Slow Burn
Iron Horse Series
Danielle Norman
Copyright © 2018 by Danielle Norman
and F Squared, LLP
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission from either the author and or the above named publisher of this book with the exception for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction.
If you feel that you resemble any part of this story, it is purely coincidental. And depending on which part, the author recommends either standing in line with the other one-billion people that also have the same day to day life experiences, or seeking mental help.
I’d like to dedicate this to all the bad moms especially the one on the airline who allowed their child to take a shit on the plane…ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?
1) Your child is now forever known as the public shitting kid because of you. Those photos and that story will live on forever. That embarrassment will come back to haunt them and they will only have you to blame. For once think about future repercussions on your child’s psyche.
* * *
2) No one and I mean no one should have to see or smell your child’s SHIT. Get your lazy ass up and take them to the restroom just like everyone else. Have some respect.
And finally…
3) Ummmm, I’ll take hygiene for $5,000 Alex.
Your soulmate is the person that mends your broken heart by giving you theirs.
* * *
~Unknown
Table of Contents
Prologue
1. Paris
2. Asher
3. Asher
4. Paris
5. Asher
6. Paris
7. Asher
8. Paris
9. Asher
10. Paris
11. Asher
12. Paris
13. Asher
14. Paris
Epilogue
Playlist
Thank You
Meet Danielle
Lets Socialize
Also by Danielle Norman
Enough
Stetson
Getting Even
Prologue
Twenty years ago . . .
Grabbing Rainbow Dash, my favorite My Little Pony, I tiptoed to my bedroom door to see what was going on. Mommy and Daddy were talking.
“Cora, don’t do this. You can’t. What about the girls?”
“I have to, Samuel. Every day that I stay here, I die a little more inside. I wasn’t meant to be a farming wife. I was made for more.”
“You can’t keep doing this. You run off for a week, and when you run out of money, you come crawling back, begging for forgiveness. I don’t know what happened to you, but you aren’t the same woman I married, the woman who used to be my best friend. That woman wouldn’t walk out on me or her kids.”
“That’s the problem, Samuel, we’ve only ever been friends. I want more. I want passion. I want to be swept off my feet. Friends don’t do that.”
Standing quietly in the shadow of the hallway, I prayed that no one would see me, because, if no one saw me, then this might all be a nightmare. I squeezed my eyes tightly closed and listened as Mommy and Daddy continued to argue. As Daddy asked Mommy to stay for London, for me, for my baby sister Holland. Mommy didn’t care. Nothing would make Mommy stay when she wanted to go.
“Cora, I love you. I always have, but if you leave, you’ll never be able to put us back together again.”
Don’t leave, Mommy, don’t leave. Don’t leave, Mommy, don’t leave.
Over and over, I chanted, not opening my eyes. I was afraid that if I did, she’d be gone, and all my praying would have been for nothing.
Everything went silent. I could hear the bullfrogs croaking outside and an owl hooting, but Mommy and Daddy weren’t arguing anymore. Bringing Rainbow Dash up to my face, I peered through her pastel-colored mane that tickled my nose and found Mommy standing right in front of me. I loved Mommy, and if she left, who’d read me my bedtime stories or make dinner?
Mommy closed her eyes and dropped her handbag and box before bending so we were eye to eye. She wiped away the tears that were still rolling down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Paris. I am so, so sorry.” For the first time that evening, Mommy wasn’t screaming. Maybe she was going to cry too, but she didn't. She placed her hand around the back of my neck and brought my head to hers so our foreheads were pressed together. “Mommy has to go. I know you don’t understand this, but I can’t be happy here. You want Mommy to be happy, don’t you?”
I nodded, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to say yes. Not if it meant Mommy would leave.
“But just because Mommy isn’t here, it doesn’t mean that I don’t love you—”
“And London and Holland too?”
“Yes, that means London and Holland too. You take care of Daddy, okay? I need you to step up and do some of the stuff that I did. Can you do that for me?”
Even though I was only seven, Mommy’s words made me feel bigger. She thought I was big enough to do some of her stuff? “Do you mean like making cookies, Mommy? I can’t do big cooking yet, but I promise I will when I’m grown. Will that make you happy, Mommy?” Hiccupping between my tears, I locked eyes with her, hoping that she’d tell me what I had to do. Mommy had shown me how to pick the weeds out of the garden, so I could already do that. I knew Daddy liked hugs, so I’d hug him lots and lots. I knew that London and Holland liked cookies, so I could do that too.
“Yes, Paris, that will make Mommy very happy.” Mommy smiled, and I liked it when Mommy smiled. Maybe she’d come back tomorrow and smile like that again.
“Okay, Mommy. I can do your stuffs and take care of Daddy and London and Holland.”
