Alayna lunged at Quintin, snatching him back off Dixie. Whitney kicked him in the balls so hard even I flinched. Whitney clutched Dixie by the hair and used her face as a punching bag. If I recall, some of the wedding party had to aid Dixie out of the church. I didn’t care--I was totally humiliated, but what Alayna and Whitney did let me know that I still had two of the best friends a girl could ever ask for.
So, after my non-wedding gave my hometown the Story of the Century, I packed up all my belongings, and six months later, here I am in High Springs about to turn down the driveway of my new home. Well, it’s not my house yet. I’m renting it for a while, although Beth, my real estate agent, said the owner, Mr. Stokes or something like that, would be agreeable to sale if the bid was right. He is supposed to stop by in a few days to meet me in person, and Beth said he’s a really nice guy. I’m glad he left the key under the potted plant by the door for me. I already know I want to buy this house. I fell in love at the first picture. For some reason, when I spotted this house I had a deja vu moment, and it felt as if this house was built for me. Crazy as it may seem, just the pictures of the house bathed me and soothed my heart, so naturally I had to have it.
As I drive down the dirt drive, I see it’s lined with huge mossy oak trees on each side, the tops of the trees forming a canopy. Gosh, it’s similar to something out of Gone with the Wind, and even nicer than the pictures that Beth showed me. Once I reach the end of the drive I gasp as the yard opens up to an old white farm house trimmed in black with massive oaks and pecan trees surrounding it. I’m so going to make pecan pie. I love old dwellings and granddaddy oak trees—I’m in heaven here. Even if it requires some work, hopefully I can do it myself, once the sale goes through. How hard can it be? I’ve got my good buddy Google. Hopefully anything I can’t do, I’ll be able to make an arrangement with the owner, one where he can fix it or have it fixed and maybe add it into the sale of the house, or something in that order. Hmmm…this could work.
Have mercy, this place is pure charm! Exactly what I’ve always wanted. There is a massive claw foot tub in the master bath. After working all day on my feet, that tub will be beckoning me. The kitchen has only been minimally updated and I was told everything still works impeccably. Someone really loved this house to have taken such excellent care of it. For the first time since the morning of my non-wedding, I’m practically fizzing with excitement.
As I continue to unload my car, I say a silent thank you to the good Lord above that my eight-hour trip went smoothly and the movers beat me here and placed all my furniture inside. Once I get settled in, I’ve allowed myself a few months’ time to find a job. I’ve always been a saver, and since my dad threatened to tear Quintin into little bitty pieces if he didn’t give me back every single penny of the honeymoon I’d already paid for, I have a nice financial cushion to tide me over. My shoulders finally start relaxing for the first time in I don’t even remember when and it’s fab-u-lous.
Unloaded and grimy, I sit down on the porch steps and call Dad so he knows I made it here safely. I can tell by his voice that he’s all gloomy that I’ve left. Bless his heart. He’s raised me single-handedly since the day I was born, even when my mom was around. Mom couldn’t be bothered by anything other than booze. I recall back when I was seven: Mom had thrown up in her bedroom and all over the bathroom floor. Dad was still at work, which is when she needed her “medicine” the most.. I can still hear her slurring words, “If I didn’t have you, then I wouldn’t need this medicine. You make me sick, Indie. Now go clean that mess up. It’s your fault, so you have to clean it up. Make yourself useful, you little brat.” Dad came home earlier that day to find me scrubbing vomit out of the carpet while Mom was drunk off her butt, cursing and yelling at me from her bed. They had a huge fight, and the next day when I woke up, she was gone. From that moment on, I was Dad’s life. He never, not one time in twenty - six years brought home a woman for me to meet. He would tell me that being my daddy was all he needed, but I understood he was lonely for a woman’s companionship. I love him so much—he’s still my hero. Sometimes, I wonder if he still loves my mom and that’s the reason why he truly never moved on, which makes me hate her even more.
