Of Bishops And Pawns (Ridge Rogues Book 2)

by Renee Harless

  Of Bishops And Pawns

  By Renee Harless

  I played the game.

  There were rules.

  There was strategy.

  There was always an escape.

  No one knew how my past dictated my every move.

  I did everything to keep the nightmares of my childhood at bay.

  I reveled in my playboy reputation.

  Then Sarah Hodges made a wrong move.

  One that left me wondering how to match her play.

  We weren’t supposed to work.

  She was everything I wasn’t.

  But she had secrets of her own.

  Ones that left me shocked and furious.

  Ones that gave me a leg up.

  Or so I thought.

  It only took one quick game to land us in checkmate,

  something Wellington University never saw coming.

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2021 Renee Harless

  This work is one of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. All trademarked items included in this novel have been recognized as so by the author. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  All rights reserved

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  Cover design by Porcelain Paper Designs

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One - Sarah

  Chapter Two – Sarah

  Chapter Three – Archer

  Chapter Four – Sarah

  Chapter Five – Archer

  Chapter Six – Sarah

  Chapter Seven – Archer

  Chapter Eight – Sarah

  Chapter Nine - Archer

  Chapter Ten - Sarah

  Epilogue – Archer

  Of Boys and Men - Chapter One - Jolee

  Chapter One - Sarah

  I feared this day would arrive, had been counting on it since the spring, but nothing could have prepared me to find the large envelope with the legal header in the corner.

  I didn’t even need to open it to know what waited for me inside on heavy cardstock. The contents were life-changing and not in a good way.

  My hand shook as I closed the small metal door to my mailbox and stowed the letter and junk mail into my backpack as I made the trek back to my dorm. My feet shuffled along on auto pilot, and with each step, the weight on my chest grew heavier to the point where I felt like I was suffocating by the time I reached the middle of the campus.

  I had no idea what I was going to do and the only shred of hope that I had remaining was that the letter would offer some sort of guidance. But even I knew that it was unlikely.

  The summer air in the small town outside of Boston, Massachusetts, was thick and intense, matching the turmoil I found myself in. This was the first summer that I was spending on campus, I had until July to move my things from the dorm into a small studio apartment I had found in the same complex as my friend Jolee. I had been living with my friend Keeley in the dorms, both of us being new sophomores to the university this past year. But she had joined a sorority and lived in their housing while it left me struggling to find a place to live that my savings from my previous jobs would help cover.

  I needed to start looking for a part-time job over the summer to help cushion my savings even more. My father didn’t have enough to help, barely able to make ends meet on his own with the disability checks he received. And we had been fighting against the hospital bills that continued to arrive since my mother’s death almost a decade ago.

  “Damn,” I said as a swift breeze tossed my red hair into my face, the strands sticking to my lip gloss-covered mouth. My wild mane covered my eyes and I missed the step that dropped the sidewalk down toward the fountain at the center of campus.

  The burn of the concrete against my palms and knees caused tears to well up on my lower lids. I was grateful that I was able to catch myself; otherwise, I’d most likely have scrapes all over my body that would match my hair color.

  At first, I thought that no one witnessed my misstep. Most people tended to ignore me around campus as it is. But just as I pushed myself up to a kneeling position, the cackles started. They started low, like one or two people noticing my trip, then they grew to a large symphony of harmonic giggles.

  Of course, the campus couldn’t be empty today or all days. It wasn’t as if I didn’t have enough on my mind. Fate had to add in a hefty dose of embarrassment as well. Not that this was different than any other day. I was a klutz through and through, spending the majority of my time with my head down, making sure that I wasn’t tripping or running into anything. Not that it had helped in the past. There was a reason why I only lasted one day as a waitress at the local diner in my hometown. Carrying trays and being clumsy did not go well together. Spilling eight glasses of water on a group of football players and their girlfriends didn’t end well for my last few weeks of high school.

  My father told me to walk with my head held high and everyone would ignore my mistakes. That was easier said than done for sure, especially for someone that had social anxiety. Keeping my head down kept my nerves at bay.

  I was a mess, literally.

  The laughter continued around me and I looked up to find a gaggle of half-dressed girls huddled around a man that leaned against one of the building’s railings. The women sneered in her direction as they snickered, the man she recognized as one of the campus’ Ridge Rogues didn’t laugh, but a smirk tilted the corner of his mouth upward.

  If I had a backbone at all, I would tell them where they could all go, but instead, I brushed off my knees as I stood, taking note of the blood dripping from some of the scratches. I was definitely going to feel this in the morning.