Paris
It was bad enough having to tell one of your sisters they had a wedgie—or worse, camel toe—but to actually see said camel toe . . . ummm . . . nah. Giving myself a mental shake, I cleared my mind and mumbled all the crap that people liked to spew. This is natural.
In my twenty-eight years, I’d seen lots of horses and cows being examined when they were giving birth. I should be able to handle my sister, right? Wrong. So, so wrong.
“Don’t push yet,” Meghan, the midwife London hired, instructed. “Paris, why don’t you massage London’s stomach? Right along the waistband area.” I moved to the side and gently kneaded my fingers across her stomach, occasionally catching glimpses of the carnage—or what would soon be carnage, after a baby came out.
“Is this almost over yet?” London whimpered.
“Tell me again why you wanted to have a baby at home?” I looked at her, totally perplexed.
“Actually, you, it’s all your fault. You were the one who convinced me to do this.”
“Me? How did I do that? I never said have a baby at home.”
“No, it was all your talk about being a mom, providing the best for your children. That’s what I’m doing, this is supposed to be the best.”
“Are you nuts? Pain isn’t what’s best. Forcing your sister to act as your doula isn’t what’s best, it’s just cruel and unusual punishment.”
London moaned in pain and panted through another contraction before her eyes cut back to me. “Are you fucking kidding me
? Hell no, if I’m going to be miserable, then all of you can be miserable with me. Where’s Holland? She should be miserable too.”
Our youngest sister had found a way to escape the monstrosity that was the birthing room. “Umm, I think she’s trying to do everyone’s chores around the ranch, since you have us all in here.”
“Oh. Okay, then.”
London’s husband, Braden, along with Holland and myself had spent the last month trying to turn what had once been London’s old room into a nursery suite.
With Braden’s work schedule as a deputy, the chores on the ranch that still had to get done whether there was a baby or not, and the stress once the baby arrived, London and Braden had decided it would be easier if they stayed at the big house, that was what we all called this home. We all referred to theirs as the little house, which was weird, since their house was still almost three thousand square feet.
Originally, I’d been excited by the thought of having my sister back here again, but a twinge in my chest had me questioning my thoughts. Holland ran the stables, and Wally and Jack took care of the cattle. That left me to help take care of the baby when needed.
For the first time ever, I was regretting that. God, I was such an awful person for feeling this way.
“You’re at nine centimeters, London, it won’t be much longer now.” Meghan moved to wash her hands in the en-suite bathroom.
“Nine? Did you say nine? Are you sure it isn’t nine hundred? I’ve been here forever.”
Braden rubbed an ice chip across her temple and behind her ears, which had her closing her eyes in bliss. “God, that feels so fucking good.”
“You probably shouldn’t use the lord’s name and the word fuck in the same sentence.” I giggled.
“Christ on a cracker. Will you shut the holy fuck up? Don’t tell me what I can or cannot say. I’d like to see you in my position. You know what? That’s a great idea. You get over here and do this, I’m done.” London moved to sit up.
“Umm, honey. Stay in bed.”
“I can’t, Braden, I’m tired. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
He shot me a pleading glance, but he was on his own for this one. If she thought she could quit in the ninth hour, more power to her.
“You don’t have a choice, it’s almost over.”
“Listen to me right now, Paris, I don’t care what anyone tells you, all the bullshit about it not hurting, they’ll just stick it in for a second. Yeah, right! And nine months later, you are screaming your head off and shooting a watermelon out your hooha. It is so not worth it—” Whatever else London was going to say was cut off by another contraction. “Ouuuwww.”
Braden fought the urge to laugh, but failed, and when London looked as if she might lunge at him, Meghan stepped in.
“London, you have this.” Meghan’s voice was as calm as the ocean when there were red skies at night.
For hours, this had been the pattern: London would get pissed off, I would try to calm her and help soothe her aching muscles, Braden would say something stupid, and she would yell. I did everything I could think of to make her more comfortable; after all, it was London who’d been in labor for almost eighteen hours.
“What time is it?” London sounded exhausted when she asked that for what had to be the tenth time.
“It’s almost two. Just relax, darling. Our baby will be here soon.” Braden wiped the hair away from London’s brow.
“Relax? You want me to fucking relax when I’m shoving a kid out of my vagina? An area that, I might add, you find, or did find, tight—”
“Okay, London.” I held up my hands and nearly shouted. Witnessing my sister giving birth was one thing, but hearing about her sex life, that was a hard no.
“Mom, are you ready? I think this little one is tired and wants to get out.” Meghan’s voice silenced us. London, who’d seconds ago been ready to snap Braden’s head off, turned into a sweet, caring woman, ready to hold her baby. “You’re fully effaced.” Meghan grinned up at London, then over to Braden. “Dad, let’s keep Mom calm and just focus on bringing this beautiful baby into the world.” Meghan moved the sheet that was splayed across London’s knees. “London, I want you to relax, tell me, what names have you picked out?” Oh, she was good. The woman could deliver a baby, keep a mom from killing the dad, and try to soothe a frantic new mother all at the same time.
