As a recipient of stolen funds she fully knew were stolen, Dahlia had been named in the lawsuit.
And she might try to escape but Nina didn’t let any shit slide. She wasn’t getting away.
And she’d be going down, too.
In other words, Nina Maxwell did as asked. It hadn’t happened yet but when all was said and done, Xavier Cinders would be broken, homeless, cleaned out, an ex-con, and lucky if he landed in an unsafe studio apartment. And she’d one-upped this by making moves to bury Dahlia Cinders, too.
Absolutely worth every cent of their monthly payments to Nina’s firm, the balance of which would be easily paid off when Zara got what she was entitled to. And Wilona and Zander wouldn’t have to worry as Nina was acting on their behalf as well and half of the money to be won would be put in trust for Zander but accessible by Zara in order to help Wilona keep him and educate him.
By all reports, even if he hadn’t seen the woman, Amy Cinders was a mess.
That wasn’t his problem nor was it his wife’s. Reece knew Zara struggled with it but he also knew she always found her way and she would with this.
Amy had not reached out. Amy had made her choice. And Amy had to live with that choice. If she someday reached out, that would yet again be something his woman would have to struggle with. But if that happened, she’d find her way with that, too.
“It’ll get sorted,” Reece responded to Cotton’s remark and Cotton grunted his agreement, then verbalized it.
“Nina pulls no punches.”
“Nope,” Reece agreed.
“Spitfire,” Cotton noted about Nina.
“Yep,” Reece agreed.
“Keeps Max on his toes,” Cotton noted.
Reece’s eyes went to Max, who had a toddler attached to his hip and was smiling at something Mick Shaughnessy said. But not unusually, even listening to Mick, Reece watched as Max’s eyes slid to his wife and his smile stayed firmly in place.
“And he loves every fuckin’ second,” Reece murmured.
“That’s the truth,” Cotton replied.
They both watched Zara break away from Nina, Wilona, and Mindy and move toward the DJ.
“’Spect she’s up to somethin’,” Cotton remarked as Zara smiled at the DJ and the DJ nodded his head.
“Probably,” Reece said.
“Then I best say this fast, seein’ as I don’t got a lot of time.”
Reece tipped his eyes down to the man and said nothing.
“Didn’t know about you,” Cotton stated. “Warned your girl to be careful. See I shouldn’t have bothered. Her Daddy may be a snake, but all the poison he injected in her didn’t make her blind and in pain like it did her sister. Always knew that, good kid who grew up to a good woman, loving, hard-workin’, kind. So I shouldn’t have worried.”
It didn’t make Reece happy the man had warned his girl about him but seeing as she’d slid a band on his finger that day and he’d done the same with her, he let that slide and simply replied, “No, you shouldn’t have.”
Cotton nodded, then declared, “So now, I’m just gonna say, I’m still gonna watch, keep my eye on you. See, this life, the way it goes, usually you get the better then you get the worse. But for you two, you got the worse and now you get the better. And, I gotta admit, I’m sure gonna enjoy watchin’ that.”
Before Reece could respond, over the microphone the DJ asked, “Could I ask Graham Reece to join his wife on the dance floor?”
“Fuck,” Reece muttered and Cotton grinned.
“A groom’s lot, havin’ his bride make a spectacle of him durin’ their big day. You’ve had it easy. You just got the spectacle at the church and this one to get through.”
“Thought I’d get away without this shit,” Reece replied.
“None of us do, boy. But she gets somethin’ outta it. No clue what, but she does so it’s worth it.”
Unfortunately, it was.
“Yo! Bruiser!” Zara, standing alone on the dance floor, hands on her hips and smiling, shouted his way.
“Go,” Cotton whispered. “Walk to your wife, leavin’ behind the worse, and meetin’ the better on that dance floor.”
Reece held his eyes.
Then he jerked up his chin and moved to his wife, leaving the worse behind and joining the better on the dance floor.
