The Thanksgiving Day Bride: Mail Order Bride Novels

by Sandee Keegan

“So long as you don’t actually refer to them as the future felons of America, like, ever again, yeah, I’d really, really like you to come talk to them.” She said, her voice tinged with disapproval.

  “Aww, Shorty, you know I don’t mean it, I mean, that was us once, right? You know I won’t let you down” He poured on the charm, and could almost feel her melt on her end.

  “Yeah, it was.” Joy sighed again, but Billie had the impression that it wasn’t about him that time. “Billie, I really appreciate this. So I’ll see you Wednesday, about ten a.m.?” the assembly is right before first lunch.” She wrote his name on the daily planner she kept at her desk. The computers were so old and slow she’d given up on using the scheduler there. Besides, it was nice having an excuse to write his name down. It seemed more personal, more intimate to write it by hand.

  “Wednesday, huh?” He griped. “Well, if I have to wait two days, then we’re going to breakfast first.” He cut her off as he heard her start to object. “I know where you live. I’ll see you at eight on Wednesday.” He grinned to himself and the still-glowering Marcus.

  “I’ll see you at seven. I need to be to school by eight.” She chuckled. “Unless that’s too early for you, Mr. Heavyweight champ, man of the world.” He groaned, and she laughed again. Billie finally nodded to his trainer and sighed.

  “I’ll see you in a couple days, Woman.” He dropped his voice low. “I may not be able to wait that long.” He added huskily. She sank further into her chair as her spine melted from the heat that rushed through her body.

  “Well, if you can’t, don’t.” she finally breathed. “I’ll see you later, Billie. Thanks again.” She ended the call and leaned back in her chair with her hands folded over her stomach, swishing her office chair from side to side. She reveled in the memories that poured over her.

  Billie Payne had been her first love. Technically, he’d been her last love too. She knew better than to trust the men who were always coming around. Billie had been different. He was honest, and kind and artistic and gentle. Now she had a chance to see if, inside the man he had become, was still the boy he once was.

  Billie stared at the phone in his hand for a second, then handed it to the gym bunny standing next to him, waiting for him to finish. She leaned up and kissed him, pressing up against him and trying to put his hands on her body. She tried to deepen the kiss, but Billie pulled away, irritated. He looked at the half-naked woman glaring at him and shook his head. Marcus growled something out behind him, and he pushed the girl away. She pouted and slunk off. Billie turned to his trainer.

  “What is it Marcus?” Billie complained. “I can’t take a call now?” Billie began rotating his shoulders to loosen them up. “When will my wins be enough to cut me some slack?” he continued to stretch his arms and back muscles while he and Marcus walked toward the manager’s office.

  “I don’t like this, Billie.” Marcus warned his young protégé. “You’ve turned a blind eye to Slade’s gambling bullshit so long, it’s a part of your working relationship.” Billie glanced over at his trainer, confused.

  “What do you mean, old man?” Billie snorted. “Everybody bets on fights. It’s no big deal as long as no one gets caught. Besides, you know it increases the turnout to the fights, it’s just part of the sport.” Billie felt himself getting angry. “Why are you making this a thing, you know that’s how it goes.” They paused at the top of the stairs in front of the office.

  “Billie, you can’t keep pretending that every win you’ve had, you felt you won on the square.” The older man grabbed Billie’s shoulder and shook him. “What do you think you’re being called in for, huh? You think he’s gonna give you an attaboy, good job, here’s a raise?” Marcus pushed Billie back. “Don’t be stupid, kid. Your ticket’s been drawn. He’s gonna bet against you soon, and you’re going to have to take the fall.” Marcus stepped back from Billie and stood looking at the ground with his hands on his hips. “Nobody wins all the fights, Billie. It’s already in the papers that guys have been throwing matches in your favor. You gotta wake up.” Billie clenched his fists, enraged with the idea that his fighting record was in doubt.

  “I’m not throwing any fights.” Billie snarled. “I won’t. If J.J. Slade, or anyone else, doesn’t have the faith in me to hang onto their money, that’s their problem. I’m unstoppable, and I won’t let any asshole with a wallet change that.” Billie clenched and unclenched his fists as he tried to calm down. He knew that Slade had goons who he’d send to “convince” Billie to cooperate. He’d heard stories at other gyms about how the game really worked. He’d never believed it would happen to him.

