by M. Mabie
“You know this is how that happened, right?”
“I’m sorry. I’m just hungry.” He playfully bit at my neck, and then kissed it some more.
“The food is ready. We’re just waiting on Diana,” I said, but what he was doing was already taking a toll on me, and I stretched my head to the side giving him more.
“Let’s tell them to leave.”
“I think you can wait a few more hours, Dr. Renfro.”
He grunted just like I knew he would. “God, I love it when you call me Doctor.”
“I’ve been a bad patient today. I crunched my way through a whole glass of ice earlier.”
“Stop, you’re killing me,” he said, and in his discomfort, backed up. I held tighter and went on.
“And I didn’t fucking floss. On purpose,” I added seductively.
His eyes flared. He took dental care seriously. Then he leaned in and whispered in my ear. “You know how I feel about that. I think you need another lesson. You and your dirty mouth.”
After dinner was over and everything was cleaned up, Vaughn carried all of my things up to my new half of the closet. Then, dutifully, he inspected my flossing technique and surprisingly approved, but he showed me he could deliver on his word, giving me two orgasms before I fell asleep.
A few days later, when I was unpacking my lure-making things and organizing them on the new workbench he’d built me, I heard him clear his throat behind me.
He was down on one knee with a ring in his hand.
“I’ve been trying to come up with a memorable way to ask you, but, I’m taking your advice and not overthinking it.” He winked and smiled, melting my heart. It was perfect. “Besides, I can’t wait anymore.”
I climbed off my stool, getting down onto the garage floor with him, and held onto his hands as he spoke.
“Hannah, will you give me the privilege of being your husband? Let me be the one to take care of you. To love you unconditionally. To be your partner. Marry me, beautiful? Let’s grow our roots here. In our home. Together. Forever.”
It was soon, and everything was happening minute to minute, but you know what? I didn’t think twice.
Yes was all I got out before he had me swept up in his arms, kissing and reminding me that was where I belonged. I’d never leave him, and I was sure of that.
Sometimes having wings and choosing not to fly away is the whole point, because when you have a love like ours there’s no place you’d rather be.
...Stay in Wynne and read Sunny and Rhett’s story in Sunshine and Rain.
PREVIEW
Coming August 28, 2018
BREAK MY FALL
Copyright M. Mabie 2018
CHAPTER ONE
Abe
I stretched after stepping out of the Peterbilt and the muscles in my neck burned. Mill work wasn’t the easiest, but it was honest, and my debt to the Roaches was finally paid. It was my twelfth year in Fairview, and I finally owned my small patch of land. Outright.
Free and clear.
It was mine, and it didn’t take a board of pious trustees or a metal ring to get it. It only took hard work.
The next step was my own storefront in town. Soon, I wouldn’t have to piecemeal out my work and I could sell all my furniture from one location. I’d always be there to help the Roaches when they needed me, but I’d go full-time for myself.
Chris and the last trucks filed onto the lot as the others who’d arrived first that morning were already unloading. I headed their way to help. The sooner we got at least a few loads dropped, the sooner I’d finally get home after a long week of logging on the mountain.
“Abe,” Dori called from the open office window. “Hold up.” The Roaches didn’t need to speak to me often, no one did really. They understood why I kept to myself, and I didn’t complain when people didn’t bother me with small talk.
A cloud of smoke followed the silver-haired woman out the door of the main building onto the covered porch outside, and she shot the butt of her cigarette into the dirt in front of the semi.
“Your mother’s been trying to reach you.”
My phone had died two days earlier, or maybe more for all I’d noticed. Mom was the only person I still spoke with from Lancaster, but it was rare for her to call me, and I only reached out a few times a year.
“Say what she wanted?” I asked and slid my hands into worn leather gloves.
“Honey, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your brother passed away last night.”
Ted Roach hung back in the doorway, watching. Both of their faces wore sympathy.
“Pardon?”
“Your brother passed, Abe. You should call her back. Come on in and use the phone.”
