Big Bad John (Bigger in Texas Series)

by Alexander, R. G.

  Though they did send beautifully handcrafted Christmas cards.

  She supposed she was used to it. Being alone. As a writer, she lived with her dog, her wild imagination and her tendency to talk to her characters as if they were real. Her only human friends were the other writers she corresponded with online, all of whom lived in different states. And Connie, of course.

  She rarely had the chance to go out and meet anyone new who lived nearby, let alone a decent man. Decent, in this context, being one who didn’t disappoint her just in time for the holidays, insuring she would spend another year realizing her secret stash of mistletoe was pointless, and thinking up creative new insults to verbally hurl at those poor, unsuspecting seasonal jewelry commercials.

  There was a part of her that still wanted all the holiday magic to be true. Still knew every carol by heart. Still believed every clichéd phrase that told her if she were really good, something amazing would happen to her—that love, like Santa himself, was real. You just had to have faith.

  ”Yeah, right,” she muttered, wrapping her scarf around her neck and mouth and bracing herself before opening the driver’s side door. “It is not a wonderful life and no, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus. There are just people like Connie’s friend Charli, who are never alone, and people like you…who always will be.”

  Which was fine with her. Who needed three demanding men always looking over her shoulder? Three men who each wanted all of her attention. It sounded like three potential heartbreaks waiting to happen. And far too kinky and complicated for someone like her to contemplate. Just the physical aspects alone boggled her mind. There were only so many positions after all.

  She didn’t need that kind of company, no matter how tantalizing the fantasy. She lived in the real world. And in the real world, she’d never needed anyone or anything other than her laptop and her dog. As long as she had a power source and some kibble, they’d be fine.

  She got out and looked up at the clouds that blocked the sun, her eyes squinting at the sharp wind that blew shards of snow into her eyes. She was safely on the side of the road, with mountains ahead of her and a wide, swath of flat, fluffy nothing beside her. No trace of civilization peering out from underneath the snow. No passing cars. Not a good fairy ready to grant her holiday wish in sight.

  If any miracles were going to happen, Georgia was going to have to create them for herself. First she’d fix this tire, then she would find her way to Connie’s house before Christmas. For her sake, if for no other reason. The last thing she wanted was her bad holiday karma to rub off on her dearest friend.

  She leaned against the wind to make her way to the back of the SUV. The rental place had assured her it was in prime condition for a winter road trip. The actual vehicle was fine, she supposed. And technically they’d said nothing about the tires. She sighed.

  At least she’d remembered to make sure there was a spare before she left Sulphur, Louisiana behind.

  As she moved her bags out of the way and gathered the tire iron and car jack with fingers already numb with cold inside her leather gloves, she remembered how Grandpa Bale had taught her to change a tire when she was sixteen years old. Right after he’d given her his beat-up ’69 Chevy for Christmas.

  She’d loved that old truck. She’d spent most of one summer sitting in his garage, holding up the work light so he could tinker under the hood while he told her stories.

  He loved his tall tales. He seemed to have one for every occasion. Every problem or question she had, he would solve or answer by sharing one of his long-winded epics. And each time he told them they got a little bigger, a little more fantastic and harder to believe.

  But not for Georgia. She’d never tired of hearing them. Those stories had inspired her to become a writer. Had made her believe she could do anything and be anything she wanted to be. It was no surprise that storytelling had run in the family. Or that her first book had been about him. Her childhood hero.

  Though she’d loved his tales of bayou monsters and city dwelling crocodiles, her favorite had always been the one about how he’d met Georgia’s grandmother at a Christmas Eve dance. He’d been with a group of friends and noticed her coming out of the kitchen with a wobbling tray and, by the end of that night, they were kissing under the mistletoe and he’d known she would be his wife.

  She’d died long before Georgia was born, but from her grandfather’s vivid descriptions, she had been a beauty. Dark curly hair, like Georgia’s, but unlike her own fair, freckly hue, her grandmother’s skin was dark enough to cause a scandal when Grandpa Bale had made her his bride. “It was all worth it,” he’d always been quick to assure his granddaughter. Because her smile, so brilliant and ever-present, made him feel—in his words—“like it was Christmas morning everyday”.

