by Nikki Ashton
Ating as
Box of Hearts
Nikki Ashton
Contents
Info
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
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Epilogue
Box of Hearts Playlist
Acknowledgments
Copyright 2017 by Nikki Ashton
All Rights Reserved ©
ISBN-13: 978-0-9956678-0-8 e-book
ISBN-13 978-0-9956678-6-0 Paperback
Box of Hearts
Published by Bubble Books Ltd
The rights of Nikki Ashton as the Author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright and Related Rights Act 2000
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form or binding or cover that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. A reviewer may quote brief passages for review purposes only
This book may not be resold or given away to other people for resale. Please purchase this book from a recognized retailer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Box of Hearts
First published April 2017
All Rights Reserved ©
Cover design – JC Clarke of The Graphic Shed
Editing – Aleesha Davis
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical event, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, unless used with specific permission, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places or persons living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
This book is dedicated to all you daddy’s girls out there.
Please note that some of the words in this book, are written using the US English spelling
Millie
“Well, this is it,” my brother sighed. “You’re going to walk down that aisle and throw your life away on Rick the Prick. Are you sure that’s what you want?”
I smiled and cupped his face in my hands. “Javi, it’s going to be okay. Dean loves me, he’s good to me. And stop calling him Rick the Prick. Ricks is going to be my surname in less than an hour, are you going to call me that, too?”
“No!” Javi scoffed. “You’re not a prick for a start. He is.”
My younger brother, Javier, did not like my fiancé one little bit. It wasn’t that Dean was a prick, he was far from it. He was my best friend; we shopped together, he had a great eye for shoes and bags, his understanding of what suited my body shape was second to none – which I should point out is a big voluptuous bum, inherited from my Spanish mother, a trim waist, which is all mine, and much more than a handful of boobage, thanks to my grandmother, who I also happen to be named after. Dean also loved a rom-com, so what more could I want? Well, there was more that I could want – good old, down and dirty sex from time to time. That was the only fly in my beautiful relationship ointment; Dean’s desire to wait until we were married before we indulged. Okay, it wasn’t something I was happy about, what twenty-six-year-old woman in her prime wants to rely on her vibrator and a dirty book? Not me that’s for sure. Nothing is the same as having a man’s hands on you, but I had to respect Dean’s wishes.
“Javi,” I pleaded. “Just be happy for me.”
He looked down at his highly polished shoes and kicked at the cork matting in my mum’s hallway.
“Okay, but if he ever hurts you I will kill him, I swear.”
I laughed, trying to make light of my brother’s words, but what a visionary he turned out to be.
“Mierda,” my mother cried, returning to her mother tongue as she always did when she was cursing, despite having never lived there. “How could he do that to you, Armalita?”
While my mum screamed and cursed, I tried to shut out the noise and huddled into the corner of the sofa, clutching one of my mum’s throw cushions as if it was the lifebelt that would stop me from drowning. And at that point it truly was. I was numb from the heart down, unable to comprehend what had happened to me. It had to all be some sick joke, or maybe I’d been having a nightmare. Every bride has nightmares leading up to their wedding day; mine just wasn’t about me arriving at church wearing jeans and a ratty t-shirt.
I had stood at the altar next to a handsome man, who swore he loved me, only for that moment to happen that usually only occurs in films.
“Does anyone know of any just reason why these two should not be joined in matrimony?” will forever be the phrase that gives me nightmares.
At that moment, while I laughed at the stupidity of such a question, a booming voice echoed around the church that was packed with almost one hundred people.
“I do!”
We all swivelled around to see which of the local nutters had been let in, only to let out an en masse gasp as Dean’s bearded, tattooed, man-mountain friend, Ambrose, stood there clutching at his normally perfectly styled hair.
“Armalita,” my mother cried. “What have you done?”
Javier snorted like a donkey. “I don’t think it’s Millie.”
I snapped my gaze to my brother. “You don’t think what is me?”
He didn’t say anything but pointed towards Ambrose.
“Ambrose,” Dean groaned. “Not now.”
“Baby,” Ambrose whispered. “We have to tell her.”
I quickly looked back to Dean, who had tear
s in his eyes and was fanning his face with a perfectly manicured hand. It was that exact moment that it hit me, right smack between the eyes. The great fashion sense, the love of shoe shopping, his huge collection of Diana Ross CDs, and most importantly, the sex ban; he was just one big cliché.
