Read Hittin It: A Hitman Romance (Marked for Love Book 2) Online
Authors: Amie Stuart
Hittin It: A Hitman Romance (Marked for Love Book 2) (16 page)
The half-shuffled cards fell to the table. Echoing her own sigh, I stacked them up again, searching for an appropriate response. There was no doubt in my mind she was talking about Will. “Maybe he wants to be alone.”
“No—“ she shook her head, “—he’s just too stupid to know what he what’s good for him.”
Her bluntness made me smile, but I shook my head. “I don’t think I can help you.”
“I disagree. I think you can. I also think you just don’t want to. I think you’re scared.”
Lips pursed, I slipped her money out and slid it across the table toward her. “No.”
She shook her head. “I’m not leaving until you agree to see Will one last time.”
“No.”
“And I can be damned stubborn. Just ask Wynn.”
“I don’t intend to ask Wynn anything.”
“Do you know how I met Wynn?”
“No,” I said, wishing she’d leave. I didn’t want to hear anymore.
“He was hunting me. For a job. Someone paid him to find me. And it wasn’t a long lost relative, if you catch my drift. So when I say, those Collier men are hard to love, I get it. Now, Will. He’s miserable.” She waved a hand. “Oh, he tries to hide it, but you can tell. That’s what he gets for letting you walk away. But enough with the punishment.”
“I can’t just take off to Nevis or wherever. I don’t even have a passport. Besides, Will doesn’t miss me.”
“Trust me. He misses you—“ she gave me a narrow-eyed smile, “—as much as you miss him.”
“He’ll recover.” Just like I would.
“What’s the problem? He loves you; I’m assuming you love him.” She stared at me for a few heartbeats as if waiting for me to fill in the blanks.
“He kills people for a living.”
“He’s retired.”
“That doesn’t negate what he did.”
“Would it make you feel any better if—”
“No.”
“Let me finish.” Her face hardened slightly in anger. “If I said I had the same hang-ups about Wynn’s job? I’m not blind and I’m not an idealist. I do understand how you feel but...Will’s done. He’s retiring. He’s
getting out
.
“How do you get past...it all?” I asked.
“I don’t ask questions I don’t want answers to. And I pray every time he leaves on a job. It is what it is. You can’t change what the Collier men are, but their occupations don’t make them bad husbands, bad brothers, bad sons or even, bad men. In the words of my esteemed mother-in-law, ‘This is the life. Love it or leave it.’ I chose to love it and Wynn. Despite his job, I wouldn’t trade Wynn for anything,” she said with a chuckle. “At least you’ll know where Will is every night.”
“I don’t know.” I could feel myself wavering though. A part of me wanted to say yes and just ride off into the sunset with Will. “What if he gets bored? What if he hates retirement?”
“I’m sure you can find ways to keep him busy.” She gave me a naughty grin that I couldn’t help but return. “Just...think about it. Will leaves on Wednesday. We’re throwing a going-away party for him at our house on Tuesday afternoon.” She slid a business card toward me. “And he won’t be home again until Thanksgiving.”
Nodding, I slid my fingers over the edge.
“See ya.” She left, quickly disappearing into the thick crowd. That’s when I realized I hadn’t even asked her name. The card read, WYNN AND JULIE COLLIER and had their address and phone number listed. 7:00 was scrawled on the corner in blue pen.
* * *
Y
ou better believe I thought about it all day and early into the following week, trying to rationalize what going to Nevis meant. Hell, trying to rationalize what going to Wynn and Julie’s meant. What if Julie was wrong? What if Will didn’t really miss me? What if he didn’t really want me there? What if I just made things stupid and awkward for his family? What if I embarrassed him? I wasn’t exactly the kind of girl that guys took home to meet the folks.
I’d even contemplated calling Julie to talk some more, but never managed to work up the nerve. By the time the sun broke through the curtains Tuesday morning, I was exhausted from another restless night. The drive to Dallas would take right around five hours.
I glanced down at Scamp in his doggy bed. “What do you think, dude?”
