by Mary Monroe
Also by Mary Monroe
The God Series
God Don’t Like Ugly
God Still Don’t Like Ugly
God Don’t Play
God Ain’t Blind
God Ain’t Through Yet
God Don’t Make No Mistakes
Mama Ruby Series
Mama Ruby
The Upper Room
Lost Daughters
Gonna Lay Down My Burdens
Red Light Wives
In Sheep’s Clothing
Deliver Me From Evil
She Had It Coming
The Company We Keep
Family of Lies
“Nightmare in Paradise” in Borrow Trouble
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
Bad Blood
MARY MONROE
KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue - Rachel
Chapter 1 - Seth
Chapter 2 - Rachel
Chapter 3 - Seth
Chapter 4 - Seth
Chapter 5 - Rachel
Chapter 6 - Seth
Chapter 7 - Rachel
Chapter 8 - Rachel
Chapter 9 - Seth
Chapter 10 - Seth
Chapter 11 - Rachel
Chapter 12 - Rachel
Chapter 13 - Seth
Chapter 14 - Seth
Chapter 15 - Rachel
Chapter 16 - Rachel
Chapter 17 - Seth
Chapter 18 - Rachel
Chapter 19 - Rachel
Chapter 20 - Seth
Chapter 21 - Rachel
Chapter 22 - Rachel
Chapter 23 - Seth
Chapter 24 - Rachel
Chapter 25 - Rachel
Chapter 26 - Seth
Chapter 27 - Seth
Chapter 28 - Seth
Chapter 29 - Rachel
Chapter 30 - Rachel
Chapter 31 - Rachel
Chapter 32 - Seth
Chapter 33 - Seth
Chapter 34 - Rachel
Chapter 35 - Seth
Chapter 36 - Seth
Chapter 37 - Rachel
Chapter 38 - Rachel
Chapter 39 - Seth
Chapter 40 - Rachel
Chapter 41 - Seth
Chapter 42 - Rachel
Chapter 43 - Seth
Chapter 44 - Rachel
Chapter 45 - Rachel
Chapter 46 - Seth
Chapter 47 - Rachel
Chapter 48 - Seth
Chapter 49 - Rachel
Chapter 50 - Rachel
Chapter 51 - Seth
Chapter 52 - Rachel
Chapter 53 - Seth
Chapter 54 - Rachel
Chapter 55 - Seth
Chapter 56 - Rachel
Chapter 57 - Seth
Chapter 58 - Rachel
Chapter 59 - Seth
Chapter 60 - Rachel
Chapter 61 - Seth
Chapter 62 - Rachel
Chapter 63 - Seth
Chapter 64 - Rachel
Chapter 65 - Seth
Chapter 66 - Rachel
Epilogue - Seth
BAD BLOOD
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
Copyright Page
This book is dedicated to my beloved aunt, Mattie Whigham, and my awesome “big sister,” Alice Curry.
Acknowledgments
I am so blessed to be a member of the Kensington Books family. Selena James is an awesome editor and a great friend. Thank you, Selena! Thanks to Steven Zacharius, Karen Auerbach, Leslie Irish-Underwood, the wonderful crew in the sales department, and everyone else at Kensington for working so hard for me.
Thanks to Lauretta Pierce for maintaining my Web site and sharing so many wonderful stories with me.
Thanks to the fabulous book clubs, the bookstores, my readers, and the magazine and radio interviewers for supporting me for so many years.
I never thought I’d be celebrating the release of my seventeenth book, especially when so many people predicted I’d be a one-book wonder. (The same ones ask for a free book each time I release a new one.... Ha-ha.)
I have one of the best literary agents on the planet, Andrew Stuart. Thank you, Andrew. Without you I would still be answering phones and running out to get coffee for my bosses at the utility company, instead of writing full-time.
Please continue to e-mail me at [email protected], and visit my Web site at www.Marymonroe.org and my Facebook page.
All the best,
Mary Monroe
June 2015
Prologue
Rachel
EVEN WHEN I WAS A TEENAGER, I WAS ATTRACTED TO TWO TYPES of men: the bad boys, whom my mother warned me about, and the Goody Two-shoes type, whom she found acceptable and hoped I would settle down with. I knew that if I ever brought a thug home, I’d never hear the end of it, so marrying one was out of the question. Despite my fairly rigid Christian upbringing, I planned to have as much fun with them on the down low as I could until an “acceptable” guy came along.
As for myself, I was a combination of a good girl trying to be bad and a bad girl trying to be good. I had decided early in life that it would be to my advantage to be a little of both, as long as I kept things in the proper perspective and behaved in an acceptable manner. I had a few problems with my temper in elementary and middle school. But by the time I got to high school, everybody who knew me stayed out of my way. I avoided trouble as much as I could, but there were times when trouble found me, anyway. Most of it was petty and was quickly forgotten by everyone involved. Despite the fact that I had a quick temper and was easily provoked, I was in the church and people wanted to be my friend, because they knew that I was loyal and sincere and could always be counted on in a time of need. Most of the people in my life liked me and treated me with respect. They knew that I could be their best friend, but I could also turn on a dime and be their worst enemy.
