Chiseled - A Standalone Romance (A Super Sexy Western Romance)

by Naomi Niles

  “Turned out to be a Chinese restaurant. They had a little apartment upstairs that constantly stunk like soy sauce and rancid grease. We cooked, we cleaned the place and we lived like two mice in an attic. In winter we just about froze to death and in the summer, there wasn’t a breath of air. It was hell, cowboy—hell. We were always on the run from the people at the child welfare offices. They suspected we weren’t living with our mother and tried to grab me at school. Meli is six years older than me, you see. She was old enough to drop out, but not me. She forged papers and moved me from one school to another until I was finally old enough to drop out. After the Chinese restaurant, it was a Jewish delicatessen, and then a whole string of other places. Always the same gig, always the same problems.”

  I felt my stomach turn at what she was telling me. I had no idea from Silver’s behavior that she’d gone through what she did.

  Jill wasn’t done. “Well, finally one day I’d had enough. I told her I was getting out of town, going south to where it was warm. I hitchhiked and walked and finally found myself here, in Dallas. I went back to the same restaurant gig until I could afford this place,” she held out her arms to indicate the apartment. “Meli somehow got herself into a GED program and then City College. She graduated with honors because she’s damned smart. Must have got that from her bastard father. She was with Jeremy and then he dumped her and she came down here with me. You know the rest.”

  “Find her for me, Jill.” It was all I could think to say, and she was the only one who knew her sister’s tendencies well enough to pull it off.

  “Won’t be easy, cowboy. She goes to ground without thinking twice.”

  “I can have her driver’s license tracked,” I realized aloud.

  Jill laughed. “Where did you get the idea she has a driver’s license? She’s smarter than that, cowboy, and anyway, she’s a New Yorker. People in our income bracket don’t own cars in the city. You don’t have a hope in hell of finding her if that’s the way you’re gonna think.”

  I stood up and pointed my finger into Jill’s face. “Find her,” I said evenly and left the stench behind me.

  Chapter 13

  Meli

  I couldn’t seem to stop crying. For a woman who never sheds a tear, that was tantamount to a nervous breakdown.

  I could still feel his hands on my breasts and his mouth feeding off the tender skin behind my ear. He had been gentle and yet assertive; he had been everything I had ever wanted a lover to be. Moreover, I knew I had laid claim to him; as much as a brand. Only, I wouldn’t be the woman in his arms ever again. He deserved so much more than a bastard from the inner city. He was made of good stuff; no matter the drinking or the women, he was still, simply by being born, better than I. I should have recognized this before I agreed to be his publicist. My roots wouldn’t touch him as long as it was all business. But once I lay in his arms, the game had changed. He would be judged by the trash he took to bed every night.

  Deep down in my soul, I knew I was pretending to be someone other than who I was. I thought if I stayed close to him, I could maintain control and maybe, just maybe, my past wouldn’t matter so much. Just maybe I could leave the filth of the city behind me. I was so smart, and yet so naïve.

  I’d walked out to the main road and hitched a ride to the bus stop. I rode for about twenty miles and then changed buses and headed east. I knew he would look for me; he was one of those kinds of men. He’d look, north, though, figuring I’d go back to what I knew best. He was wrong. I had no home. I didn’t belong anywhere, least of all with him. So, I chose east.

  I’d ridden most of the day and finally crawled off in a sleepy little town in northern Louisiana. I knew I would stick out like a sore thumb, but sometimes people would leave you alone just for that reason.

  I did, however, do one thing that came naturally. I headed for the first café I could find and looked for a job that would pay in room and board. I had enough coming in with my blogging to support myself otherwise.

  Maudie’s Café was just the sort of place I was hoping to find. Maudie was a heavyset black woman with a heart of gold and a steady business. She was getting on in years, though, and couldn’t be on her feet all day long. She had a small room overhead with a bath and said she’d pay me all I could eat and $50 a week for pocket money, as she called it. It was perfect and I started the moment I set my bag down.

  I knew how to cook; God knows for all the restaurants that Jill and I had lived over, I’d learned to cook almost every cuisine … except that eaten in the Deep South. Under Maudie’s tutelage, I learned to bread and fry catfish, hush puppies, and to bake peanut butter pie. I mastered the art of buttermilk biscuits and sausage gravy and eventually could flip a pair of eggs in a cast iron skillet by tossing them in mid-air. Maudie would sit on the stool at the counter and talk me through most of the preparation; her feet were swollen and painful to stand upon.

  Maudie stayed on hand to talk to her customers. Her charm was in her personality and she knew everyone by name. Perhaps the best part of Maudie’s charm was that she never asked questions or tried to pry into your personal business when you didn’t offer anything up. She knew I was on the run, so to speak. She didn’t care, saying that I’d been a gift from God just as she was about run out of blessings. That gave us a sort of comradery and we clicked immediately.

  To say I stuck out in town was an understatement. First of all, most of the community was African American and I was a tall, willowy blonde who spoke like someone from a New York diner. I had no family, no man in my life, and very, very little money. Maudie knew I wrote blogs and while she wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, she knew when it was a time when I needed to concentrate and she let me alone.

