by Savannah May
Table of Contents
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
STEELE
Also by Savannah May
Bolt
Savannah May
BeeYoo LLC
Copyright © 2017 by Savannah May
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
STEELE
Also by Savannah May
1
Bolt
The road comes to an abrupt end at a line of scrubby windswept bushes. I pull the bike over to one side, always mindful of protecting my baby. She’s always good to me. I unsaddle, stretching out my limbs after many hours pointing straight on the highway without a stop.
I shake myself out and wander back a block to the motel sitting on the side of the road like a tombstone.
‘End of the Road’, it’s called, although the yellow neon ‘R’ is blown out and no longer flashes.
After the freedom of the endless vista I need something to anchor me back on this planet, in what is strangely known as the ‘real world’. Is this what people call real? I must be living in an altered state.
After checking in at the motel stuck somewhere back in the 1960s I’d say, with a proprietress from that decade too, I head down the town’s only street to a saloon. Yeah it’s a saloon, not a bar, and I feel like I just returned from the Okay Corral when I walk through the swing doors in my cowboy boots and everyone turns to look at the stranger.
I’m sure I’m imagining things, the hostility, the questioning. I can do that at times. Imagine attitudes that aren’t there. It’s one of the reasons I keep life simple by going solo.
“Where you coming from?” the bartender asks, just passing the time.
“Nowhere really,” I mutter.
With a second cold one in front of me, I pull out my phone and scroll mindlessly through my notices.
The bartender, a squirelly old guy with a mustache that looks like a slug has settled on his upper lip, gives me a strange look. I’m no teenager, not by a long ways.
“My mom’s birthday,” I say by way of explanation, embarrassed to be checking my social media. It’s okay to lie in a bar, even expected.
“Humph,” he shrugs like it’s all the same to him. Still he looks at me oddly and I realize the other patrons are staring at their glasses, not their screens. I truly am stuck back in another century in this town.
‘No credit’, a large old sign over the bar informs me. And someone has added in black pen, in bigger letters, ‘No wi-fi’.
Shit.
I can’t imagine anyone in here owning something as high tech as a cellphone. A song comes on the juke, a country song that inspires some guy down the bar to leap up off his stool. He bursts into a jig on the spot while the song plays. As soon as it ends, he sits back down and returns to his pose staring at this beer, as though he’d never moved.
“Where am I?” I ask the barback as he wipes his clean glasses morosely. “What’s the closest big city around here?”
“Don’t that thing tell you that?” he grumbles, eyeing the phone like the feds might be watching.
“Probably would if I knew how to work it.”
“That was a good model,” some dude who sat down on a stool two over says, staring straight ahead. “In 2002.”
“I don’t care about that latest model trendy shit,” I growl, taking out my irritation on the guy whose entire face is buried behind a red bush that hangs almost to his belly. I guess grooming is out of style here too. Although who am I to talk?
I never do much of that at the best of times. Talking.
“I only got the stupid thing for one reason.”
To be a stalker.
“I just wanna see my girl.” What the hell am I saying? She’s not mine. Not yet.
“Shit.”
I slam the thing down on the bar top in frustration. All the credit I applied last time I was in a real town is already used up. How does that even happen when I haven’t used it? Technology is screwed up. I pick the winking device up again. I need to see her. It’s like the tug of addiction curling at my insides.
“Mind if I take a look?”
“I ran out of credit is all,” I snap at the stranger beside me.
“Seemed important, whatever you were looking at.”
The guy has already picked up my phone and is tapping out a bunch of commands with his surprisingly swift stubby fingers.
“Yep, there you go,” he says as the screen comes back alive.
“How the hell did you get online when there’s no internet for miles?”
“Kind of a hobby of mine,” he grins and taps the side of his nose like we’re sharing a secret.
Maybe he’s one of those hackers living off-grid. Anonymous.
“I can see why you were pissed at losing her,” he smirks.
I snatch my phone out of his hand. I’m grateful for the fix but that doesn’t mean he gets to ogle my girl.
I scroll up and there she is. My heart does a leaping kind of thing and my jeans tighten when I see the smiling girl on the little screen again. She’s on the ground, hugging a fluffy white dog and looking up at the camera shyly. I can’t quite see her mouth. The mouth I had thoughts of covering over with mine last time I saw her. This woman I met in a bar not that much different from the one I’m currently sitting in gave me the strangest sense of security.