“You’re having an affair…with Ambrose,” I whimpered.
“Millie.” He took a step towards me, his hand outstretched. “Sweetheart.”
“Do not touch me,” I hissed, and turned to look at Ambrose who was now walking down the aisle towards us. “I want the truth, Ambrose.”
He stopped a few feet away and, despite his humongous size, looked absolutely petrified that I was going to punch him; which I would have done had I not needed a box to stand on to reach him.
“We love each other, Mill. I’m so sorry.”
My breath hitched violently as I felt my champagne breakfast rear its ugly head. Slapping one hand to my mouth, I hitched up my dress with the other and ran as fast as I could along the plush purple carpet and out of the huge double doors. With half of Rickeby watching me in amazement, I ran and ran, only stopping when I reached my mother’s front door. It was then that I realized I had no key, so I collapsed down on to the step and sobbed, waiting for her and Javi to come home.
And so here we were, almost an hour later, me in a bedraggled white dress, and my mother and brother at opposite ends of the emotional scale; mum in tears and devastated for me, while my brother, while still consoling me, was trying to hide his happiness that I wasn’t marrying Rick the Prick.
Jesse
“Momma, I don’t give a damn whether she’s travelled here from Mars. I have work to do and don’t have time to meet a damn babysitter.”
“Your dad’s gone. I need your help, Jesse.”
“You should have thought of that before you hired her. Why the hell did you hire someone from England anyway?”
“Ms. Braithwaite isn’t just a babysitter. She’ll teach your daughter things that I can’t. Addy’s a bright child and needs more schooling than I can give her.”
“Whatever, I’ve got cattle to see to.”
“Well, are you actually going to come for dinner tonight, or spend time with your daughter today?”
“Nope. Told you, I’m busy. I’ll pick your woman up for you, but that’s it. Tell Addy I’ll see her tomorrow.”
Millie
As I stepped into the cool air of the arrivals lounge, I took a huge breath and sent a silent prayer to Grandma Armalita, asking her to make this work for me. After my debacle of a wedding, there was no way I could stay around Rickeby, so I gave notice at my job as a nursery school teacher, rented out my house, and packed my bags.
Summer, my cousin, saw an advert in the paper for an agency that specialized in oversees appointments of nannies and pre-school teachers, and while I was having dinner with her and her hot as hell husband, Roman, one night, she persuaded me to contact them. Mum had an absolute fit when, only three weeks later, the agency called to say they had an ideal position for me in a town called Bridge Vale in the United States. At first I wasn’t sure; the job itself seemed okay, it was for a four-year-old girl that needed care during the day and would also benefit from some basic lessons because she was bright for her age. However, when I looked the town up on line, I was swayed and became determined that it was the right job for me.
The town of Bridge Vale consisted of one bar, a bank, a library, a diner, a grocery store, a hardware store and a small department store, amongst a smattering of other small shops and businesses. It was quiet, thirty miles from the next town and, most importantly, no one would know that I had been dumped at the altar for another man.
And so, here I was. Mrs. Connor, the lady who was employing me, had said someone would meet me at the airport, probably her son, but the problem with that was that I had no idea what he looked like and no one was holding up one of those signs with my name on it. Not that I could see, anyway. The only thing to do was to wander down the line as though picking out a felon. I searched the crowd for an older teenager, or young man, but the line of people was mainly made up of older, ruddy faced men wearing cowboy hats. She may have sent her husband I supposed, but these men all looked as though they’d be too old to be the father of a four-year-old.
I was almost at the bottom of the line when I spotted him. I had never believed in love at first sight; it was a myth for fairy tales and girls who believed in bloody unicorns, not me. That was until I saw Jesse Connor waiting with my name scrawled onto a piece of paper, one arm folded across his chest, his dirty blond hair dishevelled and his hard, broad chest and slim waist filling out his white t-shirt and Levi jeans to absolute perfection. His hand went up to run through his hair, causing his t-shirt to ride up, giving me a glimpse of a tanned stomach. I licked my lips, pretty sure that I had drooled. He did not dress like the cowboys I’d seen when Googling ‘ranching’.
