With our coffee in our hands, Zane insists on watching the headline news. He scrolls through the channels as if he’s looking for something in particular. I’m too tired to care. He stops on a national new station and asks me to look up.
The area is familiar and then I realize that the news crew is standing in front of my old house.
“Holy shit, Zane. What the hell is happening?” His face shows zero emotion. My heart begins to beat rapidly. I zone in on the picture and pray to myself Zane didn’t make good on his threat to kill Tyler. It’s not that I don’t want him to pay for his wrongdoings, but I don’t want Zane caught up in it.
The camera pans out to the crowd; hundreds of bikers with the BFK logo on their jackets hold signs that say Tyler Hasen is an abuser of women and very small children. The news reporter goes on to explain the mission of Biker’s for Kids and says that she has never seen them come out in such large numbers. This is obviously a very evil man.
In the distance, you can see someone pull the curtains back slightly and then promptly let them fall.
“Please don’t be mad at me. Like you, I protect what’s mine. Tyler had a bit of karma coming back to him. This is part of my birthday gift to you. The other half I’m hoping will arrive tomorrow.”
“I’m not mad at you. I’m shocked that you pulled this off in such a short period of time. How many bikers are there?”
“There are only about five hundred right now, but there are over ten thousand across the United States. They don’t mess around with men who abuse woman or children, and Tyler did both. His house will be covered for weeks or until he gives into our demands.”
“What are your demands?” I turn around to look at him.
“I don’t want to spoil anything. Let’s just wait and see. Sometimes it takes a little longer for them to come around.” He turns off the television and pulls me into his lap. We watch Aaron play on his play mat until Claire arrives.
The bar is fairly slow for a Sunday and Zane sees I’m fading fast. He sends me upstairs to climb into bed. Falling asleep has never felt this good.
I wake to the smell of something cooking. I can’t believe I slept the entire night. Poor Zane must be exhausted. I slip out of bed and into the kitchen to rescue him.
On the counter is a waffle maker. The batter oozes slightly from the side. The coffee pot is full, and both of my boys are swaying to some secret music that’s playing only in Zane’s head. I creep up behind him and wrap my arms around his middle.
“Good morning, birthday girl. I hope you feel rested. You were sleeping like the dead when I came to bed.”
“I was so tired. I hit the bed and was out. Let me take over, and you can rest for awhile.”
“Not a chance, love. It’s your birthday and as Abbamonte’s, we would be remiss if we didn’t pamper the woman who makes our lives wonderful. Have a seat. Aaron has whipped up some amazing waffles for breakfast, and I made the coffee.”
He places Aaron in the bouncy chair by my feet, and I spend the next few minutes making faces and crazy noises to get the smile I’m after. His little face lights up as I blow raspberries his way.
The boys go out of their way to pamper me the rest of the day. We enjoy a picnic in the park. We stop by Daisy’s where Zane picks out and purchases a few more dresses for me. We stop by Walmart so he can fill the cart with Nutty Bars. On our way home, I notice cars in the bar parking lot.
“I invited Bud and his brother over for a BBQ.” I can see he’s holding something back; it’s obvious that six cars aren’t needed to deliver two men to the bar.
“Surprise!” the crowd calls out as we walk inside Last Resort. The volume is so loud, Aaron gets startled and begins to cry. It strikes me as funny he can sleep through yelling and the slaughter of his ceramic pig, but the shouting in the bar is his undoing.
I pull him into my arms and whisper softly into his ear. He calms immediately to the soothing sound of my voice. I wonder if all mothers feel like this. I feel like my boy knows that I’ll keep him safe and secure. I will never let him down. I will never get to hold the baby I lost or soothe his or her cries. Having Aaron is like a healing balm though. Zane entrusting this treasure into my care is exactly what I have needed to feel valued.
