THE ULTIMATE GIFT
Drew and Allison Dunne journeyed through hell to find one another, but nothing and no one could keep them apart. Theirs was a love destined to be. Now, with the coming holiday season, the house they built together will become a true home.
PRAISE FOR UNDER THE MAYHAW TREE!
Five Stars! “The hero’s and heroine’s journeys are brilliant, and Boyett-Compo paces the action just enough to keep you on the edge of your seat and reading all night to find out what happens next.”
—Manic Readers Reviews
Five Stars! “I'm trying very hard to convey how amazing this book was, and I feel like I'm failing at it horribly. Truly this is a book that needs to be read…”
—Confessions Of A Y.A. & N.A. Book Addict
Five Stars! “Heartrending and Inspirational. Under the Mayhaw Tree, a contemporary romantic suspense, Charlotte Boyett-Compo’s 100th published novel, is another tour de force by an artist who has perfected her craft over the years. I was totally and utterly gripped form start to finish, immersed in this tale containing love, passion and self-sacrifice, but also cruelty, abuse and revenge most foul.”
—A Reader's Review Blog
Five Stars! “I haven’t cheered on two people in a book as hard as I did Drew and Allison. I wanted their happily-ever-after more than they did at times, but they never gave up even when life was balancing on the edge and we were left wondering if finally evil had won. I highly recommend this book and will certainly seek more from this author.”
—Bare Naked Words Reviews
A MAYHAW CHRISTMAS
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.
A MAYHAW CHRISTMAS
Copyright © 2015 Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.
ISBN 978-1-942886-97-6
Ebook formatting by Maureen Cutajar
www.gopublished.com
To Larry Powell
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
About the Author
A MAYHAW CHRISTMAS
Chapter One
In the early morning April light, Drew Dunne sat on the back steps of the two-story redwood log cabin with a coffee mug clutched in both hands. The steam from the rich, black brew wafted in a curling stream above the rim to issue a delicious French vanilla aroma. He watched the peacocks strutting between his property and his cousin’s, the ducks waddling, a lone deer standing at the split-rail fence staring back at him.
He smiled, flexed his shoulders in the fleece-lined denim jacket and took a sip of the scalding coffee.
Unlike the deer, the peacocks and ducks were newcomers to the homestead but the birds had made themselves right at home—along with the three cats and all-legs puppy and the occasional possum that liked to annoy the cats.
Drew had to wait until the small pond had been dug, the sides lined with river rock and the water filling it to the brim before he and Early and a few other intrepid souls—including a veterinarian from Dothan named Trip—had gone to the old place to corral the fowl. After numerous scraped knees, scratched arms and a few nasty pecks, the men had loaded the irate fowl into cages and brought them to their new roost.
Something jumped in the pond and he swung his gaze to the spreading ripple. The pond had been stocked with catfish and brim but it would be a few months before he and Early could put worm to pole on their communal pond. But the jon boat floating gently at the dock had their names on it, and it sat there, its siren call beckoning to him.
The puppy yipped at one of the cats and then yelped as the feline retaliated with a good swipe of its paw.
“Better leave her alone, Scout,” he told the puppy. “That girl has an attitude and she’s not afraid to use it.”
Flicking its tail, chin in the air, the cat padded regally to the raised garden bed then gracefully leapt onto the three-foot-high stacked railroad ties that rimmed the plot. His short legs couldn’t carry him into the jump so the puppy sat down by the creosote-soaked timber and stared at his foil—tail wagging, tongue lolling, whining to play.
Sweeping his attention over the backyard where scuppernong bushes, fig trees, mimosa, and gardenia would be planted come spring, he sighed peacefully. Allison had put flags where the greenery was to go: pink for mimosa, purple for wisteria, white for gardenia. Lilac flags rippled in the light breeze to show where the fig trees would grow along with a few green flags for the scuppernongs. Two bright red flags marked the places where wild hog plum trees would be planted. Orange string for the trumpet vine laced around the split-rail fence on the top rail while yellow string for the banana vine wound its way across the lower. Curling around the uprights was a darker orange string for the honeysuckle.
“Smell-good plants,” he said softly. That was what she called them.
“I want to put in a lot of pampas grass—both white and pale pink—and redtop. Lots and lots of redtop lining the gravel driveway. Along the walkway, I think blood grass instead of the traditional boxwood,” she’d said, and there were flags for those, too. His beautiful wife with the mild case of OCD was leaving nothing to chance.
The gazebo with its copper roof had been finished just the week before, but the four wicker swings that would hang from the rafters around the fire pit in the center of the gazebo floor had yet to come from the mail order place. He turned to look at the sweeping live oak tree where an oversized cedar swing hung from a sturdy branch.
