Finding Solace: A Small Town Second Chance Romance

by S. L. Scott

  She’s an angel under a halo of blond hair. A vixen who knows how to command her pleasure. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

  “God, yes,” she releases on a sharp-edged breath, her body tremors and her hands squeeze like that perfect pussy of hers.

  “Fuck.” I grab her by the hips and hold her down while I thrust until I’m emptied of everything held deep inside—my emotions, my secrets, my cum, my sins. Everything is given to this goddess who rules my world and is healing my soul. I drop my forehead against her chest, trying to catch my breath.

  When I look at her, her gaze is on me. She runs her fingers through my hair. “I’d marry you if you asked, but I only want you to ask when you’re ready. Not for me but for you. We’re not in a hurry. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I love you.” We kiss, and things feel settled between us in the good kind of way. It’s dark, and the stars are out, ready to guide us home. “We should get back.”

  “It’s a shame to leave somewhere so beautiful. Thank you for bringing me here again.”

  “I’m glad we came.” I wink, amused by the double entendre.

  “So, do you always carry condoms in your pocket?”

  “Only when I’m with you.”

  “Good answer, Mr. Koster. Good answer.”

  Once we’re dressed and back on the bike, ready to go, I lean back, and ask, “You ready?”

  “Ready for anything.”

  I’ve been back long enough to have stopped by to say hi, so here I am walking along the far side of the field, ready to remedy the situation.

  The little house looks to be in good shape. Paul and Lorraine always did take care of it. I find Paul on top of the smaller tractor, cutting the weeds lining the road. He shuts it down when he sees me and leans on the steering wheel, wearing a smile that time recorded in the deep lines surrounding his mouth. “I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to stop by.”

  Kicking the large tire, I gaze up, using my hand to shield my eyes from the sun. “I should have come sooner.”

  “Yeah, you should’ve.” He climbs down, and we shake hands. “It’s good to see you, son. How are ya?”

  “I’m good. Staying out at the farm and helping Delilah with chores. You?”

  He sits on the step, shadowed by the tractor, and takes off his hat to wipe his forehead. “Keepin’ on with the keepin’ on. Heard you were hanging around these parts.”

  “Yeah,” I say, looking toward the farmhouse in the distance. “Never thought I’d be out here again—”

  “But here you are.” He grins. “She’s always been a good girl.”

  “She has.” I shove my hands in my pockets, the conversation awkward when I don’t want it to be. “I wanted to come by and say hi because things are getting serious with Delilah.”

  “Gettin’?”

  “Maybe already are.”

  “That’s what I thought, considering that truck of yours seems to be permanently parked over there.” He stands but puts his foot on the step, the lightness already making room for the talk I knew was coming. “It’s not been easy for her. If you’re planning on leaving anytime soon, then best be doing it now. She doesn’t need another broken heart.”

  “I’m not leaving anytime soon.” I glance over when a car drives by. When I turn back, I look him in the eye. “I’m going to marry her this time.”

  “She deserves better than she’s gotten. She was left in a bad state last time.”

  “I carry that regret heavy on my shoulders every day. If I would have known—”

  “Don’t let it weigh you down too much. I was right here and . . .” His gaze goes to the ground between us, and for the first time in my life, Paul looks . . . regretful. His body slumps. “We can’t change what’s happened.” The dark of his brown eyes hold more than memories but are still optimistic. “I know you well enough, Jason, to know you’ll make things right by her. But if you don’t, we own two shotguns, and Lorraine and I aren’t afraid to use them.”

  “I’d forgotten how you never messed around.”

  “My days are long, but there never seems to be enough hours. I don’t have time to beat around the bush.” He reaches forward, and we shake hands again. “Since you’re hanging around, feel free to come give me an afternoon off here and there,” he jokes.

  “I will.”

  Sitting atop the old tractor, he says, “Make sure to say hello to my wife, or she’ll give me a hard time. She’s not home right now, but she’s been dying to see you.”

  Delilah is fortunate to have them nearby. They care about her. They were there for her when I wasn’t, and I’m thankful she has them in her life. “She could have come over anytime. Both of you. You’re always welcome. You know that.”