  “Look, Billie,” Marcus enjoined him, “He got greedy, and didn’t trust you for the wins. Now he has to prove you’re not invincible, to counter the rumors that you’re being handed all your fights.” He spread his hands in surrender. “Billie, you let this happen, you might have to take the fall now.”

  Billie shook his head. All his life, he’d struggled not to be weak, not to be pushed around and bullied and kicked down. He wasn’t about to let that pasty-faced, bad-suit-wearing, steroid junky make him just another little bitch. He wiped a hand across his face and rolled his shoulders, hearing his joints crackle from all the abuse they’d taken in recent months. He looked at Marcus and nodded that he understood, then walked over to the office door and knocked. Marcus watched, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, as his friend and student disappeared through the door.

  3.

  Tuesday night, Joy ran herself a bath after a long, long day at work. Two suspensions, an open investigation into a cheating ring, and Caleb hadn’t been to school all week. From the bruises she’d seen when she caught a glimpse of him through the apartment window, he might not be back all week. His foster father was a big man, and Joy doubted very much if he was a “time-out” kind of parent. She immersed herself in the hot bubbly water and tried to relax.

  Without a closer look at Caleb, Joy couldn’t be sure enough of what she’d seen to go to the Department of Child Safety. But, she knew went on behind closed doors. She’d seen it so many times. Her own mother and father had intervened to save kids more times than she could remember.

  Still, she thought as she reached out for the glass of wine perched on the shelf next to the old claw bathtub, she’d done what she could for today, and tomorrow, she’d try again. She had let Caleb’s foster father know about the assembly and how important it was to her that Caleb make it to school if her could. He’d slammed the door in her face, but that was par for the course in his neighborhood. She wondered if he would’ve been nicer if she’d shown up with beer. The thought made her snicker, and she inhaled wine. She was still coughing and choking when her phone began it’s chirping from the edge of the sink where she’d left it.

  “H-h-hello?” She finally managed to sputter, turning her head away from the phone to avoid hacking into the mic.

  “Hey, Sugar, did I catch you in the middle of something?” Billie’s concerned voice did nothing to allay the feeling that she was exposed, as she stood there naked and dripping bubbles onto her bathmat.

  “No, a little wine went down the wrong tube.” Joy started to shiver. She tiptoed over to the bathtub and climbed in as carefully and quietly as she could, and slid down the side into the frothy heat.

  “I wanted to take you out tonight, but something stupid came up.” Billie fairly snarled into the phone. He looked down at his bandaged hand. Something had come up all right. Or rather, something was going down.

  “You okay?” Joy asked him. The silence on his end of the line was heavy and thick.

  “I had a bad day.” Billie replied. He didn’t know how to tell her he’d been cornered and ordered to throw his next fight. J.J. had told him, from a position of safety behind three big bodyguards, that it was his turn. Billie had put his fist through a closed locker and broken a couple of fingers. “I broke a finger yesterday, so now my next fight’s been postponed.” Joy thought he sounded more like his be
st friend had died, than just a fight postponed.

  “Why don’t you come over?” She suggested. “I just opened this bottle of wine, and it sounds like you could use a little company.” She glanced over at the clock. It was just before eight. “I haven’t eaten yet, so I could throw something together, if you’d like.” She added, shyly. She wasn’t sure what was possessing her now, but she felt equal parts hopeful and terrified that he’d agree. Billie looked around his quiet, stark apartment.

  “You know what?” He asked, sliding the phone between his jaw and shoulder to free up his functional hand. “That sounds amazing. I’ll pick up another bottle, you know, just in case we need it. I’ll see you in 30 minutes.” Billie slipped the keys into a front pocket of his jeans, hung up the phone, and juggled it from his bandaged hand to his back pocket.

  He checked the cupboards in his kitchen, and sure enough, there was an unopened bottle of wine, courtesy of the pretty reporter who had “interviewed” him, in the living room, the bedroom, the shower, and possibly a few other locations he’d forgotten. When the article had come out, Billie had wondered where she’d actually gotten all her information from.