A swing where he had made love to his lady the evening before.
Life was good, Drew thought.
Very, very good.
It hadn’t always been that way for him, he mused. There had been a time when just getting up in the morning was a chore. Taking a breath seemed to be a monumental achievement. Life had been against him for so long that he had almost reached the point where ending it was preferable than enduring another heartbreaking, soul-smothering day.
But that was before Allison had brought her light into his world and shone it into every dark corner. She had not only brightened his life, she had pushed every inch of shadow from it. There was nothing he would not do for the woman he loved and no one he wouldn’t stomp into a greasy patch on the ground if that person gave her so much as a hangnail.
The screen door squealed as it opened but he didn’t look around. He didn’t need to. He simply slid his butt over on the step to allow her to take a seat beside him.
“It’s cold out here, babe,” she complained.
He wanted to chuckle at what she was wearing, but he knew better. Tucking his bottom lip between his teeth to keep from doing so, he stared down a
t her fuzzy pink slippers that peeked out from under the hem of her dark blue chenille bathrobe.
“It’s almost Easter,” he remarked, oddly affected by those adorable little slippers. “We’re having a cold snap.” He removed one hand from the coffee cup, lifted his arm to drape it around her, and pulled her to him.
“I’m ready for July and Early’s watermelons and cantaloupes,” she said and leaned against him. She put the side of her head on his shoulder and he curled his fingers around her waist over the bulky belt of her thick robe.
“And Bea’s homemade peach ice cream,” he said wistfully.
He sat his coffee mug down on the step then reached over to put his hand against her stomach and rub gently. The slight mound was like a magnet drawing his attention there.
“Most of all, I’m ready for October,” he told her, his voice breaking.
She looked up at him. “Me too,” she replied and smiled.
“Just think,” he said. “By Christmas, there will be three of us to sit in the den and watch the tree lights twinkling.”
“He might be a bit young to care,” she reminded him.
“She will be delighted,” he assured her. “She’ll give it a little thumbs-up.”
She laughed and snuggled closer against him.
It amused her that she wanted a boy while he was hoping for a girl. Every man wanted a son to carry on after him, but he wanted a daughter to coddle and spoil just as he did her mother. The sight of frilly little pink dresses and precious pink booties made his heart melt when he caught sight of them at Walmart. He ached to hold her in his arms and sing to her. Even the thought of her spitting up on him as every one of Early’s little towheaded brats had done at one time or another appealed to him.
“I can hear the gears turning in that feeble mind of yours, Highwayman. She’s going to be spoiled rotten,” Allison said on a long sigh. “So spoiled not even salt will cure her.”
He turned his head to give her a light kiss on her forehead. “I don’t recall ever hearing you complain when I spoil you,” he replied.
“Nor will you,” she said then shivered. She pulled away. “I’m going inside before I start sprouting icicles on my nose.”
“Lightweight,” he said with a snort.
She got to her feet then turned to look down at him. She arched a brow. “I’ll make it worth your while if you come inside.”
“How?” he inquired.
She wagged her brows but didn’t answer. With a toss of her long braid, she left him sitting there staring after her. The sway of her shapely hips got his immediate attention as she reached for the screen door handle. She tossed him a smoldering look over her shoulder before she went into the house.
Grinning, he grabbed up his coffee mug and shot to his feet. That look had left nothing to his imagination.
*****
He liked to rub her tummy. Morning, noon and night if she would let him. Bea and Lenore had given her all kinds of information on how she should keep the flesh of her tummy lubricated to cut down on the appearance of stretch marks, including what kind of cream to use, and she’d listened carefully to their advice.
So had he. Tummy lubricating was his job and he took it quite seriously. Any time she was naked—flat on her back—he reached for the cream. Not because he was all that concerned about stretch marks but because it gave him a damned good reason to put his hand on the mound beneath which their child was thriving. It was something he’d never thought he’d experience, and he was making the most of it. He was going to be a daddy and that was—well—that was just wonderful.
“You are incorrigible,” she complained as he swirled his palm over her belly.
“And that’s a bad thing?” he countered, continuing to rub.
He was lying on his side with his head on her shoulder and one leg flung over hers.
“If you keep it up, I’m going to wind up squirting out of the bed like the cream from that tube,” she answered.
“Humor me,” he responded and began drawing intricate patterns around her belly button. “It doesn’t take much to amuse me.”
“Obviously,” she stated with a sniff. “But I have an appointment this morning and I need to get up and slide into my clothes.” Gently, she pushed his hand away and sat up.