I glance around the room. The bar is full of friends and neighbors. Zane makes me sit in the center of the room while everyone comes over to greet me. The first person walks slowly, but her smile tells her story. Elaine shuffles to my side where she takes a seat and the baby. Her baby sling is already in place. Bud breezes by to say hello and hands me a brand new ceramic pig. I look at Zane who just shrugs and looks away. Bud heads to the kitchen to make food for everyone.
Guests who approach me have some sort of a piggy bank in their hands. I know every single person from Trudy to Abrahm. They’ve become my family.
“What’s with the banks, Zane?” I ask, even though I can make an educated guess. I know how it works in a small town. There are no secrets.
“I simply told everyone you had an angry obsession with ceramic banks. You’re going to need a supply of ready ammunition.” He laughs until he cries. I watch a tear slide down his cheek.
I look around me and realize a family isn’t always who you’re born to, but who you choose. And it seems not only have I chosen this family, but they have also chosen me.
The door to the bar opens, and I’m shocked to see who arrives. My dad walks slowly forward and approaches Zane first. His sad eyes look to me, but he doesn’t approach right away. My mother and sister come directly toward me.
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry,” she says. “We were so tied up in our own problems that we didn’t take a minute to think about yours. We’re terrible parents.” A tear slips down her cheek.
I ponder my mom’s statement for a minute. Yes, they are terrible parents, but what will it serve me to beat them with the facts. I stand up to give her a big hug, and I whisper in her ear. “When you know better, you do better.”
I shift backward into a wall of muscle; his strong arms circle my waist as he turns me to face him. His lips hover near my ear.
“Your dad and Tyler have come to an amicable agreement; he will return half of what he stole from your dad. The house will be sold, and all proceeds will be donated to children in need. Although, only five hundred bikers were present, the club totals ten thousand bikers and they can make their presence known for quite a while. He’s not as stupid as I thought. Happy Birthday, sweets.”
“You’re such a wonderful man, Zane Abbamonte. When I left Los Angeles, I thought my compass was broken, but it was working the whole time. It led me to my true north––to you. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He kisses me gently before he backs up a bit. “Should we introduce your parents to their first grandchild? They’re going to have to get used to him right away if we plan to give him a sibling soon.”
“How soon?” I ask as I look into his eyes. They dance with mischief and mayhem, and nothing has ever looked so sweet.
Epilogue
“Can you grab the baby bag?” I ask as I rush out of our bedroom and into the kitchen.
“I got it,” he says as he turns the corner. Aaron rests on his hip. As soon as he sees me he begins the sweetest mantra ever uttered.
“Ma ma ma ma ma.”
“Yes, sweetie, I’m here.” I gently pinch his cheek and rub his long brown curls. It’s going to break my heart when they cut them off today, but his dad insists we start a tradition. “It’s your birthday and you’re getting your first haircut. Daddy thinks you look like a little girl. I think you look like a young warrior.”
“Did you take your vitamin today?”
“Yes, it’s hard not to when you deliver it to me in bed every morning.” I think he feels the need to offset my Nutty Bar obsession with a daily vitamin infusion.
“I’m just protecting what’s mine.” He leans in and warms my insides with a kiss.
“We have to go. Everyone will be there, and
we’ll be late.”
We pull up in front of the barbershop to find nearly half the town has shown up for little man’s first cut. I watch as Zane sits in a chair with our baby on his lap. The barber makes a great fuss over Aaron before he moves in with his scissors. A few snips later and his baby face has morphed into a little boy.
I bend over and collect the curls from the floor. Tears stream from my eyes as I carefully place them in an envelope.
Zane kneels beside me and lifts my chin so I’m looking into his eyes.
“It will grow back,” he says, trying to comfort me.
“Oh, Zane, it’s not the hair. It’s just he’s growing up so fast. He’s already walking, and he’s starting to talk. I’m not happy he’s a huge fan of the word no, but I feel like things are moving so fast.” I wipe the errant tears from my face and stand up.
