Davonshire House Publishing
PO Box 9716
Augusta, GA 30916
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely a coincidence.
© 2015 Olivia Gaines, Cheryl Aaron Corbin
Copy Editor: Rachel Bishop, MA
Cover: koou-graphics
Olivia Gaines Make Up and Photograph by Latasla Gardner Photography
ASIN: B010GMZQ14
ISBN-13: 978-0692479353
ISBN-10: 069247935X
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address, Davonshire House Publishing, PO Box 9716, Augusta, GA 30916.
Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 10 9 8
First Davonshire House Publishing June2015
DEDICATION
For you. I wrote this one for you.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To all the fans, friends and supporters of the dream as well as the Facebook community of writers who keep me focused, inspired and moving forward.
Write On!
“Easy reading is damn hard writing.”
- Nathaniel Hawthorne
Also by Olivia Gaines
The Slice of Life Series
The Perfect Man
Friends with Benefits
A Letter to My Mother
The Basement of Mr. McGee
A New Mommy for Christmas
The Slivers of Love Series
The Cost to Play
Thursday in Savannah
Girl's Weekend
Beneath the Well of Dawn
Santa’s Big Helper
The Davonshire Series
Courting Guinevere
Loving Words
Vanity's Pleasure
The Blakemore Files
Being Mrs. Blakemore
Shopping with Mrs. Blakemore
Dancing with Mr. Blakemore
Cruising with the Blakemores
Dinner with the Blakemores
The Value of a Man Series
My Mail Order Wife
Other Novellas
North to Alaska
The Brute & The Blogger
A Better Night in Vegas ( Betas Do It Better Anthology)
Table of Contents
Chapter 1. Cutting it clean …
Chapter 2. A stranger in the house …
Chapter 3. A cry in the darkness …
Chapter 4. Buckle up …
Chapter 5. Broken toes and broken spirits …
Chapter 6. Reconnecting…
Chapter 7. What is that … a tattoo or something?
Chapter 8. Mom, I’m home …
Chapter 9. How did you get my number…?
Chapter 10. Ms. Blakemore, your appointment has arrived …
Chapter 11. Who sent that box…?
Chapter 12. Welcome to the Busy B …
Chapter 13. Dear Lawd …
Chapter 14. Courage and grace…
Chapter 15. Being Mrs. Blakemore …
Chapter 16. Are you frickin’ kidding me…?
Chapter 17. You know why you are here …
Chapter 18. Saxton … are you drunk?
Chapter 19. Say what now…?
Chapter 20. Call 911 …
Chapter 21. Dinner with the Blakemores
Chapter 22. Still reeling …
Chapter 23. And how did we get here …
About the Author
Coming Soon
Welcome to the Busy B
Well, come on inside ya’ll!
Chapter 1. Cutting it clean …
Puente Piedra, Colombia
The early morning dew rested on the leaves of the coca plants as silent workers walked between the crops, pulling seeds from unwilling branches. Rough hands covered the tiny limbs closing over the small pods, brutally yanking off springs from the parent leaves. This field of plants is a mid-sized farm, one of the many he owns and oversees.
His morning coffee in hand, he stands on the verandah, gazing out over this arm of his empire wondering, needing, and trying to gain an understanding of how two people manage to consistently avoid his efforts to remove them from this earth. The Blakemores should have been dead two years ago. It was nearing year three and there still was no vengeance for his brother’s death.
Eduardo Delgado was not a man prone to violence, but he understood all too well that some people needed to die. At the top of his list was Odessa Blakemore. A little slip of a black woman, whom he was informed had put a well-aimed bullet into the middle of his brother’s head. And for what? To save the life of Victorío Rentería? Truth be told, he admired the man. Victorío took a shameful family business and legitimized it by selling product legally to American growers and pharmaceutical giants. In Eduardo’s mind, the profit margin was smaller, but Victorío could now walk in the light.
There was also comfort in walking in the dark. In the murky part of the shadows, he could move and not be seen. This worked in his favor as many had not seen him in person in years. He was a figurehead that rarely made public appearances, which gave him the ability to live in two worlds. He, too, could walk in the light, because very few knew his face. This was something that he was counting on. He had mastered American accents and could blend in to any scenario. In a few weeks he would be heading to America, more specifically to Texas. There were some scores that needed to be settled. However, he had a few stops to make first in Mexico to handle a few disconcerted matters with Mateo Rentería. Eduardo hated getting his hands dirty, but some folks you had to kill up close.
Mateo had failed him on numerous occasions, and Saxton Blakemore being alive was at the top of his list of things Mateo unsuccessfully attempted to do. Working with others was also something Mateo failed to get done as the team had been instructed. Had he followed the plan, Hugo, his brother, would still be alive, and Eduardo would now be in charge of Rentería’s estates and lucrative businesses. Mateo had miscarried his simple portion of the planned task. For this and many other reasons, he liked Mateo even less than he liked his overly ambitious brother. Yet family was family and unfortunately, a person could not choose who they were related to by blood.