* * *
Zara
Thirty seconds later…
The piano intro to The Zac Brown Band’s “Colder Weather” began as Ham pulled me into his arms.
“I just had to,” I whispered in his ear as my arms slid around his shoulders. “It says it all. But, just to say, I sure am glad you got out of colder weather.”
Ham made no reply. He just held me close and started swaying. Maybe he was listening to the words (at least I hoped so). Maybe he was just putting up with me.
As our friends and family looked on, I stood in my wedding gown, swayed in my husband’s arms, and I knew Ham was listening to the words and not just putting up with me when his arms got super-tight and his cheek slid down and pressed to mine.
My eyes unseeing on the ceiling, everything that was me focused on my man’s big bearness engulfing me. Dominating me. Making me feel safe as the song flowed around us, his warmth beating into me, his cheek pressed to the softness of mine. I reveled in the feeling of being where Ham promised me I’d be and knowing my man was no longer stuck in colder weather.
Cookie, pay attention. I’m gonna give you everything.
That was what Ham had promised.
And, since that day, and even before, that was what Ham delivered.
When the song began to die away, my lips close to his ear, as I’d planned for that very moment since I found out two days before, I gave that feeling to Ham.
“Just thought you’d wanna know, baby,” I whispered. “I’m pregnant.”
The song died away but Ham didn’t move. Not an inch. Not even to twitch. He just held me close, tight, his cheek pressed to mine as the song ended and silence surrounded us.
And that felt so good, it would take a moment before I felt it.
When I did, I knew I was wrong, as I’d been wrong day in and day out from the day Ham told me he loved me.
I didn’t have everything.
Because, if you worked hard for it, if you didn’t give up, even when you found your way and you thought you had everything, life found a way to give you more.
And I knew this when I felt the wet coming from Ham’s eyes gliding along my cheek.
And I again had more.
* * *
Thirty-two hours later…
Outside the bungalow with its big windows open, the breeze wafting through the filmy curtains, if you walked through the heat of the sun beating on the soft sand and out into the cool, blue water, all the way up to your neck, and you looked down, you could see your feet as plain as if you were standing on shore.
The couple in the bed in the bungalow hadn’t experienced this yet.
They were sleeping. The big bear of a dark-haired man on his side, his small, blonde woman tucked close in the curve of his body.
But even in slumber, his big, calloused hand with the wide, platinum wedding band on his ring finger rested lightly, splayed wide on her belly.
And he appreciated the soft silk of her hair.
Seeing as he had his face buried in it.
* * *
One year, five months later…
Outside the apartment with its arched windows wide open, over the tile-floored balcony, down a story, the gondoliers glided their gondolas gracefully through the canals.
But the family in the bed in the bedroom of the apartment hadn’t experienced this yet.
They were sleeping. The big bear of a dark-haired man on his side, his small, blonde woman tucked close in the curve of his body, their baby boy tucked close to her belly.
But even in slumber, his big, calloused hand with the wide, platinum wedding band on his ring finger rested lightly, splayed wide on his son?
??s diapered behind.
And he appreciated the beauty of what lay in that bed.
Seeing as he slept the peaceful, dreamless sleep of a man who had everything.
About the Author
Kristen Ashley grew up in Brownsburg, Indiana, and has lived in Denver, Colorado, and the West Country of England. Thus she has been blessed to have friends and family around the globe. Her posse is loopy (to say the least) but loopy is good when you want to write.
Kristen was raised in a house with a large and multigenerational family. They lived on a very small farm in a small town in the heartland, and Kristen grew up listening to the strains of Glenn Miller, The Everly Brothers, REO Speedwagon, and Whitesnake.
Needless to say, growing up in a house full of music and love was a good way to grow up.
And as she keeps growing up, it keeps getting better.
You can learn more at:
KristenAshley.net
Twitter @KristenAshley68
Facebook.com
For Nina Sheridan, a desperately needed vacation turns into the biggest risk of her life…
See the next page for an excerpt from
The Gamble.