I look over my shoulder and see everyone staring at me. My father is holding Aaron in his arms as my mother peppers Aaron with kisses. It’s so nice to see they have turned out to be better grandparents than parents. Since my last birthday, they have visited every other weekend without fail. My dad has become the most attentive father ever. I often wonder if losing what you had makes you appreciate what you have.
“Let’s head next door for his pizza party.” Zane pulls me to his side and walks us into Luigi’s. It’s only fitting Aaron has his birthday party where his dad and I had our first date.
I look over at the corner table where we sat that night. I remember thinking it was the first day of the rest of my life, but now I know every day I spend with Zane is the best day of my life.
We enjoy an afternoon with family and friends. My eyes go in search of my two boys. I find Zane and Aaron walking toward me. The room becomes silent as they approach.
“Ma ma ma ma ma,” Aaron chants as he toddles up to me. I reach down to pick him up.
In Aaron’s hand is a blue velvet box.
“What do you have there?” I ask as he drops the box in my lap.
Zane kneels in front of me. His eyes glow with excitement as I slowly open the small box. He removes the ring and places it on my left hand.
“Please marry me?” he asks with love in his voice and passion in his eyes. “What do I have to do to get what I want?”
I rub my flat stomach and consider his question. “All you had to do was ask, Zane. Oh, and you can give Aaron a sister,” I say and wink at him. I look up with hope in my eyes and love in my heart.
“Deal. We’ll name her Brie.”
“Can’t we wait to see her before we name her? You know how I am about names.”
“You’ll get lots of practice with names. By the time we get to the letter Z, we should have managed to get one of our kid’s names right.” He picks Aaron and me up from the chair together to swing us around. He never sees the stunned look on my face.
When I left L.A. and headed north, I wasn’t expecting to find love. I was content to live my life alone. Call it fate, or providence, but whatever you call it, it delivered Zane to me. He saw me for the woman I am, an integral part of a family, a valuable member of a community, and now, the mother of a small boy. I arrived broken, stripped of dignity and hope, but love prevailed. Hope and joy have been rekindled. Tyler lost and I won––love won. My future looks bright because a man stopped for a stranger and gave her a chance. My future looks bright because a woman was picked up by a stranger, and gave her heart a chance on love.
A Note from the Author
Thank you for reading True North. If you enjoyed Alexa and Zane’s story, you will also enjoy The Decadent Series. The first book is Just Dessert and follows Kat and Damon on their unorthodox journey to love. The second book of the series is Brownie Points, which follows Emma and Anthony and answers the question, can you ever have too much baggage in your life to find love? The last in the series is Whipped, which is Roxy and Bobby’s story. Can you ever go back and begin again?
Follow Kelly on Facebook for updates, contests and additional information regarding new releases. or visit me at my website - www.AuthorKellyCollins.com
Reviews help readers find books. If you could take a minute and leave a review on the site where you purchased this Anthology, it would be appreciated. All reviews are valuable whether negative or positive.
Fashion Victim
Suz deMello
Copyright © 2015 by:
Suz deMello
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
© 2011 by Sue Swift, 2015 Suz deMello
This book was built at IndieWrites.com. Visit us on Facebook.
Acknowledgments
This book was written with the help of The Lethal Ladies, the online critique group of the Kiss Of Death, the Romance Writers of America’s Mystery/Suspense Chapter. Caroline Cummings, Jackie Hamilton, Cheryl Norman, Janet Shirah and Stephanie Wilson-Flaherty stood by me during the entire process. Thank you.
Praise and Awards
RITA Award Finalist
#1 Amazon Bestselling Author
Kindle Top 100 Bestselling Author
Waldenbooks Top Ten Bestselling Author
Praise for Fashion Victim
“...delightful romantic suspense...”
~Publisher’s Weekly, 12/6/10
“Enjoyable inside view of the fashion world... The book’s main mystery, featuring a stalker whose actions escalate into violence, is well handled.”
~Kirkus, 10/8/10
“mixes sex, danger and fashion...will appeal to readers of Janet Evanovich...”
