Managing to finally sit up, she tried to stand, but her weak legs threatened to give out. After several minutes, she was able to take a short step.
The carousel jerked followed by loud, squeaky carnival music flowing from the speakers above her head. With each high note a sharp pain stabbed her head. Colorful lights flipped on, flashing neon. The carousel moved, turning. It moved faster and faster, the gravity sent her back hard onto the metal floor and she hit her head. She winced and grabbed onto the leg of a broken horse.
The spinning made her sick. Weak and disoriented, she was incapable of fighting the nausea. She vomited.
Grabbing onto the horse tighter, she held on as it bobbed up and down. And then it stopped. She tumbled backward and slid several feet, coming to land hard against the cracked, mirrored wall.
The pounding of steps echoed off the wall and vibrated the floor. Loafers came into view. She followed the line of slacks until she connected gazes with Ray. He stood over her, smiling as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He had a white patch on his forehead, a red spot of blood seeping through. She’d hit him hard with the vase, but not hard enough. “I told you I’d only hurt you if I needed to.” He reached down and grabbed her arm, forcing her to stand. She was wobbly and bounced against him, his harsh grip tightening.
She looked up and around, trying to focus on him and her surroundings through her fuzzy eyesight. “Wh-Where?”
“No worries. We’re in a happy place. Come now. I have dinner waiting on us. I’ve dreamt of a candlelight dinner with you, my dear. And now that fantasy will become a reality.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist and she could do nothing but lean into him, allowing him to aid her off the carousel and across the dirt covered ground in her bare feet. In the distance, she could see the flickering of candlelight sitting atop a table covered in a white tablecloth. He helped her to sit in one of the chairs.
It took all her strength not to fall over.
He took the chair across from her, lifted the bottle of wine from the stainless-steel bucket that looked like a spittoon, and poured some in a glass, placing it close to her. “As a kid, I spent many hours here, enjoying watching people. They laughed and danced around happily.” He snorted. “The carnival could cheer up anyone, even a boy like me who hated his life, especially his parents. Hated what they stood for. They wanted a girl, but had me instead.”
She swallowed, looking at the wine with need. She was thirsty, but she didn’t dare drink the offering, fearing how it would mix with her already woozy sensations. “Water?” she managed to ask.
“Tsk. Tsk. How rude of you, Harley. I bought us a wonderfully expensive Merlot and you’re asking for water.”
He stood, took her glass and brought it to her lips. He poured the wine into her mouth, most of it dripped down her chin and onto her chest. “No manners whatsoever. I would have thought better of you.” He dabbed the spill with a cloth napkin.
“Now, stop stealing the spotlight and allow me to finish my story.” He returned to his seat, poured himself a glass, and knocked it back in one gulp. “I realized we had a connection when you said that you lost your mother and was raised by a wicked step mommy. Mine was certainly wicked until I put an end to that sneak-assed bitch. She worked here, you know.” He blinked. “Oh, you didn’t think I wanted to hang out here every weekend, did you? Mother worked in concessions and father in the ticket booth. We lived in a shack close by, but they tore it down recently. Said it was unsafe. Bastards.”
Harley wobbled, feeling as though she might fall flat, but Ray reached out and caught her wrist with one hand. “Don’t fall and dirty that pretty little dress. The drugs will wear off. Don’t fight it. I gave you a little something to help relax you.”
She leaned against the table, feeling everything churning. She was able to see him more clearly and his words were more audible.
“I truly didn’t want our first date to be like this. I wanted you to come willingly with me. To beg me to forgive you. But losers can’t be choosers.” He laughed and tossed his glass over his shoulder. It broke in the dirt. “Let’s forego dinner and get to the good stuff. Wanna?”
She squinted. She’d rather die than have him touch her. Dropping her gaze to the steak knife sitting next to the dome covered plate, she started to move her fingers. If only she could get her arm to move.
“Oh, you silly little thing.” He chuckled, it sounded cold and gritty. “I’ll have to tie those wrists if you keep thinking those terrible thoughts.”
“Die, bastard,” she muttered.
