Lily and Brock at 343 Harper's Cove

by Deanndra Hall

  Lily and Brock at 343 Harper’s Cove

  Deanndra Hall

  Celtic Muse Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  Welcome to Harper’s Cove

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  About the Author

  Also by Deanndra Hall

  Lily and Brock at 343 Harper’s Cove

  Harper’s Cove, Book 7

  Copyright 2016 Deanndra Hall

  Celtic Muse Publishing, LLC

  P.O. Box 3722

  Paducah, KY 42002-3722

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction.

  Names of characters, places, and events are the construction of the author, except those locations that are well-known and of general knowledge, and all are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental, and great care was taken to design places, locations, or businesses that fit into the regional landscape without actual identification; as such, resemblance to actual places, locations, or businesses is coincidental. Any mention of a branded item, artistic work, or well-known business establishment, is used for authenticity in the work of fiction and was chosen by the author because of personal preference, its high quality, or the authenticity it lends to the work of fiction; the author has received no remuneration, either monetary or in-kind, for use of said product names, artistic work, or business establishments, and mention is not intended as advertising, nor does it constitute an endorsement. The author is solely responsible for content.

  Cover design & Formatting by:

  Drue Hoffman, Buoni Amici Press.

  Disclaimer:

  Material in this work of fiction is of a graphic sexual nature and is not intended for audiences under 18 years of age.

  To Steph

  There was a time in the not so distant past when I thought I’d always be taking this journey without you. I’m so happy you decided to come along for the ride. It won’t always be smooth sailing, but I can guarantee you we’ll skid into every adventure on the seat of our pants with a drink in our hands and smiles on our faces. Love you, sweetie.

  — Deanndra

  Welcome to Harper’s Cove

  Writing novels is my first love. I like nothing better than to take a name, find a photo that represents the face I have for him or her in my mind, assign a birthdate, an occupation, a love interest, family, friends, and sometimes enemies, and let my imagination go wild. If novels didn’t take so long to write, I’d crank out one a week!

  That’s how I got the idea for this series. They’re short, quick reads that will get your motor humming and entertain you enough to wonder what the next couple in the cove will be up to. I was trying to figure out a way to plug in some short but quality reading between the volumes of the Love Under Construction series, and along came Karen and Brett and blew me away! I couldn’t wait to get started on this series, and I think it’ll be different from anything you’ve read before.

  Take a stroll down Harper’s Cove and see what’s going on. And try not to be too judgmental; we’ve all got skeletons in our closets.

  Love and happy reading,

  Deanndra

  1

  Lily

  I’ve finally got all the boxes unpacked! It’s starting to look like home around here. When we first looked at this house, I wasn’t sure about it, but now I think it’s pretty much perfect.

  I’m measuring all the windows for curtains, rods, and blinds. He promised me we could go and look at some tonight, and I hope he hasn’t forgotten. I’m not sure what I want for the playrooms, but I know what I want for my bedroom. I want pink ponies. One of my internet friends said she found some at one of the discount stores, so I’m hoping they’ll have some when we get there. I love ponies.

  All of my clothes are hung up and organized, and so are my socks and panties. I don’t get to wear a bra unless he says I can, but I’ve got them put away too. I’ve got my shoes organized too, and my hair barrettes and ponytail elastics and clips and things like that. Everything is neat and tidy.

  My toys are too. Most of them are kept in the playroom, but I keep some in my room. I have to have Mr. Teddles―I sleep with him every night. My big doll with the clothes like mine is in there too, and a stuffed giraffe I love. But my other toys go into the playroom. It’s the best place for them.

  He put away everything in his room last night, but I haven’t looked. I’m not supposed to be in there when he’s not home, his bedroom or the playroom either one. Those are his rooms, not mine. And I do as I’m told; I don’t want to get into trouble.

  The boxes are all empty and ready to go to the trash, but I’m not allowed to use a box cutter or a knife, so I’m not sure how to break them down. I can’t use sharp scissors either, only school scissors. That won’t cut the tape, so I finally send him a text: Would it be okay just this once if I use a box cutter to tear down these boxes? They’re all empty and I want everything to look nice when you get home.

  In a couple of minutes, I get this back: Yes. Just this once. And please be careful and don’t hurt yourself. I love you, little angel.

  That makes me smile and I answer: I love you too, Daddy.

  I go and get the box cutter out of the drawer in the kitchen, and I’m very careful to hold it blade-down like they taught us in scouts. Oh, and I don’t run with it. That’s bad too. I slit the tape on the boxes and flatten them out, then put the box cutter back. When I’ve got them all stacked up, I decide it’s time to take them to the trash. One look down at what I’m wearing and I decide no one can tell anything from what I’ve got on. It’s just a pair of jeans and a tee with a picture of a unicorn on it. I toss a few boxes at a time out onto the porch until they’re all there, and then carry as many as I can to the trash, repeating the process until I have them all out. I’m almost finished when I hear a voice say, “Hello!”