Like meeting her was like coming home, like I’d known her for a very long time.
It was ridiculous but I couldn't shake it off. The more she talked and looked up at me from beneath a fringe of lashes, with those huge eyes, the more I wanted to crush her to me. I couldn't take my gaze off her soft lips, at least I was sure they’d be soft if I could suck them between my own, bite down on that full flesh and make her clutch at my waist. Or grind her finger tips into my biceps. I can’t get another look at those lips while the triangle dart is blocking them. I touch the screen to make it go away and the girl starts moving.
“Fuck,” I breathe, in amazement that she’s right there. Moving. So alive I could touch her.
The bartenders harsh stare shifts back t
o me.
“Video,” I say. “Right here in my hand.”
Again he shrugs, as though he doesn’t care to keep up with the modern world.
I return to the image on screen. Of the girl dancing around with the white dog, laughing in delight as the pup licks her cheek and she clasps it to her.
There she is, in another post – she’s holding up a gift, wrapped with a huge bow in silver and white.
‘Someone’s getting married’ the post reads mysteriously.
My stomach lurches soon as I see that. She can’t possibly be, can she? I scroll back up through older posts, wondering whether I’ve been out of the loop long enough to have missed something.
“If I had a girl like that, I wouldn't be sitting alone in a dump like this. Where is she?”
“I wish I knew,” I half snarl, half groan.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Mooning over a girl who in fact is not mine. Not even close. And now she’s about to get married. Taking her further away from me, permanently.
Red Beard holds out his palm with a grin and I reluctantly drop the device into it. I have no clue what he’s up to but it takes less than a minute of ferocious stabbing at the keyboard.
“Dragoon,” he announces, triumph filling his bearish voice. “Oh, Arizona, that’s a ways off.”
“Dragoon?” I bark. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah, you from out West too?”
“No, are you?” I growl and he stops with the questions.
I finish up the beer and walk out with the merest grump of a goodbye. I grab my stuff from the motel room and head out without even resting. Then I decide I ought to shower at least because who knows how long it will be before I get another chance.
One more check on her timeline. Another post. A huge pink gift. The tag line says: ’Three days and counting ‘til the big W.’
I slam the phone down on the bureau and head to shower off the dust that’s ingrained in my pores. The woman’s face will never allow me to push her delectable features from my mind and I end up with my back lining the tile, my solid bolt of steel in my palm, as I think of her in the way I’ve thought of her every day since I met her. Here with me, her thighs wrapping me as I lift her up to lower down my length.
A minor panic sets in and my heart starts to race, realizing I may have missed out on her gradual announcements regarding her engagement. It would be my own fault for disappearing for such a stretch, addicted to the untethered life on the open road.
It’s been six months since I saw her and she hasn’t posted anything about a guy she’s seeing. She’s hardly posted about a date, let alone a man she’s agreed to spend her life with.
I yank my hand away from my rigid shaft and flip off the faucet. Three days.
I just have time to get to Dragoon if I leave now.
I don't know what the fuck I’m doing – I just know I need to speak to her before she gives her life and love and that body to someone else.
2
Bella
Finally I have to admit it to Scherri.
I’ve been stringing her along for months, my own sister, and now it’s time to own up.
“Who are you bringing to the wedding?” is the first question she asks every time she calls, this time no different.
“I think I’ll go solo on this one,” I say as breezily as I can manage.
“Oh, you’re not bringing, what was his name? Logan – the guy you mentioned last time we talked?
“Nooo,” I draw the word out, trying to think of an excuse that won’t sound lame or like a lie. Which it is.
“Is everything okay?” Scherri asks and I can hear the pitying tone in her voice.
I don’t need sympathy, I just need a date. How can it be this difficult for a girl in her twenties, in the second biggest city in the country, good job, good enough body, slightly better face. How can it be this difficult to find one man willing to escort you to your sister’s wedding?
“We didn’t work out that’s all,” At least that's not a lie of the bald-faced kind. Hell, it could even pose as truth.
“Sorry Sweetie. that’s too bad because you know Mom. She’s told everyone in the family that you’re bringing your fiancé.”
“What? How did I suddenly get engaged? That’s news to me.”
“You know how she has to make everything waaaay bigger than it is. And I don’t think I’m paranoid in saying that she wanted to diminish me as the center of attention as much as she could.”
