Flame- Wild Hearts

by Marie Scully

  Flame

  Wild Hearts

  Marie Scully

  Copyright © 2020 Marie Scully

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 9781234567890

  ISBN-10: 1477123456

  Cover design by: Art Painter

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

  Printed in the United States of America

  Writing a first novel is nerve-racking and exciting at the same time. Several people have helped make my dream a reality. More names, then I can fit on this page.

  Noel - Thank you for letting me use you as inspiration and for your advice.

  Amber - Thank you for reading the very rough draft.

  My parents - Thank you for believing in me.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Danny

  Breathe. Just breathe. It’s nothing you haven’t done before, I keep reminding myself. I step out of the Audi and look up at the mansion’s fortress-like towers bearing down on me. Miles from the nearest neighbor, the house feels more like something out of a romance novel set in the Scottish Highlands than a southern farmstead. Liam walks beside me. Feeling his gaze on me, I turn my head, and my eyes meet his. His fingers lace through my own as we step up to the large wooden door.

  Entering the home of Sophia and Jackson Wilson, two of the richest and best-known horse breeders in the States, is like entering a whole new world and going back in time all at once. Gold and silver radiate throughout the entranceway. A few steps in and Liam has already said hi to ten people. Names I won’t remember in the next five minutes. Glancing at Liam, I think once more how handsome he looks in his tux.

  We pass a waiter and Liam grasps two glasses of white wine and hands me one. Taking a sip, I look around the room and take in everything. Gold-spun hair catches my eye, and instantly I take in the woman that I hadn’t thought to see again for some time. A glance over and the laughter between Holly and the man next to her ends abruptly as she realizes that I’m here. My gaze leaves hers in search of someone else. Eyes darting over the room, I scan faces quickly. There. Far-left corner. No. This can’t be happening. Nick. If Nick and Holly are here, that means one thing. Our father must be here as well. The room spins.

  Chapter One

  Danny

  The smell of spilled beer lingers in the air. Kit’s has been packed tonight with the usual clientele as well as busloads of new faces—a mix of the regular town drunks and a bunch of fake-ID holders passing through before hitting their final destinations for spring break.

  I can’t say much about people having fake IDs, as I had my own for years, though having turned twenty-two a few weeks ago I’m long past the need for one. The fake had been good to me though, allowing me to work in various bartender jobs. Unfortunately for me, the bars I end up getting work in keep getting seedier and seedier. Kit’s is the worst yet, a place with managers that take liberties and customers that don’t understand “no” and “you’re cut off.”

  Sadly, when you’re desperate, the luxury of comfort (or security) is non-existent. When my 1994 Volvo broke down two miles away from Holls, Georgia, it left me in a desperate situation once more. I was on the way to my next dead-end job in South Carolina when it died on me for the last time. The car had never been the best, but it got me from A to B. When the mechanic told me it would be worth more in the junkyard than to fix it, I knew I had no choice but to get rid of it, leaving me stranded in the small town for a little while at least. Luckily the Motel 6 was cheap, and as much as I disliked Kit’s, the pay was decent.

  Wetting the towel, I scrub harder at the sticky substance on the bar top. This is my favorite time at Kit’s, when everyone’s gone apart from one or two waitresses left to clean. I can get all my frustrations out by scrubbing.

  If this bar top were my problems, they would have been scrubbed away weeks ago. Jennifer’s heels click on the old hardwood floor, moving swiftly from table to table. Her short skirt is riding higher than usual as she no longer feels the need to keep hiking it down. I can’t decide what part of the uniform I dislike the most: the short red skirt, the tight black V-neck that leaves nothing to the imagination, or the black heels that are going to cause someone to break their neck serving drinks. Moving briskly from the last table, Jennifer throws her towel in the bin.

  “Okay. Do you need anything else before I leave?” she inquires. “I can wait till you’re done.” I know she wants to head out. She’s already been here longer than her scheduled shift because of the crowds, and I know her babysitter’s going to be unhappy. As much as I hate being the only one left here, she needs to get home to her two-year-old.

  Shaking my head, I tell her that she should go. She gives me a grateful look, comes round the bar to get her purse, and practically runs out the door. Even with the late hours, Kit’s wouldn’t be as bad if Marty wasn’t the manager. His hands tended to wander where they shouldn’t—on the waitresses, inside the cash drawer, and on the liquor bottles

  Plucking glasses from the drying rack, I place them above and below the bar. As I’m organizing underneath the bar, I hear the squeak of the management office door open. Weird, I think, as everyone should be gone.

  I move from behind the bar as Marty stumbles out of the office. For a moment, he doesn’t notice me. But it’s only a matter of time before he sees me behind the bar. I inch towards the exit, thinking, Please let him leave me alone.

