Preston's Honor

by Mia Sheridan

  Preston’s Honor

  A Sign of Love Novel

  Mia Sheridan

  Preston’s Honor

  A Sign of Love Novel

  Copyright © 2017 by Mia Sheridan.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Permission by the author must be granted before any part of this book can be used for advertising purposes. This includes the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to John whose honor always came from the heart.

  Gemini

  Castor and Pollux were the twin sons of Zeus and Leda.Though Castor was mortal and Pollux was not, the brothers were very close and did everything together. Unfortunately, during a battle, Castor was killed and Pollux, heartbroken, prayed to Zeus to take his life as well. Zeus, touched by the brotherly love, put their images in the sky as the constellation Gemini. They stand out as two bright lights, together for eternity among the stars.

  PROLOGUE

  Annalia

  I gripped the steering wheel tightly as I drove through Linmoor, a small farming town nestled in California’s Central Valley, and the place I still called home, even though I hadn’t lived here for almost six months.

  Main Street was busy on a warm, springtime Friday night—couples walking hand in hand, laughing, some pushing strollers, and others calling to children who’d run too far ahead. Claymoor Jewelry on the right, Reid’s Variety Store on the left. It all looked so similar . . . and so . . . different. Linmoor—the town where I’d been born and raised, the town where a piece of my heart still resided. My chest squeezed, and I drew in a quick breath at the sudden wave of fear and anxiety that overcame me. But I did my best to contain it. I had made it this far. I could go a little farther.

  A few minutes later, I parked my car in front of the small diner at the end of the street and turned off the ignition, taking several long breaths meant to calm my nerves before stepping out into the mild evening air. It smelled like dust and asphalt and the grease wafting from the building in front of me.

  I walked purposefully to the door and pulled it open, my eyes doing a quick sweep of the restaurant and landing on Preston sitting at a table near the back. My blood seemed to thrum faster through my veins at the sight of his broad shoulders and golden-brown hair, and my hands suddenly felt cold and clammy. But I lifted my chin and walked straight toward him. I could do this. I had to do this.

  I knew the minute he spotted me, not only by the raising of his head, but by the jolt of electricity that speared through my body. Apparently, neither time, nor distance, nor a whole boatload of baggage managed to do away with that. Damn. Damn. Damn. I couldn’t control the slight tremor that moved through me, causing a small misstep. I glanced at the floor, pretending something in my path had caused me to falter, though the tile was clean and dry and free of any debris.

  The din of voices seemed to quiet as I moved through the space, heads turning, as nervous apprehension descended on the room. Or maybe I was only feeling my own jumpy emotions and assigning them to the customers at large. I’d never been comfortable in crowds and that was doubly true now. I heard my name said softly in a disbelieving tone and did my best to shut the whispers out. A few more steps and I was standing in front of him.

  He sat back slowly, reclining one arm over the back of the booth, his eyes moving slowly down my body and back up to meet my eyes. His posture was negligent, his expression neatly blank, but I noticed the intensity simmering behind his blue, blue eyes. I’d never been very good at reading what went on behind Preston’s cool gaze, and I was too overwrought to attempt to do it now.

  “Hi, Preston.”

  “Lia.”

  We stared at each other for what felt like far too long, two people in an emotional standoff. If he was shocked to see me, he didn’t show it. “I went to the house. Your mother said I’d find you here.”

  If it was possible, he seemed to still even further. His gaze lingered on me for several more beats before he let out a small exhale. “I don’t imagine she was overly thrilled to see you.”

  His frosty disdain chilled me, and I wrapped my arms around my middle as if I might warm myself that way. No, his mother had never liked me. I shifted on my feet, feeling the first tremor of the grief I’d thought I had a handle on at the reference to the past, of Camille Sawyer’s feelings for me, of everything we had gained, and all we had lost. Everything that had happened to bring us to this awful moment. I couldn’t feel sad right now. I could handle the twist of yearning that made my tummy clench at the mere sight of Preston—I’d lived with that feeling most of my life. But not grief. Please, not that.

  “No. You know she wasn’t.” What about you, Preston? Are you going to ask where I’ve been? Does it matter to you or do you hate me so much you don’t care at all?

  My eyes ran over Preston’s face, his strong jaw and chiseled cheekbones, the sensuous lips, and those serious blue eyes. There’d been two faces like that once . . . and I’d loved them both, though in different ways. But Preston had always been the one. It had always been him. Don’t let your mind go there, Lia. Don’t. Get to the point.

  “I . . . I want to see him.”

  His eyes flashed and his nostrils flared slightly but he didn’t say anything. He removed his arm from where it had rested on the booth and moved the salt and pepper around idly. “No.”

  I took a shaky step closer to the booth, placing my hands on the table and leaning toward him. “I have a right to see my—”

  “The hell you do,” he gritted out, meeting my gaze, the emotion I’d seen behind his eyes revealing itself as cold anger. “You gave up any rights the day you drove out of town without so much as a see you later.”

