Epic Love Stories--Complete Box Set

by Kelly Moore

  “You’re an idiot. I’m not going to France, but a break for the holiday does sound nice. Do you want to go with me?” I squat down, so I can see him through his window.

  “Does that invitation curtail anything else?” He cocks an eye.

  “I love you, but no.”

  “I’m going to my parents’ for Christmas this year. You’re welcome to come with me.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. Your mom hates me.” I stand.

  “That’s because you broke my heart.”

  “Your heart belongs to all the woman you sleep with,” I yell, heading for the mailbox.

  He backs up into the street and waves as he drives off. I know he’s teasing me about breaking his heart. We care deeply about each other, but we’re not in love. His mom wanted us to be. She thought he would finally settle down and maybe give her some grandkids. I think if I could love someone, it would be him, but there is a hole in my heart that always holds me back. He can’t get to it to fill it. It’s an ache that is always with me.

  I pull a stack of mail out and drop several envelopes on the ground. I bend down to pick them up and notice the now familiar handwriting of Keegan. My heart does an odd little flutter. I carry the stack inside and grab a much-needed bottle of water from the fridge.

  I sit at the counter finding myself excited about opening the letter. I never made it to the post office to mail the box. Maybe that’s why he’s writing me again. I tear it open and start reading. My fingers drum on the countertop as I take in his words.

  “Am I married?” I laugh out loud. “Who has time for marriage?” His question makes me curious as to what he looks like. I run upstairs to my office with the letter in hand. My fingers hover over the keyboard. I only know him by Sergeant Keegan. He said his family owned an outdoor center in Jackson. How many can there be? I Google outdoor centers in Jackson and Outdoor Adventures is at the top of the list.

  It’s a beautiful, rustic log-cabin-looking building on the outside with a unique A-frame build on the front. Placing the mouse on the title bar where it says contact, I click on it. There is a gray-haired man with glasses, Dave Keegan, owner/operator. Vice president, David Keegan. All this time, I thought his first name was Keegan. He never signs his name David.

  There is a picture of a handsome man with hazel and honey eyes. His hair reminds me of the color of a child’s teddy bear. For a brief second, I imagine running my fingers through it. Where the hell did that come from? It’s only a headshot of him, so I can’t tell anything more other than the dimples he has deep-seated in his cheeks and the most perfectly straight teeth. He’s very good looking and fetching with his crooked smile. I bet he’s charmed many a woman in his day. Something about him is sad. Maybe it’s because his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. They have no sparkle to them. I wonder how long ago this picture was taken? After Wolfe or his wife died? It can’t be right after his wife died. He said she’s been gone twelve years. He only looks a few years younger than me in this picture.

  I thumb through the brochures he included with his letter. The place looks like a Norman Rockwell town with its old-fashioned streetlamps. The main feature of the town is covered Honeymoon Bridge he told me about. It’s painted a dark shade of red with white trim, reminding me of an old barn. I don’t know why, but I want to go there. I could use the break and some cold winter weather for a change.

  I take out pen and paper to write him back.

  * * *

  Keegan,

  Thank you for the brochures, the town looks fascinating. Who knows, maybe I will show up there one day. The covered bridge looks like something out of a fairy tale. No wonder you and your wife liked it so much. I can almost see couples standing arm in arm, kissing each other under the gables of the roof.

  Wolfe’s father sounds perfectly awful. It does explain his demeanor in the picture with him. I’ve done a little digging, and there has been no one by the name Rowan that has owned this house. I checked the entire neighborhood, thinking maybe the address was off a digit or two. I even checked other street names that were similar.

  It sounds like your wife and I are kindred souls with our love for music, although, I’ve never been in a band and can’t imagine performing in front of an audience. I don’t even like my picture to be taken. I know I’m in a celebrity field, but I like my privacy. I haven’t even met but a few of my clients in person. Everything is done over the internet.

