(Blaze of Glory #1)Shephard Cherry - Imperfect

My heart quite literally ached for each character as the story progressed. Stone and Shannon both have their problems, but together what they are faced with is far from easy. Cherry Shephard will bring you to your knees in tears and beaming from ear to ear. This book is amazing! Saints & Sinners Books Imperfectly PERFECT, you’ll laugh cry and scream till your voice is hoarse. This book hits every emotion on the

radar. It gives you a real life look into the trials and tribulations of just how messy and beautiful love can be! Krystal Fahl You made me laugh, cry and my heart acheso so bad for them. (Its still thudding now and I have finished the book 5 minutes ago) But most of all, you sucked me into their story that made me Feel. Feel the bad, the good, the great and the down right sinfully naughty. Loved Loved LOVED IT! Kasey Crees

We all want a man that is imperfectly perfect and that man is Stone. Jaye Cox Truly you have excelled yourself in writing. Thank you so much for perfection. Bec Paterson

This book is licensed for your enjoyment only. It may not be sold, copied or reproduced by any means, including print, scan, copying, fax or email, without express written permission by the author. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to businesses, people or activities is purely coincidental. Imperfect (Blaze of Glory #1) Copyright © 2015 Cherry Shephard This book contains scenes that may be considered a trigger for some readers. Please exercise caution when reading,

and ensure that your files are stored safely, away from persons under eighteen (18) years of age. The author accepts no responsibility for any minor that may pick up this book, or any damage caused by trigger scenes in reading this book. Cover design: Sara Eirew Photography Edited by Kristin Scearce of Hot Tree Editing Formatted by Sassie Lewis [email protected]

http://www.cherryshephard.net http://www.facebook.com/AuthorCherryS http://www.facebook.com/groups/Cherrys

Dedication For my children, may you find your perfectly imperfect love.

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Again a verse for sake of you, You soldiers in the ranks — you Volunteers, Who bravely fighting, silent fell, To fill unmention'd graves. Ashes of soldiers! As I muse, retrospective, murmuring a chant in thought, Lo! thewar resumes — again to my sense your shapes, And again the advance of armies. Noiseless as mists and vapors, From their graves in the trenches ascending,

From the cemeteries all through Virginia and Tennessee, From every point of the compass, out of the countless unnamed graves, In wafted clouds, in myraids large, or squads of twos or threes, or single ones, they come, And silently gather round me. Now sound no note, O trumpeters! Not at the head of my cavalry, parading on spirited horses, With sabres drawn and glist'ning, and carbines by their thighs — (ah, my brave horsemen! My handsome, tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy and pride, With all the perils, were yours!) Nor you drummers — neither at reveille, at dawn, Nor the long roll alarming the camp — nor

even the muffled beat for a burial; Nothing from you, this time, O drummers, bearing my warlike drums. But aside from these, and the marts of wealth, and the crowded promenade, Admitting around me comrades close, unseen by the rest, and voiceless, The slain elate and alive again — the dust and debris alive, I chant this chant of my silent soul, in the name of all dead soldiers. Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet; Draw close, but speak not. Phantoms of countless lost! Invisible to the rest, henceforth become my companions! Follow me ever! desert me not, while I live.

Sweet are the blooming cheeks of the living! sweet are the musical voices sounding! But sweet, ah sweet, are the dead, with their silent eyes. Dearest comrades! all is over and long gone; But love is not over — and what love, O comrades! Perfume from battle-fieldsrising — up from foetor arising. Perfume therefore my chant, O love! immortal Love! Give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers, Shroud them, embalm them, cover them all over with tender pride! Perfume all! make all wholesome! Make these ashes to nourish and blossom,

O love! O chant! solve all, fructify all with the last chemistry. Give me exhaustless — make me a fountain, That I exhale love from me wherever I go, like a moist perennial dew, For the ashes of all dead soldiers.

One year ago…

Hurrmmm. My blood runs cold at the familiar sound of the motorbike turning onto the street. He’s home early. I drop the letter I’m reading back on the coffee table and jump to my feet. Hurrying into the kitchen, I pull out two plates and set them on the table, along with knives and forks. Offering up a silent prayer, I stick a fork into the potatoes, my heart sinking as the fork doesn’t go all the way through. No time to fix it now.

Quickly dishing up the roast beef I’d cut earlier, I put the potatoes and peas on the plates and set them on the table. Adding an open beer, I throw the dirty pots into the dishwasher and hurry into the bathroom. I hear the engine of the motorbike stop, and the smashing glass on the driveway as he drops a bottle of beer. Tidying my hair, I wince at the stain of tears on my cheeks. I touch up my makeup in less than twenty seconds, and then I am standing at the front door waiting for him, a carefully practiced

smile on my face. He is swearing loudly at the broken bottle, and my hands start to shake as he walks, no, stumbles, up to the front door of our lower floor apartment. “Hi sweetie,” I say as he comes through the door. “How was your day?” He pauses and gives me a sweeping look from head to toe. Once upon a time, that look might have made me blush; now it just makes my skin crawl. He grunts and moves into the kitchen, sprawling out on one of the chairs as he eyes the dinner in front of

him distastefully. “What the fuck is this?” “Roast beef,” I say quietly, sitting opposite him. I’m careful not to make eye contact as I pick up my knife and fork, slicing into the tender meat. “It looks like roast crap.” I flinch inwardly at his hurtful statement, but I keep my face carefully stoic and say nothing. He picks up his fork and stabs at his plate, and I think my heart just about jumps into my throat when he tries unsuccessfully to spear a piece of potato.

He says nothing, but raises his eyes to mine. My fork drops to the plate with a loud clatter, and the chair scrapes across the floor as I scoot back, my eyes wide. “Troy, I can explain, I—” “Shannon,” he says in a quiet voice, his eyes never leaving mine. “Come here.” My mind is screaming no, but my feet seem to move of their own accord. I can hear the blood pounding in my ears as I shuffle toward him. He grabs my arm and drags me the rest of the way as

he stands and begins unfastening his belt. I lower my lashes as his breathing becomes labored. “On the couch,” he orders quietly. I turn my back and move to the living room. I hear his heavy footsteps following me, and try to suppress the shudder that runs through me. I lie face down on the couch and squeeze my eyes shut, waiting. “What the fuck is this?” he sneers, picking up the letter I’d carelessly dropped on the coffee table. My heart beats faster. Please don’t read it.

Dear Miss Harper, We regret to inform you that there has been a terrible accident. Your father is… He pauses and my eyes fly open. I turn my head to look at him, and immediately regret my mistake. He’s standing over me, the letter still in his hand and a smirk on his face. “Daddy’s dead,” he says gleefully. “Oh, poor kitten, no wonder you couldn’t cook me a decent meal.” I cry out as the belt cuts across my

back. Tears immediately pool in my eyes, and I blink rapidly to force them back. “Did you think I’d care that your father’s dead?” Troy is shouting as the belt cuts into my sensitive flesh again. I refuse to answer, and this only provokes him further. He grabs my arm and drags me off the couch, sending me flying to the ground with a backhand across my right cheek. “Stupid fucking slut!” he screams, leaning down to grab a fistful of my hair and pull my head up to look at him.

“Can’t you do anything right?” He kicks me in the stomach and I fall over once more, holding a protective hand against my stomach as he kicks me again. I cough as I try to draw air into my lungs, but the small amount I receive is not enough. He’s on top of me now pinning me to the carpet on my back, his hands around my throat as he chokes the life out of me. My fingers slap feebly at his hands, but I can feel the fight leaving my body. My lungs are starving, and I see white spots dancing in front of my eyes.

Troy releases me in disgust, and my hands replace his around my neck, gasping for air. I hear the front door slam, the motorbike start up and tear down the street. I lie there for five minutes… hours… hell, I don’t know, but it’s pitch black outside as I slowly roll to my stomach and get to my feet, wrapping an arm loosely around my midsection. I make my way into the bathroom where I survey the damage in the mirror. My left eye is an almost pretty mix of blues and purples and there are angry

red fingerprints around my throat. Something stirs inside me, something I haven’t felt in a long time. Anger. It bubbles inside me until it blurs my vision. Sweat runs down my forehead as my fist finds the mirror, smashing my reflection again and again, until it lay in pieces in the sink. Blood drips into the sink, staining the perfect white porcelain. But I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything. Tearing strips off an old shirt in the laundry hamper, I bandage my cut hands

as best I can before making my way back to the living room. As I stare around the room that once felt homey, my eyes are drawn to the letter Troy dropped on the floor. My father is dead. I’m all alone in the world, the final person from my former life gone in a single moment. But there’s always a silver lining, and the irony is not lost on me, that even in death, Daddy is there when I need him the most. I pick up the letter and re-read the bottom sentence:

In addition to the family home and bank account, Darius also left Saddles to your care. He knew you’d make the right decision. Saddles, Daddy’s bar. One of the last connections to my former life, save for my sister, before I came to live in this waking nightmare. My own personal hell. Determination fills me, and I’m struck with a new-found confidence as I clutch the letter to my heart. Troy will never hurt me again.

Today…

I lift the half-empty glass to my lips and drain the beer that remains as I hold my hand up to the bartender, signaling for another. It’s about ten o’clock on a Friday night, and the small-town Texan bar, Saddles, is overcrowded, hot and noisy. Some country band is playing on the stage at the opposite end of the room, but I can’t tell what song it is. I don’t really care, either. Instead, my plan is to keep my ass firmly planted to this hard bar stool, drink my beer, and ponder where my life went so wrong.

Married when I was just eighteen years old to a young, fresh-faced blonde girl, Grace had been everything I could want in a woman: virginal, sweet, and compassionate. It was no surprise my grandmother had conspired with her father to marry us off. Unfortunately, like all marriages, we had our problems. Ever since I was just a kid, my grandmother told me stories of my heroic father who fought so bravely in World War Two to defend our country. I’d grown up with every intention of following in his footsteps.

Grace had never seen it that way, though. On the day I told her about my dream, she’d given me an ultimatum: The Army, or her. That was just the way she was. I suspect she didn’t want to see me injured. I tried to be a good husband, and put the idea of the Army from my mind. But after the attacks on September 11th, my mind was made up. Despite her tears and childish tantrums, I’d enlisted in the Army and left the next month to begin the standard ten-week boot camp training

that would prepare me for life as a U.S soldier. When I eventually left for Afghanistan a few years later, Grace tried to make the best of our situation. But she’d been so young and beautiful. She wanted to live, not be held down, waiting for a husband who would, as she put it so often, recklessly endanger his life, and may never return to her. I’d been in Afghanistan just two months when I received the notice of intent to divorce. I tore it up.

My parents died in a car accident when I was just a few months old, and I’d been raised by my maternal grandmother. She was a no-nonsense sort of woman, with a heart of gold and everyone loved her. It was a quiet day among the ranks when I was handed an obituary statement. She’d passed away of breast cancer the year after we arrived in Afghanistan. With my marriage dissolved, I’d thrown myself into my duties, rising through the ranks to be Staff Sergeant Ethan Stone.

Based in Afghanistan for more than ten years, I’d seen my fair share of horror - men beheaded in the streets by rebels, girls as young as twelve married to the highest bidder, and so many other gruesome sights associated with conflict. Nightmares just aren’t for kids. I’m thirty-two years old and I still dream of a real-life horror. A girl of about sixteen years old and I couldn’t get to her without risking my own life . . . something I selfishly wasn’t prepared to do. Every time I close my eyes, I see the vile scene play out. Her captors holding

her down while they take turns violating her in front of me as I hide behind a pile of empty boxes. I’ve never felt as helpless as I did in those moments. I’ve never forgotten her. “Stone,” a voice says beside me. I glance up to see my best friend and fellow Army brother, Damien Keets, slide onto the bar stool next to me. I say nothing, simply raise my halfempty beer glass in a brief, silent greeting. “Whiskey,” Keets calls to the pretty, young bartender, who pours us both a

glass before moving to serve a young couple at the other end of the bar. “How much have you had to drink?” Keets asks, his voice barely audible in the loud bar. I look at my half-empty glass then at my friend. In answer, I raise the glass to my lips and down the remaining beer before pulling the new glass over to me. “You have to stop doing this to yourself,” Keets scolds. “You’ve been home three months, and I’ve yet to see you sober. “What do you fucking care?” I

finally snap, slamming the glass down on the bar. Whiskey splashes over the edge and hits the back of my hand, but I ignore it. “I’m here, and I’m getting drunk.” I can hear my voice slurring as I raise my glass, gesturing around the room. “Just like everyone else.” “Not everyone else has seen what you’ve seen,” Keets states, draining his whiskey and signaling for another. “Look, man, I get it, okay? I do. But you can’t keep beating yourself up over this. You know you couldn’t save her.”

I glance over at my friend. Keets is the only soul I’ve ever told the details to about that horrible night. I’d spent six hours curled up behind some boxes as I listened to her screams grow fainter. They hadn’t been small men; she’d never stood a chance. I couldn’t help the constant feeling of guilt that I should have at least tried to help her. I finish my whiskey and stand up, steadying my hand on the bar as the room sways around me. I pull some money from the pocket of my jeans and throw it on the bar before looking at Keets. “I’ll

see you later,” I say. I’m so fucking tired all of a sudden. I just want to go home. I try to walk away, but my legs are becoming increasingly unsteady. I must have had more to drink than I thought. I limp toward the front door of the bar, but a woman’s scream above the music behind me makes me pause. Slowly, I turn back around. “Let go of me!” the pretty, blonde barmaid is yelling, slapping away the hands of a man who’s clearly had too much to drink. “Come on, love. You can’t expect to

go waltzing around this bar in those tiny shorts and not let me get a feel,” he sneers, his crooked teeth standing out as he grins. He’s sitting at a table with three other men. They are laughing amongst themselves, encouraging him. “I bet that ass is as soft as it looks.” I watch as she recoils from the man’s lust-filled gaze, and something inside me snaps. Once more, I’m back in Afghanistan, hiding behind some boxes as the young woman is terrorized. This time is different, though; this time, I can stop it.

I straighten up and take three steps toward the men. They never see me coming, never see my fist until it connects with the first jaw. From there, it’s an all-out brawl. I need to save her… have to save her. I throw punch after punch. Someone is grabbing me, but I fight them off. A fist connects with my throat and I drop to my knees, clutching at my neck as my lungs burn and threaten to explode. I can’t breathe, the dusty room fading into red as the blood pours down my face. I manage to wipe a hand across my eyes

and I’m once again in the bar, lying on my side as a small crowd gathers around me. The bar is deathly quiet; even the band has stopped playing. “Stone,” I hear Keets call out as he kneels beside me. “Stone, can you hear me?” The pain in my chest is so severe, I can’t answer him. It feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer and hit me across the ribs a few dozen times. The pain intensifies until I see white spots in front of my eyes, and I close them for a moment of relief.

There’s a ringing in my ears and the voices around me become fainter and fainter, until they finally disappear altogether. The ringing in my ears is so much more intense this morning, and I groan as I open my eyes, wincing at the light. My left eye is swollen almost shut and my mouth is as dry as cotton. There’s no denying it: this is the mother of all hangovers. I slowly lift my head, groaning again when the first wave of nausea washes over me. Christ, how

much did I drink last night? With great effort, I get to my knees, frowning as I realize I’m still in the bar. What the fuck am I doing here? The place looks as though a tornado hit it. Chairs are upturned, broken bottles are strewn everywhere and tables lay in pieces. The front door opens, and I instinctively turn my head to see a beautiful blonde in tight, black jeans and a white tank top step inside. Her large eyes round as she stares at the mess.

“What the fuck happened?” she gasps, stepping over a broken chair as she moves behind the bar and begins moving glasses around. “I don’t know,” I say, still on my knees. I must have startled the woman because she spins around, her mouth opening in shock. “Wh-who are you?” she stammers. “How did you get in here?” “I woke up here,” I say, getting to my feet as she comes around to the front of the bar. I make a move toward her, but I’m

quickly brought up by the tip of the large knife she pulls out of the back of her jeans. “Jesus,” I cry, throwing my hands up in surrender. I’ve never been beaten in combat, but this fucking hangover has screwed up my reflexes. “Look, lady, I —” “I don’t know who you are, or how you got in here,” she seethes, her blue eyes narrowing. “But you fucked up my bar.” “I know,” I reply, taking a step backwards, tripping over a chair leg,

and going down on one knee. Pain rips through my abdomen as my body is jolted by the sudden movement. “Just let me explain.” “You can explain everything to the cops when they get here,” she hisses. “Don’t you fucking move.” I watch her warily as she points the knife at me. She’s tiny, only about fivefoot, and my hands could easily span her waist. If I really wanted to, I could get myself out of this situation. I’m a trained soldier; it would be child’s play for me to take the knife. Her chest heaves in her

tank top and I find my eyes drawn down to her small breasts, probably just big enough to fill my palms. Just the way I like them. I’m surprised at the sudden tightening of my pants, and I pray she doesn’t choose this moment to look down. My moment of distraction is clearly all she needs, as I don’t hear her draw closer. I flinch as the tip of the knife touches my throat. I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat, trying to ignore the bite of the blade as I look up at her. She reminds me of a china doll

my grandmother used to have on display in a glass case. Her hair, although tied back in a loose bun, is full of golden ringlets, and her big, blue eyes are expressive behind long, dark lashes. And right now, they’re expressing rage at me. “I’ll ask you again,” she says in a low voice, pressing the tip of the knife more firmly against my flesh. “Who are you?” The front door opens and she jumps at the sudden intrusion, the blade of the knife nicking my skin. I feel a small

trickle of blood run down the column of my throat, and it’s all I need to spur myself into action. My hand shoots up and wraps itself around her wrist, while the other effortlessly wrenches the knife away from her. I hear it clatter against the tiled floor and throw my foot out, kicking it away. The barmaid’s eyes open wide as she realizes what’s happened, but before she has a chance to react I grab her other wrist, securing both behind her back with just one of my large hands, holding her against me.

“Having fun, are we?” Keets drawls as he leans against the doorframe at the entrance of the bar. “Keets,” the woman cries out in relief, struggling against my hands as I continue to hold her. I close my eyes and grit my teeth as she moves against me. It’s been too long since I’ve had a woman pressed against me; if she’s not careful, I’m going to make a damned fool of myself. “Shan?” Keets says, looking between her and me as though he’s just recognized her. “What the hell is going

on?” “This guy,” she says, finally shoving herself away from me, “broke into the bar last night and destroyed it. Look at this mess!” “I didn’t break in,” I respond hotly. “I was here last night; I must have passed out.” “I’ll say.” Keets laughs. “You were knocked the fuck out.” Parts of last night start coming back. The alcohol, the barmaid getting mauled by a drunken creep… getting my ass handed to me.

“Why the fuck did you leave me here?” I demand, taking an angry step toward him. “Dude, Ruth said to leave you there to sleep it off. You’re lucky the sheriff realized you weren’t at fault and didn’t haul your ass to jail.” “I don’t give a shit how it happened!” Shan shouts, glaring at Keets. “I’m calling the cops.” “Shan, wait,” I say, picking the knife up off the ground and placing it down on the bar for her to see. She rounds on me, phone in hand.

“Don’t call me that,” she hisses. “My name is Shannon. Only my friends call me Shan.” “Are we not friends?” I ask, smirking at her. “If you’ll remember, you were pressed pretty intimately against me a minute ago.” “Ohh, you…you…” Shannon’s face turns a dull shade of red and she grips the phone tighter, turning her back on me. “Shannon,” Keets says quietly, prying the phone out of her death-like grip. “It’s okay. I know him.” “Y-you do?” she asks, turning her

face up to him. I watch this exchange with interest. Keets and Shannon seem to know each other quite well. They seem close… intimate. I’m surprised by the sudden surge of jealousy that rips through me. “This is Stone,” Keets is saying. Shannon turns to face me, the look on her face now one of curiosity rather than anger. “This is Stone?” she asks disbelievingly. I don’t like the way she says that. What has Keets told her about me?

She looks me up and down, and I’m quietly grateful that my earlier hardness is gone. “I don’t care,” Shannon finally remarks, turning her pert little nose up at me and glaring once more at Keets. Fucking snob. I’m getting more and more pissed off. The pain in my head is intensifying, and I just want to go home and go back to sleep. “You saw what he did to my bar.” “Your bar?” I question out loud, my eyes practically bulging out of my head. “You mean you own it?”

“Inherited it from my daddy,” she replies proudly, throwing me a glance that could freeze Hell over. “Look,” I say, shaking my head in bewilderment. I’m so over it. I just want to go home, drink my body weight in whiskey and go to sleep. “I’ll be happy to reimburse you whatever it costs to fix this place up.” Shannon glances over at me, pride written all over her face, and I inwardly groan. This woman is too damn stubborn for her own good. “You think you can just pay me off because I’m some

helpless female?” she asks indignantly. “I work hard at this bar, and I make damn good money.” “I’m sure you do,” I say, rubbing my aching temple with my thumb and index finger. “But I would like to make up for my own misdeeds.” “I may have an idea,” Keets interjects as he stands back with his arms folded, watching us in amusement. “What?” Shannon asks, looking at my friend adoringly in a way that makes me want to throw up. “Let him work off his debts in the

bar.” “What!” Shannon and I yell in unison as we glance at each other. He can’t be fucking serious. Keets grins and pushes back the brown hair that falls across his eyes as he adjusts his small, black rimmed glasses. “Well, why not? Stone, you know you need to do something other than drink.” “And you think working in a bar will fix that?” I ask, my eyebrows shooting up on my forehead. “Shannon,” Keets says, pointedly

ignoring me. “You know you could use the help around the bar.” “Well, yes,” she responds slowly. “But him?” “What the hell is wrong with me?” I ask, drawing up to my full six-foot height, towering over her. Just who the hell does she think she is? “Are you serious?” She laughs, gesturing around the room. “Look what you did to this place in just one night!” “That was an accident,” I clarify, leaning down until we’re making eye contact. But I’m not prepared for the jolt

of awareness that strikes me the moment our eyes meet. Her eyes are a pale blue, with tiny flecks of green. They’re so damned expressive, I feel like I could read her mind just by looking at them. Unfortunately for me, her mind seems to be screaming some pretty obscene things about me right now. “So, it’s settled,” Keets says brightly. “Stone will work for you until the damages are paid off. I’ll take the ‘help wanted’ sign off the window.” He disappears before either of us can say a word.

Shannon sighs and runs a hand over her head. “I guess you can start tidying up out here,” she mumbles, not looking at me. “The broom’s behind the bar. I’ll be in the back; I have some paperwork to fill out.” She leaves the room without waiting for me to respond. I watch her go, trying desperately to ignore the gentle sway of her hips in those damn jeans. Finding the broom, I begin to sweep up the broken glass, but my mind is still stuck on Shannon. Who is she? Are she and Keets an item? He’s never said anything, but I know it’s none

of my business. So, why am I jealous at the thought of my best friend’s hands touching her? I shake my head, forcing my resolve to harden. I can’t get involved with a woman. I’m too angry, too bitter … too imperfect.

By the time I get home that afternoon, I’m exhausted. Unlocking the front door, I step inside and kick it

closed behind me, dropping the keys in a bowl on the coffee table as I walk by the couch and into the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, I let out a slow breath as I pull my t-shirt off and force myself to look at my reflection. I’m still fit, my body rock-hard despite the beating I’ve been giving it the past few months. But it’s the scars that draw my attention the most. They pucker my flesh starting from my neck, disappearing into the waistband of my jeans. Jagged, red and angry, they mar my skin, a constant reminder of all I’ve seen.

My right leg aches from the exertion of the day, a grim memory of the shrapnel that severed nerves below my knee when a grenade nearly took my leg off back in 2003. I was told that I’d never walk again. It’d taken me two years of hard work, but I proved them wrong. I’d been able to go back to Afghanistan and get back on the field with nothing more severe than a horrible scar that runs all the way around my leg below the knee, and a limp that becomes more pronounced when I’m too active. Then came the surprise attack from the

Taliban on our small group. We’d been asleep, never stood a chance. When I woke up, I was in the hospital, flown home to Texas with a medical discharge from the United States Army. To this day, no one seems to be able – or willing – to share how the Taliban found us. I turn away from the mirror, unable to look at myself any longer. Starting the shower, I quickly strip off the rest of my clothes and stand beneath the water, feeling the heat begin to soothe my tired and aching muscles. Bracing one arm

against the shower wall, I lean my head beneath the water and close my eyes. “What secrets did the United States entrust you with?” My head is pushed back down under the water, my entire body tensing as I thrash around, trying desperately to hold my breath. My head is pulled back up, and I cough violently as I blink the water away from my eyes. My head is forced back, and I stare wildly into the eyes of one of my captors. “Last chance,” the man says. “Tell us your secrets, or you will die.”

I stubbornly refuse to answer. The enemy soldier glances at the man holding my head up, giving him an almost imperceptible nod. This time, I’m not prepared for the rush of water that closes over my head. Instinctively, I open my mouth and immediately my lungs fill with water. I struggle helplessly, but I can feel myself slipping. White lights burn behind my eyelids, and I’m sure my chest might burst. This is it. I’m going to die . . . My head shoots up and I cough

violently. Gasping for air to rid the sensation of water clogging my lungs. I lean back against the wall, running my hands over my face as I fight to control my breathing. These flashbacks come all too often. The shower has gone cold and it bites into my skin, leaving goose bumps as I reach through the water to turn the faucet off. I wrap a towel around my waist and leave the bathroom. I grab a pair of black shorts from the dresser and pull them on, not even bothering with briefs. A quick glance at the clock tells

me I still have two hours before I have to be dressed and back at the bar. Plenty of time for a beer . . .

“Why

would you tell him to work here? Are you insane?”

I’m standing face-to-face with Keets, my hands on my small hips. I know how tiny I am, and to most people this sight would be ridiculously funny . . . if I weren’t so angry. “Admit it, Shan.” Keets grins, placing his can of beer down on the bar. “You need the help, and Lord knows Stone needs the distraction.” “So, you send an alcoholic to work in a bar?” I shout, causing a few girls seated at the bar to turn and stare, giggling into their drinks. “Shan,” Keets says, his tone

suddenly serious. “The guy needs help.” “So, send him to a shrink. I mean, what am I supposed to do with him?” “Please,” Keets begs. It’s the pleading tone in his voice that makes me pause. I drop my head down toward my chest and let out a loud sigh. I love Keets, but sometimes he can be a real pain in the ass. “All right,” I finally say, lifting my head. “But,” I continue, fixing a fierce look at him even as he grins in triumph. “If he fucks up, you can deal with him.” “Done!” Keets agrees, raising his

can to me in a mock salute. “Now, I just have one question,” I say leaning over the counter conspiratorially. “What’s that?” “Where the hell is Stone?” I yell in his face, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction as he flinches. “I don’t know,” Keets says sheepishly, taking off his glasses to wipe the lenses. His voice is so low I have to strain to hear it over the growing crowd in the bar. “You don’t know,” I repeat. “His

first night of work, and you have no idea where he is.” “Relax,” Keets snaps, putting his glasses back on as he stands up and slaps a few bills on the counter. “I’ll find him.” I watch him leave before letting my shoulders slump in defeat. Picking up a rag, I wipe down the bar, pocketing the money he left behind on the counter. It’s just after 9 p.m. on a Saturday in the middle of January, and the bar is rapidly packing with people trying to keep warm.

“Shannon, what are you still doing here?” Effie’s shrill voice echoes across the bar. I groan and suppress the urge to roll my eyes as the middle-aged woman makes her way through the crowd and parks her large ass down on a bar stool. “Effie,” I greet her with what I hope is a warm smile. I’m really not in the mood for the woman’s snarky attitude tonight. “I’ll take a cherry Coke,” the older woman says, adjusting herself on the seat. “With two cherries.” “You got it.”

As I prepare the drink, I can’t help staring at the other woman. She always dresses a little eccentric but tonight, she’s outdone herself. Effie is wearing a pair of bright pink leggings that barely stretch across her rump, a plain pink tshirt and a ridiculously large white fur coat. Honestly, that damn coat. I’m surprised PETA hasn’t thrown paint on it yet. “Here you go.” I smile, placing the drink on the bar while trying not to look at Effie’s teeth, stained pink with lipstick. “Thank you,” she replies, lifting the

straw to her lips and swallowing a large mouthful, murmuring her appreciation. “That’s good.” I pick up the empty glass the customer next to Effie left behind and wipe down the counter. “So, what are you still doing here?” Effie asks, watching me clean with a distasteful purse of her lips. The older woman has probably never touched a rag in her life. “I work here,” I answer, not looking at her as I place the money in the register and start stacking glasses.

“I know that,” Effie snaps. “But what about your new bartender? Wasn’t he meant to be starting tonight?” I freeze, raising my eyes slowly to look at Effie. “How do you know about that?” I ask in a low voice. “Oh, please,” Effie scoffs, waving her hand carelessly. “Everyone knows about the hot soldier who tore this place up last night. You know, you really should consider my offer. You don’t need this stress in your life, why not sell now and live comfortably? I know a man, I’ll call him, and—”

“Th-they do?” I squeak, glancing around the bar, pointedly ignoring her statement about selling Saddles. We’ve had that conversation before. I’m not selling. Apart from a few broken chairs and tables, you’d never know the place had been a war zone just this morning. As for the hot soldier, I couldn’t even begin to think about that right now. Effie nods smugly. “So, where is he?” “He’s not here,” I say, moving away to serve another customer. “I suggest you find a table and wait for him.”

“No, I don’t believe I’ll stay,” Effie huffs, climbing off the bar stool, her ass bumping into another customer as she moves past. The young woman shares a secret smile with me as Effie leaves the bar. “Is she always that terrible?” she asks with a grin. “Oh, no.” I laugh. “She’s usually much worse.” The young blonde smiles as she places a small purse on the counter and extracts a five-dollar bill. “I’d like a lemon, lime, and bitters, please.” “You’re new around here, aren’t

you?” I ask as I pour the drink and place it in front of the woman. She looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t recall meeting her. She nods as she takes a mouthful of her drink and sets it back on the bar. “I’m not here for too long,” she admits with a sad smile. “More just passing through.” I know from my time in the bar that although many people want to share their story, others prefer to stay under the radar. I sense this is one of those times. “Well, my name’s Shannon Harper,” I

state with a smile, sticking my hand out expectantly. The other woman seems to hesitate briefly before stretching out her own hand. “Grace,” she says simply, offering no last name. “It’s great to meet you, Grace,” I say, shaking her hand. “We’re a small town, but I think you’ll like it here. Everyone looks out for each other, so you’ll be happy, for however long you plan to stay.” Grace smiles tightly but doesn’t say a word. “Can I get you anything else?” I ask.

“We’re a little packed tonight as you can see, so I’ll need to move along. We’re meant to have a new bartender starting tonight, but I can’t imagine where he is.” “What a way to make an impression.” Grace chuckles lightly, and the tension seems to dissipate for the moment. “Right?” I laugh as I pour another drink and place it beside Grace’s glass. “On the house,” I say. “To welcome you to our town.” “Thank you so much.” Grace smiles. “But I really should get back to

my son. He’ll be waiting for his dinner.” “How old is your son?” I ask, thinking surely she wouldn’t leave a small child alone and hungry. “Fourteen,” Grace answers. “He found some kids to play with at the motel, and their parents offered to watch them at the pool while I came out to get food.” “That was nice of them,” I say, relief flooding through me. “But if you must go, I insist that you bring your son back here one day for lunch. I’m sure he’d love to meet Stone and Keets.”

“Stone?” Grace repeats, sitting up a little straighter. “Do you know him?” I ask. Grace’s face is ashen, as though she’s seen a ghost. “I . . . no,” she stammers, grabbing her purse from the counter and hopping off the bar stool. “I-I’m sorry, I really do have to go.” “Grace, wait,” I call out, but the woman hurries out without a backwards glance. What the hell was that about? I’d seen Stone at the bar a few times over

the past few months, but never with anyone besides Keets. Hell, I didn’t even realize who he was until this morning. I just assumed he was a lonely drunk. Giving a small shrug, I turn my attention back to the bar and the people waiting to be served. The place is now filled to capacity. The local country band is playing up on the stage, and people are dancing on the floor as I busy myself with serving drinks. By 10 p.m., I’m exhausted. I keep glancing toward the door, waiting for the new worker to arrive.

Where the hell is Stone?