  Spinning to see who it is, I find a woman standing there, her face pleasant and a smile a mile wide across it. “Hi!”

  “I’m Tasha Fields. I mean, Hogan. We just got married and I can’t seem to remember my last name!” she laughs. “Are you our new neighbor?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answer politely. Daddy’s taught me to always be polite. “I’m Lily Owens. It’s good to meet you.”

  “And you too! So do you live here alone?”

  I shake my head. “No. I live here with my da … husband, Brock.” It seems funny to say his name like that.

  “I work for one of the advertising companies in the city―just got the job and it’s really exciting. My husband’s name is Davis. He just started a new job too and I’m still trying to get used to his hours. He works in the accounting department at Distraction Toys.”

  “Oh, that sounds like a fun job! Brock is the regional vice president for a national trucking firm here, Parkerson Logistics.”

  “The green and yellow trucks! I see them all over the place,” Tasha says, and I know I’m beaming with pride. It makes me happy when people realize what an important man Daddy is. And he really is. He’s responsible for about six hundred trucks and a lot of drivers and other people, freight handlers and mechanics and all kinds of employees. “So have you met any of the other neighbors?”

>   I shake my head. “No. You’re the first. But it seems like a nice neighborhood.”

  “It is. It’s very private and quiet. Everyone’s very nice. Well, everyone except,” she says and leans in to whisper, “Gloria.”

  I frown. “So she’s not nice?”

  Tasha laughs. “Oh, she’s nice enough, but she’s a nosy Nellie. And a drinker too,” Tasha tells me.

  I’m not sure what she means. “Nosy like asking questions?”

  “No. Nosy like looking in windows and through privacy fences. That kind of nosy,” Tasha explains and I shudder. “Maybe you’ll be lucky and she’ll leave you alone, but that luck hasn’t extended to any of the other neighbors; not to us either.”

  We chat for a few more minutes and then Tasha excuses herself to go and start dinner. I finish putting the boxes in the trash and head back to the house. It’s almost time for me to get things out for Daddy to cook dinner too. I’m not allowed to use the stove; I could get hurt.

  But we’ll have to talk. I don’t like this about the Gloria woman―not at all. That’s the last thing in the whole world that we need.

  2

  Gloria

  I wanted to go over and talk to that new woman, but when I looked out the window, that Fields woman was over here talking to her. Goodness only knows what she’s saying about the neighbors. Of course, there’s plenty to say about them, that’s for sure. We’ve got the widest variety of perverts in the state. I think every house in this neighborhood holds some kind of torrid secret. If houses could talk, I’m guessing it would be quite the story.

  Russell comes in from mowing the lawn. “Honey,” I tell him, “the new neighbors have gotten all moved in, I think. I just saw her tossing out empty boxes.”

  “Well, isn’t that nice? I hope they like it here.” He stops to wash his hands and I frown. “What?”

  “Russell Livingston, I’ve asked you over and over not to wash your hands in the kitchen sink unless you’re cooking! You’ve got gasoline and grease and dirt and grass stains and―”

  “Gloria, I was mowing the grass, not rebuilding a Buick. My hands weren’t that dirty. Can you possibly find something else to gripe about?”

  I shake my head. “You just don’t understand. But I suppose it doesn’t matter. You’re going to do whatever you’re going to do and you don’t care about the rules around here.”

  He chuckles. “That’s because all the rules around here were made by you. I didn’t have a say in them. Consequently, I don’t give a damn about any of them.” He reaches into the refrigerator and pulls out a beer, then rustles in the drawer for the bottle opener, pulls it out, and pops the cap off.

  “I know. And it shows. The reason there are rules is to keep everything orderly and safe and clean,” I explain. It’s a shame I have to. It’s not like he’s a little kid, but sometimes he acts like it.

  “Gloria, did it ever occur to you that not everyone wants a lot of rules?”

  I let out an exasperated huff. “I’m sure no one wants rules, but that’s what keeps society moving forward.”

  “So you don’t think it’ll move forward without rules?”

  “No. It won’t.”

  “Your rules?”

  I put my hands on my hips and glare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.” I watch as he takes a sip of beer and leaves the room. That’s just like him, ask him a question and walk away. Oh, well. Guess I’ll have to try to figure out a way to talk to the new woman.

  I’m watching out the window when I hear the back door open. “Russell, is that you?”

  “No, it’s an armed robber who’s going to answer you and tell you exactly what he’s doing,” he calls back. “Of course it’s me. What kind of dang fool question is that?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. The kind people ask each other all the time, I suppose.” He’s been particularly prickly lately, and I really don’t know what to make of him. You’d think I’d done something to him.

