Come Hell or High Desire

by Misty Dietz

  Come Hell or High Desire

  Misty Dietz

  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.

  Copyright © 2013 by Misty Dietz. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Edited by Keyren Gerlach

  Cover design by Fiona Jayde

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-62266-197-8

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition August 2013

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Corolla, The Northern, Chumley’s, Boy Scouts, Jockeys, Nymph and Satyr Carousing, Kleenex, Salad Shooter, Swarovski, Bentley, Saran Wrap, Tiffany, McDonalds, Mountain Dew, Rossebuurt, Twilight Zone, Bradley butterfly knife, Arby’s, Red Hawks, CSI, Modern Family, Camaro, El Camino, Hummer, Pontiac Grand Am, Tupperware, Toscana’s, Drop Tower, Flying Condor, Screamin’ Swing, Scorpion, Glock, UZI.

  For Mae, an extraordinary grandmother. I treasure you.

  And in memory of my other three remarkable grandparents.

  I miss you.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  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

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  FARGO, NORTH DAKOTA

  SUNDAY

  A slip of paper fluttered against his back door. Even from afar, Zack Goldman noticed it immediately. He squinted through the trees and climbed the river embankment for a closer look. Who’d be way out here this early? It hadn’t been there when he’d left a half hour ago to let the hounds burn off a little ADD.

  The dogs panted quietly at his side now, tired and grungy from a few dozen water retrievals, their sawing notes a rhythmic accompaniment to the hollow drill of a woodpecker beating its brains out. His footsteps quickened on the gravel path that detoured around the crude fire pit, his eyes never leaving the piece of paper. He patted his jeans pocket, but his phone was still on him, so he hadn’t missed a call.

  The paper billowed once more in a mute breeze before he ripped it off the recently re-stained oak door.

  WHERE IS SHE?

  He frowned, not recognizing the writing. Where is who? He didn’t have a lot of women in his life. Certainly no one romantically. There were only three women he associated with, and though they didn’t share his blood, they were like the younger sisters he never had. Ann, Morgan—

  Twyla.

  He strode into the bungalow, the dogs barreling in before the screen door slammed on their backsides. Zack dialed Twyla’s home number and her husband, Archie, picked up on the third ring.

  “My one day to sleep in, and you gotta call to tell me about the nice fishy you just bagged? This better be important, Goldman. My days for sleeping in are numbered with the baby coming, you know.”

  Zack sank onto the leather sofa and leaned his head against the wall. The dogs collapsed on his feet like Sasquatch slippers. He rubbed his chest, exhaling as silently as possible. “Sorry, man. Thought I was calling Ross. Catch ya later.”

  He disconnected before his friend could respond. Archie and Twyla had enough to worry about.

  So who’d left the note? It had to be a mistake. Someone had probably been lost, then found his hideaway and thought they had the right place.

  That would be a good hypothesis if he had any neighbors within a five mile radius. But since he didn’t…

  Whatever. He had other things to do besides worry about a cryptic note. He leaned forward to give the dogs one last rub, grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter, and walked to where his truck sat under the shelter of a towering cottonwood. He needed to pick up a few things in town: milk, bread, dog food…and the broken pieces of his promise to John Samuel, his once-in-a-lifetime, charismatic mentor. A plain-speaking hulk of a man. The only person he’d ever strived to emulate.

  Buried for almost a year now.

  A discordant splash punctuated the chatter of the morning birdsong. Zack paused beside his truck and faced the river, inhaling the damp odor of vegetation. Here on these banks, John had shown him how to quiet his mind. Gather stillness like a shroud, he’d said.

  Wasn’t working for shit today.

  Zack dialed John’s twenty-year-old daughter, Ann, scanning the woods while her voicemail suggested he leave a message. A monarch butterfly landed on his arm, and he remembered reading they could migrate more than twenty-five hundred miles.

  Clearly appearances were often a poor representation of strength.

  “Aw, ain’t that sweet? You’re such a nature boy, Zack.”

  He disconnected and swung around to see Morgan Sawyer sashaying down the rutted gravel road like she’d driven up in a limo instead of a Corolla sporting a spare tire. She’d earned a PhD in urban wiles and tomfoolery when they were cubs on the streets. No wonder he’d felt like he was being watched. He’d bet his acreage she’d left the note.

  “You of all people should know seeing isn’t always believing,” he said.

  Her head tipped back on a bark of laughter. “Touché.”

  He ruffled her short, bleached blond hair and her baby blues twinkled. No doubt, she’d punked him good this time. Warmth bloomed in his chest. Maybe this was John’s way of telling him everything was going to be okay.

  Or maybe you’re just turning into a sentimental dipshit.

  He jammed his hands into his front pockets. “Haven’t seen you for a couple weeks. How’d you manage to crawl out of bed before eleven o’clock?”

  “Haven’t gone to bed yet.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You come all the way out here to spy on me, or are you finally going to ask me for a job?”