  “Good times.” He said to himself as he nestled the bottle under his left arm. He checked himself in the mirror. The bruises on his face were hardly noticeable now, and aside from the hand, he figured he passed muster. He winked at his reflection and left for Joy’s place.

  Joy stared at the phone for a few seconds when it went dark and silent in her hand. He’d hung up without saying goodbye. He’d hung up and he was on his way over, her inner voice gently prodded her. He was on his way over and her hair was a mess, she wasn’t wearing makeup, and frankly, she didn’t think there was any food in the house. She tossed the phone onto the soft robe she had laid out and tugged the rubber stopper out of the tub drain, sighing to herself as the bubbles chased the hot water down the drain in a fragrant whirlpool.

  She wrapped herself up in the soft warm robe and padded out to her kitchen. She grew more apprehensive with every cupboard she checked. The sparse contents of the fridge did nothing to improve her mood. In resignation, she opened the overstuffed drawer that held all her takeout menus. She tried to remember what 14-yr-old Billie had liked. She closed her eyes and grabbed a menu at random.

  “Indian it is,” She said to herself. She couldn’t remember ever seeing Billie eat Indian food, but shrugged her shoulders and decided to give it a shot. “Worst case scenario, I stick it in the fridge for later and we order something else, right?” She said out loud to no one.

  She ordered enough food for six people and, with a worried glance at the time, rushed into her room to get dressed and tame her curly hair into a somewhat manageable mess. Knowing he’d be expecting her to be casual, she opted for a pair of yoga pants and a simple fitted, scoop-necked t-shirt. She did a turn in the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. It was all right, if she did say so herself. She did one last check of the ponytail she’d pulled her hair back into, grabbed her wallet from her bedroom, and went to refill her wine glass before her guest and her food arrived.

  Billie rode up the elevator feeling jittery with anticipation. His hand throbbed. The pain was beginning to cloud his thoughts. Still, just thinking about Joy made him able to turn the volume down a little on the pain and focus. He felt his body react to the thought of her and immediately regretted his focus. He mentally shook himself. She was just another woman. A beautiful one, to be sure. Brainier than the girls he was used to lately. And she cared. She cared about her kids, she cared about his well-being. That was harder to find in his circle of friends. The elevator doors opened and a short guy in a visor, who smelled strongly of curry, stepped to one side to let him out. Billie licked his lips and adjusted his clothes one last time and knocked on the door. He saw the light behind the peephole go dark for a split second before the locks clacked and Joy swung the door open, ushering him inside. He let her take the wine from him and help him slide his light jacket off over the thick bandages wrapped around his right hand.

  “Do you want to talk about how that happened?” Joy queried, as she plied the bottle opener to the cork and deftly pulled it out. She set the wine aside to breathe and pulled two plates out of the cupboard. Billie sat in a tall barstool and watched her plate fragrant Indian yellow curry and naan bread for each of them.

  “I don’t really think we need to open with my stupidity.” Billie groused, cradling the offending appendage in the crook of his left arm. “Let’s just leave it at, ‘turning a blind eye never did anyone any good’.” Joy glanced up at him, then added some vegetables to the plates and slid one in front of him. She poured wine for them both, and leaned against the counter, standing to eat.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here now.” She said, pulling the soft naan bread apart and scooping some of the curried meat onto a chunk. She neatly tucked the chicken and bread into her mouth and watched him struggle to do the same with only his left hand.

  “Hold on,” she chuckled, “Let me help.” She reached over the marble countertop and pulled a small corner off the bread and dipped it in the curry-sauce, then slid it between his parted lips. “Is that better?” She murmured, pulling another piece off the bread.

  “I’m not really sure.” Billie answered honestly. “For a second I forgot what came next.” He licked his lips. “You should try again.” Joy smiled at him and scooped up a little food on some bread and placed it gently in his mouth.

  “Are you going to be okay?” She asked, motioning towards his injury before taking a bite of her own food.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “I guess I really don’t know.” He replied. He had a faraway look in his eyes, and Joy could tell he wasn’t talking about his hurt hand. He had the appearance of a man at a crossroads, where no path ahead of him looked promising, but he had an inevitable choice to make. Joy fed him another piece of food as he watched her, then another. She met his eyes, and it looked like he was laughing at her.