They’re going to break the door down. It takes a moment of drunk cowering in the corner to realize it’s not the

Taliban trying to break into our camp, but someone banging on my front door. I stumble through the messy living area with my half-empty bottle of beer, flinging open the front door to see Keets standing there, looking mighty angry. “Keets,” I slur, staggering against the door. I’m trying to act cocky and selfassured, ignoring the fact that a moment ago I was shaking like a leaf. “What’s up, man?” He snarls and draws back his fist, sending me flying onto my ass, spilling my beer. Fresh pain explodes in my

cheek and for a second, I’m dazed. “What the fuck?” I sputter, touching my jaw. “Don’t start,” Keets snaps, stepping over me and walking through to the bathroom. I unsteadily lurch to my feet and follow Keets into the bathroom, leaning against the door frame as I watch him turn on the shower. “Hey, wait,” I say, reaching for the beer Keets snatches out of my hand. “What are you doin’?” “You know, sometimes you can be a real asshole,” Keets sneers, sounding disgusted as he pushes me under the cold

water, clothes and all, ignoring my protests as he stands at the door. The water is like ice, and it sends a shock through me. I’m instantly half-sober. And fucking angry. “What the hell, Keets?” I roar, wiping the water from my eyes. “You royally fucked up,” Keets says, not moving from his position. “You were meant to be at the bar four hours ago.” What fucking bar? Saddles, right. The bar. Shit. Realization dawns on me, and my head drops toward my chest as I groan.

“I fucked up,” I admit dully. “Royally,” Keets reminds me. What a great friend he is. “What the hell were you thinking? I put in a good word for you.” “I know, I’m sorry,” I apologize, raking a hand over my head. I’m surprised at how sorry I actually am. “Can I get out of the shower now?” Keets studies my face for a minute then reluctantly steps aside and hands me a towel. “I’ll wait for you out there,” he tells me, indicating toward the door with his head. “Five minutes.” He leaves

without looking back. I turn the water off and step out of the shower. My clothes are soaked through, so I quickly step out of them and drop them into the washing machine on the far side of the bathroom, turning it on. A part of me can’t believe Keets shoved me into a cold shower, fully clothed… the other part applauds him. I dry myself and wrap the towel loosely around my waist before leaning my hands against the sink and staring at my reflection. I know I’ve screwed things up, but it’s too late to change now. I’m

not the same, naive boy I once was. War turned me into a hard, cold man. I no longer believe the stories of love conquering all, or that the world is full of good, generous people. All I see is a cold, dark, desolate wasteland. Filled with hate, violence and disease from which there is no escape. “Hurry up, Stone,” Keets’ voice sounds from the living room. “Don’t make me come back in there.” I grin as I rub my fingertips over the stubble on my chin. My jaw is still tender when I touch it. I step back from

the mirror and leave the bathroom, entering the living room where Keets sits on the couch. “Christ, man, put some fucking clothes on!” Keets shouts, covering his eyes with one hand. I glance down at myself, belatedly remembering that I’m only wearing a towel. “Right,” I say, pointing toward the bedroom on the other side of the living room. “I’ll be right back.” I quickly walk behind the couch, holding up the towel with one hand as I push the

bedroom door open and flick on the light with the other. “You know, you’re a real jackass,” Keets calls out from the living room. “We’ve established that,” I call back, pulling on a pair of faded blue jeans and a plain black t-shirt. I grab my black boots and walk back out into the living room, sitting on the couch opposite Keets as I pull them on and quickly tie up the laces. “No,” Keets says, watching me. “I mean you’re really a jackass.” I sigh and sit up straight, looking my

friend square in the eyes. “I know,” I stress, crossing my arms. “But what do you want me to do about it?” “It’s not about what I want,” Keets states with a shrug, getting to his feet and pulling the keys to his truck out of his jeans pocket. “It’s about what Shannon wants.” “And what does Shannon want?” I ask, surprised to realize I actually care about the answer. “Well, now, that’s the question of the century,” Keets says with a soft smile. “I don’t think even she knows

what she wants.” “Do you love her?” I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. I know it’s none of my business. If Keets wanted me to know about his love life, he’d tell me. He fidgets nervously with his glasses. “Sorry, man,” I say. “I didn’t mean to pry.” “No, it’s okay,” he replies, a faraway look on his face. “I think everyone who meets Shannon ends up having feelings for her. She’s such a sweet girl that it’s hard not to love her.”

“Sweet?” I echo with a laugh. “Tell that to the knife she was holding to my throat this morning.” “I know she seems a bit rough around the edges,” Keets argues. “But you would be, too, if you’d lived her life.” I’m suddenly very curious, as I’m being given a perfect opportunity to find out more about the strange woman who has my stomach in knots. “What about her life?” I ask, hoping I sound nonchalant. “Look, Stone,” Keets starts,

suddenly sounding as nervous as the time we found ourselves in the middle of a live minefield. “It’s not up to me to tell you about Shannon’s life. If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you herself.” “What’s going on?” I ask, tilting my head to the side as I look at Keets. What the hell is with this sudden attitude change? “Is she in some sort of trouble?” “I’ve already said too much,” Keets says, a shutter coming down over his eyes. “And you need to get to the bar. Come on; I’ll drive you.”

Keets leaves the house quickly, leaving me scratching my head. What the hell is going on?

“You’re here,” Shannon says blandly. She looks exhausted, and I know it’s all my fault. Her bun has come loose, leaving curly tendrils to stick to her face and neck. Her face is flushed, her eyes lackluster, changed from a pale sky blue

to a deep ocean blue-green. She’s beautiful, and she’s pissed. “Yeah,” I say a little sheepishly, hanging my black leather jacket up behind the bar. “Sorry I’m late.” We’re the last two people in the bar. “Oh, it’s fine,” she snaps, waving a cloth in her hand as she scrubs furiously at the bar. “I was just closing up. You know, after you left me high and dry all fucking night.” I flinch as she drops the rag and turns to face me, her small hands curled into fists by her side. “Where the hell

have you been?” “Are you always this angry?” I laugh, stacking dirty glasses on a tray, quickly ducking as the rag flies at my head. “What the hell, Shan?” “I told you, don’t call me Shan!” she hisses, her chest heaving as she glares at me. “What should I call you then? You keep fucking hissing like a little hellion cat, but you’re as tiny as a kitten, so I doubt you could do any serious damage.” I click my fingers as a proverbial light bulb appears over my

head. “I got it,” I crow. “I’ll call you kitten.” She pales. “Don’t,” she says quietly, her voice low and menacing. I like a challenge, and she’s opened the door to a whole lot of shit-stirring. “What’s the matter, kitten?” I ask mockingly. “Don’t like your new nickname?” “I said don’t,” she growls, her upper lip curling in disgust. “I don’t know what you think you’re going to do about it,” I say, realizing I may have pushed her too far. “But the

fact of the matter is, I have work to do, and—” I don’t get to finish that sentence. She flies at me, her arms outstretched. I try to brace myself, but the attack is so unexpected that all I can do is wrap my arms around her and try to protect her from the fall as we both topple to the cold, hard floor. Shannon struggles against me, and I do my best to grab her fists as they pummel my shoulders. “What the fuck?” I yell, finally latching onto her wrists and holding them down as I flip her onto her back. This bitch

has gone crazy. I straddle her hips and glare down at her as she breathes heavily, giving a small, occasional struggle as she tries to pull her wrists free. But I have her now, and she’s not going anywhere until I say so. “What the hell is your problem?” I shout, ignoring the tiny fleck of spittle that flies out of my mouth and lands on her cheek. Shannon glares up at me, her eyes flashing. “Let me go,” she growls, struggling once more to free her wrists. I don’t know what the hell her problem is. Why is she so pissed about a stupid little

joke? It doesn’t make any sense. But right now, she’s furious, defiant…and beautiful. How the hell am I meant to calm her down? She continues to fight me, until I do the only thing I can think of. I kiss her. I’m not sure if she’s simply taken by surprise, or if the kiss is effective at calming her down, because all of a sudden it seems as though all the fight has left her body. My lips mold to hers, soft, warm, and pliant. It’s meant to be a brief kiss, designed to calm her down,

make her stop struggling. But as it continues, I feel the first stirrings of desire. It really has been too long since I’ve been with a woman. I’m not prepared for the feel of her tongue as it runs along my bottom lip. And I’m definitely not prepared for the shock of desire that slams into my body. Groaning, I release her wrists, moving my hands down to grip her hair as I hold her head still. Shannon moans into my mouth, and my cock hardens in my jeans. She feels so good, so right. I think she’s enjoying it, so I’m surprised when she

bites down hard on my bottom lip. I yelp as I taste blood, and she follows it up with a swift kick between my legs. I grunt as I roll off her, grabbing my balls. Fuck shrapnel in my leg. This, this, is the worst fucking pain I have ever felt in my life. Shannon scrambles to her feet and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, glaring down at me. “Don’t you ever fucking touch me again, do you understand?” she yells. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I shout, curled up in the foetal position, a

hand wedged firmly between my legs. I’m in agony. I’ve seriously misjudged the situation. “What the hell happened?” Keets gasps as he steps inside the bar and sees us. I can only imagine how this must look. Shannon seems as though she’s struggling to slow down her breathing, smoothing her hair with one hand. “You need to tell him to keep his fucking hands to himself,” she seethes, pointing at me as I slowly get to my feet, my hand on my balls to make sure she didn’t

accidentally kick one up into my asshole. One . . . two. Okay, I think I’m good. Christ, that fucking hurt. “Oh, man.” Keets laughs. “Don’t tell me he tried to kiss you.” I look between the two of them as I stand there hunched over, protective hand still on my balls even as my face is contorted in pain. “You’re fucking crazy,” I gasp, looking at Shannon. “Wow, Shan, you really did a number on the poor guy,” Keets says, smiling as he shakes his head. What the fuck? Is he serious? A brother just got

his ass handed to him, and he’s fucking laughing? “Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything to him.” “Make sure you do,” she snaps as I make my way slowly over to the door, assisted by Keets. The pain is starting to ease, and I straighten up then turn to glare at Shannon. “I don’t know what the fuck’s going on,” I say in a low voice. “But if you wanted to get into my pants, all you had to do was ask.” Am I really making jokes at a time like this? I see her lips purse and I swallow hard, ignoring the pain. Determined not to let

her see how much I’m still hurting, I turn my back to Shannon and Keets and walk out of the bar, slamming the door closed behind me.

I

sigh and sag back against the bar. Reaching up with one hand, I pull the tie

from my hair and run my fingers through the soft curls. “You didn’t have to do that, you know,” Keets says, flashing me a grin as he walks over to the bar and pulls up a stool. I feel bad, but not enough to apologize. I shake my head. “He was a jerk,” I state, turning away from him and picking up the rag up off the floor. “He’s a good guy, Shan,” Keets answers, swivelling around on the bar stool to watch me aggressively attack one of the tables with the rag. “Oh, yeah?” I challenge, not looking

up. “Tell that to my lips. He attacked them like some primal beast.” They still tingle from the memory. No, stop it, Shannon. “So? The man’s had some bad luck. Throw him a fucking bone, Shannon. Your life hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows.” I sigh and drop the rag on the table. “I know.” I sigh, walking around the bar and into the back office. Taking a seat at the large wooden desk, I glance up as Keets follows me in and sits opposite me with his feet up on the desk,

completely silent. I try to ignore him as I pull out the receipts from the day, along with my favorite pen. It’s ridiculously oversized, with a large white feather on top and a white bow appliqué. I’ve often been laughed at for my choice in stationary, but the pen was a gift from my late daddy, and I refuse to use any other. I glance up as Keets lets out a soft chuckle, frowning as the sound annoys me. “Don’t start,” I warn. “Who, me?” Keets says, trying his hardest to look innocent and failing miserably. “I’m just wondering how

many ostriches your father had to go through to get that feather.” I grin as I imagine my burly father chasing down a herd of ostriches, their long legs tangling around themselves as they try to pluck at him. That’s the sort of man Darius Harper was. He’d have given you the shirt off his back if he thought you needed it. He’d certainly think nothing of braving a few large birds to get a feather for his eldest daughter. With my younger sister away at college, it was a surprise to no one that I’d been chosen to take over Saddles. A small ball of paper hits

my nose and I jump, startled out of my thoughts. I look over at a grinning Keets and try to frown, pursing my lips together to stop the smile threatening to escape. “Stop it,” I admonish. “I’m still angry at you.” “No, you’re not,” Keets replies, his grin widening even further. “You couldn’t be angry at me if you tried.” “Well, I am trying, so either shut up and help me or get the hell out of my office.” “Pushy, pushy.” He laughs as I shove his feet off the table.

“I mean it, Damien,” I say tiredly, putting my pen down on the desk and rubbing my eyes. “I have a stack of paperwork to do.” “You just used my first name. Hold up,” Keets says, raising his hands. “We’ve got a badass over here.” He grins, mimicking one of our favorite Facebook memes. “Okay, okay,” he continues, as I open my mouth to yell at him again. “You win. I’ve gotta go and check on Stone, anyway.” My face falls. I’ve calmed down enough to realize what a bitch I was to him. “I guess I

overreacted a bit, huh?” “Just a bit,” Keets states gently. “Don’t worry; I’ll take care of it.” He stands up and walks around the desk, grabbing my hands and pulling me to my feet before wrapping his arms around me. “You deserve a better life,” he whispers into my hair, kissing the top of my head. I sigh and rest my head on his shoulder. He’s my only friend in this fucked-up town. Strong, warm, dependable Keets. I know he’s considered taking our friendship further, but it was never meant to be. Keets is

like my older brother, and I know I can always count on him to be there for me. He gently moves away and looks into my eyes. I always feel safe with him, like nothing or no one can hurt me. “I have to go,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead again before releasing me and walking out of the office. I stay where I am until I hear the front door of the bar close behind him. Dropping back into my seat, I rake my hands through my hair, pulling it up into a messy bun before propping my

head up on one hand and staring out the window. It’s late, and the country sky is full of stars. I never saw that many stars when I lived in the city. Smog polluted the air constantly, but sometimes after Troy had gone to sleep, I’d taken the ice pack and walked up five flights of fireescape stairs to the top of our apartment building. I’d sit there, nursing my latest bruise, and stare up at the sky, trying desperately to find just one star that reminded me of home. My father was a good man, dealt a terrible fate. He’d been riding the horse he’d bought me for

my twelfth birthday. He’d taken it upon himself to ride Lady every day when I moved to the city, and he had such a way with animals. But a pack of hunting dogs had come from nowhere. The spooked horse bolted, throwing Dad from the saddle, and it’d taken just one bite to the throat from one of the dogs to finish the job. He’d never seen it coming. Since that day, I’ve never been able to get back on my horse. I sigh and pack away the books before standing and leaving the small office, locking the door carefully behind

me. I take a moment to stop and look around the bar. It’s colored in muted tones, with wooden furniture and a deer head mounted on the wall opposite a large dart board. There’s an old mechanical bull in the center of the room that’s still used sometimes. I’d refused to redecorate from Daddy’s original design, and all the staff are under strict instructions to not move anything. I know it probably isn’t the healthiest mentality to have, but as long as the bar remains the same, it’s as though Daddy is still here. Locking up the bar, I bunch my coat

up around my ears against the frigid cold as I hurry to my run-down blue Datsun and slide behind the wheel. My teeth chatter, and a small amount of white smoke escapes my lips as I fumble with the keys in the ignition. I drive for some time, lost in my own thoughts. Stone’s arrival on the scene certainly is an unwelcome distraction, one I can’t afford. What is it about him that irritates me so much? He’s not even that good-looking. His eyes are too brown, his muscles too defined, and ugh, he kisses way too aggressively. I

squirm in my seat and adjust the belt as I recall the way his lips burned me. Surely no one could like that . . . Right? Liar, my mind taunts. Okay, I concede. Maybe he is good-looking… in a rugged, brutish kind of way. And maybe his kiss did leave me breathless, with a none-toounpleasant tingling. But there is absolutely no way I’m attracted to him. I pull the car over to the side of the road and sit there for a few minutes, the engine idling. White smoke blooms out

of my mouth, the windshield fogging over until I can barely see the road. Leaning forward, I wipe the sleeve of my jacket across the windshield in a circle, staring out at the dark corral that stretches before me. Turning off the ignition, I hop out of the car and slam the door, hugging my jacket tight across my body as I run for the stable at the side of the corral. Pulling open the large wooden door, I slip in and tug it tightly shut behind me, closing my eyes and breathing deeply as the warmth of the stable surrounds me. Horses nicker in

nearby stalls as I pass them, heading for the last stall on the right. I stand at the door and stare up at Lady, the beautiful strawberry-blonde colored horse Daddy bought me when I was twelve. The horse he’d been riding when he was killed. I stare up at the majestic creature, coherent thought leaving my body as I stretch out my fingers to the horse’s soft muzzle. Lady whinnies and tosses her mane back, stamping her foot, her eyes large and wild. She’s tossing Dad to the ground, preparing to bolt… I snatch my hand back, breathing

hard as I stare at my horse. The poor creature is terrified, clearly traumatized by the memory of the hunting dogs. “It’s okay,” I murmur quietly as Lady inches closer. I gingerly stretch out my fingers once more until the horse’s nose bumps against them. Gently stroking the soft hair that covers Lady’s muzzle, I allow my thoughts to drift away once more. “Let go, sweetie. I’ll catch you.” I squeal with delight as Daddy swings me up into the air and catches me back in his large arms. I hug him tight as he lowers me to the ground and

kneels in the grass in front of me. “I love you, buttercup.” He smiles, gently stroking the long hair out of my face before presenting a long-stemmed pink rose from behind his back. “Happy birthday,” he says as I beam and take the rose. “Thank you, Daddy.” I flash him a grin. “How old are you, seventeen? Eighteen?” he teases. “I’m ten, Daddy.” I laugh. I love it when my daddy makes jokes. Of course he knows how old I am; I’ve been

talking of nothing but this birthday for months. “Ten?” Daddy’s eyebrows rise into his hairline in mock surprise. “I guess you just need to stop growing then, don’t you?” He grins as he tickles my tummy, and I shriek with laughter. “Come on, you two.” We glance up at my momma, Heather, calling out from the back porch as she unties her white apron with a smile. “It’s time for cake.” “Cake!” Daddy exclaims, scrambling to his feet, almost as

excited as me. I giggle as I watch Daddy run to the porch and swing Momma around in a circle, planting a wet kiss on her lips. Despite being married for almost twenty years, they’re still clearly so much in love. I hope one day I’ll find a man to love me as much as my daddy. Unfortunately, the next winter proved to be too brutal for my fragile mother, who contracted a particularly nasty case of pneumonia. I hold Daddy’s hand tightly as I watch the plain wooden casket be lowered into the

ground. “It’s just us now,” he says gruffly, wiping away the tears of myself and my younger sister, Natalie. I snap back to reality as a car’s headlights pass by outside the stable. Wiping away a few errant tears, I slip into the stall with Lady and pull a small cot out from beneath a bench. Dragging it beneath an alcove, I kick my sneakers off and lie back on it, pulling a warm, fleece blanket out of a drawer beside the cot. Tugging the blanket up to my chin, I

allow the familiar smell of the stable to lull me into a sense of security. As the lonely tears dry on my cheeks, I finally fall asleep, dreaming of happier days.

“Well, how the hell was I supposed to know she didn’t like nicknames?” I yell as I glare up at Keets.

I’d been sitting on the couch, nursing a cold beer against my balls when Keets burst into the small house, proverbial guns blazing. The pain had somewhat eased in my undercarriage, but not to my wounded pride. “Sometimes, your mind astounds me,” Keets says, shaking his head as he adjusts his glasses. “What made you think it was okay to call her kitten?” “I don’t know,” I reply, my voice lowering to normal once more as I adjust the front of my jeans and swallow a mouthful of beer from the bottle I hold.

“She was acting like a wildcat. I just thought it’d be funny.” “Well, it wasn’t.” Keets sighs, dropping down on the opposite couch and propping his feet up on the coffee table, crossing his ankles. “Make yourself at home,” I mutter, glancing at his dirty boots. “Look,” Keets says, pointedly ignoring me. “Shan’s had a hard time, okay? A damn hard time. So cut her some slack.” “Slack?” I echo in disbelief. “The crazy bitch kicked me in the balls, and

you want me to pat her on the head and give her a cookie?” “You fucked up her bar and didn’t turn up for your first shift,” Keets replies hotly, sitting up straight and dropping his feet to the ground. “You’re lucky your ass isn’t in jail right now!” “I know,” I agree quietly. I’d been a jackass, and truth be told, I probably deserved to have my balls kicked up into my body until they disappeared. I never should have kissed her. And she never should have responded. I cross my legs as I feel my cock harden in memory of

her soft lips. What is it about her that has me tied up in knots? She’s not even pretty, in the conventional sort of way. She’s too short, too skinny. And she has curly fucking hair. What grown woman willingly has curly hair? Certainly none I’ve ever known. They’re all about sleek, straight locks, long legs and ample curves. “Don’t,” Keets warns. I glance up, noting the frown on my friend’s face. “What?” I ask, innocently enough. “Whatever it is you’re thinking,

don’t do it,” Keets says. “She’s not for you.” “What the fuck are you talking about?” I snap, lifting the bottle to my lips and downing the rest of my beer. “Shannon,” Keets answers, standing so quickly he almost knocks the coffee table over. “She doesn’t need your crap,” he continues in a low voice. “Just keep it in your pants around her, all right?” I stare at him. Has he completely lost his mind? I’m not interested in Shannon . . . am I? “You’ve got it,” I say,

touching the rim of the empty bottle to my temple in a brief salute. “Look, I’m sorry, all right?” Keets apologizes, raking his hand through his short hair. “I just don’t wanna see her get hurt.” “And you think I’d hurt her,” I reply. It’s not a question. “Of course not,” Keets says, avoiding eye contact. “Listen, we’ll talk about this later, yeah? Get some sleep.” “Sure,” I agree, silently willing my friend to look at me. As if reading my mind, Keets raises his eyes and stares at

me for so long I start to shift uncomfortably. “No more beer,” Keets orders, narrowing his eyes as his gaze moves to the empty bottle in my hand. “What are you, my father?” I throw my head back as I laugh at my own joke. Keets doesn’t laugh. “Okay, okay,” I say, raising one hand in surrender as the other places the empty bottle on the coffee table. I rise to my feet and eye Keets. “No beer,” I finally agree. “Good,” Keets says with a nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget, you’re due at the bar at one p.m.”

“Got it.” I watch as Keets leaves, shutting the door behind him. I’m left alone in the deafening silence. I hate the silence; that’s when I hear the screams in my head. I walk into the kitchen and open the fridge. My hand automatically reaches for a beer, but I force it back. I made a promise. “Fuck!” I swear savagely as I slam the fridge door shut and stomp through to my bedroom, hitting the light switch to illuminate the room. It’s sparsely decorated. A large bed stands beneath

the window, covered in a black quilt, and a tall wooden dresser sits on the other side by the wall. I walk over to the bed and flick on the touch lamp that sits on the bedside table. Turning the main light back off, I return to the bed and sit on the edge, rubbing my hands over my face. Standing once again, I remove my jeans and t-shirt, sliding beneath the quilt in a pair of Calvin Klein briefs as I reach up and turn off the lamp. Settling back with my hands behind my head, I stare at the ceiling in the dark until I’m lulled to sleep.

“Please, sir, help me,” she begs. Her hand stretches out toward my hiding place. How does she know I’m here? I lost contact with my men hours ago, when I dropped my bag while running from a spray of bullets. The room is dark and dusty, and I can smell the metallic tang of blood, mixed with sweat. It smells like death. I wipe a hand over my sweaty face and peer out between the boxes. She can’t be any older than sixteen, her naked body stretched out on the cold concrete floor.

A door on the far side of the darkened room opens and a group of figures walk inside, speaking in hushed tones. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but clearly she understands them because she starts crying in earnest. One of the men steps into a ray of light, and I recoil as the Arab man seems to stare right at me. I wait for them to grab me, drag me from my hiding place. Instead, the young girl’s screams grow louder. Looking out through the boxes once more, my heart thuds loudly in my chest as I watch her struggle against the

ropes that hold her hands fast. The man on top of her seems to take no notice of her distress; in fact, he seems to relish it. When he’s done, he leans down and plants a loud, wet kiss against her cheek before standing and tucking his limp dick back into his pants. I watch in horror as another man takes his place above the girl, but as he rapes her, he places his large hands around her throat, cutting off her screams. I swallow hard as I hear the gurgling noise as she chokes. I can’t tear my eyes away as her head is smashed

repeatedly against the cold, hard ground, until it’s no longer recognizable. I make a sound low in my throat and quickly fall back as the man looks up sharply, his eyes narrowing as he stares directly at where I’m hiding. The Arab barks orders to the remaining men, who draw knives from their boots and pants as they advance. A hand grabs my wrist… I shoot up in bed, gasping for breath. I’m covered in sweat and my heart is racing. But I’m alive.

Willing myself to calm down, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and run my hands over my face. A quick glance at the digital clock on the bedside table reveals the time to be 3am. Flicking on the lamp, I stand up and leave the room, stretching my arms above my head as I enter the kitchen and open the fridge. Grabbing a bottle of beer, I pad on bare feet back through the small house and re-enter the bedroom. Sitting on the bed, I pull the blanket up to my waist and open the bottle. I hesitate only briefly before lifting it to my lips. I

know I made a promise to Keets, but desperate times call for desperate measures. One beer can’t hurt…

When I enter the bar the next afternoon, I’m greeted by a sight I know will be etched into my memory forever. Shannon is bent over the bar as she retrieves a few glasses, her heart-shaped ass sticking proudly up in the air. I feel

myself grow instantly hard and groan inwardly. I can’t tear my eyes away from the smooth space of bare skin around her midriff that is exposed when she reaches up to put a glass away. I clear my throat and she spins around, gasping as she holds a hand to her heart. “Ethan,” she says with a small laugh of relief. “You scared me.” “Stone,” I correct her as I walk over to the bar. “No one’s called me Ethan in years.” “Stone,” she repeats, testing the name. I like the way it sounds on her

lips. My cock does too, as it twitches in my jeans. “We don’t get much of a crowd on Sunday afternoons,” Shannon says, breaking the sexual charge that fills the bar as she takes a step away from me. Did she feel it, too? “Ruth will be in shortly, but you should be able to get out of here by five.” “Ruth?” I ask, drawing my eyes away from her pert little tits to look at her face. She blushes and ducks her head, tucking a strand of curly hair behind her ear. I decide I like her hair left out of the tie.

Shit, busted. “Ruth is one of the barmaids here,” Shannon is saying. I force myself to pay attention. But damn she’s making it hard for me to think straight. As if right on cue, the door of the bar opens and I turn to see the same pretty, young blonde I’d tried to save from the drunken fool the night I wrecked the bar. “Hey, Shan,” she calls out with a bright smile as she drops her handbag on the bar and runs a hand through her hair, staring directly at me. I shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

“Ruth,” Shannon starts with a warm smile. “This is Stone. He’s going to be helping out around the bar for a while.” “Hello,” Ruth says shyly, looking up at me from beneath heavy, dark lashes. “Hey,” I reply, giving her a warm smile. She’s pretty—gorgeous, if I’m completely honest. Her platinum blonde hair hangs straight down her back, and her big, blue eyes would make most men drop to their knees and promise her the world. So, why isn’t she having any effect

on me? I glance over at Shannon just as she looks up at me. Her blue eyes widen, her skin flushes a dull shade of pink, and immediately I feel my cock stir. What is it about her that gets under my skin? “Thank you,” Ruth is saying, forcing my eyes back over to her. “I’m sorry?” I respond, feeling like a heel for ignoring her. “I just wanted to thank you,” Ruth repeats, her small hand resting on my large forearm. “For the way you stood up for me the other night.”

I smile indulgently at her. “Think nothing of it,” I say, perhaps a little too grandly. I glance at Shannon who’s standing there smirking at me. Does she notice the way Ruth is hanging onto my arm, as though I’m her white knight? Is she jealous? Why do I care? I stand up a little straighter, puffing my chest out. “But I feel terrible,” Ruth continues, shaking her head, tears threatening to spill from her large eyes. “It’s okay,” I tell her, patting her hand awkwardly as I look desperately at Shannon, who’s still smirking. Help me,

I mouth at her. “Come on, Ruth,” Shannon interjects, smiling brightly as she links arms with the younger girl. “I have some things in the back for you to do this afternoon.” I watch as she leads Ruth away, throwing a wink at me over her shoulder that almost brings me to my knees. I slump into the nearest chair and rest my head in my hands, leaning against the small round table. My head is killing me. I hadn’t been able to sleep after my nightmare last night… a nightmare that

comes all too often. “Are you okay?” Shannon asks as she re-enters the room. I look up at her wearily, giving her a small smile. “I’m fine,” I answer, pushing myself up and tucking the chair back in. I follow her over to the bar and start putting clean glasses away as she watches me. “Listen,” she says, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m sorry about last night.” I pause, half-bent over the bar, and glance up at her. “It’s okay,” I finally reply, putting the last glass away and

straightening up. “I understand.” “Did Keets talk to you?” she asks, twisting the hem of her t-shirt worriedly. “Don’t worry,” I assure her. “He didn’t tell me anything personal, just that you don’t like nicknames.” I move over to the far wall and pick up the broom. “It’s not that I don’t like nicknames,” she says, following me across the room, watching as I manoeuver the broom around the chairs. “I just don’t like being called kitten.” “Well, why not?” I ask, not looking at her. “It’s not as though I called you a

bitch or anything.” “I know,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s what my ex called me.” I pause and glance up at Shannon. Her face is pale, her voice trembling. “Ah, hell,” I curse, letting the broom slip from my fingers as I grab her wrist and pull her to me, wrapping my large arms around her awkwardly. What is it about crying women in this town? They seem to converge around me in droves. First Ruth, now Shannon? “What’s going on?” I ask against her hair.

Shannon sniffs and leans her head back, giving me a tremulous smile. Her tits press against my chest and I feel my cock harden. She must feel it too, her eyes grow large and round as she takes a step back. I already miss her being in my arms. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, quickly wiping her eyes. I have an almost overwhelming urge to hold her again, but she turns away before I can. “Shannon,” I say, causing her to pause and slowly turn back to face me. “I know you don’t know me all that well,” I continue, my voice sounding

gruff in my own ears. “But if you ever need to talk, I’m here for you.” Shannon stares up at me thoughtfully. “You are, aren’t you?” she muses. I don’t get the chance to question her further, as Ruth comes back into the room to open the bar. For the rest of the afternoon, Shannon makes herself scarce as Ruth and I serve the few customers who come into the bar. I briefly consider asking Ruth what’s going on with Shannon, but quickly veto that idea. She’s clearly

close to Shannon, so I doubt she’d do anything to violate that trust. “Hey.” Ruth nudges me with a grin. “You okay?” “Hmm?” I ask distractedly, glancing down at her as I dry a glass. “Sorry.” I flash her a quick smile. “I guess my mind’s on other things.” “You mean Shannon?” Ruth asks slyly. I almost drop the glass in shock. Quickly placing it on the bar, I grab another, refusing to look at her. “What do you mean?” I ask nonchalantly.

Ruth lets out a light laugh, and I know the jig is up. “I’m young, Stone.” She smiles at me. “But I’m not stupid.” I sigh and turn to face her. “I just don’t understand her,” I admit. “I don’t think anyone does,” Ruth says. “But why won’t she let anyone in? What’d her ex do to her that was so terrible?” I ask. “Did he hit her or something?” Ruth visibly flinches and realization dawns on me. “Son of a bitch,” I curse under my breath. My blood boils when I

think of anyone laying a hand on Shannon. No wonder she’s so distrusting. “Look, Stone, you can’t tell her I told you,” Ruth says, licking her lips nervously. I look down at her then glance around the room at the customers who sit at various tables. “Stone,” Ruth repeats. “I won’t say a word,” I promise. “But you’re going to tell me everything.” Friendship be damned.

I

sag against the bar and run a hand through my tangled curls. It’s almost

closing time and, as usual, I’m exhausted. Smiling weakly at the last couple as they exit, the sound of laughter draws my attention to the other side of the room. I watch as Stone flicks a stray piece of popcorn at Ruth, feeling my gut twist as the young girl brushes her hair away from her face, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth as she laughs. Well, why shouldn’t he like her? She’s gorgeous. I hate being jealous of my friend, but even more than that, I hate the reason behind my jealousy. I have to

face the facts: I’m attracted to Stone. “Shannon,” he calls out, waving me over. I wipe my hands on my jeans and walk over to them, taking a seat at one of the tables. “Stone was just telling me about his time in the Army,” Ruth says, gazing up at him adoringly. I feel like throwing up. “How nice,” I reply with a weak smile. “It’s getting late, though. Aren’t you tired?” “Not at all.” Ruth beams. “We were just talking about driving into town to

find a club.” I stare at Stone, who raises a questioning eyebrow at me as one side of his lips cock up into a smirk. Jackass. I ignore the quiver of longing that shoots into my center and makes my clit pulse with desire. “Oh,” I say, trying to sound disinterested. “It’s been a while since I was in town; it is an hour’s drive away, after all.” “You should come with us,” Stone invites, that smirk blossoming into a grin. “No,” I respond, shaking my head.

