a sort of orange-red. Not something he ever would have expected.
“Oh Jared! My sweet Jared!” She threw her arms around him, hugged him with surprising strength. “When I glanced out the front window, I saw the strange SUV.” She embraced him harder. “I had a feeling, a mother’s intuitive moment.” She sniffed back tears and seemed reluctant to let him go. “I just knew it was my baby boy.”
Baby boy. He was hardly that anymore, but damn, if it didn’t sound good to be called that once more. Her hug nearly brought him to his knees. His shoulder was on fire and his cracked ribs hurt like the devil. But he refused to show weakness in front of his mother. “Mom,” was all he could manage to say.
Then she released him, stepped to his side, and swatted his butt, shocking him. “That’s for hurting me like you did.”
He gaped at her. Few people would consider taking him on. Yet this woman who barely reached his chin had smacked him on the ass.
“I’m not denying I deserved that. More, too.” He towed her to him in a rough hug of his own. He inhaled her familiar lavender scent and savored the feel of her. He’d never dreamed he’d have this moment again. He’d been dead-on right when he said he deserved a swat, her fury, her not forgiving his stupidity in the past.
“About time you showed up, young man,” his father stated in a deep tone much like Jared’s. “Guess you got my email. ‘Course you could have answered it.”
Jared regarded his father, recognized the physical similarities, and saw the same wariness in his gaze that Jared felt. The sense of distance faded. But no way would he tell the man watching him with tears shiny in his eyes that when he’d gotten the email, he’d been in the ICU. He’d nearly died the day before. They didn’t need to know that.
His father stepped beside them in Holly’s yard and wrapped his arms around Jared and his mother. “I’d hoped…prayed.” He audibly swallowed hard and hugged them both tighter. “I prayed that this time when I asked, you would come home.”
Jared struggled with years of regret. He’d been a young idiot when he’d left home, but he’d remained an idiot, believing they couldn’t possibly forgive him. He hadn’t forgiven himself yet. “Sorry.” A lot more needed to be said, later.
After a final squeeze, they separated. His mother took his large hand in her much smaller one to lead him home. She refused to let go, which pleased the hell out of him.
“How come your backside’s all wet?” his father asked from behind them.
His mother stopped to look closer at him and questioned in maternal disapproval. “And where is your coat?”
Warmth curled inside him. “Coat’s in my car.” He nodded toward the cottage. “As for the wet butt, that’s all Holly’s fault.”
Immediately concern filled his mother’s eyes, this time not for him. “Is that dear girl oaky?”
So his folks still had a soft spot in their hearts for Holly. Good.
He fought to keep from sounding amused. “She hits my car with a snowball, shoves me onto my ass in the wet grass…and she’s who you’re worried about?” He raised an eyebrow and bit back a laugh at his mother’s blush. “She’s a bit pissed off to see me.”
“Language, son,” his mother reminded him, just as she’d done more times than he could count. She lifted her chin. “That’s probably putting her feelings mildly.”
His father headed for the SUV, glanced back at him. “That’s one big vehicle. I wouldn’t mind taking a ride in it, seeing as you need to pull it on up the driveway.”
Seeing the gleam of eagerness in his eyes, Jared hurried to catch up with him, his mother right on his heels. She stood patiently beside him as he opened the passenger door for his father and then the back passenger door for her. For a second she just peered inside, her shoulders slumping. No way could she climb that high.
Steeling himself for the pain it would cause him, he scooped her up as she squealed in surprise, and set her down on the high seat. A smile split her face, but it disappeared when she must looked at him again.
“Are you all right, Jared?”
When his dad looked back at her and then at him from where he now sat in the car, Jared shrugged. “Too many hours driving, that’s all.”
She didn’t appear convinced but his father changed the subject. “Your mom just took a pumpkin pie out of the oven. I’ve been drooling over the smell for almost an hour Maybe we can—”
His mother lightly swatted the back of her husband’s head. “James Danville, the pie is for tomorrow’s dinner. You know that.” She reached to finger Jared’s short hair, blinking back tears. “I’ve got gingerbread cookies, though. You always liked them….”
When the tears began trickling down her gently lined face, he felt lower than slime. He didn’t deserve being welcomed home or her peace offering, but darn if he wasn’t going to accept it. He thumbed away her tears, taking a second to cup the side of her face with his palm. “Gingerbread cookies and a glass of milk sound awful good, Mom.” Damn good.
Chapter Two
A few minutes later he sat in one of the chairs in the eating nook of the over-sized kitchen. The house felt nice and warm. Rich scents of pumpkin pie and gingerbread drifted around him, making his stomach rumble, reminding him of familiar smells from so long ago. The faint sounds of Christmas music he’d worked hard to avoid hearing at this special time of year tortured him with all he’d left behind him. He closed his tired eyes, felt overwhelmed with guilt and so much pain. He hadn’t been able to tolerate holiday get-togethers with anyone, not even his friends, especially Thanksgiving or Christmas since…
“I…” he began, uncertain how to find the right words to apologize, how to explain why he’d left. At the time, he’d been tired of quarrelling with his father all the time. Of the four Danville siblings, he’d had the biggest ego, been the most daring, and had the hardest head. He’d lacked the ability to see beyond what he wanted. His two older brothers had excelled at almost everything. He’d been the family rebel. His grades had been less than stellar. He’d gotten kicked off the football team. He couldn’t remember the number of times the sheriff had delivered him home after some prank or another. Yes, Black Sheep of the Danville Family had definitely been his well-earned designation. His parents had struggled to deal with his antics.
His mother jammed a cookie in his mouth. “Not now, Jared. I only want to enjoy having you home.”
His father sat down opposite him and took a cookie from the plate sitting between them. “We’ll talk it out later, son.”
Jared chewed on the gingerbread cookie, enjoying the spicy taste, and absorbed the comfort of being with family again. He’d missed them so damn much. All the places he’d been, all the things he’d seen…none of them compared to being with people who loved you unconditionally. Why had it taken him so long to figure this out? Probably because he’d been desperate not to think about what he’d left behind.
His ribs ached, but he didn’t think Holly’s push or his landing on his ass, or even picking up his mom had done any damage. His head pounded with a headache resulting from the concussion that hadn’t fully gone away. He had trouble focusing, but he didn’t want his folks to know about any of his problems. He didn’t want to worry his mom.
“So, how’re Jason and Kandee? Jim and…” He hesitated. “Oh right, he’s divorced now. And what about Jocie? Wasn’t she engaged?”
His father studied him, an indication of approval on his age-lined face. “So you remember some of the things I’ve emailed you about.”
Jared nodded. “Yes, sir, I do.”
“Glad to hear that.”
Self-reproach weighed heavy on him. The first year he’d been away, he’d sent an occasional postcard to let them know he was at least alive and breathing somewhere. When he’d joined the Marines, he’d stopped sending the postcards. He’d gone places his mother would have been worried sick about. He’d thought she’d be better off not knowing. After a while when he was in the states, he called them for a brief conversation a couple of times a year. Then a few years back, he chanced sending his dad an email. His father had launched into sending Jared weekly messages, then monthly when Jared had struggled to respond back. He’d been busy, traveling all over the world with his job, and still unsure if he could ever make things right with his family again.
Secretly he’d kept up with what happened in his family and in his hometown via a subscription to the town’s newspaper. And he’d paid attention to everything that his father had shared with him. He’d known his parents had good, happy lives. They had two sons to be proud of, who’d taken over the family’s law firm of Danville and Danville started by their grandfather. They had a daughter who had a successful real estate company. His father still managed the Danville Bank, started by their ancestors a hundred years ago. They had grandchildren, great-grandchildren, too, to adore and spoil. And they’d been proud of him being in the Marines and fighting for his country, something they’d once put in the paper around Veteran’s Day. He’d been shocked to see the mention. Beyond telling them the unit he worked in, he hadn’t shared his military life. When he’d gone into business with his Marine buddies, he’d told his folks only the basics about it being a security business and where he lived. He should have done more, dammit.
He ground his teeth. Get over it! You screwed up. Now man-up and fix things. They were reaching out to him, but he didn’t know how to open up to people, not really.
He was about to speak when his mother said, “Jason and Kandee have three grown kids of their own and two grandchildren.” She slid a glass of milk in front of him. “Jim’s still bitter about the divorce. Long story for another time. And Jocie is on-again, off-again in the engagement thing with her partner in the real estate business, Parker Greene.”
Jared nodded, glancing at his father, who had shared some of that information with him. He’d taken it to heart, just hadn’t known what to say back.
His father’s eyes reflected sadness. “You can catch up with them tomorrow. Everyone is coming here for Thanksgiving dinner, as usual.” He pulled in a breath and his brow furrowed. “I’d better warn you, your brothers are still a bit hostile about the past.”
He’d figured as much. He took a drink and finally said, “I’ll try to mend fences.” He didn’t blame them; he’d never been good at being a brother.
https://amzn.to/2Ct74A6
Starla Kaye
Chapter One
Thirteen years, was a hell of a long time. Some people said you couldn’t go home again and Jared had believed that. He’d left Danville, Kansas and done his best to never look back, never regret the choice he’d made at nineteen.
Sitting in his Yukon SUV—loaded with every bell and whistle available—at the end of his parents’ long, winding driveway, he drew in a deep breath. The substantial Victorian house he’d grown up in sat on the hill above him, overlooking the town his great-great-something grandfather had founded. Every son and daughter of every generation since had stayed here, had brought wives and husbands here, and had helped grow the town. Except him. He hadn’t been able to stay another minute after high school graduation in small town USA.
Right now, with all the twisted turns in his life lately, small town Danville held a lot more appeal than it once had. It felt like Home.
He owned a condo on the beach in Santa Monica, lavishly decorated thanks to his last ex. Prime property. As he cautiously stretched his still-healing body, he finally understood what “home” really meant. It wasn’t how valuable the house was or how big. His California condo, because of where it was, easily had a higher monetary value than this huge two-story house with its elaborate gingerbread trim, wraparound veranda, and turrets. But this was a real home. His condo was really only a place he stored his stuff.
Even though it wouldn’t officially be Christmas season until the day after tomorrow, his parents had already put up the thousands of tiny white lights along the roof’s edge and up and down the turrets. When he’d been a teenager, he’d tried to help with putting up those lights. All youthful macho man, he’d gotten careless and rolled off the roof from a high spot. He’d broken an arm, sprained a leg, and badly bruised his pride. That had pretty much ended his holiday decorating.
And he’d stopped celebrating Christmas altogether after he’d left here following his high school graduation.
He squeezed his eyes shut on that raw memory.
Pain. His upper left chest and his lower ribs on the same side throbbed from too many hours sitting in one position and from trying to help steer with his left arm when his right arm got too tired. He needed to lie down, although he probably should take one of the pain pills first. Which he really didn’t want to do. He hated feeling weak, mentally or physically.
Disgusted, he opened his eyes. He shifted his gaze toward the cottage-style house next door. Holly Jacob’s home. How many times had they sat snuggled together on that porch swing? How many kisses had he stolen there with her mother inside the house? Her kisses had been so sweet and yet filled with youthful passion. God, he missed them. Missed her.
Smoke curled lazily up from the fireplace. Christmas lights twinkled in the towering Scottish pine tree in the center of the yard. The three-foot tall plastic Santa and Mrs. Claus with two slightly smaller elves had been put out this time of year for as long as he could remember. They looked worn by age, but they were a Jacob’s family tradition, one that would stop after this season. The worn Santa and Mrs. Santa and the elves would probably be thrown out as Holly thinned her belongings.
His gaze hardened and moved to the For Sale sign only a few feet away from the Santa scene. His jaw tightened. He thought about the much read and sadly wrinkled email message he’d received from his dad just over three weeks ago. His friends had printed it out to bring to him in the hospital. The timely contact had been uncanny. It had come when he’d been thinking about selling out of the private security business. After having broken up with yet another woman he’d considered asking to marry him. Just when he’d been balanced in the precarious state of “there’s a 50/50 chance he’d make it,” according to what his doctors had told his partners in the ICU while his body fought back infection from the gunshot wound and the collapsed lung from the fractured ribs. As if they’d known how much he really needed them, his dad had sent him another of his quarterly emails checking in. This one had gone a step further, with a request, a plea: “Come home for the holidays, son.”
Something pinched in the region of his heart. Here he was after all these years. Home.
He’d never thought this would happen. He’d left during a rainstorm in the middle of the night. Now he’d returned just after a snowstorm. The remnants of it were all around him. Cold. He felt chilled to the bone even in the heated car. Frustrated, too. “Holly is leaving us. You’d best come back and say your good-bye before it’s too late.”
He’d read that part of his father’s email while still groggy in the hospital. The words had kick-started his heart again. He’d thought his father had meant she was dying. He’d dropped the paper, started ripping out IV lines, and caused all kinds of warning alarms to go off. Nurses had streamed into the private room; even a doctor had raced inside. He’d been an irrational man determined to get the hell out of there to go to Holly. The only thing that had stopped him was one of the nurses finding the message and reading it to see what had set him off.
“This Holly person moving bothers you?” she asked.
“Moving?” He’d slumped on the bed. “Not dying?”
“I don’t see anything about her dying. Just leaving. Moving to San Diego in January,” she’d said as the other nurse and doctor worked at getting him to lie back.
“Not dying?” His fuzzy brain had only read part of the message. He’d stopped too soon.
The note had troubled him, made him strive to heal faster, battle back the tenacious infection, and then charge into doing more physical therapy than recommended. He’d ignored all cautions against pushing himself too hard. Urgency had built within him. He needed to finally confront his past and the wrongs he’d done to his family. He felt an even more powerful need to see Holly again. His gut told him if he didn’t get back to Danville and face Holly he would regret it for the rest of his life.
He already had a boatload of regrets. His gut feelings had seldom been wrong, so he’d heeded them and decided to discontinue the therapy and the scheduled follow-up session with his doctor. He was on the mend now and could deal with it on his own. When he made his mind up about something, nothing and no one could sway him. The only concession he’d made to his friends’ loudly voiced concerns was he wouldn’t fly home. Air pressure changes would have played havoc with his many healing stitches and his recovery from the fairly serious concussion. So he’d driven. Two and a half days of fighting fatigue, staying off any kind of pain med, and disregarding everything but the demand to see Holly.
He leaned his head back against the headrest. His mind was getting muddled. Tired, so tired. He’d left here a strong-willed, tough kid with a boulder on his shoulder. He’d become even harder, more dogged. He rubbed at his shoulder. His partners called him Alpha Stud on Steroids. There’d been plenty of times when he fit the label, mainly because he’d been searching for the right woman. The one who fit him, who understood him, who wouldn’t put up with his macho crap and even butt heads with him. Holly fit the description. He’d never deserved her faith in him and it had actually scared him back then. But his gut told him Holly was the woman he would always need. Unfortunately, he’d not only burned his bridges with her, but also blown them to hell and beyond.
With a weighty sigh, he rotated his left shoulder. Damn, that hurt. His partners also called him Kiss-ass Badass. At the moment he didn’t feel like he could kick anyone’s ass.
Something thudded against his windshield.
He automatically reached for the lock box beneath his seat and the gun inside. Then he noted the smashed partially muddy snowball on his window and the water dripping down. He sucked in a stabilizing breath and the tautness eased from his body. A snowball?
Before he could open his door, five foot maybe two of pissed off female tramped over to glare at him. In the light from the driveway’s lamppost, he gawked in astonishment at brown eyes darkened so much they looked black, at a nose scrunched in loathing, at pink lips pursed tight. Holly. Even buried within a leather jacket and furious, he ached to yank her into his arms. He’d missed this hell on wheels. He’d changed, but it appeared she hadn’t. When she got upset with something or someone—and he’d definitely disappointed her all those years ago, she attacked. At other times she was the gentlest….
She stepped back from the car, glowering, all but shaking with anger. “You sonofabitch!” She spun on her heels and thundered away.
Not sweet. Not gentle. Not that he had earned that kind of treatment, but he could work with anger.
“Come back here!” he shouted as Holly trudged back toward the cottage.
Holly couldn’t believe she’d actually thrown a snowball at Jared’s SUV. How immature!
She’d come outside to check on her lights and watched the big car pull into the Danville’s driveway and stop, right under the light. It hadn’t been necessary to get up close to identify him. His face might have seasoned over time, but she’d recognized the roughly carved cheekbones, the proud way he held his head. All the hurt she’d felt had torn through her again. Just the sight of him had peeled away thirteen years of maturing from the gutsy, often-reckless teenager, to the woman known in the community for being calm and serene. She’d always had strong reactions to Jared Danville. Darn it! Darn it! Double darn it! She was sooo over him. She was! Really!
“Holly! Dammit, Holly, stop!”
His voice had deepened into a gruff rumble but the same hint of sensuality in it was still there. It had always affected her, still did. Warmth spiraled through her, especially low in her body. It made her think of…. No!
“Go. Away! Just disappear like you did before.” She hated the way her voice had choked up. She refused to look back at him and moved faster.
She’d almost made it to her porch when a snowball hit her neck. With her short, collar-length hair there was nothing to prevent cold drops of melting snow from going down her back. She stiffened, curled her hands into fists, and rounded on the man she’d believed she would one day marry.
As Jared stopped a few feet away, she took in the physical changes the years had made. The boy she’d teased and fought with in their pre-teens had turned into the hottest eighteen-year-old rebellious teenager in Danville, and she’d stopped fighting him. She’d hungered for him, wanted him to desire her as much as she did him. But this was no boy.
This was a breath-stealing man who could put some sizzle in any woman’s dreams. His hair was still pitch black, but not scruffy as it had been in the past. He wore it short, tightly trimmed, not a buzz cut but close, and it was thinning a bit in front. Crow’s feet etched the corners of familiar deep blue eyes. His rugged jaw line was smooth enough to make a woman want to skim her fingers over it, see if it was as soft as it looked. She’d thought she preferred men with a constant five o’clock shadow, but she changed her mind. This look was very, very sexy. Beyond those changes, his striking face was pinched with white lines of…pain?
“Are you done yet?” He ended her close examination with his grumbled question.
She blinked in aggravation. “More than done.” She lied, spun around and continued trudging to her house. Something she’d seen nagged at her. What had it been?
A strong hand caught her arm and Jared drew her to a stop.
“Let me go or else….”
“Or else what?” He sounded amused. With another tug, he hauled her to him.
All thoughts of threat faded from her mind the instant she bumped against him. She got the impression of well-defined pecs beneath a black cable knit sweater. He’d gotten out of the car without a coat and it was freezing cold out here. Yet heat blazed between them. Beads of sweat formed on her back, in her cleavage and her heart raced. All of that ticked her off. She tried to wriggle free.
“We need to talk.”
His blue gaze held hers, so many emotions she couldn’t put labels to swimming within it. He didn’t look like a man who accepted defiance. He looked hard, dangerous. Long ago his parents had told her that he’d been in the Marines for eight years and that alone would have buffed up his physique. After leaving the service, she’d heard he’d gone into business with a couple of ex-Marine buddies, a security company, if she remembered right. Clearly whatever work he did now kept him in finely honed physical shape. Or he worked out religiously. To her irritation, she found this dangerous man captivating. But she’d spent years trying to get over him walking—no, running—out of her life.
“I don’t think so.” She pushed against an unyielding physical brick wall and accomplished nothing. “Why couldn’t you have stayed away? Haven’t you done enough damage?” She shoved harder and managed to free herself.
He sucked in a breath, jaw tensing. It took a second before he said, “Because it’s time I made peace.” He reached for her again, but stopped. Instead, he brushed his gaze over her once more. “You haven’t changed a bit…and yet you’ve changed so much.”
Holly frowned. Sure she hadn’t grown beyond the five-foot-two that she’d reached in high school. But she’d cut off the hair that had hung down to her waist and she’d recently added the popular red and blonde highlights to what she considered mousy brown hair. Plus she had a tattoo on her left buttock, something he would never find out about.
“What the heck is that supposed to mean?” she asked in irritation.
His gaze warmed. “You’re still the antagonistic female I remember. But you’re also damn cute.” A hint of a grin appeared.
Bristling, she bit out, “Cute! Not pretty, not beautiful, but cute!” She snorted.
He had the gall to chuckle, though she had the impression he wasn’t a man who laughed often. In spite of her anger with him, she wondered what had happened to him over the missing years. There was an underlying sense of hardness about him. In the rigid way he carried himself. In the hints of having seen too much that lingered in the depths of his eyes. Yet she felt a vulnerable side to him as well, something she was sure he didn’t want anyone to see. This was a complex man.
“Babe, you’ve puffed out to probably twice your normal size in that jacket. You’re wearing thickly lined suede boots. You could have the shapeliest legs I’ve ever seen, but I sure can’t tell now.” His rusty grin widened a bit. “Cute is the best I can do at the moment.”
“Well, you’ll never know if my legs are shapely or not,” she gritted out and realized what a ridiculous retort that was.
He chuckled once more, deep and gravelly.
She struggled against an unwanted attraction. Her old immature ways reappeared and she shoved him a third time, then leaped back even further.
Caught off guard, he winced and landed on his butt in the mushy, wet brown grass. A string of curses that would have mortified his mother spewed from his mouth. When that was done, he glared up at her and rubbed at his upper left chest, his face paling. “What the hell!”
A lesser woman would have been alarmed by the fierceness in his tone. She wasn’t, but her childish behavior disturbed her. She cast aside whatever minor pain he was in and sped toward her house. But she didn’t escape fast enough.
“First chance I get, Holly Jacobs, I’m warming your ass!”
Face flaming, she gripped the handle of her storm door and hoped no one had stepped outside their house and heard what he’d said, or had witnessed her behavior. When she didn’t see anyone, she shouted back, “In your dreams, Stud Boy.”
He climbed gingerly to his feet, one hand spread across his left side for an instant, and then he brushed off his wet slacks. “Did you call me ‘Stud Boy’?”
Unable to believe she’d actually said such a thing, she thrust open the inner door and fled into the safety of her house. She slammed the thick door and leaned back against it, heart racing. She’d made plans to leave Danville and begin a new life. Ever since her mother had moved to Omaha to live with her sister, the house she’d always loved seemed too quiet. Even with the shop she loved and everything she did in the community, she’d felt lonely and lost. Through a friend’s urging she’d risked checking out a matchmaking website.
She’d “met” Eric Adams, an accountant from San Diego. After nearly a year of emails, phone calls, and a couple of trips to California to meet in person, she’d become comfortable with him. Enough that she’d eventually told him about Jared and her feelings for the troubled young man he’d been. Eric had listened and gently pointed out that she had stayed in Danville because a part of her was waiting for the boy she’d loved at eighteen to come back. He’d reminded her that Jared would have made a new life somewhere. He wouldn’t be the person she’d grown up with.
She thought about the man she’d confronted only minutes ago. Jared was definitely not the boy she’d remembered and fantasized about even though she’d tried not to. She realized Eric was right. She didn’t know him anymore.
Eric. She’d finally met a man who was solid, steady, and dependable. She had accepted his challenge to make a fresh start, although she’d balked at first. Changes in her life always made her uneasy. They might or might not end up in a serious relationship, time would tell on that. But she needed to cut her ties here and move on with her life. Everyone else had…at least her mother had…and Jared had.
Darn it all, why did Jared have to finally show his face in town?
“And why do I care?” she groused into the empty house. Jared being in Danville had nothing to do with her. His parents would be beyond happy, after he did a whole lot of groveling and they forgave him, which they would do. They loved the blasted man. You did too.
“Did!” she barked and was furious that she was talking to herself. Maybe she had felt strongly about him in the past, but things were different now. She was different. She was selling her business, selling her house, and moving halfway across the country. Done deal.
***
His body aching, Jared started to follow Holly. He wasn’t finished with her. He just needed to catch his breath, force down the stressful demand for the painkillers he’d avoided taking. He hesitated, cautiously put a hand over his still healing ribs, and steadied his breathing. Damn, he wished he mended as fast as he had when he’d been younger. Not that thirty-two was old, but his body had been battered, damaged, and shot too many times in the last twelve years.
Footsteps sloshed their way down the driveway behind him and then across the lawn. He braced. The flight or fight feeling he’d experienced far too often while part of the Marines elite fighting force was back. He hadn’t suffered PTSD in years, but part of him always waited for its unexpected return.
He drew in another deep breath and stood his ground. Eight long years and four deployments into hell had forged him into a man who could face anything. Besides, this wasn’t that godforsaken desert part of the world with menace lurking everywhere. This was middle-of-the-good-old-USA, Danville, Kansas.
Slowly he turned. His mother hurried across the yard toward him. For a seventy-two-year-old woman she still had a lot of zip. And she sported the reddest hair he’d ever seen, a sort of orange-red. Not something he ever would have expected.
“Oh Jared! My sweet Jared!” She threw her arms around him, hugged him with surprising strength. “When I glanced out the front window, I saw the strange SUV.” She embraced him harder. “I had a feeling, a mother’s intuitive moment.” She sniffed back tears and seemed reluctant to let him go. “I just knew it was my baby boy.”
Baby boy. He was hardly that anymore, but damn, if it didn’t sound good to be called that once more. Her hug nearly brought him to his knees. His shoulder was on fire and his cracked ribs hurt like the devil. But he refused to show weakness in front of his mother. “Mom,” was all he could manage to say.
Then she released him, stepped to his side, and swatted his butt, shocking him. “That’s for hurting me like you did.”
He gaped at her. Few people would consider taking him on. Yet this woman who barely reached his chin had smacked him on the ass.
“I’m not denying I deserved that. More, too.” He towed her to him in a rough hug of his own. He inhaled her familiar lavender scent and savored the feel of her. He’d never dreamed he’d have this moment again. He’d been dead-on right when he said he deserved a swat, her fury, her not forgiving his stupidity in the past.
“About time you showed up, young man,” his father stated in a deep tone much like Jared’s. “Guess you got my email. ‘Course you could have answered it.”
Jared regarded his father, recognized the physical similarities, and saw the same wariness in his gaze that Jared felt. The sense of distance faded. But no way would he tell the man watching him with tears shiny in his eyes that when he’d gotten the email, he’d been in the ICU. He’d nearly died the day before. They didn’t need to know that.
His father stepped beside them in Holly’s yard and wrapped his arms around Jared and his mother. “I’d hoped…prayed.” He audibly swallowed hard and hugged them both tighter. “I prayed that this time when I asked, you would come home.”
Jared struggled with years of regret. He’d been a young idiot when he’d left home, but he’d remained an idiot, believing they couldn’t possibly forgive him. He hadn’t forgiven himself yet. “Sorry.” A lot more needed to be said, later.
After a final squeeze, they separated. His mother took his large hand in her much smaller one to lead him home. She refused to let go, which pleased the hell out of him.
“How come your backside’s all wet?” his father asked from behind them.
His mother stopped to look closer at him and questioned in maternal disapproval. “And where is your coat?”
Warmth curled inside him. “Coat’s in my car.” He nodded toward the cottage. “As for the wet butt, that’s all Holly’s fault.”
Immediately concern filled his mother’s eyes, this time not for him. “Is that dear girl oaky?”
So his folks still had a soft spot in their hearts for Holly. Good.
He fought to keep from sounding amused. “She hits my car with a snowball, shoves me onto my ass in the wet grass…and she’s who you’re worried about?” He raised an eyebrow and bit back a laugh at his mother’s blush. “She’s a bit pissed off to see me.”
“Language, son,” his mother reminded him, just as she’d done more times than he could count. She lifted her chin. “That’s probably putting her feelings mildly.”
His father headed for the SUV, glanced back at him. “That’s one big vehicle. I wouldn’t mind taking a ride in it, seeing as you need to pull it on up the driveway.”
Seeing the gleam of eagerness in his eyes, Jared hurried to catch up with him, his mother right on his heels. She stood patiently beside him as he opened the passenger door for his father and then the back passenger door for her. For a second she just peered inside, her shoulders slumping. No way could she climb that high.
Steeling himself for the pain it would cause him, he scooped her up as she squealed in surprise, and set her down on the high seat. A smile split her face, but it disappeared when she must looked at him again.
“Are you all right, Jared?”
When his dad looked back at her and then at him from where he now sat in the car, Jared shrugged. “Too many hours driving, that’s all.”
She didn’t appear convinced but his father changed the subject. “Your mom just took a pumpkin pie out of the oven. I’ve been drooling over the smell for almost an hour Maybe we can—”
His mother lightly swatted the back of her husband’s head. “James Danville, the pie is for tomorrow’s dinner. You know that.” She reached to finger Jared’s short hair, blinking back tears. “I’ve got gingerbread cookies, though. You always liked them….”
When the tears began trickling down her gently lined face, he felt lower than slime. He didn’t deserve being welcomed home or her peace offering, but darn if he wasn’t going to accept it. He thumbed away her tears, taking a second to cup the side of her face with his palm. “Gingerbread cookies and a glass of milk sound awful good, Mom.” Damn good.
Chapter Two
A few minutes later he sat in one of the chairs in the eating nook of the over-sized kitchen. The house felt nice and warm. Rich scents of pumpkin pie and gingerbread drifted around him, making his stomach rumble, reminding him of familiar smells from so long ago. The faint sounds of Christmas music he’d worked hard to avoid hearing at this special time of year tortured him with all he’d left behind him. He closed his tired eyes, felt overwhelmed with guilt and so much pain. He hadn’t been able to tolerate holiday get-togethers with anyone, not even his friends, especially Thanksgiving or Christmas since…
“I…” he began, uncertain how to find the right words to apologize, how to explain why he’d left. At the time, he’d been tired of quarrelling with his father all the time. Of the four Danville siblings, he’d had the biggest ego, been the most daring, and had the hardest head. He’d lacked the ability to see beyond what he wanted. His two older brothers had excelled at almost everything. He’d been the family rebel. His grades had been less than stellar. He’d gotten kicked off the football team. He couldn’t remember the number of times the sheriff had delivered him home after some prank or another. Yes, Black Sheep of the Danville Family had definitely been his well-earned designation. His parents had struggled to deal with his antics.
His mother jammed a cookie in his mouth. “Not now, Jared. I only want to enjoy having you home.”
His father sat down opposite him and took a cookie from the plate sitting between them. “We’ll talk it out later, son.”
Jared chewed on the gingerbread cookie, enjoying the spicy taste, and absorbed the comfort of being with family again. He’d missed them so damn much. All the places he’d been, all the things he’d seen…none of them compared to being with people who loved you unconditionally. Why had it taken him so long to figure this out? Probably because he’d been desperate not to think about what he’d left behind.
His ribs ached, but he didn’t think Holly’s push or his landing on his ass, or even picking up his mom had done any damage. His head pounded with a headache resulting from the concussion that hadn’t fully gone away. He had trouble focusing, but he didn’t want his folks to know about any of his problems. He didn’t want to worry his mom.
“So, how’re Jason and Kandee? Jim and…” He hesitated. “Oh right, he’s divorced now. And what about Jocie? Wasn’t she engaged?”
His father studied him, an indication of approval on his age-lined face. “So you remember some of the things I’ve emailed you about.”
Jared nodded. “Yes, sir, I do.”
“Glad to hear that.”
Self-reproach weighed heavy on him. The first year he’d been away, he’d sent an occasional postcard to let them know he was at least alive and breathing somewhere. When he’d joined the Marines, he’d stopped sending the postcards. He’d gone places his mother would have been worried sick about. He’d thought she’d be better off not knowing. After a while when he was in the states, he called them for a brief conversation a couple of times a year. Then a few years back, he chanced sending his dad an email. His father had launched into sending Jared weekly messages, then monthly when Jared had struggled to respond back. He’d been busy, traveling all over the world with his job, and still unsure if he could ever make things right with his family again.
Secretly he’d kept up with what happened in his family and in his hometown via a subscription to the town’s newspaper. And he’d paid attention to everything that his father had shared with him. He’d known his parents had good, happy lives. They had two sons to be proud of, who’d taken over the family’s law firm of Danville and Danville started by their grandfather. They had a daughter who had a successful real estate company. His father still managed the Danville Bank, started by their ancestors a hundred years ago. They had grandchildren, great-grandchildren, too, to adore and spoil. And they’d been proud of him being in the Marines and fighting for his country, something they’d once put in the paper around Veteran’s Day. He’d been shocked to see the mention. Beyond telling them the unit he worked in, he hadn’t shared his military life. When he’d gone into business with his Marine buddies, he’d told his folks only the basics about it being a security business and where he lived. He should have done more, dammit.
He ground his teeth. Get over it! You screwed up. Now man-up and fix things. They were reaching out to him, but he didn’t know how to open up to people, not really.
He was about to speak when his mother said, “Jason and Kandee have three grown kids of their own and two grandchildren.” She slid a glass of milk in front of him. “Jim’s still bitter about the divorce. Long story for another time. And Jocie is on-again, off-again in the engagement thing with her partner in the real estate business, Parker Greene.”
Jared nodded, glancing at his father, who had shared some of that information with him. He’d taken it to heart, just hadn’t known what to say back.
His father’s eyes reflected sadness. “You can catch up with them tomorrow. Everyone is coming here for Thanksgiving dinner, as usual.” He pulled in a breath and his brow furrowed. “I’d better warn you, your brothers are still a bit hostile about the past.”
He’d figured as much. He took a drink and finally said, “I’ll try to mend fences.” He didn’t blame them; he’d never been good at being a brother.
Bound By Fate
Bound By Fate
https://amzn.to/2rqaGMu
Lee Rush
Chapter One
Christiane looked out over the fairgrounds and wondered which way she should turn next. The sounds of different interpretations of jazz melded more than clashed as they filled the air. She knew from the articles she had read that the jazz festival drew people from all over the country, and even some from other countries. The different accents and languages she heard proved that. The soft southern drawl, the twang of the Midwest, the French accents, and Spanish, were melodies of the world’s voices as the people milled about between various venues.
And the smells! She didn’t need to look around to know that she was getting close to the food courts. Her nose was assailed by so many known and unknown smells. Some odors brought delicious food to mind. Others hinted at new and wondrous things to try. Cajun spices mixed with the rich scent of thick barbecue sauces, the homey smell of southern fried chicken, and the sweet, unmistakable smell of marvelous pralines so well known in this city.
Jostled repeatedly by the moving throng, she managed to move further down the fairway before giving up and moving to the side where she could look over the program again. When she had decided which group she wanted to hear, she looked up to get her bearings, then looked at her watch. They wouldn’t be starting for almost an hour. The way her stomach was rumbling and her mouth was watering from the myriad smells, she decided to check out the food court in earnest, before making her way to the performance stage.
The Cajun food smelled wonderful, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t do much good for her stomach. At her age, the pralines would add a pound or two so they were vetoed as well. Another short walk down the fairway as she tried to decide. Port of Call; the sign was at the right side of the fairway. She stopped suddenly, causing the people behind her to run into her and mutter about tourists. She couldn’t even voice an apology as she stood there, staring at the sign, her heart rate racing. She didn’t even realize that she had been nudged to the side of the walkway. Port of Call was a popular restaurant from town. She recognized it immediately as one she wanted to avoid. The restaurant reminded her too much of the man who had made her familiar with it for her to want to eat there.
They had met online and gotten acquainted slowly over a few months. The chats were few and far between, and mostly innocuous in the beginning. He told her about his life…his marriage that left a great deal to be desired, though it had gone on for many years and had been maintained for the “honor and responsibility” and because he had given his wife his word before her death from cancer.
They had talked about his avocation that had become his life’s work, and the things he had found on the web, and how they influenced his current situation. They had talked about his interest in a way of life based on a series of books that appealed to his way of looking at the world around him.
She had told him about her husband who had been so ill; so close to death, and the changes his illness had wrought in their relationship. She had shared the details of her current situation and her hopes for the future that had somehow looked so dim.
She remembered the tantalizing talk of shared showers, the late night chats over “cheesecake and coffee” and found herself falling into a growing affection for him, despite her self-made vows not to get involved in that manner. The relationship with her husband had been a good one until his health issues changed him so much, as to be almost unrecognizable as the same man she had loved.
This new man showed her a different world. He was basically living out most people’s dreams. He lived on a beautiful and semi-remote island, diving on ancient ruins; not for fortune but to gain knowledge. He told her stories of things and places she had only read about.
She had kept a copy of all the chats they shared, and had read them so many times they were engraved on her mind, almost word for word. The first time they engaged in cybering was three and a half months after they met online. They had begun with the coffee and cheesecake scenario they had indulged in before, but then he’d had to leave to attend to “real life” matters. He promised to return as soon as he could. She had been disappointed, but stayed at her computer, playing solitaire until he returned. His first words when he came back echoed in her mind.
“What do you want from this, Kitten,” he asked, using her screen name.
“I don’t know, really. I do know that I am attracted to you and I want this to continue. Is that enough of an answer for now?”
“And I’m attracted to you. I have been since we met. As long as you understand where I’m going and what I’m looking for, I think we can make this work.”
Then he had gone on to explain the tenets of this new “world” he had found, and wanted to enter. The world was based on books and the ideas conveyed therein. As he continued to explain, she felt a sadness creeping into her heart. The things he was saying…if that’s what he really wanted, she knew it wouldn’t be with her. It couldn’t be, not the way she had been brought up. Men and slaves. Exciting thoughts to play at; but in real life? She had become too independent over the years to see herself in that role.
Then the words she had longed to hear: “In the meantime, if you would like to cyber scene, I’m up for that. I’ve always had visions of pouring chocolate syrup over you and then licking you clean.”
She had giggled and blushed as she read his words.
“That sounds so yummy. Can I tell you something?”
“Listens, while gazing at the lovely lady.”
“I said I was attracted to you. This feeling…I can’t really explain it.”
“Listens, carefully.”
“It’s, I don’t know what to say; I just feel like I need to say something here. There’s only been one for me, and right now I just feel like I’m losing… I can’t explain it. I’m not saying this to make you feel bad, or elicit sympathy or anything, simply stating facts. It feels like part of my heart is tearing or…I don’t know. I can’t find the words, and I should be able to. I’m sorry.”
“Kitten, that’s why I asked. I have no intention of playing footloose and fancy free with your feelings.
“I understand, James, thank you for that. I can give you part of me, but not all of me…if that makes any sense to you. Not now at any rate.”
“As long as we both understand that. I wanted to clear this up before we went any further. I will never trash or trample on your feelings. In my humble opinion, online is too near real life, and boundaries tend to blur quickly.”
“I know they do. I know somebody who met somebody here. She left her husband; a man who was a minister and her childhood love, and ran away to be with him. The last I heard she was pregnant and abandoned some place in upstate New York.”
“Not a happy ending.” His words flowed across the screen.
“No, it wasn’t, for either of them. Her husband was heartbroken and didn’t understand any of it.”
“No, unless people get involved in online activities, they don’t understand it.”
“I know that I let my boundaries blur sometimes, but I do know where they lie. I’ve met some wonderful people here and gotten to know some I would never have had the chance to meet. Like you. Just stating the facts here,” she typed.
“We needed to do that.”
“Yes, we did. I’m better now…I’ve got a grip on myself.”
“Smiles, knowing where I’d like to grip you.”
Her heart had almost burst then. The idea that he wanted this with her, even if only online, brought her so much happiness. She had been without for so long because of her husband’s medical problems. The words on the screen sang to her lonely heart, filling some of the darker spaces with a shining light.
Chapter Two
She remembered the way she had stood quietly in that cyber room while he ripped her clothes off and then walked around her, inspecting that which he now “owned”. She remembered the way she had typed that she trembled quietly, looking up into his steel blue eyes, her legs shaking as he walked around her. In reality, she had tried to be serious, tried not to giggle and seem too silly, but she was so happy it was difficult to keep it out of her words as she typed. His words indicated his desire to just take her without any preamble, and then he had leaned in and whispered, his breath ruffling the hair above her ear.
“Such a sexy woman that wants to belong to me.”
He held her close in the cybering, murmuring about months of pent-up desire being released at last. He brushed her hair back, and she turned her head to nuzzle his hand. He entwined his fingers in her hair and pulled her even closer. More words from his sweet lips against her ear.
“Unimaginably happy, sweet woman.”
She had gazed at the screen filled with his words that touched her heart, and made her body feel warm and wonderful. She was enveloped in a happiness she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Her arms slid around him as he held her, and her head dropped back to look up into his eyes again; a soft smile on her lips, her heart pounding with happiness. Then he kissed her passionately and she moaned in the kiss; actually moaning as she sat there at the computer, her hands poised over the keys, waiting for his next words.
“Months in coming…so very, very sweet.”
“So long to wait, Sweet Man…and such a reward for waiting.”
His hands had moved over her body, exploring every detail of her warm flesh. She had reveled in the words he typed and had answered in kind. She clung to him, enjoying the warmth of his hands on her skin, pressing close as his hands moved down. Her mouth nibbled at his lips as his hands moved to her thighs, her ass; the very tips of his fingers lingering on her ass. She whimpered against his neck after the kiss broke, her back arching hard to his hands. His words of reality…they had waited this long, and all he wanted to do was just take her then and there; no ifs ands or buts about it. Her answer had been hissed between clenched teeth; a simple ‘yesssssss’.
He had carried her to a big cyber bed and laid her on her back, and then, lying down beside her, he had gazed down at her for a moment before speaking again.
“Gees, Kitten, I’ve seriously wanted to do this for months…just plain fuck you.”
Letting her actions speak instead of mere words, she closed her eyes, imagining as she typed. With the words exchanged between them she could almost feel each touch. She had reached up and pulled him down into another passionate kiss, pressing her body harder against him. He had moved between her legs, quickly pressing his penis into her. Through her raised state of excitement, she could almost feel it. His kisses turned into biting, almost animalistic; his tongue thrusting to meet hers, her hands reaching to grasp his ass and hold him inside her. Her legs moved up to encircle his waist, pulling herself up to equal his downward thrusts. She whimpered at the bites, biting back as the passion grew between them. Hands held and grasped tighter, nails scraped across hot flesh, muscles tensed and hardened as they moved together.
She closed her eyes again, blocking the words for a moment, letting the sensations flow through her, and she could almost feel him throbbing, as if he were really there with her. Her muscles clenched and relaxed around him as he thrust deep. She moaned, he moaned. His hips thrusting down, hers thrusting up. The muscles in his ass bunched under her hands as he moved over her. Breath coming in gasps, hearts pounding in rhythm, soft grunts filling the air as their bodies slapped against each other. Panting, moaning and groaning over and over as the words filled the screen. Tears of joy and pleasure filled her eyes and began to slide down her face on the screen, as well as in real life. Her body trembled under him, aching for release, aching for him to fill her with his essence.
“Don’t stop, Kitten…not now…keep going…come on, Kitten…come on.”
Finally, finally, the explosion surged through her and her hands dropped away from the keyboard, clutching at the edge of the desk. It must have been the same for him because there were no words for a moment or two. She was shaking as she sat there, her face wet with tears, her body sated and warm.
“Oh my God, Kitten. I’m thinking from the feel of things…I’ve found it all.”
Several times after that first night, they had begun again, but had been interrupted by life. They had not had much chance to continue their cyber affair, but they had talked about it, and it was clear from those talks that they each wanted more. It was almost two weeks later that they were able to “play” again. That time the foreplay had led to a different conclusion and she remembered that as well.
Their enforced wait had led to more of the heated passion that had filled their talks. After the kissing and touching, the hugging and caressing, he had murmured against her ear that he simply wanted to take her ass. Another hissing of acquiescence had found its way onto the screen in reply, and he had turned her onto her stomach on the cyber bed. Her face was pressed into the pillow, her ass was in the air and he was between her legs. She felt his breath as he leaned forward and then he began biting at her ass cheeks while the fingers of his right hand parted “her petals and entered her garden of pleasure.”
Her hands clutched at the sheets as she felt his hot mouth on her, his tongue circling her anus. She pushed back to his mouth and felt his tongue slip into her while his fingers probed deeper into her vagina, reaching for her G-spot. She reached back with one hand and caught his hair, holding him tight against her. His tongue drilled into her relentlessly, matching his fingers that twisted and turned in her dripping sex. She turned her face into the pillow and screamed with delight and pleasure as he continued to torment her. His other hand found its way to her breasts, teasing the nipples, pinching first one then the other, twisting them, scissoring them between his fingertips. Her moans were louder and louder, all capital letters on the screen before her. She was almost panting again, her body singing to the tune he typed.
