RHONDA LEE CARVER
Pour me a Drink
(Book 3, Tarnation Texas)
2019 Rhonda Lee Carver
Copyright 2019 Rhonda Lee Carver
All rights reserved
Edited by:
Connor Watkins
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To read more books by Rhonda Lee Carver check out the list of her books at the end of this book.
BLURB
His good intentions were lost in her soft curves…
His big mistake was volunteering to help Alaska Kellington and her son. Yet, how could he resist the sweet, innocent appearing neighbor who had a hidden freak flag that teased his inner bull?
Trouble had a name. Oh, did it ever and it was dressed in worn Wranglers and dusty boots. Arc Colt. Tall, dark, handsome, and confident. The cowboy rode in on his horse, upsetting every wall Alaska had ever erected to protect her and her son. Before she knew it, she was Colt-matized.
She’d been told to never look a gift horse in the mouth, but Alaska couldn’t trust anyone. Growing up in foster homes, tossed around like a Hacky Sack from one bad home to another, until she ran away to live on the streets, had taught her a valuable lesson. A gift never came without a price. When given money and a home in the small town Tarnation, Texas, the opportunity to plant roots for her son is too tempting to resist. She’s willing to take the risk, even if the stipulation is that she must have the rundown B&B up and running within six months.
Both Arc and Alaska have secrets, some more threatening than others. When she’s arrested in the middle of the summer fest with townsfolk watching, things start to unravel, leaving her vulnerable and feeling like the scared, lost kid she thought she’d outgrown. Can love overcome a tragic past? In the end could every path they’ve walked have led them right where they belong, or did Buzz Colt have a surprising intuition?
Dedication:
To all single women who are rocking parenthood.
Acknowledgements:
Thank you, Connor Watkins.
Dear Readers,
I hope you love Arc and Alaska’s story.
These Colt cowboys are something. Just when I think I understand them a twist occurs.
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Table of Contents
Front Matter
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Back Matter
PROLOGUE
.
“WHERE THE FUCK do you think you’re going?”
A dark, sickening awareness swept through Alaska Kellington and her knees weakened as she clutched the white trash bag against her chest, punching holes in the plastic with her nails. On the other side of the ripped screen was her landlord, John Bruce. He wobbled some on the top step, his thick hair messy like it hadn’t been brushed in days and his clothes were wrinkled. He smiled, but it didn’t soften the sinister shape of his jaw. How could she have missed this underlying malevolence when she first met him? He’d rented her the ramshackle house, giving her a break when she couldn’t pay the deposit then promising her she would be safe here. How times had changed. John believed he could get payment in a far more personal and up-close manner.
Truth was, she’d never trusted him, but needing a place to stay had led her to accept his sly grin and his inability to keep his shifty gaze on her face. How could she have ever thought the shack could turn out to be a home?
With a glance down the hall, she saw that there was no movement. Her son, River, had fallen asleep almost an hour ago, and she didn’t want to wake him.
Bringing her gaze back to the problem at hand, John didn’t start showing up drunk the first few weeks. He came around to fix things, flashing his shiny hammer and moist wad of cash, thinking he had a sure-shoe in, but when she didn’t show interest, he stepped up his worn, sloppy antics a notch. With a shot of liquid bravery, he started leaving his hammer at home and showing up at all hours just to “talk”. Alaska had managed to dodge his passes, but she had a feeling it was time to face the devil.
Tonight, he seemed different.
How did he know that she had been planning to leave?
Her skin crawled, knowing she would have to deal with him before she could find freedom.
She owed him rent for the month. Half of it was stuffed in her purse, put back to pay for the trip from Chicago to Tarnation, Texas where she hoped to find…what? Since she’d received the letter from attorney, Roe Robins, two days ago, asking her to come. She’d gone back and forth at least a dozen times on whether she would go or not. If she had to hand over the only cash she had to John, she’d never make it to the small town—never make it out of this hell hole.
“I asked,” he slurred and wobbled, gaining his balance against the wrought-iron rail that offered very little stability, “where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
“Go home,” she whispered and shut the wooden door, locking it, seeing his twisted expression through the window.
He practically tore the screen door from the rusty hinges. The metal squealed, matching the distress in her stomach that had been there for months, uncovered each time she had to face the balding, ruddy-faced, fifty-something man who owned the corner lot on self-righteousness. The next sound came from him fiddling with the handle, and then the lock turned.
