by Nicky Fox
Table of Contents
Title
Prologue
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
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Playlist
Acknowledgments
About the Author
My Hookup Girl (My Girl series 2)
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
MY PIN-UP GIRL
NICKY FOX
CONTENTS
Title
Prologue
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
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Playlist
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Published by Nicky Fox
Copyright © 2017 Nicky Fox
My Pin-up Girl
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
Editing: Megan Luker
Cover Design: Rebel Graphics
Formatting: Rebel Graphics
Cover Image: Under license from Shutterstock
For Linda
"Did I ever tell you how I met your grandmother, Hunter?" Grandad said while sitting on the front porch.
My grandfather told me the story of how he met my grandmother dozens of times. The first time was when I was twelve. I was spending the summer with him out on his farm. Many of my summers were spent there. I'll never forget the life lessons and time spent with him. Most of all, I’ll never forget how he met my grandmother.
"I don't think so. Was it at some car show?" I snickered while bending over to tie my shoes on the front porch. The man could talk about cars all day.
He was in declining health but still as sharp as a tack. His once muscular build withered away to a rail-thin stature. He had a full head of white hair and a grizzly beard to match. His ice-blue eyes held memories of simpler times. Grandad always wore a white T-shirt and jeans. His work boots had been replaced with some worn house slippers. I still looked up to him like most boys would Batman or Babe Ruth. He was everything to me.
"That would’ve been a lot easier, but no. I found your grandmother on a 1945 calendar. She was a pin-up girl." He gave me a sly smile as I looked at him in shock. I walked over and leaned against the wall behind his rocker. He spent most of his time in that rocker.
"No way! She wasn't naked on there, was she? I don't think I want to hear this story if she was."
"Get your mind out of the gutter, son. Back then, pin-up pictures were painted. It was art," Grandad rebuffed. He looked back over the front yard, reached into his shirt pocket and took out a pack of smokes and lit a cigarette. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes glazing over as he remembered his past.
"It was after Christmas at the local five and dime. I was buying a pack of smokes. I was at the register, and there was a calendar for sale at the counter. On the cover was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen, Miss January. She was wearing this apron that barely covered her." His eyebrows wiggled up and down. "She had a pie resting in her hands and was bending over to put it in the oven while looking over her shoulder. God, my mind went blank. I saw stars. I stared at that picture for a good five minutes. I asked the clerk about the calendar. He went on to tell me he had just got them in from a local artist who was raising money for war relief. I didn't hesitate to purchase one. I got in my car, that dark blue 1941 Chevy Bel Air."
He glanced over at me, smiling his big toothy grin. His hand went down and rubbed on his right thigh as he started rocking in his chair. "Yeah, now that was a car. I flipped to the back and saw Kraven, the artists' name. I recognized his name and sought him out. He gave me the name of Miss January after he remembered me from our high school days. When he said the words, Susan Peters, I just knew she was going to be mine. She was a student at the local college. It was a small campus, so it was easy to find a gorgeous girl like her. For a couple days, I watched her leave school and grab the two-thirty bus. I finally got up the courage to approach her on the third day."
"Did you tell her you bought the calendar?" I interrupted.
"No, son. I didn't want to scare her off thinking I was a stalker or something." He winked. "She was wearing this beautiful floral dress and when she looked at me, her eyes pierced right through me. Time slowed down. She moved toward me in slow motion. I don't know how I got the words out. But I got a date with her that Friday night. From then on, she was my Miss January. I asked her to marry me six weeks later."
"Did you ever tell her how you found her?"
Grandpa sat up in his chair putting out his cigarette under his slipper. "Yeah, she was pretty shy about it. The artist told her it was for a good cause. She wanted to help with the war relief in some way. Susan always said that was the gutsiest thing she ever did next to marrying me." He chuckled. "I saved that calendar. It's stored in the drawer of my side table. Every once in a while, I'll pull it out to look at her. Always brings a smile to my face. My Miss January."
I think about that story often. My grandfather died a few years later, joining his love. Grandma had passed six years before him. I don't remember much of her but, I've never seen a man more in love. He wasn't the same without her. It was almost like after she passed, he just waited to die too.
I'm still looking for my Miss January. I don't want to be like my parents, divorced. It was amicable, but I hated splitting my time between two houses. They both remarried and my mother had my sister Andi with my step-father. My dad's wife already had a son, Will and together they had my half-brother Jake. We are one big dysfunctional family.
