HOLD ME FAST
McCullough Mountain 7
Lydia Michaels
Romance
www.LydiaMichaelsBooks.com
Lydia Michaels
Romance
HOLD ME FAST {McCullough Mountain 7}
Copyright © 2015 Lydia Michaels
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden. If you do not want this book anymore, you must delete it from your computer. WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
www.LydiaMichaelsBook.com
Hold Me Fast
Copyright © 2015 Lydia Michaels
First E-book Publication: August 2015
Cover design by Dawné Dominique
Edited by Elise Hepner
Proofread by Rene Flowers
All cover art and logo copyright © 2015 by Lydia Michaels
Dedication
To moms… All of you.
Especially the ones that have touched my life and guided me in some way…
Mom
Aunt Carol
Aunt Donna
Aunt Linda
Both my grandmothers, Mary & Mary
Lori L’Heureux
Aunt Joanne
Sue Hume
Ronda Slager
JoAnn Perotti
Each one of you makes a part of Maureen McCullough.
Thank you for countless moments of inspiration.
HOLD ME FAST
McCullough Mountain 7
Lydia Michaels
PART I
Then…
Chapter One
“Move your arse, Maureen, or we’re gonna miss it!” Colleen’s voice pitched from the school parking lot, her rump balanced on the window of their father’s hand-me-down Ford Falcon as her skirts bunched over the mint green door, her other sister, Rosemarie, thumping the horn repetitively as she waited behind the wheel.
“Late for what?” Maureen called, her books weighing down her right arm as she bustled to the car.
“They’re takin’ O’Malley’s!”
Maureen’s steps staggered at the fender of the old Ford. “What on earth are you talkin’ about? Who’s taking it? And where?”
Colleen’s beanpole body slithered through the window and the door popped open as she scooted to the other side of the white leather seat. “Liam Cloony, that’s who! Now get in!”
As soon as the door shut, Rosemarie gunned the boat of a car into drive. Pedestrians on an unhurried journey scowled and dodged the rambling vehicle in favor of life over death.
“Move your bloody arses, people!” Rosemarie growled from behind the wheel.
“I don’t understand,” Maureen repeated. “How does someone take a bar? There isn’t far you can take a place cemented to the earth.”
“Don’t be daft, Maureen,” Colleen said, balancing her elbows on the back of the front seat so she could stare out the wide windshield. Whoever gave her sister a driver’s license should have been driven to the middle of Center County and shot. Maureen remained safely in the back, her white knuckled grip glued to the handle on the door.
“They aren’t takin’ it anywhere. They’re claimin’ it. Liam won it fair and square in a game of poker and it’s too good of a price to let go.”
“You think Caleb O’Malley is going to just hand him the keys?” They were nuts and Maureen wasn’t much in the mood for an Irish brawl.
Colleen’s grin was pure evil, her eyes set with dumb love. “That’s why Paulie’s going.”
Maureen rolled her eyes until she saw brain. “You think every Italian has a mob connection. The only thing Paulie Mosconi’s good at is pronouncing pasta and doing whatever his mean old mum wants.”
“His mum wants him makin’ a living for himself,” Colleen argued defensively. Chances were she’d end up marrying the poor sot. There wasn’t much Colleen wanted that she didn’t get.
“Workin’ as what, a bar back for Liam?”
“They’re going to be partners, isn’t that right Rosemarie?”
“I don’t know why you’re bitchin’, Maureen. They get this bar, you’ll get served.”
That was true, but not something Maureen found remarkably persuasive. True, her sisters were adults, while she was still a seventeen-year-old senior in high school, but there wasn’t much they did apart. While some girls went off to finishing school, her father was old fashioned and of the mindset a woman didn’t need much more knowledge than how to change a diaper and read a recipe.
It wasn’t always fair, but it was all she’d known and after seventeen years, she’d grown used to his dated philosophies. Maureen didn’t think herself overly qualified for things outside of the home anyway—nor was she overly motivated to seek higher education.
She wanted one thing and it wasn’t part of any curriculum. She wanted to fall in love.
The tires squealed as her sister took the bend and yanked the wheel. Hand over hand, she directed the Falcon into O’Malley’s parking lot.
“There’s Paulie,” Colleen sighed and fluffed the curls of her fiery red hair.
Rosemarie slid the car into a slot and quickly adjusted her breasts in her blouse. They sure did get ridiculous around boys—well, men. Paulie and Liam were close to twenty-five years old, which wasn’t too much of a difference considering her sisters were both in their twenties now. As far as age differences went, Maureen sometimes wondered if she were an afterthought or an accident where her parents were concerned.
“Who’s that tall guy?” Maureen asked as they climbed out of the car.
Colleen blew a large bubble, the gum sweetening the dry May air. “That’s Frank McCullough. He and Paulie are old friends. Good thing he brought him. Frank’s built like an ox. Works for his dad up at the lumberyard. Quiet. Sort of dull, but he’ll definitely be the muscle we need if Caleb O’Malley tries to pull any shite.” She blew another bubble and proceeded to chew like a cow as they approached the trio of men.