  “You’re too boring to spy on nowadays. I’d love to see you roll somebody over the pool table at Chumley’s again.”

  “Those days are long gone, Morgan.”

  “Never say never.”

  His smile slipped. “You had me going for a while. How’d you manage to write so properly, or did you have someone else do it?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The note. Didn’t you…” But based on her frown, obviously not. A c
old sensation rippled across his shoulders.

  “What note? I just got here.”

  “Nothing. I was thinking about something else.” His mind raced. Twyla and Morgan were accounted for, but still no Ann. Who’d left the note? Why hadn’t Ann answered her phone? And why was Morgan really out here so damn early?

  And then he knew. “You’re dancing at the Northern again.”

  She held up a hand. “Let’s agree to disagree, all right? It’s not like those poor bastards are getting what really matters. You’re the one who always lectured me about that. ‘It’s what’s inside that counts, Morgan,’ yada, yada.”

  “You gotta want more out of life than a job that provides free drinks and coupons to the adult bookstore, don’t you?”

  “At least I’m not turning tricks anymore. Look, we’ve been over this a hundred times. Jeez. You’ve changed enough that you fit into the buttoned-up world. Drop it, okay? You’re getting me off track once again.”

  Zack watched her kick rocks and wondered how John would’ve responded. “The past doesn’t have to decide who you are today,” he said.

  Longing shimmered in her eyes before she blinked it away. “Old Johnny sure sunk his optimistic cleats in you, didn’t he?”

  Why didn’t it work on you? he wanted to ask, but said nothing. He’d brought Morgan to Sunday suppers with John, but not often enough. A mistake he’d never be able to fix. “Okay, so what’s going on?”

  “What do you mean? Can’t I come visit?”

  “At six-thirty on a Sunday morning?”

  “I was getting to that.” She looked at the ground for a moment before meeting his eyes. “Guys don’t appreciate foreplay of any sort, do they? Fine. I want to have a shindig for Ann here at your place. When she’s ready to share the news, of course. We’ll have a bonfire, drinks, and cookies in the shape of baby bottles. Isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever heard? They make them at the deli on Thirty-Second.”

  He’d derailed about a mile back. “Baby bottles?”

  Her raised eyebrow indicated he was a member of the forty watt club, but he still couldn’t wrap his mind around baby bottle cookies. “Why would you—”

  No.

  Morgan cringed. “Ah, man. How can you not know?”

  “What are you talking about? Ann’s as pregnant as I am.”

  “Well, in that case, we’ll get more cookies.”

  Her grin fueled his alarm. He drummed his fingers on top of his head, but that didn’t help, so he cussed. A lot.

  “Sorry, big guy. Guess she knew you’d react this way so she was obviously waiting to tell you. She’ll probably thank me for breaking it to you, now that I think about it. But yeah, she got knocked up.”

  Morgan’s voice faded into the background while questions ran circles in his mind. Who? When? He was ready to throttle Ann for not telling him right away. But first, maybe he’d better throw himself under a bus. Not fifteen minutes ago he was wondering if she had a boyfriend so he could do a background check on the guy, and now he finds out she’s having a baby?

  She’s just a kid herself.

  No way. “All right, joke’s on me. Give it up, Morgan.”

  Her dimples deepened. “Better get your mad out before you see her.”

  “I’m not mad.” Really, he wasn’t. Just shocked. And guilty. John had made him promise to look out for Ann when he was dust because she had no one else.

  Zack’s heart battered his ribcage. That bug-under-his-skin feeling was back. John’s grandchild. Oh, yeah, he was going to find out who the father was. The guy had better step up to the plate for Ann. If not, well, old habits die hard, regardless of what he’d wanted Morgan to believe.

  “How is it she told you before me?”

  Morgan’s face went blank for a second. “She didn’t exactly tell me. I kinda guessed with her feeling sick so much lately.”

  Oh, that. He’d chalked it up to the stress of her recent move and the coming anniversary of John’s death. But then, he hadn’t asked, had he?

  What were they going to do with a baby? He was acting like a stereotypical idiot bachelor, but damn. What if the sperm donor wasn’t there for her? He couldn’t let her kid grow up without a father figure. John hadn’t come into his life until he was an adult and look how messed up his adolescence had been.

  He checked the time on his phone. Six-forty-one. He tried Ann’s numbers again, leaving messages when voicemail picked up. Then he slipped the phone into his pocket. “Who is it?”

  Morgan had been squinting across the river. Her gaze scooted back to him. “Who?”

  “The boogey man. Who else, Morgan? The father.”

  She shrugged. “No idea. Sure is a secretive little bug, huh?”

  He frowned at her smirk and his gut cartwheeled again. “I’ll get back to you on that party thing, okay?”

  “No sweat, big guy.”

  He heard her laugh as he jogged to his truck, swearing all the way.