  “Eh, I told her to give you and Delilah some time to grow together. I see it worked.”

  Chuckling, I reply, “It sure did.”

  24

  Jason

  “Welcome to the Freeland County Fair and Rodeo.”

  The greeting screeches through the speakers as I park the truck in a field of cars and get out. I scan the area, but it’s massive.

  One main ticketed entrance.

  One gate to exit.

  Too many ins and outs surrounding this place.

  I hate large events because danger lurks everywhere. The lack of safety here is disconcerting, and I’m supposed to walk my girl right in there like it’s not. So much can go wrong quickly. Reminding myself that I grew up coming here and the people are good, I try to believe it’s safe. It’s not the locals I’m worried about. It’s my past showing up. Shit can get crazy fast without warning.

  Pushing these thoughts down isn’t going to be easy, but maybe that’s yet another penance I’ll pay for living the life I have. Delilah’s a reminder of the good in people. Don’t I deserve the good for the bad I’ve seen?

  When I come around, Delilah slips out. The short skirt of her dress slides up while her boots land on the gravel with ease. Long, tan legs teasing my dick. As always. Looking around, I’m tempted to take her here. There aren’t many people around, but enough that we might be noticed since it’s only six o’clock, and the sun is still high in the sky.

  I settle on a compliment. “Have I told you how sexy you look in that dress?”

  She’s blushing when she looks at me from under the brim of her cowboy hat. “We’re not having sex here.”

  My hands go up in surrender. “I wasn’t going to suggest it.” Damn, she’s got my number.

  “I know you, Jason Koster. I can see it on your face, and the way you’re looking at me.”

  Grabbing her around the waist, I pull her against my hard-on. “I can’t help that you do things to me.”

  Her hands slide under my shirt, her nails scraping lightly against my stomach and arousing me even more. “I’ll tell you what. You win me a prize, a big prize, and we’ll fulfill that fantasy of yours.”

  “The one with you bent over the hay bale?”

  “That’s the one, cowboy.”

  Fuck yeah, I’ll win that prize.

  Her pupils dilate. With a mischievous smile on her face, she runs her tongue over the corner of her mouth and then bites her lip. Fuck. My cock hurts from being restrained in these jeans.

  The sexy confidence she had when we dated has returned. She’s so damn tempting and maddening when she teases, but the reward when I’m deep inside her is worth the foreplay. She makes it to the end of the truck bed and turns back. “Well, c’mon now. We have a prize to win.”

  I shift the best I can within the confines of the denim.

  “Let’s get a move on.” She saunters off, but then looks back and winks. “Good times await, stud.”

  I’m competitive, to say the least.

  With the offer she made on the table, there was no way I was going to lose. I don’t care how much money I had to spend on these carnival games, but I feel set up. She doesn’t want the biggest stuffed panda from hitting rigged milk bottles or the pink
Care Bear tossing darts at balloons. Nope. Delilah Rae has set her sights on the grand prize—$500 cash—in the county sharpshooting contest.

  Well, if this isn’t my lucky day. I sign up for the tournament against hunters and gun owners who shoot for fun. Everyone in the state pretty much has a gun on his or her property, but they’ve never had to use it like I have. I’m feeling confident I can win this contest. Billy was taken out in the second round of the previous bracket, leaving me with a warning about the competition.

  I’m not intimidated. Shooting isn’t only about hitting the targets. It’s about accuracy. When I see Cole Cutler hanging out at the judge’s table, laughing and working them over, it’s no longer about the money for me. It’s about dominance and instilling fear in him. Delilah isn’t his, and he needs to learn boundaries. Damn do I hope I’m put up against him.

  When I spot Delilah, I stop to watch the show. Holy. Fuck. Her tongue dips out, whipping some of the spun sugar into her mouth before she licks her lips. Her eyes dip closed as the sweet confection coats her mouth. I’m on the move. She smiles when she sees me. “Are you signed—”

  Interrupting her question, I kiss her. I take possession of that sweet mouth and when her lips part, our tongues dance among the sugar, savoring her. quick to grab her to steady her wobbling legs. Her eyes slowly open, her lips still parted. “Oh my,” she says breathlessly.

