by L. B. Dunbar
“It was your turn to take your mother…” My dad’s voice rings in my head, as I recall our most recent fight from yesterday. Even the sound of my engine can’t melt away the tone of his gruff voice, the displeasure in it, and the sheer exasperation at my lacking responsibility according to him.
“To treatment,” I added because my father could hardly finish his sentence. My mother is in chemotherapy and it scares the shit out of him.
“I forgot.” It wasn’t true but the alternative—telling him I had an interview—is something I wasn’t ready to share yet.
“You forgot? You forgot! Ethan, I don’t know where this irresponsible side comes from.” I tuned out the rest of his speech where he reminds me I’m over thirty and don’t have my shit together. Not everyone is perfect like my sister Karyn or successful like my brother Gavin. Some of us just take longer to bloom.
A cherry orchard similar to our own whizzes by as I let loose a bit on the throttle and open up on the one-lane backroads., weaving my way through the area, letting the blacktop beneath my tires loosen my anxiety. It’s an overcast morning, gloomy for early-September, with a hint that fall is on its way. Change is coming, my mother would always say on a day like today. My mum is a ray of sunshine during a storm. Being her baby son, we’re tight and I hate the fact I disappoint her in some ways as well. She’s more understanding of my dream in comparison to my dad. While she’s smaller in stature, and even more frail under her current condition, her strength is the size of her heart. She just wants me to be happy. I just want to be happy.
I’ll need to head to my new employer’s place soon. I can’t go without a job, and although the situation seems sketchy, I’ll do anything short term for money. The end goal needs to stay in sight. I want to prove to my dad, but more so to myself, I can have my dream and live it too.
Pam Carter set up the arrangement for this new gig. I’m close with the woman I once had a crush on as a young boy. Her short form with miles of curves and straw-blonde hair were a trigger for my adolescent libido. Now, we’re practically family as our older siblings are married to each other. She’s been good to me over the years, perhaps better than I deserve at times. I don’t understand her connection to my future boss, but I didn’t question her.
The interview process returns to my thoughts in a cluster of images.
Pam directed me to the coffee bar in the main lobby of The Elk where I would find a man reading a book. She described him as forty, nearly shaved head with salt-n-peppered scruff. “He’ll look like an MMA fighter but studious.” I had no idea what that would mean until I saw the man.
Jacob Vincentia, he introduced himself as he shook my hand and eyed my outfit which was clean but not pressed. He asked me the most random questions.
“Have you ever been in a fight?”
Maybe once or twice—just simple bar scuffles. I didn’t know if he wanted me to answer in the affirmative, so I said no.
“Pam tells me you like women.”
Was there a question there?
“What’s your favorite food?”
Does any chef have a favorite? I liked simple meals with basic, natural ingredients. I didn’t need heavy glazes and sauces to mask what I considered the essence of an item. Foods should work together, complement one another, not fight to overpower the flavor of one another.
He told me his favorite food was pizza. “It covers all the food groups in one.” I wasn’t checking him out, but his solid form did not live on pizza alone. He could kick my ass even if he was four inches shorter than me. His body language alone told me that.
“Pam trusts you, so I trust you.”
And that was it. I was hired on the spot to do God knows what.
Cook a little. Grocery shop some. And be a presence, whatever the hell that means.
He mentioned trusting Pam, and as I trust her, I took the job. I also need the cash and it’s a ridiculous amount he offered me for a few weeks of service. I don’t understand all the secrecy and vagueness behind it, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, or in this case, some scrappy guy willing to trust me and pay me thousands of dollars to make him a meal or two.
Eventually, I head for the highway leading north from Elk Lake City and make my way to Winter’s Road. Then, I take a sharp left onto Winter’s Trail. It’s a curvy dirt drive surrounded by deep woods. Rather narrow, it’s more like a broad path with the heaviness of pines and maples on either side of it. The branches overhead make the ride ominous and foreboding. A suffocating weight presses on the thick foliage under the overcast sky above. My eyes leap upward for only a second, seeking any sign of sunlight.
When I lower them, there’s something in my way, or rather someone.
