by S. Cook
Mustang finally lifted his head and my breath caught when I saw the pain in his eyes. I knelt down beside him.
“They can’t wait to talk to you. I told them everything that I thought you wouldn’t mind me sharing. They want you back. Just the way you are now.”
Mustang stood up and paced back and forth while making up his mind. I started to go, hoping that privacy would help him make the right decision.
“I’m the last person on earth who should tell anyone to hurry up and get over something that hurts so much,” I said. “I let a childhood full of pain turn me into an adult who could barely breathe. You take your time. They’re willing to wait.”
I kissed him and turned towards my horse to give him his privacy. He put out a hand and stopped me, pulling me with him as he returned to his seat.
“Stay with me, okay?” he asked, pressing the button on the phone and entering in the numbers that he still knew by heart.
I sat beside him and linked my arm through his as he spoke into the phone with a shaky voice.
“Mom? Hey, it’s me.”
Epilogue: Leah
Shortly after a summer wedding outside our home attended by our family and friends, we’d started to work on expanding Loving Arms Ranch.
So far, our ranch had held special camp sessions for a diverse group of people. We worked with a veteran’s organization to offer sessions for soldiers who were struggling to reintegrate with society.
A local hospital had reached out to us too. I helped them organize camps for children with cancer, as well as special camp sessions for kids’ whose siblings were dealing with the disease.
Loving Arms Ranch had become a place where anyone with a need could come to find themselves and leave as someone who had been changed for the better.
The ranch had changed me too.
The frantic, worried person who came here to get away from the stress of her life had emerged as a new person who could take on anything.
Of course, having Mustang by my side had helped.
“You’re awfully quiet over there,” Mustang said after we led the group of young riders around the first bend.
His tight t-shirt showed off the muscles of his chest in an unbelievably wonderful way.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“You,” I said quietly, giving him a sly look that I hoped reminded him of the way I had woken him up that morning.
He raised an eyebrow, and my heart almost stopped.
“Are you thinking about making me work later today?”
“Oh, you’ll be working,” I answered so softly no one could hear. “Hard.”
Mustang took off his cowboy hat for a second to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. He winked at me.
“That’s what I like to hear!”
He urged his horse forward to get in front of me since the trail narrowed up ahead. For a long moment I stayed behind just to watch him ride.
Mustang was the most handsome, loving man I could’ve ever hoped to find in a million lifetimes. He was a fantastic husband, business partner and best friend.
And a soon-to-be father if the pregnancy test I took this morning was accurate.
I nudged my horse gently with my heel and followed Mustang.
I couldn’t wait to see his smile when I told him the news.
***
For your reading pleasure, I’ve included the Amazon bestselling book, Gabriel below for FREE!
Gabriel
By S. Cook
She was the girl in a faded photo I’ve carried in my pocket for three long years.
My best friend’s sister.
I made him a promise on the battlefield that I intended to keep.
Until I met her.
An angel on a dance floor in a shimmery gold dress.
Our worlds crashed together into one incredible night of heat.
Now I’ve screwed up everything.
How could I have known she was the girl I swore to protect?
Gabriel
By
S. Cook
Cover Model: Darren Birks Photography
Cover by Clarise Tan
A portion of this book has been previously published by the author.
Chapter One: Gabriel
“Really? This is it?”
I pushed aside a diet soda and reached further into the back of the hotel’s minibar to see if I could find something stronger to quench my thirst.
I desperately needed a stiff drink.
Preferably a smooth Scotch.
If I closed my eyes, I could almost taste the amber liquid sliding down the back of my throat.
Instead all I could find in the tiny minibar were month-old candy bars and stale potato chips. Nothing strong enough to take the edge off my exhausting day.
Not only had my flight to Florida been delayed by eight hours, the airline had also managed to misplace my luggage. Luckily, two hours after I left the airport they finally found it on the wrong baggage carousel. Three phone calls later and I’d managed to convince them to deliver it to the old run-down motel where I was staying.
I looked around the room with bare carpet and peeling paint and wondered if I should’ve tried harder to find a better hotel. When I’d spotted the red, blinking vacancy sign, I pulled into the parking lot and paid for the room without giving much thought to the condition.
After a long stint in Afghanistan, I could sleep anywhere.
I’m not picky.
As long as it was clean, and I could get a good nights’ sleep, then I wasn’t complaining. Even if the hotel room’s wallpaper was faded from the sun, and the carpets were thin from all the footsteps of people like me who only wanted a place to crash for the night.
I slammed the door to the minibar shut and stood, catching sight of myself in the mirror above the desk. A stranger stared back at me, with dull, tired eyes and flushed cheeks. The sheen of sweat from the Florida heat and humidity made my forehead shine.
I looked like absolute hell.
Being from Maine, and a much cooler climate, Florida was different to what I was accustomed to. Not only the people and the traffic, but also the relentless humidity. The inescapable summer heat sucked every bit of energy from my body.
