Three Times a Lady [Hell's Delight 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

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Three Times a Lady [Hell's Delight 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 1

by Karen Mercury




  Hell's Delight 4

  Three Times a Lady

  Autumn Chamberlain is falling in love with Noel Butler all over again after fourteen years—or was she ever out of love with the world-famous heartthrob rocker? Now they’re both back in Hell’s Delight, Autumn taking care of her father suffering from Alzheimer’s, and Noel with a secret from Autumn…and from his audience, the world.

  Ewan Nash thought he’d hide away, running the Hardscrabble Ranch cattle operation after his son was kidnapped. But when Noel returned to his hometown to write songs, Ewan came out of his tragic shell. It’s more than a one-night hookup for the two men, but the successful, curvy attorney, Autumn, seems hell-bent to dash Ewan’s love onto the rocks.

  The three unlikely lovers unite when a criminal Autumn has prosecuted comes out of the woodwork, murdering army veterans. The plot thickens when Autumn falls equally as hard for the cowboy, Ewan, but the solution might be right in front of her eyes.

  Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Western/Cowboys

  Length: 53,717 words

  THREE TIMES A LADY

  Hell’s Delight 4

  Karen Mercury

  MENAGE EVERLASTING

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to only ONE LEGAL copy for your own personal reading on your own personal computer or device. You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden. If you do not want this book anymore, you must delete it from your computer.

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

  THREE TIMES A LADY

  Copyright © 2014 by Karen Mercury

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62741-387-9

  First E-book Publication: February 2014

  Cover design by Les Byerley

  All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Three Times a Lady by Karen Mercury from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Karen Mercury’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Mercury’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  www.BookStrand.com

  DEDICATION

  To my teenaged self. Thanks for writing such great, angst-filled poetry that I could utilize for Noel Butler’s great, angst-filled rock lyrics.

  And to Emma Flantz, Roscoe’s widow. Hang in there, Emma! Your time is gonna come.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  When it came time to write the lyrics that Noel Butler ostensibly wrote, I lazily turned to a sheaf of my own teenaged, angst-filled, terrible poetry. The line about the red daisies really did exist, and it easily became the flowers that Noel uses to propose to Autumn with when they are young.

  The red daisy poem was hardly the worst of the lot. I came across such emotion-wracked, hair-pulling gems as:

  Beating me down

  What is it

  With flag-colored lights

  Saying stop and then go

  And matchbooks from France

  Hanging up on your wall

  No, I am saying stop. Do not go! Hard to believe my freshman English teacher liked me so much. Just so incredibly angst-filled, the hormonal agony just drips off it. Then apparently I went through a beret-wearing coffee-drinking stage because I find:

  And here I sit

  Blowing silent smoke rings

  Into the buzzing night

  Ruinous detestable body

  Surrounding me

  Blunted numb teardrops

  Mascara-smeared face

  I guess every teen has to go through the bad-poetry-writing stage. So please give Noel Butler a pass for going through one himself, although I think he was supposed to be in his early twenties when he wrote those songs, so he has less of an excuse for it. He’s still an okay guy. And you might notice how I didn’t quote any of his recent lyrics. That’s because I couldn’t write new poetry that even remotely sounded like anything that would be acclaimed the world over, like Noel’s songs with The Friday Experience are.

  And welcome back to Hell’s Delight! I’m always so glad to revisit that burg. This time it’s the infamous nightclub the Pit o’ Dummies that takes center stage when Autumn Chamberlain returns to her hometown, both hoping and dreading that she might run into her old love, Noel.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Author's Note

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  THREE TIMES A LADY

  Hell’s Delight 4

  KAREN MERCURY

  Copyright © 2014

  Chapter One

  Hells Delight, California

  The Surging Monkey Preps had just launched into a clanging rendition of “Your Cheating Heart” when Autumn walked in the door. The Bit o’ Honey was such an old dive, still smelling of painted-over cigarette smoke ten years after indoor smoking had been banned, that citizens called it the Pit o’ Dummies. There were certainly dummies aplenty—the down-home, crusty, and sloshed underbelly of the Hell’s Delight area that Autumn remembered so well from her formative years. Some of the waste
d denizens, in fact, she did remember from fourteen years ago, sitting on the same stools, wearing the same plaid flannel shirts, the same Bass Pro trucker hats. The only difference was the teeth that hadn’t been missing the last time she’d seen them. Autumn had been prepared, because plenty of vehicles outside in the parking lot displayed anatomically correct “truck nuts,” testicles dangling humorously beneath the rear bumper. Still, it was a step up from the Halfway Inn, a mile out of town. Those people did still smoke inside the bar, regulations be damned.

