A Conflicted Woman
A Woman Lost: Book 4
TB Markinson
Contents
Let’s Keep In Touch
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Also By T.B. Markinson
About the Author
T. B. Markinson
Published by T. B. Markinson
Visit T. B. Markinson’s official website at lesbianromancesbytbm.com for the latest news, book details, and other information.
Copyright © T. B. Markinson, 2018
Cover Design by: Erin Dameron-Hill / EDHGraphics
Edited by Jeri Walker and Kelly Hashway
This e-book is copyrighted and licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any forms or by any means without the prior permission of the copyright owner. The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Let’s Keep In Touch
Thanks so much for reading A Conflicted Woman. I really appreciate your support, and I hope you enjoy the story.
One of the best parts of publishing is getting to know you the reader, and my favorite method of keeping in touch is via my newsletter.
I share about my life, upcoming new releases, promotions, and giveaways.
And, I’m starting something new. Giving away two e-books to two newsletter subscribers every month. The winners will be able to choose from my backlist or an upcoming release.
I love giving back to you, which is why if you join my newsletter, I’ll send you a free e-copy of A Woman Lost, book 1 of the A Woman Lost series, and bonus chapters you can’t get anywhere else.
If you want to keep in touch, sign up here: http://eepurl.com/dtzNv1
Chapter One
“What in the…? Did a Toys‘R’Us explode in here?” I waded carefully through the pile of toys, party supplies, and who knew what else only to skirt the perimeter of the dining room, terrified I’d never make it out alive.
Sarah and Maddie glared at me from where they sat at the dining room table. Maddie had her hair in a makeshift bun on top of her head, while Sarah used her stylish workout sweatband to keep the hair off her face. Even with the air conditioning on, it was still sweltering. The dog days of summer were in full swing, and our ancient AC unit couldn’t cope.
“You’re here, finally. We need more of these.” Sarah hoisted a party blower to her mouth and let loose, but it didn’t inflate. “Two are broken.”
I surveyed the table, which looked to be an assembly line of sorts. Ladybug wooden maracas, zoo coloring books, rubber ducks, glitter sticky hands, rainbow Slinkys, toy binoculars, bubbles, flashlight key chains, plastic ball puzzles, squishy balls with emojis on them, foam animal masks, and whistles on spiral bracelets. I knew it was useless to point out the blowers weren’t needed given the whistles. In the corner of the room sat a helium tank for the balloons, which were not yet inflated. On the floor next to it were stacks of boxes containing decorate your own tea party sets. Overflowing shopping bags obscured the view of other whatnots.
Had Sarah lost her mind? Money wasn’t a huge issue for us considering our sizable trust funds, but what would the guests think? And, if she planned to throw elaborate parties for every birthday, I cringed thinking about what their sixteenth would be like. Bentleys? Aston Martins? Spaceships? She’d mentioned recently it was weird not working and she missed the thrill of planning her classes, staff meetings, and coaching. Was this her way of filling the void? This, however, wasn’t the time to bring up Sarah’s over-the-top birthday plans for the twinkies. I took a deep breath.
“Okay, where are the party blowers?” I asked.
Maddie slanted her head and spoke slowly, “We’re out. You have to make a run.”
Peering through tiny neon orange binoculars, I asked, “What are you doing, anyway?”
“Are you glancing down my shirt?” Sarah asked, playfulness in her expression.
“Pul-lease, I can’t see anything with these.” Although, her spaghetti strapped tank allowed access from my viewpoint. I put the binoculars back on the table, leveling my eyes on Sarah and conveying she hadn’t answered my question.
She blew stray hairs off her face, shaking her head. “Making gift bags for the twinks birthday.”
“Why do the twins need so many? Last time I counted, there are only two of them and…” I started counting the bags on my fingers.
“Twelve of these.” Maddie, our dear friend and honorary aunt of the twinks, hoisted a zoo-themed gift bag. “And we only have ten functioning blowers. See the problem?”
Sarah tugged on the front of her sweaty shirt, sighing for the umpteenth time about the lack of air circulation in the older mini-mansion she’d insisted we purchase a handful of years ago.
“These are the bags for the kids who are coming tomorrow,” Sarah filled in the blanks.
Maddie pressed her nose with an index finger and extended the other toward me. “That’s right. You didn’t have friends growing up, so you don’t know birthday party etiquette.”
I flipped Maddie the bird, although her comment wasn’t all that far off the mark. Petries weren’t known for their social skills.
She laughed.
Sarah gave Maddie a play nice look. “Please, Lizzie. Can you run to the store? The one in the mall so they’ll be the same as these. Take a broken one so you can match it exactly.” She pronounced the last word with emphasis, probably to let me know cheating wouldn’t be the best course of action given the amount of effort she’d put into the party.
