Caitlin And The Cowboy (Western Night Series 4)

by Rosie Harper

  “Mhmn,” Shay said waiting for further explanation.

  “Can I come in for a second?” Layla asked.

  “I’m busy,” Shay snapped.

  “Surely we can go out for lunch or something, grab a coffee or cocktails maybe— talk about girl things? It’ll be fun,” she smiled.

  Shay stepped back inside but as she started shutting the door Layla caught her.

  “At least take my card,” she said nervously, “you can call whenever you’re…. not busy— I guess,” she said with her eyes towards the ground. Shay didn’t know if she was trying to make her feel bad for giving her the cold shoulder or if she genuinely felt some kind of way about being treated the way that Shay was treated her. Either way she didn’t care.

  Some kind of nerve she had popping up like that especially when she tried to act funny the other day. Shay was still angry about it. She didn’t like playing cat and mouse that just wasn’t her sort of thing so even when she liked or trusted someone she didn’t take to such things easily. It still angered her. She was still upset with things and all of this shit was happening at once. She had too much to worry about all of a sudden. Dom would have to take the edge off of things so she ordered him to do rounds and collect the money.

  She thought about having Tasty go and bail him out. No one knew her real name except for her and Snow, but she had been around the block one too many times. She would just send someone else to bail him out. They had the money but what was going to happen when he went on trial? She trusted him but at the same time if it came down to saving his own ass Eric would probably throw everyone else under the bus.

  He knew not to contact her or anyone else— it suddenly dawned on her that if they seized his cell phone they would have just about everyone’s contact information. She started thinking about what would happen and if it came down to it what she would have to do to protect the rest of RDS. As the leader it was her duty to make sure nothing happened to anyone. It was probably too late for Eric but she still had to worry about just about everyone else.

  She sent out emergency messages telling the soldiers to lay low and to fulfill the last of their deliveries but to not take up any new offers. She couldn’t fathom so many people being punished because of the lifestyle she let them become a part of. She didn’t want that to happen to them.

  She thought about Layla. Now would be the perfect time for a friend but she still couldn’t get over the shade that the persnickety bitch tried to throw at her the other day. She would just have to rely on the people that she had for now even though she wasn’t exactly on a friend basis with anyone. One could surmise that it would just be her and the maid for now and for the next coming weeks.

  The phone rang— Eric was calling from the city jail. Shay became infuriated. What kind of idiot would do such a thing? She knew it and as much as she hated to admit it, Henriquez was right. He’s fucking stupid if he thinks that the feds wouldn’t be storming her house and questioning her as if she had done harm to someone. It made her sick to the stomach that he actually called their home phone. She ripped the phones out of the wall and threw them in a bag. She prayed that they wouldn’t come but if they did she would be prepared.

  As the royals, left Henriquez stayed behind. He was quiet, he didn’t say anything. Snow had to be on the lookout. There was a rat somewhere in the squad and now more than ever Shay wasn’t sure who she could trust and what she would be able to get away with doing. How was she supposed to keep the squad happy if she couldn’t allow them to do the things that made them money in the first place? She loved them all but the last thing she would do is reach into her own damn bank account to appease them. The fate of Red Diamond Squad was up in the air. All she could do now is sit back and wait.

  THE END

  BONUS BOOK 5

  Falling For A Billionaire

  African American Romance

  By: Violet Hill

  Falling For A Billionaire

  Chapter One

  The Bombardier Global 6000 was lining up with Runway 6L at the Los Angeles International Airport. The company plane was a new purchase which had raised some murmurs from various company officials, but those outcries had been taken care of. The jet’s intercom buzzed and a call was received.

  “Mrs Chege- er- sorry, Mrs. Scott, we’ll be landing in five minutes…”

  Silence.

  Mark Seildon, could feel the coldness in the silence on his end of the phone, and regretted the error. He knew he was in trouble.

  Without a flinch, "Mrs. Scott" returned the phone to its stand. Just like the few officials, Mark would be dealt with for the stupid remark. Janelle Scott or as how she was being called in her social circles, Janelle Chege, was in too gleeful mood to let the captain’s chide dampen her. The massive deal by Scott Industries with Clampett Oil and Gas Corp would propel her international conglomerate into the prospective and lucrative oil foray.

  Clutching the brown envelope, she could not help but feel a sweeping euphoria of victory overwhelm her. Her company would be on the front pages again. No. Their company. Was Chege ready for this? There was only one way to find out. The mention of his name sent jitters to her body.

  A warm sensation rocked between her thighs. She knew the feeling. A deep longing for the father of their child. Coupled with love; that she had to admit. Who would have known? Love was a phenomena not many people had mastered. It took time to understand love.

  It blew her away, that a simple arrangement with a commoner could lead to spine twisting spasms in her body. She was amongst the most powerful women in the world. Forbes had ranked her side by side Queen Elizabeth II. If she announced the marriage, it would create a fury. The media would have a feast and her enemies would have countless of orgasms. She was a Scott. She would go on with the arrangements and come out head held high; it was love conquering all.