“It’s me she’s belittling here,” I snap. “Then it’s settled and I’m definitely not bringing anyone.”
“Except all the aunties will be so disappointed, Dottie especially. She says it’s the last time she’ll have the chance to see her girls married. I think since gran died, she feels her time is approaching.”
“Dottie will be around longer than all of us,” I say, thinking of the tiny lady who was always my favorite.
The most raucous of the sisters, she loves a good party and had a hysterical foul mouth that sent our mother ballistic, acting all horrified.
“Wait ‘til you see her,” Scherri says sadly. “She looks the same but her mind plays strange tricks, like her memory is off. All she can talk about is her two girls getting married to giant defenders, like Steele and your Logan are Vikings.”
Scherri giggles but I can tell she’s covering up her disappointment. I know she had ideas of the four of us hanging out together in the lead up to the wedding. It won’t be the same with only me there, a third wheel upsetting the balance with her and Steele.
I want to say I won’t go at all, The humiliation my mother will probably splatter on me at every opportunity is not a thrilling proposition. But I’d never let my sister down and I’m really looking forward to seeing her marry her childhood sweetheart at long last. It’s comforting to see how much he adores every step she takes on this earth. Even if she makes a mistake, he’s by her side supporting her through it, letting her know he loves even her wrongs.
I want that too.
I’ve given so much to my job and going on useless dates I knew were going nowhere but assuming I had all the time in the world. Now it’s run out. The end of my road as a vibrant single girl seems to have appeared like I turned a sudden corner and ran into it without seeing the horizon looming.
“Can you believe the price to rent wineglasses?”
Scherri is chattering away about the plans she’s making a reality.
“I bought three boxes of mason jars and labeled each with the name of the guest. They look so cute all lined up on the lace covered table. Once all the flower bouquets are done, it’s going to be amazing. And I have lights strung through all the trees by the lake and old frames hanging from branches. People are supposed to bring a photo of me and Steele to put in them.”
“You’re a DIY diva,” I laugh, her happiness infectious.
“If you can get here earlier than Friday night that would be amazing,” she says, running out of breath in her excitement. “And don’t forget the cream.”
“Right. I’ll do my best.”
“The cake came today, you wait til you see it.”
“I can’t wait...”
“It’s three tall tiers, pale blue color and hand painted all over with big pink flowers and hummingbirds. I fell in love with those little birds when we stopped the Airstream in a town close to Baton Rouge and they flew around our door constantly. I have no idea why they came.”
“Good luck. Or they could feel the love inside.”
It brings a tear to my eye, knowing it’s true and also wishing those little birds would pass my way.
“It will happen for you too,” Scherri says, always aware of my feelings whereas I tend to be more self-focused if I’m honest.
“I love you, Scherri,” I tell her.
It’s pretty amazing that despite how we were set against each other as competitors growing up, we’ve managed to come through that and support each other more than ever.
�
��I love you too, Belle. See you Friday?”
“If not before.”
“Please try. I need help managing the aunties. They won’t stop pawing at Steele. Dottie seems to believe he’s some British soldier she knew in the 1940s and keeps calling him Arthur.”
“Wasn’t Dottie a journalist in that war? She told me once she knew Hemingway.”
“It’s hard to know now what’s true and what’s in her mind’s fantasies. It’s sad. I wish I’d paid more attention to her when I was growing up. Now all her stories are lost.”
That reminds me that I’m going to be facing endless questions about my love life or lack thereof all weekend. Along with the constant jabs from my mother who will no doubt switch her preference back to Scherri, while trying to steal some of the bridal limelight for herself.
Oh well, I have no intention of allowing family dynamics to intrude on my enjoyment of the big day. I’m going to let any barbs my mother tries to tangle me in simply slip away without snagging.
“Is Steeley wearing his uniform?”
I know as soon as it leaves my lips I’ve asked a dumbass question. I want to slap myself for being so thoughtless. Sometimes those kinds of queries or comments pop out of your mouth as though your own brain cells are bent on betraying you.
“No,” Scherri says very softly. “He’s matching my style. I’ve gone boho so I’m dressing him in a simple country look so he’ll be comfortable. No uniforms.”
“Of course,” I whisper. “sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Scherri says, lifting her voice back to a cheery tone. “He doesn't make a big deal out of it but I know sometimes he’s thinking about everything they went through back then.”
