Seduction of Saber (Saving the Sinners of Preacher's Bend #3)

by Jevenna Willow

  Seduction of Saber

  Jevenna Willow

  Seduction of Saber

  Saving the Sinners of Preacher’s Bend

  Book 3

  Jevenna Willow

  Saving the Sinners of Preacher’s Bend

  series

  (Book 1)

  120 MPH

  (Book 2)

  Roundabout Road

  (Book 3)

  Seduction of Saber

  (Book 4)

  Maddy’s Dad

  copyright ©2014

  Jevenna Willow

  All work in this book is made up in the mind of the author. No names, dates, or places are real, and only in the imagination of its creator. I thank you for respecting my work. No copying or reproducing of this book, in any form, paper, digital, audio, visual is allowed without written permission from the author.

  Pirating author’s work is a crime, so please respect my years of hard work. If you did not make a monetary purchase of this copy, you are in violation of its copyright.

  Cover art by Linda Kage

  Dedication

  To Jaz, who loves a ‘cowboy’ as much as I do.

  Chapter One

  In the small town of Preacher’s Bend, doing something beneath an educated person’s abilities was taboo. No matter how Julia Hillard wanted to dress it up, then teach it to kill; the aged Tressle Boarding House was the equivalent of calling a cat a tiger. And every day it loomed over her head like an overfed, pompous, self-opinionated lap warmer waiting to be fed.

  And every day the familiar quake started at her toes, reaching right up to her knees.

  She dumped the dregs of last night’s coffee down the drain. Her sigh burned through her chest, figuring this wasn’t about to change, no matter what she did today. Dust-covered windowpanes and spoilt linoleum, somehow, in a roundabout way, left her feeling empty inside. Efforts at sprucing up the old place hadn’t done her any good. Paint slapped on the clapboards just wasted one’s time. A good dose of scrubbing and polishing didn’t achieve much with a house this old. What the boarding house needed was a complete overhaul.

  Damn. There was nothing that seemed capable of pulling her from the doldrums toward potential stagnation—even here, the most sacred place in all Preacher’s Bend. Odd, something should’ve stirred her into action; pinched her arm to get her ass into high gear.

  She should probably clean the windowpane; her eyes fixated on the splatter from bird and occasional in-the-corner cobwebs. But her heart wasn’t in this old place just yet. She’d eased into inevitable numbness, almost dis-attached by disillusionment to her surroundings; disillusioned to life, in a way. Her entire existence wasn’t supposed to have turned out this way.

  Petty shouldn’t have died, either, but her great-grandmother was indeed six feet under, covered with a mound of dirt and a cluster of wildflowers.

  Petty might have been old, okay really old, but still, she’d not left her family prepared for the passing. Julia missed her great-grandmother’s uncanny wisdom, and all of that got swept away into that huge dustpan called death. She needed Petty’s practical advice, especially now.

  The Hillards had been told to sell this old place, repeatedly; remodel it into a couple of two-bedroom apartments. Preacher’s Bend had a great need for vacant apartments. A two story, one hundred-fifty-year-old home, with outside access to the upper floor would be a piece of cake to remodel. The right guy with the right tools, and anything was possible.

  Her thoughts drifted off to was there this right guy in Preacher’s Bend? Their town was growing by leaps and bounds and need outweighed want on most days, apartments at the top of that list. Surely she could finagle into the budget a handyman. When a town old as dirt contained a humble building from the Jurassic era, a body was required to take up the duties of caring for it. There had to be someone she could ask.

  But the Hillards were stubborn folk. Mix that with a little watered-down Tressle blood and you had on your hands a small group of individuals who would not bend to the wishes of others, especially when those unasked for opinions came from know-it-alls too stupid to keep any opinions to themselves. Or dared voiced any right in her face. It was bad enough they’d done so at Petty’s funeral. But a repeat of it while she’d been picking out selections of meats at the grocery store?

  The funeral had been hard on all of them, but they’d survived, each taking up the slack. What Petty had done for Preacher’s Bend, she’d done for almost fifty years.

  Maybe most of this town was right. Like any other Hillard, Julia did hang onto things far outweighing their need. However, the boarding house needed her, more than she needed it, and guilt was forcing her hand. Guilt to letting down the ghost of her past.

  Julia grabbed the silver tray of muffins off the kitchen counter, heading to the low coffee table out in the living room. Screw those spiders and bird poop covering the windowpanes. Both could remain right where they were for all of eternity, for all she cared.

  The huge sigh burning through her chest, twice as hard as before, and certainly faster than expected was her answer to leaving things as they were. She set the muffins down, stretching her arms high above her head; added an audible groan perhaps to appease her conscience. Apparently nothing was going to work to ease the trepidation that she’d be stuck with this place for the foreseeable future…if not `efin forever.

  But muffins? Damn. Not one of the four male boarders inside the Tressle Boarding House was of the muffin or pie type. All four men were sleeping off their rather late night. Steak and potatoes for breakfast, a beer to wash it down with, a hooker before nine a.m.—if they could actually find one—these guys were the real deal. They hadn’t come to Preacher’s Bend to see the sights or to explore its rich, mid-western history shadowed by beer, bratwurst, and polka music. They were here for the upcoming rodeo, nothing more. Translation: a little hard-headed, very hardened around the edges, and a little arduous for the younger generation to deal with most of the time.