“What an awful way to treat someone who brought the true Marshall Reed to your attention.” He stood. He reached for the wine bottle and lifted it high, chugging it down. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Okay. Here’s something you need to know. You might have to work hard to get the little Tarzan awake, if you know what I mean. He hasn’t worked in a few years.”
She shifted and lost her balance, hitting the dirt floor hard. Her cheek stung, but she didn’t have time to survey any damage to her body. With all her might, she used her hands and elbows to drag her body, but she’d only gotten a few feet before she felt a shoe in the center of her back. He buried his weight into her, pushing her into the ground. She could barely breathe.
“I see we have a stubborn streak. Leave that to me, my sweet. My parents wiped rebellion out of me, and I’ll surely do the same for you. You can thank me later.”
He knelt beside her, his mouth close to her ear. “They filled my closet with dresses and frilly shoes. They thought that would keep me from touching myself. Even locking me in the basement didn’t detour the need.”
His grip was on her shoulder, then it was pulling at her, ripping the strap of the dress.
A loud crashing made him jump.
“Well, well, who do we have interrupting our romantic dinner?”
She lifted her chin slightly, watched him stand and walk a few feet away before he turned back to her. His eyes were cold and lifeless. “Don’t go far, but if you want to play hide and seek, I’ll enjoy finding you. Let me get rid of our intruder and we’ll get back to making love.”
After his footsteps faded, she rolled to her back, focusing on what she needed to do. If she wanted to survive, she had to move fast. Her limbs were still heavy, but she was getting feeling back in her arms and legs, enough that she could push herself up to a sitting position.
Dirt kicked up in her face and she saw that Ray had returned. “Get up! Now!” he barked. He grabbed her arm and dragged her till she was standing, turning her so that her back was pressed against his chest. “Don’t move a muscle or I’ll slice your throat.” He brought something cold to her neck and she felt a sting. A knife.
“What? Why?” she croaked.
“Your boyfriend is here,” he whispered.
“Penn?” Her eyes filled with tears as she scanned the shadows, and then she saw him. He had stepped into view, illuminated by the dim security light. His gun was drawn and his jaw was tight. Their gazes met, and she smiled. Now that he was here, she knew, without a doubt, he’d get her out of this alive.
“Let her go, Patterson,” Penn said. His voice was calm. “There’s no way out of this.”
Scuffled sounds were heard and although Harley couldn’t turn her head, she realized Penn wasn’t alone.
“You’re surrounded.” Penn pointed his gun.
“I think I’m holding all of the cards. One wrong move and I’ll slice her throat,” Ray warned. “She won’t be so pretty without a head.”
“I know you don’t want to hurt her, Patterson. You care for her, that’s obvious. What can I do?”
Ray snickered. “Is turning around and leaving an option?”
“No. You’re not getting out of this the way you planned.” Penn still held the gun steady, aimed on Ray’s head.
Harley felt Ray shift, his movements were jerky. She could hear the fast beating of his heart and clicking sounds in his throat. “Put t
he knife down, Ray. No one is going to hurt you. I understand what you’ve gone through. We want this to be peaceful,” Harley said.
“It’s too late for that, my sweet. I could take you now.” He dug the blade into her skin and she felt the nick followed by wetness.
“Ray…?”
He dropped his clutch, took a step back and she swiveled in time to watch him drive the blade into the center of his chest. Death came slow. His eyes became blank, his face turned pale as blood streamed from his mouth. He dropped to his knees, still clutching the handle of the knife, and fell to his side.
Harley screamed as blood puddled around Ray’s still body.
Hands were on her, dragging her away. She looked up into Penn’s bewildered expression. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, I think. How did you know I was here?” She wrapped her arms around his waist, clinging to him, absorbing his strength and scent.
“Charlene. She remembered Ray had mentioned this place,” he said next to her ear. “I’m sorry it took so long.”
She looked around and saw Urban, Wes, Hugh, and Roman standing around Ray’s dead body.
“She okay?” Wes asked.
“She’s fine, but I’m taking her to the hospital to be sure,” Penn said, still holding her tightly.