Andi lives in Florida and attends college. Will is already a family man and lives only an hour away. We aren't as close as I'd like, but we still keep in touch. Jake and I live close to each other, but we argue and get on each other's nerves. I wouldn't have it any other way.
I was the closest to Grandad. He was my rock. I had discussions with him that I didn't have with my own father. He taught me about cool cars, being a man and how to treat a woman. It's been over ten years since he died.
I still think about him when I see a sweet ride rolling down the street I know he'd appreciate.
"They didn't make cars back then. They made art on wheels," he would say. He was very appreciative of the arts.
I’m waiting at my local coffee shop, Jim Bean. It’s located in the heart of downtown Dallas. It’s always so busy here. The hustle and bustle feels like a razor’s edge against my nerves. Everyone’s in a hurry around me. I hear cellphones ringing, heels clacking against the floor, and the hiss of the espresso machine. I don’t belong here. I want to spend my mornings with the birds chirping, the breeze whistling through an open field, and my boots firmly planted in the dirt. My name is finally called out. I navigate around the other impatient patrons and grab my cup of coffee. I’m almost mowed down on the sidewalk getting to my truck parked by the curb. After I’m safely behind the wheel, I pull out my cell phone to check my messages and voicemails. Another text from Vivian. We broke up a month ago, and she still hasn't accepted it.
I pick up my friend Carlos on the way to Grandad's farm, Sleepy Hollow Acres. After Grandad died, he bequeathed his whole estate to me, including over two hundred acres of farmland. It's been a lot of work getting it back in working order. It hasn't been a running farm since Grandpa retired five years before he passed. The house he lived in is still there. That's my next project. Since the farm is starting to accumulate some revenue, I'm concentrating on renovating the main house. That's just one of the reasons Vivian and I didn't work out. She wants to live in the city.
I currently live in an apartment downtown. It's always been my goal to move back to Grandad's home and have my own family there. After graduating college this past spring with a degree in agriculture, I started making the necessary steps to relocate to the farm. I think Vivian assumed I would just commute or change my mind about moving altogether. It's my only link to Grandad. I want to live there. I want to raise a family in that old farmhouse. I spent all my summers there as a kid and she thought she could coax me into staying in the city. We dated off and on for six months. We never came to an agreement on where we’d expected this relationship to go. It all went downhill when she wanted to move into my apartment.
"Hey Hunter," Carlos says, bringing me away from my thoughts of Vivian.
"Yeah?"
"We have a cornucopia of things to do today." Carlos busts out laughing then starts wheezing and coughing, sounding like the old man he is. We're an odd pair. He's about a foot shorter than me with twenty years between us. He's stalky and a little rotund in the middle. I do a lot of the heavy lifting on the farm. So, I'm a bit more in shape than he is. Even though we look like opposites, I love him like an older brother.
Carlos has an endless supply of corn jokes. Since we grow corn on the farm, he feels it's his duty to hassle me with jokes every day. Carlos is a great soul. He was the foreman on the farm after Grandpa retired and helped me a lot after he passed away. He pretty much took over until I could finish school. I owe him everything.
Right now, he's practically rolling around in my truck laughing at his joke. I chuckle at him. Carlos is getting up there in age. He's like an encyclopedia on corn. Anything and everything having to do with corn he can tell you. Old age hasn't seemed to reach him yet. He's always right beside me working through the daily tasks we have on the farm. He never has a bad thing to say about anyone, and he knows me better than myself sometimes. He's the one person I turn to now that Grandad is gone. He also has an impressive mustache that could rival Tom Selleck's.
"How long were you waiting to say that one? You're a riot you know that?" I tell him.
"You got to admit, man, that was a good one. I found that one on Pinterest. Did you know they have some amazing corn recipes on there? I pinned some recipes under Mariel's account hoping she'll make some for me. There's a folder named a "Cornalog of recipes.” Carlos whoops and slaps his hand on his knee, thoroughly enjoying his second corn joke of the day. This guy.
"I think your wife is just about sick of corn. You come home smelling like it and covered in it. When the hell did you get on Pinterest anyway? Isn't that a website for chicks?"
"What?" Carlos’ head snaps to look at me. "No, it's not just for chicks, man. They have some pictures of garages, tools, even cars on there. Don't even get me started on the DIY and fishing tips." Carlos mumbles something else I don't catch.
"Okay, man, don't get your panties in a twist," I tease. I grip the steering wheel and turn on to the gravel road leading up to the farm.
A few moments later Carlos blurts out, "I found a recipe for corn ice cream!"