“I have too much work to do. You guys go ahead.” I can’t go back to town. I swore when I left there the first time that I’d never go back. Not after everything that happened . . . “Oh, come on, Shan,” Ruth pleads, grabbing my hand across the table. “You never do anything fun.” I can’t help but laugh at Ruth’s pretty pout. “Okay, okay,” I say, my eyes crinkling as I smile, even though I feel dead inside. “I’ll catch up with you guys shortly.” “Great!” Ruth squeals, jumping up

and down as she claps her hands excitedly. Stone narrows his eyes at me. “You sure you’re okay?” Shit. Does he notice how pale I am? Maybe I can pretend to be sick and just go home. “Yeah.” I nod. “I’ll just close up the bar and get changed. I’ll meet you guys back here in an hour.” “Come on,” Ruth says impatiently, tugging on Stone’s arm as she leads him out of the bar. “I’ll catch up with you soon,” he promises, watching as Ruth leaves. I

keep my eyes trained on him as he walks over to the door and locks it closed behind her before turning back to face me. Why is he still here? My breath is audible in the quiet room, as are his slow, methodical steps. My pulse races as every click of his boots on the hard wood floor sends a jolt of awareness straight to my center. He stops directly in front of me and I tilt my head up to gaze into his dark eyes that are fixated on my suddenly dry mouth. My tongue darts out to lick my lips and I hear something akin to a groan escape his throat. “What are

you doing?” I ask in a strangled whisper. He’s so close I can feel the heat from his skin against my chest. “Do you have any idea what you fucking do to me?” he asks in a low voice, his fingertip tracing a slow path down my arm. I shiver involuntarily and I’m unable to tear my gaze away from his. “No,” I whisper, the word sticking in my throat as his finger trails lazily to the top of my t-shirt, dipping lightly between my small breasts. Stone grabs my hand and brings it down to the front

of his jeans, pressing it against himself. “I’ve been like this since I first walked in and saw your ass sticking up in the air, waiting for me,” he growls. Heat pools between my thighs and my eyes almost roll back in my head as I press my hand firmly against his hard cock. He feels much too large for one hand, and I slowly begin to stroke him through his jeans. Stone lets out a loud groan and throws his head back as I increase the pace. I know anyone could walk past the bar at any time, and that knowledge both excites and terrifies me. My hand slips

into the space at the top of his jeans, feeling desperately for the bare skin beneath, but a growl rips from his chest as he forcibly grabs my hand and pulls it away. His other hand fists in my hair and drags my head back as his mouth covers mine. I part my lips in surprise and his tongue darts inside, wrestling with my own. I feel hot . . . so fucking hot. We’re both wearing too many clothes. As though reading my mind, Stone’s hands slip beneath my ass and he lifts me effortlessly. I wrap my legs around his

waist as he carries me a short distance across the room, his lips never leaving mine until he places my feet back on the ground. He rips his mouth away and I dreamily open my eyes to look at him, quickly burning under his heated gaze. “Stone,” I whimper, clutching at his shirt with my small fists. “Shannon,” he says hotly. “You’re wearing too many clothes.” “I know,” I whisper, my eyes closing as I feel his hands on the front of my jeans. A second later they’re shoved down my hips along with my underwear,

and he lifts my feet one by one as I step out of them and kick off my shoes. My shirt and bra goes next, and he groans as he stares at me. “Fuck, you’re so damn beautiful it hurts to look at you,” he growls as his mouth covers one nipple and sucks. Hard. I yelp at the sudden spike of pain, but it’s quickly forgotten as his tongue laves wet circles against my heated flesh. My head tilts back as he gives the other breast the same attention, cupping it in his large hand and lifting it to his lips. “Stone,” I murmur, threading my

fingers through his dark hair. He releases my nipple with a pop and picks me up, laying me back against the old mechanical bull, my legs splayed wide apart, spreading me open to his gaze. The steel sends a cold shock down my spine and I cry out, arching my back, but he presses a hand against my stomach, forcing me back down. “Are you ready?” he asks in a low voice. I lift my head to watch him lower his face between my legs . . . Then he stops. He fucking stops. Every nerve ending in my body is

screaming, and I’m silently begging him to snake his tongue around my clit and suck it. But he fucking stops. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, inhaling my scent before he stands up and gently helps me to my feet. I stand there staring at him, covering my breasts and my pussy with my hands, embarrassed. “Stone?” I squeak, wishing he’d say something. Anything. He lifts his eyes to me, and I can swear that for a brief second I see a flash of regret cross his pinched features. He leans down and scoops my clothes up from the floor,

tossing them at me. They fall uselessly to the floor as I continue to cover my nudity, my skin flushed red in humiliation. “Get dressed,” he says gruffly, turning his back on me as though he’s disgusted by what he sees. My face flaming, I stare at his back, growing angrier by the second. Who the fuck does he think he is? “Stone,” I snarl. He turns, and I wipe the questioning look off his face with a firm slap. A look I can’t quite describe flashes across his face, then he turns on his heel and stalks over

to the front door of the bar. It slams shut behind him and I race over, throwing the lock before sinking down to the ground, resting my back against the door and my head in my hands. What the fuck was that? I can’t believe that not only did he have me naked – but I let him. I shiver as I glance down at myself and realize I’m still naked. Crawling across the floor, I drag my jeans and shirt back on as I stand up and try to fix my unruly curls, giving up in about ten seconds and letting them

cascade over my shoulders. I slump on the floor and stare blindly around the bar. I’m not sure which is worse: Allowing Stone to get to me, or his ultimate rejection. Humiliation gives way to anger, and I clench my small hands into fists. How fucking dare Stone make me second-guess myself. How dare he make me feel like I’m not good enough. So what if he doesn’t want me, it’s not like I want him. Liar, my mind taunts. You’re such a fucking liar. I groan again as I remember my promise to Ruth about going to the club tonight. I

haven’t been back to town since I escaped from Troy a year ago. Am I ready to go back now? Can I face my fears? I briefly consider faking a stomach ache, crawling into bed and hiding. But there’s a slightly perverse side of me that doesn’t want to leave Ruth alone with Stone. I have to go, even if it kills me. And it just might. The front door opens, and I look up as the woman from last night steps in. “I’m sorry,” she says, seeing the

empty place. “Are you closed?” “No, of course not,” I tell her, quickly getting to my feet and hurrying over to the bar. “What can I get you?” “Just a glass of white wine, thank you,” she says, taking a crumpled tendollar bill from her purse and putting it on the bar. As I pour the wine, I glance over at her as she releases a deep cough that seems to resonate from her chest. Her hands are shaking as she takes a clean tissue from her purse, dabbing at her mouth before quickly scrunching it up

and dropping it back in her purse. But not before I see the blood. “Grace, isn’t it?” I ask with a smile, placing the glass on the bar and taking the money. The woman takes an appreciative sip and nods, closing her eyes as a quick look of pain flashes across her face. I don’t know how, but she looks even older today than she did last night. At least forty. There are dark circles under her eyes like she hasn’t slept, and without the added benefits of makeup, I can see fine lines around her eyes and

mouth. I ring the drink up and hand over the change. “Are you all right?” I ask, watching Grace carefully. The woman is much too pale. “I’m fine,” Grace says with a weak smile. “I haven’t been feeling too well lately.” “Where’s your son?” I ask. Grace takes another sip of wine and puts the glass back down on the bar, clasping her trembling fingers together as she speaks. “He’s having a sleepover tonight,” she explains quietly. “I thought it’d be good for him.”

“Grace,” I say, lightly touching the older woman’s hand. “You’re not well. I’d have to be blind to miss that. Let me take you to the doctor.” Tears spring to Grace’s eyes, and she brushes them away impatiently. “I’m fine, I promise,” she says, giving me a tight smile. I’m not convinced. Grace is clearly not fine, but it’s not my place to pry. “Okay,” I give in, nodding my head. “But if you change your mind, you tell me, okay?” “Thank you, Shannon,” Grace says,

patting my hand before draining the rest of her wine and standing on unsteady feet. “Thank you for the wine.” “Listen,” I start as the woman turns around. Grace pauses and turns back to look at me. “A couple of us are going into town tonight. I know you’re not feeling well, but maybe some company would change that. I’m sure Ruth and Stone wouldn’t mind.” Grace flinches, but smiles and shakes her head. “Thank you, but no. I think the best thing I can do for now is

just go to bed and try to sleep.” “If you’re sure,” I say, watching as Grace makes her way to the door and steps outside. I have a nagging feeling in my gut that the woman needs help. My cell phone beeps in the back pocket of my jeans and I pull it out, grinning when I see it’s a text from Keets. K: Wot U doin’ 2nite? S: Going 2 town with Ruth & Stone K: U sure

that’s wise? S: It’s just a few drinks, don’t B such a worrywart K: What bar? I’m coming S: Dunno. B @ Saddles 30mins K: K. C U then I pocket my phone and grab my jacket from behind the bar. After locking the door securely behind me, I slide

behind the wheel of my car and drive the short distance to my apartment. As I enter through the front door, I strip off my jacket and flick on the living room light. The apartment isn’t much, just one bedroom above a bakery on the main street. I’ve tried to make it as homey as possible, with white lace curtains and small knick-knacks on the countertops. Walking to my bedroom, I flip on the light and rummage through the dresser at the side of the room. My fingers hover over clean jeans and a plain blue t-shirt, and a grin spreads across my face as a

deliciously naughty idea pops into my head. This is the first time I’ve been to a club in a year, and I’m going to look the part. At just twenty-nine years old, I’m no stranger to the club scene, but as I towel my curls dry after a quick shower and change into a black leather miniskirt and shiny gold top that’s completely backless, save for the tiny string that ties it together, I begin to wonder if I can really do it. The last time I’d been at a nightclub, Troy had caused such a scene

we’d been thrown out. He hated when another man looked at his woman, and he’d never had a problem punching someone he thought looked at them the wrong way. What happened with Stone this afternoon flashes in my head. He’d been a predator, pouncing in my weakest moment. Anger boils in my blood as I think of how he used me, then humiliated me. I shouldn’t go tonight, I should curl up under the blankets and just sleep it off. I’m too hurt, too angry . . . But it’s too late to back out now.

Quickly applying a coat of pale pink gloss to my plump lips, I fluff my curls, selecting a few to pin back off my face. Pulling on a pair of knee-high, black leather lace-up boots, I complete the look with a pair of large gold hoop earrings. I’m ready.

The club is jumping, and everywhere I look people are dancing. But I only have eyes for her.

My cock has been impossibly hard from the minute I saw her in that tiny skirt. What the hell kind of game does she think she’s playing? Doesn’t she know every single man in the club has his eyes fixed firmly on her ass? This afternoon I’d fucked up. I’d wanted her so badly that I hadn’t stopped to consider the consequences until it was almost too late. She'd been fucking perfect, naked and spread across the back of that mechanical bull. I slip my hand under the bar and adjust my jeans as my cock grows long at the memory.

She’d smelled amazing, and I’d wanted nothing more than to bury my face in that sweet pussy until I felt her come apart under my tongue. Instead, I convinced myself that she deserves better than a wounded, angry soldier. She’s angry, and I don’t blame her. My hand drifts up to touch the cheek she slapped today, a faint smile playing at the corners of my mouth. She’s a little wildcat, that’s for damn sure. I take a long swallow of my beer as

I watch her dance with Ruth, trying to squash the jealousy that churns in my stomach as she grinds her ass against her friend . . . I wish it were my cock. She’s so damn beautiful that I can’t stop staring. My eyes narrow as I watch a slick, young man slide up beside her, grab her hand and spin her toward him. I see the shock on her face as the man grabs her hips and grinds against her. It takes a minute to find her rhythm but then Shannon is dancing with him, allowing his hands to grip her ass as they move. Her eyes seek mine out across the room.

A silent challenge. I don’t need to be told twice. Draining my beer, I slam the empty can down on the bar as I stand up and make my way through the dancing couples. My eyes are fixed firmly on her. Shannon’s eyes widen as I get closer, and she glances at the drunken man still holding her. Does she think he’ll save her? I snort. Tapping the man on the shoulder, I indicate to Shannon. “Let me cut in,” I say, staring the man down. Unfortunately, the man is so drunk he doesn’t listen to reason. “Shove off, old man,” the guy slurs, turning his attention

back to Shannon. I don’t ask a second time. The guy never sees it coming. When my fist connects with his jaw, he goes flying onto the floor. “What the fuck, Stone?” Shannon shrieks, staring at me. Her eyes are wide with shock, glittering with fury. “What the hell is your problem?” “Nothing,” I mutter gruffly, drawing her into my arms. She struggles against me, but I hold her fast. My large hand presses against the bare skin on her back and I close my eyes, not caring if she can feel my hard cock through my jeans. The

music changes to a slow number, and I feel her begin to relax. This is what I want, what I’ve needed for so long. We sway in time to the beat and by the time she lifts her head up, there’s no question in my mind that she feels it. Her eyes have an almost dream-like essence as she looks up at me through her heavy fringe of dark lashes. She smells fucking delicious, a warm mixture of vanilla, honey and some kind of flower. Shannon tucks her head beneath my chin, and I breathe in the scent of her hair. Unable to suppress my desire any longer, I tilt her

chin gently up, my eyes searching hers. Shannon’s eyes slowly drift closed, her lips slightly part, and I take that as my cue. I kiss her. Right in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by other couples, I kiss Shannon as though she's a well in a desert, and I'm dying of thirst. All too soon, though, the kiss is over. Interrupted. I’m swung around by the arm and I duck, narrowly missing being hit by the drunken guy I’d punched just moments earlier. I watch, warily, as the guy circles me, staggering slightly on his

feet. Fourteen years of combat training takes over, and I crouch down in a defensive stance as I wait for the man to make his move. People crowd around us and I can hear Shannon pleading with me to stop, but I’m already back in Afghanistan, facing down an enemy. The man dives at me and I expertly kick my right leg out, knocking the man’s legs out from beneath him. A slight grin forms on my lips as I dive on top of the man, punching him in the face and quite possibly breaking his nose. I’m in my element. This is me; this

is what I was born to do. I’m a trained fighter, a born fighter. I feel the bones crumble like dirt beneath my knuckles, and the man’s head drops like a sack of potatoes. The club is dead silent, and I’m acutely aware of people standing around me, staring at the scene in shock. I gradually get to my feet, my chest heaving as I turn in a slow circle. My eyes fall on Shannon, and I flinch at the fury I see on her face. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she growls, her

voice unusually loud in the silent club. I instinctively know I’ve done the wrong thing, but I’m not sorry for it. I watch as she kneels down next to the man and tends to his wounds. Another, older man also kneels beside her. “Keep the pressure on it,” he’s saying. “An ambulance is on its way.” “Should we call the cops?” a man yells in the background. “No,” the injured man says, struggling to sit up. “No, no cops.” “Shh,” Shannon soothes him, pushing the hair back off his face. “You

need to lie still and wait for the ambulance.” I watch the exchange, a sick feeling settling in the bottom of my stomach. Why is she protecting this idiot who practically mauled her? And why did she allow it to happen? I have to get the fuck away from her. I feel her accusing eyes on me as I turn away and head to the bar, holding my hand up to the bartender for a fresh beer. “Are you sure that’s wise?” Keets asks, sliding onto the bar stool next to me. I look at my friend and swivel on the stool to face him.

“What does it matter?” I ask, gesturing to Shannon, who’s back on the dance floor with Ruth. The injured man has been taken to the hospital under protest, and the club seems to be back to normal. Except for the scathing looks Shannon continues to throw my way. “I know it can’t be good to drink that much beer,” Keets says, gesturing to the bartender for his own drink. “Yeah, well, desperate times, my friend,” I tell him, patting him on the shoulder as I grab my fresh beer and drain half of it immediately.

“Why are you doing this?” Keets demands. “Why can’t you just leave her alone?” “What the hell are you talking about?” I ask. My voice is starting to slur, and I have to squint to see him in front of me. “I saw you out there,” he states, his face twisting into an ugly scowl. “Didn’t we have this chat the other night? She’s not for you.” “Dude, it was just a dance.” “You just punched the shit out of some guy for dancing with her!” Keets is

livid. “I punched the shit out of some guy for pawing at her like she was a piece of fucking meat,” I yell as I stand up, towering over Keets on the barstool. “Why do you care?” Keets stands up, back in my face. “Why do you not?” I shoot back. We stand there in silence, neither one of us wanting to back down. Finally, Keets looks away, visibly swallowing a lump in his throat. “Whatever,” he says quietly. “I just don’t want to see either of you get hurt.”

I attempt to calm down with slow, deep breaths. “I know, man,” I respond. “I appreciate it. But you need to stop. I’m fine, and I promise I would never do anything to intentionally hurt Shannon.” Keets nods slowly. “All right,” he agrees. We hug each other awkwardly, patting one another on the back as we part. Keets returns to the dance floor, and a smile spreads across my face as I watch my old friend politely incline his head to Ruth and offer her his hand. My eyes move over to Shannon who stands

there, a glare on her beautiful face as she looks back at me, not even attempting to mask her anger. I’m in deep shit.

I’m fucking furious. Who the hell does Stone think he is? He can’t just go barging into a situation, all guns blazing

and expect to save the day. Okay, I concede. If I’m perfectly honest, I wanted him to see that guy all over me. After Stone’s rejection of me in Saddles this afternoon, I wanted to prove to him … to myself, that some men find me desirable. I just never expected … that. He was like a caged tiger, all pent up rage and frustration. And lust. My pulse quickens as I think about that searing kiss. What did it mean? Was it just the heat of the moment, or do I have Stone wrong? Is he attracted to me

after all? There was no denying the feel of his hard cock pressed against me as we danced, but if he is, why does he insist on fighting it? Does he think I want more? Hearts and flowers? He’s no Prince Charming, and I’m not Cinderella. If we were, this would be one fucked-up fairy tale. I slam my glass down on the small round table and stare around the darkened club. I can see Stone over at the bar, drinking yet another beer. How many does that make tonight? Nine? Ten? I’d lost count after five. My hair has come loose, and curly

tendrils tickle the back of my neck. I impatiently pull the tie out and pin my hair up into a bun as I watch the couples still dancing. As I finish fixing my hair, something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. I turn my head to the side, my eyes widening in surprise as I see Ruth pinned against the wall of the club by Keets, locked in a kiss so primal, so powerful it seems to charge the air. I almost feel like a voyeur as I watch them, and force my eyes away, back toward the bar. I see Stone as he sits there, talking to a man who joined

him on one of the tall bar stools. There’s something eerily familiar about him, and as he turns, I see his profile. I suck in a breath. It’s Troy. What the hell is he doing here? What is he saying to Stone? I stand up a little too quickly, knocking over the chair, but I hardly give it a second thought as my eyes stay trained on Troy and Stone. It takes me just seconds to reach the bar, and then Troy looks up and sees me. “Ah, there she is now. I was just telling your new boyfriend all about

you.” I can feel the blood drain from my face and turn my eyes toward Stone, sitting there with his back to me, looking into his half-empty glass. “What are you doing here, Troy?” I ask, looking back at my ex as he sits there with a selfsatisfied smirk on his handsome face. I wish I could slap that smirk right off him. “I heard you were back in town,” Troy answers, lifting his beer to his lips and taking a large mouthful. “Only for tonight,” I say,

swallowing down my revulsion as he lets out a loud belch. “You sure?” he asks, putting his beer down on the bar and leaning toward me. I shiver and my breathing grows shallow as his fingers lightly caress the smooth skin of my upper arm. Still, Stone doesn’t move, or even acknowledge I’m here. “I thought maybe we could relive the good old days,” Troy is saying, his voice low as he presses closer to me. His voice is slurring, he’s clearly drunk. My pulse quickens in fear; drunk Troy

was always the violent Troy. “You know,” he continues, “before you fucking left me like the little cunt you are.” Oh, God, I can feel his cock stabbing at my thigh through his pants. “I-I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I stammer, leaning away from him. He's still so intimidating, a reminder of the Hell I walked away from. “Come on,” Troy urges, his fingers now digging into my flesh. “I bet your friend here would like a turn. Why don’t you show him what you’ve got? I’m sure he’d love to know what a great little

pussy you have. You might be a cunt, but at least yours is a pretty one.” Troy spins me around so my back is pressed against his chest. I feel his fingers close around the undersides of my breasts and I whimper helplessly. I’ve made a huge mistake, confronting him. I should’ve just left it alone. It’s too much. Tears roll silently down my cheeks. “Stone, please,” I beg quietly. Troy laughs, but something brushes by me and his laughter is cut off. He releases me and I spin around, my eyes opening wide as I see Stone holding him

up by the throat, a murderous look in his eyes. “You like to hit women?” he snarls. His eyes are full of rage as he holds Troy’s throat. Troy’s eyes are wide with fright, his fingers clambering desperately at Stone’s large hand. “Stone, please,” I beg, my hand touching his arm lightly. “Let him go.” Stone glances down at me. “You want me to let him go?” he asks incredulously. “After everything he did to you?” I falter at that. He knows? How could he know? I don’t have time to

think about that right now, though. Troy’s face is turning a strange reddish-purple color, his eyes bulging out of his head like a frog. I want nothing more than for Stone to squeeze the life out of this nogood, sniveling prick, but not at his own expense. “He’s not worth it,” I insist. Stone hesitates then releases Troy with a sound of disgust. Troy stumbles backwards, gasping for breath as he clutches at his throat. He looks so small next to Stone. Pathetic, really. “You’ll pay for this, you stupid bitch,” he gasps, staggering off back into

the crowd. I release a loud sigh of relief as he leaves, feeling my heart rate slowly return to normal. I swing my gaze back and forth between the two of them before finally coming to rest on Stone. He looks furious. His scowl deepens as he sees me looking at him. “What?” he snaps. “What?” I repeat, my mouth hanging open as I stare at him. “Have you completely lost your mind?” I follow him out of the club, pushing past the bouncers and line of people waiting to get in.

The parking lot is deathly quiet compared to inside. “Stone, stop!” I recoil as he rounds on me, eyes blazing. “What the hell did you expect me to do, Shannon?” he shouts, causing several passers-by to stare at us curiously. “This guy comes up to me in a bar and starts telling me all about his sex life with you, painting you as nothing more than a slut, and you want me to just back off?” I stare at him. I’d wondered what Troy said to Stone, but to actually hear it

fucking hurt. I knew my ex was a scumbag, but this was a new low. Even for him. “Why did you stand up for me?” I ask in a quiet voice. “Why?” Stone repeats, confusion etched on his handsome face. I nod. “You don’t even know me.” “I don’t,” Stone agrees. “But I know enough about you to know how strong you are. You kicked my ass the day I met you.” I smile at the memory. “That’s true,” I say.

“I know how important friendship is to you,” Stone continues, his voice soft and gentle. “You didn’t want to come here tonight, but you forced yourself because Ruth wanted you here.” I stare at him. “How could you possibly know that?” I demand. “I haven’t told anyone but—” Keets and Ruth. Shit. Stone nods knowingly. “Ruth told me,” he admits. “Don’t be mad at her; I half-guessed. The point is,” he continues, taking a couple of steps forward until he is standing directly in

front of me. “You’re amazing.” He cups my face in his large hand, his thumb softly stroking my cheek. “But you’re clearly not attracted to me, you proved that today in the bar.” Stone releases a short breath as he stares at me. “Is that what you think? That I’m not attracted to you?” “You pushed me away this afternoon, and—” “I pushed you away,” he interrupts, his eyes darkening. “Because I wanted you too much, Shannon.” “You-you did?”

He nods. “I wanted you then, and I want you now. You have no idea how hard my cock is for you; it’s like I have a constant hard on when you’re around. Seeing you, like this.” He gestures to my outfit. “It makes me want to bend you over the back of my car right now, flip up that skirt and push my tongue inside you.” My breathing increases as the blood pounds in my ears. I clench my thighs together to try to release some of the pressure. “Is that what you want to hear,

Shannon?” he asks, his fingertips lightly caressing my back as he winds his arms around me and draws me close, his breath hot against my ear. “Maybe you’d like to hear about the way I stroked my cock to you in the shower last night, imagining my hand was your mouth,” he kisses my neck as his hand slides down my front and beneath my skirt. “And then your sweet little pussy.” “Stone,” I moan helplessly, closing my eyes and tilting my head back as his fingers press against me intimately. “There you guys are,” Keets says

behind me. I jerk away from Stone guiltily, my face flaming. I turn to face my friend and notice he’s holding Ruth’s hand in a rather firm grip. I suppress a small smile as my eyes lock with Ruth, and the younger girl ducks her head in embarrassment. “We’re just getting ready to go,” Stone states, jangling the car keys in his hand as he pulls them out of the pocket of his jeans, seemingly unaffected by what just happened. My head snaps back to him. “No,” I tell him, shaking my head. “Absolutely

not.” “Huh?” he asks, a dazed look on his face. “You’re drunk,” I explain. “You’re not driving anywhere. Give me the keys.” “No fucking way,” Stone says, holding them protectively. “No one drives my car but me.” “She’s right,” Keets states, draping his arm across Ruth’s shoulders. “I’d rather sleep in my bed tonight, not the morgue.” “Who said anything about

sleeping?” Ruth giggles. I roll my eyes and turn back to Stone, holding my hand out expectantly. “No one drives my car,” he repeats, looking a little lost. I step closer and gently pry the keys from his hand. “I know,” I say gently, giving him a small smile. I unlock the car and slide behind the wheel, adjusting the seat to my height as I wait until everyone else piles in before pulling out of the parking lot. As I drive, I find it increasingly difficult to keep my eyes on the road. They are repeatedly drawn to

the rear view mirror, where I can clearly see Keets with his hand inside Ruth’s jeans. I press my thighs together and force my eyes forward. It lasts a few moments until I become aware of Stone’s eyes on me. “What?” I ask, glancing at him. “Nothing,” he says in a quiet voice. But he doesn’t stop staring at me. “Bullshit,” I respond, not looking at him. “Fine,” Stone huffs. “I was just thinking about how we were so rudely interrupted.”

I frown and glance at him. Is he playing a game with me? “What?” I ask. He smiles. “You heard me,” he says, his voice low as he leans toward me. “I was imagining how wet you’d be right now if my fingers were still touching you.” I feel my throat close and I become lightheaded as he speaks. Determined not to let him see how much he affects me, I ignore his comments and focus on driving. Sometime later, I jump as I feel his long fingers caress the outside of my thigh. I glance over again, and he gives

me such a heart-stopping grin that I feel my heart turn over in my chest. “Stop it,” I mumble, turning my attention back to the road. But he doesn’t. I feel his fingers move higher until they brush the edge of my short skirt and slide beneath. I swallow hard and try to ignore him as his warm hand gently spreads my legs open. Then he’s touching me. My mouth opens slightly, my breathing growing short as his fingers caress me through my panties. He has to stop, or in a matter of minutes we’re going to cause an accident. I try to

press my thighs together, but all that succeeds in doing is trapping his hand between my legs. My eyes dart over at him again, his white teeth flashing in the dark as he grins. I shift uncomfortably and open my legs enough for him to slip his hand out and settle back on his side. Leaning forward I turn on the radio, trying to drown out the sounds from Keets and Ruth in the backseat. How much have they had to drink? Settling back against the seat, both hands grip the wheel as the melodic sounds of Norah Jones’ “Come Away With Me” comes

through the speakers. My favorite song. We drive in silence the rest of the way, the only sounds the occasional kiss from the backseat and the music still playing on the radio. I pull up to Keets’ house, not at all surprised when Ruth gets out with him. I hope they know what they’re doing, and won’t regret it later. “Don’t come into work tomorrow,” I say out the window. “I’ll look after the bar.” “You sure?” Keets asks, leaning down to look through the window. “Yeah,” I say. “I haven’t drunk half

as much as you guys.” “I’ll say.” Keets laughs, inclining his head to the passenger seat. I turn my head, a smile spreading across my face as I see Stone sleeping soundly, his hands curled beneath his head against the window. “Where does he live?” I ask, turning back to Keets with a grin. “Right near the stables,” he says. “The little blue cottage down the lane.” I know exactly where it is. “I’ll see you later.” I laugh, waving out the window to Ruth as Keets steps

back and I pull slowly away from the house. By the time I arrive at Stone’s house, I’m exhausted, starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. Cutting the ignition, I remove my seatbelt and sit there for a minute, staring at Stone as he sleeps. How the hell am I going to get him to drive me home? Can I risk it? Surely my life is worth more than that. Sitting up a little straighter, I tentatively stretch one index finger out

toward him. “Stone?” I say quietly, poking him on the arm. He groans in his sleep and shifts a little, letting his head fall back against the seat. I open the door and step out. Moving around to the passenger side, I carefully open his door and lean in. I draw in a deep, shaky breath and lick my suddenly dry lips. He’s so close, and he smells so damn good. A combination of musky aftershave and cheap beer. I start to feel a little lightheaded. Christ, I could get drunk just on his smell. I wonder how I’m going to wake

him up. I could always try kissing him. He’s so close; it would take just a small movement from me for our lips to connect . . . I squeal as I feel strong fingers digging into the backs of my thighs, then I’m falling. I swallow hard as I land heavily on Stone’s lap, his hands on my ass as I straddle him. He buries his face between my neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. “You smell so fucking good,” he growls. My breath catches. The feral sound he just let slip past his lips is hotter than

anything I’ve ever heard before. His fingers caress the soft skin of my ass and thighs, and I force myself to breathe. To remain calm. “You were asleep,” I whisper. “I’m awake now,” he retorts. “And you’re drunk.” “So?” He spoke so much with that single word. So what if we barely know each other? So what if he’s drunk? So what if I regret it tomorrow? Why shouldn’t I take this opportunity, tempting as it is, and make the most of tonight?

Because deep down, I know I’m not the sort of girl who indulges in one-night stands. I’m attracted to Stone, but I won’t act on it. Not tonight. “I need you to drive me home,” I say in a small voice, avoiding his eyes as his fingers continue to make lazy circles across my skin. “Stay.” My eyes dart up, my mouth open slightly in shock, and he takes advantage of it. Slanting his head, Stone covers my mouth with his own, his tongue probing, searching. It takes just seconds for me to

respond, wrapping my arms around his neck as I moan into his mouth. He deepens the kiss, his fingers digging into my soft flesh as I feel his cock harden through his jeans, pressing between my legs. The seam of the denim is in the perfect position, and I rock myself back and forth a few times, feeling a delicious pull low in my stomach. He growls as he grabs my hips, pushing me up so that the edge of my ass rests on the dashboard in front of him, my legs on either side of his head. It’s an awkward position, and I have to lean my back against the cold

glass of the windshield, ducking my head down a little. He scoots forward and places a soft kiss against my knee, his fingertips trailing along the sensitive skin of my calf. My breath hitches as he raises his darkened eyes to mine. “Are these your favorite panties?” he asks, his hand sliding higher to finger the lacy thong I’m wearing beneath the mini skirt. “N-no,” I stammer, my breath harsh in the quiet car. I gasp as I hear the lace tear. I don’t have time to complain, because a second later his head is

between my legs . . . his mouth on me. My head hits the windshield as I lean back and part my lips. His mouth is doing all sorts of wonderful things to me, and I yelp in a combination of pleasure and pain as his teeth lightly graze across my sensitive clit. Stone’s lips latch onto my clit as he grips my thigh with one hand, the other probing at my slick entrance, seeking permission. I groan as I fist my hands in his hair, urging his mouth closer as he presses first one finger deep inside, then another. “Stone,” I whimper, feeling the pressure

build low in my stomach. It’s so much . . . too much. His mouth sucks my clit hard, then lets it out with a pop, only to take it once more. His fingers keep a steady rhythm as he makes a ‘come here’ gesture on my insides. I cry out as I contract around his hand and he increases the speed of his fingers, the suction of his mouth. Stone uses his tongue to flick a firm pattern directly on my clit and I explode, calling his name as I come hard. Stone tears his lips away, resting his forehead against my thigh, breathing

hard. We stay like that for at least two minutes, our breathing harsh in the quiet car, neither one of us wanting to speak first. “Stay,” Stone finally repeats, pulling me down off the dashboard and into his lap. I feel the heat from his arousal against my sensitive core as he brushes a lock of hair out of my eyes. “I can’t,” I whisper, unable to tear my eyes away from his piercing stare. “I’m not asking you for anything, Shannon,” he assures me, kissing my

eyelids. “Just stay for the night. I’ll be a perfect gentleman, but I’m too drunk to drive you home.” I sit back on his knees and stare at him. A perfect gentleman? He was anything but gentlemanly just a moment ago. He makes an excellent point though; he’s drunk entirely too much, and we took his car to the club. I could call a cab, but the truth is I’m just exhausted. All I want to do now is curl up and go to sleep. “No funny business?” I ask, though I can’t stop myself from rubbing my clit once more across his hardness,

feeling a slight shiver run through my body, like the aftershock of an earthquake. “No funny business,” Stone promises, flexing against me as he grits his teeth. “Is that a yes?” I nod slowly. “That’s a yes.”