Chapter One
Timeout
I looked at the clock on the dash of the rental car, then back out at the snow.
I was already twenty minutes late to meet the caretaker. Not only was I worried that I was late, I was worried that, after I eventually made it there, he had to drive home in this storm. The roads were worsening by the second. The slick had turned to black ice in some places, snow cover in others. I just hoped he lived close to the A-frame.
Then again, he was probably used to this, living in a small mountain town in Colorado. This was probably nothing to him.
It scared the hell out of me.
I resisted the urge to look at the directions I’d memorized on the plane (or, more accurately, before I even got on the plane) that were sitting by my purse in the passenger seat. There was no telling how far away I was, and what made matters worse was that I was doing half of what I suspected, but wasn’t sure, was the speed limit.
Not to mention the fact that I was exhausted and jetlagged, having been either on the road, on a plane, or in a grocery store the last seventeen hours.
And not to mention the fact that, yesterday (or was it the day before? I couldn’t figure out which in changing time zones), I got that weird feeling in my sinuses, which either meant a head cold was coming or something worse and that feeling was not going away.
Not to mention the further fact that night had fallen and with it a snowstorm that was building as the moments ticked by. Starting with flurries now I could barely see five feet in front of the car. I’d checked the weather reports and it was supposed to be clear skies for the next few days. It was nearing on April, only two days away. How could there be this much snow?
I wondered what Niles was thinking, though he probably wasn’t thinking anything since he was likely sleeping. Whereas, if he was off on some adventure by himself, or even if he was with friends, which was unlikely, as Niles didn’t have many friends, I would be awake, worried, and wondering if he made it to his destination alive and breathing. Especially if he had that niggling feeling in his sinuses, which I told him I had before I left.
I had to admit, he didn’t tell me he wanted me to ring when I got to the A-frame safe and sound. He didn’t say much at all. Even when I told him before we decided on churches and dates that I needed a two-week timeout. Time to think about our relationship and our future. Time to myself to get my head together. Time to have a bit of adventure, shake up my life a little, clear out the cobwebs in my head and the ones I fancied were attached (and getting thicker by the day) to every facet of my boring, staid, predictable life.
And, I also had to admit, no matter where I went and what I did, Niles didn’t seem bothered with whether I arrived safe and sound. He didn’t check in, even if I was traveling for work and would be away for a few days. And when I checked in, he didn’t seem bothered with the fact that I was checking in. Or, lately (because I tested it a couple of times), when I didn’t check in and then arrived home safely, sometimes days later, he didn’t seem bothered by the fact that I hadn’t checked in.
The unpleasant direction of my thoughts shifted when I saw my turn and I was glad of it. It meant I was close, not far away at all now. If it had been a clear night, I figured from what it said in the directions, I’d be there in five minutes. I carefully turned right and concentrated on the ever-decreasing visibility of the landscape. Making a left turn and then another right before heading straight up an incline that I feared my car wouldn’t make. But I saw it, shining like a beacon all lit up for me to see.
The A-frame, just like it looked on the Internet except without the pine trees all around it, the mountain backdrop, and the bright shining sun. Of course, they were probably there (except the sun, seeing as it was night), I just couldn’t see them.
It was perfect.
“Come on, baby, come on, you can make it,” I cooed to the car, relief sweeping through me at the idea of my journey being at an end. I leaned forward as if that would build the car’s momentum to get up the incline.
Fortune belatedly shined on me (and the car) and we made it to the post box with the partially snow-covered letters that said “Maxwell,” signifying the beginning of the drive that ran along the front of the house. I turned right again and drove carefully toward the Jeep Cherokee that was parked in front of the house.
“Thank God,” I whispered when I’d stopped and pulled up the parking brake, my mind moving immediately to what was next.
Meet caretaker, get keys and instructions.
Empty car of suitcases and copious bags of groceries, two weeks’ worth of holiday food, in other words, stuff that was good for me, as per usual, but also stuff that was definitely not, as was not per usual.