When I was standing a mere two feet away from him, my reaction intensified. I couldn’t help but stare as his piercing blue eyes narrowed their gaze onto me. My breath was literally whisked from my lungs and my heart was beating so fast I could practically feel it thumping against my t-shirt.
“You Millie or are you just staring at me for no reason?” he snapped.
“I’m Millie,” I croaked as I swallowed the huge lump in my throat. “You must be Mr. Connor.”
The disappointment hit me like a punch to the stomach. He was Mrs. Connor’s husband, and I would be working for him and his wife. His bloody wife. This was going to be a nightmare. He was my boss and I had never felt such an immediate and deep attraction like this to anyone before. I couldn’t possibly work for a woman whose husband I was crushing on; I was practically panting for the man. The affect that he was having on me was both exhilarating and scary at the same time. Never mind butterflies flying around my stomach, it felt as though there were a couple of Pterodactyls having a fight in there.
“Mr. Connor is my father, I’m Jesse, but call me whatever you please.”
“Oh, so you’re not Addy’s father then?” I asked, trying to hide my excitement.
“Yes, I am,” was his short reply before he took my suitcase from my hand and stormed out of the airport building.
The drive to the ranch was not only silent, but uncomfortable, too. Jesse’s pickup truck was old and battered, the dark red leather seats were worn and torn, with the horsehair padding bidding for freedom. With every bump in the road, I shot in the air, almost hitting my head on the ceiling of the cab.
As we moved along the open road I coughed nervously and turned to Jesse.
“So, tell me about Addy.”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Jesse replied, his eyes remaining firmly on the road.
“Oh, okay.”
A hint, if ever I’d heard one, that no further conversation would be required. I therefore spent the journey to the ranch sneaking glances at Jesse’s profile and staring at his arms. They were tanned and strong, with corded veins, and as I watched them rest on the steering wheel, I had to keep reminding myself to breathe.
His profile was almost as beautiful as the front view of him. He had a strong, square jaw and his nose had a tiny bump in it, and I wondered whether he’d broken it at some time. At one point, I had to sit on my hands to stop myself from running them through his hair; it looked so damn sexy in an ‘I’ve just had amazing sex’ kind of way. Shit, only an hour in this man’s company and I was a goner – how could I feel like this when, at this very moment, I should be settling into married life with my new husband? Evidently, the lack of sex over the last year and a half was taking its toll.
Finally, we drove under a wooden arch made from thick timber posts. On both sides of the arch was a white stone wall and hanging above was a huge sign, crafted from wrought iron that said, ‘Connor Ranch’.
Although the driveway that we were travelling down was brown dust, on either side were thick, lush trees that met above our heads, their leaves dappling the ground
as the sun shone through the branches. It was like a magical tunnel that was leading to a new life for me.
We rounded a bend and the ranch house came into view and I almost danced in my seat. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but the sight before me caused me to gasp. As far as the eye could see was green, flat land. In the distance, beyond a wooded area, was a range of hills and mountains, and that along with the beautiful cloudless, blue skies were the perfect backdrop to the most gorgeous house I’d ever seen.
“Wow,” I whispered.
“We just remodeled, last year,” Jesse muttered.
“It’s stunning.”
The house was huge, with a grey slate roof that sloped down on all sides. The walls were all a lighter grey with the upper floor creating a slight overhang to the ground floor, and all the windows were white, a bright contrast against the grey. Because the ground at the front of the house sloped downwards, there was a set of white, wooden steps up to a columned entry with an arched roof that lead onto a white fenced wraparound porch. Stunning didn’t really cover it.
“Taken two years of hard work, but the old house was in real bad shape,” Jesse explained as he pulled the truck up in front of the house.
This was the most that he’d spoken since we’d been in the truck, so I simply stared at him in shock.
“You okay?” he asked, pushing open his door that screamed with old age.
“Oh yeah, sorry. The house, it’s just so pretty.”
Jesse paused and lowered his head back into the cab and stared at me with a lip curl.
“It’s a house, houses aren’t pretty.”
With that he was gone and before I could even get my door open, he was running up the steps to the house carrying my suitcase. Although I was getting the majority of my stuff shipped over, the case was still bloody heavy as I had packed enough clothes for at least a month, just in case a problem arose with my shipment. I almost groaned with desire. Jesse’s strong arms picked the case up as easily as if it were a shopping bag. Shit, what the hell was happening to me? I was like a bloody bitch in heat.