The Cowboy's City Girl - An Enemies To Lovers Romance

by Emerson Rose

  “Imani… Imani!” Elena scoots closer to me and we can hardly see each other even though our sides are touching.

  “Did you hear that? I swear I just heard that nut ball from the hospital in Italy say something about the smoke. Please, tell me I’m imagining things.”

  “No, I heard her, she’s here and she set this fire!” Suddenly from our right, glass explodes. Shit, this place is going down. The heat is breaking the windows now.

  “IMANI! ELENA!” It's Elijah… I hear him calling out to us and not from the other side of the burning beam, his voice is coming from where the glass just shattered. Disembodied cool hands circle my waist from behind me and begin to pull me away from the group. I thrash and claw at the force removing me from my family.

  “NO!” I scream out but the voice in my ear now is familiar and blessedly familiar; it’s Elijah.

  “Imani, it’s me, don’t fight! He told me to get you first no matter what, if I don’t we are both as good as dead!”

  “I’m not leaving my family!” I bite down on his arm and he screams out in pain but doesn’t loosen his grip at all. In fact, he squeezes me harder, dragging me toward the broken window where I can make out the silhouettes of fire fighters crawling through the wide opening. Oh God, they’re going to get them, they have to get them out. Please, please God, let them make it in time. I’m thrown over Elijah’s shoulder and hauled out the window into the cold air, gasping and gulping for breath. When we finally hit an area that’s clear of the billowing black smoke, Elijah slides me from his shoulder to cradle me in his arms, I have no fight left and my body sags against his, bouncing as he runs to pass me off to even more familiar hands. This is home; these hands are where I belong. I’ve been returned to my life force, inside the arms of the man who quite literally causes my heart to beat.

  “They were all alive; I think the firefighters reached them.” Elijah is speaking to Marcus while they both continue to move away from the church.

  “Fuck, are you OK, Imani? Talk to me, baby. Please! God, tell me you’re OK.”

  “I love you.”

  “Oh, thank fucking God!” He’s nearing an ambulance now, one of several that I can see in the clearing. Smoke and fire trucks are everywhere.

  “Open the fucking door, she’s pregnant, she needs help!” Doors swing open as we approach and he jumps inside gracefully.

  “Just lay her here, sir,” the paramedic says, pointing at a crisp white gurney.

  “I don’t want to go to the hospital. Please, Marcus, go back for them, and make sure they are all safe!”

  “They are getting them out now. I am not leaving you, look what happens when you are out of my sight for a mere five minutes!”

  “They are my family! You have to help them. Go back! Please, go back!”

  “Imani!” The timbre of his voice snaps me from my moment of hysteria and I look at him wide eyed while the paramedic looks like he’s afraid Marcus might hurt me.

  “They will all get out. They will all be OK, I promise, now calm the fuck down.” He cursed at me. Of all the things I could focus on right now, it’s that that I choose to think about.

  “You cursed at me,” I say pathetically and I feel my eyes fill with tears that spring forward when he kneels down in front of me, yanking me into his arms.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I thought you were going to leave me. I thought the curse had finally claimed my happiness. I couldn’t get to you. I tried but they pulled me out.”

  The paramedic nods his head, “He knocked two guys out cold, they put him in handcuffs.”

  “What?” He won’t release his hold on me. “I sent Elijah inside. I told him he was a dead man if he didn’t get you out alive. He already had a plan, though. I don’t think the threat was necessary. I know he loves you, Imani, and if I couldn’t get you, he would.” The medic bravely reaches over Marcus and applies an oxygen mask to my face while he clings to me, clutching clumps of my hair and inaudibly mumbling into my neck.

  “Marcus, please go see about my family,” I beg, but there’s no way in hell he is letting go of me.

  “I’ll go check for you, Ms.”

  “Oh, thank you so much. It’s my mother, and my sister and sister-in-law and two kids, a boy and a girl. Please bring them to me if they are able. I need to see for myself that they’re OK.”