He stopped what he was doing long enough to whisper again.
“Cum, Kitten…cum for me again.”
Then she was shaking harder, her hands barely able to type the words.
His tongue and fingers drove her mad with the need to finish completely and she gave herself into those feelings of pure pleasure. Her hands cramped from gripping the sheets tighter as she tumbled into the soaring sensation of bliss, shaking even harder as he pressed his face a last time into her ass, his tongue swirling one last time before letting her go.
Her body collapsed on the sheets as he moved up beside her, and she turned her face from the pillow and smiled softly at him. Her body still trembled from the pleasure he had given her. He turned on his side and reached for her, looking into her eyes as he pulled her against him, cuddling her as he regained his breath. His hand cradled her head, his fingers sliding into her hair. Her eyes closed at the gentle touch after the passionate love making and she smiled as he kissed the new tears from her eyes.
“I’m sorry…I don’t seem to be able to help the tears.”
“They are tears of joy, Kitten.”
She remembered then that there had been a series of questions.
“What do you like in terms of bondage?”
She could feel the heat of the blush moving across her face and down her chest as she answered him. Even online, it was a bit difficult for her to talk about such “wicked” things, but she had come to know him. She could talk about anything with him.
“Well, I’ve played a bit with that. Once, my arms were tied over my head and then I was tied to a bench. I’ve seen pictures of breasts being tied up but I don’t think I would care for that. I don’t think they would look very good purple.”
“Japanese rope tying,” he had typed.
“I’m not sure that’s what it’s called, but I’ll take your word for that.”
“No, I wouldn’t want that either. Floggers?”
“With that other playing I did, there were paddles and crops, but I don’t recall a flogger.”
“Can I shave you?”
“Yes.”
“Then eat you?”
“Yes, please.”
“Have you sit on my face?”
“Mmmmm, yesssss.”
“Cum in my beard?”
“Yes, yes, yes.”
“Stand over you and cum on you?”
“Yesssss.”
“I think we will do okay, Kitten.”
Then he had smiled that wickedly evil grin he always mentioned, and told her that he had to leave. There was some business he had to take care of.
https://amzn.to/2rqaGMu
Lee Rush
Chapter One
Christiane looked out over the fairgrounds and wondered which way she should turn next. The sounds of different interpretations of jazz melded more than clashed as they filled the air. She knew from the articles she had read that the jazz festival drew people from all over the country, and even some from other countries. The different accents and languages she heard proved that. The soft southern drawl, the twang of the Midwest, the French accents, and Spanish, were melodies of the world’s voices as the people milled about between various venues.
And the smells! She didn’t need to look around to know that she was getting close to the food courts. Her nose was assailed by so many known and unknown smells. Some odors brought delicious food to mind. Others hinted at new and wondrous things to try. Cajun spices mixed with the rich scent of thick barbecue sauces, the homey smell of southern fried chicken, and the sweet, unmistakable smell of marvelous pralines so well known in this city.
Jostled repeatedly by the moving throng, she managed to move further down the fairway before giving up and moving to the side where she could look over the program again. When she had decided which group she wanted to hear, she looked up to get her bearings, then looked at her watch. They wouldn’t be starting for almost an hour. The way her stomach was rumbling and her mouth was watering from the myriad smells, she decided to check out the food court in earnest, before making her way to the performance stage.
The Cajun food smelled wonderful, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t do much good for her stomach. At her age, the pralines would add a pound or two so they were vetoed as well. Another short walk down the fairway as she tried to decide. Port of Call; the sign was at the right side of the fairway. She stopped suddenly, causing the people behind her to run into her and mutter about tourists. She couldn’t even voice an apology as she stood there, staring at the sign, her heart rate racing. She didn’t even realize that she had been nudged to the side of the walkway. Port of Call was a popular restaurant from town. She recognized it immediately as one she wanted to avoid. The restaurant reminded her too much of the man who had made her familiar with it for her to want to eat there.
They had met online and gotten acquainted slowly over a few months. The chats were few and far between, and mostly innocuous in the beginning. He told her about his life…his marriage that left a great deal to be desired, though it had gone on for many years and had been maintained for the “honor and responsibility” and because he had given his wife his word before her death from cancer.
They had talked about his avocation that had become his life’s work, and the things he had found on the web, and how they influenced his current situation. They had talked about his interest in a way of life based on a series of books that appealed to his way of looking at the world around him.
She had told him about her husband who had been so ill; so close to death, and the changes his illness had wrought in their relationship. She had shared the details of her current situation and her hopes for the future that had somehow looked so dim.
She remembered the tantalizing talk of shared showers, the late night chats over “cheesecake and coffee” and found herself falling into a growing affection for him, despite her self-made vows not to get involved in that manner. The relationship with her husband had been a good one until his health issues changed him so much, as to be almost unrecognizable as the same man she had loved.
This new man showed her a different world. He was basically living out most people’s dreams. He lived on a beautiful and semi-remote island, diving on ancient ruins; not for fortune but to gain knowledge. He told her stories of things and places she had only read about.
She had kept a copy of all the chats they shared, and had read them so many times they were engraved on her mind, almost word for word. The first time they engaged in cybering was three and a half months after they met online. They had begun with the coffee and cheesecake scenario they had indulged in before, but then he’d had to leave to attend to “real life” matters. He promised to return as soon as he could. She had been disappointed, but stayed at her computer, playing solitaire until he returned. His first words when he came back echoed in her mind.
“What do you want from this, Kitten,” he asked, using her screen name.
“I don’t know, really. I do know that I am attracted to you and I want this to continue. Is that enough of an answer for now?”
“And I’m attracted to you. I have been since we met. As long as you understand where I’m going and what I’m looking for, I think we can make this work.”
Then he had gone on to explain the tenets of this new “world” he had found, and wanted to enter. The world was based on books and the ideas conveyed therein. As he continued to explain, she felt a sadness creeping into her heart. The things he was saying…if that’s what he really wanted, she knew it wouldn’t be with her. It couldn’t be, not the way she had been brought up. Men and slaves. Exciting thoughts to play at; but in real life? She had become too independent over the years to see herself in that role.
Then the words she had longed to hear: “In the meantime, if you would like to cyber scene, I’m up for that. I’ve always had visions of pouring chocolate syrup over you and then licking you clean.”
She had giggled and blushed as she read his words.
“That sounds so yummy. Can I tell you something?”
“Listens, while gazing at the lovely lady.”
“I said I was attracted to you. This feeling…I can’t really explain it.”
“Listens, carefully.”
“It’s, I don’t know what to say; I just feel like I need to say something here. There’s only been one for me, and right now I just feel like I’m losing… I can’t explain it. I’m not saying this to make you feel bad, or elicit sympathy or anything, simply stating facts. It feels like part of my heart is tearing or…I don’t know. I can’t find the words, and I should be able to. I’m sorry.”
“Kitten, that’s why I asked. I have no intention of playing footloose and fancy free with your feelings.
“I understand, James, thank you for that. I can give you part of me, but not all of me…if that makes any sense to you. Not now at any rate.”
“As long as we both understand that. I wanted to clear this up before we went any further. I will never trash or trample on your feelings. In my humble opinion, online is too near real life, and boundaries tend to blur quickly.”
“I know they do. I know somebody who met somebody here. She left her husband; a man who was a minister and her childhood love, and ran away to be with him. The last I heard she was pregnant and abandoned some place in upstate New York.”
“Not a happy ending.” His words flowed across the screen.
“No, it wasn’t, for either of them. Her husband was heartbroken and didn’t understand any of it.”
“No, unless people get involved in online activities, they don’t understand it.”
“I know that I let my boundaries blur sometimes, but I do know where they lie. I’ve met some wonderful people here and gotten to know some I would never have had the chance to meet. Like you. Just stating the facts here,” she typed.
“We needed to do that.”
“Yes, we did. I’m better now…I’ve got a grip on myself.”
“Smiles, knowing where I’d like to grip you.”
Her heart had almost burst then. The idea that he wanted this with her, even if only online, brought her so much happiness. She had been without for so long because of her husband’s medical problems. The words on the screen sang to her lonely heart, filling some of the darker spaces with a shining light.
Chapter Two
She remembered the way she had stood quietly in that cyber room while he ripped her clothes off and then walked around her, inspecting that which he now “owned”. She remembered the way she had typed that she trembled quietly, looking up into his steel blue eyes, her legs shaking as he walked around her. In reality, she had tried to be serious, tried not to giggle and seem too silly, but she was so happy it was difficult to keep it out of her words as she typed. His words indicated his desire to just take her without any preamble, and then he had leaned in and whispered, his breath ruffling the hair above her ear.
“Such a sexy woman that wants to belong to me.”
He held her close in the cybering, murmuring about months of pent-up desire being released at last. He brushed her hair back, and she turned her head to nuzzle his hand. He entwined his fingers in her hair and pulled her even closer. More words from his sweet lips against her ear.
“Unimaginably happy, sweet woman.”
She had gazed at the screen filled with his words that touched her heart, and made her body feel warm and wonderful. She was enveloped in a happiness she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Her arms slid around him as he held her, and her head dropped back to look up into his eyes again; a soft smile on her lips, her heart pounding with happiness. Then he kissed her passionately and she moaned in the kiss; actually moaning as she sat there at the computer, her hands poised over the keys, waiting for his next words.
“Months in coming…so very, very sweet.”
“So long to wait, Sweet Man…and such a reward for waiting.”
His hands had moved over her body, exploring every detail of her warm flesh. She had reveled in the words he typed and had answered in kind. She clung to him, enjoying the warmth of his hands on her skin, pressing close as his hands moved down. Her mouth nibbled at his lips as his hands moved to her thighs, her ass; the very tips of his fingers lingering on her ass. She whimpered against his neck after the kiss broke, her back arching hard to his hands. His words of reality…they had waited this long, and all he wanted to do was just take her then and there; no ifs ands or buts about it. Her answer had been hissed between clenched teeth; a simple ‘yesssssss’.
He had carried her to a big cyber bed and laid her on her back, and then, lying down beside her, he had gazed down at her for a moment before speaking again.
“Gees, Kitten, I’ve seriously wanted to do this for months…just plain fuck you.”
Letting her actions speak instead of mere words, she closed her eyes, imagining as she typed. With the words exchanged between them she could almost feel each touch. She had reached up and pulled him down into another passionate kiss, pressing her body harder against him. He had moved between her legs, quickly pressing his penis into her. Through her raised state of excitement, she could almost feel it. His kisses turned into biting, almost animalistic; his tongue thrusting to meet hers, her hands reaching to grasp his ass and hold him inside her. Her legs moved up to encircle his waist, pulling herself up to equal his downward thrusts. She whimpered at the bites, biting back as the passion grew between them. Hands held and grasped tighter, nails scraped across hot flesh, muscles tensed and hardened as they moved together.
She closed her eyes again, blocking the words for a moment, letting the sensations flow through her, and she could almost feel him throbbing, as if he were really there with her. Her muscles clenched and relaxed around him as he thrust deep. She moaned, he moaned. His hips thrusting down, hers thrusting up. The muscles in his ass bunched under her hands as he moved over her. Breath coming in gasps, hearts pounding in rhythm, soft grunts filling the air as their bodies slapped against each other. Panting, moaning and groaning over and over as the words filled the screen. Tears of joy and pleasure filled her eyes and began to slide down her face on the screen, as well as in real life. Her body trembled under him, aching for release, aching for him to fill her with his essence.
“Don’t stop, Kitten…not now…keep going…come on, Kitten…come on.”
Finally, finally, the explosion surged through her and her hands dropped away from the keyboard, clutching at the edge of the desk. It must have been the same for him because there were no words for a moment or two. She was shaking as she sat there, her face wet with tears, her body sated and warm.
“Oh my God, Kitten. I’m thinking from the feel of things…I’ve found it all.”
Several times after that first night, they had begun again, but had been interrupted by life. They had not had much chance to continue their cyber affair, but they had talked about it, and it was clear from those talks that they each wanted more. It was almost two weeks later that they were able to “play” again. That time the foreplay had led to a different conclusion and she remembered that as well.
Their enforced wait had led to more of the heated passion that had filled their talks. After the kissing and touching, the hugging and caressing, he had murmured against her ear that he simply wanted to take her ass. Another hissing of acquiescence had found its way onto the screen in reply, and he had turned her onto her stomach on the cyber bed. Her face was pressed into the pillow, her ass was in the air and he was between her legs. She felt his breath as he leaned forward and then he began biting at her ass cheeks while the fingers of his right hand parted “her petals and entered her garden of pleasure.”
Her hands clutched at the sheets as she felt his hot mouth on her, his tongue circling her anus. She pushed back to his mouth and felt his tongue slip into her while his fingers probed deeper into her vagina, reaching for her G-spot. She reached back with one hand and caught his hair, holding him tight against her. His tongue drilled into her relentlessly, matching his fingers that twisted and turned in her dripping sex. She turned her face into the pillow and screamed with delight and pleasure as he continued to torment her. His other hand found its way to her breasts, teasing the nipples, pinching first one then the other, twisting them, scissoring them between his fingertips. Her moans were louder and louder, all capital letters on the screen before her. She was almost panting again, her body singing to the tune he typed.
He stopped what he was doing long enough to whisper again.
“Cum, Kitten…cum for me again.”
Then she was shaking harder, her hands barely able to type the words.
His tongue and fingers drove her mad with the need to finish completely and she gave herself into those feelings of pure pleasure. Her hands cramped from gripping the sheets tighter as she tumbled into the soaring sensation of bliss, shaking even harder as he pressed his face a last time into her ass, his tongue swirling one last time before letting her go.
Her body collapsed on the sheets as he moved up beside her, and she turned her face from the pillow and smiled softly at him. Her body still trembled from the pleasure he had given her. He turned on his side and reached for her, looking into her eyes as he pulled her against him, cuddling her as he regained his breath. His hand cradled her head, his fingers sliding into her hair. Her eyes closed at the gentle touch after the passionate love making and she smiled as he kissed the new tears from her eyes.
“I’m sorry…I don’t seem to be able to help the tears.”
“They are tears of joy, Kitten.”
She remembered then that there had been a series of questions.
“What do you like in terms of bondage?”
She could feel the heat of the blush moving across her face and down her chest as she answered him. Even online, it was a bit difficult for her to talk about such “wicked” things, but she had come to know him. She could talk about anything with him.
“Well, I’ve played a bit with that. Once, my arms were tied over my head and then I was tied to a bench. I’ve seen pictures of breasts being tied up but I don’t think I would care for that. I don’t think they would look very good purple.”
“Japanese rope tying,” he had typed.
“I’m not sure that’s what it’s called, but I’ll take your word for that.”
“No, I wouldn’t want that either. Floggers?”
“With that other playing I did, there were paddles and crops, but I don’t recall a flogger.”
“Can I shave you?”
“Yes.”
“Then eat you?”
“Yes, please.”
“Have you sit on my face?”
“Mmmmm, yesssss.”
“Cum in my beard?”
“Yes, yes, yes.”
“Stand over you and cum on you?”
“Yesssss.”
“I think we will do okay, Kitten.”
Then he had smiled that wickedly evil grin he always mentioned, and told her that he had to leave. There was some business he had to take care of.
All She Ever Needed
All She Ever Needed
https://amzn.to/2DLfiE9
Lora Logan
Chapter One
I landed on my butt with a thud, still holding the tray of food high above my head. Somehow, I managed to balance the plates which were overflowing with burgers and onion petals. The ramekin, however, hit the ground before I did, and splashed my bare legs, covering me in the sticky mayonnaise-based special sauce.
“Good save, Becca!” Amelia grabbed my tray and set it back on the counter, then held her hands out to help me up. She’s a good friend. The rest of the kitchen staff just clapped at my little display, which was most likely a slow-motion river dance style of a fall. I took a brief bow, straightened up and grabbed the tray.
“Did I just hear Jameson is back?” I leaned into Amelia and whispered the words—not everyone needed to know the reason I’d taken a swan dive across the cold tile of the kitchen floor.
“Yes, and what is it about him that makes you turn into a completely awkward”—she paused, searching for the right word—“whatever this is?” Her fingers pulled at the special sauce which was apparently caking layers of my hair together.
Mortification struck me instantaneously. “Like, tonight?!”
Not tonight, please, not tonight!
“Tonight,” she deadpanned. “You may want to think about doing something about…all this.” She motioned toward my sticky, disheveled appearance. “And, if you’ve got enough time in the bathroom, I don’t know, maybe stop acting like a crazy person.”
Despite the hard time she was currently giving me, Amelia had easily been the best part about working at Maggie’s for the past two years. At twenty-four, she was a few years older than me, and instantly became the older sister I always wanted. At five foot two and maybe a hundred pounds, she was the sweetest, wildest person I’d ever met. Half Greek and half Armenian, she was stunning on her worst day. If she was supposed to be at work at five, they told her to be there at four. She was an hour late wherever she went, but the life of the party everywhere. When I needed a good shopping partner, and had a good ten hours to spare, she was my girl.
“Ha!” I laughed bitterly as I shoved the tray of burgers at her. “Table twelve, please?”
Smiling, she accepted the tray while I hightailed it to the bathroom. She had a small point. Something about Jameson did seem to bring out every ounce of awkwardness that resided in each individual strand of my DNA.
Frantically, I pulled paper towels from the dispenser and wet them, then scrubbed them up and down my legs. Once satisfied, I looked at my reflection and was horrified to see the sauce hadn’t just managed to ricochet across my legs; I also had specks of it decorating my “Maggie’s” T-shirt.
Of course, they just had to order extra sauce!
What was my deal with Jameson anyway? Yes, he was gorgeous—strong tattooed arms, wavy, dark, wild hair, and a devilish grin. I just wanted to stare at him. Unfortunately, talking to him was much more of a challenge. As much as I didn’t want my mind to go there, it immediately flashed to the first time I’d met him—my first day at Maggie’s.
My attraction to Jameson was instantaneous. So instantaneous, in fact, that I’d felt him before I saw him. While I’d heard of that type of attraction before, I never would have believed it until I experienced it myself. I was busy straightening and re-straightening the menus at the hostess stand when something caught my attention—a dropping feeling in my stomach, and an almost anxious curiosity at who was coming around the corner. When our eyes met I thought the dropping in my stomach must have made an actual sound because he was watching me just as intently. I fidgeted nervously with my short jean shorts and the Maggie’s T-shirt, which was just a bit too tight across my chest. At least, since I wasn’t serving, I was able to keep my sandy blonde hair down, where it fell just below my shoulders, instead of having to keep it up in a sloppy ponytail.
“You new?” He gave me a sideways, disinterested glance.
“Um, yeah. I mean, I’ve worked for restaurants before…just not this one?”
Why did that last part come out like a question?
A smile etched across his face as he passed me, heading toward the front door, where he remained for the rest of the night. As a bouncer, he arrived later in the evening and checked IDs. Maggie’s was a restaurant, but after nine p.m. it was much more about the bar. There were always a few fights, and people needing to be unceremoniously taken outside. Maybe it was the way he looked, or maybe he just had a way about him, but people usually calmed down when Jameson got involved. A lot of the bouncers at Maggie’s were on the eager side when it came it getting in the middle of an altercation, but Jameson handled it differently, usually walking the offending parties outside without needing to get nasty.
Maybe I’d done a terrible job of hiding it, but Amelia picked up on the fact that I had a thing for him pretty quickly. On one particular day, she winked at him when we caught him eyeing us from his post, and I immediately complained that I wished I had as much courage as her. She never had a hard time being bold, and it was something I’d always admired about her. When she didn’t understand what I meant, I explained that the ability to wink was not something I’d been granted. When pressed, I attempted to show her what I meant. Suffice it to say, my attempt at winking at someone resulted in the nearly involuntary movement of the entire left side of my face. With my nostrils flaring and one side of my lips puckered up—it was not a pretty picture. So naturally, that would be the moment Jameson walked up to us to say something.
Whatever it was he’d planned on saying would never be known, since as soon as he saw me he laughed and headed back to his spot up front. And that is how my time with Jameson went. Often, I’d feel his eyes on me, and whenever I looked his way he’d simply wink at me and go back to work. Never once did the butterflies stop putting on a show in my belly when he was near, and despite the fact that it seemed like he felt it too, our interactions never went past a few words here and there.
By the time I worked up enough courage to have an actual conversation with him, he was gone. In an attempt to act complacent, I didn’t ask a lot of questions, but from what I heard he was busy with a rock band he was putting together.
Over the past year, the what-ifs had bothered me. Never had I felt a connection with anyone like I did with Jameson. But now, as I stood in the bathroom of Maggie’s, covered in special sauce, he was back. Would we still have that same connection? More importantly, had I gotten over whatever spell he seemed to cast over me?
Chapter Two
Somewhere in the galaxy a divine miracle or some one-hundred-and-fifty-year eclipse took place, and I managed to get cut before running into Jameson. As excited as I was to see him, I’d much prefer it to be on my own terms, with my clothing and hair free of the debris and smells of Maggie’s. Leaving early meant I had time to run home and shower before meeting Amelia at her house.
“Why exactly did I agree to get ready at your place?” I asked as I scanned her bedroom.
I’d only made it to her bedroom door before being completely overwhelmed with the mess that was Amelia preparing to go anywhere. Technically, she lived with her aunt and uncle, but they had given her the entire main floor of the house and renovated the basement to be their apartment. It even had a separate entrance, although I’m not sure why because every time I was there they were all upstairs.
Since her bedroom was the master it was impressive in size. Taking up the middle of the room was a four-poster king size bed that at that moment held more clothes than the walk-in closet.
“Hey!” She popped her head out of her en-suite bathroom.
“I’ll be ready in ten minutes.” She winked slyly and disappeared back inside.
That comment was laughable considering she still had her long thick hair up in a sloppy bun on the top of her head. I was pretty sure she’d never walked to her mailbox without straightening her hair, let alone actually go out for the evening.
We spent the next twenty minutes searching for the perfect black bra to wear under her other black bra. Apparently, for the less endowed, there is an art to wearing two bras to maximize cleavage. This isn’t the type of thing I’ve ever had to worry about being that I was a big C—okay, D—by my freshman year in high school.
“Why don’t you pick out something of mine to wear?” She looked me up and down with disapproval.
“Milly!” I only called her that when she was really getting on my nerves. Mostly because one of our previous managers at Maggie’s was named Milly, and she’d been a flaming bitch, but also because four syllables is too many when you’re trying to yell at someone in exasperation. “Seriously?” I looked down at the outfit I’d spent twenty minutes picking out. “It’s midnight, and I have two feet and twenty pounds on your skinny behind. Let’s go!”
Thirty minutes later I looked at my reflection in her full-length mirror and conceded that I seriously needed to listen to her more often. If there’s one thing I can pull off it’s a mini-skirt, and I felt good in this gold sparkly one, teamed with a white low-cut top with spaghetti straps. The real winner was the shoes. Aren’t they always? Three inches taller is a lot of fun—before you start drinking, of course.
“So… did Jameson show tonight?” I looked away from her as soon as the words left my mouth. I didn’t have to see her to know she’d been waiting this entire time for me to bring him up.
“Yeah, just after you left, you big freaking chicken!” She laughed while nudging me with her elbow. “He was looking all over for you, too.”
“Shut up! He wasn’t!” As much as I’d have liked to believe that was the case, I wasn’t falling for her teasing.
“Mmm hmm… I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
What was that supposed to mean?
Chapter Three
It was after one a.m. by the time we pulled into the garage and made our way to Iron City, Over-The-Rhine’s newest reinvention. This area used to be a real dump, but with years of work the city had really started to bring back what once was the “new New York”. I wouldn’t walk around this place by myself, but generally speaking it’s the ones involved in drug deals who end up getting shot.
“Milly! Line!” As usual, she was dragging me to the front, bypassing everyone patiently waiting to get in.
I swear she has more energy than the Energizer Bunny. Despite her short black dress and three-inch heels, she led me through the crowd, her hair swaying back and forth with her excited gait.
“Hey, Jeremy!” Amelia skipped toward the bouncer and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Jeremy looked just as you’d expect a bouncer to look like in the newest swank club in the area—dark, smoldering eyes, and lips which held no smile until Amelia made her way to him. Dressed in black dress pants and a long sleeve collared black shirt, it was pretty obvious he was not someone to fuck with. Aside from his arms and shoulders attempting to bust from his sleeves, he also had that intimidating thousand-yard stare.
“Jeremy this is Becca. Becca, Jeremy.” Amelia motioned excitedly between the two of us.
I nodded at Jeremy and stuck my arm out to shake his hand, but instead he took my hand, pulled it to his mouth, and delicately kissed it. Like a practiced flirt, he had no shame as his eyes surveyed me.
“Try to stay out of trouble, girls.” He grinned his warning at me and held onto my hand a little longer than necessary as Amelia pulled me into the bar.
Iron City has the industrial, warehouse feel you’d expect, given the name of the place. The floors are cold concrete and the ceiling is completely exposed with pipes and ducts dropping down beside high hanging fluorescent lighting. The bar itself, which takes up the entire left wall has no stools, just the words, “LOADING ZONE” stamped in construction yellow across the floor. The wall behind the bar is dark brick, with endless steel shelves holding various bottles of liquor. At the end of the bar are concrete stairs with steel handrails leading up to the second-floor overlook, which, while small, gives the perfect view of the vintage stage that takes up the entire back wall of the club. If we’d gotten there early enough, which obviously we hadn’t, we’d have been able to actually sit down in one of the long eight-seater steel tables with the backless leather barstools.
The place was packed. This is always fun since I’m too short to see over the crowd. Our method of choice is to find the biggest guy going in the direction we want to go in, grab on to him, and let him carve a path through the crowd. As per protocol, off to the bar we went, our guide leading the way.
“Two vodka and Red Bulls please,” Amelia yelled over the hard rock music that Iron City is known for.
“Before you say it, don’t! You can afford to live a little tonight,” Amelia shouted before I could interject.
“Here’s to you, my love!” she shouted over the noise, and she held up her drink. “You may be leaving me for Providence, but you’d better believe I’ll be joining you in a year! Then we can get our apartment, find rich Ivy League husbands and live happily ever after,” she insisted with a toothy grin.
“I’ll drink to that! But enough with the talk of me leaving! We have two months before I go, and we’re gonna make the most of it!”
Generally speaking, Amelia hadn’t been able to talk much about me leaving for school in Providence without tearing up. Our plan had been to go together, but when her uncle got sick our grandiose ideations had taken a backseat.
Before I could think much more about it, we made our way toward the stage, just in time to hear them introduce the next act. In places like this it’s hard to hear much of anything, but I was able to make out the band they were introducing. The nerd in me appreciated the name: The Metalloids.
The room was so thick with smoke that you could cut the air with a knife, but when I saw four guys walk out on stage, my eyes immediately went to one in particular. My jaw dropped when I saw it was Jameson.
The romantic in me quickly noted that I could now add bassist to his list of sexy attributes. With the lights and the number of people in the crowd I doubted very seriously that he was able to recognize me. Occasionally, I would look his way and our eyes would meet. Then again, maybe he was just staring off into the crowd and not really seeing me. He looked better than I’d remembered. Maybe it was the musician side of him I found so appealing, or maybe it was just him, but there is nothing quite like seeing someone completely in their element. It was pretty obvious he belonged on that stage. Some of the songs they played were covers, so we sang along with the ones we knew, and danced to the ones we didn’t. Before I knew it, Jeremy was bringing us more vodka and Red Bulls.
“Thanks, Jeremy!” Amelia hugged him, but he didn’t take his eyes off me.
“Now, why is it Amelia here gives me a hug for a thank you, but all I get from you is a smile?”
He winked, and my look of betrayal immediately landed on Amelia.
“I didn’t tell him!” she laughed, innocently holding her hands in the air.
I looked back at Jeremy who was looking at me with a confused expression, and from the corner of my eye I could make out Amelia grinning. She was perpetually trying to hook me up with a random someone.
“Thank you, Jeremy.” I smiled up at him and went in for the asexual side hug, but he quickly grabbed me by my hips and slid me around so I was giving him a full on frontal hug, while his fingers played across the delicate bare skin of my sides. Okay, so he smelled good, I’ll give him that.
Once again, he held on to me a little longer than necessary before he let me go, still keeping ahold of my hand. He leaned down to talk to me, but to be heard over the music he had to put his face pretty much against the side of mine.
“I gotta get back to work. I’ll talk to you a little later?”
“Yeah, we’ll be here,” I said, putting a little distance between us.
I’m not sure why but something felt off and it wasn’t until I looked at the stage that I figured out what it was. There was Jameson, glaring a hole through Jeremy’s head. Kinda funny really, or maybe that was the vodka and Red Bull.
As soon as Jeremy left Amelia was dragging me up the concrete stairs to the second-floor overlook.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was going to be here?” I gaped.
“Must have slipped my mind.” She grinned toward the stage without looking at me.
“I’m thinking it had a little more to do with the fact that you couldn’t keep your eyes off the lead singer,” I teased.
“Speaking of lead singer…” Amelia was heading back downstairs after noticing the band was taking a break.
Usually, I have a hard time standing around by myself with nobody to talk to, but then I’m used to this sort of thing with Amelia. She is easy to entertain, and tends to make herself the center of attention wherever she is, whereas I, on the other hand, don’t always enjoy being in that kind of place.
It was then that I saw Jameson coming up the stairs toward me. Damn the grin I couldn’t get off of my face! So it wasn’t the bass that made him so sexy—it was just him.
“Becca.”
Damn, even the way he says my name is sexy!
Something about his eyes just penetrated through me and all the breath in my lungs escaped me. I could only stare.
“How have you been?” he asked.
Crap, I forgot to respond, didn’t I?
“Good, good. How you’ve been?” I shook my head back and forth. “I mean, how have you been?”
He laughed at me (again).
“Oh hey, I’ve been working on that whole winking thing,” I said reassuringly.
“So, how’s that going for you?” he laughed.
“Not well.”
Why can’t I stop grinning?
Being awkward has its downsides, but at least drunken awkward wouldn’t hit me until later.
“You look beautiful, but then you are beautiful no matter what you are wearing. But that… that… is gorgeous.” He looked me up and down in a seriously sexy, and not at all creepy way.
“Thank you,” was all I managed. I couldn’t think of a thing to say, but, God help me, I couldn’t look away.
“So how well do you know Jeremy?” He was suddenly more serious.
“Who?” I asked with a blank expression. “Oh! Bouncer Jeremy!” I said after the realization hit me. “I don’t know him really. Amelia—you know Amelia; she knows everyone.”
The months since I’d last seen him were suddenly erased, and without fail I was right back where I’d been before—stupidly wordless and unable to stop staring. He looked the same, but different somehow. He wasn’t your traditional pretty boy, not at all. It wasn’t just his forearm tattoo that gave him more of a bad boy look, but also something about his wavy dark hair and perpetual five o’clock shadow. Effortlessly sexy. Hollister could try to create this kind of man, but nothing could compete with someone who comes by it naturally. He has the smallest hook-shaped white scar by his left eye and never have I looked at him and not had the urge to trace it with my finger. I wondered how he got it, but wherever it came from it was right to be there. It made him… him.
I wasn’t sure if it had been ten seconds or two minutes that I’d been staring at him, taking him in, and saying nothing. But suddenly I caught myself, and I was much more conscious of him staring at me, too. His eyes were drawn to my lips and to the fact that when I’m nervous, or thinking hard on something, I tend to bite down on the nail of my index finger.
“Where have you been?” I ask, with far more emotion than I intended.
He had started to open his mouth to answer my question, when we both became aware that the band’s break was over and the rest of them were on stage waiting to start their next set. Jameson just smiled and took off down the stairs, leaving me still dazed.
Abruptly needing a purpose, I made my way back down to the main throes of the club and found Amelia.
“Please tell me you are taking that boy home with you tonight!” she grinned.
Thankfully, there was no chance to acknowledge that statement because the club was officially overflowing with people.
There’s a girl code in situations like these, because with all the people there it can be difficult to even figure out who has come up behind you dancing. The responsibility then falls to the best friend to either discreetly give the thumbs up, or grab hold of your hand and pull you away from the offender. That night there wasn’t a single guy that could distract me from Jameson and his world, which was quite obviously his music.
Very quickly the place had gotten out of control and it was too much. In the chaos of so many people we had become separated from each other; Amelia ending up against the stage, while I was being pushed in the opposite direction.
The guy next to me must have spilled his drink on someone, or some other inadmissible crime, because another guy turned around and laid him out with one punch square to the jaw. I jumped back, trying to stay separate from the chaos, but like chaos often does, it spread like a wildfire.
“Becca!” Amelia yelled. “Time to go!”
She caught up with me, grabbed my hand, and led me to the door.
I looked back at the stage, disappointed that this was how the night would be ending. The only way I knew to find Jameson was if he’d be playing here again. I sent him a small wave, doubting he’d be able to see it through all the people and the smoke of the club.
https://amzn.to/2DLfiE9
Lora Logan
Chapter One
I landed on my butt with a thud, still holding the tray of food high above my head. Somehow, I managed to balance the plates which were overflowing with burgers and onion petals. The ramekin, however, hit the ground before I did, and splashed my bare legs, covering me in the sticky mayonnaise-based special sauce.
“Good save, Becca!” Amelia grabbed my tray and set it back on the counter, then held her hands out to help me up. She’s a good friend. The rest of the kitchen staff just clapped at my little display, which was most likely a slow-motion river dance style of a fall. I took a brief bow, straightened up and grabbed the tray.
“Did I just hear Jameson is back?” I leaned into Amelia and whispered the words—not everyone needed to know the reason I’d taken a swan dive across the cold tile of the kitchen floor.
“Yes, and what is it about him that makes you turn into a completely awkward”—she paused, searching for the right word—“whatever this is?” Her fingers pulled at the special sauce which was apparently caking layers of my hair together.
Mortification struck me instantaneously. “Like, tonight?!”
Not tonight, please, not tonight!
“Tonight,” she deadpanned. “You may want to think about doing something about…all this.” She motioned toward my sticky, disheveled appearance. “And, if you’ve got enough time in the bathroom, I don’t know, maybe stop acting like a crazy person.”
Despite the hard time she was currently giving me, Amelia had easily been the best part about working at Maggie’s for the past two years. At twenty-four, she was a few years older than me, and instantly became the older sister I always wanted. At five foot two and maybe a hundred pounds, she was the sweetest, wildest person I’d ever met. Half Greek and half Armenian, she was stunning on her worst day. If she was supposed to be at work at five, they told her to be there at four. She was an hour late wherever she went, but the life of the party everywhere. When I needed a good shopping partner, and had a good ten hours to spare, she was my girl.
“Ha!” I laughed bitterly as I shoved the tray of burgers at her. “Table twelve, please?”
Smiling, she accepted the tray while I hightailed it to the bathroom. She had a small point. Something about Jameson did seem to bring out every ounce of awkwardness that resided in each individual strand of my DNA.
Frantically, I pulled paper towels from the dispenser and wet them, then scrubbed them up and down my legs. Once satisfied, I looked at my reflection and was horrified to see the sauce hadn’t just managed to ricochet across my legs; I also had specks of it decorating my “Maggie’s” T-shirt.
Of course, they just had to order extra sauce!
What was my deal with Jameson anyway? Yes, he was gorgeous—strong tattooed arms, wavy, dark, wild hair, and a devilish grin. I just wanted to stare at him. Unfortunately, talking to him was much more of a challenge. As much as I didn’t want my mind to go there, it immediately flashed to the first time I’d met him—my first day at Maggie’s.
My attraction to Jameson was instantaneous. So instantaneous, in fact, that I’d felt him before I saw him. While I’d heard of that type of attraction before, I never would have believed it until I experienced it myself. I was busy straightening and re-straightening the menus at the hostess stand when something caught my attention—a dropping feeling in my stomach, and an almost anxious curiosity at who was coming around the corner. When our eyes met I thought the dropping in my stomach must have made an actual sound because he was watching me just as intently. I fidgeted nervously with my short jean shorts and the Maggie’s T-shirt, which was just a bit too tight across my chest. At least, since I wasn’t serving, I was able to keep my sandy blonde hair down, where it fell just below my shoulders, instead of having to keep it up in a sloppy ponytail.
“You new?” He gave me a sideways, disinterested glance.
“Um, yeah. I mean, I’ve worked for restaurants before…just not this one?”
Why did that last part come out like a question?
A smile etched across his face as he passed me, heading toward the front door, where he remained for the rest of the night. As a bouncer, he arrived later in the evening and checked IDs. Maggie’s was a restaurant, but after nine p.m. it was much more about the bar. There were always a few fights, and people needing to be unceremoniously taken outside. Maybe it was the way he looked, or maybe he just had a way about him, but people usually calmed down when Jameson got involved. A lot of the bouncers at Maggie’s were on the eager side when it came it getting in the middle of an altercation, but Jameson handled it differently, usually walking the offending parties outside without needing to get nasty.
Maybe I’d done a terrible job of hiding it, but Amelia picked up on the fact that I had a thing for him pretty quickly. On one particular day, she winked at him when we caught him eyeing us from his post, and I immediately complained that I wished I had as much courage as her. She never had a hard time being bold, and it was something I’d always admired about her. When she didn’t understand what I meant, I explained that the ability to wink was not something I’d been granted. When pressed, I attempted to show her what I meant. Suffice it to say, my attempt at winking at someone resulted in the nearly involuntary movement of the entire left side of my face. With my nostrils flaring and one side of my lips puckered up—it was not a pretty picture. So naturally, that would be the moment Jameson walked up to us to say something.
Whatever it was he’d planned on saying would never be known, since as soon as he saw me he laughed and headed back to his spot up front. And that is how my time with Jameson went. Often, I’d feel his eyes on me, and whenever I looked his way he’d simply wink at me and go back to work. Never once did the butterflies stop putting on a show in my belly when he was near, and despite the fact that it seemed like he felt it too, our interactions never went past a few words here and there.
By the time I worked up enough courage to have an actual conversation with him, he was gone. In an attempt to act complacent, I didn’t ask a lot of questions, but from what I heard he was busy with a rock band he was putting together.
Over the past year, the what-ifs had bothered me. Never had I felt a connection with anyone like I did with Jameson. But now, as I stood in the bathroom of Maggie’s, covered in special sauce, he was back. Would we still have that same connection? More importantly, had I gotten over whatever spell he seemed to cast over me?
Chapter Two
Somewhere in the galaxy a divine miracle or some one-hundred-and-fifty-year eclipse took place, and I managed to get cut before running into Jameson. As excited as I was to see him, I’d much prefer it to be on my own terms, with my clothing and hair free of the debris and smells of Maggie’s. Leaving early meant I had time to run home and shower before meeting Amelia at her house.
“Why exactly did I agree to get ready at your place?” I asked as I scanned her bedroom.
I’d only made it to her bedroom door before being completely overwhelmed with the mess that was Amelia preparing to go anywhere. Technically, she lived with her aunt and uncle, but they had given her the entire main floor of the house and renovated the basement to be their apartment. It even had a separate entrance, although I’m not sure why because every time I was there they were all upstairs.
Since her bedroom was the master it was impressive in size. Taking up the middle of the room was a four-poster king size bed that at that moment held more clothes than the walk-in closet.
“Hey!” She popped her head out of her en-suite bathroom.
“I’ll be ready in ten minutes.” She winked slyly and disappeared back inside.
That comment was laughable considering she still had her long thick hair up in a sloppy bun on the top of her head. I was pretty sure she’d never walked to her mailbox without straightening her hair, let alone actually go out for the evening.
We spent the next twenty minutes searching for the perfect black bra to wear under her other black bra. Apparently, for the less endowed, there is an art to wearing two bras to maximize cleavage. This isn’t the type of thing I’ve ever had to worry about being that I was a big C—okay, D—by my freshman year in high school.
“Why don’t you pick out something of mine to wear?” She looked me up and down with disapproval.
“Milly!” I only called her that when she was really getting on my nerves. Mostly because one of our previous managers at Maggie’s was named Milly, and she’d been a flaming bitch, but also because four syllables is too many when you’re trying to yell at someone in exasperation. “Seriously?” I looked down at the outfit I’d spent twenty minutes picking out. “It’s midnight, and I have two feet and twenty pounds on your skinny behind. Let’s go!”
Thirty minutes later I looked at my reflection in her full-length mirror and conceded that I seriously needed to listen to her more often. If there’s one thing I can pull off it’s a mini-skirt, and I felt good in this gold sparkly one, teamed with a white low-cut top with spaghetti straps. The real winner was the shoes. Aren’t they always? Three inches taller is a lot of fun—before you start drinking, of course.
“So… did Jameson show tonight?” I looked away from her as soon as the words left my mouth. I didn’t have to see her to know she’d been waiting this entire time for me to bring him up.
“Yeah, just after you left, you big freaking chicken!” She laughed while nudging me with her elbow. “He was looking all over for you, too.”
“Shut up! He wasn’t!” As much as I’d have liked to believe that was the case, I wasn’t falling for her teasing.
“Mmm hmm… I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
What was that supposed to mean?
Chapter Three
It was after one a.m. by the time we pulled into the garage and made our way to Iron City, Over-The-Rhine’s newest reinvention. This area used to be a real dump, but with years of work the city had really started to bring back what once was the “new New York”. I wouldn’t walk around this place by myself, but generally speaking it’s the ones involved in drug deals who end up getting shot.
“Milly! Line!” As usual, she was dragging me to the front, bypassing everyone patiently waiting to get in.
I swear she has more energy than the Energizer Bunny. Despite her short black dress and three-inch heels, she led me through the crowd, her hair swaying back and forth with her excited gait.
“Hey, Jeremy!” Amelia skipped toward the bouncer and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Jeremy looked just as you’d expect a bouncer to look like in the newest swank club in the area—dark, smoldering eyes, and lips which held no smile until Amelia made her way to him. Dressed in black dress pants and a long sleeve collared black shirt, it was pretty obvious he was not someone to fuck with. Aside from his arms and shoulders attempting to bust from his sleeves, he also had that intimidating thousand-yard stare.
“Jeremy this is Becca. Becca, Jeremy.” Amelia motioned excitedly between the two of us.
I nodded at Jeremy and stuck my arm out to shake his hand, but instead he took my hand, pulled it to his mouth, and delicately kissed it. Like a practiced flirt, he had no shame as his eyes surveyed me.
“Try to stay out of trouble, girls.” He grinned his warning at me and held onto my hand a little longer than necessary as Amelia pulled me into the bar.
Iron City has the industrial, warehouse feel you’d expect, given the name of the place. The floors are cold concrete and the ceiling is completely exposed with pipes and ducts dropping down beside high hanging fluorescent lighting. The bar itself, which takes up the entire left wall has no stools, just the words, “LOADING ZONE” stamped in construction yellow across the floor. The wall behind the bar is dark brick, with endless steel shelves holding various bottles of liquor. At the end of the bar are concrete stairs with steel handrails leading up to the second-floor overlook, which, while small, gives the perfect view of the vintage stage that takes up the entire back wall of the club. If we’d gotten there early enough, which obviously we hadn’t, we’d have been able to actually sit down in one of the long eight-seater steel tables with the backless leather barstools.
The place was packed. This is always fun since I’m too short to see over the crowd. Our method of choice is to find the biggest guy going in the direction we want to go in, grab on to him, and let him carve a path through the crowd. As per protocol, off to the bar we went, our guide leading the way.
“Two vodka and Red Bulls please,” Amelia yelled over the hard rock music that Iron City is known for.
“Before you say it, don’t! You can afford to live a little tonight,” Amelia shouted before I could interject.
“Here’s to you, my love!” she shouted over the noise, and she held up her drink. “You may be leaving me for Providence, but you’d better believe I’ll be joining you in a year! Then we can get our apartment, find rich Ivy League husbands and live happily ever after,” she insisted with a toothy grin.
“I’ll drink to that! But enough with the talk of me leaving! We have two months before I go, and we’re gonna make the most of it!”
Generally speaking, Amelia hadn’t been able to talk much about me leaving for school in Providence without tearing up. Our plan had been to go together, but when her uncle got sick our grandiose ideations had taken a backseat.