  “Hey, Earl.” Autumn waved to a guy she’d taken high school geometry with.

  Earl tipped his Remington Rifles cap at her with motor oil-stained fingers. “Autumn Chamberlain!” Earl exclaimed, showing he was dentally challenged now, too. “I heard you were some fancy lawyer in Colorado. I couldn’t believe it. No one from Sam Brannan High ever did any better than joining their daddy’s business.”

  “As I see you did.” Autumn smiled. She wasn’t accustomed to such earthiness. In her high-powered section of Golden, Colorado there were fine arts festivals, designer baby clothes, and kayak stores.

  “Hell,” continued Earl, pointing to the stage. “Devin Jonas didn’t even graduate, but he’s owner of Hardscrabble Ranch now.” Earl pronounced it “gradulate.”

  Earl referred to the guitarist who was picking furiously away, doing double duty as lead vocalist. Devin had always been a handsome bastard. His classical Roman features were in profile now, bathed with warm stage lighting, and his spiky hair looked sweaty. He’d only become more delicious as he’d matured, more cut and defined, more strapping and impressive. Now, Devin was of the trendy crowd Autumn had run with as a teen. Autumn’s older brother had played football with Devin—but again, Devin and his brother Shane had been forced to take over their father’s cattle ranch. It wasn’t anything they’d achieved for themselves, although Autumn was sure it was grueling hard work. She’d heard Shane had added a forestry component to their ranch.

  Hm. Perhaps I am the most successful graduate of Sam Brannan High. She was a cutthroat attorney for the DA’s office in Golden, and everyone around here seemed to know that. That could stand her in good stead.

  So she said to Earl, “Yes, I am a fancy attorney in Colorado. I work for the district attorney’s office prosecuting criminals to the fullest extent of the law. It’s quite exciting and flashy. Yes, one Bud, please.” Autumn loathed the watered-down beer, but when in Rome…She knew she was bragging to Earl, but one never knew who was friends with whom. Earl might be the one who could get her what she wanted.

  “Is that so?” marveled Earl, a fresh gleam in his eye. Even his oversized Buckeye County Trap Club belt buckle shined brighter. He drank her in fully now. “And you’re just back here visiting your daddy?”

  “It’s more than a visit,” she made sure to tell Earl. “My dad’s gotten too sick to live on his own, and you know my brother Olin can’t leave his firefighting job in Eureka.”

  “I heard Olin is doing well up there. So you’re here for more than a visit?”

  “Oh, yes. I’ve got to find an Alzheimer’s residence for Dad. Interviewing all those places will take a while.”

  “Well, you know there’s one dude who did even better than you, Autumn.”

  The cold hand of panic squeezed Autumn’s entrails. She knew who Earl was about to mention. It was the Hell’s Delight native whose star had gone stratospheric. Noel Butler had soared higher than rancher Colt Gatling or the Jonas brothers. His fame was wider than that of JD Harmon, sex toy shop owner. He had a bazillion more fans than Saul Wakeman, the peeping tom bookstore owner. And he had dozens more admirers than Ben Pearson, Delight Hardware owner, currently serving another year at Folsom for hate crimes.

  No, Noel Butler now belonged to the world. The world knew that Noel Butler and The Friday Experience belonged to them, not to this hick foothill former gold mining town. No one complained when Noel Butler hung in his vineyards in Provence or his estate near Dublin. That’s what larger-than-life rock stars were supposed to do. But when he’d taken a break from touring and returned to the California town of his teenaged years, all sorts of nasty, vitriolic tweets and articles had burned up Buzzfeed, Gawker, and TMZ.

  Noel had come back to Hell’s Delight a year ago to recharge his batteries. That alone was bad enough, to step out of the mainstream of society and secret himself away. But then he’d stayed…and stayed. Autumn knew all of this by following him on Twitter. She’d known when he’d taken off on tour again with those other Sam Brannan alumni—the ones who toed the rock star line and stayed partying in Provence. Everyone had expected Noel to return to his normal jet-setting schedule after that. But he’d come back to Hell’s Delight instead, where he was rumored to be staying at high school chum Devin’s ranch. Lacey had married Devin a year ago, but Autumn had refrained from asking her about him, with dignity intact.

