Love Survives: The BWWM Interracial Romance Collection (Volume 1)

by Dez Burke

  “Peg-” Nice started.

  “Cut the shit. I’m a bad friend. You got beat up by your dad and disappeared for three days and I didn’t even notice.” She continued to talk over Nice’s protests. “But that guy, Alden, he’s not bad and he loves you. And you deserve to be with someone who loves you. You’re one of the good ones, Nice.”

  “I know he loves me but I want to be someone. An actual person not this mess that I am right now!”

  “Oh honey, you are someone. And he sees that. Get off the phone with me, call him. Or at least answer the next time he calls you.”

  Peggy hung up the phone. Nice laid back down and the phone rang. She waited for a moment and then picked up. She let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Alden.”

  “You finally answered the phone,” he said, the smile evident in his voice.

  She nodded, and then realizing he couldn’t see her. “Yeah, I thought we could talk?”

  “Talk about whatever you want. I’m here listening.”

  “Let’s just talk about regular stuff. You tell me about your day and I’ll tell you about mine. That’s how it works right?”

  “How what works?”

  “This. This being together, but not together thing.”

  He laughed. “So there is an us?”

  “Yes, there’s an us, but this doesn’t mean that you get to be a knight in shining armor or whatever. I still need to…I don’t know.”

  “Find yourself?”

  “Don’t make it sound so daytime talk show. But yeah, I guess.”

  “Fine then, we’ll talk, but please don’t ignore my phone calls. If this is all I get then you have to answer the phone.”

  “I’m sorry, are we actually negotiating the terms of this relationship?” Laughter bubbled up.

  “I guess. Come here boy!” The sound of heavy panting filled the phone. “Say hi to Nice!” The dog barked loudly into the phone. “Alright enough. Good boy.”

  “Is that the dog? Roscoe?”

  “Yeah, it’s my dog. He’s keeping me company since you’re not here.”

  She smiled, happy at hearing his voice again. “Tell me about your day, baby. And then I’ll tell you about mine.”

  “And that’s the way it’ll work?”

  “For right now, yeah.”

  “Then I’ll take it,” Alden said gently. “I’m willing to wait for as long as I need to for the rest.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Nice shivered in the frigid Maine air. The temperature change from Florida was astounding and she was glad she’d worn a heavy coat. She paid the cab driver and after tightening her coat around herself, picked up the box next to her on the seat and slid out of the cab into the cold night air.

  Her boots crunched over the icy snow until she cleared the grass and stepped onto the freshly shoveled sidewalk. The taxi drove away and she walked up to the door. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and she took a deep breath. She approached the door and rang the doorbell. Roscoe barked fiercely on the other side.

  “Get down, Roscoe! Get off the door!”

  Nice’s heart sped up and she felt blood rushing to her face. She pulled the scarf from around her neck as he opened the door.

  He stood there. One hand on the door, the other wrapped in the massive animal’s collar to keep him from running out the open door. His eyes were wide with shock.

  “Nice.”

  “I’m sorry I should’ve called before I came. I just, well it’s almost Christmas.” She looked down, blushing, worried for a second that she’d made a mistake by doing something so impulsive.

  Alden let go of the dog and stepped towards her. Wrapping his arms around her, he bent and kissed her. The package was an awkward space between them. She maneuvered it into one hand and reached up to his face. His warmth flooded her, chasing away the cold of the air. The dog barked and jumped on their legs.

  He broke the kiss and pulled back to look down at her face. “You’re really here,” he whispered. “You kept your promise.” He kissed her gently then frowned. “Where are your bags? You’re not staying?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “No, I’m staying. I just don’t have any winter clothes. I figured there wasn’t any point in packing a bunch of shorts and tank tops. At least I was smart enough to buy this coat before I left Florida. Damn! It’s cold up here!”

  “What about the bar? And your Dad?”