  Again, I’m truly sorry about your wife. You talk like she was your soul mate and that is something not many of us find. To answer your question, no I’m not married, and I don’t think I will ever find my soul mate. Something inside me keeps me at arm’s length from falling in love. I don’t know why I shared that with you, I seem to do that a lot. Maybe it’s that kinship that I feel with you, too.

  Your daughter sounds like the typical teenage girl, hormonal, LOL. I’m sure at heart, she’s still a daddy’s girl. She will come back around. I can completely understand spoiling her. Have you ever thought about getting remarried? Maybe she could use another woman in the house. Then again, it may make her jealous for your attention. Studies have shown, people that are happily married and then lose a spouse, tend to remarry. I Googled you on the internet. You’re a nice-looking man and seem very kind. I would think women would be falling all over you.

  I hope you and your family have a fabulous Christmas. Sorry about the delay in getting Wolfe’s belongings back to you. I promise to get them to you soon.

  Take care,

  Shay

  I smile to myself. I’m seriously thinking about going; it would be so nice to get away. I don’t want to tell Keegan. Maybe I would surprise him at the outdoor center. A bed-and-breakfast really isn’t my style, so I throw that brochure away and Google Airbnb rentals in Jackson, New Hampshire. I skip through several of them until I find one that says remote location. It’s a small two-story stone-brick cottage. It says it is three miles outside of town, nestled in the woods on a mountain. The cute brown log fence that surrounds it makes it look even more inviting. I could lock myself up in there and do nothing but read for two weeks. No computer, no music, no phone, no television. It sounds so tempting, but I doubt at this late of a date that it’s available. I click on the calendar, and I’m shocked to see it not rented. The rental company has a note that there was a last-minute cancellation.

  I lean back in my chair, thinking about it. A file pops up on the bottom of my computer screen. I click it, and it’s a message from my agent wanting to know if I’m taking on five more assignments. It is my determining factor. I switch back over to Airbnb and book the stone cottage. My hands tremble as I click the final confirmation.

  I did it. I’m going to take a vacation. Paul will be so excited. My agent, not so much. I really don’t need the extra clients anyway. I need to hire help, but I’m such a control freak when it comes to my work.

  I hit the shower and towel off. I don’t even bother dressing. I shut the automatic blinds and curl up in my bed. I’m suddenly so tired and completely content with my decision to take a break. I pull the comforter over my head and close my eyes.

  His arm pulls me against his chest. The scruff on his face teases my neck while his woodsy smell warms my body. I reach back and run my hand through his thick, messy hair. I don’t open my eyes, but I turn my head, baring my neck even more. He chuckles deep in his throat, letting me know that he is more than happy to continue. His lips trail kisses from the olive skin of my neck to my shoulders. My hands glide from his hair to his hip, feeling his muscles flex. His hand travels down my skin, stopping between my legs. A soft moan escapes his lips. His fingers barely touch me, and I’m already wet with need. I whimper as he spreads my legs and his fingers tease me.

  I turn my head, and his mouth crashes on mine, taking what he wants from me. He repositions, pressing my back to the bed and him between my legs. I feel his swollen cock nestled between us. He lifts his head, and his hazel and honey eyes lock on mine.

  “I love y
ou, Timber.”

  * * *

  I bolt straight up. My chest heaves as I try to catch my rasping breath. I drape my arm across my forehead and feel the clamminess covering my body. I press my hand to the scar on the back of my neck, and my fingers get tangled in my damp hair. I feel the tightness of my chest as I hold back a scream. I have to talk myself into calming down. It was only a dream, yet it felt so familiar. I brush my hand over my shoulder, still feeling his lips running across my skin. I never recall my dreams. I’ve woken up in a cold sweat before, but couldn’t remember why.

  I’m sure it’s because of the letters. I’m envious of how much he loved his wife. That has to be it. His story triggered something in me that I’m missing. Seeing his picture on the computer made him real to me. Made the dream real to me.