My stomach growls, luring me from my thoughts, so I decide to head out to the grocery. I’ve no desire to go anywhere after being trapped in the car for so long, but a woman has to eat and I do love to eat. I even have the Buddha belly to prove it. It’s times like these I wish I could just say, “Honey, will you run to the store for me?” There’s no chance of that happening. It’s not like Quintin would’ve ever done me any favors anyway. If it wasn’t something he could order online, then he couldn’t be bothered. At least I don’t have to buy as much since it’s just little ole me. Sometimes I wonder—besides my dad, are there even any good men out there? Probably not. I’d rather go get my own groceries than bark for some cheating sicko. That thought makes me grin.
Arriving at the store, I begin gathering enough groceries to last a few days at best. I plan on coming back later when I’ve compiled a big ole list of it all. Plus, I would like a few coupons to go with my long list! As I turn the corner heading to the cashier, I’m tallying everything in my cart, not paying attention when bam! I crash into someone else’s buggy. Crap!
Picking up my purse off the floor, I gasp and reach out toward whoever I hit. “Oh my goodness, I’m sorry! This is totally my fault. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. Did I hurt you? Are you okay?”
My eyes were on the stranger’s feet, shod in big brown cowboy boots. My eyes follow the line up his body, I notice how solid and well defined it is. It appears he works out daily. He has on nice tight old worn out jeans and a red tight t-shirt that hugs his muscled chest and arms. Have mercy, he looks a lot like Channing Tatum. Except hotter. Which is hotter than freaking hot.
I may have given up men, but I imagine I would sit up in my grave and take notice if this man walked by. This man would make a nun say Hail Mary’s for the rest of her freakin’ life at the naughty thoughts of what this man and his hotter – than - sin body, not to mention his big strong hands, could do to a woman. You know what they say about a man’s hands? - For crying out loud, Indie, get your mind out of the gutter! I internally chastise myself.
When my head tips completely back, I’m lost in the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. Lordy, I was right--he could be Channing Tatum’s better looking twin. Of course, now my chatty apology is gone and I’m a speechless idiot. This gorgeous man tips his worn out cowboy hat and gives me a panty-dropping smile with a wink. Have mercy, I can’t breathe.
“No need to apologize. - Angel, are you okay there? You appear a little faint.” He steps toward me as if he is ready to catch me if I fall back. There’s a small voice in my head that says fall or faint, you dim-wit! Do something! Make this man hold you! If I had my senses about me, I would have laughed at my own thoughts, but clearly, my senses have left the building and been replaced with nothing but naughty thoughts.
Dizziness engulfs me as I notice sweat build across my forehead and the back of my legs. I glance up and nod my head, but all I can manage is to whisper, “Uhhhh, umm, yes I’m fine, umm just need to eat, I’ve had a busy day.” I give a little giggle while swiping back some hair that has come loose from my messy ponytail. He tilts his head to the side like he’s trying to figure me out. Well, good luck with that, buddy. I can’t figure out what’s going on with me right now either.
“You need to eat before you drive again.” Something about the way he orders me to eat has me battling with myself to either do as he says or ask him who the hell he thinks he is? His voice has a deep low slow southern drawl that makes my sex clench. I have to get away from him. Right now.
Choosing to ignore his orders, this time I manage to actually speak. “Again, I’m really sorry. Hope you have a nice day, sir.” I could tell he was watching as I retreated as quickly as possible, going in the wrong dang direction, which just figures. I’m literally tingling. So n
ow, I have to turn around and walk by him again in order to get to the checkout line. He even chuckles as I walk by him. He watched my whole awkward turn around that I tried to do so nonchalantly. Crap! I did not look at him though no matter how much I wanted to. I held my head up high and walk right by him, just like those together, prissy women. I mentally high five myself. Score. Well, sort of.