  “That’s for teasing me.”

  “If I get kissed like that for teasing, expect a lot more of it. Just saying.” She giggles as her free hand finds mine. Her eyes dart to the gathering crowd, and she adds, “When I said I wanted a big prize, it doesn’t have to be this one.”

  “I’m all signed up. I’m in it to win it, baby.”

  She lifts up and steals a kiss. “For the record, you’re pretty sexy yourself.” When she lowers back down, her smile is wiped clear from her face and the laughter stops. I know what’s changed her disposition. Cutler.

  He makes a show of his presence, strutting around the place like the reigning king of the county. Fuck him. He’s so fucking cocky. I can’t wait to knock that chip right off his fucking shoulder. As if my wish was a command, an announcement blasts through the speakers. “Bracket Four report to the stage. We’ve got our very own hometown hero, Jason Koster. Former Freeland County quarterback and homecoming king.”

  I hear the laughter. A lame title is better than none, so what-the fuck-ever. A gentle squeeze to my bicep causes me to flex, and she gets the full strength of what lies under this T-shirt.

  Delilah stands behind me, and with a seductive whisper, she says, “I should call you king.”

  The life I left behind comes racing back, and I duck my head, squeezing my eyes. They aren’t bad memories on the whole, but some, like the restless nights, were the worst. I’d like to forget those forever . . .

  I know how to protect someone, how to risk my life for theirs for money, but this penthouse is secure. My mind allowed to wander back to a time that was simpler.

  King and Cruise don’t know what to make of me, but they need me and know it. What started out as a job has become more. I care about these people, and Ali—I don’t let my mind go there.

  It’s a job.

  That’s all, I tell myself and attempt to fall asleep again.

  When that doesn’t work, I get up and head down the hall. I click on the coffeemaker and start snacking on Oreos left on the counter. As I stare through the large windows, my head begins to clear as the sun rises. It’s always easier in the daytime to handle the dark crimes I’ve committed.

  My mom would be devastated by the choices I’ve made, and I wonder what Delilah would think of me?

  Turning to my side, I say, “Nah, I don’t need the trouble that comes along with a name like that.”

  My ass is slapped. “Okay, Cuddle Bear.”

  Chuckling, I roll my eyes. “Shh. We’ll keep that one between us.”

  Although the humor still lingers in the air, worry starts to darken her irises when she glances toward the stage at Cutler’s name being called. “Cole Cutler, owner of Cutler Cabling and former running back for Freeland County High School.”

  “You forgot to add the one who got the girl!” Cole shouts.

  I glance over my shoulder as he approaches. He’s such an asshole. I want to add, the one who lost the girl, but it’s best if I keep quiet. My shoulder is shoved, and I turn, his throat in my hand within seconds. “Don’t fuck with me, Cutler, or you’ll get a repeat of what happened outside Red River.” I shove him back to the sound of Delilah gasping.

  Chuckling like the asshole he is, he says, “A bit touchy for a wife-stealing wife-fucker.”

  The announcer says, “Gentlemen, save it for the shootin’ contest. You have five targets ready to take these bullets of anger off your hands.”

  He’s right. Delilah deserves better from me. I turn to find her in the crowd behind me, worry creasing her brow. She comes to me once the fucker is gone and takes hold of my arm. “You don’t have anything to prove, Jason. We can walk away, go ride the Ferris wheel, or I’ll get more cotton candy and we can take it into the bedroom with us for some sweet fun.”

  But that giant check for five hundred dollars hanging high above the announcer’s head gets my attention. Cutler needs money, and he’s got the skills to win this. That is, of course, if I wasn’t here to make sure he doesn’t. “It’s okay.” I kiss her, and she wishes me luck. I don’t need luck. This is fun and games.

