Beef Cake (Donner Bakery Book 4)

by Smartypants Romance

  “I brought you these,” I tell her, reaching through the open window of the truck and retrieving the donuts. “There were four, but I ate two while I was waiting.”

  This earns me a smile. It’s small but it’s there.

  “I also wanted to apologize for—”

  “Don’t,” she says, cutting me off and turning her gaze toward the road. “Don’t apologize. It’s not—”

  “Please.” I’m the one who cuts her off this time, my heart plummeting to my stomach as I hear the words before she ever gets a chance to say them. “Please don’t say, ‘It’s not me, it’s you,’ because that sounds a lot like goodbye and I don’t think you really mean it.”

  Her eyes go wide, and they stick to mine like glue as she hangs on every word I say.

  “I came here today to tell you I’m sorry if things escalated too quickly last night, but I need you to know as much as I want you . . .” I pause, wanting to reach for her but deciding a little distance is good. There are things I need to get off my chest and when I’m touching Frankie all coherent thoughts seem to take a back seat. “I do want you, so much, but I’m willing to take this slow. As slowly as you need. It’s not just a physical connection I feel or want with you,” I admit, reaching up to smooth errant hairs out of my face. “It’s everything, Frankie. The good, the bad, and everything in between.”

  She blinks—once, twice, three times—and then swallows.

  When she doesn’t respond after a few moments, I ask her something that’s been bothering me since last night. It’s a conversation I haven’t had with a woman in a long time, but I feel like I need to have it with her to clear the air, so to speak. After lying in bed for hours last night, it’s the one thing that kept popping into my mind. It could be where her hesitation comes from, and I need to know. “Are you a virgin?”

  This pulls her out of the fog that seemed to settle over her and she lets out a rough laugh, shaking her head and putting me at ease a little. Not that I wouldn’t want to be her first, because that would be a lie. When I say I want everything with Frankie, I mean everything—her firsts, her lasts, whatever she’ll give me.

  “No,” she says, her voice sounding a little raspy, weak. It’s then I realize she’s wearing scrubs and looks tired. She doesn’t look like someone who had the day off visiting with her mother. “I’m not a virgin. I haven’t been for a long time. Since I was seventeen, actually. I wanted to know what all the hype was about, and basically coerced a guy in my study group to have sex with me.”

  Now, that’s funny and I laugh. “There’s no way in hell any guy would have to be coerced to have sex with you.”

  She lifts an eyebrow. “Well, I’ve never been good at relationships.”

  “Have you ever…” What? What am I trying to say? Has she had a boyfriend? Of course, she has. I know she’s never been on a date, but no twenty-five-year-old who looks like Frankie Reeves has made it through life without a boyfriend. Surely there’s at least been that, right?

  “I’ve never been in a relationship,” she admits, and I practically swallow my tongue.

  Shifting on my feet, I place my hands on my hips. “Never?”

  Shaking her head, she tightens her arms around her stomach and I hate it. It’s like she’s trying to hold herself together, but I don’t want her to feel like that around me. If she needs someone to hold her together, I’ll do it. I’ll be here for her, no judgment, regardless of her past or present. I don’t care if she’s never had a boyfriend or if she’s had a million. All I care about is that right now, she’s with me.

  “I’ve had one-night stands with no strings attached. That’s it. Which is why this,” she pauses, motioning between us. “This connection I feel with you . . . it scares me. I don’t know what to do with it. Everything in my life fits in a compartment in my brain, but you . . .” She huffs, hanging her head and taking those gorgeous brown eyes from me.

  Needing to see her, to know exactly what she’s feeling, I bend down, searching for her. “What about me, Frankie?” I ask. She looks at me with so much emotion. Hurt, longing, needing, hopefulness, hopelessness—everything is swirling in her eyes like a violent storm.

  “You take up all the space,” she admits. “You don’t fit in a compartment.”

  Without another word, I stand and wrap my arms around her shoulders, pulling her into my chest. It’s my new favorite thing—having Frankie close. She fits so perfectly with my chin coming to rest comfortably on the top of her head. It’s like she was made for this; made for me.