I hadn’t spoken to my brother in years, but when I left home with no plans to return, I just assumed things would stay how I left them. They’d cling to their Bibles and bands and keep living in their own, warped version of reality. They’d stay tucked under the strict thumb of the Legacies and God, or at least the way they interpreted him, and I’d live my life in the woods, free of their judgment and rules.
Alone and how I liked it.
They lived how they wanted, and I did the same.
I squinted in the mid-day sun, and the tension in my neck pinched even tighter.
“Jacob died?”
Ted limped to the stoop, tapped a Camel from his pack and lit it. “Son, you wanna come inside for a minute? Call your family?”
I did not want to do that. Calling them was the one of the last things I wanted.
It was almost noon, and I still had more than a half day’s work to finish. The tabaco in the air was thick as I pulled it into my chest. “I’ll call when I get home.”
It was supposed to rain for the next four days in the hills, and there was work that needed done. Calling in the middle of the work day wasn’t going to do anything but put me behind, and my brother would still be dead that evening.
All I could figure was everyone from my past, my family included, lived their lives by their interpretation of The Word, wanted their rings, and then planned to die and go to Heaven. That was their goal. So as much as I could conclude, they’d only be upset because Jacob beat them to it.
And since I wasn’t a man who was burdened by those notions, I did my work, pulled my weight, and when my cell phone was charged to capacity later that evening, I turned it on and returned my mother’s call.
“Hello.”
“It’s Abe.”
“Catherine, you’ve got a call,” my father said, as if he wasn’t speaking to his only living child, but I’d expected the familiar greeting. In the Hathaway house—his house—he answered the phone unless she was there alone.
“Hello.” She sounded weary and tired, but that was also typical of our calls. Mind you, she’d chosen that life. They all had.
“Mrs. Roach told me that Jacob died.”
“Oh, Abraham.”
I gave her a minute, hearing her quietly sob. If Dad was beside her, listening, I’m sure she was doing her best to hold it together.
“Jacob went to be with Jesus last night.” Again, she sniffled and caught her breath. “He’d been feeling sluggish and ill for some time, but we just thought it was from all the commotion with the wedding.” Another cough to hide her feelings.
So, he’d been banded. Honestly, later than I’d expected.
Jacob and I were close as boys, but as we’d gotten older, I wasn’t able to fall in line like he had. Before I left, we’d barely even spoken, but that was mostly the will of our father who didn’t want me—and my rebellion—influencing his only other child.
“Services are Friday night and Saturday. It would make me feel so much better if you’d come home and say goodbye. You’ve missed so much, and I pray for you daily, Abraham.”
The line was muffled. Then my father cleared his throat and spoke.
“Abraham, it’s time you quit putting your selfish needs before God and your family. It is time you grow up
and take care of business. I expect your mother and I will see you Friday or never again.”
The line went dead.
Another empty threat of exile, banishment, but I knew he’d never do it publicly like the Legacy Men did to anyone else who left like I had.
He was the Great Pastor. How would that make him look?
I put the phone down beside me, and I sat there on the fallen log at the end of the road, where I knew I had adequate cell reception, and stared off into the valley wondering what he’d imagined I’d been doing.
I believed in God.
I even prayed.
I had morals and values that felt honorable, and I worked hard for the few things I had.
Why was it that I must have been living like a heathen just because I couldn’t conform? Did having my own opinions really make me all that evil? Truth be told, had I been left to make my own decisions about my life and how I wanted to live it, I may have chosen to stay. But for the preaching, the never-ending shame, the patriarchy, and the guilt that came along with how they fearmongered, I could never get in line with them.
The way I saw it, God gave me eyes and intelligence. He gave me a strong body and mind. Free will in a country full of opportunity. What good were those gifts if I wasn’t allowed to use them? Allowed to explore and find my way instead of following their carbon-copied cult-like lifestyle?
I didn’t live for death, and bands and Heaven weren’t my only goals.
I had one life given to me, and I refused to be imprisoned by my faith and waste my years out of fear of Hell and damnation.
Because that wasn’t living.
To me, that was Hell on Earth.
I wasn’t sure what the afterlife held for me, but I had this one right now. It was mine, and no one was going to tell me what I could or couldn’t do with it.