  She dropped the tire iron and swore, kneeling down to pick it up. She needed to stop reminiscing and focus on the task at hand or she would end up freezing to death on the side of the road, despite her layers of clothing.

  Georgia heard a bark and an impatient scratch on the door nearest her head. “Are you sure you can’t hold it, Roux? You’re just as thin-skinned and spoiled as I am. And you’re not as young as you used to be. You won’t like it out here.”

  Another scratch. Apparently she was willing to risk it. Georgia hurriedly opened the door before Roux could do any damage, and watched a blur of reddish gold leap past her and around the car, in search of a good patch of grass.

  “Good luck,” Georgia called after her. “Just don’t wander too far.”

  She wouldn’t. She never did. That was one of the things she’d always loved about her dog. Roux never left her behind. Which was why the idea of leaving her in a kennel for Georgia’s first road trip, her first trip out of state, was unimaginable. Luckily, Connie had known that before inviting them both over for Christmas.

  Roux had been another gift from her grandfather. The wrinkly-sleepy puppy he’d given her the same day he’d told her he was sick. Georgia sighed. She was sure this would be the year she didn’t miss him so desperately. Didn’t think about him constantly. The year she made new, happy memories for herself.

  She’d just gotten the spare tire on and rolled the old one out of the way when she heard Roux’s bark. Was it the wind that made it sound so distant? “Roux?”

  The next bark sounded even farther away. Had the high pitch of anxiety to it. Not a good sign. She got up with difficulty, her limbs aching from the chill, and promptly began to panic. She couldn’t see Roux. Where was she?

  Georgia cupped her hands over her eyes to keep out the icy wind, searching for that familiar reddish fur and black muzzle. “Roux, come back. Now!”

  The dog’s long body was there for a moment, then it disappeared again behind a sea of white. “Damn it, dog.”

  Her heart was racing. What had she been thinking? Roux never needed a leash, not even when they’d walked along the bayou, but they weren’t in Louisiana anymore. For all Georgia knew, there could be bears or mountain lions along this stretch of road. If she lost her…

  Georgia ran. Or tried to. She swore again as her jeans were instantly drenched in the densely packed snow. With each step her feet sunk deeper. But no matter how many times she called, Roux would not come back. Or couldn’t. All the possible reasons why she might not be able to were about to give Georgia a heart attack.

  The ground rose up into a small hillside, the snow receding to her ankles. She could see Roux clearly now on the other side. And finally, she understood.

  Georgia groaned. “Oh, give me strength. I thought you and I both agreed we’d stop rescuing broken men.”

  She came closer, surveying the damage as Roux finally stopped barking, dancing around the prone figure with her tail wagging furiously.

  She frowned. “Yeah, yeah I see him. Settle down, Roux.”

  A man. A man beside a very fancy snowmobile that was currently on its side, looking too expensive to have been so horribly abused. Strapped to it—seeming very out of pla
ce atop the shiny monstrosity—was the ugliest, strangest looking little fir tree Georgia had ever seen. Intact enough, despite its tumble. The man, however, might be another story. He wasn’t moving.

  He was facing away from her on his side, covered head to toe in snow gear. Georgia knelt down and rolled him carefully onto his back, making sure as she did that she didn’t jar him. “Buddy? Can you hear me? This might not be the best place ever to take a nap.”

  She was about to take her glove off to feel for a pulse, wondering if she would be able to feel anything at all when he groaned. “Oh thank goodness.” Georgia smiled up at Roux in relief. “He’s alive.”

  He made another grunting noise and she looked down quickly, seeing his eyes open just long enough for her to admire their light green color before they closed again. She dragged the ski mask up to reveal his face, and noticed the gash across his temple as well as the bruise forming along the square line of his jaw. Did he have a concussion? “Hey guy, open those pretty eyes again. Come on now, we need to get you out of the snow.”