It was still unclear to him what made Hugo make a move a week earlier than they had planned. Eduardo was still solidifying alliances in Colombia when his brother made his play. It was three days from his due arrival in Mexico when he received word his brother, Hugo had been killed. What was really odd was that the woman was a fluke – an unknown variable that showed up out of nowhere. Mateo, always one for playing sadistic games, pulled Odessa Blakemore into the takeover scenario. Stories were sketchy on how the women sex workers were freed from the holding pens, or how the inventory was spared, and everyone got away scot-free with the exception of his brother. It all gave him a headache.
Eduardo squinted his eyes as he watched the Jeep bumping over ruts on the dirt pathway as it made a beeline to where he stood. A vehicle moving at that speed was never the bearer of a good word. Today, he was not in the mood to hear one more word of bad news.
“Seňor,” Mariana, his assistant and right hand called to him. “I am told that Mateo Rentería is in that approaching vehicle.”
“Well, my morning just became interesting,” Eduardo said to the lady. He handed her his cup for a refresher on his coffee.
He had not moved from the banister that supported his weight. At 175 pounds of lean muscle,
Eduardo was an attractive man. Unlike his brother, he had been educated and attended university in Colombia, achieving a degree in agriculture. He knew the fields. He knew how to touch the land and make it productive. If it were barren, with a single touch of his hand life would grow. He never abused the soil, nor the workers who overturned the fertile valleys so they, like he, could continue to eat. It was well known that he was a fair man but he was also a planner. There were very few things he did by the seat of his pants. Everything was well thought out. Even as he moved forward with his ideas to take over Rentería’s businesses, Mateo was his backup plan. His long-term plan was far more nefarious.
He watched the Jeep roll along, coming through the main gate of the hacienda, rounding the curb and kicking up far more dust than was required. “It is hot this morning,” he said to Mariana as she handed him a fresh cup of his fine Colombian roasted coffee.
The car came to a screeching stop as Mateo jumped out of the black utility vehicle, still carrying that silly golden handled machete. Eduardo never like gimmicks. Either you were a bad guy or not. There was never a reason to taunt people you were going to kill.
Mateo was grinning at him. “Buen Dia, Seňor Delgado.” He was beaming from ear to ear as if he had good news to bring him.
He did not. The last few trips to his home, the machete wielding henchman had not brought any news that was good nor of any use to him. Eduardo saw no reason for the man to open his mouth. Slowly, he handed his coffee cup back to Mariana as he pulled a loaded 9mm from the back of his waistband, pointed it at Mateo’s head, and fired. The insipid smile was permanently frozen on his face.
Using his silver tipped boot, he pushed the body off the porch onto the ground. The machete lay askew on the stairs, the sun glinting on the gold handle and silver blade, shining a fresh idea into Eduardo’s face. With care, ease, and minimal effort, he picked up the machete to test the balance of the blade to the handle. “You know, this is nice. I see why he liked it so much,” Eduardo said. He wanted to test the sharpness.
Raising the blade high, he came down with full force, severing Mateo’s head cleanly from his body. “Hmm, it is sharp, too,” Eduardo said with downturned lips.
He eyed Mateo’s lifeless form on the ground at his feet. A simple request was made of the man: kill the Blakemores. Instead, he received reports of Victorío on a cruise ship in a conga line. It was even more insulting to get the report that a friendship had developed between the Blakemores and Victorío. It was all so tiresome; it was a simple job that could not seem to get done to his satisfaction. Eduardo had an inside man. His inside guy was doing a far better job than he had hoped giving him vision into the daily lives of Saxton and Odessa.
Eduardo pointed to the head on the ground. “Mariana, please put that on dry ice with coffee beans before boxing it up and sending it to Victorío Rentería,” Eduardo said as he took his coffee from her hand.
“Is there a note to accompany the head?” she asked him.
“No. The head is message enough,” he responded. He stepped over the body to take a walk to the stables. It was a good morning to go for a ride.
After the ride he would call Corpus Christie.
Chapter 2. A stranger in the house …
Corpus Christie, TX
Ryanne Trodat Dobbins awoke with a start. Her heart was racing, but as she tried to sit up in the bed, a heavy weight held her down. Fear and Uncertainty sat on her chest like a set of twins forbidding her to move. Her arm slid out to check the other side of the bed for her husband, Dwight; he wasn’t there. Her ears strained to listen for what she could feel was wrong in the air. The mood of the space in which she resided felt thick. Dense. Goosebumps formed on her arm as she grabbed a hold of Fear and pushed it off her chest. Uncertainty was holding her in the bed as she heard her husband’s voice speaking low. Is someone in our house? The inner dialogue that was playing in her head was at war with her reasoning as one cautioned her to stay in the bed while the other forced her legs to swing to the side and propel her body from the mattress. Common sense held her hand as she bent to get on her hands and knees and retrieve the Ruger .380 automatic from under the side of the bed.