  I’m not sure how this happened. Frankie came into my life so unexpectedly, but now that she’s here, I know there’s no walking away. I also know it’s not going to be easy, but I’m willing to stick around and wait for every last piece of her walls to crumble.

  Chapter 16

  Frankie

  These past couple of days have been, well, weird.

  My date with Gunnar on Wednesday was everything I hoped it would be and more.

  Then everything went to shit. When he drove me home and we started making out in my driveway, I wanted it. I wanted him. But my stupid brain started filling up with all the self-doubts and insecurities—the scars, my inability to have a relationship, the past I’m struggling to remember.

  How could I tell him that stuff in the heat of the moment? But then again, how could I not?

  Just as Gunnar’s hand slipped under my shirt, skimming softly along my abdomen, I froze.

  If his hand had traveled to my back, he’d have been able to feel the scars that lined the skin. They’re not as prevalent as they once were—over time they’ve stretched and faded—but they’re still there. Faint, but noticeable. And then there are the ones on my legs, which I never allow to show.

  It was too much.

  I couldn’t compartmentalize any longer, so I bailed. I reached for the handle and stumbled out, leaving Gunnar a confused mess in the front seat. I told him to go.

  So he did.

  Just like I knew he would.

  Because first and foremost, Gunnar is a gentleman.

  Then, on Thursday morning, as I was getting ready to go visit my mother, I got a call from the hospital telling me they were short-staffed and needed me. Unlike my previous shift, everything was complete chaos. It started with a ten-car pile-up that filled our entire ER with patients and ended with three men who’d been in a knife fight.

  For a second, when the call had first come in, fear had rushed through me, wondering if somehow the patients coming in were part of the Iron Wraiths. Thankfully, they were a few teenagers who were probably in some sort of gang. That’s not my job to determine. I just patched them up and let the cops do the rest.

  When I got home, Gunnar was waiting for me in my driveway and his vulnerability once again made my walls come crashing down. I still don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to him. This is all such uncharted territory, but his patience and care are everything I never knew I wanted.

  On top of all that, I slept like crap. These pieces of my past—of my childhood, the things I’ve tried so hard to remember all these years—are creeping in like ghosts in the night, invading my dreams. This morning, I woke up in another heap of sweat and twisted sheets, and not for any good reasons . . . like me and Gunnar having sex.

  Although, I’ve thought about that possibility a lot since the driveway incident.

  I’m a mess.

  To make matters worse, I was running late and didn’t have a chance to make coffee or stop at Daisy’s for a cup. So, I’m sleep-deprived, frazzled, and under-caffeinated.

  As I drive into Maryville, I think about stopping at one of the coffee shops in town, but decide Folgers will have to be good enough this morning. Helen always has a pot made.

  Turning off the main road onto the side road that leads to the shelter, I pause when I see a woman and child walking down the street ahead of me. Even from this distance, I can make out familiar blonde hair and the girl is wearing a pink shirt I recognize.
r />   Then, I realize they’re walking fast and Lisa turns to look at the truck pulling up behind them. I’m almost two blocks away when the truck stops and a man gets out, forcing them into the cab.

  My heart jumps as my foot presses on the pedal.

  NO.

  He can’t do that.

  He can’t just take them and drive off.

  When they turn down another side street, I speed up to follow them. The truck drives erratically until he veers off onto the shoulder, and I’m afraid he’s going to overcorrect and flip. The thought makes me panic and I reach for my phone that’s in the passenger seat.

  Frantic, I try to keep one eye on the road as I dial 9-1-1.

  “9-1-1, what is your emergency?” a lady from the other end of the line asks.

  I’m quickly losing the truck, but glancing down I realize we’re going nearly sixty miles an hour on a neighborhood street. Adrenaline rushes through me as I try to make quick decisions, knowing Lisa and Allie are in danger and I’m the only one who knows.