I peeled my clothes off and left them on the floor while I headed for a shower. After spending at least ten minutes with the icy water pouring down on my head, I reluctantly stepped out and wrapped the thin white towel around my waist.
For a minute or two afterwards, I felt refreshed. Then I sighed, knowing it would only last until I stepped outside again.
“Jesus! I hate this fucking heat,” I swore.
I’d be content to spend the night naked in my hotel room, with the air conditioning pumping. Unfortunately, the need for a drink outweighed the tired feeling in my limbs.
I dressed quickly in jeans and a black t-shirt while silently wishing I didn't have such a relentless craving for scotch.
I deserved it, I told myself.
Anyone would want a drink if they’d gone through the day I had.
One of my favorite lies.
The truth is, I deserved nothing.
Not with the things I’d done in my life.
I grabbed my cane, took one last look at myself in the mirror and left my hotel room. My rental car, a slinky black Audi, stood out in the motel parking lot. It was the only rental car left, the lady at the counter had told me.
Not exactly my taste in cars.
Usually I went for something smaller and less flashy. I hoped it wouldn’t be vandalized in the parking lot overnight.
I wouldn’t be in town long though, so what I drove didn’t matter. Tomorrow I planned to take care of a few things that needed my attention and head back home.
I barely made it to my car before my shirt started sticking to my skin and a bead of sweat rolled down the back of my neck.
No way in hell was I going back inside.
Getting down those damn metal stairs
was difficult enough. I sure didn’t want to go back up them if I didn’t have to.
My bum leg was a pain to deal with, and stairs were not my friend.
At all.
I slid in behind the wheel of my rental. The leather felt good and solid, yet soft and comforting against my skin. I turned up the air conditioning full blast and closed my eyes while willing my body to cool down.
“Fucking Florida,” I grumbled.
I nestled my cane between the seat and the center console, always keeping it close, just in case. I had grown so accustomed to having it nearby that I couldn't imagine what I’d do if it wasn't within arm’s length.
Not knowing where to go, I drove around the quiet streets, in search of a place that would still be open. Any place where I could quench the thirst I had inside me.
Two wrong turns later and I quickly found myself in a seedy part of town. There were cars parked along the main road and drunken couples wandering down the sidewalk, unsteadily trying to hold each other up.
That only meant one thing. There was a bar open nearby.
Just what I was looking for.
I had already decided that I wasn’t paying eight dollars for a damn mini-bar beer at the motel. Hopefully the bar had decent air conditioning too.
A bright, flashing neon sign came into view when I rounded the corner, illuminating the night’s sky in pink and blue. A rainbow light calling to all the party animals and people of the night.
At that moment, I realized I’d become one of those people.
The bar looked like a decent place for a drink. After I parked the car and double-checked to make sure the doors were securely locked, I grabbed my cane and went inside.
There was a long, wooden bar in the middle of the big room, an open dance floor on one side, and booths in the far corners. A few couples were sitting at the tables, nursing their drinks. Most were enjoying themselves out on the dance floor. It wasn’t until I took a closer look at everyone that I realized what kind of club I’d casually walked into.
A gay nightclub.
All the women were butch with short hair and tattoos. The guys were more flamboyant and would probably look better in short dresses and heels than the women.
I’m all for being the master of your own sexuality, and I’ve never judged anyone for being gay, or bisexual or whatever they wanted to be. It still felt a little strange being there.
I hesitated inside the doorway for a second then made my way across the room to the bar.
A group of guys wearing too-tight pants and florescent tank tops were clustered around one end. Being eyed by drunk women was one thing, it was quite another thing to be ogled by a bunch of guys.
I straightened my shoulders and tried to walk as manly as possible, John Wayne style. I gave them a semi-dismissive, but still polite nod when I settled on a bar stool at the other end.
“What’ll it be, handsome?” the burly, black bartender asked.
He placed a napkin on the bar and fluttered his glittered-dusted eyelashes at me.
“Scotch, straight up.”
“Straight up indeed, baby,” he answered. He turned away and quickly poured my drink. “I like them straight sometimes. But only if they’re willing to switch. Are you?”
“Am I what?” I asked with a frown.
“Straight,” he said.
I laughed. “One hundred percent,” I said, and placed a bill on the counter as he brought my drink. “Keep the change.”
“Thank you. Such a gentleman.”
The bartender continued to serve the other patrons in front of him. I swallowed down a mouth-full of my drink and savored the taste.
Damn…even better than I remembered.
Turning in my seat, I glanced around behind me at the club. The place was packed. Gyrating bodies covered the dance floor, with the music pumping a little too loud for my liking. Everyone seemed to be having fun. I wondered what it’d be like to feel that carefree again.
Ever since the accident, my life had taken a turn for the serious. I motioned to the bartender to fill up my glass again, and he did so promptly with a sly wink in my direction. I thanked him once again and turned back to the dancing crowd.
Then I saw her.
An angel in a gold metallic dress.
Between the mass of men, she stood out like my Audi in the hotel parking lot. Obviously, the woman clearly didn’t belong here.