  Julia taught mathematics at the local high school. Teenagers, she worked her magic on, on a daily basis. It was men with tireless libidos that were a real buzz kill to women stuck in permanent stagnation mode. And damn, if rodeo men didn’t seem to make this mode more pronounced out for spite.

  Preacher’s Bend was about to be filled with loud trucks, cattle trailers, and a bunch of temperamental horses. There’d sure to be a few ornery bulls thrown into the mix to get a mistrusting crowd a lot more interested. Not to mention a few hundred men intent on driving those loud trucks, riding the backs of those temperamental horses, and staying at least the full eight seconds on a supposedly randomly-chosen bull, without being killed.

  Yeah, good luck with that!

  Talk was if this worked out, the three big money promoters of the traveling rodeo would hold this as an annual event. This was to be Preacher’s Bend’s test of endurance. If the town failed, everyone within it failed. No one wanted blame for failing an entire town. Julia was using the bribery of assorted muffins to insure her part of that.

  Her houseguests were, to put it mildly, old; fifty plus, if not a day over. She was looking for someone a bit younger than a father figure to whet her whistle or turn the eye. She glanced down at the bakery goods and grimaced. She should’ve gone with the apple pie. Her boarders would’ve gobbled it down just the same. A twenty-eight-year old woman, a man-less woman that is, should never feed stodgy, libido-driven men muffins. She’d meant to use the bakery goods as bribery to a bunch of old horn-dogs still sleeping off their unexpected late night because they’d nothing better to do than throw away good
money on pure foolishness and mental stagnation, same as most. But rodeo men tended to do everything down to the very last second. It came with the job description.

  Another heady sigh split apart her chest. She couldn’t take another mundane day in this hell hole, sucking the life out of her. Her smile faded as she turned her head, facing the hall mirror. Red hair tied up in a ponytail? Who was she kidding? Age was creeping in and the ponytail only made her look foolish. Fool once, she didn’t desire the label of fool again. But there wasn’t time to change her hairstyle.

  She was losing daylight. Her being a natural redhead wasn’t her fault. It was her father’s side of the family who’d produced her genes. And her father had gained enough cold shoulders over the sins of his daughter’s unforgettable past long ago. She highly doubted anyone around town could forget what she’d put the man through.

  She’d done things in life not specifically the garnishing to a reputable teaching career. But who hadn’t? If they couldn’t forget they could at least forgive, couldn’t they?

  The more she thought about what she’d gotten away with, the more she should place full blame on her father’s genes for everything that ever failed her goals. The heart had to follow that direction, unfortunately. Gill had his ups and downs, but he’d survived.

  Julia, the eldest, Cody going on eight, and her stepmother pregnant and about to give birth, there wasn’t one day passing in Preacher’s Bend when her father wasn’t smiling over the blessed event of a third child. A baby in the Hillard household was sure to stir things up.

  Thank God, she’d had the foresight to take over the running of the boarding house, directly after the funeral and before any smelly diapers got into her hands. She wasn’t quite ready to have kids, but she wasn’t at all available toward taking care of someone else’s.

  As the familiar red pickup pulled into the drive, she could see through the living room window her father’s permanent grin. Nothing else over the last eight months stayed plastered on his face, and he was whistling, as always.

  She padded across the living room and went straight for the front door to let the man in.

  “Hey, Pops. What brings you into town so early?”

  Gill Hillard took in a deep breath of what had always felt like home to every Tressle ancestor. Although her great-grandmother was no longer here in a physical way, a body could just sense Petty’s ghostly presence. Julia knew he’d gotten a good whiff of sunshine and lemon furniture polish. The smells were drenching the place, if not totally overpowering it.

  “Just came by to see if everything is all right.” He planted a wet kiss on the side of her cheek. “Everything is all right, isn’t it?”

  A dusty cowboy hat hung loosely in his left hand, same as always.

  “Fine, Gill. Everything is just fine. I can run a boarding house as well as anyone else.” She hadn’t meant the words to smart. Unfortunately, her tone a little too crisp for the hour that it was, her father’s eyebrow had risen.

  She’d long ago stopped calling him Dad, the day his second wife, Brittany swept into town and never left. From that point on, they’d become equals.

  “Damnit, Julia! I don’t mean to question what you can, or can’t do. I just worry about you. It’s my right as a parent.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. It’s been a long night. Want a muffin?”

  She tried her best to smooth ruffled feathers and change the subject, quickly, mindful to keep her voice to a minimum. There were four grown men asleep inside this house. Four grown men and were paying customers for another two weeks. She didn’t dare raise their hackles by draining their civility before eight a.m., or on a Sunday.

  Three out of the four had been with Carol, who ran the local boutique, seen throwing back a few down at Mel’s Palace of Pleasure. Around town, Mel’s was famously known to be the hot spot on a well-earned Saturday night. It was also the place that drew the rough characters out of the woodwork.