“We’ll take care of this, bro. You take care of Harley,” Hugh said.
“I will. One thing’s for sure, sweetheart. I’m not leaving your side.” Penn picked her up in his arms and carried her to the parking lot of the abandoned fairgrounds. Once he helped her into the passenger side of his truck and joined her, he started the engine, then turned to face her. “Harley, when I realized something had happened to you, I knew I couldn’t live without you. Now that I’ve had you in my life, I can’t imagine losing you.”
Tears filled her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. “Are you sure? Is this your protective side talking? Will you still want me when I’m not surrounded by all of the suspense?”
He leaned forward, placing his palm against her cheek. Their gazes connected. “Harley Tate, I will be happy when we can get back in that canoe and have nothing between us but time. How does that sound?”
“Completely and utterly average, just the way I want things.”
“Is marriage boring?” He lifted a brow.
“Marriage? I wouldn’t know since I’ve never been married.”
“Then how about we find out together?”
They laughed, both knowing they were about to start the beginning of forever.
Not the end, but only the beginning…
From the author:
Thank you for reading. Please leave a review and let others know your thoughts.
Hugs,
Rhonda Lee Carver
At an early age, Rhonda fell in love with romance novels, knowing one day she’d write her own love story. Life took a short detour, but when the story ideas were no longer contained, she decided to dive in and write. Her first plot was on a dirty napkin she found buried in her car. Eventually, she ran out of napkins. With baby on one hip and laptop on the other, she made a dream into reality—one word at a time.
Her specialty is men who love to get their hands dirty and women who are smart, strong and flawed. She loves writing about the everyday hero.
When Rhonda isn’t crafting sizzling manuscripts, you will find her busy editing novels, blogging, juggling kids and animals (too many to name), dreaming of a beach house and keeping romance alive. Oh, and drinking lots of coffee to keep up with her hero and heroine.
For other titles by Rhonda Lee Carver, please visit: www.rhondaleecarver.com.
Find me on Facebook, too! www.facebook.com/rhondalee.carver
Here are some other wonderful selections by Rhonda Lee Carver
SECOND CHANCE SERIES
Second Chance Cowboy (Book 1, Second Chance Series)
Second Ride Cowboy (Book 2, Second Chance Series)
Second Round Cowboy (Book 3, Second Chance Series)
Second Dance Cowboy (Book 4, Second Chance Series)
Second Song Cowboy (Book 5, Second Chance Series)
Second Burn Cowboy (Book 6, Second Chance Series)
Second Hope Cowboy (Book 7, Second Chance Series)
Second Sunrise Cowboy (Book 8, Second Chance Cowboy Series)
RHINESTONE COWGIRLS SERIES
UNDER PRESSURE (Book 1, Rhinestone Cowgirls)
PRESSURE RISING (Book 2, Rhinestone Cowgirls)
PRESSURE POINT (Book 3, Rhinestone Cowgirls)
SECRET PRESSURE (Book 4, Rhinestone Cowgirls)
RESISTING PRESSURE (Book 5, Rhinestone Cowgirls)
COWBOYS OF NIRVANA
Cowboy Paradise (Cowboys of Nirvana)
Ropin’ Trouble (Book 2, Cowboys of Nirvana)
Smoke. Fire. Cowboy (Book 3, Cowboys of Nirvana)
Kissed, Spurred, & Valentined (Book 4, Cowboys of Nirvana)
Cowboy is Mine (Book 5, Cowboys of Nirvana)
The Discreet Cowboy (Book 6, Cowboys of Nirvana)
A Perfect Cowboy Daddy (Book 7, Cowboys of Nirvana)
Roman’s Choice (Book 1, Saddles & Second Chances)
Letting Go (Sable Hunter’s Hell Yeah! Kindle World)
Have you read Letting Go (Hell Yeah! Kindle World)? Here’s the first chapter as a gift. Please grab your copy and find out how hard letting go can be…
CHAPTER ONE
Brooke Winslow heard a child’s laughter and looked across the lobby, spotting the little girl cheerfully playing with a set of building blocks. Her blonde hair hung in one long braid down her back and she wore a pretty yellow dress. She had beautiful bright green eyes. “Look, Mommy. I built a tower.”