  Chapter Two

  Zack had his blood pressure under control by the time he pulled up to the service entrance of Skinny Dipping, a frou frou home furnishings boutique where Ann had recently scored the part-time job of her dreams. Or so she’d claimed. He hadn’t been here yet, but he’d been curious about it, not only because Ann talked it up like it was God’s gift to women, but also because a moniker like that conjured good mojo.

  He cut the engine and stepped into the spill of sunshine, industrial sounds from the front of the mall reassuring him that his construction crew was still on the job. On a Sunday. Early. Hopefully wrapping things up because the amusement park addition was scheduled to open in two days. Two more days of burning the candle on both ends, and he’d give them all fat bonuses.

  Skinny Dipping’s plain steel door looked no different from any of the others along the back of the mall, except this one was propped open. He knocked and peered inside. Finding no one, he zigzagged through stacks of boxes toward a door that presumably led to the showroom.

  While the back room blazed with ugly fluorescent lighting, the store itself was like the backdrop for a chick flick, glowing with strategically placed lamps, wall lanterns, and lights that dripped crystals.

  Getting no response to repeated calls, he continued deeper into the store. Silly, sparkling things—paperweights?—sat on fat wood candlesticks any self-respecting Boy Scout could carve. Chunky necklaces draped over stilettos designed to give men fits flirted near fuzzy blankets that wouldn’t keep anyone warm. More crystal things, tiny pots that reeked, painted and beat-up furniture, candles, all kinds of smelly stuff, and a ridiculous assortment of gaudy accessories provided a sensory smorgasbord which made him, honest to God, lightheaded.

  The place is an epic fire hazard.

  Ann’s motive for working here had to be educational since she didn’t need the money. She wanted to enroll in NDSU’s interior design program but was conflicted about walking away from her father’s business. Zack had told her she could do both, but so far she hadn’t made any moves.

  Though with a baby coming, who knew when that would happen—or if.

  He frowned, reaching for a flimsy blue scarf on impulse. He ran his fingers down the sheer length, turned a corner, and almost collided with a pair of legs on a ladder.

  His eyes traveled from the three-inch heeled sandals with ribbons that wound up delicate ankles, inch by satiny inch, until—Jesus—what had to be almost three and a half feet later his eyes feasted on an ass in white denim that actually made his business twitch in his Jockeys.

  “Hey there, be with you in a sec.” Her voice was like caramel. The kind you suck on. And her scent, warm vanilla. He twisted the scarf between his fists. Say something. The woman went up on her toes to arrange a feather boa on a shelf and damned if those Daisy Dukes didn’t raise several tantalizing centimeters, exposing the generous swell of her buttocks.

  And no tan line. He stifled a groan.

  She started down the ladder, and he rubbed a hand over his heart and
backed up. He hadn’t had such a visceral response to a woman since…ever?

  “Thanks for waiting. You here for the daybed pickup?” she asked.

  “Yes. No. Ah, sorry. That’s not why I’m here.” Tongue-tied even? The woman stood with one brow raised, arms crossed under her small breasts, the billowy-type shirt thing doing nothing to conceal the flare of her hips.

  Hips just begging for…

  He shut his eyes on a slow blink, forcing himself to focus on his purpose. His face heated before he set the scarf on a table and extended his hand. “I’m Zack Goldman. I work with Ann at Samuel’s Construction.”

  The woman looked at his hand, hesitating. Yeah, his hands were rough, but they were clean. Maybe she was a germophobe or something.

  A second later, though, she placed her hand in his, and the jolt must have been mutual. Her eyes widened. Weren’t they an unusual gray-brown? The color he’d imagine on a she-wolf.

  Purpose. Ann. Baby. “The back door was open. Ann told me she’d be here early one of these mornings to help out, but I couldn’t remember when,” he said.

  “Ann was scheduled to be here by six to help with yesterday’s freight, but she hasn’t arrived yet. Have you tried her at home? I figured she’d slept in. I’m Sloane Swift, by the way.”

  Flamboyant clothing and enough noisy arm bangles to accessorize a band of gypsies… Her name matched the package. Large, darkly-lashed eyes anchored an oval face above cheekbones sculpted by a master. And all that soft, smooth skin…

  Was frowning.

  He looked down at their joined hands, let go, and shoved his own in his pockets. “Ann’s not answering her phone.”

  Sloane was about to say something when a tiny blonde whizzed around the corner. “Hey, boss.” The woman’s eyes moved from Sloane to Zack, her smile warming a hundred degrees. “Hey handsome, don’t let me chase you away. I’m Tori Daily—the manager.”

  “Zack Goldman. I work with Ann.”

  A brief disturbance crossed her features before she pinned the smile back in place. “So you’re Zack. Ann told me you’re donating a kidney to a friend’s wife. When are you doing that?”

  Sloane raised her eyebrows, and his face warmed again. “They hope to do the transplant shortly after Twyla has the baby. Anyway—”