Of course! He had a key.
She took a step back on the worn tile, barely registering that she’d scraped her bare foot on the sharp edge of a fist-sized hole in the dry-rotted flooring.
Her stomach rolled and her head spun. She’d been so worried about leaving she forgot to eat except for the piece of toast that morning. Her blood pressure was dropping as it always did if she be
came too stressed. Passing out would leave her vulnerable—would leave her son vulnerable.
Scanning the countertop, the bottle of salt tabs sat beside the toaster. They helped in making sure her BP didn’t drop out. She dropped the bag, grabbed the bottle and tore open the cap, which went flying across the floor. With shaky hands, she dropped two pills into her palm, spilling the others all over the floor. Chewing them, she cringed at the strong, bitter taste. The door came open, crashing against the wall, shattering the glass.
John was inside now, his bulky frame engulfed too much of her personal space. She caught a nauseating whiff of cheap whiskey and sour body odor. This only made her throat ache. The two sizes too small white T-shirt he wore had dried food on the front. Chili maybe? The same splotches were on his blue work pants.
“Bitch, you should know by now that nothing keeps me out. This is my house. You’re just here for as long as I allow you to stay.”
Gripping the edge of the counter, she leaned back as far as she could. “River is asleep. You need to leave and we can discuss this tomorrow,” she said bravely.
“Your rent’s late,” he growled, swiping the back of his fatty knuckles over his dripping forehead. His sweaty pits had stained the cotton yellow. “I should throw you and the kid out on the street. It’d save me some headaches.”
The hair on her nape lifted at his mention of River. From the time the pregnancy test had surprisingly come back positive she’d sworn she would be the parent she never had. Although getting pregnant had been a shock, it wasn’t a mistake. Her nine-year-old was anything but a mistake. Even now, facing the ogre-like landlord, she felt her motherly instincts kick into gear. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to protect her son. Nothing would stand in her way.
Alaska was twenty when she learned she would be a mother. The amazing thing about a mother was that she had the capacity to love her child even before she saw him or her. She wanted River from the day he was a positive sign on a pee stick. The first time she heard his heartbeat, she’d fallen in love. Working two jobs to save enough money for baby necessities, she’d gone home each night barely able to stand after working more than twelve hours straight, the desire to give her son what she never had motivated her, kept her going when she thought she couldn’t.
Unfortunately, she and River had kept going. They’d moved at least a dozen times since he’d been born.
She’d never wanted to jostle her son around from place to place like she’d been as a child. One foster home to another, each instilling in her that she could trust no one—could never have the mother and father she’d dreamed of.
Now, looking at the drunken man, she had to protect her child, and to do that she had to protect herself—had to find a better life for them both.
John’s red face warped into anger as he shifted from one foot to the other.
Her brain searched for the right answer, but she knew there would be no adequate one. There never was when he was drunk. “I’ll have it in the morning.”
His gaze dropped to the trash bag that she’d stuffed all her belongings into.
He moaned then grabbed it up from the floor. She tried jerking it out of his hand, but the plastic ripped and a framed picture of her and River fell out. One corner of his mouth lifted as he peered inside. His eyes filled with a menacing glow while he registered her intentions. “Planning on taking a vacation, are we?”
Her throat tightened. “R-River and I-I are visiting family.” Her stutter made her words less powerful, a habit she’d carried into adulthood. Over the years she’d managed to control it, unless stressful times got the best of her.
His watery, bloodshot eyes widened slightly. Did he see right through her lie?
Men like John thrived on power. The more they had, the bigger their egos, and his filled the kitchen, making her feel like she was suffocating.
His hand slammed down on the counter, causing her to jump and she slipped on water on the floor. But it wasn’t water. It was her blood. She’d cut her foot.
She couldn’t think about that now.
Sweat beaded on her forehead.
He could sense her fear—his ominous laughter told her so.
Understanding the depth of his capabilities, she took another wide step away, backing up until her hip struck the table. The saltshaker fell onto its side then rolled onto the floor, breaking. His cruel expression unearthed memories of the past, a time when she was a child and defenseless. Alone. Scared. Alaska recognized the stinging sensation in her spine, a mixture of fear and anticipation—knowing when the lid on a person’s temper could explode at any second. Thick, worm-like veins popped out on his neck and the grossly overexaggerated clenching of his jagged teeth reminded her of when her uncle Steve would become drunk and angry.