  Autumn forced herself to roll her eyes. “Yes, I know. Who hasn’t heard about Noel Butler’s success? It means nothing to me.”

  Earl chuckled, and now his friend in a camo do-rag and horn-rimmed glasses was intently listening in, too. “Weren’t you two hot and heavy for a couple of years right before he hit it big?”

  Autumn sniffed. “I guess so. We were only together a year. And I broke it off with him,” she made sure to add. However, just thinking that she was in the same town again with Noel Butler made Autumn’s heart race so badly, she gulped half her watery beer just from nerves.

  Earl noted, “You must be bumming that you’re missing out on all his fancy estates. If you’d of stayed with him, you’d be cashing in right now.”

  “She don’t care,” said the do-ragged guy. “She’s a fancy lawyer. She don’t need none of that rock star money.”

  “You’re right,” said Autumn. “I don’t. I have a completely satisfactory lifestyle in Colorado, believe you me.” Why am I explaining to these dicks? These guys are no ones, just hammered twats. Still, she never knew. They could be friends with Noel. “I own my own ski lodge.” She did. She had a house—one could call it a “lodge”—on twenty acres and in January you could ski for a about half a football field downhill.

  “Maybe you’ll invite me,” goofed the do-ragged guy. “I know how to ski.”

  Autumn rolled her eyes. She loathed guys who were too ignorant to see she was far out of their league. She knew that she’d aged along with Noel and was now thirty-five, and there were plenty of blondes with big boobs who would be considered “smoking hot” in Hell’s Delight that Noel could have—and might have—snapped up by now. But Autumn was the only one who’d made a name and fortune for herself. She could’ve made more by defending scuzzballs instead of putting them away, too. But she’d chosen the righteous path.

  Since she didn’t want to admit to anyone she was still interested in Noel Butler—and that do-rag looked like it’d been used to sop up a cup of engine grease—Autumn bid old Earl good-bye. “I’m supposed to meet up with Lacey and Katrina.”

  It was lucky she’d spied her two old high school buddies who had arrived much earlier in order to nab a table. Autumn waved and extricated herself from old Earl with a false promise to “talk to him later.”

  Autumn hadn’t known Noel or the Jonas brothers in high school. Freshmen girls didn’t associate with senior boys. Besides, Noel Butler hadn’t nearly become the man he was to be when he was a high schooler. At Sam Brannan, he was still hanging at his bass player’s mother’s house noodling around on the guitar. Autumn hooked up with Noel right after her graduation. He noodled around in Lars’ mother’s garage for another year until he was twenty-two, when Autumn had tired of his immature ways. He would later give up the guitar entirely when the band realized he excelled as a front man. The rest was history.

  That was just typical. Men always improved drastically the second you dumped them.

  Autumn took the seat Katrina had saved for her. They had to yell to be heard over the blaring of the speakers. They really dialed it up to eleven in
this nightclub. Not that Devin’s band was bad. They were okay. Autumn just wasn’t a big aficionado of country and western. She was still stuck on Noel’s brand of rock ‘n’ roll.

  “I’m so glad you made it,” yelled Katrina. “I’m sure you needed a break from your father.”

  Autumn agreed. “That’s for sure. He’s really going downhill fast, guys. I was alarmed two weeks ago when he didn’t seem to know who I was.” Autumn had been in town almost a month now, and had met up with her old friends a few times. But most of the time she was stuck in the old family house because her father couldn’t be left alone. Tonight she’d convinced an old family friend, Carol, to stay with Rick for a couple of hours. “But it’s been happening more and more. Just today he thought I was my cousin Babette, who hasn’t been to California in twenty years.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Katrina had always had a big heart. She laid her hand on Autumn’s arm. “There is really nothing cheerful you can tell someone who is forced to watch a loved one go downhill like that.”

  “What about your mom, Lacey?” Autumn asked. “Wasn’t she always kind of…unbalanced?”

  Autumn’s two friends rolled their eyes at each other. Lacey yelled, “Unfortunately, there’s nothing organically wrong with her brain. She has no excuse for her unbalanced behavior.”

  Katrina yelled, “Lacey’s mother is still a mean old bitch. Always was, always will be. But I don’t think there’s any official diagnosis for it.”

 

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