  Julia had been filling her car with gas and various groceries for the coming weeks, planning ahead for what was to hit the town. She’d driven past Mel’s, noticing the men’s big SUV parked out front. There’s no telling what four hundred hungry men could do to a town this small, or if there’d be anything left after they were gone. Food could become a highly sought commodity. As well as much needed gasoline. She hadn’t wanted to be caught without either. Yet she hadn’t expected her house guests to be so out-right conspicuous of their conquests.

  “No. Already ate breakfast; drove into town to get a few supplies down at the mill. You need anything? Food? Stuff? Car filled with gas? Mail picked up?”

  Crap! She’d forgotten the mail.

  Petty kept the same P.O. Box for fifty years. She’d like to socialize when getting her mail, and no one thought to change this when she died.

  “No, Gill. I’m fine. I’ve got all I need right here because I, unlike you, thought ahead. I’m all set for at least a month.”

  He nodded, but still wouldn’t leave the foyer, switching his hat to his other hand. He only did this when he had something unsettling running through his head.

  “Was there something else you wanted this morning? Something you really came all this way for?” Julia eyed her father, who was now eyeing the silver tray of muffins. He turned his head from the assortment of bakery goods, a sly grin on his face.

  “No. Not really. Just came by to see if you have everything you need.”

  She couldn’t help but release another sigh. Good grief! Was this to be pattern today? Every other breath too deep to compensate and her gut tightening?

  Wasn’t at least one day supposed to be special?

  “You do know you are perhaps one of Preacher’s Bend’s worst liars?” she dared say to him.

  Next to Rachel Rosebud, the owner of the café, and duly ignorant granddaughter of their newly appointed matriarch, Theodora Rosebud, Julia felt her father was the King of liars if Rachel its Queen. He only did it when it suited his needs, and that seemed on a regular basis. Perhaps it came with the bloodline. She’d been known to tell a whopping fib or two. Okay, at least ten thousand; and only nine of those ten thousand ever gotten away with.

  Forgive and forget, remember?

  Chapter Two

  Gill Hillard looked away, guilt ridden, before turning once again to stare at his willful daughter. Her bright red hair was tied in a ponytail by rubber band, running clothes on her person. Clothes that accentuated his daughter’s many curves, and had him groaning inwardly to the fact she’d grown into a very beautiful woman while he’d not been looking.

  He had enough problems of his own. With two beautiful women in his life, those problems had somehow escalated over the last ten years. He sure as hell did not have the time to deal with any strange men looking at his daughter in an inappropriate way while she was out running. Strange men could get his daughter into trouble.

  Even if Julia was twenty-eight-years old, and could make her own mistakes, he wanted trouble to remain at least ten counties away from his doorstep. She was still his baby girl. Now, according to the rest of this town, she’d become a fragile china doll. And as such, it was his duty to be the best father that he could be.

  He’d failed her once. He wasn’t about to fail her again.

  Christ! He’d rather cut off his right arm than have his daughter hate him for something that was simply the natural order of life.

  “Why don’t you come home with me this morning? Run the lane on the farm? There’s plenty of room to kick up your heels. The pond is full. A bunch of new ducklings hatched down by the old willow tree. I even have…,” he started.

  But an icy glare cut him off at the knees. That and his daughter’s balled fists set firmly on her hips.

  “We have been over this a million times. I don’t need to take my morning runs on the farm. The streets of Preacher’s Bend are perfectly safe. There are no smelly cow pies to accidentally put my foot into. No large potholes to trip over and break my neck.” A quick roll of her eyes m
ade to prove her point. “No one has ever been mugged here, as far as I know. And I am quite certain that if anyone even tries to harm me—in any way, shape, or form—Officer Wesley will hang them up by their family jewels before they dare get ten feet from me.”

  Debra Wesley was second in command at the local police force, and if it was up to her, the woman wouldn’t let anyone get away with …Well, explaining it simply as anything cut out all the loopholes. Gill could attest to this fact. With bright red hair and a wild streak like no other, his daughter had tested his wrath on plenty of occasions, and Officer Wesley’s patience more.

  She’d even dated his best friend, the notorious Jake Giotti. Talk about giving a father a heart-attack—and nightmares.

  But the past was the past. Jake was marrying Liddy—for the second time. Their renewal of wedding vows was to take place right after the rodeo. And though the Giottis had to wait for the rodeo, then it to clear out, everyone in town knew Jake and Liddy were not wasting any time in getting reacquainted with what brought them together in the first place. Though he and Julia were more in the loop than any of the other gossip mongers in Preacher’s Bend, having firsthand information of what really happened, and why, neither was going to tell anyone unless threatened.

  If it’d been his daughter marrying Jake…

  Jesus! He’d not be able to control himself from wanting to kill the man before any I-do’s could be said.

  As he pulled his thoughts back, his daughter snapped at him, “What other complaint do you have of me today?”

  “I don’t complain,” he whined.

  His daughter rolled her eyes.

  “Okay. Maybe I do…a little. But a father has the right to complain,” he determined, stepping over to the coffee table to take one of her muffins from the tray without asking. They looked far too tempting to ignore. They certainly smelled damn near close to Petty’s Sunday morning recipe.