  He didn’t move and Georgia looked him up and down. He was huge. At least six feet tall, with the shoulders of a line backer. Maybe he was wearing an oversized snowsuit, but somehow she doubted it. Why? Because she knew what she’d have to do if he didn’t wake up.

  It was just how she was raised.

  “Tree.”

  Georgia had just covered his face back up and lifted him by the fabric around his shoulders to drag him to her car when she heard him speak. She dropped him in surprise and his breath rushed out in a loud huff. “Oh, damn I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  He didn’t respond, but she’d realized what he’d said. She started dragging him again, muttering to a smiling, panting Roux all the while. “If he thinks I’m going to carry him and his sad Charlie Brown tree all the way back to the car, well, he can just think again. You had to go sniff him out, didn’t you? In this weather, after the day we’ve had, you had to find the only man in the state of Colorado who apparently doesn’t know how to drive a snowmobile.”

  Thankfully his slick , colorful snowsuit made his transfer easier than it should have been. The man was well over two hundred pounds of pure heavy. Solid muscle, Georgia was willing to bet. Perfect muscle to go with his Photoshop face. And apart from his bruises, it was perfect. A thing of beauty. But she knew handsome didn’t necessarily equal smart. Any man joyriding on a death machine in this mess couldn’t be all that clever to begin with.

  The tree. He’d mentioned the tree. Why? Maybe he had a little daughter he wanted to surprise, and no money for anything better. But then the snowmobile wouldn’t make any sense.

  She bit her lip. Maybe he was going to propose to his girlfriend, and this was part of some special mountain people ritual. First retrieve a scraggly tree, then the fur of the elusive Sasquatch, and then a ring.

  Her vivid imagination kept her occupied and her griping down to a minimum until she got him to the SUV. “Now I just have to get you inside.”

  Getting him into the passenger seat was difficult. She was glad he wasn’t awake, and that no one was around to witness all the tugging and pushing and embarrassing groping she had to do to get any leverage. Or the fact that she might have given him an extra bruise or two in the process. Honestly, she could hardly believe she’d done it at all.

  She was gasping for air by the time she was done, but at least the activity had warmed her a bit. She’d just leaned her forehead against his shoulder when he moaned again. Damn.

  “We need to get you some help. Let me just lower the carjack—“

  “Tree,” he mumbled. “Have to get the tree.”

  Really? The man must have knocked whatever brains he had loose in his fall. She knew it. “I just saved your life. You can get another tree, guy. A better tree. I’ll buy you one myself, with all the trimmings.”

  He tried to shake his head, inhaled sharply, and passed out. The rise and fall of his chest told her he was still breathing, but Connie was the nurse, not her. She had no idea how badly he was hurt. All she knew was that if he died and she hadn’t granted his last request, she’d probably spend eternity simmering in her own guilt.

  Georgia hopped up and down on each leg for warmth, breathing into her cupped hands. She was a sucker. “Fine. Fine. I’ll get the tree. Roux, get back in the car so you can get warm while you watch him. And if I freeze to death, you have my permission to bite him. Hard.”

  Once she had man and dog snug and safe inside the vehicle, she followed the path his body had made in the snow, untied the tiny tree from the snowmobile and grabbed the keys from the machine, though she doubted someone would make the effort to steal it in this weather. She headed back as quickly as her heavy limbs would allow, feeling the strangest desire to lay down in the whiteness. To make an angel while she still had the chance. To take a nap.

  Why was she so tired?

  The tree in her arms mocked her. All of a sudden it seemed symbolic of her fruitless quest for a happy holiday. It looked nearly as forlorn and alone as she felt. As hopelessly stubborn.

  Stupid tree.

  There would be a kind of poetry in it. Dying in the snow with a forlorn tree in her hand. The obituary would bring a tear to the eye. Her publisher would make sure of it.

  Roux raced to her side, nudging her with the weight of her body, pushing Georgia forward. “I told you to stay in the car. How did you open the door? You should be guarding your new boyfriend, girl. I’ll get there as fast as I can.” Breathing was starting to hurt. “What do you say to staying home next year? Sure it’s muggy and boring, but excitement is overrated. Maybe we can rent a snow machine and those little spray cans of snow for the windows. All the fun, none of the cold. Sounds like a plan to me.”