Life was still good to me, and I appreciated every day. I had it going on, and I was going to make sure I kept it going on as long as I could. I was a party girl who liked to drink, socialize, and make love—not always in that order. I was also practical and focused on self-improvement. I was willing to work hard to get the things I desired. I wanted what every other woman I knew wanted: security, a nice home, loyal friends, and a good-looking, intelligent, successful husband who would give me good-looking, intelligent, successful children. I didn’t think I was asking for too much, but I knew that getting what I wanted was not going to be easy. I was an optimist, and I tried to look on the bright side of everything in every situation. But I was also a realist. I knew that there’d be times when things didn’t go the way I wanted, no matter how hard I’d worked. I truly believed that most people eventually got what they deserved.
I didn’t have a lot to work with as far as education and money were concerned, but I had the support of my family in most of my endeavors. Unfortunately, my family didn’t want me to relocate from our small, sleepy country town in Alabama to the bustling Bay Area in California. But once I got a notion in me to do something, nobody could stop me, not even Mama.
“Girl, you ain’t never even been out of the state of Alabama before. Why in the world would you want to move to a wild place like California?”
I looked my mother in the eye that Sunday afternoon, right after we’d spent three hours in church, and told her, “Because I want to.” Despite Mama’s ongoing protests and colorful descriptions of California—a “jungle” and “a Babylon” were my favorites—shortly after h
igh school I packed up and took off, anyway.
It took a while and a lot of hard work for me to see some success, but the move turned out to be one of the smartest things I’d ever done. I continued my education, landed a dream job, and made some wonderful “big sister” friends, who eagerly took me under their wing, so to speak. With their guidance and support, I was able to experience a fun-filled life—temporarily losing my way a few times, though—continue to grow, and even exceed some of my own expectations.
After I had spent only a few years of living the California lifestyle, everything seemed to be going the way I’d hoped it would—and my family became very supportive. Once I had established myself and had secured my future, the folks back home sat back and waited and prayed for me to get married. I wanted to get married, but I wanted it to happen at the right time and with the right man.
Despite California being the land of plenty, when it came to relationships, finding a good man was not easy. There were a lot of men in my life, though. Unfortunately, most of them were usually the type I wouldn’t even consider a future with, so they came and went. The ones I did want a future with didn’t want a future with me for a variety of reasons. One thought I was too independent. He even told me to my face that he needed a wife who would always let him make the decisions in the relationship. Another one told me he would never marry a woman like me, because I was too much of a challenge. He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask him to. One man whom I cared about a lot more than any of the others told me on our first, and last, date that he hated kids and that to make sure he never had any, he had already scheduled a vasectomy. The one after him bragged about the six children he had by six different women, children with whom he didn’t spend time and to whom he provided financial support only when he “felt like it.”
Even with the numerous obstacles I encountered, I still managed to enjoy a lot of fun-filled nights of passion along the way. But I realized that a woman like me could get only so much mileage out of “fun” and that I’d surpassed that limit many times over. I was still in my twenties by then, with a long life ahead of me, but I wanted to be young enough to enjoy an active life with the children I couldn’t wait to give birth to. The time had come for me to settle down with the right man and start my real future.
Seth Garrett, the “acceptable” man—according to my standards, as well as those of my hard-to-please mother—came along right on time. My family could not have been happier, and neither could I. . . .
Chapter 1
Seth
March 2000 . . .
OUR FLIGHT FROM CALIFORNIA’S BAY AREA TO MOBILE, ALABAMA, landed a little after 11:00 a.m. Even though it was springtime, the heat was sweltering. Rachel and I started sweating right away as we made our way to the baggage claim area, dodging some of the most aggressive flies and gnats I’d ever encountered. I didn’t know what to expect next.
Rachel had told me that Coffeeville, Alabama, where she was born and raised, was a one-horse, hick town about an hour’s drive from the airport. But because I loved Rachel and couldn’t wait to meet her family and marry her, I had agreed to accompany her to a place where I already felt like an alien.
We picked up our rental car and stopped for lunch at an all-you-can-eat buffet a short drive from the airport. We stuffed ourselves with some of our favorites: collard greens, mac and cheese, corn bread, and yams.
After our feast, we waddled back to our rental car and headed for the freeway. It led us to the tree-lined, gravel-and-tar route that would take us all the way to our destination. For the first twenty minutes, all we saw were four-legged creatures darting across the road and shabbily dressed folks riding bareback on mules, dragging themselves along on tractors, and piled up in old trucks.
“Damn, baby. How could such a sophisticated sister like you have come from such humble beginnings?” I joked. I had to swerve to avoid hitting a deer that had jumped out of nowhere. “Shit!” I hollered.
“Let me drive. I’m used to these roads,” Rachel insisted, chuckling.
“Woman, you sit back and relax! I’ve got everything under control,” I said, speaking louder than I meant to.
“All right then. Let me know if you change your mind.” A few minutes later Rachel leaned back in her seat and dozed off.