I gasp as the knife slices through the skin on my abdomen again. I feel the blood trickle down my stomach, and my

eyes roll back in my head. Not for the first time since I was captured, I wish for death. “Tell us what you know,” the masked man says as he presses the tip of the knife against my skin. “You can end this. You just need to tell us.” I grit my teeth and remain silent. “So be it,” the man sneers, putting more pressure on the knife. I let out a hoarse yell as the metal scrapes the bone of one of my ribs. My skin burns, and white-hot flashes of pain cause black spots to dance in front

of my eyes. “This is what you get!” the man yells, his eyes dancing with glee, watching the blood pour from me as I’m tied spread-eagle to the table. He puts his face close to me, holding the knife against his cheek through the black cloth mask. “You will die either way,” he taunts. “It’s up to you if you die quickly . . . or slowly.” I turn my head to the side as I hear a noise. My breathing becomes labored as I see a group of men lifting the body of the young girl into what looks like a

large, black garbage bag. I feel my stomach churn as one of them grabs her decapitated head off the ground and holds it up by the hair, laughing as he speaks to the other men in Dari. The man above him chuckles as he sees the look on my face. “You see,” he says, his voice slightly muffled by the cloth. “We are what you call . . . information gatherers. We believe you have the information we seek, and you will tell us the truth, or I have no problem cutting the lying tongue from your mouth.”

“I’m not lying,” I choke out, my eyes wide with pleading as I silently beg him to believe me. I watch in horror as one of the men walks over to us, a lit torch in his hand. This can’t be real. Things like this happen in books and the movies, not in real life. Not to me. My screams echo off the walls as the torch touches the sensitive skin on the bottom of my foot . . . “Stone, wake up!” I bolt upright, gasping for breath. I feel hands on me and I fight to shake

them off, but they’re strong, holding me tight. “Stone, it’s okay, it’s me.” The fog slowly starts to lift from my brain and I’m back in my own bed, but I don’t feel safe. I don’t feel okay. I’m fucking terrified. I look up into Shannon’s worried face, my eyes wide with terror. In desperation, I grab her and pull her down on top of me, kissing her as hard as I can, kissing away the nightmares. She knows. God help me, she fucking understands. Instead of pushing me away

like I expect her to, Shannon holds onto me and kisses me with the same ferocity and passion I show her. A million and one sensations pour through me, and for a moment, it’s too much. I try to pull back, stop it before we go too far. She makes it clear that she doesn’t want that as she frees my hardened cock from the confines of my jeans, not bothering to remove our clothes. My hand reaches up and grips her hair, and for just a second I’m so glad she left it out of the tie. Her mouth opens as I position her on top of me, sitting up slightly so I can

pull her hair down her back, forcing her neck backwards to expose the smooth column of her ivory throat. I feel the smooth wetness beneath her skirt, and I growl when I realize she’s not wearing panties. The tip of my cock nudges inside her, and I tear my lips from her throat long enough to sit back and watch her mouth widen in an ‘o’ shape as I fill her for the first time. Christ, she’s so fucking tight I have to grit my teeth to stop from coming too quickly. I try to enter her slowly, but Shannon wants none of that. She surprises me by pulling

her hair away from my hand, bracing her palms on my chest through my shirt. She’s trying to take control, to calm me. But right now, that’s not what I need. I need to be the one in control. I need to banish these fears, banish the screams. I grab her wrists and lift her off me, throwing her onto the bed beside me. Before she can move, I roll over and grab her hips, pulling her up and turning her onto her stomach until she’s on all fours. Flipping up her mini-skirt, I groan

at the sight of her wet pussy as it’s bared to me. I run my fingers over her smooth ass, smiling a little as I see goose bumps appear on the skin. But I don’t want to waste any more time. Gripping her hips, I line up my cock and sink into her with one long thrust. She understands now. She knows what I need. Grunting her approval, she pushes back against me, flipping her hair so it streams down her back in long curls. I take advantage of that, moving one hand into her hair to grip it tightly, forcing her head back until she gasps in a mixture of pleasure and

pain. Moving my hand beneath her to find her clit, I roll it around between my thumb and index finger. She cries out and clamps down on me, I can feel her slick heat pulsing around me, and it doesn’t take me long before I’m forced to pull out as I come in long, thick streams across her ass. I flop down next to her on the bed, covering my eyes with my forearm as my breathing slowly returns to normal. I become aware of the beautiful woman next to me, and I’m filled with regret.

After everything she’s been through, I used her. What the hell am I supposed to do now? Do I apologize? Do I act like it never happened? What’s the protocol for a one-night stand? I grab a box of tissues from the side table and take my time cleaning up the mess I left behind on her perfect ass, not quite ready to stop touching her. I drop the tissues on the table and turn back to her. She rolls over in bed to face me and I look at her, expecting to see regret in her eyes. Instead, I see understanding. This woman, this . . . angel, has come to me in

my greatest time of need. I swallow past a sudden lump in my throat, too overcome with emotion to speak. She doesn’t say anything but leans over to kiss my cheek. I turn my head at the last second, capturing her lips with my own. This kiss is different, though; it’s softer, gentler. I nibble lightly on her bottom lip and feel her smile. Her hand travels down my chest to the waistband of my jeans but instead of pulling them off like I expect, her hand disappears beneath my shirt. I tense, not ready for

her to see that vulnerable side of me. I’m too scarred; she’s going to take one look at my body and run. I grab her hand and pull it out of my shirt, but she’s felt them. The scars. I can see the horror on her face. She’s going to leave. I brace myself for the rejection I know is coming. But it doesn’t. I flinch as she pushes my shirt up, exposing my scars to her gaze. The light from the lamp casts our shadows on the wall, and I choose to look at that rather than the horror on her face. She’s silent.

Too silent. What the hell is she thinking? I risk a glance, and my heart almost stops beating from what I see. Tears. She’s fucking crying. For me. “I’m sorry,” she cries, wiping away her tears. I want to fucking laugh. She’s crying for me, and apologizing for doing it. “Don’t.” I smile, leaning up and capturing her hand in my own. I press my lips against it, tasting the slightly salty tang of her tears on her fingers. “Why are you crying?” “Look at what they did to you,” she

whispers through her tears. “Keets told me you were captured, but he never told me this.” Keets told her? I should be angry, but I guess a part of me is glad she knew. It would explain why she didn’t run the second she saw the scars. “Will you tell me?” she asks, but I shake my head. I can’t do it. She’s opened a part of my heart tonight that I thought would lie dormant forever. But this, this past that I come from, this weight that I carry . . . it’s mine. I can’t burden her with it. She understands. I

don’t even have to say anything. I swallow past another lump in my throat as she kisses the long, jagged scar on my ribs. I have a tattoo there, covering the worst of it. I’m covered in tattoos, actually, most of them on my chest and arms. All designed to hide the imperfect body that lies beneath them. But she makes it bearable. Her kiss is soft, fleeting. Not enough, though. Never enough. This time, when she tries to take my shirt off, I let her. This time, we make love, it’s gentle, slower. I want to show

her the same kindness she’s shown me. She takes me to heights far beyond my fear and insecurities. This time, I make love to her as Ethan, the man . . . not Stone, the injured soldier.

I

can’t believe I slept with him last night! And without protection! Am I crazy? What the hell am I doing? I’m a

good girl; I don’t sleep with random men just for the hell of it. But Stone isn’t some random man, and last night definitely wasn’t just for the hell of it. He’d been quiet this morning when he dropped me at the bar. Did he regret his actions last night, or was he just hung over? So many questions, but I didn’t have the balls to ask them, so I’d kept silent when he’d pulled the truck up outside Saddles and let me out with nothing more than a brief kiss on my forehead. Stone needed someone.

Someone who could look past the alcohol, the anger, the scars and see the tortured man that lay beneath. No … not someone. Me. Last night, Stone needed me, and the thought rocks me to my core. Am I ready for this? When I left Troy, I swore I’d never get involved with a damaged man again. But it’s not his fault, right? I mean, it’s not as though Stone meant to be captured and tortured. I can help him. I can make him forget about the past. But does he even want that? I’ve heard some people are so used to being messed up that they

don’t want to change. But that’s normally for people who have been dealing with their problems for years. As far as I know, Stone’s only been back a few months. But I have no idea how long he was in the hospital before coming home. Maybe he really is beyond my help. I’m roused from my thoughts as I hear the front door of the bar open. It’s Grace, accompanied by a young boy I assume is her son. “Grace,” I greet with a smile, beckoning her over to the bar as I adjust

my skirt self-consciously. I should have asked Stone to stop by my house so I could change clothes. As she walks over, I see she looks even paler today than she did last night. She’s supported at her elbow by her son, who looks as pale as she is. What the hell is going on? “Hi, Shannon,” she says in a voice so quiet I have to strain to hear her. We are the only people in the bar, so I walk out and sit with them at one of the small round tables. “This is my son, Zeke,” she introduces.

“Hi, Zeke,” I give him my warmest smile. He gives me a quick, tight-lipped one in return, but says nothing. He has blond hair and blue eyes like his mother, but where she is small and delicate, he is tall and stocky. That must be from his father. “I thought maybe we could take you up on your lunch offer,” Grace states with a smile of her own, lovingly brushing the hair off Zeke’s forehead. “We have a big day today.” “Of course,” I agree. “What can I get you?”

Grace pulls out her purse and starts counting change. I can see they’re both about to cry, and I gently lay my hand on top of hers. “It’s on the house,” I say quietly. Relief floods her face as she puts her purse away. “Thank you so much, Shannon,” she says. “Money is just so tight at the moment. Could we get two burgers, fries, and I’ll take a strawberry shake. Zeke? You want chocolate?” He nods, not looking up. “You got it,” I reply brightly, heading back to the kitchen to prepare

their meals. I can’t help but think Zeke is a bit rude. Money is tight for everyone these days, but he could at least speak. It must be a teen thing. I take their food out and as I approach the table, I see them speaking in hushed tones. Huh, so he can talk. I put the plates down and return a moment later with their shakes. Grace gives me a small smile as Zeke digs into his fries. It’s almost like he’s trying to keep his mouth full, so he doesn’t have to talk to me. I remember the blood I saw Grace cough up last night, and I wonder when they

last had a decent meal. “Grace?” I start quietly, glancing at Zeke as he gulps his shake. “Can I speak to you for a minute? Alone?” “Of course,” she says, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin before standing and slowly following me over to the corner of the bar. I help her into a seat and sit opposite her. Her hands are clasped on the table between us, her knuckles white. “What’s going on?” I ask gently. I’m not ready for the flood of silent tears that pours down her face. “Hey,” I say,

laying my hand softly on hers. “You can tell me.” “I can’t,” she gasps, tears pouring down her face. I glance over at Zeke; he’s watching us, trying to be inconspicuous as he eats. “Is it money?” I ask, desperate to try and find a way to help them. I hate the idea of Grace and her son being without food. “Do you need a job?” Grace shakes her head. “I wouldn’t be able to keep it for long.” she sighs. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” “Where are you going?” I ask.

“Back home,” she explains, her eyes connecting with mine. She looks exhausted. “To finish my palliative care.” “Your what?” Surely she didn’t say what I think she did. Grace nods. “I’m dying,” she says simply. There are no tears, no fear. Just a resounding sadness. It’s as though she’s accepted her fate. I sit back in shock, shaking my head in disbelief. “How?” My voice sounds hollow. “Brain tumor.”

“Does Zeke know?” Grace nods. “Yeah, he knows. I’m taking him to his father tonight. I have no one else to look after him, and I don’t know what else to do.” “Of course,” I say, my mind still reeling. “Fuck, Grace, I’m so sorry.” I watch helplessly as she starts to cry again. I feel terrible. What the hell do you say to someone in this situation? I feel for Zeke, since I know what it’s like to lose a parent. “Where’s his father?” I ask, thinking the man must be a jerk to not be in his own son’s life, especially at

a time like this. “Actually,” Grace begins slowly. “I was hoping you could tell me.” “Me?” I ask, my eyes widening. How the hell should I know where his deadbeat father is? I’d like to, though; I’d have no trouble kicking him in the balls so hard he’d never be able to conceive another kid. The door of the bar opens and I turn to see Stone walking in. He stops for a moment at Zeke’s table to say hello. Zeke looks over at us, pointing to our table.

Stone glances up . . . and freezes. It’s like all the blood has drained from his face. He slowly walks toward us, seeming like it’s an effort for him to put one foot in front of the other. “Stone,” I say with a smile, standing up as he finally stops at the table. “I want you to meet my friend, Grace.” “Hello, Ethan,” she greets him in a quiet voice. “Gracie,” he replies, his voice sounding strangled. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. My head whips back and forth between the two of them, and I’m

sure I look as confused as I feel. “Do you know each other?” I ask, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of my stomach as I look at Stone. I think deep down I already know the answer to that question. “I should say so,” Stone answers quietly, his voice laced with irony as he gives me a small, apologetic smile. What he says next rocks my world. I will never be the same again. “She’s my wife.” I’m almost certain I didn’t hear him correctly. “Your what?” I ask, hating that

my voice has suddenly taken on a pitch much like Mickey Mouse. Stone nods, his eyes piercing me. “My wife,” he confirms. I feel as though the room is suddenly spinning. His face in front of me is blurry, and my legs are shaking. “Shan, are you all right?” I hear his voice ask me that question, but it sounds so far away. I want to laugh, I want to cry… but I feel numb. “Stone,” I hear Grace speaking quietly. “Can I talk to you? Privately?” Stone glances over at me, and I mutely

nod my head. Holding the edge of the bar for support, I drag my feet one after the other into the office, closing the door behind me. I fall into the chair and stare at the wall, not really seeing anything. My hands blindly reach for the decanter that sits on the desk. It belonged to Daddy and is just another part of the bar I refuse to change. I pour myself a glass of whiskey, down it fast and pour another. My hands are shaking so badly I almost drop the decanter as I put it down on the

desk and recap it. He’s married. That thought plays over and over like a bad song in my head. He’s fucking married. How could I be so stupid? Don’t get involved with another damaged man. That’s what I’d been telling myself for the past year, but at the first sign of someone needing me, I’d jumped at the opportunity. With Troy, it’d been love at first sight. He’d swept into town on his black Harley Davidson, his short, black hair

spiked into points, tattoos covering both of his arms and flashing that killer smile at me. He was so unlike any of the other boys in our town, and just what I needed to distract me from an overprotective father. For the first time in my life, someone was actually paying attention to me. Not just someone, a boy. And for the first time in my life, it wasn’t just to get close to my prettier, younger sister, Natalie. It didn’t take Troy long to seduce me with stories about the city, and before I knew it, I was nineteen years old, speeding off on the back of his

Harley as we ran away together. For me, it was about running away from my awkwardness, my responsibilities. I was no longer ‘Shannon Harper, eldest daughter of Darius, older sister and mother figure of Natalie’. In the city, I was simply Shan – a curly haired, wideeyed young girl, free to finally be herself. Or so I’d thought. Things were so different in the city, and it didn’t take me long to realize I was a fish out of water. The first time I saw Troy selling

drugs, I was shocked. What the hell had I gotten myself into? Daddy had always instilled in us girls the dangers of peer pressure. But Troy took me in his arms and kissed away my fears. “This will pay for your dreams, kitten,” he’d tell me, pleading with me to understand. And I thought I did understand. I thought Troy just wanted to give me everything I wanted in life. But I was never given the opportunity. Six months after moving to the city, my dream turned into a nightmare. Even now, I can see her face,

lifelessly looking back at me in the water. It was him. I know it. What the hell is wrong with me? I sit back on the chair and use my feet to slowly swivel around until I’m facing toward the window. My eyes widen in surprise as I notice it’s already dark. How long have I been sitting here? I try to stand and almost immediately stumble and drop to my knees. A glance at the desk shows the empty decanter. Fuck. Gripping the edge of the table, I carefully make it to my feet and peer

through the window out into the main bar area. It’s empty. I vaguely recall Ruth coming into the office once. Stone must have called her to take over the bar for the night shift. I should feel a little bad about that, but instead I’m relieved. I don’t think I could have handled being nice to the customers tonight. As I exit the office, the door of the bar opens. I pause, cursing under my breath. It’s closing time; I don’t want to deal with this shit right now. I force a smile and turn around, but that smile falters when I see Effie standing at the

bar, a short, pudgy man by her side. He looks ridiculous, like a fat version of the Monopoly man. “Hi, Effie,” I say in my most polite voice, hobbling over to the bar. “I’m afraid we’re closed.” “Yes,” Effie replies, staring down her nose at me in disdain. “I can see why.” I blush as I glance at my reflection in the mirror that hangs on the wall behind the bar. My eyes are red from crying and the eyeliner I’d hurried to apply this morning in the office before opening the bar has streaked across my

cheekbones, giving me the ultimate panda look. I’d thrown my hair up in a loose bun earlier without brushing it, and pieces of hair are sticking up all over my head. No question, I’m a fucking mess. “What do you want, Effie?” I ask, smothering my question with a yawn as I cover my mouth. I’m tired, I’m drunk and I just want to go home. I glance over at Monopoly Man, who’s leering at me in a way that unsettles me. “I want you to meet Mr. Harold Kensington.” Effie beams, linking her

arm through his. “Mr. Kensington, Shannon Harper.” “Miss Harper,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He takes my offered hand and places a chaste kiss on the back of it. I smile weakly as he releases it and resist the urge to wipe my hand on the mini-skirt I still wear. His lips are cold and wet. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you meeting us here tonight,” he’s saying. I glance at him, then over at Effie. She must sense my confusion, because she smirks. “Mr. Kensington has

graciously agreed to buy this . . . this bar.” She spits the word out as though it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. I take a step back from the bar, my guard instantly up. “I already told you, Effie,” I remind her. “I’m not interested in selling Daddy’s bar.” “I know what you said.” Effie waves away my words. “But you’ll think differently when you see this.” She produces a single sheet of folded paper from her purse and holds it out to me expectantly. “What is this?” I ask, gingerly

plucking it from her outstretched fingers and unfolding it. As I read, I can’t help the gasp that escapes my lips. Surely this has to be some kind of mistake. There’s no way Daddy could have borrowed this much money. “It says Darius borrowed more than two hundred thousand dollars from me in the summer of 1998 to refurbish this bar. Since his passing, that debt has fallen to you, Miss Harper,” Kensington says grimly. I feel the room starting to spin, and I

grip the edge of the bar for support. “I-I don’t have that kind of money,” I stammer weakly. Could any of this be true? Mr. Kensington nods. “I know,” he says, matter-of-factly. “This is why I’m prepared to buy this establishment from you at a slightly reduced rate, to cover your daddy’s debt and even leave you a little extra.” I shake my head vehemently. “How could I not know about this?” I demand. “I’ve been running this bar for over a year. If any of this were true, I would

have found some kind of record.” “Incorrect,” Effie exclaims. “Your daddy’s business with Mr. Kensington was conducted, shall we say, under the table?” I want to slap the stupid smirk off her face. “You mean illegally,” I clarify. What does she know about this? It’s not a question. “Now, Shannon,” Effie says, her voice gratingly pretentious as she tries, and fails, to sound caring. I’m not falling for it for a minute. “Mr. Kensington is offering you a marvelous deal. You

really should consider the –” “The only thing I’m considering,” I say hotly, holding my hand up as I interrupt her, “is whether or not I should call the cops.” “Now, now,” Kensington interjects, sounding a little panicked. “Let’s not be hasty. I’m prepared to give you some time to think about my offer. But Miss Harper,” he continues, his voice suddenly very serious. “You may want to consider my offer very carefully. Your daddy didn’t, God rest his soul.” Effie makes the sign of the cross

and bows her head. Something he said makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “What do you know about my daddy’s death?” I ask, gripping the edge of the bar tighter. Effie and Harold exchange a glance that doesn’t go unnoticed by me. “Now, Miss Harper, let’s not get over-excited,” Harold says cajolingly. “I didn’t wish to alarm you.” He turns to Effie and offers her his arm. “My dear, I believe we should leave Miss Harper to go home. She did mention the bar is closed.” “You’re right,” Effie agrees,

beaming at me once again. “Have a wonderful night, Shannon. Do give my regards to Ethan and his son. News really does travel fast around here.” “You have three weeks to decide, Miss Harper,” Kensington says over his shoulder. I stare at them in silence as they leave the bar, letting the front door slam behind them. I feel the fight go out of me as my legs give way and I sink to the floor behind the bar, still clutching the letter.

The coldness of the floor causes me to flinch as it touches the bare skin of my thighs. “Oh, Daddy,” I whisper, tears pricking at the edges of my eyes. “Why? Why did you do it? Why didn’t you tell me?” I put my head down on my knees and let my tears fall freely. I cry for myself, for Stone, Zeke, Grace . . . but most of all, I cry for my daddy. I wish he were here now; he’d know exactly what to do. And what did Harold mean about Daddy’s death? Did he have something to do with it? Everyone had always

assumed his death had been a tragic accident . . . but what if it wasn’t? I don’t know how long I stay in this position, but eventually the tears dry up and I feel nothing but an overwhelming sadness. Daddy put himself in this position, and now he’s brought me into the middle of it. I’m only thankful that my baby sister, Natalie, is away at school and not here to witness any of this. I lock up the bar and stand directly outside the door, staring at my car. Do I

dare drive home? I’m extremely tired and drunk, but not drunk enough not to know that would be a huge mistake. I start walking down the darkened empty street, pulling my jacket around me tighter as the first drops of rain fall against my cheek. Those few drops quickly turn into a downpour and I struggle to jog through it, the heels of my boots sticking in the mud of the wet dirt road. I stop briefly to take them off, holding one in each hand. The temperature seems to suddenly drop ten degrees, and even though I’m walking

quickly, I can’t control the chattering of my teeth. I’m never going to make it home at this rate. I see a light at the corner of my right eye, and I instinctively turn my head to see the stables. My feet slow and I pause at the side of the road, glancing around. It’s dark, with no one in sight. They’re all smart enough to be tucked up in their warm houses. Why did I drink so much? I turn in the direction of the stables and pick up the pace. As I run across the slippery grass, my right leg skids out to

the side and I quickly put my hands out as I feel myself fall. I land heavily and an intense pain shoots through my right leg. I lean forward and breathe heavily as the rain hits the back of my head, plastering my hair to my neck. Ugh, talk about frizz. I try to stand up and immediately sink back down, crying out as the pain in my leg intensifies. I lean forward and tentatively touch the rapidly swelling skin around my calf, letting out an earpiercing scream as the muscle protests the disturbance. The pain is so intense

that I bend over at the waist and lose the alcohol from my stomach into the wet grass. Movement is impossible; the ground is much too slick for me to hobble the rest of the way to the stables. I fumble around for my purse to grab my cell phone, letting out a curse as I realize, in my drunken state, that I left it on the doorstep of Saddles as I locked up. The rainfall increases and I lie back on the grass, letting the rain wash away the fresh tears that pool in my eyes. I’m tired, so tired. The pain in my leg is

slowly numbing. I feel nothing as I close my eyes.

My

mind is still reeling from the events of the day. I’d gone to the bar to find Shannon, and instead I found a wife

and son. A son. I still can’t believe it. I lift a bottle of beer to my lips as I sit outside on the porch. It’s raining heavily and I’m only wearing a black tank top and blue jeans, but I barely feel the wind as it rips across my bare shoulders. It’d been difficult to watch Zeke and Gracie say goodbye. A man wouldn’t be human if he didn’t get a little choked up watching his dying wife say her final goodbye to their son. I swallow past the sudden lump in my

throat as I think about Grace. We hadn’t been together very long, but we’d been married fourteen years. How had they been living all these years? Had they been happy? A pang of guilt slams into my chest, leaving me breathless. I should have been there. I swallow a mouthful of beer, glancing over my shoulder as the front screen door opens. I watch warily as Zeke steps outside, letting the screen slam shut behind him as he watches the steady downpour of rain. He hasn’t

spoken a word since Grace left four hours ago, and he hasn’t said a word to me at all. “Hi, Zeke,” I say gruffly. He doesn’t look at me. “We don’t get too much rain here,” I continue, silently willing him to look at me. “But when it rains, it pours.” I chuckle at my little joke. Zeke still doesn’t speak, doesn’t move his head in my direction at all. I sigh and drop the empty beer bottle into the grass, pushing myself up to my feet. As I pass by Zeke, I put my hand on his shoulder. It’s meant to be comforting, but

honestly, I’m not sure if he even notices. I open the screen door and walk inside, grabbing another bottle of beer from the fridge on my way past. I open it and take a long swallow as I pause, wincing as I survey the cluttered living room. I hate to admit it, but I’m embarrassed. It will be forever known that my son’s first impression of his father is that he’s a messy, alcoholic dickhead. I swallow another mouthful of beer as I walk back outside. Zeke has moved to the small, two-person porch swing. I’m tempted to join him, but somehow I think I wouldn’t

be too welcome. I take my seat on the steps, trying to ignore the biting chill of the rain as it hits my hand. What am I going to say to him? What can I say to him? The boy has lost his home, his mother and everything he knows in just one day. I wish Shannon was here; she always seems to know what to do. Fresh guilt churns in my stomach. Shannon. I was so overwhelmed—first at seeing Grace, then finding out I was responsible for a son I never knew I had —that I’d barely given her a thought all

night. She has no idea what’s going on, probably thinks I’m some kind of womanizing bastard. How the hell am I supposed to tell her? Will she ever look at me the same way again? I stand up so quickly I almost spill my beer. “I have to make a phone call,” I mutter to Zeke as I pass him. I know he won’t answer me, but right now I don’t care. I need to talk to Shannon, find out if she’s all right. I walk inside the house and place my beer on the coffee table as I sit on the couch. Impatiently, I ruffle through the papers strewn on the table, searching for one in

particular. I find it and close my eyes in a quick, silent prayer of thanks that Keets thought to give me Shannon’s personal house number, just in case there were any issues at the club. I reach for my cell phone on the table and dial the number, waiting impatiently as it rings. And rings . . . and rings. Feeling hollow, I hang up and sink back against the cushions, rubbing my hands over my face. I’ve fucked up, again. I have to find a way to make it up to her, to prove I’m not the bad guy she thinks I am. My hands drop from my face as I hear the

front door slam. I look up in time to see Zeke disappearing into his room, closing the door behind him. Great. Could things get any more complicated? I grab my beer from the coffee table and stand, moving out to the porch once more. It’s still raining heavily, but I can just make out the headlights of an approaching car. I recognize Keets’ truck as it pulls up in front of the house, and I chuckle in amusement as he and Ruth make a mad dash for the porch. “Wet enough?” I joke, slapping him on the back. The smile dies on my face when he

pulls down the hood of his jacket and I see his eyes. “Shit, Keets, what’s wrong?” I ask, glancing over at Ruth. She’s deathly pale, her lips tinged blue from the cold. “It’s Shannon,” she says in a quiet voice, shaking her head. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and it’s suddenly very hard to breathe. “What about her?” I ask, hating the strangled sound of my voice. “We can’t find her,” Keets answers, his eyes wide with fright. I shake his shoulders, hard. “What the hell do you mean, you can’t find

her?” I yell. “We went to her house to see how she was doing,” Ruth explains. I glance over at her, not releasing Keets from my firm grip. “She wasn’t there.” “Did you check the bar?” I grind out. Keets nods. “Yeah, her car was there, and this,” she holds out Shannon’s purse. “We think something’s happened to her.” I curse savagely and shove Keets away from me, running a hand over my head. This is all my fault. I should’ve

known she couldn’t handle the crap from this afternoon. I never should have left her. “Don’t blame yourself,” Keets says. I glance up at him in surprise. How can he possibly know what I’m thinking? He smiles gently and places a comforting hand on my arm. “We’ve been friends a long time,” he reminds me. I smile back, but it fades as I think about Shannon. Where can she be? “I have to find her,” I state out loud, glancing at Zeke as he comes outside, a curious expression on his face. “Ruth,” I start, looking at her

desperately. She holds up her hand, halting my question before I even ask it. “Say no more,” she says with a smile. “I’ll stay with him for as long as it takes.” I nod gratefully as I turn and race back inside. I stop long enough to grab a flashlight and two dry jackets before rejoining them on the porch. Keets is already in the truck, headlights on as he guns the engine. I jump in and hand him one of the jackets, tossing mine in the back as I slam the door and lift my hand in a brief wave to Ruth and Zeke as Keets pulls away from the house.

“Where to first?” I ask, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. I know from all my Army training how important it is to keep a clear head. But it’s all I can do to stop from grinding my teeth together in frustration. “I don’t know,” Keets admits. “Ruth and I already checked her house.” “Could she have gone back into town?” I ask. Keets ponders for a moment. “It’s possible,” he agrees. “But I doubt it. She only went back to town with us because

Ruth asked her to.” I know he’s right, but I’m prepared to try anything. “Town,” I order, sitting back in my seat and staring out at the wet road. The rain has increased, and with it the wind. I’m sure we’ll blow right off the road if we’re not careful. We drive for some time, and I’m almost dozing off in my seat when I hear Keets muttering to himself. “What is it?” I ask, sitting up straight and peering at him in the dark truck. Keets shakes his head. “The lights are on at the stables,” he says. “There’s

only one person I know crazy enough to go up there on a night like this.” “Shannon,” I say, dropping back in my seat, sighing with relief. Keets nods as he turns the truck down a small narrow lane. It’s dark, the high beams of the headlights the only light. A small animal darts out from behind a tree and Keets slams on the brakes, slowly inching forward. “Sorry.” He grins as he glances over at me. I nod, my heart still in my throat. We approach the stables and Keets cuts the engine. We both slip on our dry

jackets, and I grab my flashlight as I step out of the truck. I follow Keets into the stables, my eyebrows arching as he bypasses all the stalls. Clearly, he knows exactly where he’s going. He pauses at the last stable on the right and by the time I make it to his side, I can’t contain my grin. He’s leaning over the rail, stroking the nose of a large horse and speaking softly to it. “A friend of yours?” I joke, reaching out to pat its side. The horse is silky soft, and a beautiful strawberryblonde color. It’s clearly owned and

loved. “This is Lady.” Keets grins, glancing at me as he continues stroking her long nose. “She’s Shannon’s.” I didn’t think my eyebrows could move any higher, but I’ve just been proven wrong. “Shannon has a horse?” I ask in disbelief. Keets laughs. “Maybe if you left your house even once, you’d know that already.” “It seems there’s a lot I’m missing,” I mutter, glancing around. “So, where’s

Shannon?” “I don’t know,” Keets admits, his brow furrowing in worry. “I thought for sure she’d be here.” “Maybe she did go into town,” I say, running the beam of my flashlight along the walls as I search for any sign of her presence. Keets shakes his head. “I just don’t believe that,” he says quietly. “Why would she leave her car behind?” “Well.” I sigh. “She’s definitely not here.” “Come on,” Keets says, his

shoulders slumping in defeat. “Let’s check her house again before we go into town. I just hope the road’s not flooded.” I start to follow Keets back down the row of stalls, but a flash of lightning lights up the stables and I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye and I turn my head toward it. I shine the flashlight out into the corral, feeling my heart beat faster as I see movement again. “Keets!” I yell, breaking out into a run. “She’s out here.” I reach her before he does. Skidding to a stop beside her, my heart feels like it’s been ripped in

half as I see her badly bruised leg. I kneel beside her, not caring about the mud on my jeans as I carefully lift her head, cradling it on my lap. “Shan,” I say in a loud voice, leaning over her as my trembling fingers brush away strands of her hair that have come loose and are stuck to her cheek. “Shannon, can you hear me? Come on, babe, open your eyes.” I’m back on the field, nursing my friend Jackson as he dies in my arms. “Stone,” he says, grabbing the sleeve of my jacket desperately, blood pooling

beneath him and sinking into the hot, dry sand. “Help me.” Hot tears burn the back of my eyelids as I close my eyes. We’re miles away from any kind of help. There’s nothing I can do but stay with him until the end. “It’s okay,” I reply gruffly, holding him close as I stare into his terrified eyes. I feel so fucking helpless. One of my best friends is dying right in front of me, and I can’t do a damn thing to stop it. Jackson makes a strange gurgling sound in the back of his throat, and I wince as blood

bubbles out of his mouth. He starts to shake, his face much too pale. It won’t be long now.Tears pour down both our faces as we lie in the sand. “Stone,” Jackson says. His voice is quiet now, barely above a whisper. I have to lean close to him to hear what he says. “Tell my wife I-I—” “Shh,” I soothe, holding him tightly. “Save your strength. I know, I’ll tell her. You have my word.” I feel his body go limp, and I throw my head back. A wail tears from my

chest; it sounds inhuman. It’s the wail of a man who’s lost his friend . . . his sanity. “Her leg’s hurt,” Keets says, kneeling beside me and touching it gently. She cries out and her face screws up in pain, but her eyes remain closed. “She’s passed out.” He leans forward, scrunching his nose. “She reeks of alcohol.” “So call an ambulance,” I respond gruffly. Keets pulls out his cell phone and

shakes his head. “No reception. Storm must be screwing it up.” “We can’t just leave her here,” I tell him, gently stroking her hair. “Come on,” he says, getting to his feet. “Help me get her to the truck.” I gently place her head down on the ground and stand. The grass is slippery, but between the two of us, we get her into the back seat of the truck. Thankfully, she stays passed out the whole time. I climb into the back of the truck with her, cradling her head on my lap. Keets starts the engine and slowly

backs away from the stables. I’m overcome with guilt. This is all my fault. I never should have left her alone in the bar. I should have told her about Grace. I stroke Shannon’s hair off her pale face, willing her to be okay. “The road’s blocked,” Keets calls over his shoulder. “We can’t get into town to get to the hospital.” I look up and out the windshield. Keets is right—the road is completely flooded. “Take us back to my place,” I say in a gruff voice. “We’ll call the doctor.” Keets maneuvers the truck around

and heads back toward my house. My eyes never stray from Shannon’s face as my trembling fingers brush her cheek, shocked by the cold. I carefully fumble around on the floor of the truck until I find a well-worn, dark blue blanket. I carefully tuck it around her and lean my head back against the seat. Today has been such a long day. I feel drained, exhausted. But more than anything, I’m worried. I’m so fucking worried. How do I begin to help Grace? How do I get through to my son? I feel as though the weight of the world is settling squarely

on my shoulders, and I have no idea how to solve my problems. I wish Grandma were here. That tough old bird would’ve known exactly what to say, what to do. I could really use her advice right now. But I’m alone. It’s a cold, empty feeling that settles in the pit of my stomach, making me nauseous. I find myself second-guessing everything. Am I doing the right thing, bringing a woman and child into my fucked-up life? I need help, but who can help me? Certainly not my friends. The only person who knows everything is Keets, and that’s only

because he was there in Afghanistan with me. He knows all of my inner demons. He knows the source of my nightmares. Right now, though, my focus is on the woman still passed out in my arms. I don’t know how she came to be this way, but I know that somehow it’s my fault. A plan starts formulating in my mind, one I know she’ll hate. Shannon is strong, independent. The last thing she’s going to want is to stay with Zeke and me until her leg is healed. Unfortunately for Shannon, I can be

just as stubborn when I have to be. She’s about to learn that the hard way.