Secretly, I wished Prime Air’s fleet of drones was fully operational, saving me from a trip to the mall, which was one of my versions of hell. From my personal experience, no good ever came from going to a mall. Suppressing the need to say any of this aloud, I tucked the blower into my shorts pocket. “Of course. Anything else while I’m out?”
“Wine. Lots and lots of wine,” Maddie said.
Before exiting the room, I kissed the top of Sarah’s head. “Dinner?”
Both Maddie and Sarah looked at each other as if I’d asked them if they needed oxygen to live. “Yes,” they both said.
“Any special requests?” I fished my car keys from my pocket.
“Pizza. Extra cheesy and meaty,” Maddie blurted. “I’ll place the order. All you’ll have to do is pick it up.” She eyed me like she was determining if I was capable of performing this task without messing it up.
“Chinese,” Sarah said. Without uttering the words, she tapped the screen on her iPad to place the order.
“Party blowers and pick up pizza and Chinese.” I ticked each off with a finger.
“Wine, that’s the most important,” Maddie added, “after the party blowers, of course.”
“Of course,” I parroted, not willing to suggest the twink
s couldn’t care less about all the fuss.
In the store, I held the broken blower at eye level while I wandered the aisles looking for more just like it, except functioning. I’d never hear the end of it if I purchased more defective toys.
“Professor Petrie?”
I turned to face a student from last semester. “Oh, hi, Marjorie.”
The young woman blushed. “Can I help you?”
“Do you work here?” I blurted, before taking in the toy store logo on her white polo. “Uh, stupid question.”
“Didn’t you always say in class there are no such things as stupid questions?” Her smile was infectious.
“I think in this case…” I pointed to her shirt, before the horror sunk in. Marjorie, a former student, had a rack befitting a porn-star whose nickname was Triple D.
Maybe she assessed my deer in headlights—clearly, not the best word given the situation—look and moved on to the matter at hand. “Oh, it’s broken.” She took the blower from my hand as if it was a baby bird in need of tender loving care. “The poor thing.”
“Y-yeah,” I stuttered. “I need replacements for gift bags.”
“Are you having a birthday party?” The beginnings of a blush appeared on her cheeks, and she shifted on her feet. “My turn to ask a stupid question.”
Feeling even more uncomfortable in my own skin than normal, which I chalked up to the stress of starting a new semester soon, I ignored the last statement. “Yes, not mine, though. For the twinkies—twins. I have two one-year-olds. That’s hard to say in one go.” Feeling like an ass for saying two after twins, I forced a smile, which I hoped conveyed I needed help. Serious help.
“Let’s go find them in the party favors aisle.” Her bemused eyes skimmed all the LEGO boxes.
I tailed her, with my head down, wondering how I could salvage my pride. Here I was, a history professor who was clearly an inept toy store shopper.
Marjorie’s eyes zeroed in on a bag of blowers. “Here ya go. Anything else?”
My eyes glazed over, and I fumbled around in my brain for words, any words. Not able to speak, I shrugged.
Her expression claimed she thought I was adorable in a helpless way. “How about these?” She held up a packet of temporary tattoos and SpongeBob playing cards.
“Cool. I need twelve, I think.” I laughed, shuffling in my flip-flops. “I’m sorry. My wife usually takes care of these things.”
Her face brightened. “No worries. That’s why I’m here. My little brother turned two last week.”
“Really?” My voice cracked.
“Half brother. My dad remarried a few years ago. I’d been the only child until then.”
I couldn’t tell if Marjorie welcomed the new sibling or not. “Ah.” I nodded, adding, “Mine remarried last November.”
“Maybe you’ll have new siblings soon, then.”
“My half brother just graduated from high school,” I said, immediately wishing I hadn’t. Maybe this was the reason my parents hadn’t allowed me to attend birthday parties when I was a kid. Family secrets burbled out of me. Although, in all likelihood, Marjorie didn’t know my family or my mom’s incessant need for the ladies at the club to respect her.
“Fast work with the half sibling.” She avoided my eye, making me wonder what she really thought.
“Something like that. Life can be… complicated.” I shrugged again, obviously the one form of communication that worked in my favor.
“Tell me about it. I’m twenty-three, still in college, graduation not in sight, and working two part-time jobs while amassing a sizable student loan that will take a lifetime to pay off.”
Never would have guessed she was twenty-three. Twenty tops. All I could think to say was, “Life.” My ineptitude at casual conversation was a good indicator it was best to keep my interactions with students, current and former, confined to the classroom. But there was a nagging emotion I couldn’t put my finger on that nibbled on the edges of my brain. Marjorie, either her personality or her youthful too-good-to-be-true looks made me realize I was rapidly approaching middle age. I hadn’t considered myself the type of woman who would care about that, but maybe I did.
Marjorie didn’t seem put off by my inability to pontificate further on her woes. She appeared to embrace my awkwardness. Smiling, she asked, “Anything else?”
