Seeking Sanctuary

by Annie Anderson

  The kiss on my forehead was as good a sign as any.

  Everything was going to turn out all right.

  LEVI – THREE MONTHS LATER

  I’d never been so nervous in all my life. I didn’t know why – I mean, I did, but the reason I should be worried wasn’t the root cause of me sweating bullets.

  “Are you okay?” Isla asked as she adjusted in her seat for the fifth time.

  That. That move right there was making me forget the ring in my pocket and the question I needed to ask. She’d been doing that all damn day, and it worried the shit out of me. I was half tempted to just spit it out so I could find out why she couldn’t get comfortable.

  But I was pretty sure the answer to both questions.

  “Isla?”

  “Yeah, baby,” she said around a mouth full of burger. She’d gotten a lift to her bed rest three weeks ago, Doc Carpenter telling her that our baby girl was pretty close to cooked and she could come at any time. Now we sat at week forty, and Isla’d had enough.

  Enough of snow on the ground and her not able to tie her winter boots. Enough of her belly being too big that she couldn’t fit behind the wheel and press the pedals at the same time. Enough of being pregnant.

  “Sugar, I love you. I love our little girl already. I love our life, and I want you in mine as long as I’m breathing.”

  Isla whipped her head up, eyes wide as she swallowed her bite, wiping her mouth with her napkin.

  She started nodding, and I hadn’t even asked yet. I slid from my seat, dropping to one knee beside hers, the motion familiar as I recalled the last time I’d been in this position.

  “Will you be my wife?” I whispered the question, and she didn’t quit nodding.

  “I’m gonna need the words, Sugar.”

  “Yes, you fool, now help me up so I can kiss you properly,” she grouched, and if it wasn’t Isla, I’d have thought she was unhappy. But no, not my girl.

  Together we worked to get her out of the booth, the seating choice probably not the best idea for a full-term pregnant woman.

  But as soon as she stood, Isla’s face went slack.

  “Sugar?”

  “Umm, babe? I think we may need to put a pin in that kiss.”

  “Why?”

  “I think my water just broke.”

  * * *

  Ten hours later, my ring was on Isla’s finger, and Miss Mia was in my arms.

  “Sugar?” I called, quiet enough to not wake the baby.

  “Yeah?” Isla answered, her voice rusty from the nap she’d just woken up from. Birth – so I’d seen at Isla’s side – took it out of you, but Isla powered through everything like a champ. I’d never been so proud of anyone in my life.

  “What do you think about putting Grady on Mia’s birth certificate?” I asked, not moving my eyes up from the eight-pound ball of fucking adorable that turned my heart to goo.

  “You’re… you…” Isla stumbled, probably shocked to shit that I’d lay claim to a child that I knew wasn’t really mine. But Mia was mine in all the ways that counted. She had my love, she had half my heart, and her mother had the other half.

  I looked up to watch a tremulous smile form on her lips. “She looks like a Grady to me,” she whispered, her eyes shedding tears, but her smile shining through.

  Just like that, we were a family, and I’d always be grateful that Isla chose to find her sanctuary here with me.

  * * *

  THE END

  The Shelter Me Series will continue with Reaching Refuge

  Coming January 29, 2019!

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  Keep reading for a sneak peek of Reaching Refuge!

  If you need help, you’re not alone…

  The National Domestic Violence Hotline

  1-800-799-7233

  www.thehotline.org

  RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network)

  800-656 HOPE (4673)

  www.rainn.org

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  Sneak Peek of Reaching Refuge

  CHAPTER ONE - AVERY

  “What’ll it be?”

  I’ve asked that question a million times, on a thousand different nights, in a hundred different ways since becoming a bartender. The answer varies from customer to customer, but the asking is in my blood. I come from a long line of drink slingers, and usually, I love my job. I get to meet new people, the company is good, and the work isn’t too hard. But days like today, when the liquor shipment was late for the third time in a month, a barback managed to quit in the middle of his shift, and three of my waitresses were threatening to do the same, well…

  I’d had better days.

  All of my problems could be traced back to my family in one way or another – which given who my family was, wasn’t too hard of a conclusion to get to. We Wells own all of the bars in this town, and if my uncle had his say, we’d own all the bars in the county.

  “I’ll take a Guinness.” The voice was a soft rumble, resonate in a way that did some weird shit to my belly every time I heard it.

  It probably always would.