He stared up at me, one graying eyebrow quirked, stood and shook, as if to say, “You know me. I’m game for whatever.”
With one last sigh, I threw back the covers and got ready to pack.
* * *
T
he steering wheel was slippery under my hands as I circled the block for a third time. Four cars, none of them over two years old, and Will’s Tahoe were parked out front or in the driveway. And the neighborhood was so nice, I worried one of Julie’s neighbors might have my van towed. Finally, I gritted my teeth and made myself park just past the next-door neighbor’s mailbox. I climbed from the van, shook the wrinkles from my best skirt and called for Scamp. I hoped Julie and Wynn wouldn’t mind but it was too hot to leave him alone in the van. And besides, if he was a problem, I had an excuse to leave. Even after doing two readings for myself, which I normally
never
did, I still wasn’t convinced this was the right move. But I’d decided to play it by ear. If he didn’t want me here, I’d go.
Scamp licked my hand, a signal to get my ass in gear. I slammed the door and clipped his leash on him. We quickly walked past a black Lexus and a sporty, red convertible. I was so out of my league, but I forced my feet to keep moving as I stepped on the grass and crossed to the walkway. I never even got to ring the bell as the door flew open and Julie stepped outside.
“Good. You made it.” She reached out and scratched Scamp under the chin.
“I hope it’s okay,” I said, giving him a wiggle.
“It’s fine. But Bud, that’s Will’s dad, brought his cat.” She motioned me inside. “He doesn’t go anywhere without that little fucker.”
I snorted, and tried not to let my surroundings intimidate me. Julie was nice, Wynn had seemed nice, from what little I knew. How bad could the rest of them be?
“Come on. Everyone’s outside where the lord and master is wowing us with his fantabulous grilling skills.”
I followed her down the hall and into a bright, sunny kitchen that would make a gourmet chef envious. That’s when it hit me. It had been years since I’d cooked in a real kitchen or kept a real house. What if I didn’t remember how? I stopped dead in my tracks while Julie continued on to the back door. “I can’t cook.”
Laughing softly, Julie turned and leaned against the back door.
“I can heat stuff up,” I explained lamely, “but I...I don’t know how to...to be all domestic and stuff.”
“Honey, I don’t think he cares. Besides, Delle taught all the boys to cook. Now, come on.” She yanked open the door, letting in the sound of laughter, but I still couldn’t move.
“Does he know?”
That I’m here.
“He’s about to.” She stood, patiently waiting for me to join her.
W
ill nearly dropped his beer at the sight of Sabrina standing in Julie’s kitchen doorway.
“Who’s that?” his sister, Dani, asked.
He dropped the hose he’d been spraying her with and glanced at Wynn who just shrugged. His mom and dad sat on a bench under a nearby tree, talking and still unaware they had a new guest. Julie pursed her lips and quirked an eyebrow. Her way of giving him a silent nudge.
“Dude,” Wynn said, “if you don’t hurry up, she’s gonna leave and never come back.”
That got him moving.
“The kitchen is all yours.” Julie gave him an encouraging pat on the arm as she stepped past him.
He slowly climbed the porch steps and slid his sunglasses off as he followed her back inside. She looked so pretty, and he didn’t have a clue what to say to her. “What are you doing here?”
She shrugged, her shoulders barely lifting and falling. “Heard there was a party.”
He couldn’t hold back the smile that tugged at his lips. “Julie?”
She nodded, shyly. “She came to see me.”
Will swallowed and forced himself to ask the question that was perched toward the back of his tongue. “Did you change your mind?”
She nodded again and released a shaky sigh, as if she’d been holding her breath. “I-I don’t...” she ended on a heavy. “I didn’t know if you were serious, and then I saw this—” she waved a hand at Wynn’s kitchen. “I haven’t stopped moving in so long that I don’t know how to do this.”
Normal stuff. She didn’t know how to do normal stuff.
It wasn’t just his job that had her so scared. Will had finally figured that out. He wasn’t her mom and he wasn’t Ronnie. He wasn’t leaving and the normal stuff was easy.