My head is killing me, and there’s an intense burning sensation in my right leg.

I let a small groan escape my lips as I slowly crack open my eyes. I’m in Stone’s room. How the hell did I end up here? I know I drank a lot last night, but surely I’d remember hooking up with the handsome soldier again. I try to sit up, but it’s difficult. My right leg is completely immobilized in a tight bandage that stops just below my knee. What the fuck? I carefully ease my left leg over the edge of the bed and sit up slowly. My hand goes immediately to my forehead as I feel the blood rush to my temples.

The headache intensifies, and I stifle a small sob. I quickly give up trying to stand and settle back against the headboard, staring at the opposite wall. Bits and pieces of last night start coming back to me: Effie and the Monopoly Man in the bar, Daddy’s debt, Grace and Zeke . . . Stone. Stone’s married. I groan as I close my eyes. A part of me had hoped it was all just a bad dream, that I’d wake up and things would be back to normal. Unfortunately, the daylight only makes it worse. Stone is married to a dying

woman, and I slept with him. Could it get any worse than this? I feel like such a bitch. I like to think Grace was quickly becoming someone I might have called a friend, and I royally screwed her over. I slept with her husband. And what about their son? Zeke had no part in this, but I still slept with his father. Great, I’m nothing more than a miserable home wrecker. The bedroom door opens and I open my eyes, narrowing them as Stone cautiously pokes his head around the

corner. Anger bubbles inside me like a volcano, ready to erupt. “Hey, Shan,” he says softly, a sheepish smile on his handsome face. Somehow, that makes me even angrier. My hand reaches down and grabs the first thing I feel. It’s a lamp on the bedside table. I yank the cord out and throw it as hard as I can at the door, narrowly missing his head as he ducks back around the corner. “What the hell?” he shouts from his hiding place, but I’m in no mood for his shit. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I yell as

he opens the door and cautiously steps into the room. Tears immediately start to pour down my cheeks, and I angrily dash them away. “I don’t know,” he admits. But that’s not a good enough reason. “You’re married!” I scream, not caring if anyone else hears me. “You’re fucking married.” “I know,” he says, his features pinched. “How could you not tell me you’re married?” “I forgot, okay?” he yells. He

sounds tired. “You forgot?” I laugh in a strange, high-pitched voice. “What the hell do you mean, you forgot? I suppose you forgot you had a son, too.” “I didn’t know about him,” Stone says, holding his hands out helplessly. “How convenient,” I snort. “Look,” he starts, sitting on the edge of the bed. I cross my arms and turn my head away. I can’t even look at him right now. “Listen to me,” he says. “I was barely married before I enlisted in the Army. My daddy served, and his daddy

before him. It’s in my blood. But Grace didn’t see it that way. She gave me an ultimatum: The Army or her.” I don’t look at him, but I’m listening. “I tried to curb my desire for battle.” I see him stand out of the corner of my eye, start pacing back and forth across the room. “For a while it worked,” he continues. “I was a doting husband and a hard worker. But then the World Trade Center was attacked. That morning, I was too far away to help, but I saw it. I sat glued to the TV, my hands

clenched into fists by my sides, my blood boiling. I’m a proud American, damnit; I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing while innocent people were being killed right in front of me.” My heart aches as I remember that day so vividly. Troy was passed out on the floor as I sat on the couch, my knees pulled up to my chest as day-old mascara streaked across my cheeks, cutting through the tears as I watched the men and women jumping out of the burning buildings to escape the hot flames . . . only to be greeted by the

cold, hard pavement below. For the rest of my life, I will never forget the sight of that one falling man. The one who has never been officially identified, but who became a beacon of peace among the chaos. The man who’d accepted his fate, almost greeting death like an old friend. I finally turn my head toward him, watching as he continues to pace back and forth at the end of the bed. “I packed my bag that same morning,” Stone continues. “Grace begged me not to go, told me she’d divorce me if I left. But how could I stay? My country, my men,

they needed me more than she did. So I did what I had to do.” He pauses his pacing and stands facing me, his eyes glazed over with sorrow. “I left,” he says, his voice catching in his throat. “I left my wife and the son I didn’t know she was carrying. My son. Two months later, I got the notice of intent to divorce. In my pain, I tore it up and vowed to never think of it again. When I was injured they looked for her, but she never responded to their messages. Then when I came back this time I was so fucking messed up that I just started drinking,

and I’ve never stopped. I didn’t hear from Grace until yesterday, I think she just wanted to forget I existed. I knew I’d hurt her, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I had no idea she was fighting cancer.” My heart is breaking for him. Tears fill my eyes, making him appear blurred. I blindly reach out my hand for him, offering him a small amount of comfort. But I’m the one who receives the comfort when he accepts my hand and sits beside me on the edge of the bed. We say nothing, just sit, our hands

clasped tightly together as we are both lost in our memories. Eventually, he places my hand gently back down on the bed and leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind him. I wipe my eyes and lean my head back against the headboard, but the tears won’t stop falling. I feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest, stomped on and pushed through a meat grinder. It hurts so fucking bad. I can’t begin to imagine Stone’s pain . . . the pain of losing his wife, finding out she

kept a son from him for fourteen years. I have so many questions, like why didn’t she tell him about Zeke? Why was she so against him joining the Army? I know in my heart I’ll never get the answers to these questions, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I want to hate Grace. How dare she keep Zeke away from his father! My breath catches on a small sob as my tears finally slow then stop. I’m exhausted all over again. I can’t hate Grace, as much as I want to. Yes, she did the wrong thing, but she did it for the right reason — to protect her child.

Wouldn’t I have done the same? I have to get out of here. I need time to think. Summoning my strength, I call out to Stone. But there’s no answer. I huff angrily and blow the hair out of my face. As I glance down, my hand brushes against a piece of paper I hadn’t noticed before, sitting next to me on the bed. I pick it up and unfold it, my eyes widening as I read: Shan, I know you won’t like this, and to be honest, I’m too gutless to tell you to your

face. Last night, you took a pretty bad fall, and your leg is pretty badly damaged. The doctor says you’ll be fine, but you’ll be unable to walk properly for the next 6-8 weeks. Sucks, I know. Don’t worry about Saddles. You’ll be able to get back to it as soon as you’ve learned to use crutches. Ruth, Keets and I will run the front for you. There’s something else. The doctor said you’ll need help with everyday activities like bathing. So you’re staying with me until the bandage

comes off. Please don’t argue with me on this. You have no idea how terrified I was, seeing you lying in the rain unconscious like that. I’ll send Zeke in with some food for you soon. Don’t try to get out of bed. I know how stubborn you are, but just don’t, ok? I’ll be back as soon as I can. Stone I snort and suppress a short bark of laughter at his note. Me, stay here with

him? He’s crazy! Of course I can look after myself. I’ve never needed anyone before but myself, and that’s not about to change just because of a stupid injured leg. I call out to Zeke, looking at the door expectantly. It doesn’t open. I call out again and again, until my throat is dry and hoarse. Where the hell is that kid? I sigh and glance down. My eyes widen when I see a wheelchair positioned next to me. Surely that can’t be a coincidence? Zeke must be out, must have left it there for me so I could

get out of here. I must remember to give him an extra-large strawberry shake and fries the next time he’s in Saddles. I carefully ease the blankets back and swing both legs over the side of the bed. I grip one handle of the wheelchair and pull myself up from the bed, grinning in triumph. Pity the brakes aren’t on. The wheelchair shifts and rolls backwards. My face changes from smug pleasure to terror as I fall, face planting in the carpet. I groan in pain as my leg throbs and my hangover seems to

increase tenfold. I’m pissed off, hurting, I have to pee, and I’m sure my face is red from embarrassment. The last thing I want right now is that bedroom door to open.

I’m sitting in Saddles, nursing a beer and a massive headache.

It sucked, leaving Shannon like that. I feel like such an idiot for bearing my soul that way. Shannon is injured; the last thing she needs or wants is my fucked-up baggage. How does she keep doing this to me? She’s tearing down every barrier I put up. Like a thief in the night, she’s sneaking in, undoing the lock around my heart and worm-crawling her way inside. And what about Zeke? He’d watched with wide eyes last night when Keets helped me carry Shannon inside. The poor kid has dealt with so much

over the past twenty-four hours; another woman in his life is the last thing he needs. I swallow the last mouthful of beer in my glass and look over at the bar, catching Ruth’s eye as I hold up the empty glass. She grins and nods and I lower my arm, putting the glass back on the table. It’s only around 4 p.m. on a Thursday, but regulars are already starting to trickle into the bar, ready for a night of music and fun. I have to say, I’m impressed with the way Shannon runs the place. Everyone seems to know everyone else, and they look out for one

another as only true friends can do. The door of the bar opens and I glance up to see an absurdly dressed woman enter, bringing with her a cloud of sickly sweet perfume that has me ducking my head to avoid the smell, making my headache worse. My face is tilted down toward my empty glass, but my eyes are raised as she saunters over to the bar. The hot pink leggings she’s wearing are stretched impossibly thin across her large ass. Ruth walks over with a fresh beer, putting the glass down on the table with

a small smile. “How’s Shannon?” she asks. I pick up the glass and swallow about half of the beer, putting it back down on the table as I wipe my mouth with the back of my free hand. “She’s all right,” I answer, still looking over at the woman by the bar. She’s laughing at something Keets is saying, but he looks mighty uncomfortable. He points in our direction and the woman turns, a huge smile covering her face as she walks our way. I indicate toward the bar with my head. “Who’s that?” I ask. Ruth follows my gaze. “Urgh,” she

groans. “That’s Effie. The town gossip. Brace yourself.” “Why?” I ask, an amused grin on my face. But she doesn’t get the chance to answer. “Ethan,” Effie purrs. I look up and see the hot-pink lady standing directly in front of me. I give her a smile and gesture to the seat next to her. She leans over as she sits, and her large breasts almost spill out of her white tank top. I’m not certain, but I suspect she meant for it to happen. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she says, flashing me a grin.

I grin back, but it’s not for the reason she thinks. Her teeth are smeared with bright pink lipstick. “I wish I could say the same,” I respond graciously, glancing up at Ruth who’s standing there with an ‘I told you so’ smirk on her face. Effie notices me looking at Ruth and turns her face up toward the young bartender. “Can I help you?” she asks coldly, gesturing toward me. “We’re kind of in the middle of something here.” Ruth raises her eyebrows at me, and I give her a gentle smile and nod my head.

“All right, I can take a hint,” she says with a laugh. “My shift is over, anyway. I might head on over and check on Shan, if that’s all right?” “Of course.” Why wouldn’t I say yes? “Great.” She smiles, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder as she passes behind me. “See you later, Effie,” she calls over her shoulder as she opens the front door and exits the bar. I turn back to Effie with a smile. “Effie, is it?” I ask, raising my glass to her. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Oh, no thank you, sugar,” she gushes. “I just wanted to meet the handsome soldier who bedded our little Shannon.” I almost spit out my beer. My eyebrows shoot up toward my hairline and I quickly put down my glass as a coughing fit overcomes me for a moment. “E-excuse me?” I ask. My chest burns and tears fill my eyes as I continue coughing. “Oh, come on now, honey,” Effie says, ignoring my discomfort. “There’s no need to be embarrassed. We’re all

friends here.” I reach desperately for my glass and swallow a few mouthfuls of beer. By the time I pull it away from my mouth, I’m gasping for breath, but the coughing has stopped. “I’m not sure it’s really any of your business,” I tell her, still gasping. Effie grins. That damn lipstick stain is so distracting. “Well, see, that’s where you’re wrong.” I don’t particularly like the way she says that. “What do you mean?” “We’re a small town,” Effie says, leaning forward conspiratorially. “News

travels fast around here. Now, what you do in your own home is your own business, but word is you have a wife and a brat. Let’s face it; Shannon’s exboyfriend left a bad taste in all our mouths. She’s a pretty little thing, but not exactly the brightest crayon in the box, if you know what I mean.” If this were a cartoon, steam would be coming out of my ears, I’m that angry. I slowly rise from the table, being careful to keep my voice low as I lean over it, looking her straight in the eye. “Listen,” I start, enjoying a brief moment

of satisfaction as she recoils from my venomous look. “You’re right. What I do in my own home is my own business. My personal life is just that - personal. So I’ll thank you to stay out of it.” “Well,” Effie sputters indignantly, getting clumsily to her feet. “There’s no need to be rude about it. Just remember, it’s not just your reputation at stake here. Maybe you should ask Shannon about her father.” I watch as she makes her way out of the bar, my hands clenched into fists by my sides. “Are you okay?” Keets asks,

magically appearing next to me, a new beer in his hand. I gratefully accept it and take a long swallow before I speak. “Is she always like that?” I ask, slowly sitting back down, shaking my head in amazement. “Pretty much.” Keets laughs, sitting backwards on the seat opposite me, leaning his forearms on the back of the chair. “How’s Shannon feeling?” I groan and swallow another mouthful of beer before placing the glass down on the table. “I don’t know,” I state, my brow creasing. “I can only

assume she wasn’t exactly pleased by the situation.” “I can’t say I’m surprised,” Keets says with a grin, picking my beer up and swallowing a mouthful. I wait for him to place it back on the table, but it remains in his hand as he sits there staring at the wall behind me, seemingly deep in thought. “What?” I grumble, staring at my beer. My fingers itch to snatch it back, and I curl them into my hand hard enough to feel the nails pierce the skin of my palm.

“I need to ask you something, but you have to promise not to get upset or hit me.” I raise my eyebrows, a small smile appearing on my face. “Go on.” “Why didn’t you sign the divorce papers?” I let out a loud sigh and slump against the table, resting on my forearms. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I wish I did, but . . .” “But?” Keets prompts. “I guess I was just so angry that I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time. I kept

telling myself it wasn’t true, that my wife wouldn’t leave me just for trying to keep my country safe . . . for trying to keep her safe.” I swallow past a sudden lump in my throat, and Keets finally hands back my beer. I gulp a mouthful and put the glass down on the table, clearing my throat. “I guess she didn’t see it that way. I tore the divorce papers up and promised myself I’d work on my marriage when I got home. “And you never saw her again, until yesterday,” Keets says.

“Until yesterday,” I repeat miserably, lifting my glass once more, draining the last of the beer. “So, what are you going to do now?” I let out a whoosh of air between my teeth. “I wish I fucking knew. But I’ll start with another beer.” “Well,” Keets says, standing up and turning the chair around, tucking it back in under the table. “I don’t know what to tell you about Shannon, but I do know that another beer won’t make the issue go away.”

“Keets,” I warn with a low growl. “Don’t start.” I’m not in the mood for his shit. “Look.” He presses his palms flat against the table top as he leans over it to glare down at me. “All I’m saying is don’t do anything stupid, okay?” I nod mutely at him. “Good.” Keets smiles, pushing himself away from the table. “I’ll go get you that beer.” I smile weakly and watch him walk away. I know he’s right, of course. Getting drunk will solve nothing. But at

least it’ll help me forget . . . for a while.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Ruth asks for the hundredth time.

We’re sitting in the living room of Stone’s house after she found and helped me. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how hilarious it must have been for her to walk in and find me face-down on the carpet. At least I managed to hold back wetting myself before she arrived. “Yes,” I grin, lifting the mug of tea she’d made me to my lips. It’s sweet and hot, just the way I like it. I make a small sound of satisfaction as I close my eyes and savor it. “You’re sure?” Ruth repeats, hovering around like a mother hen.

I sigh as I open my eyes and put the cup down on the coffee table. “I’m fine,” I promise her. Ruth stares around the living room, a grim look on her pretty face. “How can someone stand to live like this?” She asks. “I don’t know,” I reply, shaking my head. I glance up as the front door opens and Zeke walks in. He seems surprised to see us. “Zeke,” Ruth calls him over. I hold my breath as he looks back and forth between the two of us. He hasn’t spoken

a word to anyone since Grace left. My heart aches for him; I know all too well what it’s like to say goodbye to a parent for the last time. He finally sits on the opposite couch, and I let the trapped air out of my lungs in a rushed whoosh. It’s a small step. “Would you like some tea?” I ask gently. He shakes his head. “Tea?” Ruth laughs. “What are you, seventy?” To Zeke, “There’s a can of Coke in the fridge with your name on it, sugar.” She smiles. He gives her a small smile and

slips off the couch, disappearing into the kitchen. He returns a moment later with a cold can and sits back on the edge of the couch, his head downcast, eyes hidden from view. Ruth and I glance at one another, clearly thinking the same thing. How the hell are we going to get through to this kid? “Seen any good movies lately, Zeke?” I ask desperately, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement that he even heard my question. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. I sigh in frustration and rake a hand through my hair as I hear a car pull

up outside. I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s late.; it must be Stone. I jump as the door slams open, hitting the wall behind it with force. A figure fills the doorway and immediately stumbles, falling against the door. Stone. Ruth jumps to her feet and hurries to his side, trying to help him, but he pushes her away and looks over at me, a slow grin curling one side of his lips up into a sneer. A half-empty beer bottle hangs from his fingertips as he stretches out a hand to me. I can smell the alcohol

from where I sit on the couch, and I wrinkle my nose in disgust. “Hey, kitten,” he says in a low voice. I flinch at the nickname, taking slow, deep breaths. He’s drunk, I remind myself. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Poor Zeke is sitting as still as a statue on the couch opposite me. I want to reach out my hand and comfort him, but I’m still stuck because of this damn bandaged leg. “Jesus, Stone,” Ruth says, wrapping his arm across her shoulders as she

leads him to the couch and helps him sit. “How much have you had to drink?” “I dunno,” he slurs, glancing at Zeke. “He spoken yet?” “Not yet,” I respond quietly. “Kid needs to talk eventually,” he says, sitting up and leaning unsteadily toward Zeke. “Oi, kid, you gonna talk to me?” Zeke jumps to his feet and races into his bedroom, slamming the door shut. I can’t believe Stone just did that. Is he fucking crazy? He sees me looking at him, my eyes wide.

“What?” he asks. Is he kidding? Does he seriously think he’s done nothing wrong? “Don’t you think you were a little too harsh?” I snap. “He’s my kid,” Stone says in a low voice. “Mind your own damn business.” “Stone!” Ruth gasps, her mouth hanging open in shock. “How dare you talk to Shannon that way. She’s only trying to help.” “No,” I start, struggling to my feet as I grab the crutches that lie on the floor. I still haven’t learned how to use

them yet, and I have to brace myself on the arm of the chair as I prop them up under my arms. “He’s right,” I continue with a weak smile as I finally get my bearings. “It’s none of my business. If you call me a cab, I’ll be out of your way.” “You’re not going anywhere,” Stone says sullenly, not looking at me. I can feel the blood draining from my face. “Wh-what?” I gasp, suddenly very short of breath. “You heard me,” he replies, raising his eyes to me as he swallows a

mouthful of his beer. “You’re here until that leg is better.” “You can’t be serious.” I laugh. “I’m perfectly fine on my own, and—” “You’re fine on your own, huh?” Stone says, raising his voice as he slowly shifts and stands up, swaying slightly on his feet. “That’s how you managed to nearly break your fucking leg.” “I nearly broke my leg,” I seethe in a low voice through gritted teeth, “because I found out you were married with a kid. So why the fuck didn’t you

tell me?” Now I’m yelling. “I thought we already went through this!” Stone shouts back. “I didn’t know I had a damn kid until yesterday! You think I wanted any of this?” “Guys!” Ruth yells, and we both look over at her in surprise. I’d forgotten she was even there. My eyes drift slowly toward the person next to her and my heart sinks as I look at his tear-stained face. “Zeke,” I say, choking on tears as I try to move the crutches around to go to him.

“Don’t,” Ruth snaps at me as I watch Zeke rush outside, slamming the screen door behind him. “You two have some serious shit to work out, and this poor kid doesn’t need to hear it. I’ll take him to my house for the night. You need to work things out, pronto.” Stone rubs a hand over his head and looks a little dazed. “Fine,” he mutters, turning on his heels and walking into the kitchen. I hear the fridge door open, the rattle of the glass bottles as he grabs another beer. “I can’t stay here,” I plead to Ruth,

but she’s in no mood to listen to my complaining. “I don’t frankly care,” she spits. “You guys need to sort your shit. Like it or not, there’s a kid to think about now. Clearly, the both of you need to grow up.” I hate knowing she’s right. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she says in a softer voice. “I know it’s hard to believe, Shan, but he needs you.” I watch her leave with Zeke in her car, sighing as I rake a hand through my

hair. My legs are burning from the effort it takes to stand, and my headache is back and worse than ever. I lean my head against the cool windowpane, staring out at the darkening sky. Ruth is right, of course. Stone and I have a lot of crap to work through. I feel terrible that Zeke overheard the cruel words his own father said, but I also know Stone didn’t mean any of it. He’s drunk, stressed and probably feels very alone. I have to find a way to help them both, starting with Stone. I just don’t know how I’m going to

get through to him.

I slam the fridge door closed and walk out the door onto the back porch. There’s

still a steady drizzle of rain left over from last night, and the air has a slight chill. I feel goose bumps rise on my forearms as I open my beer and lift it to my lips, the fight leaving my body as the cool alcohol runs down my throat. I move to sit on the two-seater couch, swallowing another mouthful of beer before placing the open bottle on the small table in front of the couch. The table has various books and magazines scattered across it, a habit I picked up from Grandma. “Always make sure you have something to read when you need to

relax,” she’d taught me. I’m still fuming from my fight with Shannon. I can’t believe she said those things in front of my son. What business is it of hers how much I drink? I’m angry, but is it at Shannon or myself? Was she right? Do I drink too much? I know I’ve had a hard time coping since getting back home, but surely I can’t be that bad, can I? If you have to ask, you already know the answer, my mind taunts. I groan as I sit back on the couch, picking up my beer and taking another

swig. Just as the bottle touches my lips, a loud crack of thunder shakes the porch and I jump, dropping my bottle as I drop to the ground behind the table and cower with my head buried in my hands, fearing the bullets as they kick up the dirt around me. I sit there shaking for a few minutes until I can slow my breathing. I gradually lift my head as the tightness in my chest eases and my hazy vision starts to clear. I hate these flashbacks. I never know when they’ll occur, and they always seem so real.

I lean down and pick up the bottle, cursing under my breath as I see it’s now empty. I briefly contemplate getting another one. It would be so damn easy to have another, to lose myself once more in the amber liquid that seems to give me all my courage as of late. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I sit back with a small growl of disgust as I run a hand over my head. This is ridiculous. I can’t even have a beer now without feeling fucking guilty for it. This is my house, dammit, my rules. If Shannon and Zeke can’t respect

that, then I’m not forcing them to stay. But you are, the rational part of my brain reminds me. You won’t let Shannon leave until her leg’s better. I close my eyes and rub my temple with my index and middle fingers, a headache coming on. Why did all this crap have to happen now? I’m not ready for a kid or a woman. A fire starts low in my belly, slowly licking upwards as it burns, consuming all coherent thought and igniting an anger in my heart. Who the fuck does Grace think she is? She can’t just leave me hanging for fourteen years

then waltz back in like nothing happened with a fucking kid. I stand up so suddenly I flip the small table in front of me, scattering books and magazines everywhere. Another clap of thunder passes overhead but I hardly notice, and I don’t care. I run my hands over my face as I pace back and forth in front of the couch. Why the fuck didn’t she tell me? So many years have passed, and she couldn’t be bothered writing a letter? Making a phone call? She’s nothing more than a

selfish bitch who wants to play with my head, punish me for what I did fourteen years ago. I fucking hate her. I walk down the stairs and into the rain, the biting cold doing nothing to dissuade the fire burning hotly inside me. What the hell did I do to deserve this? Did our time together, however short, mean absolutely nothing to her? I loved her. I loved her as much as any real man loves his wife. What I did, I did for her. I did for the family we might have one day . . . for our son.

Our son. All at once, the fight leaves my body. I collapse to my knees in the rain, ignoring the familiar twinge of pain in my injured leg. Tears spring to my eyes and I don’t try to stop them as they pour down my cheeks. It’s a relief to finally unburden myself this way. I can feel the top layer of fourteen years wash away, mixed with the rain and my tears. My chest heaves with exertion and my lungs seem as though they might burst. I can’t do this. I’m not ready. How am I meant to look after a kid when I

clearly can’t even look after myself? I need help. Oh, God, won’t someone help me? I’m drowning in so much emotion, my mind is screaming and no amount of closing my eyes will stop the voices. Am I going mad? Have I finally completely lost my mind? I lie back against the cold ground, the smell of wet grass filling my senses as the rain continues to fall around me. Water goes into my eyes, but I just blink it away. I’m past caring, beyond physical pain. I’m numb. Overhead, the storm intensifies, but

it’s nothing compared to the storm that’s raging inside of me. The wind howls through the trees, swaying the branches dangerously close to the ground. The rain hits me mercilessly, sending rivulets of water running down my face, my abs, my arms. I welcome the cold. It mirrors the emptiness inside me. Night falls, yet I stay right where I am. My clothes are soaked through, plastered to my skin as it continues to rain, but it doesn’t convince me to move indoors. A bolt of lightning streaks

across the night sky, lighting the entire area around me. I turn my head against the sudden light, blinking away the rain drops from my eyelashes. I blink again as a figure in white appears on the porch. I’ve never believed in angels, but right now I’m pretty sure I’m looking at one. She’s dressed in a long, white gown, her golden curls cascading around her tiny waist. Through my drunken haze, I can see she’s struggling to walk with a crutch. Anger washes over me at the thought that she might be injured. Who would harm such a delicate and beautiful

creature? She steps out into the rain, leaning heavily on a wooden crutch. I want to call out, tell her to get out of the rain, but my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, making words impossible. I can do nothing but stare at her helplessly as she approaches. She doesn’t look like an ordinary angel. Her lips are formed into a tight, thin line, and her brow is creased as she frowns at me. She’s saying something, but I can feel myself slipping away as the alcohol takes its toll on my body. I can see her lips moving, but I

can’t make out the words. Her hand stings as it connects with my cheek and I open my eyes fully to see her standing directly above me, her hand raised to strike again. She’s clearly pissed off . . . at me.

What the hell is he doing out here, and how the fuck am I meant to get him

inside? I brace the crutch under my arm and lean down, grabbing his hand. “Come on,” I mutter to myself, uselessly trying to pull him up without slipping over. The bandage on my leg is making things increasingly difficult. I’m just glad I had the foresight to wrap it in plastic wrap to stop it from getting wet. I finally manage to get Stone to sit up, and I put his arm around my shoulder to help him to his feet. He’s so heavy, it takes an almost inhuman strength to move. I grit my teeth against the pain in my leg as I

contemplate dropping him back to the wet ground and going to bed . . . it’d be so easy. He stumbles against me but thankfully doesn’t fall as he leans heavily against me and we move inside. I get him into his bedroom, but it’s a slow process because of my leg. He sits on the edge of the bed as I hobble around, gathering a towel from the bathroom and turning on the heat. I return to the bed and maneuver myself to sit in the wheelchair opposite him. He’s sitting

there silently, his head downcast. The earlier anger I felt begins to dissipate. He looks so helpless, so lost. My hands move to the bottom of his black tank top, and I suck in a breath as my fingertips connect with rock-hard muscle. For an alcoholic, he sure has an amazing body. I silently remove his tank top, my heart breaking all over again as I see the scars that mar his upper torso. My fingers stretch out and lightly trace one, pulling back when he flinches. What horrors has he faced to receive those scars? I wrestle off the remainder of his

clothes and lay him back against the pillows with the quilt pulled up to his waist. It’s kind of ironic; I’ve just stripped off the clothes of an incredibly sexy man, yet I feel no desire churning in my gut. Instead, it’s a nurturing, almost motherly sensation. I want to protect him, take care of him. I grip the edge of the bed for support and carefully stand up, keeping the pressure off my injured leg. I grab one of the crutches and brace it under my arm. But instead of leaving right away, I pause, staring down at Stone. He’s fallen

asleep, the stain of hours’ worth of tears still evident on his cheeks. It breaks my heart. I can’t stand to see him this way. I turn to leave when he grabs my free hand, almost toppling me over. I glance over my shoulder, and my heart skips a beat at the intense stare he’s giving me. He says just one word. “Stay.” Swallowing past the sudden lump in my throat, I mutely nod in agreement. Carefully moving around to the other side of the bed, I sit on the edge and strip off my own wet clothes, pulling on

one of his long t-shirts I find on the ground. My hair is soaked, sticking to the back of my neck, and I quickly pull it up into a bun, securing it with the tie I always keep around my wrist. I can feel his eyes watching me, but I can’t bring myself to turn around. Propping the crutch against the nightstand, I slide carefully beneath the quilt with my back to him. It’s a little difficult with my injured leg, but I manage to position myself somewhat comfortably on the bed.

Just as I’m drifting off to sleep Stone rolls over, draping his large arm heavily across my waist, pulling my back into his chest. I freeze, holding my breath as he mumbles something unintelligent in his sleep. I expect him to wake up any second, but he doesn’t and I slowly relax into his arms. I don’t sleep. Even though I’m exhausted, my eyes remain wide open, staring into the dark of the bedroom. The rain continues to fall outside, the howl of the wind echoing the cries in my heart. Everything is screaming at me to leave, get out now.

He’s too broken, too damaged. He can never care for me the way I . . . The way I do for him. I jerk at the realization and Stone turns over in his sleep, his back now to me. I immediately miss the warmth of his chest against my back. I care for him. I almost hate to admit it, but it’s true. When did it happen? How? We barely know one another, and yet he’s managed to completely turn my life upside-down. And poor Zeke. I can only imagine what he must be going through right now. Torn from the arms of his mother, placed

with a father who never knew he existed until recently. Who’s so fucked-up that he can barely look after himself, let alone a kid. Tears form in my eyes and I quickly brush them away as I take a deep, shuddering breath. Stone can never know how I feel. He needs help, not a woman. I sit up straight in bed, a thought occurring to me. Stone mumbles again, but stays asleep. Glancing down at him as a flash of lightning lights up the room, I flinch when I see the long, jagged scars across his back. Grabbing the crutch next

to the bed, I carefully maneuver my way around the dark room, exiting into the living room where I left my bag. I flip on the lamp as I sit on the couch and rummage through my handbag, searching for my purse. I pull it out and sort through the numerous cards until I find the one I’m looking for. Dr. Evelyn James Psychologist of alcoholism and treatment I check the time on the small digital clock next to the lamp: 8 p.m. It may not

be too late yet. I had first met Dr. James when I dated Troy. I’d been in one of the local homeless shelters, escaping his fists, when she’d found me crying into a bowl of vegetable soup. She’d been the first person to listen to me in such a long time that I found myself unburdening ten years’ worth of despair right there at the table. She’d never judged me, simply gave me her card and told me to call if I ever needed her. Well, I need her.