  I removed my hands from the table and pulled myself straight again, biting my lip and glancing around. At least twenty pairs of eyes were focused solely on us. I looked back at Preston, my stomach clenching with grief and shame. I knew what they thought of me, had always thought of me. And I supposed I’d proven them all right. “Please, Preston. I . . . I wanted to talk to you first. To see what the best time would be, one that wouldn’t disrupt his schedule . . .”

  “Big of you to consult me at all.”

  I took a deep breath. “You’re his father.” The way he was looking at me. Oh God, I’d known to expect it. Even knew I deserved it. So why was it causing my heart to crumble with such anguish?

  I heard a whispered voice somewhere behind me, picked up a partial statement, “. . . just left her own baby. What kind of mother does that?”

  My own bitterness and resentment, even the nerves, drained from my body, leaving me feeling tired and hopeless
. I needed that bitterness, needed that resentment. Despite my own shame, I tried to reclaim it but couldn’t manage to. I felt my shoulders droop under the weight of the emotional defeat. “Please, Preston. I know we have a lot to talk about. But I just want to see him. Please. He’s my son, too,” I added quietly.

  His eyes moved down to the salt shaker again, and his jaw tightened. I waited him out, not moving, not saying a word. When he glanced up, it was to look around the diner as I’d done a few moments before. Doing so seemed to drain him slightly, too. His eyes met mine. “You can come out on Sunday morning. Nine o’clock.”

  My heart leapt with relief and happiness, and a bit of surprise. I hadn’t expected him to say yes. I’d expected to have to beg a lot more than I had. “Thank you.” Thinking it best that I leave before he changed his mind, I nodded once and then pivoted, walking quickly back toward the front door.

  Preston didn’t try to stop me.

  A breeze had stirred up and it hit me in the face when I stepped outside. I sucked in big gulps of it as I made my way the short distance to my car. As I was pulling out of the spot, I glanced in the window and saw Preston standing at the front register paying his bill. He glanced back once and our eyes met through the two panes of glass, and even across the distance, I could still feel that familiar jolt. And just like that, I was home again. I only wondered how much pain I’d endure this time.

  **********

  Preston

  I sat in my truck, still parked on the side of the diner, my head leaning back on the seat, my shaking hands gripping the wheel. Ah, fuck. Fuck. My heart still beat harshly in my chest with the adrenaline surge that was only now beginning to lessen.

  Lia. She was back and had waltzed right into Benny’s Diner as if she’d never left. Walked right up to me and demanded to see our son as if she’d stepped away for the weekend, not been gone without a trace for almost six months. Goddamn it. I hadn’t been prepared. A humorless chuckle made its way up my throat and ended in a miserable groan. When had I ever been prepared for Lia? She was still the girl who knocked me on my ass without even trying. And that knowledge left a bitter taste in my mouth, because she’d left and I’d spent six agonizing months trying to figure out where she was, if she was even alive.

  I’d finally, finally begun to accept that she didn’t want to be found and as quickly as that, she was back. I swore under my breath. I couldn’t handle this now—I was a grown man with a business to run and a little boy to take care of. Our little boy.

  I . . . I’m pregnant. I know you’re probably not very happy about that.

  The words skated through my mind, the memory of the way her voice had shook when she’d said them hitting me hard, low down in my gut. I hadn’t known how to respond—how to answer her—because the truth was it had both thrilled me and broken my heart.

  I smoothed my sweaty palms over my jean-clad thighs and let out a long exhale. Was she here to stay? Should I even consider trusting her again? Could I? How could I trust that she wasn’t going to be here one day and gone the next? My throat tightened. I couldn’t go through that again. I couldn’t. I’d let her see Hudson, and then I’d make some demands of my own—namely boundaries—so he wouldn’t get attached to her in case she ran off again.

  Pain and resentment filled my chest at the memory of discovering she’d left. No note. No explanation. Just . . . gone. I wasn’t blameless. I’d hurt her, as well. But I hadn’t left. I’d stayed, and if she had, too, we could have . . . “Ah fuck,” I muttered, starting up my truck, refusing to go down that road yet again. Refusing to torture myself.

  As I headed home, though, my mind kept returning to her, to how she’d looked, to the way I could smell her, even from where she’d stood across the table from me. I’d picked up that light sweetness that was Lia and despite my shock, despite my anger and disbelief that she was there, I’d begun to harden. Thank God the table hid that. My resentment had increased with the proof that I still wanted her so damn badly even after everything. God, I was a fool.

  She had looked mostly the same—despite her slightly longer hair and being thinner than when she’d left. But her face was still as breathtakingly beautiful. As if that would change. Lia had the type of beauty that would last until she was ninety. It was as if God had decided to make her lovely and gotten a bit carried away. I’d always felt slightly stunned every time I looked at her, as if I’d never fully get used to her effect on me. Nothing had changed—unfortunately for me.

  Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back in a waterfall of silken curls, curls I knew the feel of in my grip as I pushed into her tight body.

  Stop it, Preston; change direction.

  Almond-shaped eyes, slightly slanted and framed by delicate, arched brows and lush lashes. Eyes in a color I’d never seen on anyone before—pale green from a few steps away, but up close, rings of dark blue, light blue, green, and gold. I knew every fleck, every striation in those eyes. I’d marveled at them in the sunlight and the dimness of a starlit night. And they were even more stunning highlighted by the warmth of her bronzed skin.

  Full lips with a little beauty mark right at the corner. I remembered fantasizing about licking it when I’d been nothing but a boy. I’d thought about those lips and that small sexy beauty mark as I’d stroked myself in the darkness of my bedroom. I couldn’t help the tiny shiver that moved through me now, though it brought anger on its heels. I wouldn’t allow myself to fantasize about Annalia ever again.

  With difficulty, I tore my mind away from the details of her face. I’d only let myself dwell on it for a moment, because it had been so long since I’d seen it. Part of me still had trouble believing she was back—as if I’d fallen asleep for a moment and dreamt her. I allowed myself to go over the details of her face because I needed to deal with reality. I needed to deal with her. And I needed to come to terms with the fact that Lia had always been my weak spot, and apparently, even after her betrayal, that hadn’t changed.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Annalia – Eleven Years Old

  Oh God, it was orange. Bright, brilliant orange. No, no, no. Oh no. I stared at my pumpkin-colored hair in the mirror, the look of stunned horror on my face adding to the effect and making me look twice as ridiculous. Mama was going to kill me. Or worse, she would also give me that look reminding me what a terrible burden I was. My shoulders drooped and I blinked back tears. I’d only wanted to color my hair blonde like Alicia Bardua’s. I pictured the straight, pale cornsilk of her hair and then looked back at the orange Brillo Pad that was now mine, a miserable groan coming up my throat.

  A quick glance at the clock set my heart racing. Mama was going to be home soon, and I couldn’t let her see my hair, couldn’t bear to see the ugly look that she greeted me with when she walked in the door. I should be used to it, I guessed, but somehow I wasn’t. It always hurt so much. And I couldn’t take it today. I couldn’t take watching my mama kneel in front of the shrine to Our Lady of Guadalupe (La Virgen de Guadalupe—the patron saint of Mexico) and pray that the lady saint ask God to banish the devil from my mama’s life. Me. Not today.

  The box where I stored my clothes sat next to my air mattress, and I rummaged through the cardboard container—which had once held Big Island Pineapple, Premium Quality—and pulled out a bandana. I tied it over my hair and tucked all the loose strands inside to the best of my ability before stepping outside into the bright sunshine.

  Once I was out of sight of my small house, I meandered slowly, stopping to pick up a ladybug on a tall blade of grass and watching as she crawled along my knuckle for a minute before she flew away. I wove a flower stem into a ring, and kicked a rock in front of me, following its winding path for a bit.

  I ended up at the tree-lined fence of the Sawyer property as I usually did and stood looking over it, a feeling of wistful happiness spreading through me. I soaked in the vision of the sprawling farmhouse, the acres and acres of farmland—neat, green rows of strawberries, lettuce, melons, asparagus, broccoli
, cabbage, carrots, tomatoes, and peppers—the vast mountains in the distance creating a picturesque backdrop. To live in a place like this! What it must be like! Everything was big and beautiful here, from the trees to the house to the land. I gazed upward, squinting against the sun. Even the sky seemed bigger here. And when evening came, if I was still lying beneath the oak tree next to where I stood, the moon and all the stars would seem larger somehow, too.

  I pictured the inside of my own one-room shack—the air mattresses with several patches to cover the holes lying against opposite walls, the small table with two chairs, the dingy paint, the stained, threadbare carpet, and the old, mismatched appliances that lined the far wall to form a makeshift kitchen. Our bathroom was nothing more than a toilet, a small, rickety, plastic shower, and a utility sink hidden behind a sheet we’d strung up from the ceiling.

  Our house had actually been a storage shed on the farm that had butted up against the Sawyers’. But the family had sold that land in sections to form smaller farms, and the new family that moved into the farmhouse rented the outbuildings on the property to farmworkers.

  I rested my chin on my arms that were crossed on the fence and gazed at the stunning vastness before me. I thought about Preston and Cole Sawyer, the twin brothers who lived here, and couldn’t help smiling. If anyone should live in a place like Sawyer Farm, it was them.

  To me they were bigger than life, too. Cole who was always laughing, always making some big joke, and Preston . . . Preston with his serious eyes and the way he’d tilt his head and look right at me when I was talking, the way his rare smile filled up my whole heart. A strange sort of shiver ran down my spine at the vision of Preston Sawyer’s smile, and I stood straight, shifting on my feet before going to sit on the ground under the lacy leaves of the massive oak.