  When it came to Graham Foster, my belly did a whole host of unpredictable things. But I ignored my gut and poured the beer, setting down a fresh drink mat in front of him. I didn’t focus too much on his face – didn’t look too hard at the sharp angle of his jaw under that mountain man beard, didn’t stand in amazement at the piercing blue of his eyes that contrasted so beautifully with the rich chocolate of his hair.

  Nope.

  I did none of that. If I did, I would’ve probably done something stupid.

  Like totally ignore all our ancient history and crawl back into his bed and never leave.

  Just the mere suggestion of that thought had me clearing my throat and begging my brain to focus on something, anything else. But as much as I would have loved to put a roadblock up, my brain was a sadistic bitch, and the memory train busted through the barricade. I knew exactly how those lips felt on my skin. Knew just how gentle and how blissfully rough he could be with those hands. My whole body tightened at that little nugget of memory, and I had to fight against a full-body shiver.

  And this was the problem with returning to a small town. Good or bad, every single person I saw every single day was a memory. Graham Foster just so happened to have all my best memories – and my worst – tied up like a bow around his stupidly hot mug.

  I scanned the bar again through the throng of people, checking on each of my waitresses for signs of distress. Ginny, my youngest waitress, looked frazzled but okay. Poppy and Ella seemed pissed but steadfast – a vast improvement after all three of them tried to quit on me an hour ago. We were packed tonight which really wasn’t a surprise – at least not to me. I’d pulled this bar back from the brink after my father let it fall into complete and utter disrepair after my mom died.

  But no matter how much blood and sweat and tears I’d poured into the place, one sure-fire way to make my business fail would be to have ninety percent of my staff quit on the same damn day.

  I got Carl – the man sitting next to Graham – a fresh beer, settled up with a few customers, and scanned the restaurant side again, looking for my opening to high-tail it back to the kitchen and put a boot in my brother’s ass.

  I have three brothers. Ben, Remy, and Wes – short for Benelli, Remington, and Wesson, respectively. Wes was the oldest, Remy after him, then me, and then Ben. Wes was usually the easiest to deal with, and he ran the restaurant side of the Antler Pub while I handled the bar. But today had been a compl
ete shit show of epic proportions, with Wes terrifying just about everyone he’d come into contact with.

  If I heard one more rant about how my idiot brother was yelling at my waitresses, I was going to fucking kill him.

  I rapped my knuckles on the battered and scarred bar top, a nervous habit I always did when I left a customer – be they Graham Foster or not – and hauled ass to the kitchen. Typically, Wes is the calm one, the happy-go-lucky good old boy without a bad word to say about anyone. Almost my entire staff threatening to quit in one day?

  Something had to be up.

  I saw the problem the moment I stepped into the kitchen.

  Wes wasn’t alone. Not that that was typical, but since he’d sent his other cooks home for the night – even though we had customers up to our gills – he should have been by himself. Instead, my brother Ben was perched on the stainless steel island munching on a carrot stick from a veggie plate that probably should be going out to a customer while Wes plated a steak.

  The line of Wes’ back was tight enough to snap, but that wasn’t exactly a surprise. Every family has a family fuck-up. In mine, it was my little brother Ben. I hadn’t seen Ben in at least three months. In fact, I hadn’t known he was in town at all. What he was doing in the kitchen of my pub was anyone’s guess. Ben didn’t follow a rulebook.

  Any rulebook.

  Plus, he looked and dressed like he was a roadie reject from the ’90s even though he was barely twenty-five. He was the baby, the runt, and the one with the least amount of drive, determination, or gumption out of all of us. Considering the general level of shittiness to my blood relatives, that’s saying something.

  “Do you actually want to give my pub a health and safety violation, or are you just being a general pain in the ass for funsies?”

  Ben chomped on the end of another carrot, as he sat blissfully at the island.

  “Aww, come on, sis. I was just having a snack,” he cajoled, the annoying pleading to his voice grating on every single one of the nerves I had left. If I were a betting woman, Benny here was probably why Wes was ready to set fire to the joint and call it a day.

  Not that I blamed him. My little brother could make a nun swear.

  “Do you work here, Ben?”

  My question caught him by surprise, as his half-idiot brain tried to figure out where I was going with this.

  “No?” He said it like a question – like he wasn’t actually sure if he worked here or not. The same man who hadn’t been able to hold down a job in his life.

  “Are you making a food or alcohol delivery?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’re not allowed in the kitchen. This place is for staff only. Why don’t you go sit at the bar, and I’ll get you a beer?”

  Offering Ben a beer grated as I knew he would never pay for it, but it was better than the alternative. If he stayed in here, the probability that Wes would murder him grew by the second.