Grabbing the cordless phone next to the clock, I punch in the number and wait as it rings. I’m just about to give up when she answers. “Hello?” a polite, yet tired woman answers. Hope blooms inside me as I recognize her voice. “Dr. James?” I say breathlessly. “I don’t know if you’ll remember me, but my name is Shannon Harper. We met a few years ago at a soup kitchen.” “Shannon,” Dr. James says, sounding surprised. “It’s such a pleasure to hear from you again. Of course I remember you.”

Tears immediately well up in my eyes as I hear her friendly voice. It’s not likely that she really does remember me, but the fact that she’s pretending warms my heart. It’s not long before I find myself pouring my heart out once again. Only this time, there’s no vegetable soup. “Dear me,” Dr. James says gently once I’m finished speaking and the tears have dried up. “It sounds like you’ve got yourself in quite a situation.” “I know.” I sigh, raking a hand through my hair. “But what can I do

about it?” “This Stone,” Dr. James says. “Do you think he wants to be helped?” “I don’t know if he wants help,” I admit, shaking my head even though she can’t actually see me. “But I know he needs it.” “Then you need to help him,” Dr. James says matter-of-factly. “How?” I ask. How do you even begin to help a man as damaged as Ethan Stone? I stay on the phone with Dr. James for another hour as she helps me understand a little more about what

Stone might be going through. By the time I hang up, I know what I have to do.

I groan as Shannon opens the curtains, throwing a hand over my eyes to block

the sudden light. “Good morning, sunshine,” she sings as she moves around the room, albeit a little slowly in the wheelchair. “What time is it?” I ask, cracking open my eyes as I lower my arm to watch her. She’s wearing one of my long shirts with no pants. Her hair is thrown up in a messy bun, but there’s a twinkle in her eye. I have the feeling that twinkle will be trouble. “It’s almost noon.” She smiles brightly, and I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. She’s so damn

beautiful. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and sit up. My head is pounding and as beautiful as Shannon is, her happy mood is starting to grate on my nerves just a little bit. “What are you doing?” I ask, watching as she wheels around the room, grabbing my clothes off the floor. I glance down and feel my face flush. “Did you undress me?” “Of course,” she replies, glancing at me in surprise. “You couldn’t expect me to let you sleep in wet clothes, could you?”

“Of course not,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “Great.” She smiles, her arms full of dirty clothes. “Where’s your washing machine?” “Um, it’s out the back on the porch,” I answer, wiping the sleep from my eyes. “But leave it; I’ll get it later.” “It’s fine,” Shannon says, turning the wheelchair around. “I’ll be right back.” She leaves the room, and I pull on a pair of black shorts and walk out into the living room, but I stop dead when I see it. The whole room is spotless. All the

beer bottles have been cleared away, the empty takeaway containers thrown out. She’s even cleaned the couch and scrubbed the coffee table. The whole room smells like a combination of flowers and bleach. It hasn’t looked this way in months. I shake my head and walk out onto the back porch. Shannon is humming a country tune as she dumps the clothes into the front loader and turns it on. I watch as she carefully spins the chair around and wheels over to the upturned table. The wheel bumps into it and I

hurry to help her. “Let me,” I offer, picking the table up effortlessly and standing it upright. She beams at me, and it’s like a ray of fucking sunshine straight to my heart. “Thank you,” she says as she straightens the books and magazines. “Why don’t you head in and put some coffee on? I’ll be along in a minute.” “Okay,” I reply slowly, my brow creasing as I turn around and walk back inside. I’m not really sure how I feel about Shannon cleaning my house. I’m

embarrassed; she must think I’m such a pig. The house looks and smells amazing, though. I really should thank her. I plug the coffee maker in and turn it on, opening the fridge to grab myself my usual breakfast beer. My hand reaches in blindly and I freeze, slowly turning my head toward the open fridge. There’s no beer. My breathing becomes shallow and I start to hyperventilate. Stomach churning, I have to lean over the table to stop from throwing up. My hands are

clammy and shaking as I turn back to the fridge, moving things around, desperately searching for just one bottle. I pull various foods out, one by one, and still come up empty-handed. “I guess you noticed, huh?” Shannon says in a quiet voice behind me. I turn slowly to face her, my harsh breathing loud in the quiet room. “What did you do?” I ask in a low voice, anger coursing through me when she just sits there, looking at me. I stomp over to her, leaning forward as I grab the arms of the wheelchair, pushing my face into hers.

She flinches and recoils, but there’s nowhere for her to escape. “What. The fuck. Did you do?” I speak slowly, emphasizing each word as I grit my teeth. She pales, but juts out her chin bravely and meets my eyes with a steely determination. “I got rid of it,” she barks. “You got rid of it,” I repeat hollowly. “I see that. Where is it?” “I poured it down the sink.” No no no no no! I scream in my head. Shoving away from the wheelchair

I rake a hand over my head. I can’t look at her, can’t speak to her. Doesn’t she fucking know I need my beer? A roar of fury rips from my chest and I sweep my arm across the counter, knocking the coffee maker to the ground and spilling boiling water all over myself. Shannon screams and pushes the wheelchair back, but I still can’t look at her. I can’t breathe, and my chest is tight, like it’s about to cave in. I gasp for air as I lean over, my palms flat on the table. “Stone,” she says in a quiet voice. I

raise my eyes to her. Her eyes are wide and terrified; she’s clearly scared of what I might do. Doesn’t she know I’d never hurt her? I can’t comfort her, though. Not now. “I need to get the fuck out of here,” I mutter, pushing away from the table and searching for my keys. They’re not in their usual spot; where the fuck are they? “You can’t leave,” Shannon tells me, following me into the living room. I don’t look at her as I toss the cushions off the couch and shove my hand down the back of it. I feel an assortment of dust

and a few loose coins, but no keys. “Why not?” I ask, still not looking at her. “Because Keets has your keys.” I freeze as what she said sinks in. I risk a glance at her, half-expecting to see her holding the keys up with a grin. She’s serious. I feel like my world is crumbling around my feet. “Why does Keets have my keys?” “He came over this morning and picked them up.” “He came over this morning and

picked them up,” I mirror, emotionless. “Can I ask why you’re doing this?” “I just wanted to help,” she says in a quiet voice. It’s my undoing. “Who the fuck asked you for help, Shannon?” I explode. “Huh? It sure as shit wasn’t me.” “Stone, I—” “No, I don’t want to hear it,” I interrupt her. “What gives you the right to come into my house and fuck everything up?” “Fuck everything up?” she says in disbelief. “Fuck what up, Stone? You’re

a middle-aged pig who lives in his own filth and cares more about his next beer than he does about his own son.” She’s yelling now. “Have you even thought about Zeke? Just once?” “Of course I have!” I shout back. “I’ve done nothing but think of him since he came into my life.” “I can tell,” Shannon says sarcastically. “What would you know?” I ask. “You’re young, you’re fucking gorgeous and you’ve got the devotion of everyone you meet. You don’t have to deal with

any kind of shit like this.” “Seriously?” She gives a short bark of laughter. “Ethan Stone, you need a serious reality check. I lost my dad last year, my ex-boyfriend beat on me, and I’ve got creditors hanging around Saddles trying to buy it out from under me. You think I have a great life? Think again, buster.” I stare at her. “Someone’s trying to buy Saddles?” She sighs and pushes a strand of hair out of her face. “Yeah,” she admits quietly. “Daddy borrowed a lot of

money from the wrong people. I have just over two weeks to sell the bar, or who knows what they’ll do to me?” I curse and drop to my knees in front of the wheelchair. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” She shakes her head, a small smile crossing her pinched face. “It’s my problem,” she says. “No one can do this alone,” I tell her, touching her hand gently. “You should take your own advice.” I can’t help the grin that splits my face. “You’re right,” I agree, standing

back up. “I have a problem; I know it, and you know it. But what do you want me to do about it?” “Have you considered getting help?” “You mean a shrink?” I ask. She nods. “I don’t know,” I say, collapsing onto one of the single armchairs. “I mean, I guess I always thought I was too messed-up to change.” “It’s never too late to change,” she states with a smile. “Your son needs you, Stone. You need to do this for him.”

I stare at her for a few minutes, contemplating everything she’s said. Her sanity seems to make it through my madness. Is she right? Is there still hope for me? I would do anything to rid myself of the voices that plague my thoughts, the nightmares that keep me awake. What could it hurt? “Okay.” I nod slowly, watching the relief flood her face. “I’ll give it a go.”

One year ago…

I glance around the small

apartment I’ve shared with Troy for the past few years. It’s funny, there are things of mine everywhere … but it’s never really felt like home. I wander into the bedroom and close the door behind me. I can’t help the slight shiver that runs through my body as I stare at the large bed that was once home to beautiful memories. Now, all I see is pain¸ heartbreak … and fear. I sit on the edge of the bed and play with the edge of the blanket. Can I really do this? Can I just pack up

and leave? I jump when the front door slams, and I take slow, deep breaths as I stand up and look at the suitcase beside the bedroom door. It’s time. “Shannon!” Troy’s voice roars through the small apartment. I flinch inwardly, but keep my face carefully stoic. He’s clearly just realized there’s no dinner on the table. The bedroom door flies open and he’s standing there, his hair messed and his hands clenched into fists as he breathes heavily. “What the fuck are

you doing?” he snarls, taking a step into the room. His foot hits my suitcase and he looks down at it . . . then back at my pale face. “Going somewhere?” “I-I can’t do this, Troy,” I stammer, tears already filling my eyes. “I have to go home.” “Home?” he sneers, kicking my suitcase. “Home?” he’s shouting now. “This is your fucking home. Did I say you could go anywhere?” I’m so scared, but suddenly I’ve had enough. I’m so tired of the abuse, the humiliation . . . the pain. I

straighten up and stare at him through my tears. “No, you didn’t. But I’m going anyway.” I’m not prepared for how quickly he flies across the room, tackling me onto the bed as he punches my face. Blood spurts from my nose and my head twists to the left as stars burst in front of my eyes. His large hands wrap around my throat and squeeze tightly, cutting off my air. I fumble around for his fingers, trying to pull them away. But it’s a weak effort on my part.

For the first time in my miserable life, I wish for death. I welcome it. Embrace it. My hands drop away as my eyes close and my chest burns from lack of oxygen. But I’m not afraid, I see my momma and daddy waiting for me beyond the pain. I’m snapped back to reality as Troy makes a noise of disgust and shoves his hands away from my throat. The pain rushes forward and I cough violently as my deprived lungs suck in great mouthfuls of air. My vision slowly comes back into focus, and tears prick

the corners of my eyes as the image of my parents fades away. Troy climbs off me and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him. I hear his bike start up and tear down the road, but I still can’t bring myself to move from the bed. Why didn’t he just let me die? Does he really hate me that much that he’d force me to live? A brief image flashes in my mind of the bottle of sleeping pills in the bathroom . . . but deep down I know I could never take my own life. I slowly sit up, the burning in my

chest is almost gone, but a heaviness remains as I look at my suitcase still by the bedroom door. Two hours later I’m on a bus, using money from the secret savings account I’ve been squirreling away for the past two years to get home. As the bus leaves the city behind, and I get my first glimpse of the beautiful Texan countryside I haven’t seen in so many years, a small bubble of laughter works its way up from my belly. A moment later tears are

coursing down my cheeks as I shriek with laughter. The other people on the bus look at me as if I’ve fucking lost my mind, and maybe I have. But right now I don’t care. I’m free. I’m fucking free. “Shannon,” Keets panicked voice calls out, rousing me from my daydream. I glance up at him, embarrassed at having been caught not focusing on my job. “What’s up?” I ask, smoothing my hair down with my hand. “It’s Stone,” he says grimly, his

mouth set in a tight line as he pushes his glasses up on his nose with a lone index finger. My blood runs cold as a sinking feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. “You need to see this.”

My hand shakes as I lift the glass to my lips, draining the last few drops of beer left behind by a customer. I’m hiding out

the back of Saddles, numerous bottles and glasses around me. I’m disgusted with myself, but I can’t fucking stop. If only Shannon hadn’t thrown away my beer, I wouldn’t be reduced to draining the dregs from paying customers. I got lucky earlier, one group of customers left pretty quickly, not bothering to finish their drinks. I had about eight full glasses of whiskey that has left me with a nice buzz. So why aren’t I happy? Fucking Shannon. I’m fucking beyond furious. How dare she throw away my beer? It’s the only thing getting

me through every damn day, what does she expect me to do now? As though my thoughts have magically conjured her up, the back door of the bar opens and she steps out, squinting at the sudden brightness of the sun as it hits her in the eye. Raising a hand across her eyes to block it out, she spots me sitting against the wall and regards me with a thin purse of her lips. I grimace as Keets appears over her shoulder; no second guesses are necessary to know who sold me out.

“Thanks a lot, man,” I slur, nodding at Keets as I raise a glass toward them. “Nice to know you’ve got my back.” “I do have your back,” Keets protests, starting to step forward, but Shannon’s small hand on his chest stops him mid-stride. I growl under my breath when she doesn’t immediately move her hand, a keen jealousy building in me, making my chest heavy. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Shannon snaps, glaring at me as I blink in surprise. Why the hell is she angry at me? She’s the one who threw

out the beer and reduced me to this. “I’m waiting to die,” I answer, a little disturbed at how easily the statement slips off my tongue. “It can’t be that bad,” Keets says with a small laugh. I shoot him a look that stops him in his tracks. Now’s not the time for his fucking jokes. “Stone, I think you need to go home,” Shannon says gently, her earlier anger seems to have dissipated as she moves to kneel beside me in the gutter. Shame washes over me as I realize the gravity of the situation. I’m lying in the

fucking gutter, drinking the last dregs of alcohol from someone else’s glass. When did I become so dependent on booze that I would stoop to this level? An unsettling feeling grows in the pit of my stomach, and before I can stop myself I’m leaning forward, losing the contents of my guts onto the cement. As I’m heaving, I feel her gentle hand on my back and I’m instantly embarrassed. She’s not to blame for my problems . . . I am. I need help, how the fuck do I get over an addiction that’s completely

consumed me? Am I even worth saving? I’ve done some pretty shitty things in my life, but is it possible that Shannon sees past my imperfections? My whole body is shaking beneath her touch. I’m so vulnerable, so weak . . . so human. Tears burn behind my eyes, nothing will hold them back now. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut as the first tear caresses my cheek, and soon my body is wracked with deep, shuddering sobs. I hate that I’m helpless. I’m the strong soldier, yet here I am crying like a bitch. Shannon’s arms wrap around my

neck and I cling to her like a buoy in the ocean. She can save me . . . she has to. “Save me,” I whisper brokenly against her soft hair. The tears begin to ebb and fade as she pushes back gently to look at my face. She cups it with a small smile, “of course,” she whispers, stroking my cheek with her thumb. “We’ll help you.” We . . . I’d almost forgotten about Keets. I glance up at him, embarrassed, as I wipe away the last of my tears. “It’s okay,” he says gruffly as he crouches down beside us and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “We’ll

get you through this.” I have no idea how they think they’re going to get me through this. I’ve reached rock bottom, how can I begin to climb back up and out of this hole I dug? I want to tell her to leave while she can, I’m so close to telling her all about the young girl that haunts my nightmares. But I don’t. I can’t. “He can’t stay here,” Keets murmurs to Shannon, who nods her head quietly. “I know,” she whispers. “You need

to help me get him home.” “Are you going to be okay?” he asks, indicating with his head toward me. “Addiction is a horrible thing to overcome, he’s going to be an asshole for a while.” “Is that really any different than usual?” she grins. “Hey,” I interject. “I’m still fucking here!” “Oh come on,” Keets says with a laugh. “You know I’m just kidding.” He turns back to Shannon and wraps his arms around her as she sits in the

wheelchair, kissing the top of her head. Jealously floods through me and I growl as I narrow my eyes at them both. She’s fucking mine! My mind screams, and I clench my hands into fists as I force myself to calm down. She’s not yours, I remind myself sternly. I’m too fucked up to get involved with any woman . . . no matter how much I want to. Shannon has proven to me today that I can trust her, it would be unfair of me to bring her down with my history. And Keets . . . the man is my Army

brother. I trust no man more than him. If anyone can help me conquer my inner demons, it’s these two people beside me. For the first time in years, I feel a glimmer of hope that things will be okay.

It’s been a week since Stone has had a beer, and I honestly don’t know how he’s

coping. He’s been so quiet, often hiding out in his bedroom while I’ve slept in the spare room. I hear him crying at night and it breaks my heart, but I know he just needs time. I can’t begin to imagine what he’s been through, but I know it’s going to be a long time before he feels truly okay. “Hey, Shan,” Ruth says, walking up to me at the bar with a tray of dirty glasses. “How’s Stone?” “I don’t know,” I admit, taking the tray and unloading the glasses. “He’s

barely said a word to me all week.” “Just give it some time,” she offers, smiling at a young couple as they take a seat at the bar. “I’m sure he’s got a lot of crap to work through.” I push my wheelchair across to the couple and quickly serve them their drinks. “How’s Zeke?” I ask when we get another spare minute. Ruth sighs. “He’s still not talking,” she says. “Thank you for looking after him.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she starts, laying a hand lightly on my shoulder. “It’s my pleasure. He’s a good kid, but he’s been through so much with his mom . . .” “And now his dad,” I finish the sentence for her. Ruth smiles, but it seems a little forced. “It’ll be okay,” she tells me, glancing up as the door of the bar opens. “Great,” she mutters, quickly moving away. “I’ll leave this one to you.” “What?” I ask, watching as she darts away. I sigh in frustration and tuck a

strand of hair behind my ear, wishing for the hundredth time tonight that I’d worn it up. It’s Saturday night, and the band is just setting up as the regulars trickle in. Unfortunately for me, some of those regulars aren’t all that friendly. “Effie,” I say emotionlessly, nodding a greeting to Kensington as they take a seat at the bar. “Shannon,” Effie purrs, looking at my wheelchair. “I heard about your leg. That’s just terrible. I do hope it’s nothing serious.” I raise my eyebrows disbelievingly.

“No, Effie, my injured leg is nothing serious.” “Oh, I’m so glad to hear it,” she says, completely missing my sarcasm. “You remember Mr. Kensington?” “Of course,” I reply through gritted teeth. “Miss Harper,” he says with a fake smile. “I hope you’ve considered my offer?” “Uh, I’m still thinking about it,” I tell him, desperately looking around for Ruth. “Will you excuse me?” I don’t wait for an answer as I wheel my chair

over to where Ruth appears to be flirting with a young guy. I’m a little surprised; I thought for sure things were working out with Keets. “Ruth?” I say, calling her attention to me. “I have to get out of here.” She nods understandingly. “Okay. Go into the office and wait. I’ll call Keets to pick you up and take you back to Stone’s.” “Thanks.” I smile gratefully as I turn the wheelchair around and head for the office, pointedly ignoring Effie and Kensington.

As I wait inside the office for Keets, I can’t get my mind off Stone. I’ve seen him just once since I poured his beer down the sink. I have no idea how he’s doing, but Dr. James and everyone else keep telling me to give him time. He’s been through so much, and it’s important to let the alcohol get out of his system and give him time to adjust. Kind of like a period of quarantine. I know he hasn’t eaten. I’ve left meals outside his door every night, and every morning they’ve been untouched.

No one can go that long without eating and still be okay, can they? Where the hell is Keets? I need to get home. I need to check on Stone. I sit up straight, my eyes widening and my mouth dropping open slightly. What the hell are you doing, Shannon? It’s not ‘home’. You’re there until your leg gets better, no longer, my brain practically screams at me. A short, stabbing pain enters my chest at the thought of leaving Stone’s house. When did I start caring so much? He’s a friend, and I don’t want anything more. But even

as I think that, I know it’s not true. Somehow, Stone has worked his way into my head, my heart. This goes beyond wanting to help him. I want to be a part of his life. The main part. The office door opens and I look up, giving Keets a smile as he enters. “Hey, buttercup,” he says fondly, using the nickname my daddy used to call me. Tears spring to my eyes and he sees them before I can dash them away. “Ah, hell,” he curses, dropping to his knees and enfolding me in his large

arms. I hold on to his shirt and let the tears flow. It’s such a relief after holding everything together for so long. Keets is strong, dependable, my best friend. He’s been there for me through the darkest moments, and I’m so thankful he’s here now. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, stroking my back as he places a soft kiss against my hair. I sit back, exhausted, and wipe my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I tell him on a choked laugh as I look at the large wet stain on his white tank top. “Don’t,” he says firmly, fixing me

with a hard stare. His hand gently wipes away the remainder of my tears, letting me know he’s not angry. “Don’t ever apologize Shan. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, do you understand?” I swallow hard and nod in agreement. “Good,” he answers, standing up and moving to the back of the wheelchair. I keep my head down as he maneuvers me through the main bar area, hiding my tear-stained face from curious

onlookers. He pauses for a moment and speaks to Ruth, but I don’t intrude by listening in. I just want to leave. When we finally get outside, Keets helps me to settle in the back seat of his truck with my injured leg propped up before folding up the wheelchair and placing it in the back seat. I’m silent for the whole trip, and so is Keets. I think he understands that I’m deep in thought, that I just need time to process everything that’s happening as well as these new feelings that are emerging.

There’s no question that Stone needs help, but am I the right person for the job? I’m not an expert, but I don’t think Stone helping out at the bar was the right decision. I need to stop him from being at Saddles altogether. It’s going to be difficult, but I’m sure Ruth and Keets can handle things until I get back on my feet. It’s the right thing to do, for Stone. When we pull up outside his house, all the lights are out. I wonder if he’s eaten anything yet. Keets grabs the wheelchair from the back of the truck and jogs around to the

passenger side, opening the back door and lifting me into his arms. But instead of putting me into the wheelchair like I expect, he starts carrying me up to the front door. “Keets.” I laugh. “What are you doing?” “I’m just making sure you get inside safely.” He grins. “You got the key?” I move one hand from around his neck and fumble in the pocket of my shorts, holding the key up. He takes it from me and puts it in the lock, opening the door. I can’t see a thing and as we enter, my head hits the doorframe.

“Ow!” I cry, holding a hand to my head as I laugh. “You bastard.” “Sorry,” Keets grunts as his legs hit something and he curses loudly. I giggle and shush him, not wanting to disturb Stone. The living room light comes on, and I blink at the sudden brightness. I glance up and my heart sinks. Stone is standing in the doorway of his bedroom, casually leaning against the doorframe. His face, however, is anything but calm. “Having fun, are we?” he asks. “Stone,” I say, suddenly keenly

aware of still being in Keets’ arms. He senses my discomfort and deposits me carefully onto the couch. I can’t take my eyes off Stone. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. There are dark circles under his eyes and a five-day growth on his jawline. He’s clearly just showered, as water is still dripping down his torso, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. He’s lost weight, his jeans hanging too low on his narrow hips. My heart breaks at the lost look in his eyes. He seems haunted, destroyed. “Hey, man,” Keets greets, walking

over and slapping him on the back. “How are you doing?” Stone says nothing. He just stands there . . . staring at me. Keets clears his throat and shoves his hands into his pockets, jangling the keys to his truck. “I, ah, guess I’ll leave you two alone,” he says, walking far too quickly back over to the door. I don’t watch him leave, don’t hear his truck start up and pull away from the house. My eyes are focused only on the broken man in front of me. “How are you

feeling?” I ask, clearing my throat as I struggle to sit up. My eyes widen as he slowly begins walking toward me. “I know you haven’t eaten much the last few days.” I’m rambling. “But Dr. James said—” “What’s going on between you and Keets?” Stone interrupts, his voice low and kind of menacing. My eyes widen even further. Is he serious? “Stone,” I start, holding up a hand. “Keets is a friend, and—” “Oh, I can see what a great friend

he is,” Stone says sarcastically. “Does Ruth know?” “Know what?” I gasp, not quite believing what I’m hearing. “Stone, what are you talking about?” Surely he can’t believe there’s anything romantic between myself and Keets. “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he counters, finally reaching my side. I recoil into the couch as he leans over me, his breath hot and heavy. Fury builds inside of me at his words. Just who the hell does he think he is? I tilt my head up and jut out my chin,

my eyes cold as steel even as I lie beneath him on the couch. “So what if there is something going on?” I seethe in my coldest voice. “It has absolutely nothing to do with you.” “The hell it doesn’t,” he growls. I yelp as his arm slides beneath my legs and he effortlessly picks me up. “Stop it!” I yell, slapping his arm uselessly. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” “I’m making you forget Keets exists,” he tells me, walking into his bedroom and dumping me gently on the

bed. “You’re what?” I ask, trying to scramble up the bed, but he grabs my uninjured leg and drags me back down before moving over me. I’m unable to suppress the shiver that passes through me the moment his lips touch the side of my neck. “I said,” Stone draws out. “I’m making you forget Keets ever touched this beautiful skin. You’re so fucking beautiful, Shannon. Do you even know how gorgeous you are?” He punctuates each word with another kiss to my bare

skin. “No,” I gasp, no longer trying to free myself. His kisses are setting my skin on fire, and all I want to do is burn. His hand slides up my ribcage, brushing the underside of my breast. I strain against his hand, trying to move it where I need it. “Shh,” he soothes, kissing the outer corner of my lips. “Take it easy, babe. We’ve got all night.” His fingertips touch the tight bud of my nipple and I cry out against his lips. This, I think to myself. This is what I’ve been needing. His

fingers twist, knead, and pluck at my nipple until I’m writhing beneath him. I need more. Stone seems to know just what I need, and his hand moves from my breast long enough to pull my tank top up and my bra cup down, pushing my breast up to his hooded gaze. My dusky pink nipple stands proudly to attention, begging for more. And more is exactly what he gives me.

She’s actually letting me do this. A part of me can’t believe it’s

happening, but another part of me is screaming not to stop. I finally have my hands once again on the delectable Shannon Harper, and this time we’re both sober. I’m so fucking nervous. If I had beer, I could… No, I tell myself firmly. This is something that needs to be done without the confidence of alcohol to back me up. She needs to see that I can do this. Besides, if I stop now, she may never let this happen again. But even as I’m touching her, I know I’ll never be able to stop.

My tongue snakes out and flicks her hard nipple, and I relish the guttural cry that rips from her full lips as she bends her back, pushing her breast closer to my mouth. I’m more than happy to oblige. I close my eyes and hum as my lips close over her nipple and tug gently. Her hands move to my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin through my tank top, hard enough to draw blood. And I fucking love it. I’m an animal. Primal and ferocious, ready to pounce on my prey. Tonight, Shannon Harper is the gazelle

and I am the lion. I don’t care if she thinks she belongs to Keets. Tonight, she’s mine. My hand slips beneath the waistband of her shorts, and I growl when I feel the lacy edge of her panties. I don’t stop to enjoy it, though, as I tear my mouth from hers and make short work of stripping her naked, my eyes feasting on her soft, golden flesh as it’s bared to me. I part her legs gently, being careful of the injured one. I look up at her with my head between her thighs, my breath causing tiny goose bumps to rise

along the sensitive skin. “Look at me,” I demand, hooking one of her legs over my shoulder, leaving the bandaged one flat on the bed. Her gaze lifts slowly to mine and, maintaining eye contact, I bend forward and trail my tongue slowly over the outer lips of her pussy. Her breathing increases, loud in the quiet room as my tongue darts out and makes short, stabbing motions directly at her clit before drawing it into my mouth and sucking lightly. She cries out, and I slowly increase the pressure as I slip one finger deep inside her, followed by

a second. Shannon makes a low, keening sound as her hips rock back and forth, guiding my mouth across her pussy. She’s so fucking wet. I love her tangy taste. I could do this forever. My other hand moves to her nipple, twisting and plucking at it lightly as my mouth continues its assault. All too soon, she cries out, and I feel her clench around my fingers as I suck her clit once more. Hard. I’m almost sorry that she comes so quickly. Almost.

Making short work of removing my clothes, I smile proudly as her eyes grow wide when she looks at my cock. It’s not huge, about seven inches, but it’s thick. Really thick. Not wanting to waste any time, I don’t give her a chance to change her mind. I move to grab a condom from the dresser drawer, but her hand on my forearm stills my movements. I glance down at her flushed face. “We already did it once without protection,” I murmur, leaning down to brush a kiss against her forehead. “I don’t want to do anything you’ll regret.”

“I’m on the pill,” she whispers breathlessly, straining against me. “Please,” she begs . . . and I’m lost. Covering her body with mine once more, I pull her leg up over my shoulder, pressing down until it’s almost touching her chest. She’s wide open, wet and ready. I watch her eyes change color and darken as the thick head of my cock presses against her entrance, slowly pushing inside. She’s so fucking tight, I have to grit my teeth and close my eyes to stop from coming too soon. I ease in, inch by delicious inch, until I’m fully

inside her. Pausing, I rest my head against her knee as I gasp for air, desperately trying to catch my breath. When I think she’s ready, I begin to move slowly, but Shannon wants none of that. Her hands move restlessly down my back, her nails digging almost painfully into the flesh of my ass, pulling me in deeper, moving me faster. I growl and sit up straight. She wants hard? I’ll fucking give her hard. Her eyes almost bulge out of her head as I thrust in and out of her. My balls slap against her ass and I reach

down and gently grab her clit between my thumb and index finger, squeezing lightly as I roll it around. She cries out and tries to push my hand away, but I’m a man possessed. I can feel my balls tightening as my cock thickens even more. She feels it, too. Her hand drops, no longer trying to push me away as I continue rubbing her clit. She’s so fucking close, I can feel her pulse around me as she grips the sheets beneath her in her fists. Her eyes are squeezed tight as I feel the first ripple rush through her, pulling me in deeper.

“Open your eyes,” I command, not slowing down as her eyes shoot open. This is what I want, what I need. “Look at me when you come, babe.” My voice is raspy and breathless as I continue thrusting. “I need you to know that it’s me fucking you, no one else.” She cries out again, but her eyes remain open as she grips and releases my cock tightly. I grit my teeth as I thrust a few more times, and a roar comes from my chest as I come harder than I ever have before. It’s as though fourteen years of pent-up anger and frustration has just

been released from my balls, leaving me exhausted but satisfied. But still wanting her. I gently lower her leg and collapse on the bed next to her, breathing hard. Her hand gently caresses my sweaty back, and I turn my head to look at her. She’s smiling. That’s a good sign. “Are you okay?” I ask, leaning up and brushing a strand of hair away from her forehead. “Yeah,” she says in a quiet voice, still rubbing my back lightly. Her skin is flushed a delicate shade of pink, and it’s

all I can do to stop myself from licking her from head to toe. Since when was a sweaty woman so damn sexy? Since that sweaty woman is Shannon Harper. I sit up and pull on a pair of shorts from the floor. She sits up, too, tucking the sheet around her modestly. I want to rip it away, and I clench my hands into fists by my sides to keep from doing so. “Have you eaten?” she asks, searching my face. As if on cue, my stomach rumbles and I laugh.

“No,” I reply, still smiling. It feels fucking good to smile. “Well,” she says, smiling back. “If you grab me the wheelchair from outside, I’ll fix us some dinner.” “Nope,” I tell her firmly, shaking my head as I lean forward and kiss her forehead. “I’m taking you out for dinner.” “What?” She leans back, looking at me quizzically. I nod in affirmation. “I need to eat, you need to eat. It makes perfect sense. Besides,” I continue, standing up and

grabbing the crutches from where they lean against the wall. “I want the whole town to see me with a beautiful woman by my side.” She flushes and ducks her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “What about Zeke?” she says, looking back up at me. “Don’t you think it’s time you include your son?” My smile falters then fades as I shake my head sadly. “He hates me,” I say. “He does not hate you,” Shannon cries. “He doesn’t know you well

enough to hate you.” “Shannon,” I explain patiently. “I haven’t been in his life, ever. I know it’s not my fault, but he clearly holds me responsible for that.” “Well, he can’t stay with Ruth forever,” she tells me. “Eventually, he needs to come home.” “And he will,” I say, ignoring the thrill that runs through me when I hear Shannon refer to my house as ‘home’. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow, I promise.” “Okay,” she gives in, slowly nodding. “Where do you want to go?”

“Let’s just go to Saddles,” I suggest. Shit. Why did she just go so pale? “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she counters, shaking her head vehemently. “Not when you’re still getting over your . . . problem.” I hate to admit it, but she’s right. And right now, that problem is fucking with my head more than I’d care to admit. What I wouldn’t give for just one. .. “Okay,” I relent. “Where do you want to go?” Shannon smiles at me and all of a

sudden, everything is right with the world. “I know just the place.”