He stretched out on his back as he watched her get out of bed. “On a Saturday?”
“Yes,” she replied, heading for the closet.
“With who?”
“With whom?” she corrected.
“Allison…” he said, drawing the word out.
“Some folks are interested in buying his house and I’m going to go show it to them.”
He felt a frown settle into place. She was referring to her first husband’s house and any time he was mentioned, it sent waves of anger through him. The man had been a bastard of the worst kind and had given her nothing but pain and misery and humiliation. Ridding themselves of the last remnants of Clay Bennett’s presence in their lives would be a good thing, but he wasn’t sure her going back into that house was. It would be too great a reminder of all the loathsome things she’d endured at Bennett’s hands. She hadn’t been back to the house since she left it to run away from Bennett, and Drew really didn’t want her to ever step foot inside it again.
“Why don’t you let me show it to them instead?” he asked.
She was standing there naked in the morning light cast from the window, moving hangers along the closet rod as she searched for something to wear.
“I need to do this,” she said without looking around.
“Are you sure?” he asked, sitting up and swinging his legs from the bed. “I think I should be the one to do it.”
“I have to face it sometime or other.”
“Why?”
She shrugged as she drew a dress from the rack and held it against her. “Just do.”
“Then I’m coming too,” he said, reaching for his jeans.
“It’s Nick Hatcher and his new wife,” she said in way of explanation.
“Hatch?” he repeated. He tugged the denim over his ass. “He’s married? I didn’t know that.”
“Eloped a week or so ago,” she replied.
“Huh,” he grunted, tugging the zipper into place. “I guess it’s true.”
“What is?” she asked. She laid the dress she’d chosen across the back of the chair by the window and went to the chest of drawers for underwear.
“That there’s someone for everybody,” he said with a shrug. “Who’d have thunk Hatch could find a woman willing to marry him.” He plucked his t-shirt from the floor where he had tossed it before jumping into bed with her. “It is a woman, isn’t it?”
She laughed. “As far as I know, yes.” She came over to him and turned so he could hook her bra for her.
Instead, he ran his hands around her and under the cups to mold his palms over her breasts. He lowered his lips to the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder and kissed her warmly.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you more,” she replied, wriggling her butt against his crotch.
“Not possible,” he told her then lightly plucked at her nipples before releasing her.
“Drew!” she squealed—wriggling her delightful little ass against his crotch.
Chuckling, he made quick work of her bra closure then swatted her lightly on the ass.
“Brute,” she accused.
“That’s me,” he said. “And I am going with you.”
“Suit yourself,” she replied. “Just don’t insult Nick in front of his new bride.”
“Who, me?” he asked. “I’m a good boy.”
She wagged a finger at him. “He’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Just leave it alone, okay?”
“I got no problem with him. Never did really,” he told her. “His old boss?” He clenched his teeth. “Him, I had a problem with, but that’s over and done with.”
He could have bitten his tongue for bringing tha
t bastard up for she shuddered. He knew the memory of Bobby Daniels’s hands on her, his body covering hers, always sent her to a dark place.
But Bobby was dead. He’d never touch her again.
And she knew who had been responsible for that death.
She paused with her arms threaded through the dress sleeves before pulling the garment over her head. “It’s all good now, isn’t it?” she asked, worry turning her beautiful face a bit pale.
“It’s all good, baby,” he answered and sat down on the bed to pull on his boots.
*****
Sheriff Nick Hatcher sat in his patrol car with his new wife in the passenger seat. He was chewing on a loose cuticle on his thumb and she was filing her long red nails while popping the gum in her mouth.
“I remember hearing about him,” his wife Dee said, referring to Drew Dunne. “Bad-ass motherfucker, huh?”
“There at the end he was,” Hatch said. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna go up against him again, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah, that’s what I heard,” she agreed, nodding her head. “You don’t almost beat a man to death and not have folks walk wide of you.” She glanced at him. “What about his wife? What’s she like?”
“Nice lady,” Hatch replied. “Real nice. Sure didn’t deserve her first husband, that’s a certainty. She was what you might call a catalyst.”
Dee frowned and stopped popping her gum. “A what?”
“A catalyst. Something that sets something else in motion.”
“What did she set in motion?”
“Drew Dunne. She changed him,” Hatch told her. “Made a man of him.”
“A gal can do that,” Dee stated.
Hatch thought about the beautiful woman who had stolen Drew Dunne’s heart. “She sure turned his life around. She’s one of them women who will always stand by her man. You know, like in that song. I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side where Drew is concerned.”
She slipped her nail file into her pocketbook then fluffed her platinum-dyed curls. “I kinda like this house.”
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