  “What, if you don’t want my help…” She said, irritated.

  “I was just going to ask for fork, but Indian food really should be eaten with your fingers.” He smiled at her, a grin that made his eyes laugh along too and dimpled his cheeks. Joy glared at him and handed him a fork. “Oh now, don’t be like that.” He complained. “I like you feeding me.” Joy shook her head and picked at her own food, taking long sips of wine between bites. They ate the rest of their meal in silence, watching each other over the counter top as they enjoyed the silence together.

  After they were finished, Joy moved the bottle of wine to the coffee table and sat on the overstuffed white sofa. Billie sat on the opposite end and smiled at her when she pulled her feet up and tucked them under her. She was the same as she had always been, young and lithe and graceful, completely unself-conscious and unaware how lovely she really was. Billie reached for the bottle of wine to top off his glass, and Joy jumped up to fill it for him. As she set the bottle back down, he grabbed her arm and pulled her closer to him.

  “Remember how we used to curl up on the bed to listen to music?” He asked her, tucking her into his side and carefully resting his hurt hand on her shoulder.

  “I remember.” Joy answered, trying to keep her voice casual, even though her heart was racing. “I remember that even though we weren’t doing anything, my father always thought we were up to no good.” She looked up at him, his face irresistibly close. He looked down into her face, caramel skin framing, and large, innocent brown eyes. She wasn’t wearing makeup, her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her skin was soft and the air stirred with a delicate floral scent when she moved. He looked down at her and every other woman disappeared from mind and memory.

  Joy looked down at her hands, lying closed in her lap. Billie lifted her chin and brushed his lips across hers. She gasped, and he deepened the kiss into her open mouth, exploring with his lips and tongue. She turned to face him and he shifted her onto his lap so she was straddling him. He slid hi
s hand behind her neck and pulled her in tight, savoring the wine on her tongue as she responded to his kisses with increasing intensity. He braced against her with his bandaged right hand, and slid his left hand down her throat, resting his palm just over her breast. Joy pulled back and stared at him for a long, silent moment.

  He moved his hand away from her body, preparing to be shut down. Instead, she pulled the t-shirt off over her head, and placed his hand on the swell of her breast. He moved his hand off of her hot skin and slid it around her back, lifting her and gently kissing the bare skin above her bra over and over until he heard her strangled pleas for more.

  “Oh honey,” Billie panted, “I have to stop. I can’t do this. It’s not right.” He rested his forehead on her bare skin and felt her heart pound against him. “I’m in a bad way right now, with you, I need to be all the way here, okay?” He smiled at her. “You’re not a one-off kind of girl, Shorty.” Joy’s face brightened from dismay to sweet happiness.

  “You just trying to get out with your other limbs intact, Payne?” She asked him, looking at him through narrowed eyes. Billie shook his head and pulled her down onto his lap hard.

  “Does it feel like I’m looking to get away at all?” He snorted at her, grinding her against him. She slid off his lap and sat right next to him with her legs across his. She pulled his right arm off the back of the sofa and sat with it in her lap, gently stroking her fingers over the bandages and splints.

  “Is this part of what’s going wrong with you?” She asked him, not meeting his eyes, just looking at his hand cradled in hers.

  “I got myself into a bad situation.” Billie answered, watching her cautiously. “I ignored bad shit that was happening, because I figured if I wasn’t doing it, it wasn’t my problem.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I know that’s not what you want to hear from me, and it’s not what you would’ve done. Not what your dad would’ve done.” He continued. “I told you I wasn’t a hero.” He waited for a second, but Joy just sat there quietly, waiting for him to keep talking. “I have to throw a fight for Slade.” Billie finally choked out the words. “Not all my wins were clean. I pretended that when those guys went down, it was because they were weak, not because someone told them too. I wanted the wins so bad I didn’t say anything.” Billie felt his throat get tight, and he struggled to breathe normally. Joy lifted his hand up a little and bent forward to kiss it gently. She placed the bandaged appendage against her cheek and looked him in the eyes.