I admired the scenery and listened to a country-western radio station for a while. It didn’t take long for me to get tired of all that caterwauling. I turned off the radio and concentrated on the road for the next fifteen or so miles. When Rachel woke up about twenty minutes later, she sat up and rubbed her eyes.
“We’re almost there,” she said with a yawn.
“Huh?” We were now deep into a semirural area. We had just passed a tipsy shack that had a mule wagon in the front yard. “Your family lives near here?”
“Right around the bend,” Rachel said proudly. “Baby, you’re going to love it down here. You’re going to see what the simple life is really all about. Everything down here is so different from things in California. Especially my family . . .”
“This is not what I expected,” I admitted. I suddenly got nervous and concerned. Was Rachel not the woman I thought she was, after all? I had fallen in love with an intelligent, sophisticated woman with long black hair, big brown eyes, and cinnamon-brown skin to die for. She was just as beautiful on the inside. She was warm, generous, and caring—everything I wanted in a woman. What about her family? Just how “simple” were they? What if she was the only rose in a garden of thorns? I couldn’t imagine my family accepting a bunch of illiterate, backwoods, barefoot in-laws who were still living in the dark ages. My marrying into such a family would kill Mother!
Rachel directed me to pull up and stop in the driveway of a small, green-shingled house with a neat little front lawn and a gray glider on the wraparound porch. My mouth dropped open when a stout woman in a shabby housedress, who looked like a middle-aged version of Rachel, shot out the front door in her ashy bare feet like the house was on fire. I quickly closed my mouth as I parked the car and turned off the motor. Rachel and I piled out at the same time. Birds were circling above, and more flies and gnats were buzzing around our heads, so I moved with caution. I didn’t know what to expect now, but nothing would have surprised me. I had to ask myself, What have I gotten myself into? With my lips pressed tightly together and my jaw twitching, I took a few steps and stepped into a puddle of brown slime.
“Rachel! My baby’s come home!” the woman yelled. She ran off the porch and gave Rachel a bear hug. “Oh, honey, it’s so good to have you home again! And just look at you—thin as a rail!”
“Mama, this is Seth Garrett,” Rachel said, introducing me as she pulled me toward her by my hand.
Mrs. McNeal shaded her beady eyes and looked at me for a few moments, smiling her approval. Then she wrapped her arms around me and gave me such an aggressive hug, my chest felt like she had sat on it. “My goodness, what a good-looking young man! Just look at you! Your hair is all nice and neat, and you have bright eyes and skin as smooth as brown silk.” She reared back and looked me up and down. I was surprised when she slid her hand up the side of my arm. “You just as strapping as them guys on the TV. Ain’t no flab on you or nothing!”
“I’m so pleased to finally meet you, Mrs. McNeal,” I managed to say when she released me. “Rachel’s told me so much about you, I feel like I know you already.” That was a big, fat lie. The sweet, charming Southern woman I had pictured in my mind since I’d proposed to Rachel was not the ignorant-sounding, countrified frump standing in front of me now.
“I hope she didn’t tell you too much, son. The Lord’s still working on me, so don’t be surprised if I ain’t what you expect.” Mrs. McNeal looked from Rachel to me and back. “Y’all, don’t just stand here, looking like lost sheep. Get on in the house before them mosquitoes get wind of y’all!”
I retrieved our two suitcases from the backseat of the car, and Mrs. McNeal led us into the house. She held on to Rachel’s hand so tightly, you wo
uld have thought that she was afraid Rachel was going to run off into the bushes by the side of the house.
The house looked shabby on the outside, but everything inside was neat and orderly. The living room had dark oak furniture and a brown crushed-velvet couch with a matching love seat, and beige draperies covered every window. Colorful area rugs covered most of the linoleum floor; crocheted doilies were on the end tables and the coffee table. One wall contained pictures from top to bottom of Rachel and her family and a large gaudy velvet illustration of Jesus hugging a child. Even though I had never been to this location before in my life, it was so cozy and homey, I immediately felt so comfortable, I didn’t want to leave and return to the madness of California. But that feeling didn’t last long.
“Where is everybody?” Rachel asked, looking around.
Before her mother could respond, a tall, good-looking dude in his twenties, with Hershey Bar–colored skin, tight black eyes, and fluffy black hair, slunk into the living room. He could not have looked more countrified if he tried. He was barefoot, too, and he wore a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves missing and blue overalls.
“Ernest!” Rachel hollered. She ran up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Baby,” she continued, turning to me, “this is my brother.” Ernest looked like he was in a trance. There was absolutely no expression whatsoever on his face.
I set our luggage down and reached out to shake the brother’s hand. To my surprise, he just stood there, staring straight ahead. He didn’t shake my hand or even acknowledge me.
“Uh, Ernest, this is your future brother-in-law,” Mrs. McNeal said in a nervous tone of voice.
Ernest blinked in my direction. Then he shrugged and eased over to the couch and plopped down. He began to look at me with contempt, and that certainly made me uneasy.
“He’s a little on the quiet side,” Mrs. McNeal explained, giving Ernest a dry look, which he ignored.