~ Booklist, 12/1/10
Chapter 1
“Youch!” Sucking on a now-bloody finger—the one I’d stabbed with a pin—I raised my head and glared at my daughter. “Nat, hold still!”
“This isn’t very exciting.” Natalie tugged at the vest I’d been fitting around her thin, twelve-year-old frame. “Modeling’s supposed to be glamorous.”
I huffed. “Models work hard and aren’t popular for very long. Hit thirty and you’re all washed up.”
Natalie’s giggle lightened my heart, but only a little. Long story, but when her crazed multimillionaire father dumped her on my doorstep, Nat had fallen apart. Though I was ecstatic to get my daughter back (frankly, I’d never wanted to give her up) she hadn’t been able to adjust to the Manhattan lifestyle after living in Berserkeley with her sandal-wearing, pot-smoking, extremely dysfunctional dad.
Then my assistant, Maggie, decided to put Nat and her new schoolmates in my April show as models. I’d never before thought of Maggie as insightful, but now I did. Her brainstorm made Nat a part of something bigger than herself, a fun activity she could share with her new friends. Today, seamstresses fitted active, squirming children into bright leather vests and shorts, a new line of teen gear I’d designed especially for Nat and her buds. My usually quiet workshop was jammed with chattering, giggling girls, all jazzed because they were going to model in a real couture show in just a few weeks.
Shouts from the main workshop below cut through the kids’ jive. Straightening, I headed toward the rail of my atelier’s upper loft to peer over the edge. Okay, so maybe it was crowded down there. Maybe it was in a crappy part of Manhattan. And yeah, I was in hock up to my eyeballs. But it was my workshop, and it was crowded with my employees, my designs and my models. Mine. All mine. My dream come true, my ambition since childhood.
I leaned over the railing and saw a skinny guy in skin-tight black bike shorts and a yellow vest tussling with Maggie Andersen, my assistant. And, despite her tight red pencil skirt and Jimmy Choo heels, Maggie was winning the battle. She had the guy in a headlock.
I called, “Hey, Maggie! What’s going on?”
Maggie loosened her hold on the cyclist, and he tossed up a sheaf of rubber-banded papers. It whacked me on the arm. “Cara Fletcher, you are hereby served with process!” the messenger shouted as the hefty bundle t
hudded to the floor.
I picked it up and pawed through the papers, reading, “District Court, Southern District of New York...Fletcher Tool and Gear, Inc., and Fletcher Wolf versus Cara Fletcher Couture and Cara Linda Fletcher...Request for a Preliminary Injunction and for Monetary Damages...YOU AND EACH OF YOU ARE HEREBY ORDERED TO SHOW CAUSE...”
My panicked gaze caught sight of the date. March 17.
March 17. March 17? March 17! March 17 was a mere two weeks away. In only two weeks, I was supposed to go to court. And ... show cause? What did that mean? Show cause about what?
I’m being sued.
My breath came short, and my heart started to pound. My palms got sweaty. No, I told myself sternly. You will not freak out again. You will not. Nevertheless, my stomach clenched and churned.
I took deep breaths. My doctor had told me to take deep breaths whenever I got a panic attack. He’d also prescribed some tranqs. Sometimes I took them, sometimes I didn’t. This morning I’d felt okay, so I hadn’t dosed myself. Oops.
I told myself to take a mental chill pill instead. When the faintness and the nausea diminished, I scrabbled through the papers seeking some clue to the mystery. What on earth had I done? What could he—whoever he was—want? A section labeled, in big capital letters, PRAYER FOR RELIEF, jumped out at me. Then I read, Damages in the amount of fifteen million dollars...
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
A gentle hand touched my shoulder. Swaying a little, I turned. Maggie was staring at me with blue eyes magnified by her oblong black glasses.
“What is it?”
Realization struck. “That man,” I whispered. “That crazy-ass man. Remember the weirdo who phoned me after the Fletcher’s Gear commercials started to air?”
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 150