  Nice took a deep breath. “I sold the bar and paid off the bank with the money. My Dad is in rehab. I know I should’ve called first before coming. Here, I made you a cake.” She shoved the box into his hands, aware that she wasn’t making sense.

  “You’re staying?” he asked again. “Here with me? For good?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I’m staying. If you’ll have me.”

  He kissed her again. Pulling her close, running his hand down her back. She rested her hands against him, feeling his steady heartbeat through his plaid shirt. “You must be freezing,” he said softly.

  She smiled into his green eyes, feeling safe and loved for the first time in her life. “Not anymore.”

  He took her hand and pulled his inside, a happy Roscoe trailing behind them.

  THE END

  ***

  Temptation or Faith

  Copyright 2013 Shanice Booth

  Chapter One

  Bile rose to her throat as his tongue plunged into her mouth, forcing her lips apart. His body crushed hers and she felt like she could hardly breathe. Wanting to gag and feeling a bit nauseated, Chevaine gathered all her strength, pushing as hard as she could. She pulled away from him and Gregory fell to the ground. She spat next to him, trying to get the taste of his kiss out of her mouth.

  His tongue was rough and tasted like rotting meat. She could smell the stench from his kiss and it made her wretch. Forcing herself not to vomit, she breathed deeply and tried to relax but at the same time tried very hard not to swallow.

  “You jerk!”

  Gregory scrambled to his feet and tried to reach for her again. “Get away from me you–you–,” she could hardly find words to describe him at that moment. “Don’t you ever touch me again!”

  “I’m sorry Chev, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought you wanted me to kiss you.”

  “Ugh!” was her response as she stomped away in frustration. “Men!” she yelled into space, throwing her hands up in the air.

  They were good friends who grew up together and went to the same schools together. Everyone thought they would eventually get married but Chevaine wanted to finish college and start her career before even thinking about marriage. Plus, she wasn’t in love with Gregory.

  They were out on one of their little excursions when Gregory, without warning, pulled her into his arms and crushed her lips with his. Chevaine thought she would never get rid of that awful taste in her mouth.

  The memory of that event caused her to recoil for it felt as if it was yesterday. She was waiting for Robert to pick her up and take her to the airport standing in the very spot where Gregory kissed her three years ago. They were no longer kids and she had no intention of dating Gregory nor anyone else for that matter. She wasn’t ready. Chevaine always thought that when God sent her Mr. Right she would know and Gregory was definitely not it.

  Tall and beautiful, her brown eyes were soft and compassionate. She had skin like rich golden honey, smooth and silken. When she talked, it was music to the ear and when she smiled, she lit up a room. Chevaine was a virtuous girl and a devout Christian. She had been elected as church secretary even though the building of the church was not yet started. Services were currently held on the verandah of Sister Martin’s house but within the next week a tent would be placed on the land which was donated for the new church.

  The foundation was already laid and the materials were all in place. Chevaine was very much responsible for this work. She was the one who had requested assistance from the New Life Baptist Ministries in Canada for their help in building a
church.

  The idea for this church came about because the villagers of Cotton Tree Hill had to walk for miles to get to the bus station to go to church in the next town, which was quite a distance away. Chevaine had seen on the television that New Life Baptist Ministries would build a church and help with the leadership where there was a need. The Canadian church was only too happy to help.

  Cotton Tree Hill was located in the hilly regions about fifty miles east of the capital of Jamaica. The population was less than five hundred and almost everyone knew each other. The main source of income was farming and many of the youth left for better opportunities in the city. The place was named for the many huge cotton trees which were once found on this very hill. A few still remained, especially the ones on the grounds where the church was to be built and further into the forest.

  It was a lush green area which saw around eighty percent rainfall each year. This was great for farmers and their crops thrived well. There was a basic, primary, and a high school in the village, as well as a community center. Though Cotton Tree, as it was popularly called, was in a remote location, they had all the major utilities such as telephone lines, electricity and a modern water supply. The water from the pipes, though, was rarely used for these people preferred the more natural way of life, which was to do their laundry and bathe by the river. One of the main things which the community lacked was the church and that’s where Chevaine came in.