Put away perishables.
Make bed (if necessary).
Shower.
Take cold medicine I bought at the grocery store.
Call Niles if even just to leave a voice mail message.
Sleep.
It was the sleep I was most looking forward to. I didn’t think I’d ever been this exhausted.
In order to make the trips back and forth to the car one less, I grabbed my purse, exited the car, and slung my bag over my shoulder. Then I went to the boot, taking as many grocery bags by the handle as I could carry. I was cautious, the snow had carpeted the front drive, and the five steps that led up to the porch that ran the length of the A-frame and I was in high-heeled boots. Even though it was far too late, though I had checked the weather forecast so thought I was safe, I was rethinking my choice of wearing high-heeled boots by the time I hit the porch.
I didn’t get one step across it before the glass front door opened and a man stood in its frame, his front shadowed by the night, his back silhouetted by the lights from inside.
“Oh, hi, so, so, so sorry I’m late. The storm held me up,” I hastily explained my easily explainable rudeness (for anyone could see it was snowing, which would make any smart driver be careful) as I walked across the porch.
The man moved and the outside light came on, blinding me for a second.
I stopped to let my eyes adjust and heard, “What the fuck?”
I blinked and then focused and then I could do nothing but stare.
He did not look like what I thought a caretaker would look like.
He was tall, very tall, with very broad shoulders. His hair was dark, nearly black, wavy, and there was a lot of it sweeping back from his face like a stylist had just finished coifing it to perfection. He was wearing a plaid flannel shirt over a white thermal, the sleeves of the shirt rolled back to expose the thermal at his wrists and up his forearms. Faded jeans, thick socks on his feet, and tanned skin stretched over a face that had such flawless bone structure, a blind person would be in throes of ecstasy if they got their fingers on him. Strong jaw and brow, de
fined cheekbones. Unbelievable.
Though, in my estimation, he was a couple days away from a good clean shave.
“Mr. Andrews?” I asked.
“No,” he answered and said no more.
“I—” I started, then didn’t know what to say.
My head swung from side to side. Then I looked behind me at my car and the Cherokee and then back around and up at the A-frame.
This was the picture from the Web site, exactly it. Wasn’t it?
I looked back at him. “I’m sorry. I was expecting the caretaker.”
“The caretaker?”
“Yes, a Mr. Andrews.”
“You mean Slim?”
Slim?
“Um…” I answered.
“Slim isn’t here.”
“Are you here to give me the keys?” I asked.
“The keys to what?”
“The house.”
He stared at me for several seconds and then muttered, “Shit,” and right after uttering that profanity, he walked into the house, leaving the door open.
I didn’t know what to do and I stood outside for a moment before deciding maybe the open door was an indication that I should follow him in.
I did so, closing the door with my foot, stamping my feet on the mat to get rid of the snow, and then I looked around.
Total open space, all shining wood, gorgeous. Usually, websites depicting holiday destinations made things look better than they really were. This was the opposite. No picture could do this place justice.
To the left, the living area, big, wide, long comfortable couch with throws over it. At the side of the couch, facing the windows, a huge armchair two people could sit in happily (if cozily) with an ottoman in front of it. Square, sturdy, rustic table between the chair and couch, another one, lower, a bigger square, in front of the couch. A lamp on the smaller table, its base made from a branch, now lighting the space. Another standing lamp in the corner of the room by the windows made from another, longer, thicker branch with buffaloes running across the shade, also lit. A fireplace, its gorgeous stone chimney disappearing into the slant of the A-frame, in its grate a cheerful fire blazed. A recessed alcove to the back where there was a rolltop desk with an old-fashioned swivel chair in front of it, a rocking chair in the corner by another floor lamp, its base looked like a log and it was also lighting the space. A spiral staircase to a railed loft that jutted over the main living space and there were two doors under the loft, one I knew led to a three-quarter bath, the other one, likely storage.