  A small turbulent rocked the opulent plane. She dismissed it as a normal occurrence. How many times had she experienced severe of storms; too many to count. Looking outside, the sunny outline of LA came into view. The rocking now continued. Then the plane swayed to the right before banking to the left; this was not normal. Alarm bells began to sound in her head. In that instant, all the wonderful memories since childhood flooded her eyes.

  Then came the meeting with the haggard looking, yet charming, black Adonis who would completely change her life. The agreement. The wonderful piston like movements in bed. The birth of her daughter; she was going to lose all that.

  Not Martin Chege and her daughter Megan.

  It can’t be.

  She was going to propose to him.

  She had to pour out her true feelings to him

  It was then that she became sane again and regained her awareness.

  She screamed, “I love you!” but it only came a second too late.

  The cabin was filled with hellish fire that were reaching out to consume her. It was broken by the crackle of flames starting to lick at the undercarriage of the plane.

  Back at the control tower, Paul Ebsen, watched in horror as the jet spiraled out of control and plunged nose down just feet away from the landing lights. The runway had been so near but the small plane had not been able to reach it. Paul's thoughts were preoccupied.

  “It was only just a hundred feet. A few more where the British Airways had …...”

  His train of thought cut short by the horrific realisation of the error he had made. A fatal error. He had guided the plane to the wrong runway, landing it ninety seconds apart from a massive 747 that was now heading to the terminal after using the same runway. The small Bombardier had been caught in the wake of jumbo jet, leading it to spiral out of control.

  Chapter Two

  Martin Chege was coming out of the bedroom, a robe hiding his nudity. The beautiful Latino maid hired to take care of Megan was cuddled to the massive king size bed. She was obviously spent after spending the entire evening with Martin. Dreamily, she could only describe him as a black god. Martin was striki
ngly handsome, with black, unruly hair, dark eyes, an athletic build, and a warm smile. Not to mention, he was a great fuck. He joined her in blissful ecstasy. He would thrust in her like a deranged bull seeking to impale its horn to its matador. In unison they would shudder to a mind-bending orgasm; him calling her name, and her his.

  Today was different.

  First, during foreplay, he had appeared distraught; tormented to be precise.

  During their short lived lovemaking, he called out for Janelle. Furthermore, he had not emptied the seeds of his loins in her. Then he charged out frustrated. Something was not right. She had tried everything that most Kamasutra books had taught her to do but his male part could not come hard easily.

  Martin sat on the Ivory Haute House Duncan Sectional Sofa that had a special tufted leather sewn on the outside. The blasting air conditioning system was not doing enough to reprieve his tormented soul. Even the soft warm naked body of Esmeralda could not diminish the ache he had of seeing Janelle. He was regrettably sorry for being unfaithful to her. But had he been unfaithful? Were they even a thing?

  It had all been a lie. Just a mere arrangement.

  She gets the baby and, me the money.

  Nothing else to it.

  But why him. He was a mere African who had received citizenship rights in America. Kenya was his home.

  "Yes, was. I am now an American. A human being with purpose," he reminded himself.

  The nudging feeling could not be evaded. He had arranged to call her and pour his heart out.

  If she refuses, well we are back to the streets, of course.

  What if she agrees? No, her ego wouldn’t let her. She owns the world and me? Nothing!

  The feeling wouldn’t leave him. Finally he had to agree; it was love.

  The more he sat there, the more the feeling bothered him. Feeling exasperated, he decided to switch on the 42 inch TV. The instant he saw the news feed on ABC7 made all colour on his face fade. There on an insert, beside David Kohn, the news anchor, was a live feed of a smouldering wreckage. A salvageable piece of the tail bore the bright green emblem of Scott Industry.

  “So what is the condition of Scott’s President and CEO, Larry?” David was asking the reporter on the ground. Flashing police and fire fighting truck lights filled the scene.

  “As we already know, doctors have said that there is no hope of her surviving. She was taken into surgery at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, where doctors are battling to keep her alive. As for the rest of the crew on the company plane, none survived."

  Martin did not hear the rest. He began to sway, staring at the television set stupidly. Concentration was failing and a dizzy spell was beginning to emerge. He began to pant, gasping for air. He clutched his heart and toppled over in his chair, his face twisted to one side in a horrible contortion.

  *****

  Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center was in a flurry of activity. The staff had been alerted by radiophone. A female nurse running alongside the gurney while a second male nurse stood, waiting on the ramp. The patient was transferred from the gurney to the operating table.

  He was a beautiful black young man. His face was contorted in a lifeless manner. It wasn’t difficult to tell that he was way handsome. It would be a pity if they lost him. The robes he wore showed affluent splendour.

  “Who’s the doctor on call?”

  “Dr. Mauricio.”

  “Get him immediately. He has a chance to live if you hurry.”