Myra
Dear Heavenly Father,
Please welcome Jacob into your loving arms. Thank you for your mercy, Lord. My grief is eased knowing and believing in your infinite wisdom. It is your will, and I am comforted.
Please forgive my shortcomings and lead me. I’m yours, Lord.
In Jesus’s name, Amen.
The Hathaways were such a blessing. They’d taken care of everything. Made the arrangements. Brought food. Allowed me to stay in the house to reflect and pray, which must have been working on my heart, because I didn’t feel that sad.
Instead, I kept myself busy doing the last of Jacob’s laundry and keeping the house clean, should I have received visitors. Although, no one had come by since my sister-in-law Denise and her children that afternoon, and she hadn’t stayed long, being seven months along with her fifth. Plus, she’d only stopped by to bring me a casserole, and it was almost her family’s dinner time. My brother Michael needed her at home.
Where was I needed?
After only a few weeks of marriage, I was a widow, but I wasn’t sure what that meant, because my Holy Matrimony ring was still on my right hand. We’d been married such a short time. And in those weeks, Jacob had been so ill. We hadn’t had a chance to move our wedding bands together.
Even prayer wasn’t clearing the confusion in my head.
But I’d keep praying.
And doing the laundry.
And tending to the house, until He showed me the way.
COMING August 28th PREORDER NOW!
Other Books by M. Mabie
Break My Fall
PREORDER NOW
Coming August 28
THE WAKE SERIES
Bait
Sail
Anchor
THE KNOT DUET
Twisted Desire
Tethered Love
STANDALONES
Fade In
All the Way
CITY LIMITS SERIES of STANDALONES
Roots and Wings
Sunshine and Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my incredible readers. To everyone who’s bought one of my books, visited me at a signing, added one of my titles to their ever growing TBR, messaged me online, or sent me an email—thank you for allowing me to have this beautiful, crazy life.
To the incredible souls in my reader’s groups, Take the Bait and the Mo Stash, you make the writing experience such a joy.
To my family and friends at home, who still don’t see me even though I promised when I was writing full time I’d pay more attention to them. I’m sorry. I really thought that would work out for you. Hahaha. I miss and love you, even though I’m right here.
To my dear writer friends who motivate and challenge me, you keep me sane. Okay, you keep me as sane as you are.
To Aly, I can’t. You know. You know everything.
To Erin, I can smell your arousal from Texas. You must have loved this book. Very musky.
To Meghan, thank you for generously giving me a great line to use on my cover and for begging me to read this book. It made me feel pretty damn good that you’d want to.
To my beta readers, Bianca, Megan, Natasha, and Rachel, I hope you guys never realize you could totally write your own books. I’d be up a shit creek without you. You invest so much time in my characters that I feel like they partially belong to you.
To Cassy Roop at Pink Ink Designs, thank you for this stunning cover. Although, I’m pretty sure the outside is the best part of this book.
To Lori, my talented and humble editor. You’re so thoughtful and nurturing. You care. That’s what it boils down to—you care. You’ve never made me feel like an inconvenience, even when I am. Also, you’re really good with my words.
To Stacey Blake at Champagne Formats, you always do exactly what you say you will. You over deliver and underestimate your worth. And, you’re awesome.
To Danny, I love you, lunchbox. Fifty5cents. Thanks for always believing I can do stuff. Where in the hell does that come from anyway? ARE YOU MENTAL? Sometimes I think that it’s your belief in me that gets me ninety-nine percent of the way there. You never let me feel like I’ll fail, and I know that even if I do, you’ll still have my back. And, thanks for feeding June when I’m gone. Keep doing that.
About M. Mabie
M. Mabie is a writer who made thousands of readers hate to love (and love to hate) the angst-filled contemporary romance, Bait.
Mabie lives in Illinois with her husband. She writes unconventional love stories and tries to embody "real-life romance." She cares about politics but will not discuss them in public. She uses the same fork at every meal, watches Wayne's World while cleaning, and lets her dog sleep on her head.
She has always been a writer. In fact, she was born with a pen in her hand, which almost never happens. Almost. M. Mabie usually doesn't speak in third-person.
She promises.
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