Quincy, on the other hand, was thinking too much. He could hardly focus on thrusting in and out of Anne, despite how good it felt. All he could think about was how this was going to ruin him forever. He could feel words bubbling in his chest, but he didn’t want to voice them. He didn’t want to give them power.
Suddenly, it seemed as though Anne’s entire body had gone still, and a near-scream ripped from her lungs. Her throat was raw at the end of it, and her vision had gone completely starry. In her body, boiling lava coursed through her at an alarming pace. She was almost convinced that it was going to literally burn her up before she could do anything more.
A few moments later, after using Anne as a tool for his own pleasure, Anne felt the sudden spurt inside of her as Quincy’s seed shot into her and filled her to the brim. He pulled out with a grimace, and collapsed next to Anne. Neither of them could barely manage to breathe, but Quincy found the courage to speak up first.
“Can I tell you something, Anne?” he asked. It was the second time in one night that he had to ask for permission from the girl, and in a way, it was starting to grow on him.
Anne hardly had the strength to speak. She simply nodded
“I love you,” Quincy whispered. In a moment, he had pulled Anne close to his body, holding her tightly and avoiding having to look at her for fear of what she might say in retaliation.
Any other time, and Anne might have given Quincy a smart remark. Instead, she held the silence for a few moments longer. Only when their breathing had evened out did she speak.
“I love you, too. No matter who you used to be.”
Quincy let himself smile. A genuine smile that stretched his cheeks and made it hard to see, his eyes scrunched up with joy.
Christmas In Texas,
A Mail Order Bride Western Romance
By: Erin Walsh
Christmas in Texas,
A Mail Order Bride Western Romance
© Erin Walsh, December 2015 – All rights reserved
Published by Steamy Reads Publishing
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events are purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return it to the seller and purchase a copy.
Warning
This book contains graphic content intended for readers 18+ years old.
If you are under 18 years old, or are not comfortable with adult content, please close this book now.
Chapter 1
Marlow fell asleep in her robe on the couch, while looking up recipes on her laptop. Nobody was coming that Thanksgiving, but she was going to have fun anyways. She woke up to a sugar hangover with a bag of cheese puffs spilled all over her lap, and she didn't want to move. She wanted to go back to bed, and let the world pass her by.
Instead, she decided to wiped off her robe, and throw away the bag in her kitchen, which used to be beautiful. There was a black marble counter top that was covered with dust, and unused stainless steel appliances. She hadn't used her oven in more than six months, and that was to make a frozen pizza.
She bent down into the refrigerator and checked to see whether or not her Cornish game hen was defrosted. She bought two just in case somebody came, but her sister was having her Thanksgiving at her husband's house, and her parents were in the Bahamas.
She would have fun. She didn't need to dwell on the past, but it was so hard. She got out a pair of sweat pants and an old sweater, then she walked into the bathroom. She could've done herself up and put her long black hair in curls, but what was the point. It'd be easier to keep it in a ponytail, and nobody was going to see how she looked, so she could wear whatever she wanted. She could go around her house completely naked.
She avoided the mirror before she got into the shower, not because she didn't care, but because she did. She knew what she was going to see, that her hair was matted in the back and that her brown eyes had circles around the sides and below. She was tired of crying, tired of being alone, but she had to make the best of things.
When she was done, she got dressed and went back into the kitchen to begin her preparations. First, she uncorked a bottle of wine and poured some into a Styrofoam cup because she didn't have anything clean, and she didn't want to look at the pile of dishes. She grabbed another bag of cheese puffs from the cupboard, then she sat down and turned on the TV.
She knew there would be some great cooking shows on, and that Chef Michaels was making Cornish game hens. She watched as the stylish blond with the stubbly chin, told her about the expensive ingredients she had to use. Things like sage, rosemary and thyme were too much for her. She figured it would come out just fine so long as she put a little lemon pepper on it.
She took a quick swig of wine and some of it dripped down her chin. She used her sleeve to wipe it off. This was pathetic, even for her, but she didn't have much anymore except for this house that they were supposed to build. She took another sip of wine. She could've gone and gotten a place to herself, but all she had was her terrible job at the call center and all the debt that Frank left her. She took a gulp and swished the red mess around. It tasted terrible, but it felt good. It gave her a bit of peace and quiet, but she had too much of that. She downed the rest of her wine and threw the cup on the ground. She felt those thoughts creeping up.
Their first thanksgiving, she spent an entire week trying to learn how to give the turkey that perfect caramel color and that juicy meat she loved so much. She bought all fresh herbs, oranges and garlic. She even bought twine to tie the legs so she could keep the flavor in, but she let it sit in the freezer too long and it didn't defrost in time to make it. Frank hunted down the last turkey in town at 6:30 in the morning just so they could have Thanksgiving, and they had leftovers for a week.
