by Amie Stuart
“Good. You made it.” She reached out and scratched Scamp under the chin.
“I hope it’s okay,” I said, giving him a wiggle.
“It’s fine. But Bud, that’s Will’s dad, brought his cat.” She motioned me inside. “He doesn’t go anywhere without that little fucker.”
I snorted, and tried not to let my surroundings intimidate me. Julie was nice, Wynn had seemed nice, from what little I knew. How bad could the rest of them be?
“Come on. Everyone’s outside where the lord and master is wowing us with his fantabulous grilling skills.”
I followed her down the hall and into a bright, sunny kitchen that would make a gourmet chef envious. That’s when it hit me. It had been years since I’d cooked in a real kitchen or kept a real house. What if I didn’t remember how? I stopped dead in my tracks while Julie continued on to the back door. “I can’t cook.”
Laughing softly, Julie turned and leaned against the back door.
“I can heat stuff up,” I explained lamely, “but I...I don’t know how to...to be all domestic and stuff.”
“Honey, I don’t think he cares. Besides, Delle taught all the boys to cook. Now, come on.” She yanked open the door, letting in the sound of laughter, but I still couldn’t move.
“Does he know?” That I’m here.
“He’s about to.” She stood, patiently waiting for me to join her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Will nearly dropped his beer at the sight of Sabrina standing in Julie’s kitchen doorway.
“Who’s that?” his sister, Dani, asked.
He dropped the hose he’d been spraying her with and glanced at Wynn who just shrugged. His mom and dad sat on a bench under a nearby tree, talking and still unaware they had a new guest. Julie pursed her lips and quirked an eyebrow. Her way of giving him a silent nudge.
“Dude,” Wynn said, “if you don’t hurry up, she’s gonna leave and never come back.”
That got him moving.
“The kitchen is all yours.” Julie gave him an encouraging pat on the arm as she stepped past him.
He slowly climbed the porch steps and slid his sunglasses off as he followed her back inside. She looked so pretty, and he didn’t have a clue what to say to her. “What are you doing here?”
She shrugged, her shoulders barely lifting and falling. “Heard there was a party.”
He couldn’t hold back the smile that tugged at his lips. “Julie?”
She nodded, shyly. “She came to see me.”
Will swallowed and forced himself to ask the question that was perched toward the back of his tongue. “Did you change your mind?”
She nodded again and released a shaky sigh, as if she’d been holding her breath. “I-I don’t...” she ended on a heavy. “I didn’t know if you were serious, and then I saw this—” she waved a hand at Wynn’s kitchen. “I haven’t stopped moving in so long that I don’t know how to do this.”
Normal stuff. She didn’t know how to do normal stuff.
It wasn’t just his job that had her so scared. Will had finally figured that out. He wasn’t her mom and he wasn’t Ronnie. He wasn’t leaving and the normal stuff was easy.
Will took Scamp from her and set the dog on the floor, then wrapped his arms around her waist. “I promise you I’m not going anywhere. Not for a long, long time, and if you want to keep moving, I can do that.”
“What about Nevis?”
“I can fish anywhere.” As long as she was with him.”
She gave him a tiny, hope-filled smile. “And Scamp?”
He snorted with laughter and cupped her face, whispering against her lips, “And Scamp.”
THE END
From The Author
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading Hittin' It! I hope you enjoyed Will, Sabrina and of course, Scamp's story.
Be sure you sign up for my newsletter so you can stay up to date:
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Screwed, the next Marked For Love book should be available in early 2016—That'll be John's story.
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It would mean the world to me!
Thanks,
Amie
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Books by Amie Stuart
Nailed (Wynn and Julie’s story),
Screwed (John and Tish’s story—coming March 2016)
Ropers Rule
...and more!
The Bluebonnet, Texas Series:
The Cowgirl Rides Away
Once in a Blue Moon
Redheaded Stranger
COMING OCTOBER 2015
The Big Girl's Guide to Buying Lingerie
COMING JANUARY 2016
Even Cowboys Get the Blues
Scroll down for a peek at The Big Girl’s Guide to Buying Lingerie – Coming October 2015
1. ALL BRAS ARE NOT CREATED EQUAL
I watched with fleeting patience as the woman in front of me slowly unloaded her basket. Hurry up lady. I’m gonna be late.
I’d miss him. It was Saturday. We always met early on Saturday. Damnit, why did I stop at Target to begin with?
I, Jade Ballard, am firmly convinced there’s a huge, and yes, obvious, conspiracy on the part of retailers everywhere to drain our wallets at every opportunity. Why else would they add groceries to tempt us with? I can never stick to just the things on my list. The only place worse is Wal-Mart, where I buy at least two of everything, drag it home and then have no place to store it.
Finally!