  Chapter Three

  The Boeing 767 was the latest and second largest passenger plane after the jumbo jet. It was a second pride for Boeing after the 747. The South African Airways from OR Tambo International airport was making its way to Terminal 4 at the John F. Kennedy International Airport. Aboard it was probably one of the largest number of immigrants into America from Africa in a single plane; pauline was no exception. Clutching her hands, she made her way to the exit. She had meagre possessions her small back pack, but a great hope of her new future; a new place she could call home. Her husband was at the Nyayo Torture Chambers. President Moi, a tyrant, was out to prosecute and torture all he believed were out to get him and his presidential power. The August 1982 coup, eleven years earlier, had really shaken the powerful ruler. He had become a tormented soul. Every person was out to get him and he could not trust anyone. He had made a cabinet reshuffle countless of time. Being a Kalenjin, he had used the once powerful Kikuyu Attorney General, Charles Njonjo to get the seat of power after the death of Kenyatta. Now Njonjo was the enemy. The mouse that was planning to put a bell on him. He would persecute anybody he deemed a traitor to his 100 year rule by KANU.

  Pauline’s husband was an activist and a journalist working for Kenya Television Network, a rogue news channel that was under the radar of the government for spreading malicious tales about Mzee Moi’s leadership. Despite having a young wife from the village with whom she had bore him a beautiful son named Martin. That evening when her husband had been picked by the Black Maria, he had only given her one order. As the policed shoved him to the ground and roughed him up, he gave a single command,

  “Fr. Kaiser….” And with that he was gone.

  That night as the darkness creeped in, she took the only valuable she knew. Her son, the passport that had always been ready some spare clothes and some cash. She quickly got onto the old Peugeot that had seen better days. Quickly shifting gears she went to her sister’s home to spend the night where she would strategies’ on her trip towards Uganda and meet with the Catholic priest and help her.

  The following morning she ditched her car and went to an agent where she hired a Toyota Corolla. She kissed her sister and with eyes brimming with tears and Martin next to him, she bade her goodbye.

  “Take care and good luck, dada,” Monica pleaded

  “Don’t you worry about me, dada? I was born lucky and will stay lucky. Remember, I laugh in the face of danger.”

  Had not their parent said so? She had indeed been a tall in the faces of many dangers throughout her life.

  At the Kenyan – Ugandan border the cars waiting to get into Uganda were advancing slowly in a long line. Many political dissidents were fleeing the country and seeking refuge in both Uganda and Tanzania. Those lucky went too far off countries such as England and France. As Pauline moved closer to the immigration stall, her whole body begun twitching nervously. By now they would have known that her husband had handed her the seditious documents and would be looking for her at all exit points. If they caught her, she shuddered at the thought, she knew she would receive a life sentence if they were lenient; the Firing Squad would be their alternative. That is not to forget the days she would spend under the torture chambers.

  She inched closer to the border patrol officers knowing too well that her fate and that of her son lay there with the two stocky built personnel. Suddenly, a Black Maria speedily pulled up at the stall and a commissioner full with the Kenyan armed forces regalia stepped out handed over what seemed a photograph and left. It was her photo.

  She had reached the immigration officer.

  “Passpoti tafadhali madam.”

  Pauline handed him the blue passports from the small space of her car window. As he took it, he glanced at her. From the corner of her eyes, she saw a puzzled look come into his eyes. He looked at the passport then to her eyes and back again, this time more carefully. Pauline felt her body tense.

  “You’re Pauline Wanjiru Chege,” he said.

  Her hand clenched the steering wheel till her ebony fingers darkened. Her foot stood expectantly, poised above the gas pedal. If things turned to the worst she would step on the accelerator, fury her way into freedom. One look at her son, saw the innocent looks of a three year old and returned the glare to the officer.

  “No!” she cried. The blood drained from her face. She looked for another way to escape. There was none. And suddenly to her, to her disbelief, the guide was smiling. He leaned towards her and whispered,

  “Your husband is a c
lose friend. We support his course. You may pass through. Reach Fr. Kaiser in Kampala. He is waiting for you. He has orders to see you safely to South Africa. Good luck.”

  Pauline felt dizzy with relief.

  “Asante.”

  She stomped on the gas and drove the remaining forty meters towards the Ugandan border. Her drive onwards was with no incident. She was with a sigh of relief, full of hope for the future, hers and her son.

  Looking back she could not help but feel relieved as she walked to the taxi stands. It had been a long journey. First the disguises used to gain entry into apartheid South Africa then the entry into New York City with fake immigration papers. The falsified documents had been from a former military officer who had served in organizing the coup to dethrone Moi.

  Chapter Four

  Martin Chege was walking towards the posh executive offices of Luculenus Talent and Modelling Agency. The elegant and magnificent building was emblazoned on 1420 5th Avenue. The agency occupied three floors on the Bank Center building that towered over the Seattle skyline. The coming to Seattle seemed like a dumb idea.

  “Well, if they accept me, great. If not, then back to the small home. To the small old same old.”

  What was home? The dilapidated apartment building that was an excuse of a home at Sugar Hill, Manhattan. A well-known black’s community. To the same battered routine of living hand to mouth. To the excuse of a job at McDonalds. Life was hard enough. Even at the Borough of Manhattan Community College, where he was enrolled to do his economics degree. He had to cycle for close to quarter to an hour over nine miles. Where he had to pass through Hudson River Greenway.

  As he looked at the imposing sixty-two steel and glass structure. He felt defeated. Life had defeated him. His mother was at that moment working for a rich architect. The arrogant fool was always paying his mother peanuts.