by L. B. Dunbar
www.lbdunbar.com
Copyright © 2020 Laura Dunbar
L.B. Dunbar Writes, Ltd.
https://www.lbdunbar.com/
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 permission in writing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
Cover Design: Shannon Passmore/Shanoff Formats
Content Editor: Melissa Shank
Editor: Jenny Sims/Editing4Indies
Proofread: Karen Fischer
Table of Contents
Other Books by L.B. Dunbar
Dedication
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
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
More by L.B. Dunbar
Keep in touch with L.B. Dunbar
Nibble of Silver Mayor
About the Author
Dedication
Because it takes a village, or in this case a small town,
I’d like to dedicate this one with gratitude to:
Shannon, Melissa, Jenny, Karen.
Thank you for continuing the journey with me into a new year
and a new decade.
Other Books by L.B. Dunbar
Silver Fox Former Rock Stars
After Care
Midlife Crisis
Restored Dreams
Second Chance
Wine&Dine
The Silver Foxes of Blue Ridge
Silver Brewer
Silver Player
Silver Mayor (2020)
Silver Biker (2020)
Collision novellas
Collide
Caught – a short story
Smartypants Romance (an imprint of Penny Reid)
Love in Due Time
Love in Deed (2020)
Love in a Pickle (2021)
Rom-com for the over 40
The Sex Education of M.E.
The Sensations Collection
Sound Advice
Taste Test
Fragrance Free
Touch Screen
Sight Words
Spin-off Standalone
The History in Us
The Legendary Rock Star Series
The Legend of Arturo King
The Story of Lansing Lotte
The Quest of Perkins Vale
The Truth of Tristan Lyons
The Trials of Guinevere DeGrance
Paradise Stories
Abel
Cain
The Island Duet
Redemption Island
Return to the Island
Modern Descendants – writing as elda lore
Hades
Solis
Heph
1
Joke’s on me
[Billy]
A young girl walks into a bar…
I’d like to say this is the start of a bad joke, but it isn’t really.
It’s my life.
It all started as I was giving my sister a pep talk about getting back out there—dating again. Opening herself up to someone new. I practically wrote the book on this cheerleading speech as I’ve lived by this philosophy for the past sixteen years.
“Hey, boss, there’s a girl here to see you,” the new busboy addresses me. Blue Ridge Microbrewery and Pub is my pride and joy, and the help is a second family. Our waitstaff has minimal turnover, but with summer ending and college kids going back to school, we lose a few, gain a few, and I don’t recognize this kid yet. Our specialty is a house beer brewed by my family’s business—Giant Brewing Company. We’ve been brewing beer for decades, although my eldest brother is the official Giant in the title. I didn’t want to continue working directly under our father, and when Giant returned from the military and Rachel left me…well, let’s just say the pub was my gift—happy thirtieth birthday to me.
My youngest sibling, Mati, sits across from me in my office. Her lion-red hair doesn’t match the rest of my siblings who have varying shades of gray appearing as we grow older. She’s one of the consistent workers as head waitress, human resources of sorts, and event concept coordinator. Basically, a Jill-of-all-trades. Mati’s husband died over a year ago, and she isn’t sure if she should follow her heart and do the horizontal shuffle with her once best friend from high school who recently returned to Blue Ridge. Their reunion has taken twenty-seven years.
Me? It took me a dozen years to wise up about sex. More like a dozen years of having sex. Random. Wild. Uninhibited. I’d been a blind fool over my high school sweetheart back in the day, but that’s a story for another time
“I’ll be there in a minute,” I say.
“Always something,” my sister mutters under her breath as she stands from the seat opposite my desk. I chuckle to myself, not in the least concerned I just admitted to my sister I’d slept with someone I shouldn’t have. Someone clearly stalking me. Mati excuses herself for the kitchen, and I head to the bar. I wasn’t in any rush to get out there, but I didn’t want to keep anyone waiting, especially if it’s a lady.
“What’s up?” I address Clyde Bebzene once I stand behind the large counter. Clyde is slightly a hot mess with a wild beard and thick sandy brown hair. He’s a few years younger than my forty-six, but we’re still close enough in age that we get along well. He’s a decent guy, coaching baseball for the local peewee team, and an excellent bartender, but I won’t admit that to him. He tips his head in the direction of a young black-haired beauty sitting on a barstool—and I mean young, like not legal to sit at the bar, but it’s okay because it’s the middle of the afternoon. Her light brown eyes pierce me to my core, and there’s something familiar about those eyes. She’d be a looker minus the emo shit she has going on. Pasty skin. Kohl eyeliner. Nearly black lips. Midnight-colored fingernails. I immediately dismiss the sensation of recognition. Every woman looks familiar to me.