  His footsteps sound out behind me. “What are you looking at?”

  I point over to the new house. “Look. I can’t figure out what those things are that they’re unloading into the new couple’s backyard.”

  “Hmmmm. Looks almost like some kind of outdoor play equipment, huh?” he says. “They must have kids.”

  “No, I don’t think so. I haven’t seen any other sign of kids,” I tell him.

  “Maybe she’s planning to open a daycare or something.”

  Now wouldn’t that be wonderful? A nice couple who own a daycare. I’d love that! The sounds of children playing, squealing and laughing as they swing and climb. I wouldn’t mind going over to help! That would be a lot of fun. “You know, I hope that’s it! Won’t that be nice?”

  “Eh. It’ll be okay, I suppose,” he mumbles and leaves the room.

  When did Russell become such a party-pooper? He never wants to do anything fun, and he doesn’t have any imagination. None at all. He thinks socializing consists of sitting on a bench beside the river, just fishing with his friends. Or smoking cigars and drinking Scotch while they play cards. Ridiculous. That’s about the extent of his socializing.

  Me, I want to get to know the neighbors. Of course, I was very active in the church, but after that Samuel Danvers did what he did in the church that Sunday morning, well, I haven’t really been interested in going back since. That was horrible.

  Most of our neighbors are horrible too. I mean, we’ve got some real weirdos living in this neighborhood. Those Millican people over at two twenty-eight―I’m still certain they were the ones in that newspaper article about that nasty, kinky stuff. Good grief. Every freak in the world has descended on this neighborhood, I tell you. We need to get them all out of here and have a quiet, peaceful place to live.

  But right now, I think there’s something I need to do before Russell comes home. I saw a new drink recipe on the internet yesterday, and I’ve been dying to try it. I hope it’s as good as it sounds. I just love pineapple vodka.

  3

  Lily

  I’ve got everything out for dinner. There’s steak and green beans and potatoes. Daddy likes all of those things. He says they’ll help me grow big and strong.

  I’ll never forget the first time I saw him. It was at a munch in the Dallas area and I spied him across the room. Before we left, someone introduced us, and I remember thinking he was the best-looking guy I’d ever met. I never dreamed he’d be the least bit interested in me.

  Then there was a party at someone’s house, and I went. I wore my ruffled pinafore and little cotton blouse, and some ankle socks with bows and my Mary Janes. My hair was up in pigtails and I really did look cute. Daddy was there and he came up to me and asked me if I was there alone. I told him I was, and he asked if I’d like to sit down and have an ice cream bar. When we talked, he asked me if I had a daddy or if I’d like to have one. It all came rushing out of me, how I loved dressing up in my lacy little dresses with petticoats under them and my shiny little shoes, and how I love my dolls and toys. We talked for a long time, so late that he finally asked me, “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

  I knew right then that he was the one.

  And we’ve been together ever since. It’s been like a dream come true. It’s so wonderful that I hate when we have to go out in public together as a regular couple. Sure, that’s what we have to do most of the time. I mean, we can’t go to a restaurant with me dressed like that! We almost did one night, but then we both chickened out. How would we explain that? It would be impossible. So we don’t do it very often. I either pick up something, or he picks up something, or I get things out and he cooks them. I’m not allowed to use the stove because I’m not big enough yet.

  I actually like that aspect. I’ve never been much of a cook anyway.

  Weekends are the best. From the time we get home on Friday afternoon until Monday morning, I’m the baby girl. I dress in whatever he lays out for me. There’s usually some ruffl
ed panties, and a little play outfit, maybe shorts and a little top for summer and in winter, a dress and tights. When we go out, I try to dress my real age, but I don’t like it. I prefer the little girl clothes.

  Tonight when he gets home I’ll have a surprise for him. It all came today! All the playground equipment he ordered for me. We’re going to put it all in the backyard, but first the people have to come and put up the big, tall, new fence. After I talked to that Hogan lady, I started thinking about it, and I really think that’s something we need to do, so I’m going to tell him all about it.

  I hear his key in the lock and I’m so excited! As soon as the door opens, I start to yell, “Daddy! Daddy! I’m so glad you’re home!” I run right straight to him and jump into his arms, and I start smushing kisses all over his face. That makes him laugh.

  “Hey, little girl! Were you good today?”

  “Yes, Daddy! I got out the beans and potatoes and steak like you said.”

  He smiles at me and it makes me so happy. Nobody can understand what that feels like to me, to see that he’s happy with me, with the things I’ve done and the way I’ve behaved myself. “So I guess I should start cooking. You can help. I’ll let you do some things in the kitchen, okay?”

  “Yes! I like to help.” He sets my feet on the floor and tousles my hair, then disappears down the hallway. “Daddy?”