I slam on the brakes, jolting me forward. My bike skids on the pebbly surface, fishtailing left and right. I’m creeping up to the slender figure before me, coming in too fast on this unstable road.
Why isn’t she moving?
And there’s no doubt it’s a woman before me because no other body could be sculpted in such perfection from the backside.
Long, firm legs in black leggings strut like a gazelle, graceful yet athletic. A tight, heart shaped ass melts under a too-thin waist. The form fitting shirt hints at muscles in a slender back. Elegant limbs bend, holding a runner’s pose as she struts forward. A cap covers her head, securing up her hair.
I twist and turn, attempting to keep the bike from colliding with a tree or clipping her but I’m still slipping out of control. My trajectory is too fast. The front tire nears her perfect foot and I call out to her.
“Watch out.”
Read Look With Your Heart.
(L)ittle (B)its of Gratitude
As Tricia Carter’s story was originally the end of the Heart Collection (formerly the Sensations Collection), I had a long list of gratitude and bittersweet emotions at ending the Carters and Scotts romantic tales. But with the rewrite of this edition, Tricia moved up in the order of books.
As a former teacher, Tricia’s story is extra special to me as I worked in a community with gang affiliation (unlike Tricia). I also taught in a school that was mostly Hispanic and thus, my students became a wealth of information both from their personal experiences and family circumstances. I’m still indebted to those who shared the funny antidotes of their family life, rounding out the Ramirezes.
To my students: J, J, N, X, L, and M, for humoring their teacher and telling me the ins and outs of Mexican traditions. Especially to J, for sharing his father’s journey in and out of a gang, and another J, whose real-life story inspired this one in many, many ways.
In addition to the life experiences of twelve to eighteen year olds, the reading of this edition was done by adults for sensitivity purposes. To Joyce M., Judy P., Danielle V., Michelle T., Maria Angie M., and Miriam M., thank you for reading this work and relating to it on some level. Your kind words and assistance were so important and valuable to me. I hope I did justice to the Latino culture, but if there is still fault in some manner, it is all mine.
I’m thankful every day for my Facebook group, Loving L.B., and the wonderful readers within it who are constant and generous.
If this is your first read of this work, thank you so much for giving Tricia and Leon a chance. If you are doing a re-read of this new edition, gosh, I hope you find it 100 times better than the original and fall in love with Leon (and Tricia) in a new way. It’s the story they were meant to have!
And finally, to my own family, with traditions and heartache, love and laughter of our own: Mr. Dunbar, MD, MK, JR, and A, you are my everything.
About the Author
Love Notes
www.lbdunbar.com
L.B. Dunbar has an over-active imagination. To her benefit, such creativity has led to over thirty romance novels, including those offering a second chance at love over 40. Her signature works include the #sexysilverfoxes collection of mature males and feisty vixens ready for romance in their prime years. She’s also written stori
es of small-town romance (Heart Collection), rock star mayhem (The Legendary Rock Stars Series), and a twist on intrigue and redemption (Redemption Island Duet). She’s had several alter egos including elda lore, a writer of romantic magical realism through mythological retellings (Modern Descendants). In another life, she wanted to be an anthropologist and journalist. Instead, she was a middle school language arts teacher. The greatest story in her life is with the one and only, and their four grown children. Learn more about L.B. Dunbar by joining her reader group on Facebook (Loving L.B.) or subscribing to her newsletter (Love Notes).
Table of Contents
Other books by L.B. Dunbar
Dedication
Lesson 1
Lesson 2
Lesson 3
Lesson 4
Lesson 5
Lesson 6
Lesson 7
Lesson 8
Lesson 9
Lesson 10
Lesson 11
Lesson 12
Lesson 13
Lesson 14
Lesson 15
Lesson 16
Lesson 17
Lesson 18
Lesson 19
Lesson 20
Lesson 21
Lesson 22
Lesson 23
Lesson 24
Lesson 25
Lesson 26
Lesson 27
Lesson 28
Lesson 29
Epilogue
More by L.B. Dunbar
Keep in touch with L.B. Dunbar
Little Nibble of Look With Your Heart
(L)ittle (B)lessings
About the Author