  I had a twin-sized bed and one of Maudie’s quilts to cover up with at night. I hung what clothes I owned on hooks along one wall and alternated between two bath towels. I’d bought a small fan for the window and other than that, had nothing. There was no ranch guest room, no Escalade, and most of all, no Blake. To say I was miserable was an understatement, but then I was used to misery and welcomed it like a black-sheep family member who was worthlessly predictable.

  I had switched cell phones so no one could find me. I figured that eventually Blake would think to go over to Jill’s and ask her help in finding me. He might even bribe her; in fact he probably had to bribe her since money was the only thing that routinely worked to make her give me up. That, and drugs.

  To be on the safe side, however, I gave Maudie Jill’s phone number and address and asked that if anything ever happened to me, that she contact her. Maudie didn’t ask any questions and knew better than to send out any inquiries at the moment or that her star employee would walk. She needed me as much as I needed her.

  Summer was fully underway and the heat in my little apartment and hanging over the grill was hell itself. I could barely breathe and my stomach was constantly in turmoil. I felt horrible and twice had to run for the bathroom in the middle of making someone’s lunch. Maudie watched me and finally confronted me.

  “You’s gonna have a babe,” she said simply.

  I whirled around. “What?” I shrieked in a horrified voice.

  “I seen it afore and I knows what I lookin’ at. Girl, don’ you know nothin?” Her eyes were knowing and she was wagging her head, clicking her tongue in a manner that made me feel ridiculously naïve. How could I be so stupid?

  I felt like such a fool. My cycles had always been irregular, a byproduct of anxiety and too many missed meals. Once Jeremy and I split, there wasn’t any reason to stay on the pill. Not until that one night in Dallas. A home pregnancy test that night confirmed Maudie’s statement.

  “You going to fire me?” I asked her the next morning, confessing the truth about the test.

  “Why would I do a fool thing like that?” Maudie was wise and had seen many things over the years. An unwed mother ranked pretty low on her scale of life’s tragedies.

  I shrugged.

  “I t
akes it you don’ want the daddy to know?”

  I shook my head vociferously. “No!”

  She didn’t ask the details and I didn’t offer. “Don’ you worry none. I raised my share of babes and we’ll raise this one, too. At least as long as I’m ‘round to help ya.”

  “I can’t ask that of you, Maudie,” I told her, ashamed at the predicament I’d gotten into. I was having flashbacks of my mother and realized I wasn’t any better than she was.

  “Don’t wanna hear that, now. Not like you come in here ‘spectin’ the help – you didn’ know. Anyhow, I got myself in a fix coupla times and we all help on ‘nother.”

  I hugged Maudie and she patted my arm. “Now get in there and cook!” she shooed me away.

  * * *

  Thus began my new norm. By day, I was a cook and a growing part of the community. My appearance had been enough to warrant attention and once the word got around that I was with child, I somehow qualified to become their darling. It was the general assumption that the father of my child was “no account,” as was the local expression, and if it meant keeping my privacy, I was content to let that viewpoint exist.

  By night I was a freelance blogger and I began to seek more and more positions so I could augment my income. I had to pay for this baby, and then there was the question of insurance. I wasn’t exactly sure how I was going to handle it all, but I knew I could do it. I was grateful I’d chosen to get off the bus where I did. It could have all been so much worse.

  I was on the Internet constantly, and it was my primary source of contact with the world. Rural Louisiana was quiet and disconnected from the rest of the world, so I wasn’t subjected to CNN or the sports channels. I had no idea what was going on in Blake’s world.

  A storm came in one evening and I’d always loved violent weather. I huddled over my computer, composing a post about haircare products when his gray eyes and dark black hair invaded my mind and eyes. I wanted so badly to look him up, but wouldn’t allow myself to do it. I knew I was weak and in this time of trouble, I knew I could reach out to him and he’d rescue me. I knew this without a doubt. It was that very reason I had to keep my distance. I would ruin his name, his career, and everything he stood for if I came in dragging a bastard’s reputation with another one in my arms. My pride had a price, after all.

  As I grew in girth, there was general speculation about how I would get along. The ladies from the Baptist Church held an impromptu shower for me and I suddenly had a baby’s wardrobe. Women began dropping off care packages for me: a few articles of clothing with elastic waists, an old crib that had been repainted, a bag of used, but sparkling clean diapers, their patches neatly fixed. It was probably the greatest sense of family I’d ever known in my life. I would never forget the people in this community and their help.

  It was a rainy day in late May. Maudie had taught me to bake cinnamon rolls and the smell was escaping out of the café’s fan and customers were piling in, tapping off their umbrellas and settling in for fresh rolls and large cups of Maudie’s chicory coffee. My back had begun to ache just after noon and by two o’clock, I had a pretty fair idea of what was happening. Nothing escaped Maudie’s eyes and she went into action. Customers were shooed out of the restaurant and the closed sign turned to face the public. Maudie had put in a call to the local midwife show showed up promptly. Between the two of them, they got me upstairs and the intense labor began.

  Maudie had a rocker brought upstairs and she sat there and held my hand, wiping my forehead from time to time as she regaled me with stories of her childhood. This was oddly comforting, but in my heart, I just wanted Blake to be there. At that moment, I’d have even settled for Jill.