Before I could think much more about it, we made our way toward the stage, just in time to hear them introduce the next act. In places like this it’s hard to hear much of anything, but I was able to make out the band they were introducing. The nerd in me appreciated the name: The Metalloids.
The room was so thick with smoke that you could cut the air with a knife, but when I saw four guys walk out on stage, my eyes immediately went to one in particular. My jaw dropped when I saw it was Jameson.
The romantic in me quickly noted that I could now add bassist to his list of sexy attributes. With the lights and the number of people in the crowd I doubted very seriously that he was able to recognize me. Occasionally, I would look his way and our eyes would meet. Then again, maybe he was just staring off into the crowd and not really seeing me. He looked better than I’d remembered. Maybe it was the musician side of him I found so appealing, or maybe it was just him, but there is nothing quite like seeing someone completely in their element. It was pretty obvious he belonged on that stage. Some of the songs they played were covers, so we sang along with the ones we knew, and danced to the ones we didn’t. Before I knew it, Jeremy was bringing us more vodka and Red Bulls.
“Thanks, Jeremy!” Amelia hugged him, but he didn’t take his eyes off me.
“Now, why is it Amelia here gives me a hug for a thank you, but all I get from you is a smile?”
He winked, and my look of betrayal immediately landed on Amelia.
“I didn’t tell him!” she laughed, innocently holding her hands in the air.
I looked back at Jeremy who was looking at me with a confused expression, and from the corner of my eye I could make out Amelia grinning. She was perpetually trying to hook me up with a random someone.
“Thank you, Jeremy.” I smiled up at him and went in for the asexual side hug, but he quickly grabbed me by my hips and slid me around so I was giving him a full on frontal hug, while his fingers played across the delicate bare skin of my sides. Okay, so he smelled good, I’ll give him that.
Once again, he held on to me a little longer than necessary before he let me go, still keeping ahold of my hand. He leaned down to talk to me, but to be heard over the music he had to put his face pretty much against the side of mine.
“I gotta get back to work. I’ll talk to you a little later?”
“Yeah, we’ll be here,” I said, putting a little distance between us.
I’m not sure why but something felt off and it wasn’t until I looked at the stage that I figured out what it was. There was Jameson, glaring a hole through Jeremy’s head. Kinda funny really, or maybe that was the vodka and Red Bull.
As soon as Jeremy left Amelia was dragging me up the concrete stairs to the second-floor overlook.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was going to be here?” I gaped.
“Must have slipped my mind.” She grinned toward the stage without looking at me.
“I’m thinking it had a little more to do with the fact that you couldn’t keep your eyes off the lead singer,” I teased.
“Speaking of lead singer…” Amelia was heading back downstairs after noticing the band was taking a break.
Usually, I have a hard time standing around by myself with nobody to talk to, but then I’m used to this sort of thing with Amelia. She is easy to entertain, and tends to make herself the center of attention wherever she is, whereas I, on the other hand, don’t always enjoy being in that kind of place.
It was then that I saw Jameson coming up the stairs toward me. Damn the grin I couldn’t get off of my face! So it wasn’t the bass that made him so sexy—it was just him.
“Becca.”
Damn, even the way he says my name is sexy!
Something about his eyes just penetrated through me and all the breath in my lungs escaped me. I could only stare.
“How have you been?” he asked.
Crap, I forgot to respond, didn’t I?
“Good, good. How you’ve been?” I shook my head back and forth. “I mean, how have you been?”
He laughed at me (again).
“Oh hey, I’ve been working on that whole winking thing,” I said reassuringly.
“So, how’s that going for you?” he laughed.
“Not well.”
Why can’t I stop grinning?
Being awkward has its downsides, but at least drunken awkward wouldn’t hit me until later.
“You look beautiful, but then you are beautiful no matter what you are wearing. But that… that… is gorgeous.” He looked me up and down in a seriously sexy, and not at all creepy way.
“Thank you,” was all I managed. I couldn’t think of a thing to say, but, God help me, I couldn’t look away.
“So how well do you know Jeremy?” He was suddenly more serious.
“Who?” I asked with a blank expression. “Oh! Bouncer Jeremy!” I said after the realization hit me. “I don’t know him really. Amelia—you know Amelia; she knows everyone.”
The months since I’d last seen him were suddenly erased, and without fail I was right back where I’d been before—stupidly wordless and unable to stop staring. He looked the same, but different somehow. He wasn’t your traditional pretty boy, not at all. It wasn’t just his forearm tattoo that gave him more of a bad boy look, but also something about his wavy dark hair and perpetual five o’clock shadow. Effortlessly sexy. Hollister could try to create this kind of man, but nothing could compete with someone who comes by it naturally. He has the smallest hook-shaped white scar by his left eye and never have I looked at him and not had the urge to trace it with my finger. I wondered how he got it, but wherever it came from it was right to be there. It made him… him.
I wasn’t sure if it had been ten seconds or two minutes that I’d been staring at him, taking him in, and saying nothing. But suddenly I caught myself, and I was much more conscious of him staring at me, too. His eyes were drawn to my lips and to the fact that when I’m nervous, or thinking hard on something, I tend to bite down on the nail of my index finger.
“Where have you been?” I ask, with far more emotion than I intended.
He had started to open his mouth to answer my question, when we both became aware that the band’s break was over and the rest of them were on stage waiting to start their next set. Jameson just smiled and took off down the stairs, leaving me still dazed.
Abruptly needing a purpose, I made my way back down to the main throes of the club and found Amelia.
“Please tell me you are taking that boy home with you tonight!” she grinned.
Thankfully, there was no chance to acknowledge that statement because the club was officially overflowing with people.
There’s a girl code in situations like these, because with all the people there it can be difficult to even figure out who has come up behind you dancing. The responsibility then falls to the best friend to either discreetly give the thumbs up, or grab hold of your hand and pull you away from the offender. That night there wasn’t a single guy that could distract me from Jameson and his world, which was quite obviously his music.
Very quickly the place had gotten out of control and it was too much. In the chaos of so many people we had become separated from each other; Amelia ending up against the stage, while I was being pushed in the opposite direction.
The guy next to me must have spilled his drink on someone, or some other inadmissible crime, because another guy turned around and laid him out with one punch square to the jaw. I jumped back, trying to stay separate from the chaos, but like chaos often does, it spread like a wildfire.
“Becca!” Amelia yelled. “Time to go!”
She caught up with me, grabbed my hand, and led me to the door.
I looked back at the stage, disappointed that this was how the night would be ending. The only way I knew to find Jameson was if he’d be playing here again. I sent him a small wave, doubting he’d be able to see it through all the people and the smoke of the club.
Her Sister’s Keeper
Her Sister’s Keeper
https://amzn.to/2rpmrCK
Leslie McKelvey
Chapter One
A woman’s terrified scream pierced the still night air. Juliet Hall stutter-stepped and went absolutely still. Then she chuckled when she realized the unearthly wail had come from the TV, which sat close to the partially opened window inside the quaint bungalow she shared with her sister, Cassie. She saw the telltale bluish light from halfway down the front walk and heard the melodramatic music that was typical background noise for the ending credits of most horror movies.
“Probably watching Friday the 13th again,” she muttered. “I love you, Cass, but your taste in films is deplorable.”
She sighed softly as she mounted the three narrow porch steps to the cottage. The porch light was out, but the bulb had been flickering when she’d left. Another incandescent gone to an early grave. Memo to self, ask Mr. Hobbs to use a fluorescent next time, or spring for one on your own. Juliet pulled her keys from her purse and opened the screen door.
She moved to insert the key and the door whispered open with nary a sound. Juliet froze. An icy claw materialized inside her chest cavity and sharp talons seized her lungs, holding them captive and refusing to give even an inch. The light in the tiny living room was on, casting barely enough light to override the glow from the TV. She paused on the threshold, unmoving and silent, and when nothing jumped out at her those invisible, iron-like fingers released their hold enough for her to draw in a ragged breath. Her heart thumped uncomfortably and a flash of anger warmed her.
“Cassie.” She pushed the door open and stepped into the foyer, such as it was. In front of her was the narrow staircase that led up to the two bedrooms and the one full bath. To the right of the staircase was the hall that led back to the kitchen and half bath. To the left of the stairs through an arch constructed during the time her mother had been a tot was the living room. From here all seemed normal, quiet, but normal. Her anger sputtered. Juliet took another breath then closed and locked the door.
“Cassie, you left the door unlocked again. How many times must we go over this?”
She moved to the foot of the stairs and looked up, but the second level was dark. A glance down the hall revealed none of the telltale light beneath the swinging door that led to their closet of a kitchen. Chills fanned over her skin and her pulse picked up several notches. She strained to hear something, anything over the steadily increasing beat of her heart.
“In local news, a Seattle man is in custody for . . . .”
Juliet tuned that out. After the noise of the bistro the cottage was quiet, suddenly too quiet, creepy quiet. Cassie hadn’t been feeling well, which was why Juliet had taken her shift at the restaurant, but her sister didn’t have laryngitis or anything that would compromise her vocal abilities. No, those she possessed in spades, most often to Juliet’s dismay and embarrassment. And the fact that the TV was on and Cassie wasn’t sitting in front of it was odd. Reruns of the sitcom, Friends, came on at 11:00 p.m., and Cassie never missed an episode. Even though the show had ended years ago, her sister was still hopelessly in love with Matthew Perry.
“Okay, Cass, this isn’t funny anymore.” She walked down the narrow hall and through the ancient kitchen door, the hinges moving nearly silently as she flicked on the light. The bungalow had been built in the 1950s, but her landlord was a meticulous man who was quick to respond to any sort of issue with the aging cottage, even squeaky hinges they hadn’t complained about. Once in the kitchen a sharp, metallic, singed smell assaulted her nostrils and anger flared back to life when she saw the blue flames beneath the tea kettle. The fact it wasn’t whistling told her it was empty, yet the stove continued to burn, gray skeins of smoke curling lazily from the spout and beneath the dented, metal lid. Juliet turned off the burner and turned on the vent fan. “Damn it, Cassie. Are you trying to burn the place down?”
The kitchen had two doors, the one that led in from the hall and the other that opened into a small breakfast nook connected to the living room by another graceful wooden archway. The first level of the two-story cottage was basically an oval, with the stairs at the center. Juliet stuck her head through the opposite door and looked around, but the eating area and the living room were empty. With an irritated huff she retraced her steps and mounted the stairs.
When her sneaker-clad foot hit the fourth step it slipped and she shot a hand out to grip the banister, barely preventing a tumble back from whence she’d come. “What the hell?” She looked down at the polished wood. There was a dark splotch on the sturdy oak and in the residual light from the lamp in the living room it looked like chocolate syrup. First the door, now this. Heat expanded inside her chest and she didn’t bother to hide the irritation in her voice.
“C’mon, Cassie, we agreed no food upstairs. We just got rid of the mice!”
Juliet backed up a step and reached for the switch that would illuminate the second floor landing and thereby the stairs. Nothing. Her anger receded a tiny bit and apprehension shivered through her like a dark mist. She knew it was ridiculous, she’d seen it done a thousand times in movies and had rolled her eyes, yet she couldn’t stop herself from flipping the switch several more times. Nope, you got it right the first time. The light doesn’t work.
That dark mist of apprehension solidified a little, cold tentacles forming and searching through her midsection with icy, menacing intent. She clutched a hand to her stomach, as if by doing so she could dissipate the chill gathering and expanding there. Reaching into her purse she retrieved a miniature flashlight and although the light was small, the illumination it gave off was not. The bright, glaringly white glow from the LED sent shadows scurrying out of the way. It also showed her that it was not chocolate syrup on the stairs.
The dark coldness inside her went from fog-like to a solid mass in less than a heartbeat, encasing her heart and lungs. Her eyelids fluttered as she bent down and touched trembling fingers to the sticky, crimson smear bearing the pattern of the sole of her shoe. She looked up several steps and nausea roiled when she saw more of the same. Her diaphragm spasmed, forcefully expelling her pent up breath. She dropped the light and her purse, fear surging through her. Taking the steps two at a time she raced to the second floor, following the blood trail.
“Cassie!”
Juliet crashed through Cassie’s door, but the room was empty. Her clothes were scattered about, as they always were, and her bed was unmade. Nothing looked amiss, but something was dreadfully wrong. Juliet could feel it, and it was a feeling that was all too familiar. Panic rose, followed by nausea.
“Answer me, Cass!” she called as she flew to the bathroom. The image of Cassie taking a relaxing bubble bath with her headphones on made hope burst in her chest. Cassie could have cut herself shaving, which would explain the blood on the stairs since they kept the first aid kit in the kitchen where it was most often needed. If that was the case she’d first kiss her sister, then throw her damned cell phone and earbuds into the water, and forbid her to ever shave her legs again.
When the bathroom, too, proved empty the wave of reality and dread that stormed over her almost buckled her knees. Juliet braced a hand against the doorframe and stared at the only other door, her bedroom door. That was when she noticed the pale, golden glow barely escaping through the narrow crack beneath the panel. It was too faint to be incandescent or even fluorescent, but she knew what it was, and she knew it shouldn’t be there.
Despair rose up in her and tears formed as a pained, whispered, “No,” escaped her. She took a step and her legs trembled. The light coming from under the door flickered and she gripped the stair railing, her muscles refusing to move. What if he was still here?
Deal with it, Juliet, she told herself. You’ve always been the strong one. Now is NOT the time to chicken out. There’s still a chance . . . .
Juliet closed her eyes, her lungs struggling to expand against the ever-tightening band of terror winding around them. Her chest was painfully taut, her heart drumming against her sternum in wild staccato. She started when she heard small, pained whimpers echoing in the hall and her head snapped first in one direction, then the other, her eyes searching frantically for the source. The soft, plaintive cries continued, and she realized they were coming from her own mouth. She pressed her lips together and held her breath. When her throat started to burn she inhaled sharply, then focused on the door and forced herself to move.
The latch hadn’t engaged so when she pressed a hand against the heavy panel it swung easily inward. Juliet froze in the doorway. She blinked several times, her brain unwilling and unable to process what she saw. When her synapses finally fired she dropped to her knees, silent sobs clogging her throat. Her jaw worked soundlessly and tears obscured her vision. Grief stormed over her like horses hooves, sharp, cutting, and relentless as she stared, unable to tear her eyes away.
“Oh, Cassie,” she whispered. “Oh, God . . . no . . . !”
In the glow from more than a dozen candles Cassie’s golden hair glittered like sunlight, her tanned skin burnished and iridescent. Those Caribbean blue eyes that were usually so full of life and laughter were focused on the ceiling, unblinking and unseeing. Juliet doubled over as the pain roared through her like a legion of chainsaws, razor-like teeth ripping mindlessly through flesh, bone, and anything else in their way. Juliet stared at her sister’s lifeless body, her eyes taking in the bound hands and ankles, the rose petals scattered over the comforter, the dark splatters on the walls and ceiling, the burgundy blood pooling on the floor beneath the mattress. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t breathe, and then she saw the words printed so neatly on the wall in what must have been Cassie’s blood.
IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU.
It was then she started screaming.
***
The sound of screeching tires drew her attention and she turned her head toward the sound. Detective Daniel Riordan flew out of the nondescript sedan outfitted with blue and red flashing lights. White hot anger boiled in her belly and exploded upwards, nearly blinding her. She launched herself from the porch.
“This is your fault!” she screamed. A nearby police officer looped an arm around her waist, but she put up such a struggle that he signaled for help. “You said he wouldn’t bother me anymore!” Tears filled her eyes and they slid down her face as she fought against the policemen. “Now Cassie is dead, and it’s your fault!” She realized the two cops weren’t going to let her go and stopped struggling, but the rage continued to seethe. “Wow. That restraining order you suggested did a great job of protecting me. Too bad it didn’t cover my sister!”
Anguish snuffed out her rage and pulled her into a whirlpool of frigid darkness. She sagged against the officers. Unfortunately, the shadows only made her last image of Cassie blaze with Technicolor clarity. The neon pink of the sheer, baby-doll negligee glowed with eerie brightness. She was naked from the waist down and her legs spread wide, each ankle tied to a bedpost. Her hands were tied in a similar fashion at the head of the double bed with colorful scarves, a wide strip of thick silver duct tape covering her mouth. Her throat had been cut from ear to ear, a wound that summoned death in less than a minute. Unfortunately, she knew Cassie’s death had not been so quick, and had probably been far more painful. Her sister’s body was an angry, bleeding roadmap of cuts and lacerations, purposely inflicted for torture’s sake alone. She sank down on the bottom step of the porch, tears obscuring her vision.
“Juliet, I’m so sorry . . . .”
She dropped her forehead onto her knees and wrapped her arms around her shins. “Just go away!” she screamed. Sharp, rending pain blossomed in her chest, as if her heart was being ripped slowly and excruciatingly down the middle. “Please . . . !” Her voice broke and sobs erupted. She heard him sigh heavily and then his footsteps took him away.
How had this happened? Why Cassie? For more than a year George Mayfield had stalked and terrorized her, but he’d barely even glanced at her sister. Even when Cassie had gotten in the man’s face it was as if she was invisible; his eyes had been for Juliet alone. The knowledge that Cassie wasn’t the first to die at Mayfield’s hands only amplified her grief. Her diaphragm contracted violently and she fought to breathe as the memory exploded into blazing, Technicolor life in her mind’s eye.
“That son of a bitch!”
Juliet glanced up from her latte and was taken aback by the anger in her sister’s usually smiling face. She followed the direction of Cassie’s gaze and her heart froze. Bright cobalt blue eyes set beneath black, slashing brows watched her with an intensity that was now familiar but still terrifying. He stood across the street, the long overcoat tailored to fit his tall, fit physique, hands clasped neatly in front of him. Most women would find his striking, James Bond-type looks desirable, but the only emotions he inspired in her were cold fear and sheer panic. The restraining order forbade him from getting within 500 yards of her, and across the street from the quaint coffee shop at Pikes’s Place Market was well within that distance. She reached for her cell phone but Cassie was already on her feet and striding toward the man.
“What are you doing here?” Cassie demanded. Mayfield didn’t even look at her and Cassie stood toe to toe with him. “Answer me, you bastard!”
A faint smile curved his mouth as he continued to look over her sister’s head. Swallowing her fear, Juliet forced her feet to move. She ran up behind Cassie and grabbed her arm but Cassie shook her off. Juliet gasped when Cassie planted both hands on Mayfield’s chest and shoved for all she was worth.
That’s what it finally took to get his attention. He stumbled backwards but quickly regained his balance. His brows rose and eyes widened in surprise, and he looked at Cassie as if she’d just materialized out of thin air. He blinked, stared at her for a few seconds, then his eyes swiveled back to Juliet and his previous expression returned. Juliet felt the blood drain from her face and her heart hit the cement.
That was the only time Mayfield had given Cassie more than a passing glance, and that had been more than three months ago. Now, he’d done more than glance at her sister. He’d killed her. Sorrow wrapped tightly around her middle and forced deeper, harder sobs from the depths of her soul.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry, Cass,” she whispered brokenly. “I’m so sorry!”
Not your fault, Juliet. At least now it doesn’t hurt anymore.
***
“You should have protected her. She was your baby sister, and she worshiped the ground you walked on! Where were you?”
Juliet stared at her mother in shock.
“Helen,” her father said, easing down on the edge of the hotel room’s king-sized bed, “that’s enough.”
“Enough?” Her mother gaped at him. “Cassie would never have come here if not for Juliet, Bill!”
Her father rose. “I said enough.”
Juliet crossed to the window of the high-rise hotel and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. She had known her mother would blame her; some things never changed. Juliet had been five when Cassie was born, and her mother had told her it was a big sister’s duty to watch out for and protect her younger sibling. Oddly, Juliet had never minded the responsibility. While growing up she had not been around enough to do much watching or protecting. Regardless, people often joked that she and Cassie were so close they were like twins born five years apart, and those people were right. She and Cassie finished each other’s sentences, they could decipher what the other thought or felt with just a look, and Juliet couldn’t remember the last time they’d fought, despite the fact they had lived and worked together for nearly four years. Grief scorched through her once more, turning her heart to ash. It was almost more than she could bear.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” she whispered. Tears burned and it felt like a cannonball had just punched through her, leaving a gaping, bleeding hole in her torso. “I’m so sorry.”
Her father stood at her back and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Juliet, this is not your fault.”
She closed her eyes. “Yes, it is, Dad.” A strangled sob escaped her and she fought not to remember. “I should have . . . sent her back to California . . . I should have . . . gotten a gun . . . done something to make sure she would be safe . . . but I never thought he’d go after her.” She covered her face with her hands. “I should never have left her alone.”
Her mother’s voice cut with the cold sharpness of a scalpel. “No, you shouldn’t have.”
“Helen.” Her father’s voice had taken on an edge that was in itself a warning.
“We’ll be taking Cassie back to San Diego,” her mother continued, as if her husband hadn’t spoken. “Say your goodbyes now, because I don’t want to see you at the funeral.”
Juliet heard her father’s sharp inhale. She turned and stared at her mother, tears blurring her vision and anguish rushing through her in jagged, radiating waves that shredded her insides.
“Mom . . . !”
“Helen, you don’t mean that.”
Her mother rose and straightened her spine, tears sliding down her cheeks as she fixed Juliet with a blistering glare. “Yes, I do. Cassie is coming home with us, and you, Juliet, are no longer welcome.”
Juliet hadn’t thought her heart could hurt anymore, but as her mother’s blue eyes bored into hers that shredding sensation grew sharper. Then she felt the freeze. She knew it was her brain’s reaction to a perceived deadly threat, but she welcomed the numbness. Still, her throat closed up and for a couple seconds she couldn’t draw breath.
A glance at her father only increased the chill. He was shocked, she recognized the anguish in his eyes, but she knew he’d never go against his wife. Her mother wore the pants in the family. She always had. If not for that fact, Juliet would probably have had a more normal upbringing. The tears fell and she wiped them away.
“I love you, Mom,” she whispered after several long, taut moments. “You, too, Dad.” She walked to the door and grasped the handle. “I’m sorry.”
More tears didn’t come, much to her surprise. Even after her parent’s hotel room door closed behind her, her eyes stayed dry. A heavy sigh escaped her and she started walking.
She hadn’t really cried since the night Cassie died. Every time she thought of her sister she got teary-eyed, but before the weeping could begin in earnest her brain seized up and choked off the waterworks. Eventually the dam would either burst or she would completely shut down, that much she was sure of. Right now the latter seemed the best option.
I’m sorry, Jules. You didn’t deserve that. I love her, but Mom can be a real bitch.
“I know, Cass,” Juliet said softly. “I know.”
This wasn’t your fault. You didn’t kill me, Mayfield did.
Now the stinging started. “I know, little sister.”
Don’t let her get to you.
“Easier said than done.”
Juliet walked to the elevator, pushed the button, and waited for the car. In movies and TV shows, it would be at this point that one or both of the misguided parents would chase her down, sorrowful and repentant. The mom and/or dad would apologize, everyone would burst into happy tears, and they’d all embrace. Roll joyful music with ending credits here. Juliet didn’t even look. Her mother wouldn’t apologize, ever, and her father might, but not here and only if her mom wasn’t watching. Juliet loved her dad, but his spine only moved in the direction her mother chose. Cassie was right. Her mom could be a bitch.
Juliet walked through the lobby of the hotel without really seeing any of it. Her brain was in tumble-dry mode, meandering, meaningless thoughts spinning to distract her from the emptiness in her soul. She made her way to the elevator that led to the parking structure, knowing Detective Riordan would follow her. Even though she’d left protective custody to see her parents, the man had stayed close. Each time they made eye contact he held her gaze for several seconds before he turned away.
In the week since Cassie’s death she had seen him often, but hadn’t spoken to him directly. The obligatory post-crime interview he’d conducted had not been pleasant for either of them. Things had left her mouth she’d never thought herself capable of saying, and once her fury was spent she hadn’t spoken again. She knew her continued silence ate at him, and even though she realized he was not to blame for her sister’s murder she couldn’t summon the will to apologize for the awful things she’d said. It just hurt too much.
The parking garage was filled with cars but there was nary a person to be seen. The sun was bright outside, not an everyday occurrence in Seattle, but the light had a difficult time penetrating the narrow open space between the thick, cement slabs. Shadows gathered in corners, between cars, overhead, and behind her like scuttling, whispering specters that shifted with her every step. It sent a shudder through her, and she wrapped her arms around herself. She looked around, eyes darting back and forth, ears alert for any sound. Maybe she should have asked Detective Riordan to follow a little closer.
Her heels tapped rhythmically on the concrete as she reached into her pocket for her keys. She needed to finish packing up the bungalow, although she wasn’t sure where she was going once she was done. Maybe she’d visit Amanda in Chicago. They had danced and lived together at the American Ballet Theater in New York until Amanda had blown out an Achilles, but they kept in contact and remained friends. Juliet knew her former roommate would help her however she could, even if that was only giving her a place to stay until she decided what she wanted to do.
A dark cloud of depression settled over her as she contemplated going back to the nearly empty cottage. Thanks to Mr. Hobbs, most of her and Cassie’s things were now in storage. What remained were personal items Juliet couldn’t bear to part with, and those had been condensed into two large cardboard boxes. A crime scene cleanup crew had finished sanitizing her former bedroom, and the smell of disinfectant and new paint now permeated the air of the quaint house. Her stomach rolled. No, she couldn’t go back there, not yet. The few, brief times she’d been there to pack up had been upsetting enough. She choked down the memories that threatened and took a deep breath as she approached her blue Camry.
Her gaze continued to sweep back and forth, searching for any sign of her nemesis. The garage appeared empty. Once she reached her car she tried to slide the key into the lock but couldn’t. She bent over to take a closer look and ice gathered in her belly. Something had been shoved into the lock. Juliet inhaled sharply and straightened.
George Mayfield stood behind her, their reflection cast in the driver’s window. Where the hell had he come from? Her heart stopped, blood freezing in her veins and fear detonating in her chest. Before she could react an arm snaked around her neck and a hand clamped over her mouth. Her scream was cut off as he squeezed her windpipe.
“Time to finish what we started, Juliet,” he hissed in her ear. “You will be the proof I need to show him, to show everyone, what I am capable of.”
For the first time since Mayfield had started harassing her Juliet went into fight mode. She brought the stiletto heel of her shoe down on Mayfield’s foot and a surge of exhilaration hit her when a pained cry escaped him. His hold on her loosened and she tried to twist away. She was unsuccessful, so she drove her elbow backwards, hitting him in the gut. A sharp exhale of breath warmed her ear and he stumbled. He fell backwards, dragging her along, more air forced out of his lungs as he collapsed and she landed on top of him. His arms fell to the side. Juliet rolled away, grabbed one of her shoes, and swung the ice-pick-like heel toward him.
He moved out of the way just before the stiletto made contact with his chest. Then another body entered the fray.
“Get out of here!” Riordan shouted. He tackled Mayfield and the two started rolling around. “Go!”
She scuttled backwards against the nearest car, her body and brain out of sync. Her brain was telling her to run but her body wouldn’t obey. She stared as they fought, her heart hammering against her sternum. Detective Riordan delivered a blow to Mayfield’s jaw, bones cracking together and echoing off the cement structure. Mayfield seemed dazed and Riordan flipped him into his stomach, jerking the man’s arms behind him. He had one of Mayfield’s hands cuffed when the detective swiveled his eyes her way. As he did, Mayfield seemed to get a second wind and began to struggle again.
“Go, Juliet!” Riordan shouted. “Get the fuck out of here!”
Her brain and body found their rhythm and she shot to her feet. Her keys lay on the ground next to the Camry. She grabbed them, ran around to the passenger side, and less than five seconds later the engine of the Toyota came to life. She jerked the shift lever into reverse, stomped on the accelerator, and shot backwards out of the parking spot. Tires squealed on the concrete, echoing eerily in the garage, and she barely avoided hitting the two wrestling men. After throwing the lever into drive her foot hit the floor and the Camry jumped forward. Without a backwards glance she sped down the ramp and out of the garage.
https://amzn.to/2rpmrCK
Leslie McKelvey
Chapter One
A woman’s terrified scream pierced the still night air. Juliet Hall stutter-stepped and went absolutely still. Then she chuckled when she realized the unearthly wail had come from the TV, which sat close to the partially opened window inside the quaint bungalow she shared with her sister, Cassie. She saw the telltale bluish light from halfway down the front walk and heard the melodramatic music that was typical background noise for the ending credits of most horror movies.
“Probably watching Friday the 13th again,” she muttered. “I love you, Cass, but your taste in films is deplorable.”
She sighed softly as she mounted the three narrow porch steps to the cottage. The porch light was out, but the bulb had been flickering when she’d left. Another incandescent gone to an early grave. Memo to self, ask Mr. Hobbs to use a fluorescent next time, or spring for one on your own. Juliet pulled her keys from her purse and opened the screen door.
She moved to insert the key and the door whispered open with nary a sound. Juliet froze. An icy claw materialized inside her chest cavity and sharp talons seized her lungs, holding them captive and refusing to give even an inch. The light in the tiny living room was on, casting barely enough light to override the glow from the TV. She paused on the threshold, unmoving and silent, and when nothing jumped out at her those invisible, iron-like fingers released their hold enough for her to draw in a ragged breath. Her heart thumped uncomfortably and a flash of anger warmed her.
“Cassie.” She pushed the door open and stepped into the foyer, such as it was. In front of her was the narrow staircase that led up to the two bedrooms and the one full bath. To the right of the staircase was the hall that led back to the kitchen and half bath. To the left of the stairs through an arch constructed during the time her mother had been a tot was the living room. From here all seemed normal, quiet, but normal. Her anger sputtered. Juliet took another breath then closed and locked the door.
“Cassie, you left the door unlocked again. How many times must we go over this?”
She moved to the foot of the stairs and looked up, but the second level was dark. A glance down the hall revealed none of the telltale light beneath the swinging door that led to their closet of a kitchen. Chills fanned over her skin and her pulse picked up several notches. She strained to hear something, anything over the steadily increasing beat of her heart.
“In local news, a Seattle man is in custody for . . . .”
Juliet tuned that out. After the noise of the bistro the cottage was quiet, suddenly too quiet, creepy quiet. Cassie hadn’t been feeling well, which was why Juliet had taken her shift at the restaurant, but her sister didn’t have laryngitis or anything that would compromise her vocal abilities. No, those she possessed in spades, most often to Juliet’s dismay and embarrassment. And the fact that the TV was on and Cassie wasn’t sitting in front of it was odd. Reruns of the sitcom, Friends, came on at 11:00 p.m., and Cassie never missed an episode. Even though the show had ended years ago, her sister was still hopelessly in love with Matthew Perry.
“Okay, Cass, this isn’t funny anymore.” She walked down the narrow hall and through the ancient kitchen door, the hinges moving nearly silently as she flicked on the light. The bungalow had been built in the 1950s, but her landlord was a meticulous man who was quick to respond to any sort of issue with the aging cottage, even squeaky hinges they hadn’t complained about. Once in the kitchen a sharp, metallic, singed smell assaulted her nostrils and anger flared back to life when she saw the blue flames beneath the tea kettle. The fact it wasn’t whistling told her it was empty, yet the stove continued to burn, gray skeins of smoke curling lazily from the spout and beneath the dented, metal lid. Juliet turned off the burner and turned on the vent fan. “Damn it, Cassie. Are you trying to burn the place down?”
The kitchen had two doors, the one that led in from the hall and the other that opened into a small breakfast nook connected to the living room by another graceful wooden archway. The first level of the two-story cottage was basically an oval, with the stairs at the center. Juliet stuck her head through the opposite door and looked around, but the eating area and the living room were empty. With an irritated huff she retraced her steps and mounted the stairs.
When her sneaker-clad foot hit the fourth step it slipped and she shot a hand out to grip the banister, barely preventing a tumble back from whence she’d come. “What the hell?” She looked down at the polished wood. There was a dark splotch on the sturdy oak and in the residual light from the lamp in the living room it looked like chocolate syrup. First the door, now this. Heat expanded inside her chest and she didn’t bother to hide the irritation in her voice.
“C’mon, Cassie, we agreed no food upstairs. We just got rid of the mice!”
Juliet backed up a step and reached for the switch that would illuminate the second floor landing and thereby the stairs. Nothing. Her anger receded a tiny bit and apprehension shivered through her like a dark mist. She knew it was ridiculous, she’d seen it done a thousand times in movies and had rolled her eyes, yet she couldn’t stop herself from flipping the switch several more times. Nope, you got it right the first time. The light doesn’t work.
That dark mist of apprehension solidified a little, cold tentacles forming and searching through her midsection with icy, menacing intent. She clutched a hand to her stomach, as if by doing so she could dissipate the chill gathering and expanding there. Reaching into her purse she retrieved a miniature flashlight and although the light was small, the illumination it gave off was not. The bright, glaringly white glow from the LED sent shadows scurrying out of the way. It also showed her that it was not chocolate syrup on the stairs.
The dark coldness inside her went from fog-like to a solid mass in less than a heartbeat, encasing her heart and lungs. Her eyelids fluttered as she bent down and touched trembling fingers to the sticky, crimson smear bearing the pattern of the sole of her shoe. She looked up several steps and nausea roiled when she saw more of the same. Her diaphragm spasmed, forcefully expelling her pent up breath. She dropped the light and her purse, fear surging through her. Taking the steps two at a time she raced to the second floor, following the blood trail.
“Cassie!”
Juliet crashed through Cassie’s door, but the room was empty. Her clothes were scattered about, as they always were, and her bed was unmade. Nothing looked amiss, but something was dreadfully wrong. Juliet could feel it, and it was a feeling that was all too familiar. Panic rose, followed by nausea.
“Answer me, Cass!” she called as she flew to the bathroom. The image of Cassie taking a relaxing bubble bath with her headphones on made hope burst in her chest. Cassie could have cut herself shaving, which would explain the blood on the stairs since they kept the first aid kit in the kitchen where it was most often needed. If that was the case she’d first kiss her sister, then throw her damned cell phone and earbuds into the water, and forbid her to ever shave her legs again.
When the bathroom, too, proved empty the wave of reality and dread that stormed over her almost buckled her knees. Juliet braced a hand against the doorframe and stared at the only other door, her bedroom door. That was when she noticed the pale, golden glow barely escaping through the narrow crack beneath the panel. It was too faint to be incandescent or even fluorescent, but she knew what it was, and she knew it shouldn’t be there.
Despair rose up in her and tears formed as a pained, whispered, “No,” escaped her. She took a step and her legs trembled. The light coming from under the door flickered and she gripped the stair railing, her muscles refusing to move. What if he was still here?
Deal with it, Juliet, she told herself. You’ve always been the strong one. Now is NOT the time to chicken out. There’s still a chance . . . .
Juliet closed her eyes, her lungs struggling to expand against the ever-tightening band of terror winding around them. Her chest was painfully taut, her heart drumming against her sternum in wild staccato. She started when she heard small, pained whimpers echoing in the hall and her head snapped first in one direction, then the other, her eyes searching frantically for the source. The soft, plaintive cries continued, and she realized they were coming from her own mouth. She pressed her lips together and held her breath. When her throat started to burn she inhaled sharply, then focused on the door and forced herself to move.
The latch hadn’t engaged so when she pressed a hand against the heavy panel it swung easily inward. Juliet froze in the doorway. She blinked several times, her brain unwilling and unable to process what she saw. When her synapses finally fired she dropped to her knees, silent sobs clogging her throat. Her jaw worked soundlessly and tears obscured her vision. Grief stormed over her like horses hooves, sharp, cutting, and relentless as she stared, unable to tear her eyes away.
“Oh, Cassie,” she whispered. “Oh, God . . . no . . . !”
In the glow from more than a dozen candles Cassie’s golden hair glittered like sunlight, her tanned skin burnished and iridescent. Those Caribbean blue eyes that were usually so full of life and laughter were focused on the ceiling, unblinking and unseeing. Juliet doubled over as the pain roared through her like a legion of chainsaws, razor-like teeth ripping mindlessly through flesh, bone, and anything else in their way. Juliet stared at her sister’s lifeless body, her eyes taking in the bound hands and ankles, the rose petals scattered over the comforter, the dark splatters on the walls and ceiling, the burgundy blood pooling on the floor beneath the mattress. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t breathe, and then she saw the words printed so neatly on the wall in what must have been Cassie’s blood.
IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU.
It was then she started screaming.
***
The sound of screeching tires drew her attention and she turned her head toward the sound. Detective Daniel Riordan flew out of the nondescript sedan outfitted with blue and red flashing lights. White hot anger boiled in her belly and exploded upwards, nearly blinding her. She launched herself from the porch.
“This is your fault!” she screamed. A nearby police officer looped an arm around her waist, but she put up such a struggle that he signaled for help. “You said he wouldn’t bother me anymore!” Tears filled her eyes and they slid down her face as she fought against the policemen. “Now Cassie is dead, and it’s your fault!” She realized the two cops weren’t going to let her go and stopped struggling, but the rage continued to seethe. “Wow. That restraining order you suggested did a great job of protecting me. Too bad it didn’t cover my sister!”
Anguish snuffed out her rage and pulled her into a whirlpool of frigid darkness. She sagged against the officers. Unfortunately, the shadows only made her last image of Cassie blaze with Technicolor clarity. The neon pink of the sheer, baby-doll negligee glowed with eerie brightness. She was naked from the waist down and her legs spread wide, each ankle tied to a bedpost. Her hands were tied in a similar fashion at the head of the double bed with colorful scarves, a wide strip of thick silver duct tape covering her mouth. Her throat had been cut from ear to ear, a wound that summoned death in less than a minute. Unfortunately, she knew Cassie’s death had not been so quick, and had probably been far more painful. Her sister’s body was an angry, bleeding roadmap of cuts and lacerations, purposely inflicted for torture’s sake alone. She sank down on the bottom step of the porch, tears obscuring her vision.
“Juliet, I’m so sorry . . . .”
She dropped her forehead onto her knees and wrapped her arms around her shins. “Just go away!” she screamed. Sharp, rending pain blossomed in her chest, as if her heart was being ripped slowly and excruciatingly down the middle. “Please . . . !” Her voice broke and sobs erupted. She heard him sigh heavily and then his footsteps took him away.
How had this happened? Why Cassie? For more than a year George Mayfield had stalked and terrorized her, but he’d barely even glanced at her sister. Even when Cassie had gotten in the man’s face it was as if she was invisible; his eyes had been for Juliet alone. The knowledge that Cassie wasn’t the first to die at Mayfield’s hands only amplified her grief. Her diaphragm contracted violently and she fought to breathe as the memory exploded into blazing, Technicolor life in her mind’s eye.
“That son of a bitch!”
Juliet glanced up from her latte and was taken aback by the anger in her sister’s usually smiling face. She followed the direction of Cassie’s gaze and her heart froze. Bright cobalt blue eyes set beneath black, slashing brows watched her with an intensity that was now familiar but still terrifying. He stood across the street, the long overcoat tailored to fit his tall, fit physique, hands clasped neatly in front of him. Most women would find his striking, James Bond-type looks desirable, but the only emotions he inspired in her were cold fear and sheer panic. The restraining order forbade him from getting within 500 yards of her, and across the street from the quaint coffee shop at Pikes’s Place Market was well within that distance. She reached for her cell phone but Cassie was already on her feet and striding toward the man.
“What are you doing here?” Cassie demanded. Mayfield didn’t even look at her and Cassie stood toe to toe with him. “Answer me, you bastard!”
A faint smile curved his mouth as he continued to look over her sister’s head. Swallowing her fear, Juliet forced her feet to move. She ran up behind Cassie and grabbed her arm but Cassie shook her off. Juliet gasped when Cassie planted both hands on Mayfield’s chest and shoved for all she was worth.
That’s what it finally took to get his attention. He stumbled backwards but quickly regained his balance. His brows rose and eyes widened in surprise, and he looked at Cassie as if she’d just materialized out of thin air. He blinked, stared at her for a few seconds, then his eyes swiveled back to Juliet and his previous expression returned. Juliet felt the blood drain from her face and her heart hit the cement.
That was the only time Mayfield had given Cassie more than a passing glance, and that had been more than three months ago. Now, he’d done more than glance at her sister. He’d killed her. Sorrow wrapped tightly around her middle and forced deeper, harder sobs from the depths of her soul.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry, Cass,” she whispered brokenly. “I’m so sorry!”
Not your fault, Juliet. At least now it doesn’t hurt anymore.
***
“You should have protected her. She was your baby sister, and she worshiped the ground you walked on! Where were you?”
Juliet stared at her mother in shock.
“Helen,” her father said, easing down on the edge of the hotel room’s king-sized bed, “that’s enough.”
“Enough?” Her mother gaped at him. “Cassie would never have come here if not for Juliet, Bill!”
Her father rose. “I said enough.”
Juliet crossed to the window of the high-rise hotel and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. She had known her mother would blame her; some things never changed. Juliet had been five when Cassie was born, and her mother had told her it was a big sister’s duty to watch out for and protect her younger sibling. Oddly, Juliet had never minded the responsibility. While growing up she had not been around enough to do much watching or protecting. Regardless, people often joked that she and Cassie were so close they were like twins born five years apart, and those people were right. She and Cassie finished each other’s sentences, they could decipher what the other thought or felt with just a look, and Juliet couldn’t remember the last time they’d fought, despite the fact they had lived and worked together for nearly four years. Grief scorched through her once more, turning her heart to ash. It was almost more than she could bear.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” she whispered. Tears burned and it felt like a cannonball had just punched through her, leaving a gaping, bleeding hole in her torso. “I’m so sorry.”
Her father stood at her back and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Juliet, this is not your fault.”
She closed her eyes. “Yes, it is, Dad.” A strangled sob escaped her and she fought not to remember. “I should have . . . sent her back to California . . . I should have . . . gotten a gun . . . done something to make sure she would be safe . . . but I never thought he’d go after her.” She covered her face with her hands. “I should never have left her alone.”
Her mother’s voice cut with the cold sharpness of a scalpel. “No, you shouldn’t have.”
“Helen.” Her father’s voice had taken on an edge that was in itself a warning.
“We’ll be taking Cassie back to San Diego,” her mother continued, as if her husband hadn’t spoken. “Say your goodbyes now, because I don’t want to see you at the funeral.”
Juliet heard her father’s sharp inhale. She turned and stared at her mother, tears blurring her vision and anguish rushing through her in jagged, radiating waves that shredded her insides.
“Mom . . . !”
“Helen, you don’t mean that.”
Her mother rose and straightened her spine, tears sliding down her cheeks as she fixed Juliet with a blistering glare. “Yes, I do. Cassie is coming home with us, and you, Juliet, are no longer welcome.”
Juliet hadn’t thought her heart could hurt anymore, but as her mother’s blue eyes bored into hers that shredding sensation grew sharper. Then she felt the freeze. She knew it was her brain’s reaction to a perceived deadly threat, but she welcomed the numbness. Still, her throat closed up and for a couple seconds she couldn’t draw breath.
A glance at her father only increased the chill. He was shocked, she recognized the anguish in his eyes, but she knew he’d never go against his wife. Her mother wore the pants in the family. She always had. If not for that fact, Juliet would probably have had a more normal upbringing. The tears fell and she wiped them away.
“I love you, Mom,” she whispered after several long, taut moments. “You, too, Dad.” She walked to the door and grasped the handle. “I’m sorry.”
More tears didn’t come, much to her surprise. Even after her parent’s hotel room door closed behind her, her eyes stayed dry. A heavy sigh escaped her and she started walking.
She hadn’t really cried since the night Cassie died. Every time she thought of her sister she got teary-eyed, but before the weeping could begin in earnest her brain seized up and choked off the waterworks. Eventually the dam would either burst or she would completely shut down, that much she was sure of. Right now the latter seemed the best option.
I’m sorry, Jules. You didn’t deserve that. I love her, but Mom can be a real bitch.
“I know, Cass,” Juliet said softly. “I know.”
This wasn’t your fault. You didn’t kill me, Mayfield did.
Now the stinging started. “I know, little sister.”
Don’t let her get to you.
“Easier said than done.”