Her father had always taught her to keep one in the nightstand and one under the bed out of plain sight. “Pumpkin, if you have to hide under your bed, you will never be alone,” Big Sarge had told her. His advice tonight was probably going to save her life. She slipped on her robe and dropped the piece into the right pocket.
The clock on the nightstand glowed with red numbers telling her it was only 3:30 in the morning. Who is he talking to at this time of the morning? We don’t have State Farm and I know that is not Jake. Dwight’s voice was low as he spoke into the cell phone. Caution held her leg as she came to the corner of the kitchen where he stood by the sink. The light from the stove hood was the only illumination in the room, casting an eerie glow on the side of her husband’s face.
“She’s sleeping. It’s the only time I get a break from that chatting mouth of hers,” he said low into the phone.
Ryanne blinked several times as her brain absorbed his words. Don’t let him know you are here. Listen. Learn.
“Yeah, I should be paid extra for having to sleep with her. She is a dead fish in bed and it matches her personality. … No she is nothing like her sister, Odessa, that one, I would make love to for free,” Dwight said in the line.
It was as if the air had been sucked from the room and Ryanne found herself getting light headed. Yet she was rooted to her spot. Still listening to her husband.
“Not really much else to report. Odessa is about six months along in her pregnancy. We are scheduled to go to Dallas for Thanksgiving and I will once again be forced to be in their company,” he said to the person on the other end.
“Saxton … right now he is pretty happy about becoming a father. I think it would be poetic to poison him over dinner because Odessa can’t cook worth a shit. Letting her live with the guilt that her cooking killed her husband would probably destroy her,” he answered the unheard voice on the other end.
The room was quiet as she watched her husband standing there, taking instructions from an unknown voice in the middle of the night. “Yes, Seńor.” Dwight responded. There was a lull in the conversation before her spouse responded, “It depends on how fast you want to move. I could go into the bedroom and put a bullet in her head and call it a night, or do you want to wait until they are all together in a couple of weeks and come in and handle it yourself?”
The tears had started to roll down Ryanne’s cheeks. Her husband was worse than a cheater, he was … he was … he was standing in front of her.
In the dimly lit room she was grateful she could not see his face. She hated him. He was a liar. He had lied to her. Their whole marriage was a lie. He was a stranger in her house, in her bed, and in her life.
“How much of that did you hear, my wife?” he asked as he stood close. His breath caressing her cheek like an unwanted lover.
“I just came downstairs to get some water,” she lied.
Dwight took his hand and pressed it into her shoulder, pinning her against the wall. “And the idea of getting water made you cry, Ryanne?”
Her throat was cracking. “Yes. I am really thirsty.”
The man she was married to, as she refused to call him her husband any longer, threw back his head and actually laughed at her. “Wow! All those book smarts and not an ounce of common sense. I sometimes have wondered how you have managed to feed yourself and walk at the same time,” Dwight said to her. He used his left hand to flip open her robe. A long index finger trailed down the front of the nightgown, his hand resting on her breast. “Damn shame, really. I was actually starting to warm up to sleeping with you. You were progressing nicely, learning how to please me.”
There was more of Dora Trodat in her than the man realized as her knee came up fast and hard to his groin. Dwight doubled over as Ryanne started to run. She didn’t know where or which way to go. She
could not make it to her car. Her feet were bare and she was only wearing a nightgown and robe. The moment of indecision was all he needed to regroup as he caught her in the hallway, tripping her up and landing heavily atop her. The air was nearly knocked from her lungs as he crawled over her. She could feel his excitement against her thigh as he pushed her gown up and groped at her underwear.
“One last ride before I kill you sweetheart,” he told her as he ripped away her underpants.
Ryanne’s hands went up and scratched at his face, trying to gouge out his eyes. This was the turning point in the whole frightful affair, when Dwight Darrel Dobbins raised his hand and smacked her hard across the face. The sweet, unassuming woman that he had been married to for six months changed before his eyes. The fear that he had seen in the kitchen was gone and a very angry bitch was staring him in the face.
“You hit me?” she asked. For a second, Dwight felt fear. Ryanne repeated herself but this time she said it as a fact. “You hit me.”
Her knees came up and dumped him on the floor next to her as she popped to her feet, kicked him in the chest and lowered herself into a karate stance and socked him in the life givers. “My daddy ain’t never laid a hand on me and neither will you, you piece of …”
Dwight, groaning loudly, grabbed her ankle and flipped her back to the floor. Ryanne scrambled to get back to her feet as she made a beeline for the bedroom. He knows where my gun is. I have to get there before him.
He was on his hands and knees, but he was moving quickly down the hall, trying to get to the bedroom before she got to that gun. She burst through the door, stumbling, falling, rolling across the floor, but he was bent at the knee as he dove across the bed and reached into the nightstand, pulling out the weapon. She had not been fast enough.
Dinner With the Blakemores (The Blakemore Files Book 5) Page 1