Maureen’s voice shriveled to something irretrievable and delicate, lodged in her chest as she stared at the dark haired man. The dark denim of his Levis almost matched the pressed black cotton of his shirt. The sleeves were bunched and rolled casually up his thickly muscled arms, already tanned in a way that told Maureen he spent a lot of time outdoors.
His collar was open and his neck wore a layer of dark stubble, something unarguably sloppy, but she liked it for reasons she didn’t understand. Her classmates didn’t have facial hair like that. This was a man.
His hair was beyond windblown, a mess of strands flipped and quaffed like a collection of broken blackbird wings. It was atrocious and unkempt, yet, she couldn’t stop covertly admiring it. Her head remained tilted down as she studied him from under her lashes, her body facing Paulie so her attention wasn’t too obvious.
He grinned at something Paulie said, but made no comment. While the other’s prattled on about the events that brought them there, this man remained silent.
She found herself waiting for the slighte
st show of emotion. When he finally laughed, her heart seemed to leap into her mouth as her palms suddenly moistened with dewy sweat. His teeth were perfect, his lips full and tanned with the rest of his face. She never saw such rugged beauty. He was like a bear in the wild, gorgeous in his own right, but intense and deserving of space.
Slowly, he turned and Maureen froze as two of the bluest eyes she’d ever seen rested on her. Breath turned hot and heavy in her lungs. With each slow pull she became aware of her breasts pressing against her cheaply made dress. His lips closed over his teeth, hiding his smile as he stared at her. Her mind demanded she look away, but her body was frozen, literally held in place by that intense stare.
The others continued to discuss their plan of overtaking the bar, but this man just stared. His inspection, so unyielding and concentrated, became too much and she snapped her gaze away, severing the connection.
But she still sensed his eyes on her. So many men had come home from the war amputated and her father said some men claimed to still feel what was no longer connected. She felt him, felt the weight of his stare and the strength of his regard. Nothing had ever felt so vacant and so extreme at the same time.
“Let’s move,” Liam said, his words finally penetrating her bewildered mind.
She turned and frowned as her sisters fell into step after the men. Reaching out, she grabbed Rosemarie’s sleeve. “You can’t go in there with them. What if there’s a fight?”
“Exactly,” her sister said grinning. “I don’t plan on missin’ it. Wait here by the car and beep if you see the constable.” She turned and followed the others inside. They disappeared behind a green door and the parking lot was suddenly silent.
Maureen frowned. They were a bunch of imbecilic morons. People didn’t win bars in card games. This sort of nonsense was exactly why her father grumbled every time Rosemarie mentioned going out with Liam Cloony. The man was a child who had somehow evaded the war and accomplished absolutely nothing while the others did their time. Yet, Rosemarie adored him.
She’d once told Maureen, “When I’m good and ready I’ll decide it’s time for Liam to step up and be a man, and when I do, you can bet your arse his shenanigans will be over. Two things you should understand about life, Maureen. There’s divine intervention and then there’s the guarantee of really good sex. I’m not God, but I’m certainly no slouch in bed. Liam will do fine.”
Apparently, sex was why men got married, according to her sisters. Maureen wasn’t so sure. Her father had always said a man was incomplete without a wife but once married, he was finished. Her mother was an easy woman, nurturing and always busy. Deep down she believed her father loved her mother very much, but they hardly showed affection. Maureen didn’t want that sort of love. She craved a love that was fierce and far too passionate to keep inside. She wanted a love that held fast with bonds too strong to weaken over time.
The doors of the pub burst open and she jumped back a step as two drunkards stumbled out, one wearing a torn shirt, the other walking with a bit of a limp. A ruckus of clattering dishes and shouts sounded and silenced as the doors again closed. Dear lord, they were truly fighting in there.
Glancing at the two men hobbling to their car, she debated. It was illegal for her to enter the bar, but her sisters were in there. “For the love of Christ,” she muttered, tossing the keys onto the front seat of the Falcon.
She pressed through the green door. Having never entered a pub before, she wasn’t sure what to expect, but certain this was not the norm. As though everything were moving in slow motion or under water, Van Morrison’s Into the Mystic played deafeningly from a large jukebox in the corner as bodies slammed into tables, knocking over chairs and glasses shattered. The stench of spilt lager tickled her nose.
Something hurled through the air and the shrill echo of her sister’s scream caught her attention. Whipping around just in time to duck an oncoming bottle, she gasped and squatted low behind a fallen table.
Her sisters were perched on a pool table, Rosemarie cheering Liam on as he rolled across the floor with Caleb O’Malley. Colleen was shooting off her mouth at some poor bastard that made a grab for her leg and got a good taste of her shoe—the penny of her loafer likely lodged in his throat by now.