She held her hands above her head and swung her large hips with reckless abandon to the beat that pounded from the speakers. Sweat pooled between her breasts, causing the short gold dress to cling tightly to her curves. Her dark, brown hair hung down below her shoulders and moved with her body.
It was impossible to take my eyes off her.
I shifted in my chair, so I could watch her dance without getting a crick in my neck. She seemed blissfully unaware of my presence. If she happened to notice me watching her, she probably would assume I was gay too. After all it was a gay bar. Why wouldn’t she?
Feeling immensely better now, I tapped my foot to the beat of the music. It was a remixed version of a once popular song. The crowd on the dance floor loved it. Cheers sounded through the club every time the chorus played.
The bartender glanced at me and tilted his head toward the dance floor. I raised my cane leaning against the bar in answer and he nodded back in acknowledgment.
There was no way, regardless of how drunk I might be, that I would be caught dead out on a dance floor. I needed to keep a little bit of my dignity if I could. Back in the day, I could dance all night with a beautiful woman wrapped in my arms.
Not anymore.
After the song ended, the crowd around the bar thickened around me. When the overhead lights caught the shimmery gold sparkle of a dress, I glanced over beside me.
The woman I’d been watching called out to the bartender in a loud, tipsy voice. “Excuse me! Can a lady get a drink around here?”
“Oh honey, where did you get your work done?” the bartender said to her. “You look positively passable.”
I suppressed a laugh and shook my head. I couldn’t help eavesdropping. Their conversation was simply too amusing to ignore.
Even though the pretty woman in the gold dress might’ve gone a little overboard with her make-up, there was no way that anyone could mistake her for a man. Her shoulders were too petite, and those breasts. No plastic surgeon could create a masterpiece like those; they were too perfect.
“Um, sorry to disappoint you blue-eyed fairy, but this is all me,” she snapped back. “Nothing on this body but what the good Lord and my Mama gave me.”
I burst out laughing.
The bartender's eyes widened and for a moment I thought he was going to say something nasty. Then he laughed too and said, “Bitch got jokes! What will it be, honey? I like your spirit.”
“Just a beer,” she said.
Beer? This beautiful woman drank beer?
I glanced down at my glass of scotch and felt a bit high-maintenance.
The bartender gasped dramatically as if she’d insulted him, and exclaimed, “A beer? Not at my bar, darling! Let me earn my keep. I’m going to hook you up good. What do you like? Sweet? Sour? Or straight up like my friend over there?”
He pointed over at me.
The woman glanced in my direction and seemed surprised by my presence, as if she hadn't noticed me until that moment. She placed her shimmering gold handbag – which couldn't really be classified as a handbag since it was no bigger than an envelope on the bar beside me.
Raising her eyebrows and with an edge in her voice, she asked, “What's so damn amusing over there, chuckles?”
“Well, your retort was pretty clever, for one.”
“Retort? What kind of word is that? Are you from England or something?”
“It’s a real word, I swear,” I said, flashing her a smile.
She narrowed her eyes and pursed her red lips.
“I just found it hilarious that he could mistake such a bea
utiful woman for a man,” I said in way of explanation. “Sorry for laughing.”
“Ha! Nice try there, cowboy,” she said. “You’re almost as smooth as the whiskey in your glass.”
“I’m working on it. Let me buy you that fancy drink he’s taking so much time to blend up.”
“No, thank you,” she said dismissively. “I’m not interested in a hookup.”
She turned to the bartender who placed a milky white concoction on the napkin in front of her.
“What’s this?”
“You’ll love the drink, honey. It's a Screaming Orgasm,” he answered with a wicked grin.
“Put that on my tab,” I offered. “I’m buying for the lady tonight.”
“No! No, he isn’t,” she immediately argued. “I can buy my own drink, thank you very much.”
The bartender looked back and forth between us for a second and leaned in towards her.
“Sweetie, when a man looks like this guy, let him buy you a damn drink,” he said before sashaying down the bar to help the next customer.
She turned to me and let out a tired smile.
“Look, I'm not interested. I came here to dance with my girlfriend. I'm not trying to hook up. I swear. We’re only here to have some fun. It’s nothing personal.”
Clearly my efforts were misinterpreted. I felt the need to apologize.
“Sorry. I didn't mean to make it seem like I was trying to take you home. I just thought we could talk for a bit. That's all.” I waved a hand at her glass. “While you finished drinking whatever that foo-foo milky shit is in your glass.”
She took a long, slow sip of her drink and made a face.
“What?” I asked. “A little too strong for you?”
“Maybe a tad,” she replied while trying not to cough. “Jeez! What did he put in this drink? Kerosene? My eyes are watering.”
I laughed when she dabbed the corners of her eyes with the napkin. “Probably a double shot of vodka. Maybe he thought he’d help me get lucky.”
“A team effort, huh? And you wonder why I don’t believe you just want to talk? Guys never want to only talk. What are you doing here anyway? The only straight guys who come to gay clubs are vultures for the hags.”