Chapter Two
Gunner
It’s been one long day. Wylie, Emmitt, and I ran into one problem after the other. Just as I was getting into my truck to head over to meet my new renter from North Carolina, Emmitt stopped and informed me, ‘Hey, we we’re out of milk, bread, and completely out of toilet paper.’ The little shit. I was planning to welcome Miss Hughes to town and make sure she found the key and had my number if she needed anything or if something happened with the house. I hate not meeting her on her first day here because I won’t have time later these next few weeks with my schedule jam packed with shit to do.
The agent who I did paper work with implied that Miss Hughes was a sweet older woman. I can imagine some sweet old spinster. That’s great for me, since then she’s too old to do any major damage to the house and that means she won’t mind me being around or at least I hope not because I will be whether she approves or not. Well After I get some of my other shit done. I bought that house a few months ago when Mrs. Mitchell died, she was a sweet lady, Cindy was nothing like her. That bitch raised hell when I bought her grandmother’s house. Wasn’t like Cindy could buy it. The only thing she wanted was her next score of heroin. Damn, I’m glad to be rid of her.
Mrs. Mitchell and her husband did a remarkable job keeping the house in mostly its original state from the eighteen hundreds. I don’t think they would have wanted Cindy to have it anyway, she would have destroyed it.
I on the hand have been planning on flipping it, or renting it but before I do, there are some minor repairs that need to be done. I won’t sell a damn thing with my name on it that’s not at the very least close to perfection. I love to work on homes from that era. The realtor implied that the renter may be interested in buying. Man, that would be a win-win for us both.
Getting in the truck, I go the other direction and head to the damn store. I’m going to kick Emmitt’s ass. We all have a deal, whoever finishes whatever off has to replace it. However, it seems like it’s always me or Wylie doing the replacing. Emmitt is such a spoiled brat.
After gathering all the things I came for, I head to the checkout only to literally be crashed into by the sweetest, hottest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. She was Southern, but not from around here—I could hear it in the accent, even though her voice was soft and a little raspy. Tiny little thing, maybe five feet all together, but curvy and soft. I almost laughed because she looked down to get her purse and along the way back up, she looked me over from boots to hat—I don’t even think she realized she did it, but I got one look at those big brown eyes and didn’t want to laugh and hurt her feelings. She apologized for running into me about five times, but I was just wondering if the curls at the ends of her long hair were as soft as they looked.
She wasn’t tan like too many of the women around here, all leathery looking—no, she was all warm, creamy ivory. She is wearing worn old jeans and clingy, soft green t-shirt that showed a hint of what looked like some really head-spinning cleavage. Damn, she’s sexy without even trying. Completely took me by surprise running into me and then again when she looked up. I think it’s been since high school that I got a hard-on at the grocery store, for heaven’s sake. I knew on sight this wasn’t the type of women you fucked and left and since that’s all I’m willing to give, I decide it best not to flirt…well, not much. I can’t help but flirt a bit with her face all blushing and embarrassed. Too damn cute—I can’t pass up the chance to see how much flirtation she can handle. But no man on earth could’ve helped but grin when she headed off in one direction, did a u-turn and had to walk right back.
I make my way through the checkout, and I realize I’m glancing out the store window, trying to see where she parked. There she is, getting into a newer light blue Toyota Camry. She must not have eaten anything before she left. She should have. And I should’ve given her our business card. Wylie could’ve asked her out, or even Emmitt. With that thought, I get a sinking sensation in my chest. I must be hungry, too.
Once I get back home, my mind replays the beautiful mystery woman who doesn’t listen to reason, hearing her sensual voice in my head while she rattles an apology. I didn’t miss that cute smirk on her face before she quickly hid it. I wonder what she was thinking when she gave me that once-over. What the hell! I need to get laid. I’ve gone to long without a woman under me, that’s what my problem is.