Juliet walked to the elevator, pushed the button, and waited for the car. In movies and TV shows, it would be at this point that one or both of the misguided parents would chase her down, sorrowful and repentant. The mom and/or dad would apologize, everyone would burst into happy tears, and they’d all embrace. Roll joyful music with ending credits here. Juliet didn’t even look. Her mother wouldn’t apologize, ever, and her father might, but not here and only if her mom wasn’t watching. Juliet loved her dad, but his spine only moved in the direction her mother chose. Cassie was right. Her mom could be a bitch.
Juliet walked through the lobby of the hotel without really seeing any of it. Her brain was in tumble-dry mode, meandering, meaningless thoughts spinning to distract her from the emptiness in her soul. She made her way to the elevator that led to the parking structure, knowing Detective Riordan would follow her. Even though she’d left protective custody to see her parents, the man had stayed close. Each time they made eye contact he held her gaze for several seconds before he turned away.
In the week since Cassie’s death she had seen him often, but hadn’t spoken to him directly. The obligatory post-crime interview he’d conducted had not been pleasant for either of them. Things had left her mouth she’d never thought herself capable of saying, and once her fury was spent she hadn’t spoken again. She knew her continued silence ate at him, and even though she realized he was not to blame for her sister’s murder she couldn’t summon the will to apologize for the awful things she’d said. It just hurt too much.
The parking garage was filled with cars but there was nary a person to be seen. The sun was bright outside, not an everyday occurrence in Seattle, but the light had a difficult time penetrating the narrow open space between the thick, cement slabs. Shadows gathered in corners, between cars, overhead, and behind her like scuttling, whispering specters that shifted with her every step. It sent a shudder through her, and she wrapped her arms around herself. She looked around, eyes darting back and forth, ears alert for any sound. Maybe she should have asked Detective Riordan to follow a little closer.
Her heels tapped rhythmically on the concrete as she reached into her pocket for her keys. She needed to finish packing up the bungalow, although she wasn’t sure where she was going once she was done. Maybe she’d visit Amanda in Chicago. They had danced and lived together at the American Ballet Theater in New York until Amanda had blown out an Achilles, but they kept in contact and remained friends. Juliet knew her former roommate would help her however she could, even if that was only giving her a place to stay until she decided what she wanted to do.
A dark cloud of depression settled over her as she contemplated going back to the nearly empty cottage. Thanks to Mr. Hobbs, most of her and Cassie’s things were now in storage. What remained were personal items Juliet couldn’t bear to part with, and those had been condensed into two large cardboard boxes. A crime scene cleanup crew had finished sanitizing her former bedroom, and the smell of disinfectant and new paint now permeated the air of the quaint house. Her stomach rolled. No, she couldn’t go back there, not yet. The few, brief times she’d been there to pack up had been upsetting enough. She choked down the memories that threatened and took a deep breath as she approached her blue Camry.
Her gaze continued to sweep back and forth, searching for any sign of her nemesis. The garage appeared empty. Once she reached her car she tried to slide the key into the lock but couldn’t. She bent over to take a closer look and ice gathered in her belly. Something had been shoved into the lock. Juliet inhaled sharply and straightened.
George Mayfield stood behind her, their reflection cast in the driver’s window. Where the hell had he come from? Her heart stopped, blood freezing in her veins and fear detonating in her chest. Before she could react an arm snaked around her neck and a hand clamped over her mouth. Her scream was cut off as he squeezed her windpipe.
“Time to finish what we started, Juliet,” he hissed in her ear. “You will be the proof I need to show him, to show everyone, what I am capable of.”
For the first time since Mayfield had started harassing her Juliet went into fight mode. She brought the stiletto heel of her shoe down on Mayfield’s foot and a surge of exhilaration hit her when a pained cry escaped him. His hold on her loosened and she tried to twist away. She was unsuccessful, so she drove her elbow backwards, hitting him in the gut. A sharp exhale of breath warmed her ear and he stumbled. He fell backwards, dragging her along, more air forced out of his lungs as he collapsed and she landed on top of him. His arms fell to the side. Juliet rolled away, grabbed one of her shoes, and swung the ice-pick-like heel toward him.
He moved out of the way just before the stiletto made contact with his chest. Then another body entered the fray.
“Get out of here!” Riordan shouted. He tackled Mayfield and the two started rolling around. “Go!”
She scuttled backwards against the nearest car, her body and brain out of sync. Her brain was telling her to run but her body wouldn’t obey. She stared as they fought, her heart hammering against her sternum. Detective Riordan delivered a blow to Mayfield’s jaw, bones cracking together and echoing off the cement structure. Mayfield seemed dazed and Riordan flipped him into his stomach, jerking the man’s arms behind him. He had one of Mayfield’s hands cuffed when the detective swiveled his eyes her way. As he did, Mayfield seemed to get a second wind and began to struggle again.
“Go, Juliet!” Riordan shouted. “Get the fuck out of here!”
Her brain and body found their rhythm and she shot to her feet. Her keys lay on the ground next to the Camry. She grabbed them, ran around to the passenger side, and less than five seconds later the engine of the Toyota came to life. She jerked the shift lever into reverse, stomped on the accelerator, and shot backwards out of the parking spot. Tires squealed on the concrete, echoing eerily in the garage, and she barely avoided hitting the two wrestling men. After throwing the lever into drive her foot hit the floor and the Camry jumped forward. Without a backwards glance she sped down the ramp and out of the garage.
Right Place, Right Time
Right Place, Right Time
https://amzn.to/2Uo0od4
Leslie McKelvey
Chapter One
As Beth Drummond flew down the narrow, wooded trail, her lungs burned and her heart raced. With one hand tightly gripping her camera’s telephoto lens, she tried to shield it from the branches and brambles that ripped at her clothes and left red, angry scratches on her bare arms. Blood roared in her ears and drowned out even the sounds of her footfalls. She didn’t think the people who had been shooting at her had just given up and gone home, so she kept running, praying her legs would carry her to the ranger station. If not, she’d run until she couldn’t or until they caught her.
The trail veered sharply to her left, and she skidded to a stop, pressing close to a Rocky Mountain Maple. She tried to breathe deeply and evenly, struggling to hear anything over the internal whush-whush of her loud, galloping pulse. Moving slowly, she peered around the trunk back up the trail. Nothing. But that didn’t mean they weren’t coming. She was about to start running again when a pair of muscular arms snaked around her from behind and a large hand clamped itself over her mouth. She inhaled sharply and thrashed about, trying to twist away from him, but his grip only tightened, effectively immobilizing her. She tried to kick, but he’d pinned her legs between his. A turtle on its back should be so helpless.
“Don’t move.” The words were a harsh whisper in her ear. “And don’t scream.”
She went stock still. The hand was so big it covered nearly her entire face, and the body at her back was male, tall, broad, and hard. The top of her head just reached his shoulder, and she felt the bunched muscles in his arms and chest as he held her close and tight. Her throat closed up, and her heart beat so hard and fast she thought it would burst, but she did as the stranger commanded. Without a sound, he pulled her away from the tree and backward into a stand of brush. The thick branches closed around them like a cloak.
Her heart literally stopped when, not fifteen seconds later, the men who had been chasing her for the last several miles ran by. Her only advantage had been her knowledge of the area and the terrain, but apparently even that had not been enough. She’d had no idea they had gained so much ground on her. How had she not heard them? They made no attempt to move quietly. She closed her eyes and listened as they crashed through the brush. When the sounds of their headlong run faded, her limbs gave out and she sagged against the stranger.
The stranger. Although he had saved her from the men chasing her, that still didn’t ensure he was a good guy. And she was a woman, alone. Fear revived her frozen heart, sending her pulse into a full gallop, and she stiffened. Now that her pursuers had gone, and quiet once again ruled the forest, the only sound she could hear was the roaring of blood in her ears and the stranger’s calm, even breaths. Come on, Beth, she thought, you’ve been in worse situations. Remember Afghanistan?
His heartbeat was steady and strong against her back, and she sent a silent prayer heavenward. Please, please, please let him be a good guy or, at least, not another bad guy. When she tried to move, he tightened his hold on her waist, his lips near her ear.
“Not yet. They may double back.”
Beth jumped when a shout cut through the woods like an axe.
“Do you see her?”
“No!”
The voices were close, too close, and she hunched back against him. Fear filled her in a cold, dark surge, but his presence was strangely comforting. Even when the three men joined up mere feet away, he remained silent and motionless, seemingly unaffected by their proximity and their weapons. She fought the urge to turn and bury her face against the man’s chest, as if doing so would infuse her with his apparent calm. Her pulse neared heart attack range. She stared at the gun-wielding thugs and tried to regulate her breathing.
The tallest of the trio was Hispanic and thin with dark hair, dark eyes, and swarthy skin. His associates were of similar lineage and coloring, one with his long hair pulled back into a ponytail and the other with a short, shaved haircut. The tall one was obviously the leader as the others watched and waited for him to speak.
After a brief silence, the tall man looked at the man with a ponytail and said, “Head back toward the meadow. She can’t have gone far.” The man nodded and ran back the way they’d come.
Shaved head spoke. “I’ll head toward the ranger station. That’s probably where she’s going.”
The tall man nodded and glared. “Don’t come back until you find her. And bring her alive. I want to know what she saw.”
Beth watched as the three men split up, each heading in a different direction. Even though she knew she was far from safe, her legs sagged as relief washed over her. Had it not been for the stranger’s steely arm around her waist, she would have dropped to her knees. Once the men disappeared from view, he let his hand fall from her face.
She jerked away from him and spun round. Her gaze was inexorably drawn upward. He was one of the tallest men she’d ever seen, well over six feet and probably closer to seven, his blonde hair cut in a high and tight. Broad shoulders filled out the shirt of woodland camouflage, the long sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. Sharp blue eyes cut straight through her, like a pinpoint laser. His features were chiseled, his jaw sharply squared and shadowed with blonde stubble. He looked her up and down once, though there was nothing sexual in his perusal. He glanced at the camera hanging around her neck, and when their eyes met again, the intensity of his gaze pierced her like an arrow.
She lifted her chin. “Who are you?”
“I’m the guy who can get you out of here if you can keep up.”
She backed up a step. “And why should I trust you?”
He rested his hand on his hip, and her heart fluttered wildly when she saw the pistol.
“If I’d wanted to hurt you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” His gaze turned frosty. “Do you want to get out of here or not?”
She was good at no-brainers and nodded.
“Then we need to move.” He grabbed her hand and pushed through the shrubs, moving with unexpected stealth for a man of such stature. His eyes swept one way down the trail, then the other, and he skewered her with a look. “Stay close, and keep quiet.” Without another word, he crossed the trail and melded into the trees on the other side, drawing her with him.
He was fast, sure-footed, and silent, his feet seeming to barely touch the ground. Beth felt like a clumsy oaf as she tried to step where he stepped and move how he moved, and several times she failed. Dead branches snapped beneath her feet, and anger burned hotly in her chest, anger at herself. Her lack of grace was the equivalent of sending up a flare, alerting the gunmen to her location. Get it together, Beth. Get your blasted feet on straight.
She had learned from Chief Dancing Eagle, a local Native American man, how to traverse through wilderness areas because wildlife didn’t usually stand still to be photographed. Normally she had no trouble moving like a resident of the forest, and she had an impressive portfolio to prove it. She’d been fleet and surefooted before her rescuer had shown up, managing to avoid the horror movie faux pas of falling and giving the killers the chance to catch her. But, as she trailed behind him now, it was as if she had two left feet. He leapt over a fallen tree with the grace and ease of a gazelle, and when she tried to imitate him, her boot caught on an errant branch. Her hand was jerked out of his, and her camera went flying as she landed face first in the dirt.
She lay there for a moment, dazed, but when she tried to get up, he planted a hand between her shoulder blades and pressed her back into the ground. Before she could protest, he sprawled out beside her and pushed her against the trunk of the prostrate conifer.
“Stay down.”
Suddenly she heard the sound of running feet and sucked in a breath, her eyes flying to his face. Her lungs spasmed, unable to expand as a band of near panic tightened around her chest. His expression darkened; he shook his head once and pressed one finger to her lips. Somewhere on the other side of the fallen tree, the person paused for several tense, silent moments, and then the footsteps retreated until she could no longer hear them.
Beth blinked and exhaled slowly, blood pulsing through her veins at warp speed. The stranger slowly lifted his head and peered over the top of the log, moving with a grace and fluidity that was mesmerizing. Even though they were the ones being hunted, he did not look like prey. Those steely eyes surveyed the area with all the cunning and confidence of a highly skilled predator. If he hadn’t just saved her life, his expression would have terrified her. He waited another couple of minutes and then carefully rose. When no one burst from the brush with guns blazing, he grabbed her camera, tossed it to her, and held out a hand.
“Let’s move.”
Beth quickly checked her camera, and then looped the strap over her neck and slipped her fingers into his. He hauled her to her feet. Without another word, he spun and those long legs ate up the distance as he went from zero-to-sixty in half a dozen heartbeats. She lengthened her stride and managed to keep up, barely. Her lungs started to burn again, and her muscles protested vehemently, but she choked down her discomfort and focused on him. Even at a run he appeared serene and unruffled, and she tried to absorb his calm. Oddly enough, his composure helped her regain hers. She tightened her grip on his hand.
The sun was well into its downward descent into the west, shadows lengthening across what was barely more than a deer path. They were moving south/southeast. She pushed thoughts of the armed men aside and focused on moving as quickly and quietly as possible as the trail narrowed and the terrain roughened. Several times the trail forked off, but he didn’t hesitate or even glance at the branching paths. Apparently, he knew exactly where he was going. After about twenty minutes at a near dead-run, she heard the sound of rushing water and prayed they would stop soon. Her mouth was dry, and her lungs were begging for more oxygen. Trees started to thin and less than a minute later, she and the stranger stood on the banks of a rushing stream.
Without even pausing, he released her hand and crossed the tributary, hopping from rock to rock as if the path was marked and only he could see it. Beth stopped, took several deep breaths and then followed, making certain to plant her feet where he had planted his. Her camera had survived its flight into the brush, but she doubted it would recover from a swim.
He reached the opposite bank and turned toward her. She was aware of his gaze and tried to move faster while keeping her balance and staying out of the torrent. Once she put foot on the bank, he spun away without a word and started running downstream. Beth squared her shoulders and followed. She was actually starting to enjoy his unspoken challenge. He’d said he’d save her if she could keep up. Well, she was going to keep up or die trying. She focused on his broad back and set her stride to match his.
After about a mile they reached an eddy in the stream. The water lapped at the shore. Rock-studded sand edged with trees created a small clearing that would be a perfect campsite. He ran to the far side of the glade, reached into the bushes, and pulled out a pack. He shrugged into it, reached back into the brush, and retrieved a rifle. Beth stared, and a shaft of apprehension pierced her.
“Let’s go,” he said brusquely. “We need to put some more distance between us and them before we make camp.”
“Camp?” He couldn’t be serious. She gaped at him and wondered if perhaps he’d spent too much time in the wilderness. “We need to get to a ranger station, try to get out of here.”
His brows drew together. “You heard them. That’s where they’re going.”
“There’s more than one station,” she argued.
He gave her a tolerant look, the same look one would bestow on an argumentative toddler. “And there’s more than one of them. You want to chance that?” He shouldered the rifle. “My car is east of here parked at Drake’s trailhead.”
“That trailhead is more than ten miles,” Beth said. “It’ll be dark soon.”
He lifted one blonde brow. “That’s why we keep moving until we make camp.” He glanced at the sky. “We’ve got about an hour of daylight left. We can cover three, maybe four miles in that time.”
“And if they’re heading in the same direction?”
“We’ll stay off the main trails. None of them had packs, so they weren’t equipped to be out here for more than a few hours, unless you know something I don’t.”
She thought back and shook her head. “I didn’t see any packs.”
“Then we keep moving.”
Indignance filled her, but before she could even form a retort, he started jogging, his long legs covering far more ground than hers. Beth planted her hands on her hips and stared after him, but then realized he wasn’t waiting for her. In fact, he didn’t even look back to see if she was following. Obviously, he thought her smart enough to realize she had little choice. As he disappeared into the trees, she huffed and sprinted after him. Challenge accepted.
They moved quickly and quietly and stayed well off the established, marked trails. She wondered if he was listening as hard as she was. Thankfully, the only sound was the chirp of birds, the soft rustle of their feet over the ground, and the occasional cry from an unseen wild animal.
She had to admit that, as much as she preferred having an unobstructed view when she went on her photo safaris, there was a distinct advantage to her current position. Watching him made their run infinitely more bearable. He ran through the trees seeming more animal than human. His muscles moved with fluid grace and easy, unrepressed strength as he smoothly and soundlessly traversed the narrow path. Fascinating. And then there was his backside. Tight and ultimately grab-able, it warranted a warning label, which would just give her even more reason to look at it. A pulse of attraction vibrated inside her, and she gulped. There were a million questions she wanted to ask him, but she thought it wise to imitate him and keep her mouth shut for the time being. From his actions and the brief, terse conversations, she discerned he was the sort of man accustomed to leading and being in control. Being in control required knowledge of the facts which required questions; questions he hadn’t asked, yet. She imagined once they made camp and were relatively safe, he would start the interrogation, and for some reason she doubted she’d be able to get a word in edgewise.
The sun had just dipped below the mountains to the west. Darkness swallowed up the land like a carnivore gorging on its prey. They’d been moving for close to half an hour, and just as she was about to ask him to stop for a moment, he paused. Beth bent over and rested her hands on her thighs, taking deep breaths. Although she kept in top shape because hiking the trails of America’s wilderness lands demanded she do so, she was not accustomed to prolonged runs over the rough and tumble terrain. Not to mention she’d been running for several miles before her enormous rescuer had saved her. A water bottle appeared in her periphery, and she glanced at it and lifted her gaze to his. To her annoyance, he wasn’t even breathing hard. He said nothing, those blue eyes boring into hers, his face expressionless. Apprehension skittered up her spine. Straightening, Beth took the bottle.
“Thanks,” she said softly.
“You’re welcome.” He shrugged out of his pack, dropped it on the ground, and then crouched and started searching through it. “Think you can make it another couple of miles? I’ve got an idea where we can make camp, but if you’re worn out, we’ll stop now.”
Beth took a long drink of the water, careful not to drink it all. “I’m fine.” She handed the bottle back to him. “I may be sucking wind, but I will go as far as you need me to.”
He rose, finished the water, and handed her an energy bar. “Okay then.” He pulled another bottle from his pack, tossed it to her, and finished off his energy bar in two bites. “The spot I’m thinking of is a little tough to get to, but we’ll be able to see anyone coming. And, if anyone does manage to track us that far, it’ll give us an opportunity to get away.”
“Sounds perfect.” Beth opened the bar and took a healthy bite. “Lead on.”
After she finished her energy bar and took a few more drinks of water, he did just that. He moved like a Marine sniper, quick and lithe, as if the pack and the rifle slung across his back weighed nothing. As they ran, dusk expanded its hold on the Rockies, the sky to the east draped in navy blue with faint pinpricks of light. Every so often he glanced over his shoulder at her, and she had a feeling he was pacing himself so as not to wear her out. The very idea irritated her. She was accustomed to others trying to keep up with her, not the other way around.
“Stop checking on me,” she said when he looked at her again. “If I break a leg and can’t go on, believe me, you’ll be the first to know.” She frowned. “I will keep up, and you can take that to the bank.”
The briefest smile curved his mouth, and she was momentarily stunned by the change in his appearance. In that split-second, he’d gone from handsome to drop-dead gorgeous. Wow, bet you have to beat them off with a stick when you flash those pearly whites. She had no doubt women would drop their panties when he turned on that smile, but then it was gone, and the blank mask was back. Bummer, but now I can look at his butt again.
As the final rays of sunlight vanished, he stopped in a small clearing several dozen paces from the foot of a sheer vertical rock wall. Beth leaned against a tree and tried to catch her breath. She hurt in places she hadn’t even known had muscles, and she knew she would really feel it in the morning. The sound of his pack hitting the ground made her look up, relief flooding her at the thought of finally making camp. When he pulled a coil of heavy-duty nylon rope from inside the pack, she slowly straightened. She glanced at the wall, looked at the rope, and hoped like hell her math was wrong. Nervous tingles traveled from her head to her toes and back.
“Um, what’s the rope for?” Please tell me you’re going to use it to make a tent, string a hammock, tie me up, anything but what I’m thinking.
He glanced at her, glanced at the wall, and then gave her a small, grim smile. “I told you camp would be a little tough to get to.”
Her stomach dropped. “You’re kidding.” She looked up and fear churned in her gut. She’d witnessed the brutality of war up close. She spent her days chasing wild animals that could easily kill her, and now, she was being chased by people who would definitely kill her. However, heights were not her thing. Her heart did a double back-flip. “Oh, crap.”
He rose and started tying knots in the rope. “Don’t worry. I’ll go up first. Then you can climb up. I’ll anchor you.”
Beth just stared at the rock face and tried to wrestle the near-panic back to simple fear.
He approached her. “Remember to use your legs, not your arms.” Her arms automatically went up when he reached around her waist. Heat crawled up her neck. “Find a handhold, and then a foothold, then use your legs to push yourself up until you find another handhold.” After he had tied the rope between her legs and around her midsection, he stepped back. Her cheeks burned but, thankfully, he seemed unaware as he added, “It’s easier than it looks.”
Beth laughed shortly, her eyes still on the rocks. “I’ll bet.”
“You’ll do fine. And if I have to, I can pull you up.”
She glanced at him. “And what happens if you fall?”
He lifted one blonde brow. “I won’t fall.”
“Right.” Beth looked at the wall again. “Of course not.”
He looped the rest of the rope over his shoulder then shrugged into the pack. “Relax. It’ll be over before you know it.”
Her pulse notched up. An image of flailing limbs and the ground rushing up, and the sensation of air whooshing by, flashed in her brain. “Well, you’re right about that,” she said under her breath as she leaned her head back. “One way or another it will be over.”
“Here, carry this.”
The rifle appeared in front of her, and Beth stared at it. She fought not to remember the last time she’d held a rifle, but the memories were harder to box up this time. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly and forced the words out. “I don’t . . . I don’t like guns.”
He frowned. “You don’t have to like it. You just have to sling it across your back.” When she hesitated, he huffed and slid the sling over her shoulder. “I can’t carry it all and climb.”
Heat crawled up her neck. She adjusted the sling and forced herself to think logically. The rifle was an inanimate object after all and not something to worry about. Getting away— that was far more important. Now was not the time to let her past get the better of her. Picturing her pursuers helped her focus, and she gave him an apologetic look. “Right. Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His expression softened just a bit, or so it seemed in the deepening night. “We’ve made it this far.” He spoke with confidence, and the deep, rough timbre of his voice soothed her. “The finish line for this evening is about sixty feet up. Think you can handle that?”
She wasn’t at all sure she could. “I don’t know,” she replied, “but I will give it my all.”
He clapped her on the shoulder. “That’s all I ask. Let’s get this party started.” He turned away, but then turned back. “You may want to move your camera. It’ll be tough to climb with that telephoto between you and the rocks. You don’t want to break the lens.”
Without another word, he put his pack on and moved toward the rocks.
Shooting a glare at him, she slung her camera across her back like the rifle. “I knew that,” she said under her breath.
She followed behind him, her heartbeat jumping a point for every step they took. However, when she got close to the cliffs, she realized that what had at first looked sheer and nearly vertical was not quite so intimidating. Beth sent a silent thank you heavenward and took a deep breath.
“All right,” he said, “here we go. When I get to the top, I’ll jerk on the rope twice. Then you start up, okay? And keep it quiet. We don’t want to help them find us.”
Beth nodded and watched as he began carefully picking his way up the cliff face. She made mental notes of where he put his hands and feet, hoping to imitate him when her turn finally came. Then she rolled her eyes. He was nearly a foot taller than her. For this leg of the trip, she would have to blaze her own trail.
All too soon he disappeared from sight as night deepened. She suddenly felt very alone and very vulnerable. Her stomach knotted, and she looked around. By the time it got this dark, she was usually sitting near a cheery fire or safe inside a hunting blind. Her mind started to play tricks on her. Trees loomed. Her pursuers danced in every shadow. Beth closed her eyes and kept a hand on the rope. When she felt the tug, a sigh of relief escaped her. Sending another silent prayer into the cosmos, she started up.
Her progress was painstakingly slow as she felt her way, darkness almost vocal in its claim of the mountains. She couldn’t see the handholds, so she had to feel for them, which made it harder going. She half expected her rescuer to start pulling her up, but he didn’t. However, the rope remained taut, so she knew he was aware of her progress. Pausing, she looked down before she realized what she was doing, and a wave of dizziness spun her. She squeezed her eyes shut. It looked like she had a bottomless pit beneath her, the ground swallowed in shadow. A cold surge of panic burst upward from the pit of her stomach. Beth sucked in a breath and pressed herself against the rocks, her heart beating so hard she was sure the pounding would push her backwards off her perch.
“You okay?”
He spoke in what was little more than a whisper, but she heard him readily enough. Again, the husky resonance of his voice calmed her. Beth took a steadying breath and whispered back, “Yes, just trying to find another handhold.”
“You’re doing great. Take your time.”
She had no idea how far she’d gone before a strange yet oddly familiar mechanical sound reached her. The deep, reverberating whump-whump was distant but growing closer, and she turned her head in its direction. The glare of a spotlight sliced through the fabric of darkness better than the sharpest blade. The calm she had borrowed from him evaporated. She gasped softly as her pulse launched into a full sprint. “Oh, crap.”
Suddenly the rope went taut, and she felt herself move up, but not under her own power. Apparently he, too, had noticed the blazing light. Beth briefly thought about helping, but realized she would probably do more to hinder. Branches and leaves grabbed at her hair, face, and clothes, and she realized she was being pulled through a wall of brush, fast. She closed her eyes and shielded her face as best she could. Then she was out of the foliage and lying on the hard ground. Beth took several deep, ragged breaths and tried to gather her wits. When she finally did, she realized it wasn’t hard ground she had collapsed on, unless the ground normally moved up and down like it was breathing.
As if sensing her intentions, his arms immediately locked around her. “Don’t move.”
Beth looked down into his face, and the sound of the helicopter washed over them. It was close, very close, and her throat closed up. A few seconds later light penetrated the bushes. It moved slowly back and forth and illuminated the rocks with disco-ball dots and strange, moving, leaf-shaped shadows. Beth blinked as she realized they were in a small cave. She froze and held her breath, as did he, his chest hard and unmoving beneath her. The light paused, and her heart stopped. Certain they had been spotted, she closed her eyes and waited for the ensuing gunfire. An explosive breath escaped her when, after several long, tense moments, the aircraft moved on. Without having to be told, she remained motionless and tried once more to absorb his calmness. She felt his heartbeat, slow and steady, and started counting. By the time she reached ten, her pulse had eased down several points. When the rapid thump-thump of helicopter blades finally vanished, she was almost back to normal. She was surprised at the effect he had on her. His unruffled demeanor soothed her fears and imparted a serenity she knew wasn’t her own. It suddenly hit her that if he hadn’t intervened earlier she’d most likely be dead. Beth’s heart flipped once, and she gulped.
Several minutes had passed before he gave her a small nod. She took a deep breath, moved away from him, and sat cross-legged on the ground.
She was wrong; they weren’t in a cave. Beth ran a hand over the wall, vertical and horizontal striations telling her this “cave” had been carved, not naturally formed. His pack leaned against the back wall, and large bushes obscured the opening from view. The sage sprouted from the very rock itself. Thank goodness. If not for that cover, they would have been like ducks in a shooting gallery.
Glancing at her savior, she took her camera from her neck, then removed the rifle and held it out to him. He watched her closely, but he took the gun without a word, putting it aside.
“Who are they?”
The direct, sharp tone of his question startled her, and she blinked at him. “I don’t know.”
His tone didn’t change, but his posture certainly did, his shoulders squared and tense. “Why are they chasing you?”
She saw the drawing down of his brow, his hands clenched into fists the size of footballs. Not only did Beth see the scowl, she also felt it and cringed, both physically and emotionally. She looked down at her camera and wound her fingers around the telephoto lens, memories surging to the surface despite her efforts to the contrary. Her annoyance had morphed into shock and disbelief. The cold wave of despair and helplessness that followed chilled her. She shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut, but that only gave her mind a better screen on which to play. Fear rose like bile, hot and thick in the back of her throat. She choked it down. After several deep, steadying breaths and a brief silence, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Because I saw them kill four people, and I have the pictures to prove it.”
https://amzn.to/2Uo0od4
Leslie McKelvey
Chapter One
As Beth Drummond flew down the narrow, wooded trail, her lungs burned and her heart raced. With one hand tightly gripping her camera’s telephoto lens, she tried to shield it from the branches and brambles that ripped at her clothes and left red, angry scratches on her bare arms. Blood roared in her ears and drowned out even the sounds of her footfalls. She didn’t think the people who had been shooting at her had just given up and gone home, so she kept running, praying her legs would carry her to the ranger station. If not, she’d run until she couldn’t or until they caught her.
The trail veered sharply to her left, and she skidded to a stop, pressing close to a Rocky Mountain Maple. She tried to breathe deeply and evenly, struggling to hear anything over the internal whush-whush of her loud, galloping pulse. Moving slowly, she peered around the trunk back up the trail. Nothing. But that didn’t mean they weren’t coming. She was about to start running again when a pair of muscular arms snaked around her from behind and a large hand clamped itself over her mouth. She inhaled sharply and thrashed about, trying to twist away from him, but his grip only tightened, effectively immobilizing her. She tried to kick, but he’d pinned her legs between his. A turtle on its back should be so helpless.
“Don’t move.” The words were a harsh whisper in her ear. “And don’t scream.”
She went stock still. The hand was so big it covered nearly her entire face, and the body at her back was male, tall, broad, and hard. The top of her head just reached his shoulder, and she felt the bunched muscles in his arms and chest as he held her close and tight. Her throat closed up, and her heart beat so hard and fast she thought it would burst, but she did as the stranger commanded. Without a sound, he pulled her away from the tree and backward into a stand of brush. The thick branches closed around them like a cloak.
Her heart literally stopped when, not fifteen seconds later, the men who had been chasing her for the last several miles ran by. Her only advantage had been her knowledge of the area and the terrain, but apparently even that had not been enough. She’d had no idea they had gained so much ground on her. How had she not heard them? They made no attempt to move quietly. She closed her eyes and listened as they crashed through the brush. When the sounds of their headlong run faded, her limbs gave out and she sagged against the stranger.
The stranger. Although he had saved her from the men chasing her, that still didn’t ensure he was a good guy. And she was a woman, alone. Fear revived her frozen heart, sending her pulse into a full gallop, and she stiffened. Now that her pursuers had gone, and quiet once again ruled the forest, the only sound she could hear was the roaring of blood in her ears and the stranger’s calm, even breaths. Come on, Beth, she thought, you’ve been in worse situations. Remember Afghanistan?
His heartbeat was steady and strong against her back, and she sent a silent prayer heavenward. Please, please, please let him be a good guy or, at least, not another bad guy. When she tried to move, he tightened his hold on her waist, his lips near her ear.
“Not yet. They may double back.”
Beth jumped when a shout cut through the woods like an axe.
“Do you see her?”
“No!”
The voices were close, too close, and she hunched back against him. Fear filled her in a cold, dark surge, but his presence was strangely comforting. Even when the three men joined up mere feet away, he remained silent and motionless, seemingly unaffected by their proximity and their weapons. She fought the urge to turn and bury her face against the man’s chest, as if doing so would infuse her with his apparent calm. Her pulse neared heart attack range. She stared at the gun-wielding thugs and tried to regulate her breathing.
The tallest of the trio was Hispanic and thin with dark hair, dark eyes, and swarthy skin. His associates were of similar lineage and coloring, one with his long hair pulled back into a ponytail and the other with a short, shaved haircut. The tall one was obviously the leader as the others watched and waited for him to speak.
After a brief silence, the tall man looked at the man with a ponytail and said, “Head back toward the meadow. She can’t have gone far.” The man nodded and ran back the way they’d come.
Shaved head spoke. “I’ll head toward the ranger station. That’s probably where she’s going.”
The tall man nodded and glared. “Don’t come back until you find her. And bring her alive. I want to know what she saw.”
Beth watched as the three men split up, each heading in a different direction. Even though she knew she was far from safe, her legs sagged as relief washed over her. Had it not been for the stranger’s steely arm around her waist, she would have dropped to her knees. Once the men disappeared from view, he let his hand fall from her face.
She jerked away from him and spun round. Her gaze was inexorably drawn upward. He was one of the tallest men she’d ever seen, well over six feet and probably closer to seven, his blonde hair cut in a high and tight. Broad shoulders filled out the shirt of woodland camouflage, the long sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. Sharp blue eyes cut straight through her, like a pinpoint laser. His features were chiseled, his jaw sharply squared and shadowed with blonde stubble. He looked her up and down once, though there was nothing sexual in his perusal. He glanced at the camera hanging around her neck, and when their eyes met again, the intensity of his gaze pierced her like an arrow.
She lifted her chin. “Who are you?”
“I’m the guy who can get you out of here if you can keep up.”
She backed up a step. “And why should I trust you?”
He rested his hand on his hip, and her heart fluttered wildly when she saw the pistol.
“If I’d wanted to hurt you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” His gaze turned frosty. “Do you want to get out of here or not?”
She was good at no-brainers and nodded.
“Then we need to move.” He grabbed her hand and pushed through the shrubs, moving with unexpected stealth for a man of such stature. His eyes swept one way down the trail, then the other, and he skewered her with a look. “Stay close, and keep quiet.” Without another word, he crossed the trail and melded into the trees on the other side, drawing her with him.
He was fast, sure-footed, and silent, his feet seeming to barely touch the ground. Beth felt like a clumsy oaf as she tried to step where he stepped and move how he moved, and several times she failed. Dead branches snapped beneath her feet, and anger burned hotly in her chest, anger at herself. Her lack of grace was the equivalent of sending up a flare, alerting the gunmen to her location. Get it together, Beth. Get your blasted feet on straight.
She had learned from Chief Dancing Eagle, a local Native American man, how to traverse through wilderness areas because wildlife didn’t usually stand still to be photographed. Normally she had no trouble moving like a resident of the forest, and she had an impressive portfolio to prove it. She’d been fleet and surefooted before her rescuer had shown up, managing to avoid the horror movie faux pas of falling and giving the killers the chance to catch her. But, as she trailed behind him now, it was as if she had two left feet. He leapt over a fallen tree with the grace and ease of a gazelle, and when she tried to imitate him, her boot caught on an errant branch. Her hand was jerked out of his, and her camera went flying as she landed face first in the dirt.
She lay there for a moment, dazed, but when she tried to get up, he planted a hand between her shoulder blades and pressed her back into the ground. Before she could protest, he sprawled out beside her and pushed her against the trunk of the prostrate conifer.
“Stay down.”
Suddenly she heard the sound of running feet and sucked in a breath, her eyes flying to his face. Her lungs spasmed, unable to expand as a band of near panic tightened around her chest. His expression darkened; he shook his head once and pressed one finger to her lips. Somewhere on the other side of the fallen tree, the person paused for several tense, silent moments, and then the footsteps retreated until she could no longer hear them.
Beth blinked and exhaled slowly, blood pulsing through her veins at warp speed. The stranger slowly lifted his head and peered over the top of the log, moving with a grace and fluidity that was mesmerizing. Even though they were the ones being hunted, he did not look like prey. Those steely eyes surveyed the area with all the cunning and confidence of a highly skilled predator. If he hadn’t just saved her life, his expression would have terrified her. He waited another couple of minutes and then carefully rose. When no one burst from the brush with guns blazing, he grabbed her camera, tossed it to her, and held out a hand.
“Let’s move.”
Beth quickly checked her camera, and then looped the strap over her neck and slipped her fingers into his. He hauled her to her feet. Without another word, he spun and those long legs ate up the distance as he went from zero-to-sixty in half a dozen heartbeats. She lengthened her stride and managed to keep up, barely. Her lungs started to burn again, and her muscles protested vehemently, but she choked down her discomfort and focused on him. Even at a run he appeared serene and unruffled, and she tried to absorb his calm. Oddly enough, his composure helped her regain hers. She tightened her grip on his hand.
The sun was well into its downward descent into the west, shadows lengthening across what was barely more than a deer path. They were moving south/southeast. She pushed thoughts of the armed men aside and focused on moving as quickly and quietly as possible as the trail narrowed and the terrain roughened. Several times the trail forked off, but he didn’t hesitate or even glance at the branching paths. Apparently, he knew exactly where he was going. After about twenty minutes at a near dead-run, she heard the sound of rushing water and prayed they would stop soon. Her mouth was dry, and her lungs were begging for more oxygen. Trees started to thin and less than a minute later, she and the stranger stood on the banks of a rushing stream.
Without even pausing, he released her hand and crossed the tributary, hopping from rock to rock as if the path was marked and only he could see it. Beth stopped, took several deep breaths and then followed, making certain to plant her feet where he had planted his. Her camera had survived its flight into the brush, but she doubted it would recover from a swim.
He reached the opposite bank and turned toward her. She was aware of his gaze and tried to move faster while keeping her balance and staying out of the torrent. Once she put foot on the bank, he spun away without a word and started running downstream. Beth squared her shoulders and followed. She was actually starting to enjoy his unspoken challenge. He’d said he’d save her if she could keep up. Well, she was going to keep up or die trying. She focused on his broad back and set her stride to match his.
After about a mile they reached an eddy in the stream. The water lapped at the shore. Rock-studded sand edged with trees created a small clearing that would be a perfect campsite. He ran to the far side of the glade, reached into the bushes, and pulled out a pack. He shrugged into it, reached back into the brush, and retrieved a rifle. Beth stared, and a shaft of apprehension pierced her.
“Let’s go,” he said brusquely. “We need to put some more distance between us and them before we make camp.”
“Camp?” He couldn’t be serious. She gaped at him and wondered if perhaps he’d spent too much time in the wilderness. “We need to get to a ranger station, try to get out of here.”
His brows drew together. “You heard them. That’s where they’re going.”
“There’s more than one station,” she argued.
He gave her a tolerant look, the same look one would bestow on an argumentative toddler. “And there’s more than one of them. You want to chance that?” He shouldered the rifle. “My car is east of here parked at Drake’s trailhead.”
“That trailhead is more than ten miles,” Beth said. “It’ll be dark soon.”
He lifted one blonde brow. “That’s why we keep moving until we make camp.” He glanced at the sky. “We’ve got about an hour of daylight left. We can cover three, maybe four miles in that time.”
“And if they’re heading in the same direction?”
“We’ll stay off the main trails. None of them had packs, so they weren’t equipped to be out here for more than a few hours, unless you know something I don’t.”
She thought back and shook her head. “I didn’t see any packs.”
“Then we keep moving.”
Indignance filled her, but before she could even form a retort, he started jogging, his long legs covering far more ground than hers. Beth planted her hands on her hips and stared after him, but then realized he wasn’t waiting for her. In fact, he didn’t even look back to see if she was following. Obviously, he thought her smart enough to realize she had little choice. As he disappeared into the trees, she huffed and sprinted after him. Challenge accepted.
They moved quickly and quietly and stayed well off the established, marked trails. She wondered if he was listening as hard as she was. Thankfully, the only sound was the chirp of birds, the soft rustle of their feet over the ground, and the occasional cry from an unseen wild animal.
She had to admit that, as much as she preferred having an unobstructed view when she went on her photo safaris, there was a distinct advantage to her current position. Watching him made their run infinitely more bearable. He ran through the trees seeming more animal than human. His muscles moved with fluid grace and easy, unrepressed strength as he smoothly and soundlessly traversed the narrow path. Fascinating. And then there was his backside. Tight and ultimately grab-able, it warranted a warning label, which would just give her even more reason to look at it. A pulse of attraction vibrated inside her, and she gulped. There were a million questions she wanted to ask him, but she thought it wise to imitate him and keep her mouth shut for the time being. From his actions and the brief, terse conversations, she discerned he was the sort of man accustomed to leading and being in control. Being in control required knowledge of the facts which required questions; questions he hadn’t asked, yet. She imagined once they made camp and were relatively safe, he would start the interrogation, and for some reason she doubted she’d be able to get a word in edgewise.
The sun had just dipped below the mountains to the west. Darkness swallowed up the land like a carnivore gorging on its prey. They’d been moving for close to half an hour, and just as she was about to ask him to stop for a moment, he paused. Beth bent over and rested her hands on her thighs, taking deep breaths. Although she kept in top shape because hiking the trails of America’s wilderness lands demanded she do so, she was not accustomed to prolonged runs over the rough and tumble terrain. Not to mention she’d been running for several miles before her enormous rescuer had saved her. A water bottle appeared in her periphery, and she glanced at it and lifted her gaze to his. To her annoyance, he wasn’t even breathing hard. He said nothing, those blue eyes boring into hers, his face expressionless. Apprehension skittered up her spine. Straightening, Beth took the bottle.
“Thanks,” she said softly.
“You’re welcome.” He shrugged out of his pack, dropped it on the ground, and then crouched and started searching through it. “Think you can make it another couple of miles? I’ve got an idea where we can make camp, but if you’re worn out, we’ll stop now.”
Beth took a long drink of the water, careful not to drink it all. “I’m fine.” She handed the bottle back to him. “I may be sucking wind, but I will go as far as you need me to.”
He rose, finished the water, and handed her an energy bar. “Okay then.” He pulled another bottle from his pack, tossed it to her, and finished off his energy bar in two bites. “The spot I’m thinking of is a little tough to get to, but we’ll be able to see anyone coming. And, if anyone does manage to track us that far, it’ll give us an opportunity to get away.”
“Sounds perfect.” Beth opened the bar and took a healthy bite. “Lead on.”
After she finished her energy bar and took a few more drinks of water, he did just that. He moved like a Marine sniper, quick and lithe, as if the pack and the rifle slung across his back weighed nothing. As they ran, dusk expanded its hold on the Rockies, the sky to the east draped in navy blue with faint pinpricks of light. Every so often he glanced over his shoulder at her, and she had a feeling he was pacing himself so as not to wear her out. The very idea irritated her. She was accustomed to others trying to keep up with her, not the other way around.
“Stop checking on me,” she said when he looked at her again. “If I break a leg and can’t go on, believe me, you’ll be the first to know.” She frowned. “I will keep up, and you can take that to the bank.”
The briefest smile curved his mouth, and she was momentarily stunned by the change in his appearance. In that split-second, he’d gone from handsome to drop-dead gorgeous. Wow, bet you have to beat them off with a stick when you flash those pearly whites. She had no doubt women would drop their panties when he turned on that smile, but then it was gone, and the blank mask was back. Bummer, but now I can look at his butt again.
As the final rays of sunlight vanished, he stopped in a small clearing several dozen paces from the foot of a sheer vertical rock wall. Beth leaned against a tree and tried to catch her breath. She hurt in places she hadn’t even known had muscles, and she knew she would really feel it in the morning. The sound of his pack hitting the ground made her look up, relief flooding her at the thought of finally making camp. When he pulled a coil of heavy-duty nylon rope from inside the pack, she slowly straightened. She glanced at the wall, looked at the rope, and hoped like hell her math was wrong. Nervous tingles traveled from her head to her toes and back.
“Um, what’s the rope for?” Please tell me you’re going to use it to make a tent, string a hammock, tie me up, anything but what I’m thinking.
He glanced at her, glanced at the wall, and then gave her a small, grim smile. “I told you camp would be a little tough to get to.”
Her stomach dropped. “You’re kidding.” She looked up and fear churned in her gut. She’d witnessed the brutality of war up close. She spent her days chasing wild animals that could easily kill her, and now, she was being chased by people who would definitely kill her. However, heights were not her thing. Her heart did a double back-flip. “Oh, crap.”
He rose and started tying knots in the rope. “Don’t worry. I’ll go up first. Then you can climb up. I’ll anchor you.”
Beth just stared at the rock face and tried to wrestle the near-panic back to simple fear.
He approached her. “Remember to use your legs, not your arms.” Her arms automatically went up when he reached around her waist. Heat crawled up her neck. “Find a handhold, and then a foothold, then use your legs to push yourself up until you find another handhold.” After he had tied the rope between her legs and around her midsection, he stepped back. Her cheeks burned but, thankfully, he seemed unaware as he added, “It’s easier than it looks.”