  “Sure thing. Are you feeling alright? Blurry vision, burning throat?”

  “My throat hurts a little, but, please, just check on them,” I beg and he agrees, climbing out of the truck.

  “Look her over. I’m going to see about her family.” He speaks to someone outside and a female medic replaces him.

  “Marcus!” I try to shake free of his hold when I remember the Smoke Lady. “I know who set the fire. I know who’s been following us!” He slowly moves back so he can see my face.

  “Who?” he spits the one word question with more venom and hatred than I’ve ever heard from anyone before, ever.

  “The crazy Smoke Lady from Italy. She spoke to Elena and I a couple times there and she was in the fire today, she touched me, she spoke to me!”

  “What fucking crazy Smoke Lady? She’s in there? Right now?”

  “Yes! Somebody needs to get her out. They won’t know she’s there!”

  An evil calm seeps across his face before he speaks again. “Let her burn.”

  One Hundred Ten

  By the grace of God, almost everyone made it out of the fire alive. A few elderly people were injured by the falling beam but nothing serious. We all suffered from smoke inhalation and the kids will most likely never set foot inside a church again. One body was removed from the building; it was a small-framed female who was eventually identified as Tamila Marie Castillo, escaped life-long resident of The Victoria Crown psychiatric facility in Utah. She has been on the run for over a year now after escaping in an outgoing food truck.

  Marcus had no idea he had an older sister. She was kept hidden from the world, committed at the age of ten when she began showing uncharacteristic early signs of schizophrenia. Marcus’s father shipped her to the States and told his mother she had run away. By the time Elena and Marcus were born, no one spoke of Tamila anymore. She was as good as erased and forgotten because she was mentally ill and undesirable. Tamila knew what had been done to her. She may have been sick, but she remembered and when she was older, she began obsessively researching Marcus and Elena. She kept journals and developed an elaborate plan to hunt her brother and sister down and murder them for being evil and stealing her parents away from her.

  We were shown stacks and stacks of written journals full of gibberish about white smoke and black smoke, good and evil; lists of people who needed to die for various bizarre sins they committed, and those who would live and worship at her feet when the world as we knew it came to an end. Her hatred combined with her mental illness and incredibly high IQ made for a dangerous combination. She figured out a way to secretly contact Mr. Black many years ago and she offered him over a million dollars of money that was set aside to pay for a lifetime of psychiatric care.

  She told Black he could have everything if he helped her get close to Marcus and Elena. Mr. Black was the mole who allowed Tamila into my bedroom that night last year, causing me to run and nearly ruining my relationship with Marcus. He arranged for a delivery truck to help her escape Victoria Crown and then he put her in touch with terrorists. She paid them to build the bomb that killed Maria, thinking that we were still with her in the hospital room. I’m positive there are hundreds or even thousands of instances where Mr. Black looked the other way, setting Marcus directly in the path of danger. He even had a part in causing the car accident that killed Megan and, ironically, brought him to me.

  Tamila died in the fire she set, ending her long sad life of unnecessary confinement and hatred. Mr. Black was arrested on multiple charges of fraud, attempted murder and murder. My unsettling feelings about him were unfortunately confirmed.

  Our lives have changed,
Marcus has lost so many people he once considered family, people he counted on and trusted. He has also gained people who truly love him, though. My family is forever in his debt for having a big hand in saving my mother and sister as well as my niece and nephew and, of course, his own sister, Elena. When Marcus was pulled out of the burning church and handcuffed, he broke away from the police officers and ran three blocks to a firehouse and made them aware of the fire. No one had called it in yet; the police on the scene were there by chance and had their hands full keeping Marcus from killing the men trying to save him from the fire.