  The emotions I was feeling were completely out of character for me. I was fearful—of the pain, of the uncertainty of the future and of travelling the same path my mother had chosen. I was angry—for having gotten myself into this position and of not being able to provide the child with a more solid beginning to his or her life. Lastly and finally, I was jubilant—for I finally held my baby son in my arms. I named him Kirk David Christian and as the midwife handed him to me, I felt an immense joy and pride and at that moment, no longer lived for myself.

  Kirk was a very good baby, as babies went. He slept in a tiny bassinette someone had given me, next to my bed. I awakened every few hours when his tiny hands balled up and he cried from hunger. He became quite the rage with the customers as I took him downstairs with me and his carrier sat in a protected booth at the back of the restaurant. Diners would tiptoe over and peek at him, remark at his gray eyes and black hair, and then leave me a twenty as a tip. If there ever was proof of the expression, “It takes a village,” then Kirk was proof of having been raised by so many aunts and uncles he would never be alone in his life.

  I continued to write blogs at night, rocking his bassinette and eventually holding him on my lap as I one-hand typed. He grew quickly, his rotund body lengthening into long, lean legs that wanted to stand so he could explore the world.

  It was late November, Thanksgiving to be exact. We’d been invited to many homes to take part in holiday dinners, but I wanted to build the feeling that Kirk and I were a family unto ourselves. I’d taken him downstairs and put together a plate of turkey and mashed potatoes that were left over from what we’d been serving all week. I spoon-fed bits of potato and he cooed and clapped, wanting more.

  He needed a nap afterwards and I decided to spend the quiet time writing some blogs ahead for the times when I was busy and tired and not up to it. I was in a mellow, almost sad mood as the sounds of families coming and going could be heard around me. I felt I was finally up to it. I looked up Blake’s name.

  I was not prepared for what I found.

  Chapter 14

  Blake

  It was Thanksgiving, at least I was pretty sure of it just because there was nothing but football on the television. The television had become my life ever since I’d broken both legs.

  When Silver left, I pretty much lost it. I felt deflated and listless and the only way I could lessen the sense of loss was to drink. And I did plenty of it. My morning juice was half vodka, lunch was two martinis, and dinner was the beginning of the night shift of the really intense consumption of whiskey, rum, and tequila. I looked forward to the nights, full of oblivion and absent of regrets. When these ended I fell into mindless sleep and hated to wake up and start over the next morning.

  I never climbed aboard Cain again; the owners wouldn’t permit it after I’d fallen into this hole. Word spread that I was washed up; some said I’d found fear and others decided I’d never been much more than a fluke. I let them say it, and get away with it. Who knows … maybe they were right. Maybe I was never as good as everyone let me believe I was.

  She was the only one who believed in me. She had gotten down to the roots of my soul and hadn’t flinched. She believed I could be the best in the world and was willing to stake her reputation and her efforts on it. No one had ever believed in me like that before. I didn’t take that lightly.

  Jill hadn’t been able to find her. I went over there every week and although she’s hinting at wanting more money, I was not going to give her anything until I got something in return. She was liable to send me on a goose chase and that would only make things worse.

  Jason came to the ranch and dragged me out to an event while I was still hung over. I sneaked a few gulps of whiskey to take the edge off and when I climbed onto the bull, he knew I wasn’t in control. The gate opened and the bull not only threw me off, but doubled back to stomp on me, particularly my legs. They couldn’t pull him off me.

  I ended up in the back of an ambulance and while my body was broken into pieces, it was my soul that was really damaged. I no longer had any will to succeed, to compete, and often questioned whether I even wanted to live. I had completely given up.

  Silver had represented so much more than just a woman in my bed. She believed in the part of me that was most vulnerable; most susceptible to
public judgement. She championed me and the simple smile she had bestowed on me meant more than all the trophies and money I had earned to date.

  So, there I was, stuck in bed and with a helluva lot of physical therapy in my future, and it wasn’t going to be the kind of physical connection I wanted. I was a shadow of my former self.

  I had a private nurse to look after me and she confided in the doctor that I was fighting recovery with depression. She did her best to improve my mood and they brought in a therapist to analyze my childhood. It wasn’t my childhood that needed analyzing; all I needed was one woman.

  Then came the day that changed everything. The nightstands were piled with get-well cards and flowers, but it was dots on a computer screen that got my attention. I was balancing the laptop on my quasi-lap, playing a game when an email came in.

  I had to leave, and I have to stay away. You, on the other hand, have to pull it together. You not only owe it to yourself to take your own bull by the horns, but you owe it to me. Someday I might explain, but you’ll never know unless you’re standing on your own two feet. ~Silver

  It was a cryptic message, but she was alive and well and out there somewhere. I felt a pain in my chest as strong as that first morning she left. One thing remained clear, though: she still believed in me.

  My life changed at that point. The next morning, when the nurse came, I was awake and had pulled myself upright with the overhead bar. “Bring my breakfast, please and then get that physical therapist in here. I’ve got things to get accomplished and they won’t get done with me in here.”