Beth laughed shortly, her eyes still on the rocks. “I’ll bet.”
“You’ll do fine. And if I have to, I can pull you up.”
She glanced at him. “And what happens if you fall?”
He lifted one blonde brow. “I won’t fall.”
“Right.” Beth looked at the wall again. “Of course not.”
He looped the rest of the rope over his shoulder then shrugged into the pack. “Relax. It’ll be over before you know it.”
Her pulse notched up. An image of flailing limbs and the ground rushing up, and the sensation of air whooshing by, flashed in her brain. “Well, you’re right about that,” she said under her breath as she leaned her head back. “One way or another it will be over.”
“Here, carry this.”
The rifle appeared in front of her, and Beth stared at it. She fought not to remember the last time she’d held a rifle, but the memories were harder to box up this time. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly and forced the words out. “I don’t . . . I don’t like guns.”
He frowned. “You don’t have to like it. You just have to sling it across your back.” When she hesitated, he huffed and slid the sling over her shoulder. “I can’t carry it all and climb.”
Heat crawled up her neck. She adjusted the sling and forced herself to think logically. The rifle was an inanimate object after all and not something to worry about. Getting away— that was far more important. Now was not the time to let her past get the better of her. Picturing her pursuers helped her focus, and she gave him an apologetic look. “Right. Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His expression softened just a bit, or so it seemed in the deepening night. “We’ve made it this far.” He spoke with confidence, and the deep, rough timbre of his voice soothed her. “The finish line for this evening is about sixty feet up. Think you can handle that?”
She wasn’t at all sure she could. “I don’t know,” she replied, “but I will give it my all.”
He clapped her on the shoulder. “That’s all I ask. Let’s get this party started.” He turned away, but then turned back. “You may want to move your camera. It’ll be tough to climb with that telephoto between you and the rocks. You don’t want to break the lens.”
Without another word, he put his pack on and moved toward the rocks.
Shooting a glare at him, she slung her camera across her back like the rifle. “I knew that,” she said under her breath.
She followed behind him, her heartbeat jumping a point for every step they took. However, when she got close to the cliffs, she realized that what had at first looked sheer and nearly vertical was not quite so intimidating. Beth sent a silent thank you heavenward and took a deep breath.
“All right,” he said, “here we go. When I get to the top, I’ll jerk on the rope twice. Then you start up, okay? And keep it quiet. We don’t want to help them find us.”
Beth nodded and watched as he began carefully picking his way up the cliff face. She made mental notes of where he put his hands and feet, hoping to imitate him when her turn finally came. Then she rolled her eyes. He was nearly a foot taller than her. For this leg of the trip, she would have to blaze her own trail.
All too soon he disappeared from sight as night deepened. She suddenly felt very alone and very vulnerable. Her stomach knotted, and she looked around. By the time it got this dark, she was usually sitting near a cheery fire or safe inside a hunting blind. Her mind started to play tricks on her. Trees loomed. Her pursuers danced in every shadow. Beth closed her eyes and kept a hand on the rope. When she felt the tug, a sigh of relief escaped her. Sending another silent prayer into the cosmos, she started up.
Her progress was painstakingly slow as she felt her way, darkness almost vocal in its claim of the mountains. She couldn’t see the handholds, so she had to feel for them, which made it harder going. She half expected her rescuer to start pulling her up, but he didn’t. However, the rope remained taut, so she knew he was aware of her progress. Pausing, she looked down before she realized what she was doing, and a wave of dizziness spun her. She squeezed her eyes shut. It looked like she had a bottomless pit beneath her, the ground swallowed in shadow. A cold surge of panic burst upward from the pit of her stomach. Beth sucked in a breath and pressed herself against the rocks, her heart beating so hard she was sure the pounding would push her backwards off her perch.
“You okay?”
He spoke in what was little more than a whisper, but she heard him readily enough. Again, the husky resonance of his voice calmed her. Beth took a steadying breath and whispered back, “Yes, just trying to find another handhold.”
“You’re doing great. Take your time.”
She had no idea how far she’d gone before a strange yet oddly familiar mechanical sound reached her. The deep, reverberating whump-whump was distant but growing closer, and she turned her head in its direction. The glare of a spotlight sliced through the fabric of darkness better than the sharpest blade. The calm she had borrowed from him evaporated. She gasped softly as her pulse launched into a full sprint. “Oh, crap.”
Suddenly the rope went taut, and she felt herself move up, but not under her own power. Apparently he, too, had noticed the blazing light. Beth briefly thought about helping, but realized she would probably do more to hinder. Branches and leaves grabbed at her hair, face, and clothes, and she realized she was being pulled through a wall of brush, fast. She closed her eyes and shielded her face as best she could. Then she was out of the foliage and lying on the hard ground. Beth took several deep, ragged breaths and tried to gather her wits. When she finally did, she realized it wasn’t hard ground she had collapsed on, unless the ground normally moved up and down like it was breathing.
As if sensing her intentions, his arms immediately locked around her. “Don’t move.”
Beth looked down into his face, and the sound of the helicopter washed over them. It was close, very close, and her throat closed up. A few seconds later light penetrated the bushes. It moved slowly back and forth and illuminated the rocks with disco-ball dots and strange, moving, leaf-shaped shadows. Beth blinked as she realized they were in a small cave. She froze and held her breath, as did he, his chest hard and unmoving beneath her. The light paused, and her heart stopped. Certain they had been spotted, she closed her eyes and waited for the ensuing gunfire. An explosive breath escaped her when, after several long, tense moments, the aircraft moved on. Without having to be told, she remained motionless and tried once more to absorb his calmness. She felt his heartbeat, slow and steady, and started counting. By the time she reached ten, her pulse had eased down several points. When the rapid thump-thump of helicopter blades finally vanished, she was almost back to normal. She was surprised at the effect he had on her. His unruffled demeanor soothed her fears and imparted a serenity she knew wasn’t her own. It suddenly hit her that if he hadn’t intervened earlier she’d most likely be dead. Beth’s heart flipped once, and she gulped.
Several minutes had passed before he gave her a small nod. She took a deep breath, moved away from him, and sat cross-legged on the ground.
She was wrong; they weren’t in a cave. Beth ran a hand over the wall, vertical and horizontal striations telling her this “cave” had been carved, not naturally formed. His pack leaned against the back wall, and large bushes obscured the opening from view. The sage sprouted from the very rock itself. Thank goodness. If not for that cover, they would have been like ducks in a shooting gallery.
Glancing at her savior, she took her camera from her neck, then removed the rifle and held it out to him. He watched her closely, but he took the gun without a word, putting it aside.
“Who are they?”
The direct, sharp tone of his question startled her, and she blinked at him. “I don’t know.”
His tone didn’t change, but his posture certainly did, his shoulders squared and tense. “Why are they chasing you?”
She saw the drawing down of his brow, his hands clenched into fists the size of footballs. Not only did Beth see the scowl, she also felt it and cringed, both physically and emotionally. She looked down at her camera and wound her fingers around the telephoto lens, memories surging to the surface despite her efforts to the contrary. Her annoyance had morphed into shock and disbelief. The cold wave of despair and helplessness that followed chilled her. She shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut, but that only gave her mind a better screen on which to play. Fear rose like bile, hot and thick in the back of her throat. She choked it down. After several deep, steadying breaths and a brief silence, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Because I saw them kill four people, and I have the pictures to prove it.”
Accidental Affair
Accidental Affair
https://amzn.to/2Qi64qC
Leslie McKelvey
Chapter One
Chapter One
Laine Wheeler threw an arm across her dog’s chest and stood on the brakes as the rockslide tumbled quickly toward her. As the Range Rover shook, she discerned arms and legs flailing, and realized with alarm that it wasn’t a bunch of boulders rolling down the steep embankment. It was a person. The front end of the SUV dipped as it shuddered violently to a stop, and the individual landed in a crumpled heap not six feet from her front bumper.
Heart knocking against her breastbone, she exhaled sharply, then looked at Maverick, her half-dog, half-wolf sidekick who seemed as startled as she. Maverick woofed softly and put a paw on her arm. Laine took a deep breath, grabbed a handful of thick, gray and white fur, and turned her gaze forward.
The person hadn’t moved. She glanced first left, then right, toward the tree line and wondered if there were more people where this one had come from. Both sides of the two lane highway were edged with ten foot wide shoulders hemmed in with 20 foot high embankments topped with thick pine and evergreen. When no other bodies came somersaulting down the embankment, she turned her eyes back to the unknown acrobat.
What the hell was going on? Her pulse ratcheted up a couple of uncomfortable notches. There were no lakes or rivers nearby, and the closest campsite was more than 20 miles away, so what was this person doing out here, literally, in the middle of nowhere? Staring at the rumpled figure, she waited but he, or she, didn’t move. Was this a carjacking? An attempted kidnapping?
She gulped and frowned. She glanced at her dog, whose wise, golden eyes were fixed on her. “What do you think, Maverick? Is this a carjacking . . . in the middle of nowhere? And who’d want to kidnap me? My former in-laws?” A short, sharp laugh escaped her. “No, they’re happy enough I left Chicago.” Her gaze was drawn back to the person in the road. “Maybe they want you, Mav.” The dog whimpered.
Her brain worked at warp speed, trying to wrap itself around what she’d just witnessed. No matter which idea she entertained, none presented a reasonable explanation for the body lying in the road. She felt the adrenaline hit her bloodstream and took several deep breaths, then opened the door and stepped out.
“Stay there,” she said to the dog.
Laine took a step and stopped. What was she doing? The side of a deserted highway was no place to be a hero. She looked at the prone figure for a moment, debating with herself. A low, pained moan escaped the person, and the mournful, gravelly sound spurred her. She squared her shoulders. Right place or not, she wasn’t the type to run, and there was no way she was going to just leave an injured person in the middle of the road. She ran around the front of the Rover, looked down at the person for a split second before she knelt at their side. It was a man dressed in camouflage pants and a khaki shirt, and from the stained, disheveled state of his clothes it looked like he’d been rolling in the dirt well before his tumble down the embankment. He lay on his side with his back to her. He wasn’t moving, and the silence hung heavy. She waited and as each second ticked off her alarm grew. She hesitated and then pressed two fingers into his neck to check for a pulse. It was weak and thready but it was there, and she sighed in relief. Grasping his shoulder, she rolled him onto his back.
Dark red blood stained the upper left side of his chest and Laine drew back, startled. That she had not expected. It took her a second to compose herself, and she reached for the collar of his shirt to get a look at the wound. Before she could peel back the material, his fingers snaked around her wrist. She jumped and fell onto her backside, her heart nearly exploding from her chest.
“Please.” His grip tightened slightly. “Get the bag and get out of here.” He spoke in a hoarse whisper. “They’re not far behind me.”
Her heart jumped and she glanced toward the tree line, images of high-powered rifles exploding in her head complete with gunshot sound effects. “Who?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just get my bag and get it to the FBI.” His grip tightened. “What’s in that bag is more important than me. Get it and go.” He took a ragged breath. “Please.”
A finger of fear traversed her spine, but she shook it off. He had obviously hit his head on the way down the hill, and blood loss was no doubt affecting his mental faculties. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Laine replied, her voice much stronger than she felt. She glanced at the ridge again. “I can’t just leave you here.”
“They’ll kill you,” he croaked. “You have to get the bag and go . . . now!”
Laine paused and that finger of fear scratched again, harder. She looked at his dirty, bearded face, searching for signs of the madness his words hinted at, but all she saw there was pain and weariness. She hesitated a moment, and then frowned and squared her shoulders. “I’m not leaving you on the side of the highway to bleed to death.” She wound his right arm around her shoulders. “Come on, you’re going to have to help. I can’t lift you on my own.”
She knew it was survival instinct more than a conscious decision on his part, but he gathered his feet and, with her help, managed to stand. He swayed, but she held him upright and maneuvered him toward the SUV. She propped him against the side of the Rover, opened the door, and let him fall onto the seat. He moaned in pain, but pulled himself all the way in and curled into a ball. She looked at him for a moment, a shard of doubt worming into her. Her left brain wondered if there was anything to his story, while her right brain scoffed. The delusional always believe someone was after them. Then again he was bleeding. Perhaps he wasn’t so delusional.
A growl from the front seat drew her attention and Laine looked at Maverick. The dog stood, hackles raised, teeth bared, eyes focused on the injured man. At that moment, he looked more lupine than canine, something she had rarely seen. He was usually such a friendly dog, despite his wolf DNA. She frowned at him.
“Down, boy,” she said in a soothing voice. “It’s okay.”
The dog looked at her for a moment, as if incredulous, but he gradually relaxed. Maverick remained standing, his attention focused on the newcomer, but he wasn’t coiled to spring anymore.
“The bag,” the man said. “Please.” He paused and took a breath, a grimace of pain darkening his features. “They can’t get it.”
There they were again. A shiver of apprehension made her insides clench as Laine wondered who “they” were, and what was in the bag he was so adamant about protecting. A host of questions blossomed on the tip of her tongue, but another look at the front of his bloody shirt reminded her he needed medical attention, and soon. She walked back to the front of the Rover. A few feet onto the shoulder lay a black duffel bag which had seen much better days. She went over to it, and as she bent to take the worn handles, the dull drone of multiple ATV engines reached her ears. For some reason her senses immediately went into overdrive. She paused and listened intently, her anxiety expanding with each passing second. The quads weren’t right on top of them yet, but they were headed in her direction and coming fast. She’d grown up in this area and knew four-runners were the preferred vehicles of hunters, fishermen, and campers, but there was something ominous about this sound, though she couldn’t explain what. That inner voice she had learned to listen to urged her to move her ass.
She grabbed the bag and tossed it through the open passenger window. Maverick ducked and gave her a reproachful look as the duffel cleared the headrest and landed on the floor behind her seat.
“Sorry,” she said to the dog as she climbed in and buckled up. “You can have half my steak, okay?”
The thrashing in the trees grew louder and she heard male voices shouting, though she couldn’t understand what they were saying, at least not yet. Instinct told her she didn’t want to find out, so she stomped on the accelerator and the Rover leapt forward.
She kept her eyes on the rear view as they sped away, and to her great relief no legion of commandos came bursting out of the pines to take aim at her. Nevertheless, she didn’t let up on the gas until she saw the sign for Evergreen Springs, nearly twenty miles down the road.
“How you doing back there?” she asked as they passed the county line marker. She glanced in the rear view mirror and watched as he struggled to a sitting position. Fresh blood continued to wet the front of his shirt and his face was pale and drawn. He vaguely resembled an actor whose name she couldn’t recall at the moment, tall and athletically muscular, with brown hair, straight brows, wide-set eyes, and a square jaw.
“I’ve been better,” he ground out. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the headrest. “Where are you taking me?”
“You need a doctor,” she said automatically.
His eyes shot open and his head snapped up. “No hospitals.” His head fell back, and when he spoke again, it seemed he was speaking more to himself than her. “They’ll be watching the hospitals. Monitoring the police bands, too.”
“Who are they exactly,” Laine asked cautiously, humoring him, “and why did they hurt you?”
He grimaced. “Let’s just say we play for different teams.”
“And what teams are those?”
“The less you know, the better,” he replied. “Just . . . please, no hospitals, no cops, or I’m a dead man.”
Laine thought for a moment. “Tell me something,” she said. “Are you a good guy or a bad guy?” She watched him and waited for a reply.
“I’m a good guy,” he replied.
“Of course you are,” she said. “Then again, if you were a bad guy, you wouldn’t tell me, would you?” He met her gaze in the rear view mirror and a chill went up her spine. His eyes were clear and gray, the color of charged storm clouds, and something in them told her even if he was a good guy he was more than capable of being bad.
“No,” he said, “I wouldn’t.”
He glanced down and she followed the direction of his gaze, gulping when she saw the pistol he held across his abdomen. It was a 9mm with a suppressor on the muzzle. This time, instead of a finger of fear, an entire hand grabbed her heart with icy claws and squeezed. Pictures of all the people she loved flashed through her mind’s eye as she cursed herself for a fool, tightened her grip on the wheel, and waited for the shot she wouldn’t hear.
“If I was a bad guy,” he continued, “I would’ve simply shot you and taken your car.”
“You didn’t have a gun when I found you,” she pointed out. “If I hadn’t gotten your bag, you’d still be unarmed.” It was silly to argue with an armed man, but she needed to fight against the adrenaline telling her to stop the car and run. Panic and tears seemed the logical choice, but being raised by a Special Forces father and a grandmother who was an emergency room nurse had drilled the ability to blubber right out of her. Therefore, instead of crying or becoming hysterical, she chose to debate with him. He held the weapon toward her and let go of it, and the 9mm landed on the console between her and Maverick with a soft thump.
“Actually, I did have my gun,” he told her. His voice betrayed his weariness, and he closed his eyes. “It was strapped to my leg, not in my bag.”
Laine let this revelation sink in. With a deep breath, she picked up the gun, checked to ensure the safety was on and put it in the console. It was silly to be relieved when the lid closed, hiding the weapon from view, but she almost sighed out loud. She could feel her own pulse in her throat as blood sped through her veins, and she reached out to grab a handful of fur. Maverick seemed to sense her distress and moved closer.
“Is this where you tell me where to go, and then kill me when we get there?” she asked. “I’m some sort of . . . doomed taxi driver?”
“I just gave you my gun,” he said. “That should tell you I’m not going to kill you.” He paused and sighed. “You saved my life.”
The silence stretched out and her uneasiness grew.
“Ok, talk to me,” Laine demanded, unable to stand the quiet. “Is there someplace I can take you, someone who can help? What happens now?”
“Right now,” he said, “I think I’m going to pass out.”
Laine looked over her shoulder as he lost consciousness and slid down the seat. “Shit.” After checking her mirrors, she pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the Rover.
She crawled into the backseat and checked his vitals. When she tried to get a look at the wound, the fabric of his shirt stuck to the bloody flesh and she scowled. “Dammit.” She grabbed her water bottle from the drink holder in front. Liquid splashed over his chest, neck and face as she poured it over his shoulder, but he didn’t even flinch. That, more than anything, scared her. She carefully massaged the wet material and then slowly peeled it back.
Laine sucked in a breath. He’d been shot in the shoulder a few inches left of center just beneath the collarbone, and from the amount blood on his shirt and crusted around the entry wound it had happened a while ago. The seeping bullet hole worried her. No exit wound worried her even more because it meant the slug was still in his shoulder.
“Shit, shit, shit.” She looked at Maverick and he whined softly. “Well boy, looks like this one’s on us.” Maverick’s expression was solemn. “Can you handle it?” One wag of his plumed tail was all she got. Laine checked the wound again and sighed. “Right. Home we go.”
***
Ripley stood in the middle of the two lane highway. He looked left, then right, and then left again, his temper dangerously close to the flash point. He gripped the AR-15 and wished the weapon would snap in his hands. Perhaps the sound of cracking metal and composite would bring his rage down a notch.
“What do we do, sir?” his second in command asked, from a good eight feet away.
Ripley turned and looked at the man. The four other soldiers made a pretense of combing the surrounding area, but Ripley knew it was only a pretense. It was obvious their quarry was no longer in the vicinity.
“What do we do?” Ripley repeated. “What do we do?” He fixed the man with a scalding stare. “We find him, that’s what we do, Calember. Is that too much for you to handle?”
Calember returned his stare with one of cool composure. “Satellite might have caught an image, sir. We’ll have to hump it back to base, see if West got a fix.”
Ripley moved till he stood toe to toe with Calember. Then he leaned over until their noses nearly touched. “Call West. Tell him to have an image ready and waiting when we get back. I want to know who picked Vaughn up, where they went, and what they’re having for dinner tonight so we can join them for dessert. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” said Calember, as he pulled a satellite phone out of a pocket. He turned and walked away as he dialed.
Ripley stared down the empty highway and cursed. They’d had him.
“And we’ll have you again,” he said under his breath as he focused down the road. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to let one man stop me.” After a few moments he realized Calember had crossed the invisible eight foot radius line into his personal space and was watching him in silence. Ripley glared at him. “What?”
“West is on it, sir,” Calember reported. “I gave him the coordinates and he said, if we have anything, it will be ready by the time we get back.”
Ripley put his hands on his hips and stared at the ground. “Good.” He slowly lifted his head and met Calember’s gaze. “Next time you have Vaughn in your sights, don’t miss or I’ll be putting a bullet in your brain.”
Calember didn’t flinch. “Understood, sir.” Ripley gave him a curt nod, and turned to the others. “Form up. Back to base.”
***
Jack Vaughn came awake suddenly but remained absolutely motionless, uncertain of where he was and who was there. His head throbbed as he tried to remember what had happened. The last clear picture he had was of marching into the forest with the rest of his squad. The remaining images were disjointed, fragmented. He listened intently and felt mild surprise when he heard a low voice, humming as if from far away. As the mental fog cleared he became aware that he was on his back in a bed, his chest was bare but he was covered with a blanket. The blanket smelled of cedar, a pleasant smell, and his left arm was in a sling. He sensed someone close. He waited, eyes closed, as the presence moved nearer.
The bed dipped and he felt soft skin pressed briefly to his brow and cheeks. Hands. Those hands smelled like Vaseline Intensive Care lotion with an underlying scent of surgical soap. In his line of work surgical soap was something he had become well acquainted with. Was he in a hospital? He listened intently as the hands moved to his shoulder. A hospital would be abuzz with staff bustling and monitors beeping and moans of the ill or injured. There was none of that. Above him was the soft patter of rain, rain on a roof. No, this was no hospital, but where was he? He searched his memory, but all he could recall were Technicolor shards that made no sense. Somewhere in there were a maze of trees, the smell of dirt, dizziness, and the drone of ATVs. His heart rate picked up a few points, but before he allowed himself to become overly concerned, he continued his sightless assessment.
He heard the gentle strains of classical music. Beethoven, or was it Mozart? Beethoven, Fur Elise to be exact. Ripley was not a fan of classical piano and Jack’s pulse dropped a point. One item identified, he started to work on another. He breathed deeply and evenly. The aroma of steak made his mouth water. He also detected apples and cinnamon, and sautéed onions, a strange combination though far from unpleasant. They hadn’t had any meals worthy of salivation at the camp that he could recall, and his heart rate eased down again. Slowly, he opened his eyes a fraction of an inch.
The woman didn’t notice his scrutiny. She concentrated on dressing his shoulder, the tip of her tongue held tight against the center of her upper lip. Ripley definitely hadn’t allowed any women at the camp and Jack almost sighed with relief. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together.
He guessed she was in her early to mid-thirties, quite attractive with wide hazel eyes, high cheekbones and long chestnut-colored hair pulled into a ponytail. She wore jeans and a t-shirt, and around her neck was a delicate silver chain from which hung a silver pendant shaped like a penguin. He looked down at her hands. Her fingers were long and slender with short, neatly trimmed nails, and he could imagine those fingers moving over a keyboard, or skin, with graceful ease.
The sight of the clean, white bandage on his shoulder brought it all back; the race through the woods, the bullet which had, thankfully, missed his head and vital organs, the seemingly endless chase leading to the painful tumble down the embankment to the road. He remembered an SUV stopping just short of running him over. He remembered being helped into a car by someone in a ball cap, and he wondered if the woman was his rescuer. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the driver, but he did remember the voice, a woman’s voice. Is there someplace I can take you, someone who can help? His gut told him he was looking at his savior. And his bag . . . that item he had nearly died protecting. His pulse returned to its previous gallop. Where was it?
A dog approached the bed and the memory of being growled at surfaced.
“Hey, Mav,” the woman said softly. “He’s not nearly so scary now,is he?”
The dog sniffed his hand, turned and walked away, and Jack recalled the voice which had soothed the savage beast before. Those dulcet tones had come from the driver who had saved him.
“You stopped for me,” he whispered, fully opening his eyes.
She paused in what she was doing and looked at him closely, the way a doctor would look at a patient. When she’d given him the once over, she returned to bandaging his shoulder.
“You left me little choice,” she said wryly. “You rolled in front of my car, so it was stop or run you over and I just washed the Rover.” She wrinkled her nose. “Then there was all that talk about bad guys coming to get you.” She laid a strip of tape over the gauze. “I couldn’t very well save you from the villains in the woods just to leave you at some hospital to be murdered by an assassin disguised as an orderly.” Her tone was flippant but her expression was serious, and he wondered if she was mocking him. “That would give all good Samaritans a bad name.”
“What is your name?” he asked.
She hesitated then extended her hand. “Laine, Laine Wheeler. Everyone who knows me calls me Laine, so I guess that includes you now. The dog is Maverick.”
He grasped her fingers firmly. “Laine,” he repeated holding her hand. “Thank you, though I have a feeling you will regret stopping to pick me up.”
A shadow passed across her golden-green eyes which told him she’d already considered that. Instead of commenting on what he’d said, she turned to pick up a small, metallic bowl and gave it to him. He palmed the slug she’d removed from his shoulder and looked at it, a 9mm. He was a lucky man indeed. Had it been a bigger caliber, or had Calember had time to take aim with his rifle, Jack knew he’d more than likely be dead.
“You a doctor?” he asked.
She dropped her gaze and stood. She was tall, at least 5’9”, with a shapely figure. “No,” she replied in a taut voice, “I’m a vet.”
He glanced down at the meticulous bandage, and when he tested his shoulder there was only minimal discomfort. “You do pretty well for a vet.”
She walked around the room, straightening as she went. “Well, over the years I’ve discovered people and animals aren’t so very different.”
“No,” he agreed, “they’re not.”
He watched as she picked up the torn remnants of his bloody shirt, twisted it in her hands, then crumpled it up and tossed it in the nearby fireplace. The rest of his clothes were already burning on the hearth, and he was surprised he hadn’t noticed the fire until this moment.
She seemed nervous now that there was nothing more for her to clean. Jack looked at her as she stood there, arms crossed over her chest, eyes focused anywhere but on him.
“My name is Jack,” he told her.
She nodded. “Hungry, Jack?” A small smile tipped the corners of her generous mouth. “I mean, nice to meet you Jack. Are you hungry?”
“Actually,” he said, “I’m starving. Something smells fabulous, so please tell me chicken broth and green Jello aren’t the specials of the day.”
Her smile widened just a bit and she shook her head. “I’ll be right back.”
She walked through the open bedroom door, and Jack noticed Maverick had taken up a post just outside. The canine stared at him with guarded interest, and his expression seemed to say, “I’m watching you, bud. Make one wrong move and you’ll be dealing with me.”
“Don’t worry, boy,” Jack told him. “I won’t bite.”
He could hear her moving around and tried to sit up. Heat shot through his shoulder, and he sucked in a breath. He waited for the pain to subside, then carefully eased up and used his good arm to stuff pillows behind his back. He realized with sudden surprise that not only was he bare-chested, he was completely naked. He glanced at the dog, but the animal hadn’t moved, nor had his expression changed.
“Chill,” Jack said. “I won’t hurt your mistress.”
Or will I? Jack wondered if Laine Wheeler realized how drastically her life could change now that he had entered it. He was part of a different world, a world glamorized in movies and TV shows, but a real, brutal, uncertain and very dangerous world. Rarely did his path cross with civilians, especially not under these circumstances. Now it had, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do about it.
Nearly eight years of his life had been spent to get him where he was this day. Two years in prison had helped cement his cover first with the motorcycle club, and then with Ripley and his men. His ‘conviction’ had also cost him his family. He remembered the look of shame on his father’s face and swallowed hard. The tears in his mother’s eyes had almost been his undoing, but he’d had a job to do.
He had lived and worked alongside some of the most hardened criminals he’d ever encountered, men who had committed every type of crime from embezzlement and fraud to rape and murder. He didn’t want to help them, he wanted to put them behind bars, and pretending to be one of them had taken its toll. At this point, having his cover blown was almost a relief. Now, he didn’t have to pretend anymore.
His train of thought derailed when Laine entered the room carrying a wicker breakfast tray. She frowned when she saw he’d sat up by himself, but he was too busy with the aroma of beef and onions to care. He hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks. Ripley’s cook hadn’t been much of a cook, and his stomach growled loudly. Laine quirked one arched brow and smiled, then sat the tray across his lap. Before him was a generous serving of what looked like New York steak topped with sautéed onions and mushrooms, roasted red potatoes and green beans with pieces of bacon. A bowl with cinnamon apples was the finishing touch and he licked his lips. She’d even cut the food into bite sized pieces for him.
“Wow,” he said as he inhaled the heady fragrance. “Hospital food sure is improving. Are you certain you’re not an angel?”
Both brows rose and she blinked. “Um, no, definitely not,” she said. She shook her head slightly. “An angel wouldn’t make you feed yourself.”
“Yes, she would,” he replied, indignant. “Angels help you help yourself. They’re not supposed to . . . do it for you.”
Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “I’m glad you think so. This way you won’t be disappointed.”
As she turned to leave, several questions popped into his head. What day was it? How far were they from Ripley’s base? “Wait,” he said. When she looked at him over her shoulder, he met her curious gaze. “Where am I?”
She regarded him silently for a moment and tipped her head to the side, her brows drawing together. “Northern Montana, outside a town called Evergreen Springs, about 20 miles south of the Canadian border.” Without another word she left the room. Maverick, on the other hand, didn’t move.
https://amzn.to/2Qi64qC
Leslie McKelvey
Chapter One
Chapter One
Laine Wheeler threw an arm across her dog’s chest and stood on the brakes as the rockslide tumbled quickly toward her. As the Range Rover shook, she discerned arms and legs flailing, and realized with alarm that it wasn’t a bunch of boulders rolling down the steep embankment. It was a person. The front end of the SUV dipped as it shuddered violently to a stop, and the individual landed in a crumpled heap not six feet from her front bumper.
Heart knocking against her breastbone, she exhaled sharply, then looked at Maverick, her half-dog, half-wolf sidekick who seemed as startled as she. Maverick woofed softly and put a paw on her arm. Laine took a deep breath, grabbed a handful of thick, gray and white fur, and turned her gaze forward.
The person hadn’t moved. She glanced first left, then right, toward the tree line and wondered if there were more people where this one had come from. Both sides of the two lane highway were edged with ten foot wide shoulders hemmed in with 20 foot high embankments topped with thick pine and evergreen. When no other bodies came somersaulting down the embankment, she turned her eyes back to the unknown acrobat.
What the hell was going on? Her pulse ratcheted up a couple of uncomfortable notches. There were no lakes or rivers nearby, and the closest campsite was more than 20 miles away, so what was this person doing out here, literally, in the middle of nowhere? Staring at the rumpled figure, she waited but he, or she, didn’t move. Was this a carjacking? An attempted kidnapping?
She gulped and frowned. She glanced at her dog, whose wise, golden eyes were fixed on her. “What do you think, Maverick? Is this a carjacking . . . in the middle of nowhere? And who’d want to kidnap me? My former in-laws?” A short, sharp laugh escaped her. “No, they’re happy enough I left Chicago.” Her gaze was drawn back to the person in the road. “Maybe they want you, Mav.” The dog whimpered.
Her brain worked at warp speed, trying to wrap itself around what she’d just witnessed. No matter which idea she entertained, none presented a reasonable explanation for the body lying in the road. She felt the adrenaline hit her bloodstream and took several deep breaths, then opened the door and stepped out.
“Stay there,” she said to the dog.
Laine took a step and stopped. What was she doing? The side of a deserted highway was no place to be a hero. She looked at the prone figure for a moment, debating with herself. A low, pained moan escaped the person, and the mournful, gravelly sound spurred her. She squared her shoulders. Right place or not, she wasn’t the type to run, and there was no way she was going to just leave an injured person in the middle of the road. She ran around the front of the Rover, looked down at the person for a split second before she knelt at their side. It was a man dressed in camouflage pants and a khaki shirt, and from the stained, disheveled state of his clothes it looked like he’d been rolling in the dirt well before his tumble down the embankment. He lay on his side with his back to her. He wasn’t moving, and the silence hung heavy. She waited and as each second ticked off her alarm grew. She hesitated and then pressed two fingers into his neck to check for a pulse. It was weak and thready but it was there, and she sighed in relief. Grasping his shoulder, she rolled him onto his back.
Dark red blood stained the upper left side of his chest and Laine drew back, startled. That she had not expected. It took her a second to compose herself, and she reached for the collar of his shirt to get a look at the wound. Before she could peel back the material, his fingers snaked around her wrist. She jumped and fell onto her backside, her heart nearly exploding from her chest.
“Please.” His grip tightened slightly. “Get the bag and get out of here.” He spoke in a hoarse whisper. “They’re not far behind me.”
Her heart jumped and she glanced toward the tree line, images of high-powered rifles exploding in her head complete with gunshot sound effects. “Who?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just get my bag and get it to the FBI.” His grip tightened. “What’s in that bag is more important than me. Get it and go.” He took a ragged breath. “Please.”
A finger of fear traversed her spine, but she shook it off. He had obviously hit his head on the way down the hill, and blood loss was no doubt affecting his mental faculties. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Laine replied, her voice much stronger than she felt. She glanced at the ridge again. “I can’t just leave you here.”
“They’ll kill you,” he croaked. “You have to get the bag and go . . . now!”
Laine paused and that finger of fear scratched again, harder. She looked at his dirty, bearded face, searching for signs of the madness his words hinted at, but all she saw there was pain and weariness. She hesitated a moment, and then frowned and squared her shoulders. “I’m not leaving you on the side of the highway to bleed to death.” She wound his right arm around her shoulders. “Come on, you’re going to have to help. I can’t lift you on my own.”
She knew it was survival instinct more than a conscious decision on his part, but he gathered his feet and, with her help, managed to stand. He swayed, but she held him upright and maneuvered him toward the SUV. She propped him against the side of the Rover, opened the door, and let him fall onto the seat. He moaned in pain, but pulled himself all the way in and curled into a ball. She looked at him for a moment, a shard of doubt worming into her. Her left brain wondered if there was anything to his story, while her right brain scoffed. The delusional always believe someone was after them. Then again he was bleeding. Perhaps he wasn’t so delusional.
A growl from the front seat drew her attention and Laine looked at Maverick. The dog stood, hackles raised, teeth bared, eyes focused on the injured man. At that moment, he looked more lupine than canine, something she had rarely seen. He was usually such a friendly dog, despite his wolf DNA. She frowned at him.
“Down, boy,” she said in a soothing voice. “It’s okay.”
The dog looked at her for a moment, as if incredulous, but he gradually relaxed. Maverick remained standing, his attention focused on the newcomer, but he wasn’t coiled to spring anymore.
“The bag,” the man said. “Please.” He paused and took a breath, a grimace of pain darkening his features. “They can’t get it.”
There they were again. A shiver of apprehension made her insides clench as Laine wondered who “they” were, and what was in the bag he was so adamant about protecting. A host of questions blossomed on the tip of her tongue, but another look at the front of his bloody shirt reminded her he needed medical attention, and soon. She walked back to the front of the Rover. A few feet onto the shoulder lay a black duffel bag which had seen much better days. She went over to it, and as she bent to take the worn handles, the dull drone of multiple ATV engines reached her ears. For some reason her senses immediately went into overdrive. She paused and listened intently, her anxiety expanding with each passing second. The quads weren’t right on top of them yet, but they were headed in her direction and coming fast. She’d grown up in this area and knew four-runners were the preferred vehicles of hunters, fishermen, and campers, but there was something ominous about this sound, though she couldn’t explain what. That inner voice she had learned to listen to urged her to move her ass.
She grabbed the bag and tossed it through the open passenger window. Maverick ducked and gave her a reproachful look as the duffel cleared the headrest and landed on the floor behind her seat.
“Sorry,” she said to the dog as she climbed in and buckled up. “You can have half my steak, okay?”
The thrashing in the trees grew louder and she heard male voices shouting, though she couldn’t understand what they were saying, at least not yet. Instinct told her she didn’t want to find out, so she stomped on the accelerator and the Rover leapt forward.
She kept her eyes on the rear view as they sped away, and to her great relief no legion of commandos came bursting out of the pines to take aim at her. Nevertheless, she didn’t let up on the gas until she saw the sign for Evergreen Springs, nearly twenty miles down the road.
“How you doing back there?” she asked as they passed the county line marker. She glanced in the rear view mirror and watched as he struggled to a sitting position. Fresh blood continued to wet the front of his shirt and his face was pale and drawn. He vaguely resembled an actor whose name she couldn’t recall at the moment, tall and athletically muscular, with brown hair, straight brows, wide-set eyes, and a square jaw.
“I’ve been better,” he ground out. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the headrest. “Where are you taking me?”
“You need a doctor,” she said automatically.
His eyes shot open and his head snapped up. “No hospitals.” His head fell back, and when he spoke again, it seemed he was speaking more to himself than her. “They’ll be watching the hospitals. Monitoring the police bands, too.”
“Who are they exactly,” Laine asked cautiously, humoring him, “and why did they hurt you?”
He grimaced. “Let’s just say we play for different teams.”
“And what teams are those?”
“The less you know, the better,” he replied. “Just . . . please, no hospitals, no cops, or I’m a dead man.”
Laine thought for a moment. “Tell me something,” she said. “Are you a good guy or a bad guy?” She watched him and waited for a reply.
“I’m a good guy,” he replied.
“Of course you are,” she said. “Then again, if you were a bad guy, you wouldn’t tell me, would you?” He met her gaze in the rear view mirror and a chill went up her spine. His eyes were clear and gray, the color of charged storm clouds, and something in them told her even if he was a good guy he was more than capable of being bad.
“No,” he said, “I wouldn’t.”
He glanced down and she followed the direction of his gaze, gulping when she saw the pistol he held across his abdomen. It was a 9mm with a suppressor on the muzzle. This time, instead of a finger of fear, an entire hand grabbed her heart with icy claws and squeezed. Pictures of all the people she loved flashed through her mind’s eye as she cursed herself for a fool, tightened her grip on the wheel, and waited for the shot she wouldn’t hear.
“If I was a bad guy,” he continued, “I would’ve simply shot you and taken your car.”
“You didn’t have a gun when I found you,” she pointed out. “If I hadn’t gotten your bag, you’d still be unarmed.” It was silly to argue with an armed man, but she needed to fight against the adrenaline telling her to stop the car and run. Panic and tears seemed the logical choice, but being raised by a Special Forces father and a grandmother who was an emergency room nurse had drilled the ability to blubber right out of her. Therefore, instead of crying or becoming hysterical, she chose to debate with him. He held the weapon toward her and let go of it, and the 9mm landed on the console between her and Maverick with a soft thump.
“Actually, I did have my gun,” he told her. His voice betrayed his weariness, and he closed his eyes. “It was strapped to my leg, not in my bag.”
Laine let this revelation sink in. With a deep breath, she picked up the gun, checked to ensure the safety was on and put it in the console. It was silly to be relieved when the lid closed, hiding the weapon from view, but she almost sighed out loud. She could feel her own pulse in her throat as blood sped through her veins, and she reached out to grab a handful of fur. Maverick seemed to sense her distress and moved closer.
“Is this where you tell me where to go, and then kill me when we get there?” she asked. “I’m some sort of . . . doomed taxi driver?”
“I just gave you my gun,” he said. “That should tell you I’m not going to kill you.” He paused and sighed. “You saved my life.”
The silence stretched out and her uneasiness grew.
“Ok, talk to me,” Laine demanded, unable to stand the quiet. “Is there someplace I can take you, someone who can help? What happens now?”
“Right now,” he said, “I think I’m going to pass out.”
Laine looked over her shoulder as he lost consciousness and slid down the seat. “Shit.” After checking her mirrors, she pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the Rover.
She crawled into the backseat and checked his vitals. When she tried to get a look at the wound, the fabric of his shirt stuck to the bloody flesh and she scowled. “Dammit.” She grabbed her water bottle from the drink holder in front. Liquid splashed over his chest, neck and face as she poured it over his shoulder, but he didn’t even flinch. That, more than anything, scared her. She carefully massaged the wet material and then slowly peeled it back.
Laine sucked in a breath. He’d been shot in the shoulder a few inches left of center just beneath the collarbone, and from the amount blood on his shirt and crusted around the entry wound it had happened a while ago. The seeping bullet hole worried her. No exit wound worried her even more because it meant the slug was still in his shoulder.
“Shit, shit, shit.” She looked at Maverick and he whined softly. “Well boy, looks like this one’s on us.” Maverick’s expression was solemn. “Can you handle it?” One wag of his plumed tail was all she got. Laine checked the wound again and sighed. “Right. Home we go.”
***
Ripley stood in the middle of the two lane highway. He looked left, then right, and then left again, his temper dangerously close to the flash point. He gripped the AR-15 and wished the weapon would snap in his hands. Perhaps the sound of cracking metal and composite would bring his rage down a notch.
“What do we do, sir?” his second in command asked, from a good eight feet away.
Ripley turned and looked at the man. The four other soldiers made a pretense of combing the surrounding area, but Ripley knew it was only a pretense. It was obvious their quarry was no longer in the vicinity.
“What do we do?” Ripley repeated. “What do we do?” He fixed the man with a scalding stare. “We find him, that’s what we do, Calember. Is that too much for you to handle?”
Calember returned his stare with one of cool composure. “Satellite might have caught an image, sir. We’ll have to hump it back to base, see if West got a fix.”
Ripley moved till he stood toe to toe with Calember. Then he leaned over until their noses nearly touched. “Call West. Tell him to have an image ready and waiting when we get back. I want to know who picked Vaughn up, where they went, and what they’re having for dinner tonight so we can join them for dessert. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” said Calember, as he pulled a satellite phone out of a pocket. He turned and walked away as he dialed.
Ripley stared down the empty highway and cursed. They’d had him.
“And we’ll have you again,” he said under his breath as he focused down the road. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to let one man stop me.” After a few moments he realized Calember had crossed the invisible eight foot radius line into his personal space and was watching him in silence. Ripley glared at him. “What?”
“West is on it, sir,” Calember reported. “I gave him the coordinates and he said, if we have anything, it will be ready by the time we get back.”
Ripley put his hands on his hips and stared at the ground. “Good.” He slowly lifted his head and met Calember’s gaze. “Next time you have Vaughn in your sights, don’t miss or I’ll be putting a bullet in your brain.”
Calember didn’t flinch. “Understood, sir.” Ripley gave him a curt nod, and turned to the others. “Form up. Back to base.”
***
Jack Vaughn came awake suddenly but remained absolutely motionless, uncertain of where he was and who was there. His head throbbed as he tried to remember what had happened. The last clear picture he had was of marching into the forest with the rest of his squad. The remaining images were disjointed, fragmented. He listened intently and felt mild surprise when he heard a low voice, humming as if from far away. As the mental fog cleared he became aware that he was on his back in a bed, his chest was bare but he was covered with a blanket. The blanket smelled of cedar, a pleasant smell, and his left arm was in a sling. He sensed someone close. He waited, eyes closed, as the presence moved nearer.
The bed dipped and he felt soft skin pressed briefly to his brow and cheeks. Hands. Those hands smelled like Vaseline Intensive Care lotion with an underlying scent of surgical soap. In his line of work surgical soap was something he had become well acquainted with. Was he in a hospital? He listened intently as the hands moved to his shoulder. A hospital would be abuzz with staff bustling and monitors beeping and moans of the ill or injured. There was none of that. Above him was the soft patter of rain, rain on a roof. No, this was no hospital, but where was he? He searched his memory, but all he could recall were Technicolor shards that made no sense. Somewhere in there were a maze of trees, the smell of dirt, dizziness, and the drone of ATVs. His heart rate picked up a few points, but before he allowed himself to become overly concerned, he continued his sightless assessment.
He heard the gentle strains of classical music. Beethoven, or was it Mozart? Beethoven, Fur Elise to be exact. Ripley was not a fan of classical piano and Jack’s pulse dropped a point. One item identified, he started to work on another. He breathed deeply and evenly. The aroma of steak made his mouth water. He also detected apples and cinnamon, and sautéed onions, a strange combination though far from unpleasant. They hadn’t had any meals worthy of salivation at the camp that he could recall, and his heart rate eased down again. Slowly, he opened his eyes a fraction of an inch.