“Cops!” someone yelled and the shouting got louder as everyone scramble for the doors.
It was absolute mayhem. Maureen couldn’t do more than stare as bloodied men punched with one hand and helped their opponent up with the other as the law came to take them all away. Perhaps it was the lingering taste of war that left them with such a thirst for violence. Perhaps it was simply men being boys.
Van Morrison continued to croon as the pub bore ransacked markings of a true brawl. Though everyone was angry, they were smiling—bunch of drunken, sodden lots. Didn’t they know their bar was being commandeered?
A firm hand closed over her arm and she gasped, prepared to defend herself, but unsure how.
Dark blue eyes held her as his grip tightened. “Come along, lassie, before the constable hauls you away for drinkin’ underage.”
Breathless, she whispered, “But my sisters—”
“They’ll be fine. Liam and Paulie will see to them.”
She shouldn’t have gone with him, but those eyes of his seemed to cast a spell on her. Over the slap of flesh and the splintering wood, she somehow made out Van Morrison’s poetic words of running into the mystic and rocking a gypsy soul and suddenly she was standing, racing through the riffraff and out of O’Malley’s—holding none other than Frank McCullough’s strong hand.
His fingers swallowed hers as he pulled her close. The heat of his broad chest burned into her shoulders as he guided her out the door. His large palm rested heavily on her lower back and for those few seconds she had no fear of any danger.
Sirens whined in the distance. “My truck’s this way,” he called as he hauled her toward the back of the lot.
It was an old black Chevy, desperate for a good washing. He beat her to the passenger handle and popped it open. Not giving her a chance to climb inside, her feet left the ground as he quickly deposited her inside the truck and shut the door.
As he opened his door the sirens seemed closer. “We have to move.”
The truck roared to life and she breathed in the sweet scent of his clothing, memorizing it, before the fumes of diesel stole the fresh air. There was no chance for talk during the bumpy ride through town. She was too stunned to speak anyway. Soon he was hauling her down an unpaved road she never visited before.
Her mind returned to her sisters, assuming the police were now at the scene asking questions. “Do you think anyone will be arrested?”
“You’re not to worry about Rose and Colleen. The police will assume they’re innocent on the fact that they’re ladies.”
She chuckled. “I don’t know that Colleen fits that title.”
He grinned and disarmed her with a quick glance, those fiery blue eyes burning into her soul. “I believe you’re right, but the constable doesn’t know her the way we do.”
“You know my sister?” It struck her as odd that Colleen would know this man and never mention him. He was far more handsome than Liam or Paulie. Perhaps that was the issue, his attractiveness put him out of reach and therefore not a suitable conquest.
“Aye. I’d be remiss not to know the lassie my best friend plans to wed.”
“Paulie’s going to marry Colleen?” she nearly barked.
He chuckled, the sound deep and throaty. “If she’ll have his sorry arse.”
Although her father would be disappointed, there was no doubt in her mind that Colleen would eagerly agree to be Paulie’s wife. “When?”
Frank tsked. “Now, what kind of friend would I be if I told you that? If you’re anything like your sisters, I’m certain you can’t keep a secret for shit.”
Her belly tightened and rolled as they took another road she didn’t recognize. Something about him was undoing all sorts of neatly kept knots insid
e of her and making her feel loose and giddy as though she were a feather blowing in the wind.
The question in her mind became too significant to discard. “Do you have a girl—a lassie?”
“No.”
His simple answer warned her it was a subject he didn’t care to delve into, so she let it drop, sparing only a small wish that she were a bit older. He was perhaps the most handsome man she’d set eyes on, not counting the lads in catalogues and such.
She rarely considered boys. They were childish and unappealing. However, she was only seventeen and far too young to set her sights on a man. Perhaps it was a result of having older sisters and hanging with their older friends that left her with a taste for maturity.
Either way, she’d figured—since Elvis had gotten fat and no longer appealed to her—that she’d worry about meeting a husband once she came of age. Her eighteenth birthday was soon and now that she met Frank McCullough that made her anxious to age faster, as if she could somehow catch up to him.
Straightening her shoulders, she sucked in her tummy and lifted her chest. Casually, she used the fingers of her left hand to wriggle her skirt a bit above the knee and waited for him to take notice.
He pulled into an empty, unpaved lot marked only by a chain link fence. “We’ll wait here for a while until things settle. Then I’ll take you back to your sisters.”
She looked around seeing nothing but trees and the long run of fence. “Is this private property?” No point in running from the cops only to be arrested for trespassing.
“Yes, but not to worry. It’s McCullough property.”
“You own this?”
He nodded.
“What is it?”
He studied her for a moment. “How old are you, Maureen?”
It seemed imperative that she form her answer in a mature manner. No seventeen and eleven months type response would do. “I’ll be eighteen in July.”
Hold Me Fast (McCullough Mountain Book 7) Page 1