  “Pretty Danny,” Marty says as he leers at me across the room. I continue to inch towards the door. I know if I run, he’ll run at me, and I’m not positive that I could outrun him even if he was drunk. His smile grows as he watches me glance at the door. “Always acting all high and mighty. Now it’s just you and me.”

  With one last look at Marty, I run towards the exit, but as I reach the door handle, he yanks me back, reaching me in a split second, his hot breath on my neck reeking of rail whiskey. His hands move across my stomach as both the skirt and shirt ride up. Taking a breath, I try to calm myself, forcing myself to relax, allowing him to think I’m going to let him do as he wishes without a fight. Thinking he’s won, he relaxes his h
old slightly.

  “I’ve wanted you since you first walked in, but you always managed to slip through my grasp. Not tonight.” His tongue swipes across my neck, and my skin crawls. In an instant, he twists my body to face him. If I’m going to do anything, I need to act quickly. I jerk my knee up into his family jewels, and he groans. But instead of releasing me, his hands dig deeper into my arms. That’ll leave a mark.

  “You bitch.” His eyes blaze with both pain and fury.

  Jerking from his grasp I start back towards the front door, and once more, he steps towards me, trying to pull me back. Twisting my arm away, I make my hand into a fist and slam it as hard as I can into his nose. He lets go to grab his face as I finally reach the door and dash out into the night.

  I don’t stop running until I reach the hotel. In my escape, I’ve left my purse at Kit’s. Luckily the woman at the front desk has seen me enough that she gives me a new key. Everything of importance is still in the room. Swiping my way inside I take in the stained maroon-and-white wallpaper and half-clean carpet, hopefully for the last time. At least the bed has been clean—uncomfortable but clean. Quickly I throw what little I have into my duffel. Time to move on.

  Pulling out my phone, I open up Uber to see how much it’ll cost to get to the nearest train station—$19. More than I wanted to spend on a car ride, but the walk would take too long, and it wasn’t worth the risk of walking alone tonight. The need to get out of this town is intense. Marty won’t take what happened well. Even it wasn’t tonight, I know he’ll come after me if I stay any longer.

  The ten minutes it takes for my ride to arrive feels like an eternity. After exiting the car, I move to buy a ticket. The only question now is where I’ll go. All the options give me a sense of peace and comfort. I can start over somewhere new. Somewhere that no one knows me, and I can become someone else. My eyes move over the letters, not truly reading till I land on Lexington, Kentucky. That’s the winner.

  I request a one-way ticket, wincing at the cost. I’ll have to get a job as soon as possible. Where I was going to stay was another problem but one I could figure out when I got there.

  Grasping the ticket, I run my fingers over the name of the next place I’ll try to keep the ghosts at bay.

  You can’t always run, his voice whispers.

  Shut up, my mind yells back. What does he know anyway? He ran where no one could reach.

  The train pulls into the station with a whoosh of air and an echoing horn. Moving from one car to the next, I pass sleeping passengers as well as some that watch movies on their phones and computers. All the seats are taken as far as I can see except one. On the left side, an older woman sits with her book open, three-fourths of the way finished.

  “Sorry. Do you mind if I sit next to you?” My voice sounds tired.

  The woman’s eyes continue to run over the page, I assume until she reaches the last word, before glancing up.

  “Of course. Take a seat.” Her hand taps the seat, signaling for me to sit. I lift my bag to the overhead storage shelf. The woman’s eyes are back on her book. She appears to be in her late sixties. Her jeans are well worn and she’s wearing a white shirt that’s tucked in with a tan jacket covering her tiny shoulders. Her tennis shoes are smudged with dirt and starting to wear apart. I take in her face next—pale skin pulled tight in well-lived lines. I find her intriguing. I don’t know why. There’s something about her that makes me want to ask her questions.

  I find myself asking what book she’s reading. It’s a murder mystery set in the sixties. After that, we fall into a comfortable silence. My eyes keep closing against my will as sleep finally wins out. Thankfully dreams escape me. When I wake again, the woman has put her book away and is staring at me.

  “Hi,” I say, still half asleep.

  “Hi. I didn’t catch your name earlier. My name’s Noel. Noel Walker. Where are you headed all by yourself?” her inquisitive voice asks.

  “Uh, Danny. Not sure yet. I like to make a plan once I get somewhere.”

  My answer doesn’t seem to please her as her lips press together in a disapproving line. For the first time in a long time, I’m embarrassed about my lack of planning. I feel like a child again when my mom would yell at me for not finishing my math homework. She would just stare me down like Noel is doing now. That’s a memory I haven’t thought of in a long time. She continues to stare down at me as I explain myself.

  “I don’t like to stay in one place too long. It keeps my life exciting.” Lie. “I like to just pick a spot on the map and go experience it.”