  Chapter 6

  Keegan

  “Emmalyn! We are waiting for you to decorate the tree,” I yell up the stairs. Dad is checking the strands of lights to make sure they work, and Mom is setting up a hot chocolate bar. I’m going through a box of ornaments when Emmalyn makes her way into the warmth of the living room. She has a Santa hat on and a pair of black-and-red checkered flannel pajamas. I smile because I still see the little girl in her, rather than the preteen that likes to drive me crazy.

  “I get to put the star on top, Grandpa.” She skips toward him.

  “You guys have thirty minutes to get that tree decorated before White Christmas comes on,” my mom says.

  I see the moment a shadow of sadness briefly crosses Emmalyn’s face. This was Timber’s favorite Christmas movie. She started the tradition of us watching it every year. Emmalyn loves the movie, but I think this is when she feels her mother’s loss the most. I would give anything to see her mother snuggled between us, sipping on her hot chocolate, and singing the words to every song. I miss her more and more every day that Emmalyn gets older. The pain of losing her still remains, but I bury it so that Emmalyn doesn’t get lost in it. We both keep pictures of her by our beds. To this day, Emmalyn still picks it up and kisses her good night. Sometimes, I can hear her talking to her, and it almost breaks my heart.

  Timber was so excited about having a baby. She didn’t get near enough time with her, but she fell in love with her the minute she laid eyes on our new baby girl. I remember her being so conflicted about leaving Emmalyn to go to her class reunion. She cried the night before she left. I’m the one that convinced her she should go. God, if I could take anything back, I would have never let her go. I live with that guilt every stinking day.

  We met when my mom and dad took me on a month-long vacation to Utah before my senior year of high school. We were staying at a resort and Timber, who was two years older than me, was working in the restaurant. She waited on us, and I couldn’t quit staring at her. She was strikingly beautiful, and I fell in love with her at that moment. It took her a little convincing, but by the end of the week, we were inseparable. After shifts, we would meet up down by the lake. It was all so innocent. She would sing, and we would dance by the moonlight reflecting off the water. We made out like crazy, but she wanted to remain innocent until her wedding day.

  My senior year, we wrote each other every day. My parents wanted me to date other girls, but I knew who I wanted and no one else compared to her. She drove her old Dodge Dart up to New Hampshire for my graduation, and she never left. She got a job working downtown, and a year later, we married. When my parents got to know her, they finally understood why she was my other half and looking for someone else would have been a waste of my time.

  I worked for my dad and saved up money for a down payment on a stone cottage house. Timber fell in love with it the first time she saw it. She loved that it sat out away from town. It was the perfect place for her to practice with the band she wanted to start. My dad and I built her a studio out back, away from the house. Timber and I spent half our lives in that studio—either watching her play music or making love when the band left. We would both be so hyped up from the music that we were ripping each other’s clothes off as soon as the band members left.

  Emmalyn was born in that house. Timber’s water broke four weeks before she was due. I was working at the time, so when she called me, I called the ambulance and headed to her. The paramedics got there just in time for Emmalyn to make her appearance.

  After Timber died, Emmalyn and I moved in with my parents. I was only there a few months before I had to go to boot camp. I’ve never had the heart to sell it, so I use it for seasonal rentals. I haven’t been there in years. A rental property management company takes care of everything.

  “Dad, pick me up so I can put the star on top.” Emmalyn stands with her arms in the air.

  I was so lost in thought, I didn’t even see them decorate the tree. I stand and place my hands on her waist. “You are getting too big for me to do this.” I bend my knees, picking her up.

  “Are you saying I’m fat?” She looks down at me.

  “No.” I laugh. “Just hurry up,” I grunt, teasing her.

  I set her down, and she grabs the remote from my dad and turns on the lights. “There. Now it’s Christmas time.”

  “The movie is starting.” My mom turns up the volume, and we all join her on the old plaid couch.

  For the next two hours, we sip hot chocolate and sing along with the movie. Well, except for my dad. His head is drooping, and a soft snore is coming from him.