They have breasts. They have lips. They have fingertips.
Only I don’t do the young ones, and regardless of a body looking like a twentysomething, she still has the face of a teen.
“May I help you with something?” I ask, standing b
ehind the bar while Clyde dries some glasses near me. We’re prepping for the nightly rush of those appreciating local craft beer and community camaraderie. I opened the bar with the intention of improving our little downtown area, hoping to attract tourists and locals alike to boost our mountain ridge economy.
“I’m looking for Billy Harrington,” she states as though she’s about to deliver a message. Her voice rings rough as if she’s a member of The Godfather or something equally mysterious despite being youthful and female. Her eyes scan my body as if she likes what she sees, but she’s also sizing me up. I’m over six feet with silver in my hair but dark scruff on my jaw. My brothers tease me, thinking I dye the facial hair for visual contrast. They’ll never know the truth. Besides, the ladies are attracted to the dichotomy, so what do I care. Keep the ladies coming, and there’s a double meaning in that declaration. Only I don’t dip lower than thirty years old lately. Those twentysomethings want spankings and baby girl nicknames and have daddy issues. No thank you.
“What can I do for you?” My voice teases, and I hear Clyde chuckle next to me.
“You him?” She pauses. “You look different than I thought.”
I’m a little surprised she might have thoughts about me one way or another. Her expression clearly tells me she’d eat me up and spit me out, so I don’t think when I say, “Not interested in fulfilling some daddy fantasy, honey.”
I reach for a rag and begin swiping at the wood bar top although it already shines. Her Tennessee-whiskey gaze makes me nervous all of a sudden, and when her eyes narrow, the sense of familiarity washes over me once again.
“You’re sick, and you would be the furthest thing from my fantasy. I’m your daughter.”
My hand pauses on the bar. The hint of country music fades in the background. The sound of some afternoon sports competition on the television funnels to silence. The voices around me trip and mutter to a stop.
What did she say?
“Excuse me?” I chuckle while choking and then clear my throat as if the action will open my ears and clear my hearing. I look left and right to see if I’m being punked but find the bar empty minus a couple I don’t recognize and Clyde.
“The only daddy issue I have is the issue of you being my dad.”
“I…” What. The. Fuuuuuuuck. My brain wants to say, impossible. My dick knocks against my zipper suggesting, maybe.
No.
No, this can’t be.
I always wrap my shit up. No leaks. No tweaks. No just a dip and I’ll pull out. Full coverage. Every damn time.
“I…” I can’t seem to find words, so she spears me with a few more.
“Yeah, I can’t either,” she states as if she read my thoughts. “And an absentee dad on top of that. You win father of the year, Billy Harrington. Not.”
With that, she raps her knuckles on the bar, hops off the stool, and sashays her black-jeaned ass out of my bar.
No joke.
2
No joke
[Billy]
“Boss, there’s a woman here to see you.” A déjà vu and a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me moment arrest me as I sit at my desk with my hands over my face, and Clyde gives me a second declaration that someone is looking for me.
I’m your daughter.
It just isn’t possible, right? If I’m a baby daddy, she’d be a…baby…not a teenager. That girl looked all of fifteen or sixteen. If I count back in my head to who, when, where—and won’t be able to remember any of those answers—I’d certainly know the why and how of sixteen years ago.
My wife left me.
Blue Ridge is a small town. The youth pool is mainly those who go to the local schools, and Rachel and I were like Blue Ridge High School royalty. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and legs for miles, she was every teen’s wet dream. Horny and ornery, my high school years were enhanced by her teasing nature and a swollen dick every time she was near me. Look on the internet for erection lasting more than four hours without relief, and there’s an image of my lower appendage and my name engraved underneath. I didn’t fault Rachel, though. I thought she was just holding out on me.
As high school sweethearts, we went to the same college where we had an up and down relationship but married upon her graduation. I had dropped out. I loved her. She loved me. I never knew we were so disconnected until she left eight years later. Afterward, sex became my sole focus—sex, sex, and more sex—to validate me as a man. It wasn’t that women didn’t like my dick. It was only my wife who didn’t. I didn’t mind the reputation I garnered afterward. But sometimes, I wondered if that reputation held me back from something bigger. Something amazing.
When I went on my sexspree, I was vigilantly protective and preventative, which is why this new development didn’t make sense.
“Boss?” Clyde’s voice waffles through the room like a haze over hot pavement. He witnessed the conversation with the girl in the bar but graciously ignored me as I walked back to my office. Now, he’s holding out for an answer after telling me another woman’s waiting to speak with me.