  We spent the next few weeks learning more and more about his sister and dealing with the legalities of pressing charges against Mr. Black. After going through so much in only three weeks, I can’t believe we are finally about to have our wedding. I told Marcus we should skip it. We’re already married anyway, and with so much happening, it seemed like an unnecessary stressor. He insisted on giving me the wedding he believes I deserve. Apparently, tricking me into marriage has triggered some weighty guilt for my husband. I’m over it, though. That little white lie is but a blip on the screen after all we’ve conquered.

  Elijah turned out to be the wedding planner of the century, pulling everything miraculously together in no time. Marcus and Elijah have an unbreakable bond now. They were friends before, even though Elijah was afraid to admit it and Marcus refused to show it. It’s almost weird watching them kid around and spend time together. Marcus has never allowed himself a friendship like that, and I doubt he will ever be open to it again. Elijah is special. He saved both our lives by rescuing me. I have him to thank for saving the lives of almost every person I love.

  The house buzzes with activity, and for the first time ever, I feel like the thousands of square feet here are necessary. My wedding dress hangs from the dress hook in my closet upstairs. I got to see it two days ago for the first time when the dress maker herself hand delivered it and let it out ever so slightly at the waist by adding a new piece of lace. Marcus, surprisingly, picked it out, and the surprise isn’t that he was able to choose a wedding dress but the dress itself. It’s spectacular, but I was shocked he was willing to allow people to see so much of me. The dress is formfitting and sheer almost everywhere. The lace that makes up the white of the dress becomes thicker and more concealing in the important areas, like my ass and my torso, but allows my skin to peek through along my legs all the way to the floor, where it again becomes more opaque. My favorite part of it is the back with its lacy flowers that appear to be growing up my spine, leaving my shoulders and arms bare. He has requested I wear the choker he bought for me to wear the night we announced my pregnancy to our family. I finally learned its importance. Taking me to Dominus felt like leading me into a den of lions to him. He knows the lifestyle most of his customers lead, and they still believe he is a part of it. He wanted me to wear the choker as a representation of his claim on me, something they call collaring… something I am not in agreement with. After discussing it, we agreed that, to us, it is simply a piece of jewelry. A really extravagant one, yeah, but just jewelry. I was hesitant to wear it on such an important day initially but, as always, I gave my man what he wanted.

  Epilogue

  “Eli, put that down!” I yell, and instantly cringe and cover my ears realizing my mistake. Crash! Marcus rushes to pluck our son from the floor where he stands surrounded by the remains of my favorite glass vase, tears welling in his eyes. I have nothing left, no possession left unscarred or in one piece. Having three children has made sure of that.

  “Oh, buddy, did you have to pick that one? That’s mommy’s favorite.” I hop up from the floor where I’ve been coloring with Angelica and Nate. Eli is my wanderer. I take my eyes off of him for five seconds and disaster strikes.

  “I’m sorry. Mommy shouldn’t yell, I know. I scared you, come here.” I hold out my arms and Marcus passes him to me. There is a familiar feeling of unity between us now that he is part of me. I am a nurse and an artist, a mother to the most cherished, loved children to ever grace the earth, but, most importantly, I am a wife, a lover, and the other side of Marcus’s coin. Being blessed with one child was unexpected and amazing, and when we learned there were two, we were utterly over the moon, but when I went for an ultrasound late in my pregnancy and they found little Angelica hiding behind her brothers in her own sac, we knew God had blessed us with nothing short of a miracle. Two people who were told that absolutely under no circumstances could they ever have children do not get pregnant with triplets unless there is some sort of divine intervention.

  After that discovery, we were sent to the hospital to be admitted and scheduled the next day for a cesarean-section delivery. Some people feel like their lives end and the spark of passion dies when they have kids, but the polar opposite happened for Marcus and I. When those three little faces were held in front of us, something shifted; the world became brighter and our love grew larger. We became more unified. I snuggle my little boy and kiss his dark hair; he sniffles once and then wiggles free, recovering from the dramatic experience with ease.

  “I wanna go swimming!” he exclaims, and Angelica and Nate are on their feet with him, dancing around.