  Emmalyn lets a yawn escape, cuddling into my side. “I think it’s bedtime, kiddo.”

  “Will you tuck me in?”

  Who can say no to that? It’s rare that she lets me anymore. I nod, and we take the stairs to her bedroom. I pull back the covers, and she jumps in. “I love you, kiddo.”

  “Love you too, Dad.” She puckers her lips up for a kiss. I bend down and kiss her cheek.

  “Good night.” I walk into the hallway.

  “Good night, Dad.” Before her door is fully closed, I hear, “Missed you tonight, Mom. I sang all the songs for you, and I kept Dad company.”

  My heart shatters. Here I’m the dad, thinking I’m taking care of her and she’s really the one taking care of me. Timber’s death tore my world apart, but Emmalyn helped put it back together. She was my reason to survive.

  I lock up the house and turn off all the lights, except for the Christmas tree lights. One ornament catches my eye. I bought the tiny wooden guitar for Timber our first Christmas together. I push it with my finger, causing it to sway back and forth. I sit in my dad’s recliner and watch it until it finally stops moving.

  “I love the feel of your hair when it brushes across my bare chest.” I barely breathe out the words with Timber riding me. My hands are on her sweet hips, helping her keep a rhythm.

  “I think you like when any part of me touches you.” She leans down, snagging my lips with hers.

  “I especially like the part that’s squeezing my cock right now,” I grit as I come inside her, and she throws her head back as her orgasm rakes through her body. When she finally comes back down to earth, she lies on top of me, keeping our connection.

  I run my hands through her silky black hair, brushing it out of her face. “Now that’s the way to start every morning.”

  She laughs, and her hand slaps my chest. “You say that’s the way to end every day too.”

  I wrap my arms around her. “And, what’s so wrong with that?”

  She looks up at me with those deep cinnamon eyes. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  “Dad, I’m going to be late for school.”

  Emmalyn’s voice and her hand shaking my shoulder startles me. I blink a few times trying to brush my dream off. “I’m up.” I lower the footrest of the recliner. I run upstairs to change clothes and pull on my boots. I run back downstairs, and Emmalyn is standing at the door impatiently tapping her foot with a glare in her eye that would kill a weaker man. I open the door and walk out. “Come on. What are you waiting for?” I tease her. She does her typical thing and gives me her usual eye roll.r />
  “Some days I don’t know who the parent in this relationship.”

  I laugh out loud. She sounds way too grown up for her age. “I’m the parent and don’t you forget it.” I open the door to my Wrangler, and she hops inside.

  Thankfully, we haven’t had snow in a few days, and I’m able to get out of the driveway. If she had to wait for me to shovel the snow, I’d never hear the end of it. “Did you grab your lunch Grandma made you.”

  “Dang it.” Her fist hits the door.

  I keep one hand on the wheel and pull my wallet out with the other. “Here, take what you need.” She pulls out a twenty-dollar bill. “Boy, lunch sure is expensive.” I chuckle.

  “You never know what a young girl might need.” She bats her long dark lashes at me.

  “You are just like your mother. She was always taking money out of my wallet.”

  She gets really quiet for a moment. “I’m glad I’m like her,” she whispers.

  “Me too, baby.”

  I drop her off. It’s the last day of school before Christmas break. I plan on taking a day or two off, so her and I can go snowmobiling. I know how much she loves it. When I pull into the outdoor store, the parking lot is already full, and customers are waiting outside. It’s our preholiday sale. I look at my watch; we don’t open for another fifteen minutes. I pull my Wrangler around back, so I can use the employee entrance. I stop and speak to a couple of employees, then make my way to my office.

  Dad must already be here because there is a pile of mail on my desk. I shrug out of my jacket and hang it on the coat rack. I sit at my desk and flip through the mail dividing it into piles. “Junk, junk, bills…Shay.” I drop the rest of the mail and tear open her letter.