  Roux whined. It sounded vaguely like the honking of a horn.

  Georgia closed her eyes and saw nothing but the same bright white as when her lids were lifted. She’d only been in it for a few hours, but she was already beginning to hate the snow.

  Adamant honking mixed with barking rang in her ears and made her force her eyes open again. Maybe the tow truck driver had finally arrived. Surely he would help get snowmobile guy to safety. As for Georgia, as soon as she could feel her toes again she was hopping the next boat to Cozumel in honor of Connie, and following through on her promise to give up once and for all on Christmas. She’d pick another holiday to obsess over.

  Maybe Groundhog Day.

  Available Now!

  Bonus Excerpt: Marley in Chains

  By R.G. Alexander

  Blinded to the Present...Avoiding the Future...Running from the Past

  The Smutketeers Present: A Kinky Christmas Carol!

  The Knight Family is a wealthy, powerful Chicago clan that knows everything there is to know about making money—but they have plenty to learn about love. In this three series novella—Eden Bradley's Getting Scrooged, Robin L Rotham's Not So Tiny Tim and R.G. Alexander's Marley in Chains—you’ll meet Holly Knight, her nephew Tim, and her cousin Marley Knight-Williams as they face their ghosts, fulfill their fantasies and finally discover the magic of Christmas.

  Marley in Chains

  Chapter One

  “I don’t care how many messages you’ve taken or from whom—Saint Nick himself could be on line two—under no circumstances are you to bother her today.”

  Marley inhaled deeply and focused on slowing her breathing as she adjusted her Bluetooth and kept pace on the treadmill. “Douglas, don’t be a drama queen. One day. Ms. Knight needs her rest and the only thing I’m allowing on her schedule is the merger negotiation this evening at Tru. Just make sure she has her preferred table, and the chef knows we would consider it a personal favor if he skipped his usual visit. The man would hover all night otherwise. A thank-you card and one of your special goody baskets should soothe his pride.”

  She paused to listen to the secretary’s rapid rambling, struggling to concentrate and keep up her fast jog at the same time. “She has the file. She
’s had it for days. There’s no need for you to join them for the dinner.”

  Marley chuckled breathlessly as suspicion surfaced. “Douglas, you dog, I’m on to you. You just want a peek at the infamous Ebenezer Hall, don’t you?” His denial was lacking its usual indignation. “Uh huh, thought so. Well, tough, buddy. Now stop driving me crazy and bring this month’s invitations. You remember…the actual reason I called you? Leave the box with the new doorman. His name is Frost. And stop worrying, the boss has things well in hand.”

  She hoped. She also hoped Holly wasn’t writing a “Dear Marley” termination notice after last night’s margarita incident. Nepotism wouldn’t save her if she ruined this meeting. She was about to say goodbye when Douglas spoke again. “What? Yes, I know hitting on you is pointless, dear. I’m running, not flirting. And I expect those invites before lunch. Goodbye, Douglas.”

  Marley Knight-Williams was running. Had been for the past hour, as if her life depended on it. Sweat dripped down her temples and brought a glimmering sheen to her strong, bare arms. Her long curls—swinging from the sloppy ponytail she’d confined them in— were damp with it as she picked up her pace, her sneakered feet pounding out a rhythm meant to cleanse her of the wicked demon alcohol.

  That wasn’t the only thing she was running from.

  She shouldn’t have taken Holly to that restaurant last night. It had been an impulse. A reaction to a momentary expression of sadness on her cousin’s face. One Marley had recognized. In that moment she forgot that she was Holly Knight’s super assistant and remembered that they were friends. Family. Remembered it was the Christmas season, almost Holly’s fortieth birthday, and how rough this particular holiday had always been in general. For both of them.

  But that place. Why had she decided to take her there, when there were so many other restaurants, so many other bars she knew of where no one would recognize Holly Knight, the current head of the Chicago Knights and their vast financial empire? Where her cousin could relax and finally let her hair down. Could just be herself.