The woman didn’t notice his scrutiny. She concentrated on dressing his shoulder, the tip of her tongue held tight against the center of her upper lip. Ripley definitely hadn’t allowed any women at the camp and Jack almost sighed with relief. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together.
He guessed she was in her early to mid-thirties, quite attractive with wide hazel eyes, high cheekbones and long chestnut-colored hair pulled into a ponytail. She wore jeans and a t-shirt, and around her neck was a delicate silver chain from which hung a silver pendant shaped like a penguin. He looked down at her hands. Her fingers were long and slender with short, neatly trimmed nails, and he could imagine those fingers moving over a keyboard, or skin, with graceful ease.
The sight of the clean, white bandage on his shoulder brought it all back; the race through the woods, the bullet which had, thankfully, missed his head and vital organs, the seemingly endless chase leading to the painful tumble down the embankment to the road. He remembered an SUV stopping just short of running him over. He remembered being helped into a car by someone in a ball cap, and he wondered if the woman was his rescuer. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the driver, but he did remember the voice, a woman’s voice. Is there someplace I can take you, someone who can help? His gut told him he was looking at his savior. And his bag . . . that item he had nearly died protecting. His pulse returned to its previous gallop. Where was it?
A dog approached the bed and the memory of being growled at surfaced.
“Hey, Mav,” the woman said softly. “He’s not nearly so scary now,is he?”
The dog sniffed his hand, turned and walked away, and Jack recalled the voice which had soothed the savage beast before. Those dulcet tones had come from the driver who had saved him.
“You stopped for me,” he whispered, fully opening his eyes.
She paused in what she was doing and looked at him closely, the way a doctor would look at a patient. When she’d given him the once over, she returned to bandaging his shoulder.
“You left me little choice,” she said wryly. “You rolled in front of my car, so it was stop or run you over and I just washed the Rover.” She wrinkled her nose. “Then there was all that talk about bad guys coming to get you.” She laid a strip of tape over the gauze. “I couldn’t very well save you from the villains in the woods just to leave you at some hospital to be murdered by an assassin disguised as an orderly.” Her tone was flippant but her expression was serious, and he wondered if she was mocking him. “That would give all good Samaritans a bad name.”
“What is your name?” he asked.
She hesitated then extended her hand. “Laine, Laine Wheeler. Everyone who knows me calls me Laine, so I guess that includes you now. The dog is Maverick.”
He grasped her fingers firmly. “Laine,” he repeated holding her hand. “Thank you, though I have a feeling you will regret stopping to pick me up.”
A shadow passed across her golden-green eyes which told him she’d already considered that. Instead of commenting on what he’d said, she turned to pick up a small, metallic bowl and gave it to him. He palmed the slug she’d removed from his shoulder and looked at it, a 9mm. He was a lucky man indeed. Had it been a bigger caliber, or had Calember had time to take aim with his rifle, Jack knew he’d more than likely be dead.
“You a doctor?” he asked.
She dropped her gaze and stood. She was tall, at least 5’9”, with a shapely figure. “No,” she replied in a taut voice, “I’m a vet.”
He glanced down at the meticulous bandage, and when he tested his shoulder there was only minimal discomfort. “You do pretty well for a vet.”
She walked around the room, straightening as she went. “Well, over the years I’ve discovered people and animals aren’t so very different.”
“No,” he agreed, “they’re not.”
He watched as she picked up the torn remnants of his bloody shirt, twisted it in her hands, then crumpled it up and tossed it in the nearby fireplace. The rest of his clothes were already burning on the hearth, and he was surprised he hadn’t noticed the fire until this moment.
She seemed nervous now that there was nothing more for her to clean. Jack looked at her as she stood there, arms crossed over her chest, eyes focused anywhere but on him.
“My name is Jack,” he told her.
She nodded. “Hungry, Jack?” A small smile tipped the corners of her generous mouth. “I mean, nice to meet you Jack. Are you hungry?”
“Actually,” he said, “I’m starving. Something smells fabulous, so please tell me chicken broth and green Jello aren’t the specials of the day.”
Her smile widened just a bit and she shook her head. “I’ll be right back.”
She walked through the open bedroom door, and Jack noticed Maverick had taken up a post just outside. The canine stared at him with guarded interest, and his expression seemed to say, “I’m watching you, bud. Make one wrong move and you’ll be dealing with me.”
“Don’t worry, boy,” Jack told him. “I won’t bite.”
He could hear her moving around and tried to sit up. Heat shot through his shoulder, and he sucked in a breath. He waited for the pain to subside, then carefully eased up and used his good arm to stuff pillows behind his back. He realized with sudden surprise that not only was he bare-chested, he was completely naked. He glanced at the dog, but the animal hadn’t moved, nor had his expression changed.
“Chill,” Jack said. “I won’t hurt your mistress.”
Or will I? Jack wondered if Laine Wheeler realized how drastically her life could change now that he had entered it. He was part of a different world, a world glamorized in movies and TV shows, but a real, brutal, uncertain and very dangerous world. Rarely did his path cross with civilians, especially not under these circumstances. Now it had, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do about it.
Nearly eight years of his life had been spent to get him where he was this day. Two years in prison had helped cement his cover first with the motorcycle club, and then with Ripley and his men. His ‘conviction’ had also cost him his family. He remembered the look of shame on his father’s face and swallowed hard. The tears in his mother’s eyes had almost been his undoing, but he’d had a job to do.
He had lived and worked alongside some of the most hardened criminals he’d ever encountered, men who had committed every type of crime from embezzlement and fraud to rape and murder. He didn’t want to help them, he wanted to put them behind bars, and pretending to be one of them had taken its toll. At this point, having his cover blown was almost a relief. Now, he didn’t have to pretend anymore.
His train of thought derailed when Laine entered the room carrying a wicker breakfast tray. She frowned when she saw he’d sat up by himself, but he was too busy with the aroma of beef and onions to care. He hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks. Ripley’s cook hadn’t been much of a cook, and his stomach growled loudly. Laine quirked one arched brow and smiled, then sat the tray across his lap. Before him was a generous serving of what looked like New York steak topped with sautéed onions and mushrooms, roasted red potatoes and green beans with pieces of bacon. A bowl with cinnamon apples was the finishing touch and he licked his lips. She’d even cut the food into bite sized pieces for him.
“Wow,” he said as he inhaled the heady fragrance. “Hospital food sure is improving. Are you certain you’re not an angel?”
Both brows rose and she blinked. “Um, no, definitely not,” she said. She shook her head slightly. “An angel wouldn’t make you feed yourself.”
“Yes, she would,” he replied, indignant. “Angels help you help yourself. They’re not supposed to . . . do it for you.”
Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “I’m glad you think so. This way you won’t be disappointed.”
As she turned to leave, several questions popped into his head. What day was it? How far were they from Ripley’s base? “Wait,” he said. When she looked at him over her shoulder, he met her curious gaze. “Where am I?”
She regarded him silently for a moment and tipped her head to the side, her brows drawing together. “Northern Montana, outside a town called Evergreen Springs, about 20 miles south of the Canadian border.” Without another word she left the room. Maverick, on the other hand, didn’t move.
A Woman’s Secret
A Woman’s Secret
https://amzn.to/2E5RKKx
C.L. Koch
Chapter One
Dawn broke over the fog covered hills above the manor house in central England. Fingers of sunlight tickled their way through the tree branches and pushed through the windowpanes onto the sleeping face of young Hannah. She pushed the covers away, pulled a cloak over her shoulders, and stood before the single window of her bedroom and gazed up at the horned moon.
“Mother, why did you die so sudden?” A chill ran down her spine. She pulled the cloak a litter tighter.
A knock on the door turned her away from the window.
“Enter.”
The door opened, a maid stepped into the room with a curtsy.
“Yes Sarah?”
“Your father is on his way up. He asked me to wake you. Since you are already awake, would you like me anything before he arrives?”
Hannah’s eyes darted to the wedding dress hanging in the corner of the room. “Bring my breakfast up and after he leaves you may begin dressing me.”
“Yes ma’am.” Sarah bobbed her head and slipped through the doorway closing the door behind her.
Turning back to the window, she smiled gazing out across to the little family church. “Today I become Lady Hannah.”
The sound of heavy boots on the stairs rang out as a warning her father was on his way up to her. She opened the door and took a seat beside her writing table. The thought of leaving him alone in this big manor house hurt her heart. Perhaps this was best for him, having her safe, married and in France; he could get on with his life. A handsome man of his age could remarry.
“Good morrow my daughter. I would like a few moments with you before the wedding.” Edward paused inside the doorway.
Hannah stood and bowed her head. “Yes Father, of course. Would you like to have a seat?”
“No. I should like to stand for this. This should not take long.”
“As you wish Father.”
His tone gave her cause to for concern, as she remained standing in front of him. Once again, a chill ran down her spine.
This could not be good news.
Chapter Two
Sarah hesitated outside the door, balancing, on one hand, a silver serving tray that held her mistress’s breakfast, not knowing whether to let her presence known. Concentrating on holding the tray steady, she did not make a sound. Her head tilted against the sturdy English oak door, listening to the voices on the other side. Lord Bingham’s deep tones carried through the door with ease, but she was having difficulty hearing Mistress Hannah’s soft voice.
“Yes, I signed the marriage contract months ago. And yes, I know this is what you think you want. However, I have my doubts. You are my only child,” Edward said. “Perhaps you could go to court and be one of Queen Elizabeth’s ladies in waiting?”
“Father, I have never wished to go to court. Life there only brings unhappiness. This is my wedding day. I love Thomas, and want nothing more than to be his wife.” Hannah’s voice was adamant. “You have known his family for years. You continue to have business dealings with his father even though he now resides in France. I do not understand this sudden change in your opinion of him.”
“It is because of business, I am having doubts. England, the throne, business, everything is unstable. If the Privy Council should arrange a marriage with Spain for Queen Elizabeth, England could be at war with France, or the other way around. I will not have you in harm’s way.”
Sarah could hear heavy footfalls on the floor, Lord Bingham only paced when he was troubled. All of the house staff knew to tread light and become invisible when he walked the floor.
“Thomas will keep me safe. Father, you must not doubt his devotion to me.” Hannah spoke softly.
“His devotion is not in question. Any young man would want to wed a beautiful young woman who is heir to a manor and estates. William Cecil is in the process of expanding his web of informants to protect the throne. Through those he has already placed, I can neither discover where Thomas goes nor what he does when he is not involved in his father’s business.”
“You had him followed? You spied on him? You think he has chosen me to wife for money and estates?”
Sobs drifted through the door.
“Yes, Hannah I did have his activities observed. Any man interested in my only child and heir would be treated the same. Thomas is not the man I would have chosen for you, but having you in France is the only way I can see to secure your future. His father and I were friends long before his self—imposed exile to France when Mary took the throne. I know and respect the father. I do not know the son well. His movements are kept secret while he goes about his father’s business.” Edward’s voice softened. “You also know the difficulty I have saying no to you. I have never denied you anything you’ve had your heart set on, especially after your mother died, and I may be guilty of trying to make up for her death by spoiling you. This is why I had to ask you, before this goes any further, if you are certain you wish to wed today.”
“Yes, father. I love Thomas. Above all else, I wish to be his wife. I know we will have the same successful marriage you and mother had. Father please; allow Thomas a chance to prove to you what a good man he is. In time you will learn to love him as the son you never had.”
“As you wish, my dearest. I shall not ask you again. However, I have news from France. Thomas’s father has taken a turn for the worst. He has requested his son’s immediate return. I have arranged for you, Thomas, and both of your servants on board one of my carracks due to set sail on the morrow. The ship is more for cargo than for passengers. I am sure the captain shall do his best to make room for the four of you. I leave you now and go inform Thomas. You may inform Sarah of this change in departure. I do not know how she will react taking leave of her mother sooner than intended.”
There was a pause. Sarah took this cue to tap on the door.
“Come.” Hannah’s voice carried through the door.
Sarah entered the room deft hands balanced the tray. With her head down, she hurried across the room to place her mistress’s breakfast on the oak writing table beside the native rock fireplace. When she turned, Edward kissed Hannah on the forehead before he left the room.
Hannah stood in front of the window, looking out. “It is a good morrow, milady, and a bright beautiful morning for a wedding.”
“Most certainly, Sarah,” Hannah replied.
“I have brought your breakfast, milady. I cannot let you face your wedding day on an empty stomach.”
Hannah’s fingers traced the diamond—shaped, leaded, windowpanes as she turned to Sarah. “Where is everyone?”
Sarah smiled and pulled out a straight—backed chair for Hannah to sit at the table to eat. “Mother is in the garden directing the younger maids on cutting the flowers for the church and the wedding feast tables.” Sarah made her way to the large oak trunk in the corner of the room containing Hannah’s wedding clothes. “The kitchen is a beehive of activity with the cook herself queen bee. She is shouting at everyone, then praising them. However, I suppose you are more interested in the whereabouts of your young man.” Sarah flashed a wicked smile. “He is barricaded in his room, being tended to by his horrible French servant. Phillip would not even allow the maid to take in breakfast. Said he alone would ready his lord today. Oh so silly if you ask me, a grown man acting as though he were attending to the King of France himself. Thank goodness Englishmen are not so pretentious.”
“You have never been to court.” Hannah giggled while she watched Sarah lay out her kirtle, bodice, and petticoat, on the bed, arranging them with the undergarments on top, and held up the deep blue wedding dress.
Hannah sprang to her feet, poured water from the pitcher and washed her hands and face. Once completing the task, she moved to the center of her room and allowed Sarah to dress her with each layer of clothing. The wedding dress was of the finest blue linen and white lace with matching silk shoes and netherstocks.
“Oh dear.” Sarah stepped back and looked Hannah over from head to toe. Tears filled her eyes.
“What is wrong? Do I look hideous?” She looked down at the dress and turned around.
“No, milady. I was taken by surprise. You look so much like the portrait of your mother, Mistress Victoria, God rest her soul, the one hanging in your father’s study.” Sarah blinked, sniffled, and made the sign of the cross. “You have the look of her, except your hair is a darker brown, like your father’s.” Smiling, she placed her hands on her thin hips; her own young frame was covered in a modest white linen smock, under a matching dark green wool skirt with matching woolen bodice, which tugged her bodice into place. “Please sit down milady, so I can tie your slippers.”
Hannah relaxed, taking a seat on a stool. “Sarah, we are alone. Stop with the formalities, I cannot abide it today. Father has received word from France. Thomas is to return at once. This means we shall be leaving shortly after the wedding feast.”
Kneeling, Sarah nodded her head and tied the slippers into place, glanced up and quickly looked away. “There, they match perfectly. Now we must put your hair up.”
“Sarah, did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, we shall leave this day for France.”
“You have nothing further to say on the matter?”
“My mother has served your family since the day she married my father. She continued to serve after his death. I was ten years old when I began to assist your mother after you were born and have been your maid ever since. I am glad we are departing today. I have no wish to live my entire life here, ending up wed to some man of your father’s choosing. Living a life as my mother has, never knowing what the rest of the world is like. I want more in my life. My mother knows this. She does not agree with me but she accepts what is in my nature to do.”
“I wish for your courage. I have doubts of what our lives hold for us.”
“Milady, please. All will be well for you.”
Hannah whispered. “Check the hallway, we must speak.”
Frowning, Sarah went to the door. She peered both ways, closed the door and eased the latch into place.
Hannah moved to the bed and patted the coverlet indicating Sarah should sit. Sarah did so with her hands folded in her lap.
In hushed tones, Hannah spoke. “I must do my duty as a wife. I can run a household, manage the expenses and the like. But there are other wifely duties I must also carry out. I have heard the maids talking about the intimacies transpiring between a man and a woman. They speak of private duties, lewd wanton ways, and consummating the marriage.” Hannah blushed.
“They giggle and tell tales of amorous attentions and trysts in the fields. They prattle on about barn animals. Do not listen to them.” Sarah’s tone was serious.
“I am afraid. Sarah, I am so afraid. I have also overheard conversations about how some women do not enjoy intimacy, while others are wanton. I hope Thomas will be gentle and patient with me.” She paused.
“But what if I disappoint him? What if I am wanton and he turns away from me? What if I am not to his liking?” She blushed seeing the look of shock on Sarah’s face. “There, I said it aloud.” Hannah exhaled.
“I see.” Sarah reached out and took her hand. “It is expected for you to be experiencing these emotions. Be assured, all brides ask these same questions. They have done so in the past and will continue to do so in the future. Your mother’s premature death has left your education wanting.”
“I think what I truly need to know is what to do? I have no one else to ask.” She squeezed Sarah’s hand.
It was Sarah’s turn to take a deep breath. “Intimacy is a natural act between man and woman. Women come to the marriage bed virginal. The same is not true for the groom.”
She jerked her hand back. “Have care, Sarah. Are you trying to tell me Thomas has been unfaithful to me?”
“No, no, of course not. I am only saying, experience with such matters is a man’s duty. Men are expected to have had their frolicking fun with other women before taking a wife. Some continue to do so by taking a mistress. You remember the stories about King Henry. Does anyone truly know how many women graced his bed over the course of his life?” Sarah smiled. “Think about it. Can you picture a member of the court standing outside the king’s bedchamber? Parchment and quill in hand, making little tally marks when women departed after the deed was done.”
Hannah laughed. “Thank you. I needed something to lighten the moment. You are right. He will have had experience in this area and I have nothing to fear.” Hannah leaned over and hugged Sarah. “Tonight it will all be over.”
“This is not an arranged marriage. You love him! He loves you. He will cherish you as his wife. All will be well.” Sarah took her by the hands and pulled her to her feet. Hannah took a seat on the stool and their conversation turned to the design of hair.
The loud knock drew Hannah’s attention. She turned to Sarah and nodded in the direction of the door. Sarah opened it, bowed to Lord Bingham and then she slipped in silence out into the hallway closing the door.
Edward stood with his hands behind his back; he was dressed in black, his custom since the death of her mother. More than a year had passed since she died. He should have put away his mourning clothes.
Hannah put on her brightest smile. Still he cannot bring himself to end his mourning. Not even for my wedding. Constant in his grief, the years have been kind to his face. He has only a few wrinkles about the corners of his eyes when he smiles. She watched his eyes take in every inch of her.
He smiled. “I had no idea you were planning to wear your mother’s dress. You are beautiful my dear.” He took a deep breath. “There is a scent of lavender. Victoria loved lavender.”
“I found dried sprigs in the trunk when Sarah and I were making ready for today.” Her long thin fingers trembled under her father’s gaze. He wavered. She clutched his arm. “Father, are you well? Do you need to sit?”
“No, no, I’m fine.” He patted her hand to reassure her. “It is just — I saw you standing there, and for a moment, the room began to spin and my vision narrowed, taking me back in time to another beautiful woman standing before me wearing same dress with the smell of lavender about her. She smiled the exact same smile. Her green eyes looking up at me. For a moment, I thought you were your mother. You look so much like her. You are as beautiful as she was in this dress.”
“Except my hair is darker than mother’s.” Relieved her father was not ill, she could not help but regret her mother was not here today.
Edward put his arms around her and embraced her. She returned his hug, and could feel the warmth and love pour from him. He took a step back and presented a small dark leather box. “I believe this will add the finishing touch.” He handed it to her with a smile.
She raised the lid. Her heart leapt when she recognized the five green teardrop emeralds dangling from a silver chain laying on a bed of black velvet.
“Oh! Father, it is beautiful! I remember the last time mother wore this. It was our dressmaking trip to London two years ago. You introduced us to Thomas.”
“These are the emeralds I gave your mother on our wedding night. They are yours now. I know she would have given them to you and would be honored for you to wear them today.” He took the necklace out of the box, stepped behind her and fastened it around her neck.
Hannah crossed the room to stand before the mirror of polished silver. Her mother’s face looked back at her. Her own dark hair hung in curls from the crown of her head where tiny white wild flowers were set in contrast. Tears overcame her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She turned to her father, whose eyes had also pooled with tears. “Thank you Father, I am the one who is honored to wear them.”
Edward stepped forward and placed his weathered hands on her small shoulders. She looked up at him. A hint of concern the only blot in his firm shaven face.
His black doublet was spotless and fitted his still muscular frame well. He looked down at her, standing straight and tall, every inch of him imposing.
His face softened and kissed his daughter’s forehead. Then, stepping to her side, he held out his hand for hers.
“All are awaiting the bride, if you are ready?”
Placing her hand on his she looked about the bedchamber.
Oh mother, how I wish you were here this day.
“Yes father, I am ready.”
https://amzn.to/2E5RKKx
C.L. Koch
Chapter One
Dawn broke over the fog covered hills above the manor house in central England. Fingers of sunlight tickled their way through the tree branches and pushed through the windowpanes onto the sleeping face of young Hannah. She pushed the covers away, pulled a cloak over her shoulders, and stood before the single window of her bedroom and gazed up at the horned moon.
“Mother, why did you die so sudden?” A chill ran down her spine. She pulled the cloak a litter tighter.
A knock on the door turned her away from the window.
“Enter.”
The door opened, a maid stepped into the room with a curtsy.
“Yes Sarah?”
“Your father is on his way up. He asked me to wake you. Since you are already awake, would you like me anything before he arrives?”
Hannah’s eyes darted to the wedding dress hanging in the corner of the room. “Bring my breakfast up and after he leaves you may begin dressing me.”
“Yes ma’am.” Sarah bobbed her head and slipped through the doorway closing the door behind her.
Turning back to the window, she smiled gazing out across to the little family church. “Today I become Lady Hannah.”
The sound of heavy boots on the stairs rang out as a warning her father was on his way up to her. She opened the door and took a seat beside her writing table. The thought of leaving him alone in this big manor house hurt her heart. Perhaps this was best for him, having her safe, married and in France; he could get on with his life. A handsome man of his age could remarry.
“Good morrow my daughter. I would like a few moments with you before the wedding.” Edward paused inside the doorway.
Hannah stood and bowed her head. “Yes Father, of course. Would you like to have a seat?”
“No. I should like to stand for this. This should not take long.”
“As you wish Father.”
His tone gave her cause to for concern, as she remained standing in front of him. Once again, a chill ran down her spine.
This could not be good news.
Chapter Two
Sarah hesitated outside the door, balancing, on one hand, a silver serving tray that held her mistress’s breakfast, not knowing whether to let her presence known. Concentrating on holding the tray steady, she did not make a sound. Her head tilted against the sturdy English oak door, listening to the voices on the other side. Lord Bingham’s deep tones carried through the door with ease, but she was having difficulty hearing Mistress Hannah’s soft voice.
“Yes, I signed the marriage contract months ago. And yes, I know this is what you think you want. However, I have my doubts. You are my only child,” Edward said. “Perhaps you could go to court and be one of Queen Elizabeth’s ladies in waiting?”
“Father, I have never wished to go to court. Life there only brings unhappiness. This is my wedding day. I love Thomas, and want nothing more than to be his wife.” Hannah’s voice was adamant. “You have known his family for years. You continue to have business dealings with his father even though he now resides in France. I do not understand this sudden change in your opinion of him.”
“It is because of business, I am having doubts. England, the throne, business, everything is unstable. If the Privy Council should arrange a marriage with Spain for Queen Elizabeth, England could be at war with France, or the other way around. I will not have you in harm’s way.”
Sarah could hear heavy footfalls on the floor, Lord Bingham only paced when he was troubled. All of the house staff knew to tread light and become invisible when he walked the floor.
“Thomas will keep me safe. Father, you must not doubt his devotion to me.” Hannah spoke softly.
“His devotion is not in question. Any young man would want to wed a beautiful young woman who is heir to a manor and estates. William Cecil is in the process of expanding his web of informants to protect the throne. Through those he has already placed, I can neither discover where Thomas goes nor what he does when he is not involved in his father’s business.”
“You had him followed? You spied on him? You think he has chosen me to wife for money and estates?”
Sobs drifted through the door.
“Yes, Hannah I did have his activities observed. Any man interested in my only child and heir would be treated the same. Thomas is not the man I would have chosen for you, but having you in France is the only way I can see to secure your future. His father and I were friends long before his self—imposed exile to France when Mary took the throne. I know and respect the father. I do not know the son well. His movements are kept secret while he goes about his father’s business.” Edward’s voice softened. “You also know the difficulty I have saying no to you. I have never denied you anything you’ve had your heart set on, especially after your mother died, and I may be guilty of trying to make up for her death by spoiling you. This is why I had to ask you, before this goes any further, if you are certain you wish to wed today.”
“Yes, father. I love Thomas. Above all else, I wish to be his wife. I know we will have the same successful marriage you and mother had. Father please; allow Thomas a chance to prove to you what a good man he is. In time you will learn to love him as the son you never had.”
“As you wish, my dearest. I shall not ask you again. However, I have news from France. Thomas’s father has taken a turn for the worst. He has requested his son’s immediate return. I have arranged for you, Thomas, and both of your servants on board one of my carracks due to set sail on the morrow. The ship is more for cargo than for passengers. I am sure the captain shall do his best to make room for the four of you. I leave you now and go inform Thomas. You may inform Sarah of this change in departure. I do not know how she will react taking leave of her mother sooner than intended.”
There was a pause. Sarah took this cue to tap on the door.
“Come.” Hannah’s voice carried through the door.
Sarah entered the room deft hands balanced the tray. With her head down, she hurried across the room to place her mistress’s breakfast on the oak writing table beside the native rock fireplace. When she turned, Edward kissed Hannah on the forehead before he left the room.
Hannah stood in front of the window, looking out. “It is a good morrow, milady, and a bright beautiful morning for a wedding.”
“Most certainly, Sarah,” Hannah replied.
“I have brought your breakfast, milady. I cannot let you face your wedding day on an empty stomach.”
Hannah’s fingers traced the diamond—shaped, leaded, windowpanes as she turned to Sarah. “Where is everyone?”
Sarah smiled and pulled out a straight—backed chair for Hannah to sit at the table to eat. “Mother is in the garden directing the younger maids on cutting the flowers for the church and the wedding feast tables.” Sarah made her way to the large oak trunk in the corner of the room containing Hannah’s wedding clothes. “The kitchen is a beehive of activity with the cook herself queen bee. She is shouting at everyone, then praising them. However, I suppose you are more interested in the whereabouts of your young man.” Sarah flashed a wicked smile. “He is barricaded in his room, being tended to by his horrible French servant. Phillip would not even allow the maid to take in breakfast. Said he alone would ready his lord today. Oh so silly if you ask me, a grown man acting as though he were attending to the King of France himself. Thank goodness Englishmen are not so pretentious.”
“You have never been to court.” Hannah giggled while she watched Sarah lay out her kirtle, bodice, and petticoat, on the bed, arranging them with the undergarments on top, and held up the deep blue wedding dress.
Hannah sprang to her feet, poured water from the pitcher and washed her hands and face. Once completing the task, she moved to the center of her room and allowed Sarah to dress her with each layer of clothing. The wedding dress was of the finest blue linen and white lace with matching silk shoes and netherstocks.
“Oh dear.” Sarah stepped back and looked Hannah over from head to toe. Tears filled her eyes.
“What is wrong? Do I look hideous?” She looked down at the dress and turned around.
“No, milady. I was taken by surprise. You look so much like the portrait of your mother, Mistress Victoria, God rest her soul, the one hanging in your father’s study.” Sarah blinked, sniffled, and made the sign of the cross. “You have the look of her, except your hair is a darker brown, like your father’s.” Smiling, she placed her hands on her thin hips; her own young frame was covered in a modest white linen smock, under a matching dark green wool skirt with matching woolen bodice, which tugged her bodice into place. “Please sit down milady, so I can tie your slippers.”
Hannah relaxed, taking a seat on a stool. “Sarah, we are alone. Stop with the formalities, I cannot abide it today. Father has received word from France. Thomas is to return at once. This means we shall be leaving shortly after the wedding feast.”
Kneeling, Sarah nodded her head and tied the slippers into place, glanced up and quickly looked away. “There, they match perfectly. Now we must put your hair up.”
“Sarah, did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, we shall leave this day for France.”
“You have nothing further to say on the matter?”
“My mother has served your family since the day she married my father. She continued to serve after his death. I was ten years old when I began to assist your mother after you were born and have been your maid ever since. I am glad we are departing today. I have no wish to live my entire life here, ending up wed to some man of your father’s choosing. Living a life as my mother has, never knowing what the rest of the world is like. I want more in my life. My mother knows this. She does not agree with me but she accepts what is in my nature to do.”
“I wish for your courage. I have doubts of what our lives hold for us.”
“Milady, please. All will be well for you.”
Hannah whispered. “Check the hallway, we must speak.”
Frowning, Sarah went to the door. She peered both ways, closed the door and eased the latch into place.
Hannah moved to the bed and patted the coverlet indicating Sarah should sit. Sarah did so with her hands folded in her lap.
In hushed tones, Hannah spoke. “I must do my duty as a wife. I can run a household, manage the expenses and the like. But there are other wifely duties I must also carry out. I have heard the maids talking about the intimacies transpiring between a man and a woman. They speak of private duties, lewd wanton ways, and consummating the marriage.” Hannah blushed.
“They giggle and tell tales of amorous attentions and trysts in the fields. They prattle on about barn animals. Do not listen to them.” Sarah’s tone was serious.
“I am afraid. Sarah, I am so afraid. I have also overheard conversations about how some women do not enjoy intimacy, while others are wanton. I hope Thomas will be gentle and patient with me.” She paused.
“But what if I disappoint him? What if I am wanton and he turns away from me? What if I am not to his liking?” She blushed seeing the look of shock on Sarah’s face. “There, I said it aloud.” Hannah exhaled.
“I see.” Sarah reached out and took her hand. “It is expected for you to be experiencing these emotions. Be assured, all brides ask these same questions. They have done so in the past and will continue to do so in the future. Your mother’s premature death has left your education wanting.”
“I think what I truly need to know is what to do? I have no one else to ask.” She squeezed Sarah’s hand.
It was Sarah’s turn to take a deep breath. “Intimacy is a natural act between man and woman. Women come to the marriage bed virginal. The same is not true for the groom.”
She jerked her hand back. “Have care, Sarah. Are you trying to tell me Thomas has been unfaithful to me?”
“No, no, of course not. I am only saying, experience with such matters is a man’s duty. Men are expected to have had their frolicking fun with other women before taking a wife. Some continue to do so by taking a mistress. You remember the stories about King Henry. Does anyone truly know how many women graced his bed over the course of his life?” Sarah smiled. “Think about it. Can you picture a member of the court standing outside the king’s bedchamber? Parchment and quill in hand, making little tally marks when women departed after the deed was done.”
Hannah laughed. “Thank you. I needed something to lighten the moment. You are right. He will have had experience in this area and I have nothing to fear.” Hannah leaned over and hugged Sarah. “Tonight it will all be over.”
“This is not an arranged marriage. You love him! He loves you. He will cherish you as his wife. All will be well.” Sarah took her by the hands and pulled her to her feet. Hannah took a seat on the stool and their conversation turned to the design of hair.
The loud knock drew Hannah’s attention. She turned to Sarah and nodded in the direction of the door. Sarah opened it, bowed to Lord Bingham and then she slipped in silence out into the hallway closing the door.
Edward stood with his hands behind his back; he was dressed in black, his custom since the death of her mother. More than a year had passed since she died. He should have put away his mourning clothes.
Hannah put on her brightest smile. Still he cannot bring himself to end his mourning. Not even for my wedding. Constant in his grief, the years have been kind to his face. He has only a few wrinkles about the corners of his eyes when he smiles. She watched his eyes take in every inch of her.
He smiled. “I had no idea you were planning to wear your mother’s dress. You are beautiful my dear.” He took a deep breath. “There is a scent of lavender. Victoria loved lavender.”
“I found dried sprigs in the trunk when Sarah and I were making ready for today.” Her long thin fingers trembled under her father’s gaze. He wavered. She clutched his arm. “Father, are you well? Do you need to sit?”
“No, no, I’m fine.” He patted her hand to reassure her. “It is just — I saw you standing there, and for a moment, the room began to spin and my vision narrowed, taking me back in time to another beautiful woman standing before me wearing same dress with the smell of lavender about her. She smiled the exact same smile. Her green eyes looking up at me. For a moment, I thought you were your mother. You look so much like her. You are as beautiful as she was in this dress.”
“Except my hair is darker than mother’s.” Relieved her father was not ill, she could not help but regret her mother was not here today.
Edward put his arms around her and embraced her. She returned his hug, and could feel the warmth and love pour from him. He took a step back and presented a small dark leather box. “I believe this will add the finishing touch.” He handed it to her with a smile.
She raised the lid. Her heart leapt when she recognized the five green teardrop emeralds dangling from a silver chain laying on a bed of black velvet.
“Oh! Father, it is beautiful! I remember the last time mother wore this. It was our dressmaking trip to London two years ago. You introduced us to Thomas.”
“These are the emeralds I gave your mother on our wedding night. They are yours now. I know she would have given them to you and would be honored for you to wear them today.” He took the necklace out of the box, stepped behind her and fastened it around her neck.
Hannah crossed the room to stand before the mirror of polished silver. Her mother’s face looked back at her. Her own dark hair hung in curls from the crown of her head where tiny white wild flowers were set in contrast. Tears overcame her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She turned to her father, whose eyes had also pooled with tears. “Thank you Father, I am the one who is honored to wear them.”
Edward stepped forward and placed his weathered hands on her small shoulders. She looked up at him. A hint of concern the only blot in his firm shaven face.
His black doublet was spotless and fitted his still muscular frame well. He looked down at her, standing straight and tall, every inch of him imposing.
His face softened and kissed his daughter’s forehead. Then, stepping to her side, he held out his hand for hers.
“All are awaiting the bride, if you are ready?”
Placing her hand on his she looked about the bedchamber.
Oh mother, how I wish you were here this day.
“Yes father, I am ready.”
A Merman’s Choice
A Merman’s Choice
https://amzn.to/2QglyeI
Alice Renaud
Chapter One
The girl wasn’t swimming any more. Yann’s sonar gave him a clear picture of her distress. She was flailing. Sinking.
Fear punched him between the ribs. Just a few minutes earlier, she’d been splashing in the shallows, laughing and humming to herself. That music had rippled around him, brightening his journey. Now the sea was snuffing that light out. No! He wouldn’t let it happen. His webbed hands and feet churned the water, and he shot towards her like a torpedo.
Not this one, sea. Not this time.
She came in sight, slim and lovely, with long bronzed limbs and hair the colour of sunshine. But her eyes were closed, her movements slow, hesitant, as if she were falling asleep. His fear hardened into cold, sharp dread. He poured all his energy into the last powerful strokes. He’d almost reached her, when his eye caught the shadow, beyond the crystal surface, out there in the dry world. He sent a sound wave. It came back with an image, and the icy blade inside him twisted: two-legged shapes on the beach. Humans!
If they saw him, they’d know him for what he was. His people’s secret, kept for thousands of years, would be out.
The girl’s head vanished under the waves. To hell with that. He couldn’t let her drown.
He grabbed her and dragged her back to the surface. She thrashed in his arms and coughed up seawater. Intense relief swept through him as he hugged her to his chest. He’d sworn he’d never again swim by and let a human drown, and he’d kept his promise. If the young woman’s eyes remained closed, he might even get away with it. He wanted her to breathe, not scream in horror at the sight of his dark grey face.
He looked up. The shapes on the beach had gone. Another miracle, or perhaps he’d only imagined them. What if they came back? A fresh stab of anxiety propelled him through the surf.
He lay the girl down on the sand, cushioning her head on his arm. Her round breasts, encased in the turquoise bikini top, rose and fell in a regular rhythm, but her skin felt clammy under his hands. He scanned the beach in vain for something to cover her with and saw the motorbike. A sleek, sporty number, well camouflaged among the grass-covered dunes.
Shit. He retracted the webs between his fingers and toes, but his body would take at least twenty minutes to shift from his aquatic shape to the human form. And even when it did, what would the humans think if they found him naked next to an unconscious girl? They’d arrest him for indecent exposure, or worse.
He touched the girl’s face with a tentative finger. The thought of leaving her sickened him. But he couldn’t stay.
Her eyelids fluttered, and she muttered a name. “Boris?”
As if in answer, a male voice tore through the air, from behind the dunes. “Alex!”
Yann flew towards the waves. Help was coming for the girl. She’d be fine.
He sped into the open sea, leaving the human world and human fears behind. He’d saved her. That knowledge glowed inside him as he plunged into the depths. She was safe, and his people would remain safe too. He sang as he rode the riptide, a song full of triumph and laughter. Far away, the humpback whales heard him and picked up the tune. He’d got away with it.
For now. His euphoria abated. No humans had seen him, but his people had sharper eyes and ears. He shouldn’t even have been hanging around, in full merman shape, so close to an inhabited island, but he’d thought he’d be OK. In late September very few tourists were around, and locals had better things to do than go swimming in cold water. He sniffed the current and tuned his sonar towards the Clans’ islands. Nothing. With luck, no one would notice that he’d broken the merpeople’s rules.
Again.
Eight months later
Green water enclosed Alex, filling her nose, her eyes, her mouth. She couldn’t breathe. She tried to kick her way to the surface, but her limbs weren’t obeying her any more. Panic suffocated her.
“Help!” Alex could hear her own voice, muffled by the ringing in her ears. Her lungs were burning. She pushed at the water with her hands and struggled to shove the heavy fog from her brain. Move—she had to move. At last her fingers responded, and they grabbed the fabric that lay over her. Fabric. Not water. She had been dreaming, not drowning. But where the heck was she?
She shook so much it took her three attempts to find the switch on the wall. Blessed light flooded the ordinary hotel room—the pink, flowery cover on the bed; the magnolia walls around her. She let her head thump back on the pillow. Great. She hadn’t even made it to the sea yet, and already the bad memories from eight months ago were resurfacing. That stupid accident. She wouldn’t give it more power over her by calling it a trauma.
And yet, she was still struggling for breath. Her heart galloped as though it wanted to explode out of her chest. Dizziness overwhelmed her. Help! She opened her mouth to shout, and the action brought back the memory of her therapist’s voice, so calm and rational.
“You’re safe, Alex. But your mind doesn’t believe it. That’s why you are having a panic attack. All you have to do is breathe.”
Breathe. In. And. Out. At last, the invisible elephant that sat on her chest got up and walked away. But she needed a distraction, fast, or it would return. She groped under the bed for her rucksack and pulled out her Nikon. Nain’s last, best present. She’d given it to her just before the accident.
“Follow your dream, cariad,” she’d said, from her bed in the Swansea nursing home. “Bring me back some pictures of the Morvann Islands. And stories. The old legends of the islanders. We’ve still got time to write our book.”
A prickling started at the back of Alex’s eyes. Time was dripping away from Nain, day by day. It would soon run out. She stroked the camera’s matt surface. She could cave in, go back. But then she’d never capture the images that would help Nain finish her life’s work and give her peace.
“I’ll do it, Nain,” she said, aloud, to drown out the rush of blood in her ears.
She put the camera back in her bag. Blue fingers of dawn were creeping through the curtains and stretching towards her. Her ship was already waiting for her, down on the dock. The captain—what was his name again? Yann—had said he’d be on deck from five a.m., rigging his boat for the short journey across the sea. Her ribcage tightened. She gulped down some air. If she went now, she could take a look at the ship, get used to the idea of sailing. The captain would reassure her. She imagined an old sea dog, full of experience. And stories.
She jumped out of bed and threw on the indigo jeans and navy crew-neck sweater she’d bought at the nearest supermarket. Her usual designer togs would attract too much attention; these plain clothes would help her blend in with the locals. She needed to gain their trust, so they’d let her photograph them at work and at play. Maybe they’d share their ancient legends about the mysterious creatures that haunted their ocean, or so they believed.
She shouldered her rucksack. Snakes knotted in her belly, but she was going to the Morvanns. She was following her dream, and the nightmares wouldn’t stop her.
She tiptoed downstairs, settled her bill with the night manager, and slipped out. The salty air embraced her like a long-lost acquaintance. She’d loved that fresh smell once. Just as she’d loved the slap of waves against her skin, the squish of sand between her toes, the cry of seagulls above her head. She’d dreamt of watching whales, or swimming with dolphins.
She pushed the sadness away. Maybe one day she’d learn to love those things again.
She reached the quay. The undulating black water, dull and menacing in the light of a street lamp, drew her eyes. That same water had almost swallowed her. The snakes in her belly twisted upwards and crawled into her throat. Focus on the boats! She read the names aloud, as fast as she could.
“The Cormorant. Star of Wales. Gwilan.”
That last boat was the only one with its sails up, so it had to be hers. It was so tiny! The prospect of sailing in that thing, on the wild seas around the Morvanns, rubbed her nerves raw. She let out a loud sigh.
“Oh, God. I’ll never make it.”
“Alex?” The deep baritone, from somewhere behind the mast, jolted her.
It’s only the captain, you muppet.
She coughed the words out. “Yes. It’s me. Hello.”
A tall, broad silhouette stepped out of the gloom. “Alex! It really is you! I wasn’t expecting you so early.”
His enthusiasm took her aback. He was behaving as though she was a long-lost friend. Had they met before? She took a step forward for a closer look.
The light fell on his features. A young, handsome face, with a straight nose and square chin, crowned by a mop of glossy chestnut curls. No, she didn’t know him from Adam. Where was her grizzled, reassuring sea-dog?
“You’re the captain?”
“That’s right. I’m Yann,” he said with a smile.
A captain barely in his twenties, and a titchy boat. The knots in her throat tightened. That thin wooden shell couldn’t contain more than two adults. Just like the boat that had been found on a Morvann beach three months ago, with its mast torn off and a massive tear in its hull. They’d never found the honeymooning couple that had sailed in it. She could taste the cold, salty water in her mouth, feel the tug of it on her legs, dragging her down.
“You’re the captain, and also the only crew?”
His grin faded at her sharp tone. “Yes. Is that a problem, Alex?”
She felt like a right snotty bitch, finding fault with his boat before she’d even stepped on it. Yann seemed a nice guy. He’d left her no choice, though. He’d never mentioned he was a one-man band. He’d never told her how tiny his boat was, so tiny that one large wave could lift it and smash it against the rocks.
She shoved the answer out of her dry mouth. “I’m sorry, I have to cancel my trip.”
His eyebrows almost hit his tousled hair. “Because my boat is too small? It’s very seaworthy, I assure you.”
Her fear was thickening, smothering her. Her field of vision shrank, until all she could see was dark water rising towards her. Its rushing noise filled her ears. This stranger had no idea what it was like for her, and she didn’t have the energy to explain.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, and turned away.
“Wait!” He jumped on the quay, with a lightness surprising for a man his size. “I can’t let you go like that, you’re as white as a sheet. Are you feeling OK?”
The concern in his voice reached through her anguish and stopped her in her tracks. The din in her eardrums receded.
“I’m ... I’m just scared of the sea.” She cringed because it sounded so lame.
Yet unlike her ex, Boris, and her father, Yann didn’t laugh at her.
“Why, what happened?”
She’d never met him, and he seemed to care more than Boris ever had. That was sweet. Proof that nice, caring guys still existed. She owed him an explanation.
“I had an accident in the Morvanns last autumn. I nearly drowned.”
“That’s terrible.”
He sounded as though he meant it. The noose around her throat loosened; the words came more easily.
“It’s not you, or the boat, it’s me. I’ve been afraid of water since the accident. Please don’t take it personally.”
His voice softened into a gentle rumble. “Why would I do that?”
He came closer and lifted a hand. She wondered if he was going to lay it on her shoulder.
“I understand. And I’m sorry.”
His arm fell to his side, and she couldn’t help a minute prick of disappointment. What would it have felt like if he’d enveloped her in a bear hug? That broad chest was made for a girl to lay her head on. She shook off the thought. It was lovely to confide in someone who didn’t mock her, but he was only being nice to a paying customer. An experienced seaman like him would never understand her phobia.
“I can’t believe you’ve ever been scared of water.” He looked like a man who wasn’t afraid of anything.
His smile this time had a tinge of sadness. “I know what the sea can do. Even to those who love her the most.”
Had he lost someone? Alex looked up into his eyes. The growing light revealed they were a striking green, as bright as her mother’s prized emerald necklace, but a good deal warmer.