I’m so proud of Stone I could cry. True to his word, he’s brought me to

the one place I wanted to go—the restaurant where Daddy proposed to Momma. It’s small and intimate, with tealight candles providing a romantic ambience at each table. I pretend to study the menu, but I already know what I want to order. The chicken parmigiana and fries had always been Momma’s favorite meal, along with a white wine. Wine is out of the question tonight, though. Out of respect for Stone, I’m sticking with a glass of lemon, lime, and

bitters with lots of ice. I’m not sure what to say to him. Is this a date? He said he wanted to take me out to dinner, but he never explained what that dinner was. I tug on the edge of my short red dress beneath the table and glance across at Stone. He’s looking incredibly handsome in a black woolen suit. Who knew the man could clean up so nicely? He senses me watching and smiles, putting down his menu. “Have you decided what you want?” he asks, signaling the waiter when I nod. After we place our orders, we sit in

awkward silence. I can’t help but wonder if he wants a beer, as he’s gazing past me toward the bar. “Are you all right?” I ask softly, touching his hand. He jumps a little and looks at me apologetically. “I’m fine,” he answers, removing his hand and sitting back in his chair. “I guess I’m just a little distracted.” “It’s okay to want a beer,” I say. “You’ve depended on it for so long that it’s only natural.” He nods. “I do want a beer,” he admits with a rueful smile. “More than

you know. But,” he continues, taking my hand once more, “I want to see this through more than anything.” I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Great,” I say, swallowing a mouthful of my drink. “So, Stone, tell me all about you.” He laughs. “What do you want to know?” “Everything.” I grin. “I want to know all there is about Staff Sergeant Ethan Stone. Tell me about your time in the war.”

I regret my words almost immediately as a dark shadow crosses his features and the smile drops from his face. He shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about that.” “Come on,” I cajole. “Sometimes, it’s good to let it out. I know how long you’ve held onto it, and I’ve witnessed your nightmares first-hand. Why, I’ll bet that—” “That’s enough,” he says loudly, slamming his fist down on the table, making me jump. Several customers nearby look at us a little curiously.

“Stone,” I say in a low voice. “Was that really necessary?” He sighs and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. Look, can we just forget about it and have a nice dinner?” “Fine,” I snap, looking away as I pick up my glass. “Fine,” he repeats quietly, pouring another glass of water for himself. The waiter brings us our meals and we eat in uncomfortable silence. I glance up at him more than once, and his face is carefully stoic. After dinner, I order two large mugs

of coffee and slices of rich chocolate cake. Stone politely declines his cake and I shrug, digging into his share as well as my own. I’m just swallowing the last mouthful when I hear a voice behind me. “Shannon?” a woman calls. I close my eyes and groan, the chocolate cake suddenly feeling very dry in my mouth. “Hi, Effie,” I say as politely as I can when she stops next to our table. “Miss Harper,” Harold Kensington says. “A pleasure, as always. You

disappeared so quickly tonight that I’m afraid we weren’t able to continue our little discussion about Saddles.” I cast a glance over at Stone, who’s staring at me curiously. What’s going through his mind right now? I clear my throat and dab the crumbs away from my mouth with a white napkin. “Yes.” I smile up at Kensington. “I apologize for that, but I wasn’t feeling very well.” “I trust you’re feeling better,” Harold says magnanimously, indicating the crutches propped against the wall beside us.

“Yes,” I confirm, nodding. “The bandage will come off in just a couple of weeks.” “Wonderful,” Effie exclaims, her large smile both fake and annoying. “And Ethan,” she continues. “You look absolutely smashing in your suit. Harold, dear, doesn’t he look lovely?” “Quite so,” Harold agrees, barely giving Stone more than a passing glance before turning his attention back to me. “I hope you’ve reconsidered my offer.” “I’m afraid not,” I reply slowly, picking up my glass and swallowing a

mouthful. “Saddles is not for sale.” “Well then,” he says, shaking his head. “I hope you’re able to come up with the money your daddy owes me in the next two weeks.” I gape at him, but Stone speaks before I do. “How much does her father owe you?” he asks, his eyes never leaving mine. “Two hundred thousand dollars,” Effie says, looking at him pointedly. “Plus interest.” “And what if she doesn’t come up with the money?” Stone asks, raising his

eyebrows at me. “Oh, let’s not talk about such things,” Harold dismisses, offering his arm to Effie who clutches it with obvious delight. “I’ll leave you two alone to your dinner.” I slump in my chair as they walk away to their own table. How the hell am I meant to come up with two hundred thousand dollars in the next two weeks? Stone signals the waiter, who hurries over. “Could I get a glass of white wine?” he asks. My head shoots up and I pierce him with a narrow gaze.

“I thought you agreed not to drink.” “It’s for you,” he says gently. “You look like you could use it.” “I . . . oh,” I stammer, feeling myself flush. I don’t really know what to say, so I sit in silence until the waiter brings my drink, which I gulp halfway down greedily. “Better?” Stone asks quietly when I put the glass down. I nod. “Yes, thank you.” “Good,” he says, looking at me thoughtfully. He stares at me for so long I start to

shift uncomfortably. “What?” I finally ask. “You wouldn’t accept the money from me, would you?” he asks. It’s a rhetorical question. “Of course not,” I respond proudly. “I work hard for my money, as did my —” “As did your father,” Stone cuts in, holding up his hand. “I know.” He continues to stare at me. Finally, he nods, as though coming to some sort of a conclusion. “Then there’s only one thing left to do,” he announces.

“What’s that?” I ask, not really liking the determination I see all over his face. Stone offers a slow, lazy smile. I don’t like it one bit. “The way I see it, if you won’t accept the money from me, then I’ll just have to make sure you get the money another way.” “And what way is that?” He pauses, watching me. It’s like a scene from a play where you just know a big bombshell is about to hit and no one’s life will ever be the same. I’m not disappointed. “There’s only one way

you’ll accept my money, and that’s if it’s yours.” I give a short bark of laughter. “And how do you expect it to be mine?” I ask. He’s completely lost his mind. What the hell is he talking about? “It’s easy,” Stone says, swallowing a mouthful of water and slowly placing the glass back on the table. “We’ll get married.”

Shannon’s staring at me as though I’ve grown two heads, and I may very well

have. This morning I signed the divorce papers. As Grace and I had been separated for so long it was a simple process, and the standard waiting period to re-marry had been waived. What the hell am I thinking? I don’t want to get married again. Although, I can’t deny the idea has a certain appeal. “You can’t be fucking serious,” Shannon gasps, letting out a short laugh. “I am.” I nod, realizing I really am. “Think about it. You need money. If we’re married, my money becomes our money. Your money.”

She shakes her head, her eyes wide. “You’re crazy.” “Maybe I am,” I concede. “But can you think of any other ideas?” “I can think of ten!” “Let’s hear them then.” I sit back and cross my arms, looking at her expectantly. She opens her mouth to say something then snaps it shut and looks away. “You’ve got nothing,” I say smugly. “I’m still thinking,” she retorts, but I can see the defeated slump of her

shoulders. I push the half-empty wine glass over to her and she grabs it without looking at me, draining the last of it. I discretely signal to the waiter for the check and take my wallet out of my jacket pocket, flicking my credit card onto the table. I focus back on Shannon, who looks much too pale. “Are you okay?” I ask quietly, touching her hand. “Don’t touch me,” she snaps, snatching her hand back and grabbing the crutches that still lean against the wall. I try to hide my smile as she struggles to her feet.

This is no laughing matter. Not really. “Do you need a hand?” I ask, getting to my feet. “No, I don’t need a hand,” she replies sarcastically. “I can manage just fine without you.” She stiffly hobbles out of the restaurant. I sit there impatiently, drumming my fingers as I wait to get my credit card back. I have to catch up to her; who knows what she might try to do if I don’t? She’s so stubborn, she’d likely try to hobble home on those damn crutches.

The waiter finally returns with my card, and I don’t bother taking the time to put it back in my wallet. I shove it in the pocket of my slacks as I race out of the restaurant, dodging the tables full of couples. I glance up and down the street, but I needn’t look far. She’s about a hundred yards down the road, her back to me. I cup my hands around my mouth. “Shannon!” She glances over her shoulder, but doesn’t stop walking. Passing under a

street light, she disappears from view. Cursing savagely under my breath, I pull the keys from my pocket and jog to my truck, yanking the door open with one hand as I loosen my red tie with the other. Sliding behind the wheel, I turn on the ignition, pulling out of the parking lot. I drive slowly, using the truck’s headlights to look into the darkness. I finally see her up ahead and pull up, rolling slowly along beside her. “Shannon,” I call through the open passenger window. She glances at me

but doesn’t say anything. “Damnit,” I curse, putting the brakes on and jumping out. I jog around the side of the truck and stop directly in front of her. “Will you fucking listen to me?” “What?” she yells, finally stopping. She shoots me a glare that’s cold enough to freeze Hell over. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask. “What’s wrong?” she asks disbelievingly. “What’s wrong?” She’s yelling again. “Shh,” I soothe, glancing at passers-

by. “Would you keep it down?” “Oh, sure.” She laughs, brushing the hair out of her eyes. “I’ll keep it down just as soon as you stop being a jackass.” “What?” I ask, genuinely bewildered. I knew she wouldn’t like the suggestion, but this is ridiculous. I gesture to the truck. “Look, can we just go home and talk about this?” “There’s nothing to talk about,” Shannon cries. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to get in that car.” “Truck,” I correct her, wincing

when she shoots another dagger-filled look at me. “Really?” she asks sarcastically. “Really? You think this is the perfect time to make jokes?” “It wasn’t a joke,” I say a little defensively. A Texan man is allowed to be pedantic about his vehicle of choice. “Whatever,” she snaps. “Look,” I start, raking a hand over my head. I’m getting frustrated now. Why the hell does she have to be so damn stubborn? “Just get in the damn truck and let me get you indoors. I promise you

can yell at me all you want later, but I’m tired.” Shannon glances from me to the truck and back again. Finally, she looks away and lets out a loud sigh. “Fine,” she says. “Let’s go.” I expect her to yell at me all the way home, but instead I’m met with stony silence. I glance in the rearview mirror at her at least a dozen times. She’s staring out the window, an ugly scowl marring her beautiful features. I can’t believe I suggested we get married. Didn’t I learn my lesson the last

time I tried settling down? It didn’t work out so well. But the more I think about it, the more the idea begins to appeal to me. Perhaps being married to Shannon Harper wouldn’t be as bad as all that. We clearly have a lot of sexual chemistry, and our opinionated personalities would certainly keep the relationship interesting. Relationship? Who am I kidding? If Shannon agrees to this, it’ll be a marriage in name only; she’ll make sure of that. I’ll be nothing more than a means to an end, a way to pay off her father’s

debts. I’m surprised by the disappointment that floods through me at that realization, but I quickly brush it off. I’m doing this for Shannon, to help her. I need to remember that before I lose more than just my pants. By the time we pull up to the house, I’m a nervous wreck. I wasn’t even this nervous when I proposed to Grace fourteen years ago, but suddenly this little spitfire of a woman’s opinion of me is the most important thing in the

world. And I feel like I’m fucking everything up. I cut the engine and hop out of the truck, walking around to open the back passenger side to help Shannon to her feet. That’s when I realize why she’s been so quiet. She’s sleeping soundly, her head resting against the back seat as small tendrils of golden hair brush her face. I take a second to move the silky strands and, without much thought, I swoop her into my arms, kicking the truck door closed behind me as I walk up to the front door. Shannon stays

asleep the entire time, her head lying comfortably against my chest. I try to ignore how right this feels. Unlocking the door, I carry her through to the spare bedroom and place her gently down on top of the covers. She shivers a little in her sleep, and I drag a heavy quilt from the wardrobe and lay it across her, tucking her in. More than anything I want to shake her awake, find out what her answer is to my proposal. But she looks so damn peaceful that I can’t bring myself to do it. I stand there watching her sleep for a

few minutes. Oh, yeah, I could definitely get used to sleeping next to a woman like Shannon. I walk back out to the living room and lock the front door, pausing as I move past the kitchen. The sudden urge for a beer overpowers me, forcing me to clench my fists until my nails dig into the soft flesh. I can’t do it. I’ve already come so far. Satisfied by that small victory, I enter my bedroom and strip down to my boxers, leaving the suit on the floor as I

slide beneath the covers. I’m surprised by how calm I feel. Normally, I’m worried about going to bed, because that’s when the screaming starts. But tonight, knowing she’s right next door gives me an inner strength that’s both encouraging and surprising. I don’t know how to feel about it. On the one hand, I’m happy for the distraction she provides. On the other . . . I don’t know how I’ll survive if she leaves.

“What’s wrong, kitten?” Troy sneers. “Are you scared of something?” He sits

at the kitchen table, one leg stretched out as he uses a sharp knife to pick the dirt from beneath his nails. I’m cowering in a small ball in the corner of the kitchen, holding my cheek where he punched it. I’m sure there’s already a bruise forming. This morning I’d done the unthinkable. I left the house. Without Troy’s permission. It was just a brief walk down the river, but as I’d been lost in my thoughts I’d almost tripped over her foot. It’s the half-naked young woman I’d seen in the apartment a week ago. At first I

thought he’d just been screwing her, but then I’d seen him hold out his hand expectantly. I still remember the terrified look in her eyes as she shook her head and held out her empty hands, trying to explain. I shudder as I recall the fist he’d put into her pretty face. She’d been unrecognizable by the time she dragged herself out of the apartment. And now she’s dead. Somehow, I know Troy’s responsible. “You know,” he starts casually. “I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d just

listen to me and do as you’re told. You know that, right?” I’m too scared to say anything, so I just nod in agreement. “I mean,” he says, dropping the knife on the table and standing up, pacing back and forth as though deep in thought. “I told you not to ask about her, didn’t I?” It’s a rhetorical question. “But you didn’t listen,” he continues. “You asked anyway, even after I told you not to.” “Troy, I didn’t mean to. But I saw

you arguing, and now she’s dead, and —” “Shut the fuck up!” Troy screams, his face flooding with fury as he stops pacing and grabs my upper arm, yanking me to my feet. I cry out, but he doesn’t pay any attention. “God, you’re such a fucking whiner,” he says, dragging me down the hall, his fingers biting into my skin where he grabs me. “You’ve got an excuse for everything, don’t you?” “Troy, please,” I beg, tears streaming down my face. How did the

man I love turn into such a monster? “Shut up,” he growls, turning into our bedroom and tossing me unceremoniously onto the bed. I scramble up, my eyes wide as I stare at him, terrified. He opens the top drawer of the dresser, and my stomach turns over. I know what’s coming. “Strip and lie down on your stomach,” he demands, producing the thick, black leather belt I’ve grown to hate. “No,” I say, shaking my head. My hands are trembling so badly as I

stretch them out to him, begging for mercy. He lifts an eyebrow to me. “Did you just say no?” he asks, almost disbelievingly. I swallow hard and shake my head. “That’s right,” he says in a low voice as I reluctantly undress and lie on my stomach on the bed. Struggling is seen as rebellion. Rebellion must be punished. “You know what happens when you say no, don’t you?” His voice remains calm as he walks toward the bed,

pulling his pants down and folding the belt in half. “I’m forced to punish you.” His cock is hard, and I squeeze my eyes shut. The thing that once gave me so much pleasure now scares the fuck out of me. The sharp sting of the belt cuts into my bare buttocks, and I cry out as it hits again and again. Troy climbs on top of me, grunting as he stabs his cock into my dry pussy. I scream and lift my head off the bed, struggling to escape. “I did it,” he grunts as he pumps his cock into me. “I

screwed her just like this, and then I fucking killed her, imagining she was you.” The belt goes around my neck, and I use one hand to try and pull it away as he chokes me. Stars dance in front of my eyes, my pussy and ass are on fire, and the man I love, the man I left home for, is the reason for my pain. “You make me do it!” He’s screaming as he chokes me. “Why do you make me do this to you? Why can’t you just do as you’re told?” I can feel myself slipping away.

My hand falls from the belt and my eyes roll back in my head. He finishes off inside me and drops the belt. Climbing off me, he stands directly in front of me as he pulls his pants back up. “This is your fault,” he says, spitting into my hair before he turns and leaves the room. I hear the apartment door close, and I curl up into a ball in the middle of the bed. I’m naked, broken. A wail rises from the deepest recesses of my chest, until it turns into a scream. It feels good to let it out.

Tears pour down my face, but I don’t care. He’s right. I made him do it. I’m pathetic. Useless. “Shannon!” My eyes snap open and I gasp for breath. It’s dark, but the small lamp on the bedside table casts a glow around the bed, illuminating Stone’s panicked face. “You were screaming,” he says, his voice full of worry. He’s so caring that I can’t stop the flood of tears that seems to appear from nowhere. “Ah, hell,” he curses, moving to the

other side of the bed and sliding beneath the covers, taking me into his arms. He holds me as I cry, saying nothing as his large hand gently strokes my arm. I let it all out—the pain, the fear, the anger. I cry until I’m screaming, dry-heaving. My tears soak the pillow beneath me, until I finally fall into an exhausted sleep. But he stays with me through it all. Never saying a word. He’s my rock. My Stone.

I glance over at Shannon as she sits in her wheelchair on the back porch. She hasn’t said a word this

morning, and I’m fucking worried. What was that meltdown about last night? Was it a bad dream? A memory? I’m dying to ask her, to comfort her, but she won’t even look at me. I swallow the last of my coffee and put the empty mug in the sink, rinsing it out and smiling at the fact that Shannon’s changed me so much in such a small amount of time. I dry my hands on the back of my jeans and step onto the back porch. She glances up at me, and my heart breaks for her. Her eyes are puffy and red from her tears, and I wonder how she kept it inside for

so long. I clear my throat. “Do you want to do something today?” I ask, shoving my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. She looks away, but she nods. It’s a small victory, and I’m going to count it. “What would you like to do?” This time, she gives me no indication that she hears me. “We could go out for lunch,” I suggest. “Why are you doing this?” she asks me in a voice so quiet I have to strain to hear her. “What?” I reply, squatting in front

of her. She raises red-rimmed eyes to me. “Why are you being so nice?” I’m confused by her question. “What do you mean?” “I don’t deserve to be treated nicely.” I curse under my breath and grab her chin, tilting her head up to meet my eyes. “Did Troy tell you that?” She swallows hard and nods in response. “Shannon,” I say gently. “You’re probably the most special woman I’ve ever known in my entire life. No one has

ever believed in me the way you do, and you’re still here even though I keep fucking up.” “You won’t let me leave,” she reminds me with a small smile through her tears. I can’t help but laugh. “You’re right,” I concede. “I’ll give you that one. But Shan,” I continue, looking at her seriously. “You deserve to be treated more than nicely. You deserve to be treated like the fucking queen you are. You deserve more than I could ever give you; that’s for sure.”

A sudden heaviness falls over me at the realization. I’m not good enough for her. I might never be good enough. I don’t know that I can ever give her what she truly needs. I shake my head slightly and square my shoulders as I stand back up. I might not be able to give her what she needs, but that will never stop me from trying. “Come on,” I say, grabbing the handles of the wheelchair. “Let’s go for a drive.”

After she’s dressed, I help her into the truck. I don’t know where we’re going, but it seems important to me to just keep driving. Shannon says nothing the entire time, just stares out the back window with her head resting on the glass. I don’t know how to help her. How can I if she won’t let me in? We drive for a few minutes more when her small gasp

makes me glance in the rearview mirror. “What’s up?” I ask. She doesn’t respond, and I look out the window to see we’re passing by the stables. Her horse. “Do you want to stop?” I ask her, glancing in the rearview mirror again. She bites her bottom lip and nods, so I slow down and turn into the small driveway that leads up to the stables. I cut the ignition and get out. Grabbing the wheelchair from the bed, I set it up next to the passenger door as Shannon eagerly opens it. She’s in such a rush that she almost falls out, and I reach out to

steady her. “Easy,” I say with a laugh, helping her into the chair. She looks up at me with a shy smile. “Um, Stone?” “Yeah, babe?” “Could I possibly have some time alone?” she asks. In my heart, I understand. This is what she needs. I nod. “Of course. I’ll go check on Keets and Ruth at Saddles.” “No beer,” she reminds me, and I flash her a grin. “No beer,” I promise. I hop back

into the truck and watch as she carefully wheels her chair into the stables. When I’m sure she’s safe, I back out and onto the road. By the time I get to Saddles, I’m exhausted. It was such a long night, I barely got any sleep and now I’m paying for it. I enter the bar and see it’s not too packed. A few customers are littered about the room, talking quietly as they enjoy their various lunches and drinks. “Stone.” Ruth waves me over to the

bar, and I pull up at seat. “How’s Shan?” “I don’t know,” I answer honestly, shaking my head as I eye the bottles of beer behind the bar. It’d be so easy. Shannon wouldn’t ever have to know . . . “She had this major meltdown in her sleep last night that scared the absolute shit out of me. I didn’t know what to do.” Ruth nods knowingly. “I was halfexpecting it,” she admits. “Though the nightmares haven’t happened for a while.”

“Troy?” I guess, and she nods again. “The guy really fucked her over.” “Bastard,” I mutter under my breath. “I should’ve killed him when I saw him in the club.” “And what good would you be to Shannon behind bars?” Ruth asks. I hate to say it, but she has a point. “Do you always have to be right?” I tease. “Only when I know I am.” She laughs. “You’re looking great, by the way. Keets said you looked like shit

yesterday.” “Yeah, well, today is a new day. What can I say? I feel amazing.” “She definitely agrees with you,” Ruth says slyly. “I beg your pardon?” “Shannon,” Ruth explains. “She’s clearly been good for you.” “Oh, well, uh, yeah, I guess she has.” I can feel myself flush. “Ohh, the big, bad Ethan Stone is blushing!” she teases. “I am not,” I say, covering my face. Men don’t blush.

“Sure,” she draws out. “So, where is the invalid?” “At the stables,” I answer as she serves a customer. “She wanted some alone time with her horse.” “Zeke’s up there,” Ruth tells me with a smile. “He’s got a real fascination with the horses.” A stab of guilt shoots through me. “How is he?” “You could always ask him yourself,” Ruth answers, but I shake my head. “He won’t even talk to me.”

“Well, have you tried to talk to him?” she counters. I hang my head in shame. Trust her to make me feel guilty. “I’ll take that as a no,” she states, crossing her arms with a frown. “Look, give me a break, okay?” I say hotly. “First I get a son who looks like he’d rather kill me than call me ‘Dad’, then Shannon won’t give me an answer on my proposal, and now I’ve got you breathing down my—” “Back up.” Ruth says, holding up one hand as she stares at me

incredulously. “You proposed to Shannon? Why the hell would you do that?” I rake my hand over my head. “I don’t know,” I confess. “It was dumb.” “Yeah, it was.” “I guess I thought I was trying to help her. Some guy said her dad owed him a lot of money, and she has to either pay up or sell Saddles to him.” “What?!” Ruth screeches. “She can’t sell Saddles; it’ll kill her!” “I know,” I agree, nodding. “That’s why I suggested we marry. That way, my

money becomes her money.” “And she’ll have enough to pay him off,” Ruth finishes for me. “Exactly.” “But she won’t give you an answer?” Ruth presses. I shake my head. “Not yet. I don’t know what else to do.” “You need to ask her again,” Keets declares as he comes out of the office. “You’re doing a good thing, man.” He slaps my shoulder comfortingly. “I don’t feel like I am.” I feel miserable.

“Look, the worst thing she can say is no, right?” I nod. “I guess you’re right.” And that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

Opening

the stall door, I push the wheelchair back as Lady slowly moves

forward. I follow behind her as she ventures out into the corral and lifts her head up to the sunlight. Sadness threatens to overwhelm me once more as I watch my beautiful horse. I’ve been to Hell and back, but she witnessed Daddy’s accident first hand. Many people might think ‘oh, she’s just a horse,’ but even a horse can only go through so much before they fall apart. She walks over and puts her head down to me. I stretch out my fingers and gently stroke her long nose. What must it have been like, to witness such a horrific

accident? Do horses experience similar emotions to humans? I’ve heard that’s true. If so, she must have been terrified when those hunting dogs attacked. I miss riding her, I can’t deny that. A slight movement to my right catches my eye, and I turn my head in time to see a young blond-haired face staring at me from around the side of the stables. Zeke. I smile as I turn the wheelchair around. “Hey, Zeke,” I greet, motioning him over. He slowly steps out from the side of the stables, his eyes

wide as he looks at Lady. “This is my baby,” I explain, petting Lady on the nose once more. “Would you like to pet her?” He nods as I push the wheelchair back a little and he creeps slowly over, his hand outstretched. Lady must sense his discomfort, because she whinnies and tosses her head as she takes a step toward him, putting her nose down and bumping against him. “She likes you.” I giggle, as he strokes her nose. He gives me a small smile, and I feel my heart swell. It’s a

small thing, but it’s a start. “Do you ride her?” he asks in such a quiet voice that I almost miss it. My heart skips a beat and breaks, just a little. “Not anymore,” I say sadly. “Why?” I debate on how much to tell him, but ultimately decide to tell him the truth. He listens carefully as I talk about my dad, nodding occasionally. When I’m finally finished, I sit back in the wheelchair, exhausted. He’s silent for a long time, and I begin to worry that I may have pushed

him too far, too fast. Finally, he lifts his head and looks at me a little shyly. “Can I ride her?” I’m taken back by his request, and more than a little humbled. “Of course.” I respond, nodding. I spend the next thirty minutes teaching him how to saddle Lady then watch as he sits atop her proudly while she walks around the corral, a huge smile on his young face. It’s a bittersweet moment; I want to ride her again more than anything. He leads the horse back to me and

carefully jumps down. I smile as he sits on the grass beside my chair and pulls at the individual blades with his fingers. “So, how’s life at Ruth’s?” I ask as casually as I can. “It’s great,” he replies enthusiastically. “Ruth is so funny, and very pretty.” I smile at that. I’m pretty certain every man in the world, both young and old, thinks Ruth is beautiful. “So, do you think you can find it in your heart to come home?” I watch his face carefully as I ask the question, looking for any

clue as to what he’s thinking. “Dad hates me,” he says, shaking his head. “Oh, sweetie,” I exclaim, touching his arm gently. “Your dad doesn’t hate you at all. He just hasn’t been a father before, so this is all so new to him.” Zeke nods in understanding. “It’s new to me, too.” “Will you come home, and give him a chance?” To my surprise, he doesn’t say no straightaway. “If I go home,” he says slowly, “will you be there?”

“I will, for a while,” I answer. “Can I ride Lady?” he asks, patting the horse’s nose once more. I can’t help but laugh. “As often as you’d like.” He seems to think about it for another moment then slowly nods. “All right,” he agrees. “If you promise you’ll be there, I’ll go home.” “I promise,” I say, unable to wipe the smile off my face. “You won’t have to do this alone. You have a whole town behind you, and we look after our own.” “But I’m an outsider,” Zeke tells

me, suddenly looking fearful. “Won’t they hate me?” My heart goes out to this poor boy, screaming out for just a little bit of love and understanding. “Let me tell you something,” I start, adjusting myself in my wheelchair. He looks at me, interested. “Your mother was born and raised here, and so was your daddy.” “They were?” Zeke’s eyes are huge, as though he finds it hard to believe that such a story could be real. “Yep.” I nod. “Not very far from

here, actually.” “How do you know?” he asks. “It’s a small town,” I explain. “News travels fast. Your momma and daddy loved each other very much when they were younger,” I continue, though imagining Stone as a lovesick teenager isn’t an easy feat to accomplish. “So, what happened?” Zeke presses. “Your granddaddy was in the Army,” I say with a smile. “And so was his daddy before him. It’s in your blood. When the attacks happened on 9/11, your

daddy decided he had to go fight to protect his country, his wife.” “What about me?” “They didn’t know your momma was pregnant. She was so mad at him for leaving. She couldn’t understand that he was fighting for your freedom.” “But if he loved her so much, why didn’t he come back?” For a moment, I can’t think of a way to answer his question. How do you explain to a child the horrors of war? I decide the explanation is best left to his father. “I don’t know, sweetie,” I admit,

leaning over and brushing a strand of blond hair off his forehead. “I suppose he couldn’t, for a while.” “Do you think he’d tell me, if I ask?” I smile. “You know what? I’ll bet you’re the only person he wants to tell.” “Really?” Zeke asks, his eyes full of hope. “Really,” I affirm, nodding eagerly. “But you’ll have to come home and ask him yourself.” “All right,” he says with a tremulous smile. “I’ll give it a go.”

I can’t help but lean down and give him a tight, quick hug around his shoulders. But I’m surprised when he latches on to me, hugging me tight. “Thanks Shan,” he says, his voice muffled against my shirt. Tears spring to my eyes at the breakthrough. “It’s gonna be okay,” I whisper, placing a soft kiss against his hair.

Normally,

I’d be craving a beer by now, but not tonight.

I’m standing on the back porch, staring up at the clear night sky. The rain is gone, and the sky is lit up with a million diamond-like stars. The voices in my head are quiet, and my body is relaxed. I don’t know how she’s done it, but Shannon has brought my son home. When I picked her up from the stables, I was shocked to find her with Zeke. I was even more shocked when she told me he wanted to come home. He had a lot of questions, but I held nothing back. For the first time in my life, I wanted someone other than

Keets to know about my past. I held back the worst details, glossed over them so as not to frighten him and ruin any kind of improvement we’ve made. I think he sensed it, but he didn’t say anything. Shannon sat right by me, holding my hand as I revealed details about my life that, until now, had remained a mystery. She tightened her grip as I spoke about the young girl, and cried for me when I spoke about the torture I’d endured for so many months. As if my thoughts had somehow conjured her up, I hear the glass sliding

door open and, a second later, the squeak of the wheels on her chair. “How are you doing?” she asks, looking up at me. I smile and move to sit on the couch at the other end of the porch. “Better, I think,” I respond, glancing up as she wheels toward me. “How’s Zeke?” “Sleeping,” she says with a smile. “Listen, Stone. About everything you told us tonight. I—” “Ahh, I really don’t want to talk about it,” I cut her off. “Why not?” she asks. “Stone, you

can’t keep this bottled up forever. Dr. James said—” “Shannon,” I interrupt again, a little sharper than I intend. “Please, I don’t want to talk about it.” Her eyes search mine for a few minutes, and then she finally nods. “Okay,” she agrees gently. “It’s okay.” “Look.” I sigh, raking a hand over my head. “It’s late, and I’m tired. We can talk about this tomorrow.” I stand up and move past her. I’m almost at the door when her voice stops me. “Stone?”

“Yeah?” I ask, turning to face her. She turns her wheelchair around and lifts her head to look at me. “Last night, at dinner . . . when you . . . you . . .” “Proposed?” I prompt gently. She nods. “Were you serious?” “I was.” She’s silent for a few minutes, not looking at me. I’m ready to turn around and walk away again when she finally speaks. “Okay.” “I’m sorry?” I say. “Did you say ‘okay’?”

She nods again. “I’ll marry you.” I release a shaky breath. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” I ask, watching her carefully. A part of me is screaming for joy, while the other, more rational side is telling me not to get my hopes up too much. “Yeah,” she replies with a small smile. I’m at her side in three steps, squatting down in front of her, gripping her hands. “Look at me,” I say quietly. She looks up, and I free one hand long enough to brush the hair out of her face.

“Thank you,” I whisper, brushing her forehead with a feather-light kiss. “For what?” she asks, sounding confused. “For trusting me,” I answer. “I promise with every fiber of my being that I’ll take care of you.” “You’d better,” she says with a shaky smile. I enfold her in my arms. She rests her head against my chest through my tshirt, and I bury my face in her hair. She smells so damn good, like a combination of vanilla and passion fruit. My cock

stirs in my jeans, but I fight down the urge to take her into the bedroom and make love to her all night long. Now’s not the time for thinking those sorts of things. She leans back with a smile. “What will we tell Zeke?” she asks. I grin as I glance up and see his face pressed against the sliding glass door, wearing a huge smile. I nudge her and point in his direction. “Something tells me he already knows.” Shannon laughs, and I can’t keep my own smile from spreading. Her laugh is so infectious, it

seems to light up her entire face, giving her a relaxed, carefree look. I want to keep that look her face for the rest of her life.

The rest of the week passes by much too quickly and before I know it, it’s my

wedding day. My wedding day. I still can’t believe it. In another hour, I’ll be Mrs. Shannon Stone. Ethan’s wife. Ruth smiles at me as she adjusts my veil and steps back, allowing me the opportunity to see myself for the first time. “You look beautiful, Shan,” she says quietly. For the first time in my life, I have to agree. I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I’m wearing my mother’s wedding dress, with its layers of tulle and lace and the delicate sweetheart neckline. My fingers lightly

touch the simple sapphire necklace around my throat as Ruth fixes my lace veil at the back. I should be excited, but something feels off. “Am I doing the right thing?” I ask her. Ruth raises her eyebrows to me. “You’re asking me that now?” she asks in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet.” I shake my head. “It’s nothing like that,” I promise. “I just have this unnerving feeling that something bad is about to happen.” “Don’t say that,” Ruth admonishes.