"Ugh, man. Why would you want to eat corn ice cream? That sounds disgusting." My stomach rolls at the thought.
"Corn can never be disgusting." Carlos is so sure of that statement, and it makes me want to laugh. I wonder what sweets he likes if he thinks corn ice cream sounds appetizing.
"What's your favorite candy?" I ask.
"That's easy, candy corn." He's serious, too.
"Ugh! You're hopeless, man." Carlos chuckles next to me.
We arrive at Sleepy Hollow Acres, my farm. During October, we have corn mazes and a pumpkin patch set up for all the locals. With a name like Sleepy Hollow, it's perfect for the season. Since it's November, we've already finished harvesting this year. We're just tending to the soil now and getting ready for the freezing temperatures. It's the perfect time to tackle the work on the main house. Carlos and I grab our tool belts. We head up to the house to start work on removing the old wood siding.
One of these days this horse will mind me. I swear it knows which buttons of mine to push. The horse is useless for jumping. I've fallen on my ass more in the past three days than I ever have my entire life.
"Come on Buttercup," I say leading the reins in an attempt to get the horse to veer back toward the stables. He just sits there like a stubborn mule. He's a pinto with white and brown patches. I stroke his muscular neck to ease him. Shading my eyes from the sun, I adjust my weight in the saddle. It's been an unseasonably warm winter so far. There's nothing in sight but farmland.
I'm new to the area. Well, to the country life anyway. I'm a painter. I wanted to get out of the city and move where it's quiet and less congested. A place with wide open spaces; birds, trees and gravel roads. That's why three weeks ago, I sold my condo in Austin and moved up north, just outside of Dallas. I found the cutest little property with a cottage and stables. I've made some pretty good money off my paintings recently, and with my substantial savings, I decided to pack up my belongings and live the country life. It's something I've always wanted to do; have a little cottage somewhere with a horse and plenty of space to paint.
I miss my friends back in college, though. Evie and I were roommates. She was my confidant, quiz partner and makeup guru. Evie decided to stay in Austin to see if she could get a position at a design firm there. She’s sending her resume to a ton of prospects this week. I also miss my dad. It felt like our relationship was getting better, even with our disagreements on my career choice. He doesn’t understand how important art is to me. Buttercup jerks his head a little. He’s acting irritated.
My mother used to jump horses, I guess I got the horse bug from her. Buttercup was included with the property. He's a seven-year-old gelding. No wonder he came with the property. He won't do a dang thing I tell him to. Stealing me from my thoughts, Buttercup rears his head, scaring the shit out of me. That's when I see a snake coiled and ready to strike at Buttercup's hooves.
"Oh my God. Buttercup, move. Holy shit."
If there's one thing in this world I'm afraid of, it's snakes. And this one looks huge and mean. I pull the reins back. Just as Buttercup starts retreating, the large snake strikes, missing the horse by inches. Then, the shit hits the fan. Startled, the horse takes off like a missile. I've never galloped on a horse like this before, but I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to feel like a rubber mallet is slamming against your pelvis. I grip the horse between my thighs and hold on for dear life. After screaming my hea
d off for a few minutes, the horse finally comes to a stop. I bend over in the saddle, resting my head on Buttercup's neck, and that's when everything goes black.
Sweat is beading down my back. Removing my Stetson, I get the bandana out of my back pocket and wipe my forehead. It's relatively warm out today, even though it's the end of November. I take my white T-shirt off throwing it in the grass and put my hat back on. I watch Carlos carry the old siding over to a pile. One more plank to go and we can call it a day. I wedge my crowbar under the last piece and hammer it in and pull it back, prying the piece out. I toss it over to Carlos as he makes his final trip to the dump pile.
"I think that's it for today, man. Let's grab a beer," I holler. He gives me a curt nod, and we start to gather up our tools to put in the truck. I hear a high-pitched scream off in the distance. I step up on the bed of my truck and spot where the commotion is. A horse is galloping toward the farm with a female rider. She's got little, to no control of the horse. It finally slows to a stop, and the woman slumps over, falling off the side of the horse. I yell over my shoulder to Carlos to grab a bottle of water from the cooler as I run to the scene.
I reach the lady and the horse quickly. I kneel down beside her. She's lying peacefully on her side as if she's sleeping. The horse has found a nice patch of grass to nibble on near a tree. I take a quick assessment of her body to see if anything looks broken or injured. I lightly cradle her head in my hands to support her neck.