“You haven’t run away yet,” he said. “Does that mean you still want to go to the Morvanns?”
Alex thought of Nain, lying on her bed, waiting. Every minute counted. The Morvanns were calling to her, tugging her towards the sea. She looked again at the boat, but all she could see in her mind was the wave that would capsize it. The fear pressed down on her, pinning her to the quay.
I have to go. “I need to go. I made a promise to someone.”
He splayed his palms before her as if to say: look, no tricks.
“I can take you there, and you’ll be fine, I promise. I haven’t had an accident in ten years.”
A jab of misgiving made her take a step back. “Ten years? How old are you?”
He didn’t seem put out by her question. “Twenty-three. I got this boat at thirteen. You can speak to the coastguard, they’ll vouch for me.”
He must think I’m a suspicious cow. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
His chilled grin soothed her confusion. “No worries. We start young on the Morvanns; it always takes mainlanders by surprise.”
He was one laid-back guy. By now Boris would have bitten her head off, and half her torso as well. He’d never have put up with her dithering like that over a bit of sailing, or asking so many questions.
Yann extended a hand. “C’mon, why don’t you try to get on my Gwilan? See what happens?”
His strong, callused fingers closed on hers, before she’d had time to weigh her options. She allowed him to escort her to the edge of the dock. Without letting go of her hand, he stepped into the boat, and pulled her after him. The deck wobbled under her feet; her knees did the same. She couldn’t breathe; her chest hurt; she was sure she was going to fall. There was only one solid thing in this swaying world—him. She clung to his arm like a drowning woman to a raft.
He seemed to guess what she needed. His big, warm hands steadied her, and he settled her on the only seat, against the right side of the boat. He lifted her rucksack from her shoulders and tucked it under her feet.
“You can hold onto this rail.”
She gripped it as if her palms could merge with the metal and breathed in and out until her heart rate had returned to normal.
“Perhaps you’d prefer to sit in the cabin?” He gestured at the hatch at the foot of the mast. “You’d be dry down there.”
But she’d be sitting alone in the gloom, with only a few planks to separate her from the water. Her lungs closed up.
“I’ll stay here with you.”
“Great. You’d better put this on.”
He held up an orange life vest behind her back and waited, with a patience that amazed her, whilst she detached one hand from the rail and put her arm through the hole. No way was she letting go of that bar, not with the water licking the boat as though it planned to eat it up. She grabbed the rail again and repeated the operation with the other arm.
“Thank you.”
His aftershave wrapped her in a green, woodsy scent, overlaid with the salty tang of the sea. It reminded her of the wind blowing in the pines around her grandmother’s home. She caught herself stretching her neck to better inhale that comforting smell. What was wrong with her? She fumbled with the fastenings of the lifejacket with one hand, keeping the other on the rail.
“I’ll be fine now.”
She was far from fine. She had to get a grip. The fear was messing with her brain. She’d read that women who felt threatened often fell for the first guy offering protection. It had worked for Boris, hadn’t it? The thought of her ex brought up a familiar resentment and mortification. She’d been on the verge of ending the relationship, then she’d had that stupid accident and he’d rescued her. She couldn’t dump him after he’d saved her life. So, she’d let the relationship limp on, partly out of duty, partly because she was afraid of being alone.
“Are you sure you’re OK?” Yann’s voice yanked her back to the present. “You look a bit peaky.”
Boris had been solicitous too, at the beginning. Over the months, he’d grown more and more abrupt and distant, until she’d realised he only cared about her money. Towards the end, he was putting her down at every opportunity. Cold seeped into her, sending a shiver down her spine. Useless. He’d liked to call her that.
Now she was proving him right. Her open life jacket still flapped in the wind. She couldn’t even fasten it on her own, because she was too scared to let go of the bloody rail.
Yann was watching her. “D’you need a hand with that?”
Boris’s sneer popped up in her mind, goading her into answering, “I can cope.”
Now she had to prove it. She clenched her jaw and prised her hand off the metal bar.
Blood rushed to her head. Yet the boat enclosed her on all sides, hiding the water from her. You’re safe. You can do it. Her fingers shook and slid on the fastenings, but she succeeded in pulling them together. Relief dulled the edge of her fear. Now if she fell overboard, she’d survive.
“You’re doing well,” Yann said.
She glanced up at him. Was he making fun of her? No. His tanned, open face expressed only sincerity. She let out a strangled chuckle.
“You can’t be serious. I’m a nervous wreck. And we haven’t even left the dock.”
He crouched down to her level. To her surprise, the beautiful sea-green eyes contained genuine respect. “You’re confronting your fears.” He covered her hand with his, just for a moment, but it was enough for her to sense the reassurance flowing out of him. “It’s the only way to beat them, and it takes guts.”
He made her sound like one of the kick-ass heroines in her favourite historical romances. A little thrill ran through her. If she could imagine herself strong, she might one day believe it.
“My psychologist calls it aversion therapy. If I’m exposed to the sea, I will learn to fear it less. One day I might even stop being scared of it.”
He straightened, his eyes twinkling. “You’ve won the first round against your phobia. How about giving it a knock-out blow?”
High on her achievement, she nodded. “How do I do that?”
He jerked his thumb at the harbour around them that was tinged with the rose-gold glow of sunrise. “We have a nice breeze, and plenty of time. I could take us for a spin around the bay, so you get used to sailing before we set out.”
Anxiety uncoiled in her stomach. But how could she refuse? He was so understanding and was helping her face her terror. She felt through her rucksack for the outline of her camera. She couldn’t let her grandmother down again. She had to go to the islands, and she had to go now, whilst she had enough strength.
“OK.”
Yann gave her a thumbs-up and strapped himself into a larger version of her life vest. Alex watched him raise the anchor, then turn the boat into the wind with practised ease. He knew his stuff. But the slithering inside her refused to give up. She looked up into the candy-coloured sky, hoping that the pretty pink and lilac clouds would distract her. No chance. Her body knew that she’d left the safe dry land and that yards of merciless water would soon stretch below her feet. Her stomach heaved. She pressed a hand to her mouth, desperate to keep from throwing up in front of Yann.
He turned his head towards her and frowned. Damn it, couldn’t he focus on his boat for once?
He slackened a line, without taking his eyes off her. “Tell me if you want to go back.”
Alex squeezed her bag between her knees. She had to make it.
She couldn’t make it.
Yann put two fingers in his mouth and emitted a long, modulated whistle.
“Look!” He pointed at the waves.
She followed his gaze and gasped. “Dolphins!”
“Harbour porpoises,” he corrected.
The two black, glistening creatures escorted the boat, showing off their sleek heads and elegant fins. They sliced through the green waters, fearless and free. The slimy pressure in Alex’s throat ebbed away. She sighed.
“I’d forgotten how beautiful they are.”
Yann pulled on the line, changing the direction of the mainsail. “Plenty more where they came from. The Morvann Islands are a nature reserve; they’re stuffed with wildlife. Dolphins, seals, birds, even the odd whale if you’re lucky.”
The porpoises sped past the boat towards the open sea, and Alex’s body strained towards them of its own accord, as if it yearned to follow them. She realised with a shock that her nausea had vanished. She looked up at Yann. He’d called those creatures for her, so she would forget her phobia for a few minutes.
“Thank you for that.”
He winked. “Now you’ve seen what we have to offer ... d’you want to go on?”
Calm rippled from his broad frame and his cheerful face, soothing the troubled waters of her mind. She felt more secure next to him, even on that tiny boat, than she had on the quay.
“Look. The islands aren’t that far.” He pointed ahead.
He was right. If she squinted hard enough, she could make out a small dark speck on the line where sea and sky met. Newrock—the nearest island of the Morvann archipelago.
Yann shifted his hands on the wheel, drawing her attention back to his comforting bulk and the bulging muscles in his arms. Arms that could hold a girl … and keep her safe. She trusted him. She had to. At least as far as the islands.
She inhaled the sea air deep into her lungs. “Let’s go.”
Yann’s face brightened. “You won’t regret it, Alex.”
For a moment, she bathed in the light of his eyes. That sea-green gaze was one ocean she wouldn’t mind drowning in.
The thought churned her stomach far more than anything the islands could throw at her.
Chapter Two
He’d saved Alex’s body, but not her mind. Yann opened his mouth to drink in the salt spray but couldn’t get rid of the taste of failure on his tongue. He’d got her lovely limbs out, but, eight months later, she was still wrestling with her fears. He sneaked a peek at her, perched on her seat. She’d been OK until they’d left the harbour, but now they were in the open sea the tense angle of her neck showed that anxiety was chewing at her again.
He refocused on the path ahead—the clouds scudding across the sky, the dance of currents under the skin of the sea. He had done everything in his power to rescue that girl. He had even disobeyed a Clan rule. Mermen couldn’t reveal themselves to humans, and he’d come damn close to risking discovery. No one could expect more of him.
And yet it hadn’t been enough.
A large roller came up to them. Gwilan climbed the wave then glided down its back, as graceful as the gull it took its name from. But Alex had lost faith in the boat. She was clinging to the rail once more, her pretty face leeched of colour. If only he had another trick up his sleeve to soothe her anguish. The porpoises had helped earlier, but he didn’t dare summon them a second time. He hoped that Alex had been too distracted by her fear to notice they’d answered his call. But if he did it again, she’d realise that he had a special bond with the creatures. His father Bryn’s voice boomed in his mind: “We mermen must never give humans any hint of our abilities.” Frustration nipped him. If only his Clan didn’t have so many bloody rules.
“It’s always a bit choppy around here. There’s not long to go,” he said, to pull her mind away from the restless ocean.
Alex did her best to smile. “I’ll be OK. The island’s getting bigger and bigger. It’ll soon be over.”
He was of no use to her. The gnawing inside him intensified. She needed to be with her own kind. Where was that Boris guy who had run to help her? Maybe he was waiting for her on the islands.
“Are you meeting up with friends on Newrock?” he asked.
“No.”
The answer came too quick, too tight. He waited for her to say more, but she only stared past him, at the distant shape of the Morvann archipelago.
Weird. If she was really just planning a spot of aversion therapy, she’d chosen a damn difficult way to go about it. Not just back to the sea, but back to the very place of the accident, and on her own, too. Why? A tendril of worry pushed through his aggravation. Something or someone else was driving her to the Morvann Islands.
The wind rose and whined in the rigging, as if giving voice to his unease. He pulled in the topsail.
“Which hotel are you staying in?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure yet.”
Worry dug in, until his body thrummed with tension. He tapped the wheel in a vain effort to relieve it. How could she stay safe if she didn’t even know where she was going?
“I can recommend a nice family hotel on Newrock.” The Blue Waves was run by the mother of his human friend, Darren. She’d look after Alex as if she were her own daughter.
She chewed the nail of her thumb. “I was thinking of trying one of the other islands.”
He didn’t like that one bit. The wilder islands belonged to the mermen. They were no place for a girl with a phobia of water.
“Why?”
Alex fixed him with blue, innocent eyes. “Benetynn is very pretty. I visited it once, when I was a kid.”
“You can’t stay there.” The words shot out with more strength than he’d intended.
Her chin tilted at a mutinous angle. “Why not?”
Because it’s my island, he wanted to shout. It’s Clan territory. Anxiety swelled, filling his mind with its sharp edges. Bad things happened to pretty human girls who swam too deep into the mermen’s world. But how could he make her understand the risks, without betraying his own people?
“Benetynn is a nature reserve, like Dooran and Regor Islands. It has no hotels.”
“But there are cottages. And a farmhouse.” She sounded polite but determined. “I want to experience authentic Morvann life.”
Exasperation erupted through his concern, and he struggled to put a lid on it. “A few islanders live on Benetynn, it’s true. It’s not comfortable for tourists.” Or safe.
She rummaged in her bag. “How about researchers?”
The stew of emotions threatened to boil over. No one did research on the islands. Not if they knew what was good for them. He gripped the wheel hard. He couldn’t allow himself to let rip, she’d only clam up, and he had to keep her talking. Find out what lunatic scheme she had in mind.
“So, you’re a scientist?” He just about managed to maintain a neutral tone. Scientists were the enemies of his people. Scientists would probe and prod and drag the mermen into the light of the twenty-bloody-first century.
She lifted a camera out of her bag—a professional piece of kit, worth thousands of pounds.
“No, I’m a photographer.” Her shoulders relaxed. “Well, I’m trying to be.” Her mouth softened into the beginning of a smile.
Better an artist than a scientist. His irritation abated a little. And, as a bonus, he didn’t need the porpoises after all. Just talking about photography was enough to distract her from her anxiety.
He allowed the wheel to spin between his hands. Gwilan veered to the left and caught the current that would speed them on to the Morvanns. The Clans sometimes tolerated creative types on their territory, as long as they didn’t poke their noses where human noses weren’t wanted.
“What are you planning to photograph?”
Her dawn-blue eyes brightened. “You promised dolphins and whales.”
If she stuck to animals and birds, perhaps she’d be all right. Yet the worries refused to withdraw. “As I’ve said, you’re going to the right place for those.”
She leant forward, a shimmer of excitement on her pretty face. He caught a glimpse of the girl sh
https://amzn.to/2QglyeI
Alice Renaud
Chapter One
The girl wasn’t swimming any more. Yann’s sonar gave him a clear picture of her distress. She was flailing. Sinking.
Fear punched him between the ribs. Just a few minutes earlier, she’d been splashing in the shallows, laughing and humming to herself. That music had rippled around him, brightening his journey. Now the sea was snuffing that light out. No! He wouldn’t let it happen. His webbed hands and feet churned the water, and he shot towards her like a torpedo.
Not this one, sea. Not this time.
She came in sight, slim and lovely, with long bronzed limbs and hair the colour of sunshine. But her eyes were closed, her movements slow, hesitant, as if she were falling asleep. His fear hardened into cold, sharp dread. He poured all his energy into the last powerful strokes. He’d almost reached her, when his eye caught the shadow, beyond the crystal surface, out there in the dry world. He sent a sound wave. It came back with an image, and the icy blade inside him twisted: two-legged shapes on the beach. Humans!
If they saw him, they’d know him for what he was. His people’s secret, kept for thousands of years, would be out.
The girl’s head vanished under the waves. To hell with that. He couldn’t let her drown.
He grabbed her and dragged her back to the surface. She thrashed in his arms and coughed up seawater. Intense relief swept through him as he hugged her to his chest. He’d sworn he’d never again swim by and let a human drown, and he’d kept his promise. If the young woman’s eyes remained closed, he might even get away with it. He wanted her to breathe, not scream in horror at the sight of his dark grey face.
He looked up. The shapes on the beach had gone. Another miracle, or perhaps he’d only imagined them. What if they came back? A fresh stab of anxiety propelled him through the surf.
He lay the girl down on the sand, cushioning her head on his arm. Her round breasts, encased in the turquoise bikini top, rose and fell in a regular rhythm, but her skin felt clammy under his hands. He scanned the beach in vain for something to cover her with and saw the motorbike. A sleek, sporty number, well camouflaged among the grass-covered dunes.
Shit. He retracted the webs between his fingers and toes, but his body would take at least twenty minutes to shift from his aquatic shape to the human form. And even when it did, what would the humans think if they found him naked next to an unconscious girl? They’d arrest him for indecent exposure, or worse.
He touched the girl’s face with a tentative finger. The thought of leaving her sickened him. But he couldn’t stay.
Her eyelids fluttered, and she muttered a name. “Boris?”
As if in answer, a male voice tore through the air, from behind the dunes. “Alex!”
Yann flew towards the waves. Help was coming for the girl. She’d be fine.
He sped into the open sea, leaving the human world and human fears behind. He’d saved her. That knowledge glowed inside him as he plunged into the depths. She was safe, and his people would remain safe too. He sang as he rode the riptide, a song full of triumph and laughter. Far away, the humpback whales heard him and picked up the tune. He’d got away with it.
For now. His euphoria abated. No humans had seen him, but his people had sharper eyes and ears. He shouldn’t even have been hanging around, in full merman shape, so close to an inhabited island, but he’d thought he’d be OK. In late September very few tourists were around, and locals had better things to do than go swimming in cold water. He sniffed the current and tuned his sonar towards the Clans’ islands. Nothing. With luck, no one would notice that he’d broken the merpeople’s rules.
Again.
Eight months later
Green water enclosed Alex, filling her nose, her eyes, her mouth. She couldn’t breathe. She tried to kick her way to the surface, but her limbs weren’t obeying her any more. Panic suffocated her.
“Help!” Alex could hear her own voice, muffled by the ringing in her ears. Her lungs were burning. She pushed at the water with her hands and struggled to shove the heavy fog from her brain. Move—she had to move. At last her fingers responded, and they grabbed the fabric that lay over her. Fabric. Not water. She had been dreaming, not drowning. But where the heck was she?
She shook so much it took her three attempts to find the switch on the wall. Blessed light flooded the ordinary hotel room—the pink, flowery cover on the bed; the magnolia walls around her. She let her head thump back on the pillow. Great. She hadn’t even made it to the sea yet, and already the bad memories from eight months ago were resurfacing. That stupid accident. She wouldn’t give it more power over her by calling it a trauma.
And yet, she was still struggling for breath. Her heart galloped as though it wanted to explode out of her chest. Dizziness overwhelmed her. Help! She opened her mouth to shout, and the action brought back the memory of her therapist’s voice, so calm and rational.
“You’re safe, Alex. But your mind doesn’t believe it. That’s why you are having a panic attack. All you have to do is breathe.”
Breathe. In. And. Out. At last, the invisible elephant that sat on her chest got up and walked away. But she needed a distraction, fast, or it would return. She groped under the bed for her rucksack and pulled out her Nikon. Nain’s last, best present. She’d given it to her just before the accident.
“Follow your dream, cariad,” she’d said, from her bed in the Swansea nursing home. “Bring me back some pictures of the Morvann Islands. And stories. The old legends of the islanders. We’ve still got time to write our book.”
A prickling started at the back of Alex’s eyes. Time was dripping away from Nain, day by day. It would soon run out. She stroked the camera’s matt surface. She could cave in, go back. But then she’d never capture the images that would help Nain finish her life’s work and give her peace.
“I’ll do it, Nain,” she said, aloud, to drown out the rush of blood in her ears.
She put the camera back in her bag. Blue fingers of dawn were creeping through the curtains and stretching towards her. Her ship was already waiting for her, down on the dock. The captain—what was his name again? Yann—had said he’d be on deck from five a.m., rigging his boat for the short journey across the sea. Her ribcage tightened. She gulped down some air. If she went now, she could take a look at the ship, get used to the idea of sailing. The captain would reassure her. She imagined an old sea dog, full of experience. And stories.
She jumped out of bed and threw on the indigo jeans and navy crew-neck sweater she’d bought at the nearest supermarket. Her usual designer togs would attract too much attention; these plain clothes would help her blend in with the locals. She needed to gain their trust, so they’d let her photograph them at work and at play. Maybe they’d share their ancient legends about the mysterious creatures that haunted their ocean, or so they believed.
She shouldered her rucksack. Snakes knotted in her belly, but she was going to the Morvanns. She was following her dream, and the nightmares wouldn’t stop her.
She tiptoed downstairs, settled her bill with the night manager, and slipped out. The salty air embraced her like a long-lost acquaintance. She’d loved that fresh smell once. Just as she’d loved the slap of waves against her skin, the squish of sand between her toes, the cry of seagulls above her head. She’d dreamt of watching whales, or swimming with dolphins.
She pushed the sadness away. Maybe one day she’d learn to love those things again.
She reached the quay. The undulating black water, dull and menacing in the light of a street lamp, drew her eyes. That same water had almost swallowed her. The snakes in her belly twisted upwards and crawled into her throat. Focus on the boats! She read the names aloud, as fast as she could.
“The Cormorant. Star of Wales. Gwilan.”
That last boat was the only one with its sails up, so it had to be hers. It was so tiny! The prospect of sailing in that thing, on the wild seas around the Morvanns, rubbed her nerves raw. She let out a loud sigh.
“Oh, God. I’ll never make it.”
“Alex?” The deep baritone, from somewhere behind the mast, jolted her.
It’s only the captain, you muppet.
She coughed the words out. “Yes. It’s me. Hello.”
A tall, broad silhouette stepped out of the gloom. “Alex! It really is you! I wasn’t expecting you so early.”
His enthusiasm took her aback. He was behaving as though she was a long-lost friend. Had they met before? She took a step forward for a closer look.
The light fell on his features. A young, handsome face, with a straight nose and square chin, crowned by a mop of glossy chestnut curls. No, she didn’t know him from Adam. Where was her grizzled, reassuring sea-dog?
“You’re the captain?”
“That’s right. I’m Yann,” he said with a smile.
A captain barely in his twenties, and a titchy boat. The knots in her throat tightened. That thin wooden shell couldn’t contain more than two adults. Just like the boat that had been found on a Morvann beach three months ago, with its mast torn off and a massive tear in its hull. They’d never found the honeymooning couple that had sailed in it. She could taste the cold, salty water in her mouth, feel the tug of it on her legs, dragging her down.
“You’re the captain, and also the only crew?”
His grin faded at her sharp tone. “Yes. Is that a problem, Alex?”
She felt like a right snotty bitch, finding fault with his boat before she’d even stepped on it. Yann seemed a nice guy. He’d left her no choice, though. He’d never mentioned he was a one-man band. He’d never told her how tiny his boat was, so tiny that one large wave could lift it and smash it against the rocks.
She shoved the answer out of her dry mouth. “I’m sorry, I have to cancel my trip.”
His eyebrows almost hit his tousled hair. “Because my boat is too small? It’s very seaworthy, I assure you.”
Her fear was thickening, smothering her. Her field of vision shrank, until all she could see was dark water rising towards her. Its rushing noise filled her ears. This stranger had no idea what it was like for her, and she didn’t have the energy to explain.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, and turned away.
“Wait!” He jumped on the quay, with a lightness surprising for a man his size. “I can’t let you go like that, you’re as white as a sheet. Are you feeling OK?”
The concern in his voice reached through her anguish and stopped her in her tracks. The din in her eardrums receded.
“I’m ... I’m just scared of the sea.” She cringed because it sounded so lame.
Yet unlike her ex, Boris, and her father, Yann didn’t laugh at her.
“Why, what happened?”
She’d never met him, and he seemed to care more than Boris ever had. That was sweet. Proof that nice, caring guys still existed. She owed him an explanation.
“I had an accident in the Morvanns last autumn. I nearly drowned.”
“That’s terrible.”
He sounded as though he meant it. The noose around her throat loosened; the words came more easily.
“It’s not you, or the boat, it’s me. I’ve been afraid of water since the accident. Please don’t take it personally.”
His voice softened into a gentle rumble. “Why would I do that?”
He came closer and lifted a hand. She wondered if he was going to lay it on her shoulder.
“I understand. And I’m sorry.”
His arm fell to his side, and she couldn’t help a minute prick of disappointment. What would it have felt like if he’d enveloped her in a bear hug? That broad chest was made for a girl to lay her head on. She shook off the thought. It was lovely to confide in someone who didn’t mock her, but he was only being nice to a paying customer. An experienced seaman like him would never understand her phobia.
“I can’t believe you’ve ever been scared of water.” He looked like a man who wasn’t afraid of anything.
His smile this time had a tinge of sadness. “I know what the sea can do. Even to those who love her the most.”
Had he lost someone? Alex looked up into his eyes. The growing light revealed they were a striking green, as bright as her mother’s prized emerald necklace, but a good deal warmer.
“You haven’t run away yet,” he said. “Does that mean you still want to go to the Morvanns?”
Alex thought of Nain, lying on her bed, waiting. Every minute counted. The Morvanns were calling to her, tugging her towards the sea. She looked again at the boat, but all she could see in her mind was the wave that would capsize it. The fear pressed down on her, pinning her to the quay.
I have to go. “I need to go. I made a promise to someone.”
He splayed his palms before her as if to say: look, no tricks.
“I can take you there, and you’ll be fine, I promise. I haven’t had an accident in ten years.”
A jab of misgiving made her take a step back. “Ten years? How old are you?”
He didn’t seem put out by her question. “Twenty-three. I got this boat at thirteen. You can speak to the coastguard, they’ll vouch for me.”
He must think I’m a suspicious cow. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
His chilled grin soothed her confusion. “No worries. We start young on the Morvanns; it always takes mainlanders by surprise.”
He was one laid-back guy. By now Boris would have bitten her head off, and half her torso as well. He’d never have put up with her dithering like that over a bit of sailing, or asking so many questions.
Yann extended a hand. “C’mon, why don’t you try to get on my Gwilan? See what happens?”
His strong, callused fingers closed on hers, before she’d had time to weigh her options. She allowed him to escort her to the edge of the dock. Without letting go of her hand, he stepped into the boat, and pulled her after him. The deck wobbled under her feet; her knees did the same. She couldn’t breathe; her chest hurt; she was sure she was going to fall. There was only one solid thing in this swaying world—him. She clung to his arm like a drowning woman to a raft.
He seemed to guess what she needed. His big, warm hands steadied her, and he settled her on the only seat, against the right side of the boat. He lifted her rucksack from her shoulders and tucked it under her feet.
“You can hold onto this rail.”
She gripped it as if her palms could merge with the metal and breathed in and out until her heart rate had returned to normal.
“Perhaps you’d prefer to sit in the cabin?” He gestured at the hatch at the foot of the mast. “You’d be dry down there.”
But she’d be sitting alone in the gloom, with only a few planks to separate her from the water. Her lungs closed up.
“I’ll stay here with you.”
“Great. You’d better put this on.”
He held up an orange life vest behind her back and waited, with a patience that amazed her, whilst she detached one hand from the rail and put her arm through the hole. No way was she letting go of that bar, not with the water licking the boat as though it planned to eat it up. She grabbed the rail again and repeated the operation with the other arm.
“Thank you.”
His aftershave wrapped her in a green, woodsy scent, overlaid with the salty tang of the sea. It reminded her of the wind blowing in the pines around her grandmother’s home. She caught herself stretching her neck to better inhale that comforting smell. What was wrong with her? She fumbled with the fastenings of the lifejacket with one hand, keeping the other on the rail.
“I’ll be fine now.”
She was far from fine. She had to get a grip. The fear was messing with her brain. She’d read that women who felt threatened often fell for the first guy offering protection. It had worked for Boris, hadn’t it? The thought of her ex brought up a familiar resentment and mortification. She’d been on the verge of ending the relationship, then she’d had that stupid accident and he’d rescued her. She couldn’t dump him after he’d saved her life. So, she’d let the relationship limp on, partly out of duty, partly because she was afraid of being alone.
“Are you sure you’re OK?” Yann’s voice yanked her back to the present. “You look a bit peaky.”
Boris had been solicitous too, at the beginning. Over the months, he’d grown more and more abrupt and distant, until she’d realised he only cared about her money. Towards the end, he was putting her down at every opportunity. Cold seeped into her, sending a shiver down her spine. Useless. He’d liked to call her that.
Now she was proving him right. Her open life jacket still flapped in the wind. She couldn’t even fasten it on her own, because she was too scared to let go of the bloody rail.
Yann was watching her. “D’you need a hand with that?”
Boris’s sneer popped up in her mind, goading her into answering, “I can cope.”
Now she had to prove it. She clenched her jaw and prised her hand off the metal bar.
Blood rushed to her head. Yet the boat enclosed her on all sides, hiding the water from her. You’re safe. You can do it. Her fingers shook and slid on the fastenings, but she succeeded in pulling them together. Relief dulled the edge of her fear. Now if she fell overboard, she’d survive.
“You’re doing well,” Yann said.
She glanced up at him. Was he making fun of her? No. His tanned, open face expressed only sincerity. She let out a strangled chuckle.
“You can’t be serious. I’m a nervous wreck. And we haven’t even left the dock.”
He crouched down to her level. To her surprise, the beautiful sea-green eyes contained genuine respect. “You’re confronting your fears.” He covered her hand with his, just for a moment, but it was enough for her to sense the reassurance flowing out of him. “It’s the only way to beat them, and it takes guts.”
He made her sound like one of the kick-ass heroines in her favourite historical romances. A little thrill ran through her. If she could imagine herself strong, she might one day believe it.
“My psychologist calls it aversion therapy. If I’m exposed to the sea, I will learn to fear it less. One day I might even stop being scared of it.”
He straightened, his eyes twinkling. “You’ve won the first round against your phobia. How about giving it a knock-out blow?”
High on her achievement, she nodded. “How do I do that?”
He jerked his thumb at the harbour around them that was tinged with the rose-gold glow of sunrise. “We have a nice breeze, and plenty of time. I could take us for a spin around the bay, so you get used to sailing before we set out.”
Anxiety uncoiled in her stomach. But how could she refuse? He was so understanding and was helping her face her terror. She felt through her rucksack for the outline of her camera. She couldn’t let her grandmother down again. She had to go to the islands, and she had to go now, whilst she had enough strength.
“OK.”
Yann gave her a thumbs-up and strapped himself into a larger version of her life vest. Alex watched him raise the anchor, then turn the boat into the wind with practised ease. He knew his stuff. But the slithering inside her refused to give up. She looked up into the candy-coloured sky, hoping that the pretty pink and lilac clouds would distract her. No chance. Her body knew that she’d left the safe dry land and that yards of merciless water would soon stretch below her feet. Her stomach heaved. She pressed a hand to her mouth, desperate to keep from throwing up in front of Yann.
He turned his head towards her and frowned. Damn it, couldn’t he focus on his boat for once?
He slackened a line, without taking his eyes off her. “Tell me if you want to go back.”
Alex squeezed her bag between her knees. She had to make it.
She couldn’t make it.
Yann put two fingers in his mouth and emitted a long, modulated whistle.
“Look!” He pointed at the waves.
She followed his gaze and gasped. “Dolphins!”
“Harbour porpoises,” he corrected.
The two black, glistening creatures escorted the boat, showing off their sleek heads and elegant fins. They sliced through the green waters, fearless and free. The slimy pressure in Alex’s throat ebbed away. She sighed.
“I’d forgotten how beautiful they are.”
Yann pulled on the line, changing the direction of the mainsail. “Plenty more where they came from. The Morvann Islands are a nature reserve; they’re stuffed with wildlife. Dolphins, seals, birds, even the odd whale if you’re lucky.”
The porpoises sped past the boat towards the open sea, and Alex’s body strained towards them of its own accord, as if it yearned to follow them. She realised with a shock that her nausea had vanished. She looked up at Yann. He’d called those creatures for her, so she would forget her phobia for a few minutes.
“Thank you for that.”
He winked. “Now you’ve seen what we have to offer ... d’you want to go on?”
Calm rippled from his broad frame and his cheerful face, soothing the troubled waters of her mind. She felt more secure next to him, even on that tiny boat, than she had on the quay.
“Look. The islands aren’t that far.” He pointed ahead.
He was right. If she squinted hard enough, she could make out a small dark speck on the line where sea and sky met. Newrock—the nearest island of the Morvann archipelago.
Yann shifted his hands on the wheel, drawing her attention back to his comforting bulk and the bulging muscles in his arms. Arms that could hold a girl … and keep her safe. She trusted him. She had to. At least as far as the islands.
She inhaled the sea air deep into her lungs. “Let’s go.”
Yann’s face brightened. “You won’t regret it, Alex.”
For a moment, she bathed in the light of his eyes. That sea-green gaze was one ocean she wouldn’t mind drowning in.
The thought churned her stomach far more than anything the islands could throw at her.
Chapter Two
He’d saved Alex’s body, but not her mind. Yann opened his mouth to drink in the salt spray but couldn’t get rid of the taste of failure on his tongue. He’d got her lovely limbs out, but, eight months later, she was still wrestling with her fears. He sneaked a peek at her, perched on her seat. She’d been OK until they’d left the harbour, but now they were in the open sea the tense angle of her neck showed that anxiety was chewing at her again.
He refocused on the path ahead—the clouds scudding across the sky, the dance of currents under the skin of the sea. He had done everything in his power to rescue that girl. He had even disobeyed a Clan rule. Mermen couldn’t reveal themselves to humans, and he’d come damn close to risking discovery. No one could expect more of him.
And yet it hadn’t been enough.
A large roller came up to them. Gwilan climbed the wave then glided down its back, as graceful as the gull it took its name from. But Alex had lost faith in the boat. She was clinging to the rail once more, her pretty face leeched of colour. If only he had another trick up his sleeve to soothe her anguish. The porpoises had helped earlier, but he didn’t dare summon them a second time. He hoped that Alex had been too distracted by her fear to notice they’d answered his call. But if he did it again, she’d realise that he had a special bond with the creatures. His father Bryn’s voice boomed in his mind: “We mermen must never give humans any hint of our abilities.” Frustration nipped him. If only his Clan didn’t have so many bloody rules.
“It’s always a bit choppy around here. There’s not long to go,” he said, to pull her mind away from the restless ocean.
Alex did her best to smile. “I’ll be OK. The island’s getting bigger and bigger. It’ll soon be over.”
He was of no use to her. The gnawing inside him intensified. She needed to be with her own kind. Where was that Boris guy who had run to help her? Maybe he was waiting for her on the islands.
“Are you meeting up with friends on Newrock?” he asked.
“No.”
The answer came too quick, too tight. He waited for her to say more, but she only stared past him, at the distant shape of the Morvann archipelago.
Weird. If she was really just planning a spot of aversion therapy, she’d chosen a damn difficult way to go about it. Not just back to the sea, but back to the very place of the accident, and on her own, too. Why? A tendril of worry pushed through his aggravation. Something or someone else was driving her to the Morvann Islands.
The wind rose and whined in the rigging, as if giving voice to his unease. He pulled in the topsail.
“Which hotel are you staying in?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure yet.”
Worry dug in, until his body thrummed with tension. He tapped the wheel in a vain effort to relieve it. How could she stay safe if she didn’t even know where she was going?
“I can recommend a nice family hotel on Newrock.” The Blue Waves was run by the mother of his human friend, Darren. She’d look after Alex as if she were her own daughter.
She chewed the nail of her thumb. “I was thinking of trying one of the other islands.”
He didn’t like that one bit. The wilder islands belonged to the mermen. They were no place for a girl with a phobia of water.
“Why?”
Alex fixed him with blue, innocent eyes. “Benetynn is very pretty. I visited it once, when I was a kid.”
“You can’t stay there.” The words shot out with more strength than he’d intended.
Her chin tilted at a mutinous angle. “Why not?”
Because it’s my island, he wanted to shout. It’s Clan territory. Anxiety swelled, filling his mind with its sharp edges. Bad things happened to pretty human girls who swam too deep into the mermen’s world. But how could he make her understand the risks, without betraying his own people?
“Benetynn is a nature reserve, like Dooran and Regor Islands. It has no hotels.”
“But there are cottages. And a farmhouse.” She sounded polite but determined. “I want to experience authentic Morvann life.”
Exasperation erupted through his concern, and he struggled to put a lid on it. “A few islanders live on Benetynn, it’s true. It’s not comfortable for tourists.” Or safe.
She rummaged in her bag. “How about researchers?”
The stew of emotions threatened to boil over. No one did research on the islands. Not if they knew what was good for them. He gripped the wheel hard. He couldn’t allow himself to let rip, she’d only clam up, and he had to keep her talking. Find out what lunatic scheme she had in mind.
“So, you’re a scientist?” He just about managed to maintain a neutral tone. Scientists were the enemies of his people. Scientists would probe and prod and drag the mermen into the light of the twenty-bloody-first century.
She lifted a camera out of her bag—a professional piece of kit, worth thousands of pounds.
“No, I’m a photographer.” Her shoulders relaxed. “Well, I’m trying to be.” Her mouth softened into the beginning of a smile.
Better an artist than a scientist. His irritation abated a little. And, as a bonus, he didn’t need the porpoises after all. Just talking about photography was enough to distract her from her anxiety.
He allowed the wheel to spin between his hands. Gwilan veered to the left and caught the current that would speed them on to the Morvanns. The Clans sometimes tolerated creative types on their territory, as long as they didn’t poke their noses where human noses weren’t wanted.
“What are you planning to photograph?”
Her dawn-blue eyes brightened. “You promised dolphins and whales.”
If she stuck to animals and birds, perhaps she’d be all right. Yet the worries refused to withdraw. “As I’ve said, you’re going to the right place for those.”
She leant forward, a shimmer of excitement on her pretty face. He caught a glimpse of the girl sh
A Bride for a King
A Bride for a King
https://amzn.to/2UqT2Wh
L.J. Dare
Chapter One
Barovia -1859
Belle lingered at the rain splashed windows, her arms hugging her churning stomach. Although the summer downpour obscured the view of the quaint seaside village below, she could see the vague reflections in the window pane of the three men striding into the inn’s private sitting room behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at her twin, nodded once and returned to peer at their reflections in the glass. She narrowed her fuzzy gaze as her sister walked toward the three British Naval Officers.
“Let me make sure I understand you correctly,” Rita said, her mocking tone sending a trickle of trepidation through Belle as her sister addressed the Captain who had accompanied them ashore. “You are telling Her Royal Highness that you’re not only abandoning her in a foreign port but you are also leaving her without British protection?”
“Your Ladyship, ‘tis not our intention-” the Captain began.
“Are you saying we haven’t accurately assessed the situation?” her sister inserted as she swept forward and halted with a swish of her skirts before the officer, her arms held akimbo.
“Excuse me for a moment while I verify something,” the Captain said as he turned to confer with the other two men.
“By all means,” Rita said giving a dismissive wave then she began to tap the toe of her slipper impatiently on the amber varnished wooden floor.
Belle noted her own tight smile reflected in the glass. Leave it to Rita to dive right into the crux of their problem. She sobered, afraid that her unguarded expression might be seen and reveal their ruse. Leaning forward, she studied the images of the three men whispering fiercely in the room behind her. She frowned. Granted, the men had escorted them from the ship, through the churning Ionian Sea to the quay and then up through the narrow, winding cobblestoned streets in an antiquated coach pulled by four mismatched nags to the Black Swan Inn. But really, Admiral Birkhead had assured her that his men would remain with them until their brother and King Stefan arrived. Obviously, that wasn’t the case now and the plan had changed.
“Your Ladyship,” Captain Waverly, wheezed, “‘tis not so much that we’re deserting you, ‘tis...”
Belle took a deep breath. Time for her to go to work. Lifting the train of her bottle-green velvet riding habit, she straightened her spine and turned to survey the room. “Gentlemen,” she announced to gain everyone’s attention. “We do understand the untenable position you have been placed in,” she said choosing her words carefully. “And we do deeply and humbly appreciate your valuable assistance.”
“Oh! Thank you, Your Highness,” Captain Waverly said, bowing his graying head at her, “for not only your kindness but also your patience and understanding. If King Stefan’s troops weren’t already stationed around the inn then we would gladly remain until His Royal Highness personally arrives. However, with his troops positioned around the perimeter, our orders from the Admiralty Fleet were to see you settled then return, post haste to our ship. We’re to sail with the tide.”
Belle nodded and glanced at her mirror image still tapping her foot. One thing for certain, life hadn’t been dull growing up with such a mercurial older twin. Belle had never been able to predict what her surly sister would do next. “I am sure His Majesty and our brother will be here soon,” she said, pride keeping her from arguing with the senior officer. “Therefore, we will remain sequestered here until they arrive.”
“That would be advisable, Your Highness,” Captain Waverly nodded and then opened his mouth as if he would like to say more but closed it as if he’d had a sudden change of heart.
Wise man, Belle thought as she glanced at the other two naval officers. Were they as cavalier about deserting them as the Captain? She narrowed her gaze wishing she had been able to wear her spectacles. It appeared that young Mr. Ainsley shuffled his hat from one hand to the other while Mr. Trumble looked everywhere but at them. She nodded. Rita had been right all along. There would be no help from the British Navy or from its officers. They were strictly on their own, abandoned in a foreign country.
Belle straightened. “Thank you, Gentlemen.” Raising her chin, she took a resolute breath. Since she had assumed the role of the future Queen of Barovia for her twin for a few days then she would act like one. “And since your services are no longer available, we bid you adieu.”
The naval officers looked at each other then bowed quickly. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” Captain Waverly said in a rush as he began to back out of the room. “And may we be so bold as to wish you every happiness in your marriage?”
Belle froze at the innocuous reminder then managed to unthaw enough to issue a hasty, “Thank you.” She forced her lips to part in a stiff smile as she flicked her hand in dismissal. Quickly, the men removed themselves from her presence. As they shuffled out of the room, she glanced at her sister who had suddenly turned away. Belle frowned as she noted Rita’s shaking shoulders. She bit her lower lip, hoping Rita’s mirth wouldn’t give away their game. She remained in her regal stance until one of the King’s guard finally closed the private sitting room door, then she collapsed in the nearest chair. “Oh, my! Rita, how will you ever do this?”
A giggle met her question. “You were rather impressive, Belle,” her sister said then swirled, her claret riding skirt belling away from her ankles. “Perhaps you were the one destined to be Queen.”
Surprise along with a sense of relief washed over Belle. She’d passed her first test as the soon-to-be-Queen Rita. “Oh, don’t talk nonsense,” Belle scoffed. “Need I remind you, that being the eldest, you were the one who married King Stefan by proxy this morning aboard ship, and not I?”
“And how do you know that I didn’t ... sign that document as Isabelle Marguerita Mary Elizabeth?” her sister asked, archly.
Suddenly, Belle felt lightheaded. Had Rita signed her name? The question had every muscle in her body turning to mush. Thank goodness she was sitting down otherwise she would’ve ended up in a heap on the floor at the frightening thought. “Rita,” she gasped. Gripping the arms of the chair, she started to rise. “You didn’t!”
Although a half smile curled the corners of Rita’s mouth, her hazel eyes narrowed coldly. Sweeping her hands behind her chignon, she brushed a strand of ginger colored hair from her face. “Now, Belle, don’t be tedious. Would I do that to you?”
Belle settled back into the chair. Her sister had played a variety of self-serving games before. She knew it was best if she remained calm. “I hope not but I distinctly recall that you, Marguerita Isabelle Mary Elizabeth, vowed never to follow another dictate from either our brother or Queen Victoria after we left England. So, what’s changed?”
“I didn’t realize you were so eager to comply with our brother’s arrangement for you to marry that old codger Umberford with his passel of brats once you return to England.”
Belle inhaled sharply then decided she wouldn’t give Rita the satisfaction of knowing how much the mere mention of Umberford’s name made her skin shrivel on her bones. She shook her head and smoothed the material of her riding skirt over her knees. “You know I’m not the least bit happy with Edward’s scheme.”
“Oh!” Rita exclaimed. “Now, don’t get your corset in such a twist. You’ll get all flushed about the collar and we’ll both be in trouble,” she added in a rush. “I was simply being facetious.” She pivoted then seemed to hesitate. “That’s why I suggested you pose as me so I could have the time to adapt to my role.”
Her pleading tone hung suspended for a moment in the silent room.
Finally, Belle nodded. Of course, she understood. Truth to tell, it was bad enough that their brother was forcing her to marry Umberford. But, for Rita to be used as a political pawn to regain their grandfather’s lost estates in Barovia was an abomination of the worst order. She turned away gripping her hands in frustration. For her sister to be forced to facilitate their brother’s greed and give up the man she loved was intolerable. No one should have to endure that kind of pain, especially not Rita. She had already sacrificed so much. Belle turned, suddenly chilled by her own selfishness for not being more empathetic. After all, she had never been in love like Rita was. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know none of this has been easy for you. Have you heard anything at all from Tony?” she asked, gently.
“Nothing,” Rita whispered, her voice cracking. Hurrying across to the fireplace, she braced her forearm against the mantle. “But then I didn’t expect to,” she said. Pivoting, her twin faced her squarely. “Major Anthony Winston is gone. He accepted a post in India.” She straightened, her jaw jutting forward. “When he found out that I was to marry King Stefan of Barovia, he told me that we had to set aside our love and not only obey Edward but our Queen as well.”
Rita’s words seemed to vibrate throughout the room. Belle hugged herself hoping to ward off the pain her sister’s words caused. For one person to have such power over so many was frightening. She paused at the rebellious thought, suddenly realizing that perhaps Rita’s championship of America’s right to declare their independence from Great Britain had merit. She nodded, re-affirming her agreement with Rita to switch identities until her twin could come to grips with her life-altering situation and accept the fact she was to be the Queen of Barovia.