  She was beautiful, talented, and a basic school teacher, the only girl from the community who had gone to the city to study and actually returned to the community to work. She had a Bachelor’s degree in Education and hoped to go to Columbia University in New York to complete her Master’s. She had been accepted, but the only thing standing in the way was the cost of her tuition. Chevaine hoped that she would be able sto ave enough to realize her dream.

  It was Saturday, and Chevaine was to accompany the taxi that was picking up the pastor at the airport. A taxi had to be chartered because the only vehicle in the small community was at the garage in the next city. As far as she knew, that small pick-up truck which Brother Thomas had donated would never be of any use anymore. The old thing was nearly a zillion years old, or at least forty years, since the old man had it since he was a young man in his twenties and it had been sitting around for nearly a decade without being used.

  The Pastor would be staying in an empty cottage close to where the building would be erected. He would be taking his meals at her mom’s house and Susan, a young woman from the community, would take care of the laundry and the cleaning for the time being until other arrangements could be made. Chevaine had thought of everything.

  Pastor John McCrary would be arriving at the airport at around four in the afternoon so Chevaine was anxious to meet him. She was surprised that he wasn’t bringing his wife or kids. She knew nothing about the man but assumed that being a pastor and all, he would have a family. They arrived at the airport around three forty-five and waited at the entrance. She knew it would be another fifteen minutes before the aircraft would arrive, but Chevaine was a stickler for time.

  She passed the time by preparing her notes for the upcoming events for the community and made an itinerary for the new pastor. She wanted to get everything in order, for come September, she would not be available full time at the church office.

  ***

  As the aircraft touched the earth John’s heart did a few flips. He was excited about his new mission and was looking forward to working with his new congregation. He’d never been out of his country before and was enthused about the new adventures ahead. He had heard a lot about the tropical paradise, not all good, but he was looking forward to the experience, nonetheless.

  The airport staff was friendly and he went through customs without incident. However, he couldn’t help but notice that a couple of men were being ushered into the security office by two officers. He wondered what they had done.

  John saw her before she saw him. She was holding a sign with his name on it, but it was her aura which drew his attention. There was a calmness and beauty about her that had little to do with her physical appearance, yet her physical beauty was extraordinary, the likes of which John had never seen before.

  He paused and gave himself a mental shake. “Get a hold of yourself!” he told himself. The man standing next to him snorted and that’s when he realized he had spoken aloud. As he moved among the sparse crowd, he saw her look his way and waved. He was nervous, as he had no idea what was expected of him.

  “That must be him,” Chevaine said to Robert. They had been standing together anticipating John’s arrival.

  “I thought he would be older,” Robert pointed out.

  “So did I,” she replied as John approached. “Good afternoon, Pastor McCrary?” she inquired.

  “Yes, so happy to meet you,” John replied with an outstretched hand.

  “Pleased to meet you, too. This is Robert, our driver for today,” she said as she shook his hand and introduced the driver. “How was your journey?” she further inquired. His hand was warm and firm. When he touched her she felt a tingling feeling in her palm and she quickly withdrew her hand.

  It was only courteous that she inquired of her guest if he enjoyed his trip, which was a custom of the island. Though the pastor would be residing on the island indefinitely, he was still considered a guest because he had just arrived. He knew no one and had to be guided until he became familiar with everyone. Chevaine would be the tour guide and host as long as she was needed.

  The pastor was guided towards the parking lot where the taxi had been parked. It was against the rules of the airport to park at the exit. Robert assisted with his bags while Chevaine wondered about the age of the man. She, and all the people of the village, had expected someone older, at least that’s the impression that was given to them by the Canadian church. She wondered if there was a mistake, for the man was no more than five years her senior, if that much. She estimated him to be no more than thirty years old. They had informed her that he had many years’ experience as pastor and was quite capable of handling the ministry. She was curious about him.