“No, you’ve been great.”
Marjorie led me to the register, quickly ringing up the purchases.
I paid with cash, feeling awkward, even though the total was less than two large pizzas, considering she’d mentioned her debt. Perhaps I was overanalyzing everything per usual.
“I hope the party is a smashing success.” She offered a somewhat bashful grin. “I’m jealous. The only parties I get invited to involve kegs and frat boys, and I’m so done with both.”
“If you’re in my neighborhood, stop by,” I joked, because what adult in their right mind would want to attend a birthday party for children?
“Really? It would be nice to get to know other…” Her face burned cherry-popsicle red. Clearing her throat, she asked, “Can I bring my little brother?”
“Yes, of course.” Alarms blared in my head, but I managed to supply my address and time of the party. What option did I really have? Was it possible that Marjorie had a crush on me? That couldn’t be the case, could it? What was she about to say? Other what...? Daughters whose fathers remarried and had second families? Maybe she was desperate for any type of attention since the birth of her half brother after being the only child for two decades. That made a lot more sense than a hot girl having the hots for me, the clueless one, as everyone liked to say. Although, did I really think she wanted to start a ditched daughters support group? Had I given any indication that I was interested? She was beautiful and, if my memory served correctly, quite intelligent. But a fling with a former student, or anyone, was simply out of the question. I’d heard stories from other professors about these types of situations, but never did I contemplate it’d happen to me. Whether Marjorie had a crush on me or simply needed any type of attention, I just invited her to the twin’s one-year birthday party, and from the evidence of Sarah’s party planning, she was having a crisis of… what? Feeling inadequate? Lacking confidence? Being bored out of her mind? How would Sarah react to me inviting a hot twenty-three-year-old? An uncomfortable social situation that could cause a ripple in my marriage was reason 456 of why I hated going to the mall.
This was the worst possible moment to upset Sarah, whose behavior of late had been troubling me.
I googled how to cheer up a stay-at-home mom. The ideas were chocolate, the occasional glass of wine, exercise, girls’ night out (need to enlist Maddie), downward dog, which apparently is a yoga move, splurge—that could have explained the party, but, more likely, it meant Sarah should splurge on herself… I continued reading: hire a babysitter and date your mate. Now that was something I could help with. And, I could merge the splurge category by hopping into Victoria’s Secret before heading home.
In the parking lot, after getting a few surprises for Sarah, I texted to explain the rudiments of the situation, leaving out my suspicions, and waited in the car to receive the demand to buy more supplies. Surprisingly, I got the all clear along with the news that they’d purchased two extra bags just in case two random toddlers crashed the twinks party. Did that mean my rush to buy replacement blowers was for the emergency stash and if I hadn’t gone to the store, there wouldn’t have been a need for said stash and I wouldn’t have blundered into inviting Marjorie?
Chapter Two
Ethan’s six-year-old daughter, Casey, and two other girls around the same age raced by, nearly upsetting the tray of food I was transporting from the kitchen to the table set up on the edge of our backyard.
“I’d tell her to settle down, but you and your wife are to blame, really.” Ethan, in khaki shorts, flip-flops, and a black Dune T-shirt with two blue moons—or possibly planets—and a red sky, seized the two-liter Coke bot
tle that was about to topple off the tray onto the grass.
“How do you figure that?” I placed the bowls of chips, salsa, fresh fruit, veggies, and ranch dip on the table already overloaded with other summer picnic offerings.
“In my experience, soda and rock candy sticks make for dangerous kid experiences.”
I eyed Casey and her buddies sitting at a table under an oak tree, decorating their own teacups. “They’re completely out of control. Next, they’ll be asking for whiskey shots to add to their tea.” A thought struck me. “I would like to note that we put out healthy food, water infused with berries and mint leaves, and lemonade with agave nectar instead of sugar.”
Ethan, ignoring the children and my comments, slugged my side. “Who is that?”
I followed his eyes, crestfallen that Marjorie actually came. “A former student with her half brother,” I mumbled in an effort to blunt the reality of her presence as I tried to conjure up ways to shield Marjorie from Sarah’s view.
Marjorie, in a halter top and shorts that barely classified as a garment, gripped her brother’s hand. The boy, a redhead, stared wide-eyed. I could relate to him.
Making my way over, I had to suppress a groan, sensing Ethan was hot on my trail. My married best friend, who was teetering on relationship woes due to his wife wanting another child, couldn’t control the urge to chat up my former bombshell student. It was as if the gods deposited Marjorie into my life at this moment to complicate the hell out of it. Wasn’t having an air conditioner on the fritz during a heat wave a big enough challenge? Although, the air conditioner was a much easier fix and I’d already called a technician. As a Petrie, I excelled at calling experts, and I’d already programmed the company’s name into my phone. Was there a relationship expert I could have on speed dial?
A Conflicted Woman Page 1