“Samuel if it’s a boy, after my dad . . .”
“Okay, push for me, London.”
Braden wrapped one arm around London’s shoulders and hooked his other under one of her knees while I backed away. I couldn’t do this, I couldn’t explain it, but I just couldn’t be here. I didn’t want to see this. Oh my god. The first tear fell down my face, then the second, and the third. I was seconds away from everyone noticing, from pulling attention away from the one person who truly deserved it today.
“I don’t feel so well. I’ll be back.” I rushed from the room and through the house.
Our home was like a giant wagon wheel. The center was where the living room, dining room, and kitchen all joined together in an open floor plan. But from there, hallways that resembled spokes radiated out, giving each of us our own wing, so to speak.
When I hit the living room and Holland was nowhere to be seen, I kept running, out the door, down the front steps, and all the way to the stables. When I was young, I used to run away from home often, well . . . run away all the way to the barn, where my horse was tethered. Feeling like a scared little girl who’d had her feelings hurt, I raced into Ursula’s stall, buried my face into her blonde mane, and inhaled. What was happening to me? I was the one who had wanted to be a mom ever since she was seven, and I couldn’t even watch my sister give birth? I mentally bashed myself for my actions.
Ursula’s gentle snort was all the comfort I needed at that moment. At one time, it would have been my dad’s hand rubbing my back, assuring me that everything would be all right. I could hear him now.
“You take everything so personal, Paris Jean, you’re so much like your mother. London didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
Or he’d pull me against him, giving off that smell of smoke I used to hate, but would have done anything to smell again, and tell me, “You watch your television shows and think all families are perfect, but they aren’t. The only thing that is perfect is that this family is perfect for you, no one else, just you.”
Was I really so much like my mother? What was happening to me? Who was I? I inhaled the earthy scent of hay.
No. I needed to get my shit together, but I wasn’t thinking right. I was jealous, that was all. Just normal jealousy. Straightening myself, I wiped my face and tried to analyze what I was feeling, but it didn’t work, no matter what I tried. The truth was, I wanted to shout at my sister, scream, ask her why, why her? Why did she get the happily ever after? Why did she get the husband, the baby, the house that was all hers to decorate?
This life was not for me, I wasn’t meant to be around people who were happy, because it seemed as if I was destined to be alone for the rest of my life. I was going to grow into a bitter woman . . . just like my mom.
“Paris!”
I flung myself through the stall door then out the stables and back up to the house. Taking the porch steps two at a time, I swung open the front door and hightailed it down the corridor to London’s room.
The moment I stepped into the room, a part of my heart cracked, solidifying my feelings. Yup, I was a horrid person. I was full of jealousy. This had been my dream. The husband, the baby, the family. It took my breath away. I was happy for her, truly I was, but I was also envious.
“Come see your niece.” I walked toward my sister and her daughter. “Paris, I’d like you to meet Tera Kelly McManus. Tera, this is your aunty Paris.”
“Hello, little one. You have no clue, but you are going to be one spoiled little girl.” Tera was truly adorable, with her tiny tuft of dark hair. She had Braden’s hair, not our reddish blonde. At least she would match h
er dad. It could be worse—like Asher, who seemed to have the same hair color as his Golden Retriever.
“How much does she weigh?”
Meghan answered, reading the statistics off a chart. “Miss Tera arrived at four thirty-two, she was twenty inches long, and weighed seven pounds ten ounces. Her skin is rosy, and from everything that I can see, she is absolutely perfect.”
“Yes, she is,” I murmured as I stared down at the baby before smiling and looking to my sister as she gazed down at her newborn. “Happy Mother’s Day.”
“Oh my god, I totally forgot, little one. Today is my first Mother’s Day, and that’s all because of you. You are the best Mother’s Day present ever,” London cooed to Tera. “Oh, my little Tera, I’m going to be the very best mom in the world. You’ll never wonder where I am, or if I’m coming home to you.” London’s words pierced me, because she was describing our own mother. And having watched London these past nine months, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was right, she’d be nothing like Cora Kelly.
But me? I wasn’t so sure. I was so determined not to be like her that maybe I overlooked the fact that I truly was more like her than I’d realized. Cora had always been so jealous of what everyone else had. My memories of her were few, but the ones I had seemed like they were just yesterday.
Emotions ripped through me as I remembered one scene perfectly. “Hi, Mommy.” I waved as I jumped out of my friend Cara’s car when they’d dropped me off after a sleepover. “Isn’t their car nice? Cara’s daddy surprised her mommy with it. It was an versary present.”
Slow Burn: Iron Horse Series Page 1