  At the podium, a case is presented to each of us. The rules state we don’t get to choose our weapon, much to my dismay. I hate revolvers, but that seems to be the choice for this contest. Even worse, Cutler gets an Uberti handgun, a better handgun over the Smith & Wesson .357 I end up with. I shake my head. His is made for competition. My gun is made for collectors, not precise shooting. Fuck. I refuse to lose, but it may be harder to win with this weapon.

  I take the gun out of the case and check the chambers. Five bullets. Five targets. The fastest and most accurate shot moves to the final bracket. Four winners of their brackets will shoot to win. I have to take Cutler out first. We’re led to the line. Cutler wins the coin toss to see who goes first. I cross my arms and take a few steps back.

  He walks to the line and kicks up some dust. When he’s given the go-ahead, he shoots. It’s an impressive showing for such an asshole. He used to kill every can with a BB gun when we were young and took turns shooting. If he’d win one round, I’d win the next. We were always good at pushing each other.

  The paper targets are changed, and Cutler’s are brought to the judges.

  I’m told to step to the line. As soon as the signal is given, time stands still. The colors that once surrounded my target turn a gray gradient, allowing me to focus on the bull’s-eye. My arm flies out steady, my elbow locked to absorb the recoil. With narrowed eyes, I focus dead center on the target. The first bullet flies from the chamber, and I turn just enough to send the second toward its intended destination.

  Third.

  Fourth.

  Fifth.

  It’s too fast to process the damage done properly. I lower my arm as the gray fades away, and the sound of life returns. As if the whole damn world is muted, not like the noise and chatter from before, I look behind me and am greeted with silence. The rowdy rodeo goers are staring—some with their mouths open, some closed but with their eyes wide, and some sport both. I see the rise and fall of Delilah’s chest, her eyes meeting mine. Barging through the gawkers, she comes toward me. “Jason?”

  “What?” I ask, not sure if she’s okay or if I’m in trouble.

  “That was the most incredible thing I think I’ve ever witnessed,” she whispers, “in my life.”

  “From my shooting?”

  “Yes, your shooting.” The exposed top of her chest is flushed. “Holy damn. I see now.”

  “What? What do you see?”

  A sexy grin slips onto her lips. “I see why you were so good at your job.”

  �
��Former job,” I correct.

  Her hands flail. “Whatever. Do you want to leave early?”

  Now I smirk, utterly amused. “You turned on, baby?”

  “So much.”

  “I was just messing around out there.” I try to see my targets, pretending I don’t know that I hit the center of the bull’s-eye. Every. Time. “We used to shoot BB guns for fun.”

  “That wasn’t messing around, Jason. What you did was pure skill.” We return to the podium together. “Your face. I’ve never seen you look like that.”

  “I wake up every day with the same ugly mug. Nothing new here to see.” I try to distract her by making a big deal about putting the gun back in the case.

  It doesn’t work because she’s still staring at me. As soon as the case closes, her hand covers my forearm. “I’m serious. I want you so badly right now.”

  “I would have shown you what I can do with a gun sooner if I would’ve known how turned on you are by it.”

  The announcer interrupts our foreplay, “Wooooweeee. Holy cow! Would you look at those targets! Our hometown hero just might maintain that status. You’ve been cut, Cutler.” A snicker echoes across the range, causing the crowd to join in at Cutler’s expense.

  “You fucking rigged it, Koster!” he shouts. I turn around, and he charges, tackling me to the ground. Shit. He swings, but I flip him to the side with a good shove to his chest and knee to the groin. I’m on my knees and get a solid punch in before I’m grabbed and yanked backward by two dudes each the size of the Hulk. Fighting a guy who’s been drinking too much to hold Cutler back, the fucker hits me with an uppercut before I can free my arms and fight back.

  But when I do . . . I land heavy on top of him. Two punches and the sad sap is groaning in pain and hiding his face like it’s worth protecting. This time, security pulls me back. Yanking out of their grip, I raise my hands, shrugging my shirt back in place. “I already stopped.”

  Jeffrey Whaley, our town deputy, cuts through the crowd. “Why am I not surprised it’s the two of you fightin’ again?”