They sat up all night that night talking about having a family together, and getting a cabin the mountains. It was possible then, but he was gone, and she needed that back. She poured herself another glass of wine and laid down on the couch, trying not to cry. She couldn't help it. She was alone, and nobody would ever love her again. She didn't think she could fall in love. Whenever she thought about it, she saw his pale face lying on the table in the morgue. She didn't want to see it. She wanted it to be her instead, but the police needed somebody to identify the body after the accident.
It was her fault. Last winter was terrible. The snow came down so thick that she could barely see past the front porch, and the snow plows couldn't get outside to clear the roads, so people had to stay in or drive slowly.
She was making Christmas dinner for them, and had planned to buy an apple pie, but she forgot it at the store, so she asked him to go. It seemed so simple at the time, but she would give her life a thousand times over to take it back. She closed her eyes and tried to forget it. Sleep was the only peace she got. There was nothing else that could drown out the pain.
Chapter 2
Johnny Casper was sitting in his living room with a white dress shirt and tight pants that showed off his body enough to be sexy without being too ridiculous. He had that nice spiked hair that Crystal loved and his favorite bolo tie in the shape of the Great State of Texas. He was a rancher, a simple man who worked hard to where he'd gotten and he'd made a life for himself that way, one that most people in the world would envy. He could have been a pencil pusher with a piece of paper to define his worth, or he could've been a
bum—most people don't think they have a choice. He did. He started out at Mcginty's Steakhouse when he was 16, busing tables, and cleaning up peoples messes, making less than a dollar an hour. He worked his way up and bought the place when they folded. He opened up steakhouse after steakhouse until he had restaurants all over the world.
He was a determined man, who knew the meaning of focus. He didn't get distracted by bad people, or drinking and drugs. He never spent more than he had to, or made bad purchases. He survived on next to nothing, because what he wanted was a solid foundation for him, and for his future children, but Crystal didn't want children. She didn't want to have to deal with them, or spend the money on them. She said that it was because she thought that they would tie her down, but really it was because she didn't want the responsibility. She had a hard time doing the dishes. She certainly couldn't run around, changing diapers and screaming at them. She was probably physically incapable of doing it, and she wasn't going to raise them by herself. She would have sixteen hours a day of me time, and the children wouldn't see her after that.
He felt the phone vibrate in his pocket and turned off the TV. It was his mother calling. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey. Are you coming this year. I've got everything setup, and you know your father has been asking about you.”
“I don't know, Mom. I mean, Crystal's really set on this cruise, and I have been having some trouble lately. I want to go, though. How's dad doing?”
“He's on dialysis now. The doctors are worried it's not going to help.” He felt something he hadn't felt in a long time.
“I'm coming. I'm not going to miss seeing him for anything.”
“Oh, good. He's been begging to see you.” He told her he loved her and got off the phone as soon as possible. He was supposed to leave for LA in less than an hour, but if his father was on dialysis it just didn't matter.
When your kidneys go, then it's time. There's nothing they can do to fix them. They can drain as many toxins as they want out of the body, but as soon as they stop the dialysis machine, then you'll die, and that's no way to live. Dialysis is one of the worst things a person can go through, and he needed to be there for him, tell him how much he loved him.
His father wasn't around very much, and they never had the greatest relationship, but he always taught his son the value of hard work. He owed all of his success to what his father taught him, and it was because that that he was not willing to go another day without seeing him.
Johnny picked up his phone and dialed Crystal's number. She sent it straight to voicemail, and he could feel the anger rising up inside of him. He wrote her a text saying that his father was dying and that she could meet him at the house if she wanted to come.
Within two seconds she had sent three texts and was calling him.
“We've been planning this cruise for more than six months, and you want me to put it on hold for your stupid family. I can't believe you. I'm hanging up now. Have a nice life.” There was a two second pause while she waited for him to say something.
“I have this one chance, Crystal. I have to go.”
“You don't know whether or not it's your one chance. It's not like he's on his deathbed.” He stood up and started pacing around. “It's your last chance with me. We talked about that. If this cruise doesn't happen, we're over.”
“You don't care about me, or anyone else. I'm going to go see my father.” Johnny hung up on her for the first time, and called the limo driver.
Chapter 3
Marlow was sitting in front of a beautiful table with a white lace tablecloth, and a woman with long brown hair was sitting next to her, carving a perfect turkey. She was young, with a white dress and a black belt. Who was she?
The girl turned to her and said, “What do you mean? I'm your daughter. She looked around at the people sitting around the table, then saw that there was an old man holding her hand. He had a tender smile on his face, and when she looked closer, she saw that it was Frank.
She sat up, shrieking. How could fate be so cruel as to taunt her like that? She had wanted a family her entire life, and now that couldn't happen. She'd never see her children running down the stairs on Christmas day to see their presents or get to hold them in her arms. It was like a part of her had rotted away.