“And that being the reality,” Rita added as she moved toward her, “we’ll stick to my plan of you waiting to switch places with me until after I’ve met King Stefan.” She raised her hand, halting Belle’s further comments. “And if I decide that I can like him, then we’ll return to our own identities and I will marry him in the Barovian Ceremony that has been scheduled three days from now. Agreed?”
“B-but,” Belle felt obligated to say. “You agreed to this marriage. There is no way out but for you to become King Stefan’s wife.”
“Let me remind you that I never agreed to anything.”
“Then why did you go along as if accepting it?” Belle asked as a fluttering sensation clenched her stomach. Her sister released a dramatic sigh then swirled with a dramatic flair to face her.
“That’s just it,” Rita said. “Like you, I’ve had no say in the matter. Everyone, including you, just assumed my compliance. So,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, “you’re as much at fault as Edward. That’s why I need your help.”
Belle took a deep, pained breath. “I know,” she sighed as a wave of guilt washed over her. “And I did promise that,” she added. For truth to tell she’d been relieved that Rita had been chosen to be Queen instead of her. That is, until she’d met Umberford. She shivered and rose from the brocade padded chair. “All right,” she said as she began to pace. “I promised I would help and I will. When I say I will do something, I do it. No, matter the consequences.”
“That’s what I love best about you,” Rita said, latching onto her wrist. Belle found herself halting as her twin tugged her into a tight embrace. “You are the only one who truly understands me,” she said. “Remember when we first switched places at age twelve and you went to Brighton for me?”
Belle nodded, caught in her sister’s tight hug. “I was terrified the whole time that either our Aunt Ellie or Her Majesty would discover I was an impostor,” she confessed as she returned her sister’s hug.
“But that didn’t happen, did it?” Rita said as she pulled away. “We are so alike that no one ever notices our differences.” Turning, her sister faced the oval mirror above the fireplace. “You act and react exactly like me. We mirror each other. That is why I’m inherently confident that you will always react as I would. So there’s nothing to worry about, is there?” she asked as she pivoted.
“I hope I can live up to your expectations,” Belle murmured. She moved away to gaze out the balcony windows as a heavy weight settled in her chest. Rita was wrong. In many ways they were the complete opposites. The problem was that Rita had never taken the time to discover those differences.
Peering through the rain-streaked French doors leading onto the balcony, Belle searched the desolate inlet below for the HMS Sea Hawk. The British Man-of-War that had brought them to Barovia. A bleak sense of desperation swept through her as she searched the horizon for a tiny dot, hoping for one last glimpse of the British Man-of-War and a bit of the familiar. Finding nothing, she gulped back her dismay.
Straightening, she took a deep breath, forcing back her rising tide of uneasiness. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart. For once again, circumstances demanded that she hold the tattered pieces of both their lives together. She took another deep breath and blinked back the tears welling inside. In a fortnight she and Rita would be separated. She to live in England and Rita to reign as Queen of Barovia. If what she’d learned about Umberford’s strict dictates were true, then she and her sister would never see each other again. No matter what their brother had promised, Belle knew this would be their last time together. She had only this one last chance to make things right for her twin. She had to do all she could for Rita. She would have no more chances to correct the mistakes she’d made in the past regarding her sister.
Belle choked back the panic threatening to swamp her as she thought of their uncertain futures apart. She took a slow, steady breath. She knew from past experience that it did no good worrying about tomorrow. She couldn’t change the past and the future was too ambiguous to predict. To do that she would need a crystal ball. She gulped at the thought. She’d watched their aunt dabble in the black arts. The arcane had led to nothing but disappointment and heartache for Aunt Ellie.
Slowly, she turned away from the balcony doors. She might as well face the inevitable. She had been abandoned in a foreign country with her sister, their aunt, and two lady’s maids dependent upon her. All they had was each other. That being the case it would have to be enough until Edward arrived with King Stefan.
A frantic scratching sounded at the connecting door, followed by a yelp.
“There’s Muffy,” Rita said. “Aunt Ellie must be up from her nap.”
The door swung open and a white ball of fur tumbled into the room followed by their petite blonde-haired aunt. The small dog raced around Aunt Ellie’s floor-length mauve skirts, yipping shrilly preventing the middle-aged woman from moving further into the room.
Belle looked on in amusement as Rita scooped the small yelping dog up into her arms. The smile dropped from her lips as Belle realized that their ruse was about to be undone by a ball of fluff, Aunt Ellie’s most recent addition to their entourage.
Hastily crossing the room as the dog licked joyously at Rita’s face, Belle held out her arms. “Give him to me.”
“Oh, Muffy,” Aunt Ellie exclaimed. “Imagine that! Now you like her Ladyship just as much as you do her Royal Highness.”
Rita arched her eyebrow. “You sure?” she whispered, pausing to deposit the wiggling canine into Belle’s waiting arms.
Belle nodded, wishing their aunt hadn’t turned so formal in her use of titles. Especially now that they had changed identities. But then her aunt had lived with them for nearly eight years and never seemed to be able to tell the two girls apart. So, surely she would be able to remember who her aunt was addressing?
“Definitely,” she nodded then narrowed her gaze on the oversized rat as Rita handed the dog over to her. The dog squirmed then let out a high-pitched howl as Belle fought to hold onto its squirming, wiggling body. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all, she decided.
“Oh, you bad boy,” their aunt scolded as she quickly lifted her pet from Belle’s arms. “I am so sorry Your Highness,” she said. “I do not know what has gotten into Muffy?”
Belle knew exactly what was wrong with the dog but instead chose to say. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ve heard that all males are fickle.” She smiled to soften her words.
“Not just males,” Rita said, her tone hard. “I’ve also known a few females that fit into that category.”
“True,” Belle acknowledged as she waved her hand for Rita to ring for tea.
“My Muffy has always been so good.” Aunt Ellie’s voice trembled as she looked soulfully up at Belle. “I just don’t know what has gotten into him.”
Belle laid her arm across their aunt’s shoulders and directed her toward the armchair positioned near the fireplace. “Don’t fret, my dear. Tea will be here soon.”
“But, Muffy...”
“Is fine,” Belle inserted. “Like humans, some animals don’t travel well. It was a rough crossing for us all.”
“Oh my, yes and especially for you, Your Highness,” Aunt Ellie said. “I am so glad to see you have regained the bloom in your cheeks.”
Surreptitiously, Belle glanced at Rita who still looked a bit pale.
“I’m told that the idea of marriage does that to one,” Rita quipped as she crossed to the fireplace. “Aunt Ellie, allow me to take Muffy for you. He’ll be better off with one of the maids while we have our tea.”
“Good idea,” Belle said as the sitting room door opened and Agatha, her lady’s maid, wheeled in the tea tray. “Let’s all sit and have a relaxing cup while we wait,” she invited.
“Right, might as well make ourselves comfortable,” Rita agreed with an awry twist to her lips. “Who knows how long we’ll be forced to kick up our heels here,” she added as she handed the dog over to the maid.
Without a thought, Belle crossed to the tea trolley and selected a teacup. “Aunt Ellie, would you-“
“Oh, no, Your Highness,” Aunt Ellie popped up out of her chair as if she’d sat on a hot coal. Adjusting her pink-fringed paisley shawl, she hurried across the room. “Please, Your Highness, allow me to do the honor,” she said, hastily snatching the cup from Belle’s fingers before she could object.
Sphynx-like, Belle stared at the petite woman for a moment. Then she glanced over at her twin, her heart hammering in her chest. Had she unknowingly given away their game?
Rita’s small shrug indicated that she had no answer and that only time would tell.
“Very well,” Belle muttered as she allowed Aunt Ellie to proceed. Resuming her seat, she watched their aunt turn and set the cup on a saucer. “I really wish we could drop the ‘Your Highness’ bit though,” she added.
“Oh, no, Your Highness,” Aunt Ellie said as she glanced over her bony shoulder then turned back to pour the tea. Belle noted a blush stained her aunt’s porcelain face as she crossed the room. “I couldn’t possibly agree to that,” she said, offering her the cup filled with Oolong tea. “You must become comfortable with hearing your new title.”
“I suppose you are correct,” Belle sighed then added, “Thank you,” as she accepted the fragrant brew. When she took a sip, a tingling sensation floated across her tongue. Gracious! That wasn’t Oolong. She frowned as she swallowed then noticed that their aunt had returned to the tea cart. What new brand had Aunt Ellie forced them into trying this time?
“Would you like a cup?” Aunt Ellie asked, twisting the black band of her cuff back into place before raising an empty cup and waving it at Rita.
“With or without what you just slipped into her Highness’ cup?” Rita asked.
Belle choked as she went to swallow another sip. Her eyes began to water.
“Oh, dear!” their aunt squeaked. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
Finally getting the tea down, Belle wiped at the tears streaming down her face and then managed to gasp. “See what?”
She heard Rita’s cold chuckle. “I suspect you are drinking one of Aunt Ellie’s offensive potions,” her twin said. “But, by now we both realize that while they may taste awful,” she shrugged. “They are innocuous.”
“O-oh!” Aunt Ellie exclaimed then her shoulders drooped. “I know that I ought to be offended by your words but ... you’ve only stated the truth. I am a complete failure when it comes to casting spells.” She signed, a doleful expression sweeping across her countenance.
“Um-m,” Belle said clearing her throat. “So, what exactly did you put in this?” she asked as a tingling spread down her throat and into her chest. She coughed then managed to gasp out. “Should I be worried?”
“Oh dear! Do you feel ill, Your Highness?” Aunt Ellie asked. A deep frown drew her thinning brows together as she began twisting her lace hankie this way and that.
Belle shook her head, her eyes beginning to water again. “Not necessarily… ill, just…strange.”
“Oh!” Aunt Ellie gasped. A delightful giggle erupting as a grin spread across her wrinkle-free face. She clapped her hands. “Imagine that! It’s working! It’s really working.”
Belle coughed again then pinched her throat to prevent the sneeze tickling the back of her nose from spewing forth.
“What makes you say that?” Rita asked as she handed Belle a lace hanky.
“I have been practicing,” Aunt Ellie said, proudly, her thin lips stretching into a wide smile.
“But, what exactly did you put in my tea?” Belle asked again as she mopped at her streaming eyes.
Aunt Ellie dipped her silver-streaked blonde head, then fingered the coral brooch she wore pinned at the neck of her dress for a moment. “A-a few of my very special herbs,” she said, shyly.
“From our herb garden?” Belle asked, trying to decide if she should be alarmed by the strange aftertaste.
“That ... and a few other things I found,” Aunt Ellie said, nodding vigorously. The movement caused the braids coiled at the back of her head to sway precariously.
“Like eye of toad?” Belle mumbled.
“Oh no, my dear,” Aunt Ellie trilled, shaking her head briskly. “Love potions never use toads, or frogs, or lizards, especially not when dealing with royalty, Your Highness.”
“A l-love potion?” Belle stammered. “Why on earth do you think I need one of those?”
“Well,” Aunt Ellie seemed to hesitate then peered up at her as she extracted two pins from her hair and tucked them back into her coil. “Because I wasn’t sure that the spell I put on your brooch would work. I thought… I had better mix you a special potion as well.”
“Oh-h-h,” Belle sighed, swallowing back the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. “And the reason you felt it necessary to go to such lengths was-”
“Your Highness,” Aunt Ellie said, leaning towards Belle and grasping her hand. "For the past eight years you and your sister have been the light of my life. I want only the very best for you. I want you…to be…happy.”
Tears welled up in Belle. “And you think one of your potions will do the trick?” she asked, softly, wanting to remember this overwhelming moment of love pouring out to her for the rest of her life. Knowing that someone wanted the very best for her would have to be enough to sustain her through the dark years she served as Umberford’s wife.
“Oh, yes, Your Highness, I know it will.”
Belle flipped her hand to clasped Aunt Ellie’s in her own. She knew the dear lady had loved and still mourned her husband. “And you really believe that love is necessary in a Marriage of State?”
“Oh, my dear child,” Aunt Ellie said, softly. “Not only is it necessary but it is essential if the marriage is to succeed.”
Belle peered into the kind blue eyes, so wise in courtly protocol yet naïve in so many of the ways of the world. “And you think your potion will help me attain happiness?” she asked as she remembered the blackened kitchen walls she’d help scrub down more times than not after one of Aunt Ellie’s potions had gone awry.
“Oh, yes, Your Highness, it is my fondest wish for you.”
Belle hated to disappoint the woman who had been a loving surrogate mother to them. She lifted her cup from where she had set it on the small table beside her. She stared into the cup for a moment then swirled the contents. Raising it to her lips, she tipped it and swallowed the remaining contents in one gulp. Gently, placing the bone china cup back on its saucer, she bravely met her aunt’s expectant gaze. “Then may all your wishes come true.”
The poignant moment was lost when Rita hurriedly clapped her hands. “Brava, Your Highness, brava!”
Belle wrinkled her brow and eyed her sister warily. She only hoped her bravado hadn’t landed her in more trouble than what she was in already.
***
Prince Nikolai Orsini Garaini, otherwise known as ‘Niko’, slapped his black leather riding gloves against his gray breeches then frowned. Blast! The situation wasn’t good by any stretch of the imagination. Although his men had secured the perimeter of the Black Swan Inn, the life of their future Queen was in jeopardy. “And you say the rebels have cut off all access by road into the village?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Colonel Cyrek Domokos handed him the spyglass and pointed to the main road leading into Saranda. “There is a main force waiting by the bridge down there.”
“How many?” Niko asked as he swung the scope and adjusted the knob to focus on the road running east from the village of Saranda to the town of Suri Kalter over the mountains.
“About three dozen.”
“Have they pitched tents?” Niko asked as he turned the glass to the south.
“No,” Cyrek assured him. “Evidently they don’t think they’re going to be there that long.”
“Good,” Niko said knowing if his enemy was entrenched it would be more difficult to roust them out. “And the south road?”
“It’s guarded by a small force,” Cyrek replied.
“So, we’re up against a contingency of about fifty-four rebels?” he asked then wondered if the rebels were there simply to attack another village or if they had been informed that their future Queen had come ashore. If that was the case, then their presence meant that they were there to harm the Lady with the aim of striking a crippling blow to the country.
“Could be more,” Cyrek said, slowly.
Niko heard the caution threaded through his friend’s words. “And the village itself?” he asked, pivoting in that direction, knowing stealth had always been the best option when creating a plan.
“We’re not sure, Your Highness,” Cyrek said. “The villagers are believed to be loyal to the Crown. However, there could be rebels planted in every house or none at all.”
Niko nodded. In these uncertain times, his first priority was to keep Her Ladyship safe and to effectively extract her from harm’s way. “Has there been any unusual movement seen inside the village?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Cyrek said. “As you ordered, our men have filtered into the village over the past two days. Some dressed as fishermen, others as itinerant peasants and a few appear as tradesmen. They are positioned both inside the inn and stationed around it.”
“Good,” he said then frowned. If there had been any way he could’ve delayed the Lady’s arrival until after he’d found out with certainty that someone was supplying information to the rebels then he would’ve. But Stefan needed this marriage pronto to stabilize their country. “And the Lady?”
“She and her entourage arrived minutes ago while you were making your way up here.”
Niko nodded then hesitated. “How large a group?”
“Nearest I can tell,” Cyrek said, “there’s a middle-aged chaperone, two lady’s maids, and another female.”
“Likely her personal secretary,” Niko guessed, pleased she had kept the number of attendants to the maximum his cousin had requested.
But that by no means solved his problem of how to extract her from a village surrounded by rebels. Slowly, he began to pace the small ridge above the main road as he considered the solution. Halting, he waved his officers waiting for instructions over as he bent and drew a squiggly line in the dirt. “While I had planned on bringing her Ladyship into the Bay of Vlore,” he said, pointing to the make-shift position. “With the storm and the Austrian-Hungarian blockade in the Strait of Otranto, I had no other choice but to move our rendezvous point to Saranda since it’s the only port deep enough to handle a British Man of War.” He drew a circle. “Now, we have the task of removing Cousin Stefan’s bride from the threat of the Yugoslavian rebels blocking all our exits from the town.” He straightened and stared at his friend. “Stefan hasn’t been King long enough to gain the full backing of all of our countrymen. If the rebels can stop Stefan’s marriage, our very existence is in jeopardy.”
Cyrek nodded. “Because without this marriage, we have no link to Queen Victoria and England’s might. And without that military power behind us-”
“Greece, Yugoslavia, and Austria-Hungary will invade, claim our land as their own and we will become a bloody battlefield caught between the three countries,” Niko said. “Our defenses cannot withstand the collective invasion of all three nations at once,” he admitted then took a deep breath. “Therefore to prevent that, here’s my plan.” Hastily, he began drawing in the dirt. “We’ll leave you, Major Kelso and your rifle troop here to pin down the rebels at the bridge,” he said pointing at the position he’d drawn. “Captain Bjorni, we will send you and a squad of your men to the south to hunt down the rebels along the road,” he said moving his index finger over to that position. “Major Hondros, you are to maintain your orders to fire at will upon anyone threatening the safety of her Ladyship.” He swept his gaze over his cadre of officers. “As for me, I’ll circle around to the village of Vorshi. Procure Stefan’s yacht and sail back here. Since we’ve masked the ship’s markings and it appears as an ordinary fishing vessel, we’ll anchor off the promontory. A skiff will bring me ashore. I’ll then make my way up through the village and proceed on to the inn.”
“And at the inn?” Cyrek asked as his bushy eyebrows drew together.
“I’ll convince her Ladyship that she must accompany me out by boat,” he said then straightened. “Any questions?” he asked as he swept his gaze over his men.
With a shake of their heads, they responded, “No, Sir.”
Niko nodded then continued. “Once you have quietly rounded up the rebels, you and Major Hondros will escort Her Ladyship’s entourage to Ksamilli. The following morning, you will proceed to Berat where we’ll meet you outside the city in the field across from the public market.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Cyrek snapped him a salute. “Rest assured the men guarding our future Queen will protect her with their very lives.”
“I know,” he said, returning the salute. The men in his command were seasoned veterans who had served together, like he and Cyrek had, for over ten years. With men like these, what inevitably went wrong was halted before it became a problem.
https://amzn.to/2UqT2Wh
L.J. Dare
Chapter One
Barovia -1859
Belle lingered at the rain splashed windows, her arms hugging her churning stomach. Although the summer downpour obscured the view of the quaint seaside village below, she could see the vague reflections in the window pane of the three men striding into the inn’s private sitting room behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at her twin, nodded once and returned to peer at their reflections in the glass. She narrowed her fuzzy gaze as her sister walked toward the three British Naval Officers.
“Let me make sure I understand you correctly,” Rita said, her mocking tone sending a trickle of trepidation through Belle as her sister addressed the Captain who had accompanied them ashore. “You are telling Her Royal Highness that you’re not only abandoning her in a foreign port but you are also leaving her without British protection?”
“Your Ladyship, ‘tis not our intention-” the Captain began.
“Are you saying we haven’t accurately assessed the situation?” her sister inserted as she swept forward and halted with a swish of her skirts before the officer, her arms held akimbo.
“Excuse me for a moment while I verify something,” the Captain said as he turned to confer with the other two men.
“By all means,” Rita said giving a dismissive wave then she began to tap the toe of her slipper impatiently on the amber varnished wooden floor.
Belle noted her own tight smile reflected in the glass. Leave it to Rita to dive right into the crux of their problem. She sobered, afraid that her unguarded expression might be seen and reveal their ruse. Leaning forward, she studied the images of the three men whispering fiercely in the room behind her. She frowned. Granted, the men had escorted them from the ship, through the churning Ionian Sea to the quay and then up through the narrow, winding cobblestoned streets in an antiquated coach pulled by four mismatched nags to the Black Swan Inn. But really, Admiral Birkhead had assured her that his men would remain with them until their brother and King Stefan arrived. Obviously, that wasn’t the case now and the plan had changed.
“Your Ladyship,” Captain Waverly, wheezed, “‘tis not so much that we’re deserting you, ‘tis...”
Belle took a deep breath. Time for her to go to work. Lifting the train of her bottle-green velvet riding habit, she straightened her spine and turned to survey the room. “Gentlemen,” she announced to gain everyone’s attention. “We do understand the untenable position you have been placed in,” she said choosing her words carefully. “And we do deeply and humbly appreciate your valuable assistance.”
“Oh! Thank you, Your Highness,” Captain Waverly said, bowing his graying head at her, “for not only your kindness but also your patience and understanding. If King Stefan’s troops weren’t already stationed around the inn then we would gladly remain until His Royal Highness personally arrives. However, with his troops positioned around the perimeter, our orders from the Admiralty Fleet were to see you settled then return, post haste to our ship. We’re to sail with the tide.”
Belle nodded and glanced at her mirror image still tapping her foot. One thing for certain, life hadn’t been dull growing up with such a mercurial older twin. Belle had never been able to predict what her surly sister would do next. “I am sure His Majesty and our brother will be here soon,” she said, pride keeping her from arguing with the senior officer. “Therefore, we will remain sequestered here until they arrive.”
“That would be advisable, Your Highness,” Captain Waverly nodded and then opened his mouth as if he would like to say more but closed it as if he’d had a sudden change of heart.
Wise man, Belle thought as she glanced at the other two naval officers. Were they as cavalier about deserting them as the Captain? She narrowed her gaze wishing she had been able to wear her spectacles. It appeared that young Mr. Ainsley shuffled his hat from one hand to the other while Mr. Trumble looked everywhere but at them. She nodded. Rita had been right all along. There would be no help from the British Navy or from its officers. They were strictly on their own, abandoned in a foreign country.
Belle straightened. “Thank you, Gentlemen.” Raising her chin, she took a resolute breath. Since she had assumed the role of the future Queen of Barovia for her twin for a few days then she would act like one. “And since your services are no longer available, we bid you adieu.”
The naval officers looked at each other then bowed quickly. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” Captain Waverly said in a rush as he began to back out of the room. “And may we be so bold as to wish you every happiness in your marriage?”
Belle froze at the innocuous reminder then managed to unthaw enough to issue a hasty, “Thank you.” She forced her lips to part in a stiff smile as she flicked her hand in dismissal. Quickly, the men removed themselves from her presence. As they shuffled out of the room, she glanced at her sister who had suddenly turned away. Belle frowned as she noted Rita’s shaking shoulders. She bit her lower lip, hoping Rita’s mirth wouldn’t give away their game. She remained in her regal stance until one of the King’s guard finally closed the private sitting room door, then she collapsed in the nearest chair. “Oh, my! Rita, how will you ever do this?”
A giggle met her question. “You were rather impressive, Belle,” her sister said then swirled, her claret riding skirt belling away from her ankles. “Perhaps you were the one destined to be Queen.”
Surprise along with a sense of relief washed over Belle. She’d passed her first test as the soon-to-be-Queen Rita. “Oh, don’t talk nonsense,” Belle scoffed. “Need I remind you, that being the eldest, you were the one who married King Stefan by proxy this morning aboard ship, and not I?”
“And how do you know that I didn’t ... sign that document as Isabelle Marguerita Mary Elizabeth?” her sister asked, archly.
Suddenly, Belle felt lightheaded. Had Rita signed her name? The question had every muscle in her body turning to mush. Thank goodness she was sitting down otherwise she would’ve ended up in a heap on the floor at the frightening thought. “Rita,” she gasped. Gripping the arms of the chair, she started to rise. “You didn’t!”
Although a half smile curled the corners of Rita’s mouth, her hazel eyes narrowed coldly. Sweeping her hands behind her chignon, she brushed a strand of ginger colored hair from her face. “Now, Belle, don’t be tedious. Would I do that to you?”
Belle settled back into the chair. Her sister had played a variety of self-serving games before. She knew it was best if she remained calm. “I hope not but I distinctly recall that you, Marguerita Isabelle Mary Elizabeth, vowed never to follow another dictate from either our brother or Queen Victoria after we left England. So, what’s changed?”
“I didn’t realize you were so eager to comply with our brother’s arrangement for you to marry that old codger Umberford with his passel of brats once you return to England.”
Belle inhaled sharply then decided she wouldn’t give Rita the satisfaction of knowing how much the mere mention of Umberford’s name made her skin shrivel on her bones. She shook her head and smoothed the material of her riding skirt over her knees. “You know I’m not the least bit happy with Edward’s scheme.”
“Oh!” Rita exclaimed. “Now, don’t get your corset in such a twist. You’ll get all flushed about the collar and we’ll both be in trouble,” she added in a rush. “I was simply being facetious.” She pivoted then seemed to hesitate. “That’s why I suggested you pose as me so I could have the time to adapt to my role.”
Her pleading tone hung suspended for a moment in the silent room.
Finally, Belle nodded. Of course, she understood. Truth to tell, it was bad enough that their brother was forcing her to marry Umberford. But, for Rita to be used as a political pawn to regain their grandfather’s lost estates in Barovia was an abomination of the worst order. She turned away gripping her hands in frustration. For her sister to be forced to facilitate their brother’s greed and give up the man she loved was intolerable. No one should have to endure that kind of pain, especially not Rita. She had already sacrificed so much. Belle turned, suddenly chilled by her own selfishness for not being more empathetic. After all, she had never been in love like Rita was. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know none of this has been easy for you. Have you heard anything at all from Tony?” she asked, gently.
“Nothing,” Rita whispered, her voice cracking. Hurrying across to the fireplace, she braced her forearm against the mantle. “But then I didn’t expect to,” she said. Pivoting, her twin faced her squarely. “Major Anthony Winston is gone. He accepted a post in India.” She straightened, her jaw jutting forward. “When he found out that I was to marry King Stefan of Barovia, he told me that we had to set aside our love and not only obey Edward but our Queen as well.”
Rita’s words seemed to vibrate throughout the room. Belle hugged herself hoping to ward off the pain her sister’s words caused. For one person to have such power over so many was frightening. She paused at the rebellious thought, suddenly realizing that perhaps Rita’s championship of America’s right to declare their independence from Great Britain had merit. She nodded, re-affirming her agreement with Rita to switch identities until her twin could come to grips with her life-altering situation and accept the fact she was to be the Queen of Barovia.
“And that being the reality,” Rita added as she moved toward her, “we’ll stick to my plan of you waiting to switch places with me until after I’ve met King Stefan.” She raised her hand, halting Belle’s further comments. “And if I decide that I can like him, then we’ll return to our own identities and I will marry him in the Barovian Ceremony that has been scheduled three days from now. Agreed?”
“B-but,” Belle felt obligated to say. “You agreed to this marriage. There is no way out but for you to become King Stefan’s wife.”
“Let me remind you that I never agreed to anything.”
“Then why did you go along as if accepting it?” Belle asked as a fluttering sensation clenched her stomach. Her sister released a dramatic sigh then swirled with a dramatic flair to face her.
“That’s just it,” Rita said. “Like you, I’ve had no say in the matter. Everyone, including you, just assumed my compliance. So,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, “you’re as much at fault as Edward. That’s why I need your help.”
Belle took a deep, pained breath. “I know,” she sighed as a wave of guilt washed over her. “And I did promise that,” she added. For truth to tell she’d been relieved that Rita had been chosen to be Queen instead of her. That is, until she’d met Umberford. She shivered and rose from the brocade padded chair. “All right,” she said as she began to pace. “I promised I would help and I will. When I say I will do something, I do it. No, matter the consequences.”
“That’s what I love best about you,” Rita said, latching onto her wrist. Belle found herself halting as her twin tugged her into a tight embrace. “You are the only one who truly understands me,” she said. “Remember when we first switched places at age twelve and you went to Brighton for me?”
Belle nodded, caught in her sister’s tight hug. “I was terrified the whole time that either our Aunt Ellie or Her Majesty would discover I was an impostor,” she confessed as she returned her sister’s hug.
“But that didn’t happen, did it?” Rita said as she pulled away. “We are so alike that no one ever notices our differences.” Turning, her sister faced the oval mirror above the fireplace. “You act and react exactly like me. We mirror each other. That is why I’m inherently confident that you will always react as I would. So there’s nothing to worry about, is there?” she asked as she pivoted.
“I hope I can live up to your expectations,” Belle murmured. She moved away to gaze out the balcony windows as a heavy weight settled in her chest. Rita was wrong. In many ways they were the complete opposites. The problem was that Rita had never taken the time to discover those differences.
Peering through the rain-streaked French doors leading onto the balcony, Belle searched the desolate inlet below for the HMS Sea Hawk. The British Man-of-War that had brought them to Barovia. A bleak sense of desperation swept through her as she searched the horizon for a tiny dot, hoping for one last glimpse of the British Man-of-War and a bit of the familiar. Finding nothing, she gulped back her dismay.
Straightening, she took a deep breath, forcing back her rising tide of uneasiness. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart. For once again, circumstances demanded that she hold the tattered pieces of both their lives together. She took another deep breath and blinked back the tears welling inside. In a fortnight she and Rita would be separated. She to live in England and Rita to reign as Queen of Barovia. If what she’d learned about Umberford’s strict dictates were true, then she and her sister would never see each other again. No matter what their brother had promised, Belle knew this would be their last time together. She had only this one last chance to make things right for her twin. She had to do all she could for Rita. She would have no more chances to correct the mistakes she’d made in the past regarding her sister.
Belle choked back the panic threatening to swamp her as she thought of their uncertain futures apart. She took a slow, steady breath. She knew from past experience that it did no good worrying about tomorrow. She couldn’t change the past and the future was too ambiguous to predict. To do that she would need a crystal ball. She gulped at the thought. She’d watched their aunt dabble in the black arts. The arcane had led to nothing but disappointment and heartache for Aunt Ellie.
Slowly, she turned away from the balcony doors. She might as well face the inevitable. She had been abandoned in a foreign country with her sister, their aunt, and two lady’s maids dependent upon her. All they had was each other. That being the case it would have to be enough until Edward arrived with King Stefan.
A frantic scratching sounded at the connecting door, followed by a yelp.
“There’s Muffy,” Rita said. “Aunt Ellie must be up from her nap.”
The door swung open and a white ball of fur tumbled into the room followed by their petite blonde-haired aunt. The small dog raced around Aunt Ellie’s floor-length mauve skirts, yipping shrilly preventing the middle-aged woman from moving further into the room.
Belle looked on in amusement as Rita scooped the small yelping dog up into her arms. The smile dropped from her lips as Belle realized that their ruse was about to be undone by a ball of fluff, Aunt Ellie’s most recent addition to their entourage.
Hastily crossing the room as the dog licked joyously at Rita’s face, Belle held out her arms. “Give him to me.”
“Oh, Muffy,” Aunt Ellie exclaimed. “Imagine that! Now you like her Ladyship just as much as you do her Royal Highness.”
Rita arched her eyebrow. “You sure?” she whispered, pausing to deposit the wiggling canine into Belle’s waiting arms.
Belle nodded, wishing their aunt hadn’t turned so formal in her use of titles. Especially now that they had changed identities. But then her aunt had lived with them for nearly eight years and never seemed to be able to tell the two girls apart. So, surely she would be able to remember who her aunt was addressing?
“Definitely,” she nodded then narrowed her gaze on the oversized rat as Rita handed the dog over to her. The dog squirmed then let out a high-pitched howl as Belle fought to hold onto its squirming, wiggling body. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all, she decided.
“Oh, you bad boy,” their aunt scolded as she quickly lifted her pet from Belle’s arms. “I am so sorry Your Highness,” she said. “I do not know what has gotten into Muffy?”
Belle knew exactly what was wrong with the dog but instead chose to say. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ve heard that all males are fickle.” She smiled to soften her words.
“Not just males,” Rita said, her tone hard. “I’ve also known a few females that fit into that category.”
“True,” Belle acknowledged as she waved her hand for Rita to ring for tea.
“My Muffy has always been so good.” Aunt Ellie’s voice trembled as she looked soulfully up at Belle. “I just don’t know what has gotten into him.”
Belle laid her arm across their aunt’s shoulders and directed her toward the armchair positioned near the fireplace. “Don’t fret, my dear. Tea will be here soon.”
“But, Muffy...”
“Is fine,” Belle inserted. “Like humans, some animals don’t travel well. It was a rough crossing for us all.”
“Oh my, yes and especially for you, Your Highness,” Aunt Ellie said. “I am so glad to see you have regained the bloom in your cheeks.”
Surreptitiously, Belle glanced at Rita who still looked a bit pale.
“I’m told that the idea of marriage does that to one,” Rita quipped as she crossed to the fireplace. “Aunt Ellie, allow me to take Muffy for you. He’ll be better off with one of the maids while we have our tea.”
“Good idea,” Belle said as the sitting room door opened and Agatha, her lady’s maid, wheeled in the tea tray. “Let’s all sit and have a relaxing cup while we wait,” she invited.
“Right, might as well make ourselves comfortable,” Rita agreed with an awry twist to her lips. “Who knows how long we’ll be forced to kick up our heels here,” she added as she handed the dog over to the maid.
Without a thought, Belle crossed to the tea trolley and selected a teacup. “Aunt Ellie, would you-“
“Oh, no, Your Highness,” Aunt Ellie popped up out of her chair as if she’d sat on a hot coal. Adjusting her pink-fringed paisley shawl, she hurried across the room. “Please, Your Highness, allow me to do the honor,” she said, hastily snatching the cup from Belle’s fingers before she could object.
Sphynx-like, Belle stared at the petite woman for a moment. Then she glanced over at her twin, her heart hammering in her chest. Had she unknowingly given away their game?
Rita’s small shrug indicated that she had no answer and that only time would tell.
“Very well,” Belle muttered as she allowed Aunt Ellie to proceed. Resuming her seat, she watched their aunt turn and set the cup on a saucer. “I really wish we could drop the ‘Your Highness’ bit though,” she added.
“Oh, no, Your Highness,” Aunt Ellie said as she glanced over her bony shoulder then turned back to pour the tea. Belle noted a blush stained her aunt’s porcelain face as she crossed the room. “I couldn’t possibly agree to that,” she said, offering her the cup filled with Oolong tea. “You must become comfortable with hearing your new title.”
“I suppose you are correct,” Belle sighed then added, “Thank you,” as she accepted the fragrant brew. When she took a sip, a tingling sensation floated across her tongue. Gracious! That wasn’t Oolong. She frowned as she swallowed then noticed that their aunt had returned to the tea cart. What new brand had Aunt Ellie forced them into trying this time?
“Would you like a cup?” Aunt Ellie asked, twisting the black band of her cuff back into place before raising an empty cup and waving it at Rita.
“With or without what you just slipped into her Highness’ cup?” Rita asked.
Belle choked as she went to swallow another sip. Her eyes began to water.
“Oh, dear!” their aunt squeaked. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
Finally getting the tea down, Belle wiped at the tears streaming down her face and then managed to gasp. “See what?”
She heard Rita’s cold chuckle. “I suspect you are drinking one of Aunt Ellie’s offensive potions,” her twin said. “But, by now we both realize that while they may taste awful,” she shrugged. “They are innocuous.”
“O-oh!” Aunt Ellie exclaimed then her shoulders drooped. “I know that I ought to be offended by your words but ... you’ve only stated the truth. I am a complete failure when it comes to casting spells.” She signed, a doleful expression sweeping across her countenance.
“Um-m,” Belle said clearing her throat. “So, what exactly did you put in this?” she asked as a tingling spread down her throat and into her chest. She coughed then managed to gasp out. “Should I be worried?”
“Oh dear! Do you feel ill, Your Highness?” Aunt Ellie asked. A deep frown drew her thinning brows together as she began twisting her lace hankie this way and that.
Belle shook her head, her eyes beginning to water again. “Not necessarily… ill, just…strange.”
“Oh!” Aunt Ellie gasped. A delightful giggle erupting as a grin spread across her wrinkle-free face. She clapped her hands. “Imagine that! It’s working! It’s really working.”
Belle coughed again then pinched her throat to prevent the sneeze tickling the back of her nose from spewing forth.
“What makes you say that?” Rita asked as she handed Belle a lace hanky.
“I have been practicing,” Aunt Ellie said, proudly, her thin lips stretching into a wide smile.
“But, what exactly did you put in my tea?” Belle asked again as she mopped at her streaming eyes.
Aunt Ellie dipped her silver-streaked blonde head, then fingered the coral brooch she wore pinned at the neck of her dress for a moment. “A-a few of my very special herbs,” she said, shyly.
“From our herb garden?” Belle asked, trying to decide if she should be alarmed by the strange aftertaste.
“That ... and a few other things I found,” Aunt Ellie said, nodding vigorously. The movement caused the braids coiled at the back of her head to sway precariously.
“Like eye of toad?” Belle mumbled.
“Oh no, my dear,” Aunt Ellie trilled, shaking her head briskly. “Love potions never use toads, or frogs, or lizards, especially not when dealing with royalty, Your Highness.”
“A l-love potion?” Belle stammered. “Why on earth do you think I need one of those?”
“Well,” Aunt Ellie seemed to hesitate then peered up at her as she extracted two pins from her hair and tucked them back into her coil. “Because I wasn’t sure that the spell I put on your brooch would work. I thought… I had better mix you a special potion as well.”
“Oh-h-h,” Belle sighed, swallowing back the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. “And the reason you felt it necessary to go to such lengths was-”
“Your Highness,” Aunt Ellie said, leaning towards Belle and grasping her hand. "For the past eight years you and your sister have been the light of my life. I want only the very best for you. I want you…to be…happy.”
Tears welled up in Belle. “And you think one of your potions will do the trick?” she asked, softly, wanting to remember this overwhelming moment of love pouring out to her for the rest of her life. Knowing that someone wanted the very best for her would have to be enough to sustain her through the dark years she served as Umberford’s wife.
“Oh, yes, Your Highness, I know it will.”
Belle flipped her hand to clasped Aunt Ellie’s in her own. She knew the dear lady had loved and still mourned her husband. “And you really believe that love is necessary in a Marriage of State?”
“Oh, my dear child,” Aunt Ellie said, softly. “Not only is it necessary but it is essential if the marriage is to succeed.”
Belle peered into the kind blue eyes, so wise in courtly protocol yet naïve in so many of the ways of the world. “And you think your potion will help me attain happiness?” she asked as she remembered the blackened kitchen walls she’d help scrub down more times than not after one of Aunt Ellie’s potions had gone awry.
“Oh, yes, Your Highness, it is my fondest wish for you.”
Belle hated to disappoint the woman who had been a loving surrogate mother to them. She lifted her cup from where she had set it on the small table beside her. She stared into the cup for a moment then swirled the contents. Raising it to her lips, she tipped it and swallowed the remaining contents in one gulp. Gently, placing the bone china cup back on its saucer, she bravely met her aunt’s expectant gaze. “Then may all your wishes come true.”
The poignant moment was lost when Rita hurriedly clapped her hands. “Brava, Your Highness, brava!”
Belle wrinkled her brow and eyed her sister warily. She only hoped her bravado hadn’t landed her in more trouble than what she was in already.
***
Prince Nikolai Orsini Garaini, otherwise known as ‘Niko’, slapped his black leather riding gloves against his gray breeches then frowned. Blast! The situation wasn’t good by any stretch of the imagination. Although his men had secured the perimeter of the Black Swan Inn, the life of their future Queen was in jeopardy. “And you say the rebels have cut off all access by road into the village?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Colonel Cyrek Domokos handed him the spyglass and pointed to the main road leading into Saranda. “There is a main force waiting by the bridge down there.”
“How many?” Niko asked as he swung the scope and adjusted the knob to focus on the road running east from the village of Saranda to the town of Suri Kalter over the mountains.
“About three dozen.”
“Have they pitched tents?” Niko asked as he turned the glass to the south.
“No,” Cyrek assured him. “Evidently they don’t think they’re going to be there that long.”
“Good,” Niko said knowing if his enemy was entrenched it would be more difficult to roust them out. “And the south road?”
“It’s guarded by a small force,” Cyrek replied.
“So, we’re up against a contingency of about fifty-four rebels?” he asked then wondered if the rebels were there simply to attack another village or if they had been informed that their future Queen had come ashore. If that was the case, then their presence meant that they were there to harm the Lady with the aim of striking a crippling blow to the country.
“Could be more,” Cyrek said, slowly.
Niko heard the caution threaded through his friend’s words. “And the village itself?” he asked, pivoting in that direction, knowing stealth had always been the best option when creating a plan.
“We’re not sure, Your Highness,” Cyrek said. “The villagers are believed to be loyal to the Crown. However, there could be rebels planted in every house or none at all.”
Niko nodded. In these uncertain times, his first priority was to keep Her Ladyship safe and to effectively extract her from harm’s way. “Has there been any unusual movement seen inside the village?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Cyrek said. “As you ordered, our men have filtered into the village over the past two days. Some dressed as fishermen, others as itinerant peasants and a few appear as tradesmen. They are positioned both inside the inn and stationed around it.”
“Good,” he said then frowned. If there had been any way he could’ve delayed the Lady’s arrival until after he’d found out with certainty that someone was supplying information to the rebels then he would’ve. But Stefan needed this marriage pronto to stabilize their country. “And the Lady?”
“She and her entourage arrived minutes ago while you were making your way up here.”
Niko nodded then hesitated. “How large a group?”
“Nearest I can tell,” Cyrek said, “there’s a middle-aged chaperone, two lady’s maids, and another female.”
“Likely her personal secretary,” Niko guessed, pleased she had kept the number of attendants to the maximum his cousin had requested.
But that by no means solved his problem of how to extract her from a village surrounded by rebels. Slowly, he began to pace the small ridge above the main road as he considered the solution. Halting, he waved his officers waiting for instructions over as he bent and drew a squiggly line in the dirt. “While I had planned on bringing her Ladyship into the Bay of Vlore,” he said, pointing to the make-shift position. “With the storm and the Austrian-Hungarian blockade in the Strait of Otranto, I had no other choice but to move our rendezvous point to Saranda since it’s the only port deep enough to handle a British Man of War.” He drew a circle. “Now, we have the task of removing Cousin Stefan’s bride from the threat of the Yugoslavian rebels blocking all our exits from the town.” He straightened and stared at his friend. “Stefan hasn’t been King long enough to gain the full backing of all of our countrymen. If the rebels can stop Stefan’s marriage, our very existence is in jeopardy.”
Cyrek nodded. “Because without this marriage, we have no link to Queen Victoria and England’s might. And without that military power behind us-”
“Greece, Yugoslavia, and Austria-Hungary will invade, claim our land as their own and we will become a bloody battlefield caught between the three countries,” Niko said. “Our defenses cannot withstand the collective invasion of all three nations at once,” he admitted then took a deep breath. “Therefore to prevent that, here’s my plan.” Hastily, he began drawing in the dirt. “We’ll leave you, Major Kelso and your rifle troop here to pin down the rebels at the bridge,” he said pointing at the position he’d drawn. “Captain Bjorni, we will send you and a squad of your men to the south to hunt down the rebels along the road,” he said moving his index finger over to that position. “Major Hondros, you are to maintain your orders to fire at will upon anyone threatening the safety of her Ladyship.” He swept his gaze over his cadre of officers. “As for me, I’ll circle around to the village of Vorshi. Procure Stefan’s yacht and sail back here. Since we’ve masked the ship’s markings and it appears as an ordinary fishing vessel, we’ll anchor off the promontory. A skiff will bring me ashore. I’ll then make my way up through the village and proceed on to the inn.”
“And at the inn?” Cyrek asked as his bushy eyebrows drew together.
“I’ll convince her Ladyship that she must accompany me out by boat,” he said then straightened. “Any questions?” he asked as he swept his gaze over his men.
With a shake of their heads, they responded, “No, Sir.”
Niko nodded then continued. “Once you have quietly rounded up the rebels, you and Major Hondros will escort Her Ladyship’s entourage to Ksamilli. The following morning, you will proceed to Berat where we’ll meet you outside the city in the field across from the public market.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Cyrek snapped him a salute. “Rest assured the men guarding our future Queen will protect her with their very lives.”
“I know,” he said, returning the salute. The men in his command were seasoned veterans who had served together, like he and Cyrek had, for over ten years. With men like these, what inevitably went wrong was halted before it became a problem.