  “Where are you going to stay?” Her lips at least move from the disapproving line to ask the question.

  I shrug one shoulder in response.

  “You have a job?”

  I shake my head, no.

  “Anyone traveling with you?”

  I stare at her. I don’t know why I’m entertaining these questions. Typically, when people ask, I ignore them. Other spots on the train have opened while I slept. I could move, but for some reason, my feet stay firmly where they are.

  “Interesting. I did that myself, when I was twenty-three. It was a freeing experience. Lonely but freeing. Back then, it was almost unheard of for a woman to do that on her own. I still remember the look on my parents’ faces when I told them my plans. But nothing was going to stop me. It took a few years for me to find a home. I guess you haven’t found yours yet?”

  Home. That was a funny word that had a different meaning for everyone. Was it where one’s family was? Friends? Or a house or building that one slept in and came home to every night that had touches of their lives on the walls? For me, it’s nothing. My home stopped existing a long time ago.

  “What do you like to do for fun?” Good Lord, she asks a lot of questions. If I had a book, I would hand it to her and go back to sleep.

  Instead, I find myself answering once more. “I don’t have much time for fun. I work. That’s about all I have time to do.”

  “Where do you find work when you go to new places?”

  “Depends. Recently, it’s been bars and restaurants.”

  “You don’t look old enough to get into a bar,” Noel observes.

  “Trust me, I’m older than I appear.”

  Giving me a sad look, she says, “That I believe.”

  I didn’t like that look—it was filled with sadness. Sadness was worse than pity. I don’t need or want her to feel either on my behalf. Now I do what I should have done earlier and shift the topic from me to her.

  Noel tells me that she owns a bar called The Sly Old Fox. She’s owned it for over twenty years with her husband. He’d passed two years ago unexpectedly, and she’s been running it on her own. The hours fly by as Noel continues to tell me about her life as well as the bar. The town she lives in is called Fairmore, a small place a few hours outside of Lexington.

  “I have an idea.” She pauses as if trying to gauge my reaction. If she only knew that long ago, I learned how to hide my response to most things. I sit silently, waiting for her to continue.

  “I’ve been looking for someone to work at the bar. Mainly waitressing but some bartending shifts. The last guy I hired stole, and the girl before that only showed up every other day. You don’t have any plans set in stone. If you want the job, it’s yours.”

  My eyebrows rise at her words, and I wait for the fine print.

  As if reading my mind, Noel says, “No secrets in that offer. It is what it sounds like. I also have a room above the bar if you want it. Not for free, of course. We can talk about what’s a fair amount to take from your pay and tips for rent once you see the place. I need a hard worker and someone that will show up. Is that you?”

  There has to be fine print somewhere—no one offers something like this to a stranger. Her eyes challenge me to say yes, and I find myself rising to her challenge and nodding. What do I have to lose? I’ll only be there for a few months, and that’ll give me time to plan my next move.

  His voice is silent on the
subject. Good.

  Chapter Two

  Danny

  The first few weeks working at the bar fly by quickly, with Noel and I getting into an easy rhythm. The bar is your typical small-town place, with lots of locals that have been coming for years as well as people who’ve come to town to get supplies for the nearby farms and ranches stopping by. It’s dark on the inside with one bar and about twelve tables. Two pool tables sit in the center with dart boards along the far wall. The bar serves mainly beer and some basic cocktails. There’s a small kitchen in the back with some fryers and a grill, but no food is served. I tried to convince Noel to start serving some, but that got me a flat no and a good glare.

  At the end of each week, I try to come up with a reason to leave, but I can’t seem to force myself. Every time I go to Noel to tell her, she gives me a look and I can’t get the words out.

  Today is a typical day at the bar: Billy and Tommy sitting on opposite corners of the bar finishing their second beers, Noel in her office doing the numbers for the last month, me trying to find something to do to be productive. I’m wiping down a table when the door swings open. The sunlight is almost blinding. I move my hand to my eyes to make out who’s walked in. I can see he’s tall, but that’s about it.

  “Hi. Take a seat anywhere, and I’ll be right with you.”

  The man makes his way into the room, and I finish the table. But instead of going to the bar he walks over to me. Looking up from the table, I find he isn’t what I was expecting. For one thing, he’s not an old man, which is the bar’s usual clientele. He looks only a couple years older than me, his plaid shirt failing to conceal the muscles underneath. He either works out or was raised on a farm doing labor. The dust on his jeans and boots gives him away on my second glance. Definitely a farm boy. His dark hair is swiped to the side, almost covering his twinkling brown eyes and blemish-free skin except for a small scar above his right eye. His smile is friendly, with white teeth. I’m trying not to stare, but I think I’m losing that battle.