  “Uh, yes, someone has been abducted,” I reply, not recognizing my own voice. It sounds distant and erratic, kind of like my heart, which is now lodged in my throat. “A black truck, a Ford, I think, took a woman and her child. He forced them into the vehicle and is now driving dangerously down Smith. We’re approaching Seventh Street,” I tell her, not wanting to run the stop sign, but afraid to lose sight of the truck. “Please send someone.”

  She instructs me to not put myself in danger, but says that if I can get the license plate number it would be helpful. When I see him blow through another stop sign, I realize there’s no way I’ll be able to catch him. Then he makes another turn, and the back end fishtails.

  For a split second, I pray for some sort of collision to slow him down. As long as Lisa and Allie don’t get hurt. It would be better than him getting away with them.

  “Ma’am,” the dispatcher says, getting my attention.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her, my own tires screeching as I make the same turn. When I do, the black truck is nowhere to be found. Gone. Like it just disappeared without a trace.

  Still driving fast, I look in every parking lot and side street. Now that I’m on one of the main roads, the traffic is thicker, and more people are out and about. It would be hard for him to continue driving the way he was without being noticed, so I hope he’s sitting somewhere and I’ll see them.

  “I’m dispatching the police to the area,” she says. “If you see the truck again, please call back, but don’t put yourself in harm’s way.”

  I would do that. For Lisa and Allie, I would.

  But I don’t get the chance, because after an hour of driving around Maryville, I don’t see the truck anywhere. Eventually, I go to the shelter, where Helen is waiting with a worried expression.

  “Lisa and Allie—”

  “Have you seen them?” I ask, hope beginning to build in my chest, filling the space left when I lost the truck. “Are they here?”

  “No,” Helen says, confusion replacing the worry. “Did you see them?”

  Feeling my last drop of hope leak out, I lean back on my car and lower my chin to my chest, fighting back the emotions. As the frustration takes over, I let out a growl, turning to kick the tire on my car.

  Stupid car.

  Stupid, old, slow car.

  “I saw them this morning on my way here. They were walking down First Street. They were a few blocks ahead of me when I spotted them. I was sitting at a stop sign when a black truck pulled up and a guy forced them inside. It happened so fast . . . I tried to follow them, but couldn’t . . . and I called the police . . .”

  My words trail off as Helen’s arm comes up to wrap around my shoulder, turning me to her.

  “We’ll find them,” she says, her business mode on in full-force. “Let’s go inside and I’ll make a few more calls. They couldn’t have gotten too far.”

  I shake my head. “I’ve searched this whole city over. Twice. You don’t understand. They’re just . . . gone. I should’ve gone faster, been quicker—”

  “It’s not your fault.” She’s now holding both of my shoulders firmly in her grasp and leveling me with her steel-grey eyes. “Come inside. Let’s make some calls and figure this out.”

  As we walk into the shelter, I feel an immediate loss as I look around the dining area and see two empty seats where Lisa and Allie have been sitting. It’s wrong. They should be here. “Why did they leave?” I ask Helen as we continue past the dining room onto the hallway that leads to our offices.

  “She didn’t say,” Helen says with a heavy sigh. “I didn’t even know they’d left until I checked the log. But seeing as she’d logged out, I’m guessing she had every intention of logging back in.” Grabbing said log, she points to the signature and time.

  “It doesn’t make sense. Where would they be going this early in the morning?”

  Helen takes a seat at her desk, picking up the phone. “Your guess is as good as mine,” she says, dialing a number. She’s quiet for a second as the phone rings. Faintly, I can hear a man’s voice answer on the other end.

  “Yes, this is Helen Harrison from the women’s shelter,” she begins, glancing up at me and then back down at the papers in front of her. “I’d like to follow up on a call one of my volunteers made this morning about one of our tenants being abducted.”

  She listens, and I wait.

  The frown that forms isn’t a good sign and I watch as Helen’s back stiffens. “She witnessed it. That should be enough information to go off of. And there is a child involved! I also have the log here in front of me where she signed out. I don’t think she would’ve done that if she didn’t plan on coming back. I’d like this to be taken seriously. She came to us for refuge—that should be evidence enough that foul play is involved here.”