  Trying not to let the group know how they affected me, I gathered my backpack and pushed my hair away from my face and behind my ears. I stole one last glance at the group, my eyes catching on the gorgeous man in the center. The girls seemed to orbit around him as if he were their sun. With his dirty blond hair and sharp gaze, I could see how they were pulled toward him. He must have noticed me staring because the smirk dropped from his mouth and he cocked an impatient brow in my direction.

  I gripped the strap of my backpack tighter in my grasp and turned away, ashamed to have been caught staring at the gorgeous man. My sandal-clad feet twisted up beneath me as I tried to rush away from the scene, almost losing my footing again, but thankful I was able to right myself before another catastrophe occurred.

  Hurriedly I rushed toward my dorm at the opposite end of campus, murmuring to myself that I needed to keep my gaze forward and not to turn around to see if the group was still laughing at my retreating back. I didn’t need to look; I could feel the guy’s gaze penetrating my back with each step that I took.

  Finally, I arrived at my dorm, but as I inserted my key in the lock, I struggled to open the door. Keeley never seemed to have this problem, but I did almost every time. We had even exchanged keys at one point, but the problem didn’t seem to be the key, but me.

  The room was barren on the side where Keeley had slept. A lo
ft bed pressed against the wall and a single dresser tucked underneath. My side seemed just as barren, but not for the same reason. I just couldn’t afford all of the niceties that every other girl at Wellington University seemed to decorate with. Bed linens, towels, and some clothes were all that I needed to get by.

  I knew that I needed to start packing up my things, but it wasn’t going to take me long, only two suitcases worth of items. I planned to hit up a local thrift shop for furniture for the apartment, even though Jolee had offered for me to use her things since she spent most of her time with her boyfriend, Ford. Her things were nice, very nice. Jolee’s roommate and cousin Willow had purchased the bedroom set with funds from her parents. The furniture was nicer than anything I had ever seen or had for that matter.

  Slipping my bag from my shoulders, I tossed it onto my desk and promptly ignored the contents while I heated up a small bowl of mac and cheese in the tiny microwave we were allowed to have on campus. I knew I couldn’t overlook the envelope addressed to me much longer, but I knew the outcome was going to remain the same whether I opened it now or five hours later.

  I was tempted to call my father to get his advice, but I refrained. I knew exactly what he’d say. He’d work his magic and convince me to come home, that I didn’t need to work myself to the grind to pay for the private university that didn’t offer anything different than the community college I had transferred from. Accounting classes could be taken anywhere. The appeal of Wellington University wasn’t something that my father understood. For me, it was the college my mother had attended and it made me feel closer to her. And the thought of having to leave left a sour taste in my mouth.

  My father didn’t understand why I needed to travel so far away to feel closer to my mother, but he did his best to act supportive. But I knew deep inside he was lonely and most likely missed having the help at home.

  I wasn’t ashamed of where and how I grew up. The double-wide trailer my father owned was in a better part of the small mining town. We could walk wherever we needed to go, which I enjoyed but had become increasingly more difficult for my father, who sustained a knee and hip injury while working the mines. But he had friends that offered to take him where he wanted to go. I suspect he was more lonely than anything. I had never left home until I transferred to the college last year.

  Turning on the small television I picked up outside of a dumpster once Keeley had left, I found a mindless movie playing and lost myself in the drivel until the anticipation became too much. The envelope was beckoning me to open it and I knew I was only putting off the inevitable.

  Dear Ms. Hodges,

  We regret to inform you that your Hastings Scholarship has been revoked due to recent unforeseen circumstances. Unfortunately, we will be unable to offer another scholarship in its place. You may begin the process of applying for new financial assistance beginning on June 15th. We apologize for the notice and hope that this news does not deter you from continuing your education with Wellington University. We pride ourselves on the wide range and diversity of our students.

  Your current unpaid balance: $56,860 for tuition and fees in upcoming academic year.

  If you are unable to pay the balance by August 3rd, please reach out to your academic dean in written form to withdraw from the university.

  I had to read the note four times before the words began to sink in. They offered no other assistance though she had been on the university’s Dean’s list for the two semesters she attended and was a member of the National Honor’s Society and salutatorian at her high school. So much for all of that hard work the last couple of years.

  The revoking of the scholarship didn’t surprise me. I had heard the rumblings of it happening and the reasoning why. The scholarship, named after Senator Hastings, who donated the funds to three out-of-state students every semester, had come under fire when the Senator died of a heart attack last winter.

  Not only did his widow have zero access to the funds to supply the scholarship, but various news sources were also citing claims that the esteemed politician had a nefarious side filled with affairs, extortion, and harassment. Rumor around campus was that Ford, Jolee’s boyfriend and one of the Ridge rogues, was the son of Senator Hastings. I didn’t notice the resemblance except in the eyes. Hastings and Ford had the same colored eyes – bright blue. But he never confirmed or denied the allegations, which left me wondering if there was indeed any truth to the claims since there was nothing left of the scholarship fund.