She got up and went to get herself another glass of wine, but it was all gone, and she promised herself she'd never drive on the holidays again, not after what had happened. It was her personal penance for what she'd done. She was a good woman, somebody who had always tried to do right by her husband, but she ended up killing him anyways, so she punished herself by doing little things. She didn't deserve sweets or nice clothes, and she didn't deserve to get new furniture. She had done something terrible, and she had to make up for it somehow.
When she looked in the fridge, to find something quick to eat she saw the tiny hen that she'd bought for Thanksgiving. She had to have fun no matter what. If she could just feel a little bit better, than she could change her life.
She pulled it out and took out a mixing bowl, massaging oil then salt and pepper into the bird. She set the oven to preheat and put the bird on the stove while she waited. She had bought a bag of bread cubes and some other stuff to make stuffing, but she was so tired. She didn't think she could stand to work that hard. Instead, she pulled out a box of instant and boiled some water. She didn't even take the time to read the directions.
Frank used to make sausage cornbread stuffing for her. He was the cook. She always wanted to do it like him, but now she was just ready to give up. She couldn't take it. She needed some wine, and a pack of cigarettes. She didn't have the patience to deal with life, much less a holiday without something to quiet her mind.
She looked over at the keys on the hook on the wall. She could hear tires screeching, and see his car getting crushed by the truck. She tried to stop it, but there she was standing in the morgue looking down at his pale face, and she crouched down, shaking with tears running down her face. She was so alone. She rushed up and grabbed the keys then put the bird in the oven.
The roads weren't icy, thank God, but there was snow on the sides, and she had to keep her eyes straight to avoid crying again. She didn't drink much, and she didn't crave it, but when the holiday came, the old memories started coming back. She saw their hiking trips and their nights laying next to one another in bed talking. She felt his hand on her shoulder, and she knew that she had to have it back. She needed him, because she knew that she'd never love anyone else, and if she didn't have him, then she would always be alone.
Mindy was the only person Marlow ever talked to outside of work. She was a small blond girl, almost half her age, who worked at the liquor store on the corner near her house. It was kind of pathetic that her only acquaintance was the girl that sold her liquor, but she needed human contact, and in her state that was the best she was going to get.
Marlow checked herself in the mirror to make sure that she didn't look like she'd been crying. Her eyes were red so she put in some eye drops. It was sad, but she did what she needed to do to maintain what little sanity she had left. When she walked in she pasted a smile on her face and looked over at the register. Mindy wasn't there. It was some sour faced old man that she'd only seen once or twice, and he always hated her.
She walked over to the wine section. She thought about getting something nicer. There were the 4 dollar ones that she liked, but they tasted terrible and gave her a bad hangover. Instead she went with a more expensive chardonnay to go with the chicken. The man must've noticed her staring and walked over to the aisle, blocking her path.
“You finding everything alright?”
“Yes, thank you.” She glanced back at the Merlot. That was always nice. When she turned back, he was still standing there staring at her.
“Can I help you find anything?”
“No. I think I'm good.”
“Well, if that's all why don't you come up to the register.”
“I'm still looking, but you ca
n stand there the entire time if you want to. You wanna make sure I have money?”
“No. I want you to hurry it up so I don't have to stand here.” He pulled out a handkerchief and spit a wad of tobacco into it.
She cocked her head to the side. “Now you have some nerve. What the hell makes you think you have to stand there?”
He took three steps forward until his face was right up in hers. “I think you need to get up out my store.”
“Gladly.” She took the bottle of wine she was holding them crashed it against his head, showering glass all over the floor, then she grabbed two bottles of expensive wine and ran out with them before he knew what was happening.
Before she left, she used her keys to push the cork of the Merlot down so she could take a quick swig, then she peeled out of the parking lot as fast as she possibly could. What had she done? Had she completely lost her mind?
Was she so high strung that she'd lost all of her morals? Those thoughts were pounding in her head the whole way until she finally started bawling hysterically.
“Frank,” she screamed, “I need you!”
When she got home she grabbed the bottles and ran inside. She knew how this worked. For a routine beer run, they look around the neighborhood, but the police don't conduct a manhunt. They don't work day and night to find you, and ninety percent of the time you get away with it. She could let that go. What worried her was her ability to do something like this. There was something wrong with her.
That wasn't going to change—nothing was going to change. The only thing she could do was get something in her stomach and sit down in front of the TV so she could find something as mind numbing as possible.
She ran into the kitchen and pulled open the over. She coughed from the smoke pouring out. The chicken was completely black. She was gone too long, and she'd burned the entire thing. That was the last straw. She turned off the oven and slammed the door she then she pulled out a bottle and took as much of it as she possibly could. The world was spinning, but she needed it gone. She needed everything gone—the house, the sadness, the pain. She was killing every single thing that hurt her, and replacing it with sweet emptiness. When she was done, she slammed the bottle to the floor. He stomach was singing, she was out of breath and she could barely stand, but she managed to drink that next bottle until there was nothing left and she collapsed to the floor unconscious.
The Outlaw Biker's Betrayal: A Bad Boy MC Romance Page 4