Her mother glanced up from the magazine she was flipping through. “Oh sweetheart, what a stable tower it is too.”
Feeling a sudden twinge in her chest, Brooke turned away, barely able to catch her breath. Why was she doing this? She stood up, gained her equilibrium, then started for the glass doors that would take her back out to her car—away from the possibility of having a panic attack in front of the people waiting in the lobby. She’d gotten better at staying in control, but on occasion she found herself coming unglued from the demons that still haunted her.
She gripped the cold handle of the door just as she heard her name being called, “Ms. Winslow. The doctor will see you now.”
Her mind raced. Her heart skipped a beat. She could easily scurry out and skip the appointment. Being here didn’t help anyway. She hated opening up and talking about the tragedy that turned her world upside down. Why couldn’t people just understand that not everyone needed to talk about their feelings?
Fingers touched her shoulder and she spun around, coming face to face with the receptionist. “Ms. Winslow, Dr. Forester will see you now.”
Several people had turned to watch her. She wondered if they too wanted to break free?
“Ms. Winslow?”
Oh, phooey. Brooke had no other choice but to let go of the handle to freedom and follow the receptionist. Part way down the hall Brooke heard sniffling coming from a room to the right. She caught a glimpse of a woman with her head bowed and her shoulders shaking. Brooke’s breath hitched and she clenched her hands into fists. Crying happened a lot here. But not for her—not anymore. After three years, the tears had dried up. Too bad the memories were as fresh as newly picked blueberries.
“How are you today, Ms. Winslow?” the receptionist asked as she motioned for them to continue on their way.
The question came more as a distraction than civil conversation. “Peachy.”
If the other woman picked up on any sarcasm in the answer, she didn’t let on.
They stopped at the last doorway, Dr. Forester’s office—a forty-something, attractive blonde who always dressed in impeccable pant suits. She had also recently divorced her husband of ten years. They had no children and a mansion with lots of bedrooms and a tennis court. Brooke only knew this because she’d overheard the recept
ionist and a nurse discussing the details when they thought they were alone. Usually Brooke passed on eavesdropping, but it did break up the monotony of sitting in the lobby and staring at a watercolor.
On the threshold into the room, she hesitated. It wasn’t that she disliked Dr. Forester or her help, but what could be done? The past was over and the pain had embedded itself deep inside of Brooke’s bone marrow. Not even a therapist could rid her of the heartache, the memories, and the knowledge that she couldn’t save Jessie.
Many times in the last year, Brooke had picked up the phone to cancel her appointments, but then she’d hang up. Dr. Forester had become a crutch for Brooke.
“Brooke, come in.” Dr. Forester stood up from behind her desk and smoothed her black jacket. Brooke couldn’t remember ever seeing the elegant woman unruffled or wrinkled. Her clothes were pressed and spotless. Her makeup had been applied with a detailed hand, hiding any physical flaws that she might have. She had to have at least one, but up until now, Brooke hadn’t found it. Even the desk was tidy and clean.
Brooke crossed the room, aware of her own disheveled appearance. Before leaving the house she’d thrown on a T-shirt and jeans and pulled her hair up into a messy bun. If she cared, she would have gone for the right side of her closet where her nicer things were hung, but the problem was, she didn’t.
Sitting in the comfortable flowered chair next to the window that overlooked downtown Atlanta, she had to admit that she liked the view…and the overstuffed chair that gave her a cushiony hug. It was the highlight of her visits to her therapist. She placed her purse on the table.
Dr. Forester took the chair across from Brooke, her handy notepad and pen sitting on the coffee table between them, probably from her last client who she’d needled through their problems for answers. Brooke reminded herself that she needed to stay open to help, but there came a point when Dr. Forester would have to come to the conclusion, just as Brooke had, that some things just couldn’t be fixed. Instead, they had to be buried instead. She had the shovel and the spot for burial, but it just didn’t seem possible to start digging. Not yet.
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