“Nothing will happen to spoil today.” “I just wish Daddy was here to walk me down the aisle.” “I know you do, babe,” she says, dabbing at my damp eyes with a handkerchief. “But you know he’s here,” she continues, placing her hand gently over my heart. “Your momma, too.” “I don’t think Daddy’s accident was really an accident.” She freezes and moves her hand slowly away from me, her eyes searching my face in disbelief. “What the hell do you mean?” she gasps, a little

too loudly. “Shhh,” I admonish, hoping no one overhears us. “I think someone set those dogs on Lady.” “Who?” Ruth whispers, her eyes wide. “I don’t know,” I admit, shaking my head. “It’s just something Effie said to me the other week.” “Shannon Marie Harper,” Ruth laughs, throwing her head back as her eyes sparkle in amusement. “Since when do you listen to idle gossip?” I feel my shoulders sag in relief. Of

course, she’s right. I’m just being silly. Today is my wedding day, not a day for thinking negative thoughts. So why can’t I get that niggling feeling out of my head, that something terrible is about to happen? There’s a knock on the door, and she hurries over to answer it. “Zeke,” she says, sounding happy. “Come on in.” Leaning against my crutch, I plaster a smile on my face that will hopefully convince the biggest doubter, and slowly turn around to face Zeke. He’s the spitting image of his father in his dapper

suit, and I let out a low wolf whistle. “Looking good, hon,” I tease. He blushes beet red and ducks his head. “I’m meant to take you to get married,” he states quietly, looking awfully embarrassed. I can’t help the small laugh that escapes my lips. “Well, then.” I grin. “By all means, let’s go.” He offers me his arm and I take it, balancing the crutch under my other arm as he gently leads me out of the room, preceded by Ruth, jangling the keys to her car nervously in her hand. I’m still feeling a little worried, but force a tight

smile as she holds the car door open for me. The ceremony is meant to be a quick, quiet affair, but as we arrive at the stables, my jaw hits the floor. It looks as though the entire town has turned out for the wedding. I fight down a brief wave of nausea and force a smile as I turn to Zeke. “Are you ready to do this?” I ask, not feeling half as confident as I sound. “Absolutely.” He grins, jumping out of the car as Ruth puts it into park and

hurrying around to my side to get the door. As I stand by the car, leaning on my crutch, I wish I’d listened to reason and brought the wheelchair. Why do I always have to be so damn stubborn? Zeke leads me slowly down the aisle behind Ruth who’s acting as my Maid of Honor. A twinge of pain twists my heart as I think of my sister, Natalie, who’s busy with her college finals. I wish she were here, she’d find a way to make this into a joke. I can’t help but think of what a strange picture I must make. This will make a great romance

novel someday: The Bride with the Fucked-Up Leg. We’d be fucking millionaires. But first, I need to get through today. And the man standing at the end of the aisle in his black suit is my salvation. He’s staring back at me as I hobble down the aisle, a myriad of emotions passing through his eyes, but never quite reaching the rest of his handsome face. Has he changed his mind? Is he already regretting his decision? I feel myself start to panic, but Zeke’s reassuring arm on mine keeps me

grounded. We reach the end of the aisle, and Stone steps heavily forward and takes my arm. I immediately miss the comfort of Zeke, but this man is about to be my husband. I’d do well to remember that. We turn silently to face the local pastor who clears his throat and begins to speak. If I’m completely honest, I don’t know what’s going on in the ceremony. Everything is such a blur. But before I know it, there’s a beautiful solitaire diamond ring on my

finger, and Stone is kissing me rather stiffly as people cheer. I feel a sadness threaten to overwhelm me as I think about my parents. What would they have thought of this match? Stone leads me back down the aisle, and I force a smile at everyone as we pass them. My leg is starting to ache, and I wish once more I hadn’t been so damn stubborn about walking down the aisle. It’s as though Stone realizes my discomfort, because the next thing I know, he’s swinging me up into his arms

and I’m forced to wrap my arms around his neck to stop from falling. Everyone around us cheers, seeing nothing more than a happy couple just married. They don’t see the set line of his lips, or the small tick in his jaw as he carries me to the waiting car. The reception is held at Saddles, and for once I’m able to enjoy myself rather than serve food and drinks behind the bar. Or at least, I probably could enjoy myself, if my husband would speak to me . . . or look at me.

“Stone,” I say quietly, laying a hand on his arm. “What’s the matter?” “Nothing,” he replies tersely. I can’t help the sigh that escapes my lips as I sit back in my wheelchair. He glances over at me and releases a heavy breath, raking his free hand over his head. “Look, it’s not you, okay?” he says. “It’s you?” I smile dryly. What a cliché line. He smiles back. “Something like that.” “I’m sorry we can’t do the whole

first dance,” I apologize, gesturing to my bandaged leg. “It’s okay,” he says more gently. “We have the rest of our lives to dance.” “Do we?” I murmur, but I don’t think he hears me over the band starting up. I sit there for about an hour, alternating between jealousy and misery as I watch the other couples dance. This is my wedding, dammit. I should be up there, dancing my heart out. Not sitting here, nursing a glass of wine and feeling sorry for myself.

“Shan?” Zeke says, walking over to me. “Yeah, sweetie?” I smile. He’s matured so much in just a week. It’s hard to believe this is the same shy kid who refused to speak to or look at anyone when he first arrived. “Would you like to dance?” he asks, holding his hand out expectantly. I glance down at my wheelchair, then back at Zeke. I can’t stop the laughter that bubbles up from my chest and spills out of my lips. I laugh until there are tears rolling down my cheeks.

Then I’m squealing as Zeke marches to the back of the wheelchair, removes the brakes and pushes me into the middle of the dance floor. He spins me around and around as I laugh, then stops and dances in front of me. I can’t help but move my upper body in a strange attempt to dance along with him. This is the happiest I’ve been all day, and it’s all thanks to my new stepson. There’s a tap on my shoulder and I glance over to see Stone standing behind me, a strange smile on his face. “May I cut in?”

This brings fresh laughter, and then it’s Stone spinning my chair around while Zeke laughs delightedly. Will I be as happy as I am right now for the rest of my life? I don’t ever want this night to end. All of a sudden, people around us stop dancing. They’re staring over at the door of the bar. The band stops playing, and Stone turns my chair around. However, because I’m sitting while everyone else is standing, I can’t see a thing. “What’s

going on?” I ask Zeke. “It’s the police,” he says in a low voice. The police? What the hell are they doing here? Has something happened? Stone pushes forward through the crowd. “Can I help you, officers?” “We’re looking for a Miss Shannon Harper,” I hear one of the policemen say. “It’s Mrs. Shannon Stone now,” Stone corrects him, and I feel my chest puff up proudly. The crowd parts, and I see two young, armed officers standing there

with Stone, who gestures to me. One tips his hat and moves toward my chair. “Mrs. Stone?” “Yes?” “I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with us.” “Is there a problem?” I can feel the blood draining from my face. “Mrs. Stone, I’m sorry to inform you like this, but you’re under arrest for the murder of Rachel Stevenson. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law . . .”

He’s still talking as he pushes my wheelchair forward, but I don’t hear him. All I can picture is that poor girl, floating in the river. Had that been her name? Rachel? My heart aches for the loss of her life. There’s a strange ringing in my ears as the room erupts. “She didn’t do it!” someone shouts. “Please, you can’t do this,” Ruth begs. “NO!” Stone bellows, forcing himself between us and the door. “You’re not fucking taking her. Who the fuck is Rachel Stevenson? We don’t

know anyone by that name!” “Mr. Stone,” one of the officers says. “Please remove yourself, or we’ll be forced to arrest you for obstruction of justice.” I hear that, through my haze, and lift my head. “Stone,” I say, loudly enough for him to hear. He drops to his knees in front of my chair, tears freely streaming down his face. “Shannon,” he whispers brokenly. “What’s going on? What are they talking about?” “It’s Troy,” I say, fighting back tears

of my own. “Two years ago a drug deal went wrong, and a girl was killed. It was him, I know it.” “But that’s got nothing to do with you,” he says, standing and turning to face the officers once more. “You can’t take her,” he says loudly, poking the closest officer in the chest. He’s so close they’re almost bumping noses. “She’s innocent, I know it.” “I’m sorry, sir,” the officer says firmly, taking a step back. “Right now, there’s nothing we can do. She will be transported tomorrow morning for

arraignment.” A growl escapes Stone’s throat, and he drops once more to his knees in front of me. “They can’t do this,” he whispers, holding my face between his large hands. “I have to go,” I say, gripping his hands against my cheeks. “Take care of Zeke,” I say, placing a soft kiss on his lips. I try to pull away, but he drags me back in for another air-stealing kiss that leaves me breathless. In that moment, I know. His feelings are made abundantly clear.

Stone reluctantly stands back and the officers wheel me out of the bar, gently placing me in the back seat of the patrol car. I must look ridiculous. I’m still in my mother’s wedding dress, for God’s sake. I can’t bring myself to look at the crowd that spills out of the bar. Zeke is running alongside the car, shouting something at me as we drive away, but I keep my face carefully calm and don’t look at him. If I do, I’ll fall apart. But there’s no

mistaking the scream of fury that echoes over the crowd. It’s the sound of a man falling apart, a man driven to madness by the demons of his nightmares. It’s my husband.

They fucking arrested her. Just when I thought things were

finally looking up, they came and took her away from me. My reason to smile. I swallow another mouthful of beer, my sobriety long gone as I sit on the back porch. I don’t fucking care. She’s gone. I was finally starting to get better. The voices in my head had stopped, as had the nightmares every time I closed my eyes. Now all I can see is the terror on Shannon’s face as they took my new wife away. She’d tried to be brave; I could see it in the stubborn set of her jaw as they’d pushed the wheelchair out. Poor Zeke had been inconsolable, clinging to

Ruth as he cried. And I’d stood there. Still as a statue. I’d let them take her. A cry of fury rips from my throat, and I throw the empty bottle I’m holding in my hand. It hits one of the posts holding the porch up and shatters. The noise is deafening in the quiet night air. I pick up a fresh beer from the six-pack beside me and open it, swallowing a mouthful as the porch door opens. The light flicks on and I blink at the sudden brightness. “Jesus Christ,” I slur, holding

my forearm across my eyes. “Turn that shit off.” “What are you doing?” Zeke asks as he steps out onto the porch. My eyes adjust to the light and I slowly lower my arm and give him a lazy smile. “Want a beer?” Zeke shakes his head, his mouth set in a firm line. “What are you doing?” “I’m getting drunk,” I say, sweeping my arm about grandly. “What else are you meant to do when your wife’s in prison on your wedding night?” “You fucking disgust me,” Zeke

snaps, spitting the words out. I stare up at him, my mouth hanging slightly open. “You watch your tongue, boy.” Zeke says nothing but stomps over to me and picks up an unopened beer. He’s taking my advice. I can finally relax. I close my eyes and rest my head back against the couch. That’s when I hear it. The smash of the glass bottle. I open my eyes and stare in horror as Zeke smashes bottle after bottle of unopened beer. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I gasp in disbelief.

He turns to face me, and I flinch at the furious scowl on his face. “You’re a pig,” he says. “Your wife is in prison for murder, and you’re sitting here fucking getting drunk.” “I said watch your tongue.” “Like I give a rat’s ass what you think of me!” Zeke shouts. “You were never there for me when I was growing up, and now when things are difficult for Shannon, you’re going to turn your back on her, too.” “Zeke, I—” “I don’t want to hear your damn

excuses, Dad,” he says sarcastically. “You’ve made enough of them to last us all a lifetime. Just do me a favor.” He pauses and brushes the hair out of his face. “Save Shannon, or stay the fuck out of our lives.” He storms off the porch and a few minutes later, I hear the front door slam. I’m still sitting in the same position, shocked into silence. His outburst has shocked me sober, leaving me with an overwhelming sense of guilt. Zeke is right; I’ve abandoned everyone who’s ever meant something to

me. But I don’t know what else to do. I’ve never been the hero. I’ve never wanted to be. But the thought of Shannon, alone in prison, spurs me into action. I dress quickly in a black t-shirt and clean jeans. Grabbing my truck keys, I pause and mentally shake my head. I’ve had way too much to drink to drive. I grab the cordless phone from the coffee table in the living room and call a cab. Waiting impatiently for it to arrive, I pace back and forth at the front of the house. I have no idea what I’m going to do, but I can’t just sit here and let

Shannon rot in jail. I see headlights approaching, barely giving the driver enough time to stop before I jump in the back of the cab. I practically shout the directions to the club I went to with Shannon a few weeks ago. “Hey, buddy,” the driver says over his shoulder. “That club is an hour away.” “I don’t care,” I seethe through gritted teeth as I remove a one-hundreddollar bill from my wallet and pass it to him. “Keep the damn change.” “You got it.” I say nothing for the rest of the trip,

just sit in the back seat and plan my next move. Find Shannon’s ex, Troy. This is all connected to him. We pull up at the club and I throw another fifty over the front seat as I jump out. I jog up to the entrance and thankfully get past the bouncers without a problem. The club is dark, with strobe lights everywhere. It’s as pitiful as I remember. I go straight up to the bar and ask for Troy. The bartender looks me up

and down, but points to a darkened corner of the club. I thank him and turn away, heading for the corner he indicated. There’s a small round table and I recognize Troy as he sits there, surrounded by girls and two people I never expected to see. “Stone,” the woman gasps, scrambling to her feet. “Effie.” I incline my head slightly at her, my eyes never leaving Shannon’s ex-boyfriend. “Can I help you with something?” Harold Kensington asks gruffly. “We’re

kind of in the middle of something.” “This won’t take a minute,” I promise. “I just need to speak with Troy. Privately.” “Anything you have to say to me,” Troy slurs, gesturing around with his hands, “you can say in front of my friends.” I consider his words in silence for a moment then nod. “Okay,” I agree, spurring into action. I grab him by his shirt and drag him up, pinning him against the wall as I punch him in the face.

“Start talking,” I growl. “What the hell are you talking about?” he whines, holding his hands up to his bloody nose. “I don’t know anything.” “Wrong answer.”

Arrested on my wedding day. I could almost laugh at the irony, if I

wasn’t so damn miserable. I’m sitting in a dirty cell in my mother’s wedding dress, arrested for a murder I know Troy committed. They didn’t even let me keep my wheelchair. I sigh and close my eyes, my shoulders slumping in defeat. It’s almost morning, and I’ve been told I’ll be transferred soon to town, where I’ll face the judge. I can’t deny it. I’m fucking terrified. What’s going to happen to me? Will they put me in jail for twenty-five years?

Execute me? My chest tightens as panic starts to set in, my breathing becomes labored and I feel like I might throw up. Or faint. Or both. What must Stone be thinking? If he hadn’t regretted marrying me before, he sure does now. I feel tears pricking at the back of my eyelids, but I refuse to let them out. If I start crying now, I’m afraid I’ll never be able to stop. Stone kissed me, right before I left with the police. At the time, I thought it was love, but now I’m sure my heart was just playing tricks on me. It wasn’t a

kiss of love, no matter how much I wish it was. It was a kiss of sadness. One last kiss of regret. I’m going to lose Saddles; that fact hurts my heart more than anything else. The bar that was my daddy’s pride and joy for all of his life is about to be sold off to pay his debts. I should have fought harder, convinced Stone not to file for an annulment. Sure, he never said that, but where is he now? Probably drowning in a bottle somewhere. I think about Zeke. The poor kid who’s already been through so much in

his short life. First his mom, then his dad . . . now me. He was just starting to trust again. Just starting to smile again. I hope he’s okay. I hear a noise and my head shoots up. One of the young officers who arrested me at my wedding steps into the light and unlocks the cell door. He has a wheelchair, and my heart sinks. It’s time. The officer helps me into my chair, but doesn’t handcuff me. I’m slightly thankful for that small amount of dignity he’s given me. He pushes me out of the

cell and down a long, cold stone corridor before exiting into the main waiting room of the local police station. I can’t bring myself to look up, see all those people I know. They’ll never think of me in the same way again. I’m a pariah, an outcast. A criminal. “Shannon?” I hear a male voice call, and hope blooms in my heart. Could it be? I’m almost too afraid to look. But then he’s there, dropping to his knees in front of my wheelchair, grabbing me and holding me tightly, as if

he never wants to let me go. I start to cry as I cling to the front of his shirt, and he doesn’t try to stop me. He doesn’t push me away. He just keeps murmuring, over and over. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Let it all out. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” “Shannon!” I look up through my tears as Ruth and Zeke run into the police station. I barely have time to brace myself before Zeke throws himself into my arms, tears streaming down his face as we hug each other tight. “How are you doing, Shan?” Ruth asks, wiping away a few tears of her

own. “She’s going to be fine,” Stone says firmly, his eyes fixed on me. “We’re going to go home, and we’re going to be just fine.” I hear a commotion at the other end of the station, and we all pause as I see Effie and Kensington in handcuffs. “What the hell?” I gasp. Then I see him. The reason for my nightmares. The man I once called my lover. Except he doesn’t look as powerful as I once remembered him. There’s blood on the front of his shirt, he’s lost a lot of weight, and there

are bits of tissue inside his nose. He’s a mess. “Shannon,” he says, sounding almost surprised. He looks me up and down. “Why are you in a wedding dress?” I don’t get the chance to answer him as he’s taken away. Effie and Harold are still protesting their innocence about something; I’m still not even sure why they’ve been arrested. I turn my eyes up to Stone, who explains everything: Rachel was a twenty-five-year-old

prostitute, who also had a terrible drug habit. When her pimp had refused to pay her bill, Troy had been instructed to ‘take care of the problem’. A sense of relief floods through me at the knowledge that the truth is finally out. I knew Troy had killed that poor girl in the water, but I’d never been able to prove it. But Stone isn’t done yet. Daddy had tried to see me before he died, but Troy told him I was sick. When Daddy told him of his financial troubles, Troy had offered to pay for the

refurbishments. My father had accepted his offer, never knowing the money really came from Troy’s boss, Kensington, the secret head of the most prominent drug gang in town. When Daddy had been unable to pay his bill in time, Troy and Effie had gone hunting. They’d set the dogs loose, knowing they’d go after Lady . . . and Daddy. I listen to his story as tears pour down my face. My poor father. All he’d ever wanted in life was to provide for his family. He didn’t deserve to pay for

his mistakes in such a horrible way. I can almost hear his voice now. “Don’t cry, buttercup,” he says with a smile as he wipes away my tears. “Clearly, that boy has no idea what a treasure you are.” I smile through my tears as Daddy wipes at my cheeks with a tissue. I’d really liked Zachariah, but he’d used me to get to Natalie. They always did. “Oh, Daddy,” I cry. “Won’t I ever find a boy who likes me?”

“Of course you will, buttercup,” he says gruffly. “You’re only fourteen. One day, you’re going to meet a handsome young man, and he’s going to wipe away your tears, and treat you like the princess I know you are.” I look up into the concerned face of the man in front of me. How did I not notice it before? What I always wanted was right here in front of me, all along. My husband. But will he still want me? Now that I don’t need his money, will he ask that we annul our marriage? I’m

suddenly tired, I need to go home and rest. I need to think. “Can you take me home, now?” I ask Stone.

Shannon

hasn’t realized yet that we don’t need to be married. With Effie and Harold arrested, the

debt owed to her daddy is cleared and Saddles is saved. A selfish part of me doesn’t want Shannon to figure it out. Not yet. I gently lower her naked form to the bed, trying to be as careful as I can with her injured leg. Zeke has gone to Ruth’s, to give Shannon and I time to figure things out. She smiles up at me and something blooms in my heart, something I haven’t felt in a really long time. Love. I fucking love Shannon Harper. No, I correct myself silently.

Shannon Stone. My wife. I lower my lips to hers, my teeth gently nibbling on her bottom lip as I draw it into my mouth, worrying it. She moans and wraps her arms around my neck as my lips travel down her throat, heading straight for her breasts. My lips wrap around her nipple, suckling lightly. Her back arches, pushing her nipple more firmly into my mouth. My hand sweeps down her ribcage, trailing a path across her navel to the small, well-groomed, triangular patch between her thighs. I gently part her legs

and slide my fingers down the slick folds. She cries out and grips my shoulders, digging her nails into my flesh as I rub and tease her sensitive skin. She’s so wet that movement is easy and she rolls her hips, drawing my fingers into her warmth. My cock swells, and I have to stop for a second to adjust my jeans as they tighten across my balls. “Take them off,” she moans, but I ignore her, replacing my fingers between her legs. She gasps as I find her clit and gently flick it a couple of times.

I slide down the bed and position myself between her thighs. Draping one leg over my shoulder to open her up, I spread apart the lips of her pussy with my fingers. My lips immediately find her clit, and I suck rhythmically as I slide two fingers deep inside her. My teeth very lightly graze her sensitive flesh and she cries out, pulsing around my fingers but not coming. Yet. I push my face closer to her, my free hand going up to pluck at her hard nipples as I continue to tease her clit

with my lips. She cries out again and this time she does come, but I don’t slow down. I push harder, faster until her cries all begin to connect to one another. I feel her start to shake and only then do I stop. I stare down at her flushed face and my cock twitches with need. I want nothing more than to bury myself deep inside her, but suddenly the bed isn’t good enough. I need . . . more. I pull my pants off and waste no time picking her up. I carry her out of the

bedroom and into the kitchen, where I sit on one of the chairs and carefully position her astride my legs, facing away from me. Her good leg remains bent at the knee while the injured one stays straight, propped up on a chair, both spread apart as far as is comfortable for her. I position my hard cock at the entrance to her pussy and slowly press up inside her. My fingers go to her front, where her splayed legs allow the lips of her pussy to stay spread open, baring her to my touch. And touch is exactly what I do.

As I press in deeper, my fingers find her clit, lightly rubbing it in a circular motion. She gasps and her head drops back against my shoulder as she moves her hips on me. I grit my teeth as my fingers gently pinch and roll her clit around in my fingers. My other hand moves up to her nipples, where I tease them into hard points as I thrust into her again. I sit back on the chair, embedding myself firmly inside her wetness. I’m already so fucking close; this isn’t going to be the romantic love-making session I’d planned.

But Shannon doesn’t seem to want that, anyway. Her fingers move down to her clit, pushing mine gently out of the way as she toys with herself. I renew my efforts and thrust into her hard, over and over, until she’s bouncing up and down on my cock. Feeling my balls tighten, I squeeze my eyes shut as I grip her hips, moving her faster on me. “Shannon,” I grit out between my teeth. She knows. I fall apart as she bounces again, and I feel her come directly after me,

pulsing around my cock as she cries out. Our breathing is harsh in the quiet room and I rest my forehead on her back, trying to catch my breath. Gently lifting her off me, I carry her back to the bedroom and set her on the edge of the bed. She picks up her clothes and begins to dress, not saying anything. I pull on a pair of shorts lying on the floor, not bothering with a shirt. A million thoughts are going through my mind. Has she realized we no longer need to be married? If she has, does she want a

divorce? An annulment is out of the question now that we’ve had sex. The marriage is consummated. Legal. A fire burns low in my stomach as I consider the implications. Am I ready for this? A wife, a son?Yes, I tell myself firmly. I’m ready. “Shannon,” I say, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She lifts her face to me, and it hurts my heart to see tears glistening in her eyes. “What’s wrong, babe?” I ask, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “I don’t want this to be over,” she cries, tears streaming down her cheeks.

I pull her close to me, holding her tight. “It’s not,” I whisper. “Why would it be over?” “Because,” she says, pushing away from me gently. “You think I don’t know? Harold was arrested, which means any debt my daddy had is gone.” My heart stops beating for a moment, and I feel the room start to spin. She knows. “You won’t want to stay married to me,” she cries. I almost laugh in relief. “Of course I want to stay married to you, Shan,” I tell

her, kissing her forehead gently. “I fucking love you, babe.” “Yo-you do?” she stammers, looking up at me with a tremulous smile. “I do.” I nod. “How could I not? You got me off alcohol, forced me to grow up and be a father. A husband. You’ve made me a better man. I almost died when I lost you. I don’t ever want to feel that way again.” “Oh, Stone,” she exclaims as she wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me down for a kiss. “I love you, too. I don’t know how it happened, but it

did. You saved my life.” “I think we’ve saved each other’s lives,” I say gruffly, fighting back my own tears. “Just do me a favor, okay?” “What’s that?” “Will you wear that mini-skirt I love? With no panties?”

Four weeks later

I

flex my leg under the bar, reveling once more in the fact that I no longer have to wear that damn bandage. “Hey, Shan,” Ruth says, walking up to the bar with a tray of dirty glasses. “You got a sec?” “Of course,” I smile. “What’s up?” She pauses and puts the tray down. “I need to quit,” she finally states, turning to face me. “What? Why?” “I think I just need to get out of this town,” she answers. “So much has happened, I think I need to just got out

there and find myself again.” “But what about Keets?” I ask. He’s going to be devastated when he finds out. She smiles ruefully at me. “He’s a great guy, Shan, but he’s not the right one for me.” “Are you sure?” She nods. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “I’m sure.” “Okay, well, this place won’t be the same without you.” I’m so upset I can’t think straight, but she needs to do what’s best for her.

“I’m sure it won’t be.” She laughs. “Are you going to be okay?” “Yeah.” I smile. “My sister’s coming home next week, so I’ll get her to help Keets out while Stone, Zeke, and I are on vacation.” “I can’t believe you’re going to Hawaii,” Ruth exclaims. “You’re going to be so tanned when you get back. I want photos.” “Of course.” I laugh. We’re silent for a minute, just looking at each other. Then she throws herself into my arms, hugging me tight. “I

love you, Shan. You’ll always be my best friend.” After she’s gone, I’m wiping down the benches when Keets walks in. “Hey, hon,” I greet with a smile. “How’re you doing?” He gives me a tight smile in return, but says nothing. He helps himself to a shot of whiskey from behind the bar. “Listen,” I start. “Next week, when we’re away, my sister Natalie will be here to help out around the bar. Is that okay?” She’s beautiful, stubborn, and extremely opinionated. He’s going to

have the fight of his life on his hands. I’m almost sorry to be leaving and missing the show. He nods, but doesn’t say a word. It’s as though all the fight has gone out of him. My heart is breaking for him. I leave him alone and walk into the back office, closing the door behind me. “Hey, babe,” I hear a voice growl from directly behind me. Stone. He must have been hiding behind the door, waiting for me. The idea has me instantly wet.

Before I can react, strong arms snake around my waist and I’m suddenly spun around and picked up, my legs wrapped around his waist as he grinds his hard cock into me through my thin shorts. I moan and wrap my arms around the neck of my husband. “Hey, yourself,” I whisper, pressing my lips hotly against him. “Do you think Keets will be all right?” “He’ll be fine,” Stone promises. “Right now, I only want to think about my gorgeous wife.”

I feel him start to push my shorts down over my ass, but I grab his hand and stop him. “No,” I whisper, sliding down his body until I’m kneeling in front of him. My hands go to the front of his jeans, rubbing his hardness through the material as I snap open the buttons and push them down and off his legs, ripping his shoes off at the same time. He’s wearing nothing beneath and his hard cock juts up proudly, right in front of my face. I grasp the base in my hand and look up at him, slowly licking my lips. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” I say

wickedly, sinking my mouth down over him as he throws his head back, groaning loudly. My mouth moves over the head of his cock as my hand grips the base. “Stone?” Keets voice comes from behind the closed office door, followed by a loud knock. I try to move my head, but his hands fist in my hair and force my head closer, I flick my tongue over the head. I do it again . . . and again. I love the salty flavor, the way he thrusts his hips toward my face. “What the fuck do you want?” he groans, his hands shaking on the back of

my head. He’s so damn close. “I just wanted to let you know I’m going to pick up the new chairs from town.” “Fine,” Stone grits out, and I can’t contain the grin that spreads across my face. He feels it, and yanks my hair so hard it hurts. But I love it. “Do you need anything?” Keets asks through the door. I can hear the grin in his voice. My eyes shoot up to Stone’s. He fucking knows. “Yeah,” Stone calls out, shoving his cock further into my mouth, making me

gag a little. “I need you to fucking leave.” I hear Keets chuckle as his footsteps recede, then the door of the bar slams shut. I cry out when Stone pulls my hair back, forcing my head up and away from his cock as he stands me up. “I can’t fucking wait,” Stone growls, backing me up until I hit the door. Reaching behind me, he shoves it open and drags me out into the main bar area. “Stone?” I ask breathlessly. “Where are we going?”

“There’s something I never got to do,” he groans, not looking at me. My pussy clenches as I see where he’s leading me. He stops and spins me to face him, burying his hands in my hair as he kisses me. He rips my singlet and bra off, then I’m picked up and put backwards over the mechanical bull and my flip flops fall off my feet to the ground. I lean back against the saddle as he steps back and pulls my shorts and panties down in one violent shove. He’s the perfect height as he bends down with a wicked grin.

“Stone,” I gasp as his head dives between my legs, his tongue lapping at my pussy, circling my clit. My hand goes to the back of his head to force him closer, and he growls against me as he grips my thighs, spreading me open and wrapping my legs around his shoulders. “Stone,” I gasp again, “someone could come in and see us.” “I don’t fucking care,” he says, his voice vibrating against my sensitive skin. “Let them watch.” I cry out as his teeth gently nip at my clit, before strumming it with his

tongue. I know I’m being loud, but I don’t care anymore. Stone’s right; let them watch. “Shit,” I scream as my legs shake around his shoulders. I buck my hips as I come hard against his mouth, but he doesn’t stop. He wraps his lips around my clit and sucks hard as I fall apart beneath him. He drops my legs from around his neck and spins me around forcibly, making me straddle the mechanical bull, climbing on behind me. “Hold on,” he whispers hotly against my ear as I feel

his cock poking at the entrance to my pussy as he leans across my back. I lean forward and grip the handles as the bull starts to move. Stone sits up slightly, dragging my ass up onto his lap. He grips my hips, slamming home. We fuck, hard…fast. The bull picks up speed and I cry out as I’m slammed backwards against his cock, my clit rubbing against the seam of the leather saddle. There is nothing gentle about the way his cock works its way in and out of me. I can feel my second orgasm building, then he roars as I squeeze him with my inner

walls, my wetness coating his cock. The bull slows down, finally coming to a stop. He slips out of me as he falls away, but instead of moving away from me he pulls me down from the bull and lies next to me on the soft blue mat, stroking my back slowly. “You okay?” he asks, pushing the hair out of my eyes. I make an important decision right there and then. No more running, no more hiding. It’s time to start my life

again. I grin at him as I climb off the mat and start getting dressed. “I’m fantastic,” I say, sliding on my flip flops. Stone climbs off the mat and slowly zips up his jeans, tucking his limp cock away. “I know that look,” he says nervously. “What’s going on?” “Nothing,” I promise, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “There’s just something I need to do. Will you drive?”

“Are

you sure about this?” I ask worriedly.

I can’t believe she’s even considering it, after all this time. My heart swells with pride as Zeke leads Lady out of the stables, her saddle already in place. “No,” Shan confesses, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “But if I don’t do it now, I never will.” I grip her chin in my large fingers and turn her face up to me. “You’re amazing. You know that, right?” She smiles as I lower my lips to her, slanting my mouth over hers to kiss her deeply. She moans and wraps her arms around

my neck and I feel my cock stir . . . “Dammit you two, get a room!” My mouth slips from Shannon’s as I glance over at my son, making a production of holding a hand across his eyes in mock horror. Shannon laughs, then squeals as I swat her ass with my hand, chuckling light-heartedly. “Come on,” I say, taking her hand and leading her over to her horse. “It’s time.” Shannon stares up at the large beast, and I see the fear in her eyes. I wonder if she'll really be able to do it, is she ready? As if in answer to my question,

she shakes her head lightly and grips the saddle. I stand behind her as she pushes up, giving her a boost. She sits atop her horse, dead silent. Not moving. “Shannon?” Zeke asks, his young face full of worry. “Are you okay? Do you want to get down?” We stare at her for a long moment, until she finally blinks. A slow smile spreads across her face as she looks at both of us. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she laughs. “I never want to get down!” She squeezes her thighs together

and the horse moves at a slow trot around the corral. I grin as Zeke laughs at her delighted face, and I throw an arm around his shoulders. I have the feeling everything is going to be okay.

Maybe it’s not the fairytale romance you dream about, but this isn’t a fairytale. This is real. Real life, real love, takes commitment, trust and hard work from two people willing to put aside their issues and fight together, side by side.

Now, we’re taking on the world one war at a time, just Shannon, Zeke, and their damaged soldier. Our love will never fit the cookiecutter mold of a perfect relationship or family. We will fight, there will be tears … but there will also be joy, laughter, and so much more. Because at the end of the day, what is love, except perfectly imperfect?

THE END.

Cherry Shephard loves Jared Leto, that’s no secret. She also writes beautifully dark erotic

romance stories, focusing on honour and redemption. Her men are dark and strong, with just enough vulnerability to make you believe you could save them. Her women are tough, beautiful and can hold their own. When not writing, Cherry can be found indulging her other obsession, watching horror movies. Cherry lives in Australia with Mr. S, her three children, three cats, three dogs and four hermit crabs.