  She seated John in the front passenger seat while she sat in the back alone. As they drove the fifty something miles from the airport to the small town of Cotton Tree Hill, Chevaine gave her new pastor an idea of what the island was really like. She pointed out landmarks and historical buildings, indigenous plants and famous towns they passed on the way. Robert drove at a moderate speed in order to facilitate the “tour.” They made a few stops along the way, once to get coconut water and the other to purchase jerked chicken for her mom.

  Somehow, though, gracious she was, Chevaine felt a little awkward around the new pastor. She wasn’t sure why. All she could think of was that she had been looking forward to working with an older father-like figure but instead she got a brother. She wasn’t sure what it was about him that bothered her.

  Chevaine hoped against all hopes that he was ready for the task, for she knew nothing about leading a pastor. Her people needed guidance and leadership, which was the reason for this partnership in the first place. She silently prayed that God had sent the right man.

  By the time they got to the community it was close to seven o’clock, so Chevaine took the pastor straight to her home where her mom was waiting with a dinner of rice and peas served with steamed callaloo and brown stewed chicken, a classic Jamaican dinner.

  “Mommy, meet Pastor McCrary. Pastor, this is my mother,” she said, introducing them. Robert had gone to visit his girlfriend up the hill and had left as soon as he dropped them off.

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” John was very polite, Chevaine noticed, as he engulfed her mother’s hand in both of his.

  He was shown to the washroom to freshen himself, for dinner was about to be served. Chevaine went to her own room for wash-up as well while she pondered the situation. Mrs. Cameron was known as the main cook and baker in the community. She was a housewife and her husband a farme
r. They weren’t rich but she loved feeding people and the spread could have fed a dozen people. Mr. Cameron was not home yet, as he had taken produce to the city and would not return until late that night. So it was just Chevaine, her mother and the pastor for dinner.

  “So Pastor, you like our island?” Mrs. Cameron asked.

  “Yes, very much so, and the food is wonderful as well,” he replied. Mrs. Cameron beamed and thought, “What a charmer.”

  “I haven’t prepared a sermon for tomorrow. Who usually delivers the sermon?” John asked

  “Brother Thomas likes to preach, he can preach tomorrow and you just take it easy, Pastor,” Mrs. Cameron told him. Chevaine tried to get her mom’s attention but she deliberately avoided her daughter’s eyes.

  After dinner, he was taken to his cottage where he settled for the night and was left to wonder about the young woman who was extremely gracious but didn’t quite trust him yet. John felt guilty about his reaction to her. He was the pastor for God’s sake, not some horny young man. He knelt and prayed and asked God for forgiveness for his worldly ways.

  Chevaine was back home and helping her mother put away the extra food and wash the dishes when the subject of the pastor came up. Chevaine told her mother about picking him up and the little tour she gave on their way home.

  “He’s too young to be a pastor,” Mrs. Cameron pointed out as they were drying the dishes and putting them back in the china cabinet. Of course Mrs. Cameron had taken out her best plates to be used for this simple occasion.

  “I thought he would be older too, but they must know what they’re doing or they wouldn’t have sent him here,” she told her mom, though she herself was unsure.

  “I like him though, he’ll be okay,” her mom added.

  “I hope so,” Chevaine replied thoughtfully. “Why did you tell the pastor that Brother Thomas will preach, do you want to embarrass us?”

  “You worry too much, Chev,” her mom laughed.

  Service had to be held on the church grounds, though the building was not yet erected. The veranda of the home which was usually used turned out to be too small. There were only about thirty chairs, so most of the people had to stand. The service was held under a huge cotton tree, one of which the district was named for. It seemed that most of the people in the community had turned out to see the white pastor from “foreign.” Jamaicans referred to every country other than their own as foreign.