She moved up enough that I could unload my booty onto the conveyor belt. Bra, panties, more panties, maxi pads, tampons, toilet tissue with aloe, milk chocolate Milanos, pretzels, face wash, a twelve pack of diet Dr Pepper and “Independence Day”—collector’s edition. Will Smith was a total hottie.
And one last bra. A stuck bra. I tugged and wiggled but couldn’t free the tiny hanger that was jammed between the basket slats, and the checkout lane was so narrow I couldn’t maneuver my wide hips to the side for better leverage.
Above me, I heard a voice say, “Here,” as a large, tanned hand reached down. “Let me help.”
I glanced up at the sound of that familiar voice, then caught my lower lip, and a few unkind words, between my teeth. Rowdy Yates twice in one week was more than I could handle. It wasn’t his rugged good looks—even good looking men eventually got wrinkles. It wasn’t his big blue eyes, complete with long lashes, and sun bleached blonde hair—despite my weakness for blondes. It wasn’t the fact that he was tall enough and solidly built enough to make even me feel small. Honestly, I’m not certain what it was about Rowdy Yates that left me flustered and annoyed. But no matter how much I gave him the cold shoulder, he continued to try and charm me—and every other woman that crossed his path. Redneck Casanova. I’d decided he either took way too much pleasure in trying to fluster me or he was truly dense.
I opted for A.
Bad enough I’d seen him Wednesday at the Bluebonnet Dancehall; surely he could have found a Target closer to home, or better yet, a Wal-Mart.
I’m cursed.
I blew a lock of dark hair out of my eyes, which reminded me of just how bad I looked. No makeup, scarf covering my shaggy short hair, an old “Property of Chris Cagle” t-shirt and cut-off, homemade capris. A pair of skuzzy flip-flops completed my ensemble from hell. Normally, greeting the world dressed one step above “just rolled out of bed” gave me a perverse thrill. After all, that’s what days off were for. But the thought of God’s Gift to Bluebonnet, Texas, seeing me at my very worst was enough to make me shop in New Braunfels, forty minutes away.
“I got it, thanks.” I leaned into the basket again and continued to tug, unsuccessfully, while swearing under my breath.
He reached past me again
and easily untangled the hanger, which had been stuck in the thick, red, plastic basket slats.
Holding out my bra, my 40DD bra, he smiled at me, all innocent-like. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
The wholly and completely unreasonable urge to smack him almost got the better of me, and I clenched my jaw. It was just a blue bra, for heaven’s sake, and my guy was none of Rowdy Yates’s business.
Just then I heard a voice ring out over the intercom, “Lingerie, price check at register six.”
I was at register six. Turning, I found the cashier holding up my panties, my brand new, size 2X, blue paisley, high-cut briefs. My cheeks warm, I glanced back at Rowdy, praying he wasn’t looking.
He was, and still held the matching bra, to boot, that innocent smile still visible beneath his moustache. I could see the laughter in those damn cornflower colored eyes. It wasn’t fair.
If anything, my cheeks grew hotter as I snatched my bra from his outstretched hand and threw it on the belt. Knowing my luck, it’d get jammed.
“You know, you could’a said thank you, Sugar,” he drawled.
“Thanks,” I shot over my shoulder. Behind me I heard him chuckle. Jerk! I hated being called sugar. The only man who got away with that was Robbie. Speaking of which...I grabbed the second set of panties off the belt and held them out to the sales clerk. “These are the same price.”
“Someone’s on their way. I have to have the exact number for inventory purposes.”
So much for express. To make matters worse, she turned around and held up my panties again, shouting to a woman not more than six feet away, “Yeah, Norma, I need a price on these 2X, high-cut briefs. The two pack.”
If they hadn’t matched the bra, I’da said forget about it. Now everyone on the northwestern side of San Antonio knew what size panties I wore. I slipped my sunglasses down onto my nose and glanced at my watch, trying to melt into the floor.
2:00. I had one hour to get home, unload and...
“You shop here often, Sugar?”
Rowdy. I sighed, but before I could answer, the damned cashier piped up, throwing in her two cents, “She’s a regular. She was in here Wednesday. Almost bought these panties then, but she was late for some meeting.”
Triple shit. Just my luck I get the one freaking cashier with a photographic memory. Worse yet, the meeting I was late to had been with Rowdy’s boss. By the time I reached the Bluebonnet Dancehall, she’d taken off for another appointment, leaving Rowdy to place their liquor order. I’d glibly lied, and told him I’d been delayed at an emergency dental appointment.
I was so busted and by him of all people.
TABLE of CONTENTS
Blurb
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
From the Author
Copyright
Other Books
Sneak Peek
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The char him acters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from author.
HITTIN' IT © 2015 Amie Stuart
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Cover design by Dee Tenorio/LaideeBug Digital
Edited by Jen Duffey
Published by Dancehall Diaries Ltd. / www.amiestuart.com