“I’m busy,” I say, not recognizing my own voice.
“The hell he is,” screeches a female accent I’d know anywhere. Two small hands grip Clyde’s bulging bicep and yank him to the side, revealing my nemesis who is pushing her way into my office.
Roxanne McAllister.
Great. She’s the last thing I need today.
“Get out,” I spitefully snap. Clyde ducks his head, steps back into the hallway, and disappears. Of course, I wasn’t speaking to him. I’m addressing Roxie. This is our thing. We hate one another, and we don’t mince words when we’re around each other. She’s the cock-blocking bookstore owner across the street who I was complaining about to my sister only an hour ago.
The first time I met Roxanne McAllister, she called the cops on me.
“Billy Harrington, what did you do?” she snaps at me, placing her hands on her hips, a million bracelets jingling down her bare arm. Roxanne has broad hips, accentuated by the gypsy-looking skirt she’s wearing, which looks like an oversized bandana. Her waves of silvery hair flow wildly over her shoulders where she wears a simple white T-shirt that clings to her large breasts. She’d be my curvy fantasy, if the reality wasn’t, she’s my worst nightmare.
“I don’t have time for your hullabaloo today,” I bark, wiggling my fingers and flicking my wrist to dismiss her. Roxanne is a bit eccentric, and I can’t handle her brand of voodoo on a good day. This woman knows when I’m down on my knees, and that’s when she comes out to poke the bear. It’s spooky, actually. I stand to my full height, vibrating in irritation at her presence, ready to dismiss her again when she speaks.
“What did you say to her?”
“Who?” I snap, falling into Roxanne’s trap. Don’t engage, I warn myself too late and instead raise a hand. “You know what? Don’t answer that. Get out, like I asked.” My arm swings outward, and a finger points at the open door. Roxanne crosses her arms, enhancing the swell of her breasts, and narrows her dark eyes at me.
Narrowed glare. Something familiar.
The hand I raised to dismiss her comes to my forehead and rubs in frustration.
“I don’t recall you asking.” She pauses. “Politely.”
My temper flares. “Leave. Please.”
Her eyes narrow to near slits, and her fingers dig into her paisley-covered hips. “What did you do?”
Staring back at her, I note her eyes for another second. Although she’s all of forty-something, the piercing glare matches the younger eyes stabbing me a half hour ago. My knees shake, and I want to lower to my seat, but I won’t give Roxanne the satisfaction.
Speaking of satisfaction, she’s one woman I can scratch off my list of potential past pleasure-seekers. I wouldn’t touch her if my pole was ten feet and—
“William,” she barks my given name. “Must I repeat myself? What did you say to Sadie?”
“Who’s Sadie?”
I don’t think a person can perfect a
glare like the one Roxanne gives me, and then her brows slowly rise, and an expression of dawning occurs.
“Didn’t she tell you?” Her tone sounds puzzled.
“Did who tell me what?” I think on my question. “You know what, I don’t have time for you today.” I lower to my seat after all. My eyes drift to my desk as if I’m busy, but there isn’t a chance I can read a single invoice before me. Words blur together, and papers blend with other objects. My hands shake as I push around a few items. Then, I scoop together a spread of papers, stack them together, and collectively tap them on the desk hoping to express my disinterest in her.
“Sadie. Your daughter.” The disgust in Roxanne’s tone makes my blood boil, but her displeasure isn’t misplaced.
How did this happen? When? Who?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie as Roxanne takes a step toward my desk. But my tongue trips over the truth before I can keep the next words inside. “And how would you know such things anyway? Look into a crystal ball and view my past? I know you’re obsessed with me, but that’s a bit much even for you,” I mock as I roll my hands over themselves mimicking her staring into a glass globe to learn all about me. She isn’t really obsessed with me. At least not that I can tell. I seem to repulse her at every encounter we have, but she’s darn good at poking the bear in me. And for some reason, I prod right back at her just as eagerly. One way I do that is by flirting with the assumption she has a crush on me, which would never be true.
She seems immune to my charm and has no interest in playing with me. Sexually, that is.
“You aren’t that interesting, actually, but I do know a bit about your past. Sadie McAllister is your daughter because you slept with my sister.”
“Excuse me?” I stare at those piercing orbs. Roxanne has these dark gray eyes, and I hate to admit I always notice them. Exotic. Rich. Gemlike.
“You.” She points at me, distracting me with her own form of sign language. “Slept.” She sticks her index finger through the circle made by her thumb and forefinger of her opposite hand. “With my.” She points at herself. “Sister.” Her hands return to her hips.