When her mother died, Alaska had been carted off to live with her aunt Delcie and her husband, Steve. At eight, Alaska had been a recluse and painfully shy, stemming from years of watching her mother’s health decline until her battle with addiction was lost.
At first, Delcie and Steve had been a Godsend.
The childless couple seemed excited to have Alaska. They had dinner together every evening. Had Friday movie nights. Attended church. She started to overcome her bashfulness one hug at a time. However, the thread of contentment had started to unravel and the course of events that followed changed Alaska’s existence forever.
Delcie had finally gotten pregnant after years of trying, but it wasn’t meant to be. For weeks, she stayed in bed, depressed. Then Steve started spending more and more nights away, each time coming home drunker than the night before.
Things only became worse until she found herself packing her things in a trash bag.
By the age of fifteen, Alaska had been in and out of foster homes until she’d finally reached the end of her rope and ran away, living on the streets until she met Frankie.
Frankie Doss…boyish good looks and a charm that caught her by surprise. She’d been head over…what? She knew now she never loved him, but she certainly had wanted him.
The mere memory of their whirlwind relationship made her cringe. Things had been explosive and volatile.
She’d made a promise to herself that she’d never tolerate another “Uncle Steve” or the umpteenth number of disastrous foster parents that followed. Leaving Frankie had been the best decision.
Right before her very eyes John was becoming more and more like the drunken, abusive uncle. Alaska would break the chain right here and now. She refused to stay where she, or River, wasn’t safe.
Her horrific childhood journey brought her here, to this very moment.
John was a large man. At six foot and weighing in at least two-fifty, he dwarfed her five foot three, one-fifteen frame, so when he leaned over her, his glossy eyes boring into her, her knees wobbled and some of the bravery dimmed. “Are you trying to skip out on paying me?” he snarled.
Lifting her chin with courage scraped off the bottom of the invisible barrel, she shook her head, sending tendrils of hair slapping her cheeks. “N-no. I told you I’ll have your rent in the m-morning.”
“I want it now.” His left brow twitched.
She could offer the money from her purse but then they’d be stuck in this hellhole. “I don’t have it now. You’ll have to wait.”
His next action should have been expected, but he’d caught her off guard when he grabbed her wrist with his moist fingers and practically dragged her across the kitchen where he pushed her against the stove. She caught herself before she fell. “You’re not going anywhere, unless you’re ready to pay up.” His lip curled as his menacing eyes took a trip up and down her body.
Swallowing hard, she clenched her hands into fists. “No. I told you. My son is here. You need to leave.”
He blinked as he attempted to wrap his drunken mind around her aggressive words. Men like John weren’t used to being told “no”. They used their money and influence to get what they wanted. He took a step closer, grabbing his stiff crotch
then licked his lips. “One way or another, sweetheart, I’m getting what I’m owed tonight.”
A part of her wanted to concede, to just give him what he wanted so he’d go away and she could get River out, but as she’d learned in the past giving in meant she had to live with her decision. She’d rather die than have John’s hands on her.
“You’re drunk, John. Go home.”
His laughter came out in a harsh snort. He zipped his sickly gaze to her breasts, groaning, “You’re lucky I gave you break after break, A-A-Alaska. Now it’s time for repayment for my generosity.” The unzipping of his jeans made her want to vomit. All she could think about was her son and what could happen if he woke up. Would he be in danger? John reached out and grabbed her necklace, the only thing she had left from her mother. “Mmm. This is nice.”
She swatted his clublike hand away. “I don’t owe you a dime! This place is nothing more than a matchbox.”
“Is that so?”
He wrapped his fingers around the necklace and jerked it off her neck. “This should be partial payment for what you owe.”
“Give that back!” She lunged for the necklace dangling from his fat forefinger, but he held it up high, just out of her reach. “You can’t have that. It belonged to my mother.”
“Your mother has good taste. Tell her I said thank you.” He laughed. “Now what are you willing to give me for the rest?” He lowered his watery eyes to her jeans, clicking his tongue.
“You have the necklace and we’re even. Leave or I’m calling the police.”
“Well, since you put it that way.” He turned and took the necessary steps across the kitchen to the door…but then he closed and locked it. His boots crunched shards of glass.
Alaska’s fear intensified.
A mask flooded his features. She saw the determination—the malicious intent. He wouldn’t leave until he got what he wanted.
Pour me a Drink (Tarnation, Texas Book 3) Page 1