  With a deep sigh, I tossed the paper onto my bed and fell back onto the overly firm mattress, my body practically bouncing on the tough material. I had very few options at my disposal. Of course, I could easily leave the university, sacrificing my education and my chance at living somewhere new. That seemed like the most likely of options, but there had to be something out there.

  Despite not wanting to call my father, I reached for my secondhand cell phone from my back pocket and dialed the number that I knew by heart. The landline number not changing since we moved into the trailer. My father refused to own a cell phone, stuck in his ancient ways.

  The phone rang on the other line and I bit my lip, wondering if my father would answer. I knew that he should be home on a Tuesday around 3 p.m., his favorite game show would be on television at that time.

  I waited out the rings a few more seconds and pulled the phone from my ear prepared to end the call before the tired voice of my father called out.

  “Sarah?”

  “Hey, dad.”

  “Well, this is an unexpected surprise. What do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Can’t a daughter just call her father?” I said in jest.

  “Of course, but usually we wait until our weekly call on Sunday.”

  “True.”

  “So. . .why the call now? What’s going on, dumpling?”

  “I have a problem.”

  My father inhaled sharply before asking, “Are you pregnant?”

  “No!” I shouted in explanation. “I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

  “Don’t need a boyfriend to get pregnant. Didn’t they teach you that in health class?”

  He wasn’t wrong. I hadn’t slept with anyone since I moved to Boston, and before that, it had only been twice with my high school boyfriend. But my father didn’t need to know that.

  “No, I’m not pregnant, father. I can’t believe that you’d suggest it.”

  “I know. You’re my good girl. So, what is it? You can barely tolerate taking over-the-counter pain medication, so I know that it’s not drugs. Are you in trouble?”

  Not the kind of trouble he suspected.

  “No, I’m fine. It has nothing to do with me, physically.” I went on to explain the letter I received from financial assistance and the remaining balance for my tuition.

  “Oh, Sarah, I’m sorry to hear this. I wish that there was something I could do, some way I could help. I suppose that I could look for some work and help to fit the bill, but I don’t think I’d make anywhere close to the dollar amount you’d need in that time frame.”

  “I know and I’d never ask you for your help. I’m the one that wanted to come here for the program.”

  “Maybe. . .” Here it was, his plea for me to come home. I was surprised we had made it this far in the conversation before he thought about mentioning it. “Maybe you should come home. You can probably get a job at the bank or babysit again while you take classes at the community college. You know I’d be happy to have you home.”

  “I know, dad. It’s good to know that I have some place to go. I know not everyone is that lucky. I think I’ll put in a few job applications.”

  “What could you possibly find that will pay you anywhere close to the amount that you need?” he asked, his tone full of frustration.

  “I don’t know, but I won’t ever know if I don’t try.”

  I didn’t dare mention that I had an idea of what would pay what I needed, but it was my last resort option and one that I hoped I wouldn�
��t need to entertain.

  “Sarah. . .”

  “Everything will be fine, dad. I just wanted to give you a heads up and let you know what was going on.”

  “Well, you know that I will always welcome you back home, but I’m proud of you for sticking with it, the college thing, I mean. I know growing up here wasn’t always the easiest.”

  It was hard growing up in a small town when everyone knew your business. The place and people could be suffocating with their nosiness and inability to separate a child version of yourself and an adult. The worst was when people knew something long before you did. Half of the town knew that my mom had passed away before I had. And when my father was injured? I found out on the school bus ride home from another student. Those were the things that I hated and why I had wanted to rid myself of the town without a backward glance. Unfortunately, unless I could find a job that paid more than most of the people in my town made in a year, I would be returning home sooner rather than later.

  “I love you, dad. I’ll call you on Sunday as scheduled.”

  “You do that. Good luck, Sarah. And I mean that.”

  I knew that he meant it despite his desire to want me to come home. My father was always the most supportive person in my life, even if he didn’t approve of my taking path.

  Grabbing my laptop, I pulled up a University job posting site to see if there were any positions on campus that I could fulfill. It didn’t take long to realize that there were no jobs available that could work with my busy class schedule. I needed something that would allow me to work early in the day and late in the evening. My classes filled my daytime schedule and that barely left any time for homework.

  My fingers tapped away on the keyboard, bringing up various job sites, but nothing available in the area I needed to search. I didn’t have access to a car and public transport was an expense that I didn’t want to waste my money on. Finding a job within walking distance was going to be imperative, except it was also doubtful. Jobs around the university were already claimed or taken by locals. And with my lack of coordination, I knew that waiting tables or serving coffee wasn’t options that I had.