  At some point, the person on the other end tells Helen he’ll send a police officer to fill out a report and get a case opened. Typically, that wouldn’t happen until a person has been gone for twenty-four hours, but since a child is involved and I witnessed it happen, an Amber Alert was immediately issued.

  An hour or so later, the reports have been filed. Every detail we know about Lisa and Allie Sanchez has been written down. The description of the truck is now in the hands of every patrol officer in the state.

  “These types of cases are often difficult to crack. If you’d been able to get a license plate number, we’d have more to go off of. But since the only information we have is what you think is a black Ford pickup,” he says, giving me a look. “Our best hope is he gets pulled over for a traffic violation.”

  A missing person report will go out to other police departments in the area. Then, we have a chance of Lisa or Allie being spotted, if and when they stop. That is, unless whoever took them doesn’t want them to be found. Remote locations are a dime a dozen in Tennessee.

  When the officer leaves, Helen and I both sit in her office in complete silence, staring at the white walls.

  I wonder if she feels as helpless as I do?

  “You should go home before it gets dark.” It’s the first thing either of us has said in a while and the raspiness in her voice shows it. She stands and gathers her trusty clipboard. “I’ll call you if I hear anything.”

  For some reason, I don’t argue with her. Instead, I grab my phone and my bag and follow her out into the hallway. “Do you think we’ll find them?”

  She stops, but doesn’t turn to face me. “I hope we do.”

  I guess that’s as good as it gets at this point. I swallow down the lump in my throat.

  “Frankie,” she says before I walk out the door. “Are you okay?”

  I nod, biting down on my lip as I take a step outside. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “You’re going straight home, right?” she asks, a hint of nervousness in her tone.

  Again, I nod.

  “Please call me when you get there, and I’ll call you when I hear anything.”

  “Okay.”
Tuning, I give her a small smile, hoping it’s reassuring enough to set her mind at ease. Don’t get me wrong, I did think about driving around looking for the black truck, but I’m smart enough to know it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.

  If I could think of anything else to do to help them, I would, but I can’t.

  On the drive to Green Valley, I begin to finally let the emotions I’ve tamped down all day rise to the surface. Being a person who doesn’t allow herself to feel very often, I’m caught off guard by the immense sadness and guilt that washes over me.

  I should’ve done more.

  I wish I would’ve been there sooner . . . driven faster . . . been more observant.

  Everything about the two of them reminds me of me and my mother and I can’t get past that.

  As I pass the Piggly Wiggly, my thoughts turn to Gunnar, and I know where I want to go.

  Pulling up outside the studio I’ve only ever driven past, I put my car in park and immediately see the person I’m looking for, who I need. Gunnar is inside and I watch as he punches a bag hanging from the ceiling.

  I expect the familiar burning in the pit of my stomach, and there is a burning inside me—but it has nothing to do with violence.

  For a brief moment, I wonder what I’m doing here. Gunnar is obviously busy and might not want me here, but then I quickly dismiss that. If know anything at all, it’s that Gunnar wants me.

  He’s told me.

  But better yet, he’s shown me.

  I trust him.

  Chapter 17

  Gunnar

  I should be exhausted. I’ve completed two rounds of training, did my usual lifting routine, and sparred with a few guys from the gym. But instead of taking the rest of the evening off like I know I should, I’m still here punching the bags. It’s as though I can’t burn off enough energy, and if I sit still for too long, I get antsy.

  It would be easy to say I’m sexually frustrated—and that’s certainly part of the problem—but it’s more than that. I still don’t know where I stand with Frankie or how she feels about me, and I’m no closer to figuring out her connection with the Iron Wraiths than I was a week ago. I worry about her safety until my stomach hurts, even though I know she’s been dealing with them for longer than I’ve been in Green Valley. And to make matters worse, I walked in on Tempest and Cage going at it in the bathroom this morning. Most body parts were covered, thank God, but I still saw and heard way more than I needed to.