I remind myself of that bitch Cindy and what she did to me and my family. That is definitely enough to make my hardening cock deflate. She lied to me so many times, stared me right in the damn eyes each fucking time too. I can’t stand a damn conning, conniving self-absorbed liar. I despise someone without enough backbone to tell the truth, to own their shit. I mean sure it can be uncomfortable at times. I believe it would be a hell of a lot more uncomfortable getting caught in a lie, but that’s me. Last I heard, she was selling her body for money. When I tried to help her even though I was still royally pissed, she caused a big-ass scene and left. I don’t know if I ever truly loved her, but I did at least care enough to want to help. Now I don’t give two shits what happens to her. After that happened, I decided real quick that all I need are one-night stands, a wife for the night. Since I made that decision, I’ve been one happy man.
I don’t have time for a relationship anyways. We’re all busy with our construction business which doesn’t leave much time for anything else. Trying to derail my thoughts, I stomp over to my iPod dock and slam my IPod in it, pressing play and turning the volume up louder than necessary to drown out the sweet voice I can’t seem to get out of my head and shut off the worrying about if she made it home. That pisses me off because I don’t understand why I even care. She is a stranger, an absentminded hottie who can’t drive a cart at the grocery store. I select my playlist and head in for long hot shower.
Damn, I’m worn-out. Today was brutal on all of us. I lie down on the couch in front of the sixty-inch TV, grateful to have the house to myself for the afternoon. My mind automatically goes to the mystery woman again from the store. Pretty thing, but nice—she really was sorry she bumped me with her buggy and inconvenienced me for two seconds. Scrubbing my hands over my face with an exhausted sigh, I jolt up from the couch, looking for food. Throwing some roast beef on a couple slices of bread, I make myself a glass of sweet tea and drag my tired ass back over to the couch to eat. I should have went to my parents’ house after work. But they would’ve wanted to talk all night and I’m hoping I can get to bed early. Man, I can’t help but laugh--I’m only thirty two. You would think I was seventy, needing an afternoon nap. Oh, well. I’ll make up for it over the weekend. It’s been too long since I’ve went out and got laid, something I plan on rectifying this weekend. That should take care of the mystery woman that has taken up residence in my head. My cock twitches at just the thought of her. I try the TV, try ESPN, try the news, try ten more channels before I realize I’ve no idea what they’re saying. I desperately need to go to bed. With any luck, tomorrow will be a better day.
My eyes fly open at the damn obnoxious death metal music blaring loudly out of my alarm clock. Courtesy of Emmitt, little asshole. He thinks he’s fucking hysterical with his pranking all the time. I hit the switch and knock the damn alarm off the bedside table. I appear to have a life-threatening case of blue balls. I dreamed an extremely graphic dream of the beautiful, sexy mystery woman under me last night—hell, I’ve been dreaming of her for the last two damn weeks. “Shit!” I yell out, not caring if Wylie or Emmitt hear me. Why can’t I get her out of my head? I jerk my clothes from the closet and hurriedly getting dressed so I’m not late to my meeting with the inspector this morning. As I pass E
mmitt’s room, I think about going in and punching him in the gonads for pulling that shit with my alarm clock but I decided I don’t have time. I am just a little fucking ray of sunshine this morning and I’ve only been awake ten minutes.
Wylie and Emmitt arrive within a minute of each other at work.
“We passed inspection. Good thing one of us was up this morning,” I say, and Emmitt gives me a grin that nails his coffin shut. He goes to find some coffee, and I grab Wylie.
“Man, it’s time to feed little brother a shit sandwich. He’s been pranking me every day, and if I wake up to metal music you can hear on the moon one more morning, I’m going to kill him,” I say, and now it’s Wylie’s turn to grin. Wylie’s quiet, but he’s always game to get into trouble. I tell him my idea.
“This will be epic! Emmitt will be scared shitless,” he hoots. “I’ll go get what we need.” Gotta love a man of action.
Melted Iron (Blue Bandits MC Book 3) Page 25