  “Swim-ming, swim-ming, swim-ming!” they chant, and I watch them in awe. My little mini-me Angelica, with her long, thick black curls bouncing up and down and her light brown skin and dark eyes, holds hands, forming a circle with her identical twin brothers who are the spitting image of their father right down to their sharp green eyes.

  Marcus has gone to get a broom and dustpan to clean up the glass, and when he returns, he raises his eyebrows questioning me with a look that says ‘you wanna go swimming?’ I shrug. “You have time?” The chanting stops, and they hold their breath, waiting for his answer. Nobody can take three-year-old triplets swimming by themselves.

  Marcus has been working in his office most of the day so I’m hopeful that he wants to get outside with us, although Elijah is around here somewhere, and I know he’d love to help; he’s wonderful with the kids.

  “Sure. Come on, everyone, we have to get suits on if you want to go out to the pool.”

  “Yeah! Daddy’s swimming, too! Swim-ming, Swim-ming!” The chanting resumes as they line up. Lead by Angelica, they march out of the room, lifting their knees high with every step. I start to follow them, leaving Marcus to finish cleaning up the glass. The kids break into a run when they clear the door. As always, they are full of energy rushing to get everywhere. Before I can follow, Marcus grabs my wrist, pulling me against his chest.

  “Is Mommy going to wear that sexy black number she bought last week?” I bite my lip, stifling a smile and press my thighs together when the warm heat of anticipation hits my core.

  “Yes. I’m pretty sure she’s wearing the black one.”

  “Mmmm… maybe Enrique and Elena can take them swimming and Mommy and Daddy can take a nap?” As much as I’d love to, I know how much the kids want to spend time with their dad. I reach up and slide the pad of my thumb along his full bottom lip.

  “How about a compromise? Mommy and Daddy go swimming with the kids for a while and then take them to spend the night at grandma and grandpa’s house so Mommy can pay special attention to Daddy.” I thrust my hips into his growing cock and slide my hands over the flexing muscles of his back.

  “What do you suppose I do with this until then?” He asks, thrusting back and holding me firmly in place by the small of my back.

  “Hmmm… good question… maybe the cold water in the pool will help?” I tease and bust out laughing when he tickles me mercilessly until I nearly pee myself! He has dropped the broom and hauled me to the couch to continue torturing me with kisses and tickles when the kids come rushing back into the room.

  “Daddy’s getting Mommy!” They all scream and pile on to help him.

  “Uncle, uncle! I call uncle!” I yell from under my hands that are covering my face while I giggle wildly. Marcus sits back on the couch and watches while the kids freak
out, jumping on the couch, rolling all over me while I try to catch my breath. I see love and pure bliss reflecting in his eyes and my heart skips a beat. Amongst the insanity that comes with three preschoolers, we still find moments when we connect, where the undeniable magnetic force pulls us together exactly the same way it did in the ICU four years ago.

  When I walked into room eight and saw him sleeping in that bed, life as I knew it was over. I didn’t know it then, but I know, oh so well now, that he saved me just as much as I saved him.

  The End

  About the Author

  Emerson Rose is a self-proclaimed sun worshiper and summer lover who loves nothing more than to be poolside with any of her five daughters or two granddaughters. Emerson lives in the Midwest, however, so most of the year is spent in coats and boots instead of swimsuits and flip-flops.

  Emerson spends her weekdays carpooling, writing romance, doing laundry, and letting dogs in and out and in and out of the house.

  On the weekends she’s a busy O.B. nurse in a nearby hospital helping women have babies. So you could say she works both ends of the life spectrum, first she writes the romance that makes couples frisky and then she shows up nine months later to catch the baby!

  Emerson is also a big fan of love and happily ever afters.

  “I’ve been bitten by the love bug and I can’t resist sharing that feeling. I write about strong intelligent women and confident, competitive, dominant men who want to believe they are in control. But hey let’s face it we all know who’s behind all that confidence.” – Emerson Rose

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