  But Ben didn’t take the bait. Instead, he jumped from the island, his booted feet smacking on the tiled floor. “I’m not some kid you can distract with a shiny toy, you know.”

  I didn’t mean to say what flew out of my mouth, but I couldn’t help it. “Like if I threw a hundred dollar bill out the front door, you wouldn’t bowl over a little old lady just to grab it.”

  It was mean, but not wrong.

  “I’m so sick of you two treating me like I’m some burden,” Ben snarled, and I was glad there was a warming counter between us.

  “Benny, I hate to break it to you, but you are a burden. You haven’t held down a job in your life. You say you want to do something, but never actually do anything. Instead, you are a broke loser with zero direction and a drug habit. Unless that’s changed in the last three months since you stole mom’s locket out of my jewelry box and pawned it for drug money.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You did,” Wes growled from the gas range where he was sautéing mushrooms in one pan and caramelizing onions in another. He didn’t bother to look up from his task, just kept on working. I needed to call in some backup before he got too behind.

  “Get out of my pub, Ben. We’re done.”

  “But it isn’t your pub, is it? You two work here, you may run things, but you don’t actually own squat, do you? Uncle Arlo does.”

  Give it to Ben to hit me where it hurts. It was true my uncle owned the bar, but it never should have belonged to him in the first place. It was going to take more than just bringing in a profit to make him give it up, too.

  I should have been watching Ben, but I wasn’t. Instead, I was too busy watching Wes to make sure he didn’t sucker punch him in the jaw. But since my attention was diverted, Ben had a chance to skirt around the warming counter and get right in my space. Ben loomed over me, which was a feat since he was only an inch taller. Runt or not, he was still bigger than me.

  “Face it. You’re just a beer slinging slut just like our mom was, and Wes here is a chef wanna-be who couldn’t hack it in Denver.”

  His words and spittle hit me right in the face, the burn of them hurting worse than any other insult he could have come up with.

  I opened my mouth to yell at him – what, exactly, was a mystery because every thought in my head went the way of the dodo. Because I had another brother in that kitchen, and Wes had officially snapped.

  The disjointed clang of a pan smashing against the wall had me ducking for cover which was good because not a second later, Wes came over the top of the stainless steel island and around the warming counter to take Ben down in a flying tackle.

  And not just a little tackle either.

  Ben was a five-eleven scrawny piece of nothing. Wes was a six-foot-two powerhouse that could crush our little brother beneath his boot without even blinking. So, when Wes sailed past me, he took Ben to the ground.

  But Ben didn’t go down without a fight. These two had been pounding on each other since forever, and one flying tackle in the middle of a restaurant kitchen wasn’t going to stop my brothers. Oh no. The world could be falling in and they wouldn’t break apart unless one of them was unconscious.

  I debated the merits of spraying them with the dish washing sprayer, but decided I was likely going to be the one stuck cleaning it up. That is until I saw the blood. Rivers of it was pouring from Wes’ nose, and deep split in Ben’s eyebrow told the same tale.

  The kitchen was officially closed.

  I snatched the sprayer, ready to hose my brothers down in the coldest water I could garner as the swinging door flew in, bringing Graham Foster with it.

  His face registered surprise at my brothers duking it out on the kitchen floor and me ready to spray them down like the fucking children they were. He blinked, a sneaking sort of smile creeped across his mouth. Wordlessly he stood to the side as I flipped the tap on and let the water fly.

  Grab Reaching Refuge today!

  Also by Annie Anderson

  THE ASHES TO ASHES SERIES

  Scattered Ashes

  Falling Ashes

  Rising Ashes

  Smoldering Ashes

  Ashes to Memories

  * * *

  THE ROGUE ETHEREAL SERIES

  Woman of Blood & Bone

  Daughter of Souls & Silence

  * * *

  THE RESCUE ME SERIES

  Seeking Sanctuary

  Reaching Refuge

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  About the Author

  Annie Anderson is a military wife and United States Air Force veteran. Originally from Dallas, Texas, she is a southern girl at heart, but has lived all over the US and abroad. As soon as the military stops moving her family around, she’ll settle on a state, but for now she enjoys being a nomad with her husband, two daugh
ters, an old man of a dog, and a young pup that makes life… interesting.

  * * *

  In her past lives, Annie has been a lifeguard, retail manager, dental lab technician, accountant, and now she writes fast-paced romantic thrillers with some serious heat.

  Connect with Annie!

  www.annieande.com