Will took Scamp from her and set the dog on the floor, then wrapped his arms around her waist. “I promise you I’m not going anywhere. Not for a long, long time, and if you want to keep moving, I can do that.”
“What about Nevis?”
“I can fish anywhere.” As long as she was with him.”
She gave him a tiny, hope-filled smile. “And Scamp?”
He snorted with laughter and cupped her face, whispering against her lips, “And Scamp.”
––––––––
THE END
D
ear Reader,
Thank you for reading
Hittin' It
! I hope you enjoyed Will, Sabrina and of course, Scamp's story.
Be sure you sign up for my newsletter so you can stay up to date:
Screwed, the next Marked For Love book should be available in early 2016—That'll be John's story.
Thank you for helping me spread the word, including telling your friends! Reviews really do help readers find books, so please take the time to leave a review on your favorite site.
It would mean the world to me!
Thanks,
Amie
––––––––
Around the web
My website
|
Newsletter
|
Goodreads
|
Facebook
|
Twitter
Nailed
(Wynn and Julie’s story),
Screwed (John and Tish’s story—coming March 2016)
...and more!
The Bluebonnet, Texas Series:
COMING OCTOBER 2015
The Big Girl's Guide to Buying Lingerie
COMING JANUARY 2016
––––––––
Scroll down for a peek at The Big Girl’s Guide to Buying Lingerie – Coming October 2015
. ALL BRAS ARE NOT CREATED EQUAL
I
watched with fleeting patience as the woman in front of me slowly unloaded her basket.
Hurry up lady. I’m gonna be late
.
I’d miss him. It was Saturday. We
always
met early on Saturday. Damnit, why did I stop at Target to begin with?
I, Jade Ballard, am firmly convinced there’s a huge, and yes, obvious, conspiracy on the part of retailers everywhere to drain our wallets at every opportunity. Why else would they add groceries to tempt us with? I can
never
stick to just the things on my list. The only place worse is Wal-Mart, where I buy at least two of everything, drag it home and
then
have no place to store it.
Finally!
She moved up enough that I could unload my booty onto the conveyor belt. Bra, panties, more panties, maxi pads, tampons, toilet tissue with aloe, milk chocolate Milanos, pretzels, face wash, a twelve pack of diet Dr Pepper and “Independence Day”—
collector’s edition
. Will Smith was a total hottie.
And one last bra. A
stuck
bra. I tugged and wiggled but couldn’t free the tiny hanger that was jammed between the basket slats, and the checkout lane was so narrow I couldn’t maneuver my wide hips to the side for better leverage.
Above me, I heard a voice say, “Here,” as a large, tanned hand reached down. “Let me help.”
I glanced up at the sound of that familiar voice, then caught my lower lip, and a few unkind words, between my teeth. Rowdy Yates twice in one week was more than I could handle. It wasn’t his rugged good looks—even good looking men eventually got wrinkles. It wasn’t his big blue eyes, complete with long lashes, and sun bleached blonde hair—despite my weakness for blondes. It wasn’t the fact that he was tall enough and solidly built enough to make even
me
feel small. Honestly, I’m not certain what it was about Rowdy Yates that left me flustered and annoyed. But no matter how much I gave him the cold shoulder, he continued to try and charm me—and every other woman that crossed his path.
Redneck Casanova.
I’d decided he either took way too much pleasure in trying to fluster me or he was truly dense.
I opted for A.
Bad enough I’d seen him Wednesday at the Bluebonnet Dancehall; surely he could have found a Target closer to home, or better yet, a Wal-Mart.
I’m cursed.
I blew a lock of dark hair out of my eyes, which reminded me of just how bad I looked. No makeup, scarf covering my shaggy short hair, an old “Property of Chris Cagle” t-shirt and cut-off, homemade capris. A pair of skuzzy flip-flops completed my ensemble from hell. Normally, greeting the world dressed one step above “just rolled out of bed” gave me a perverse thrill. After all, that’s what days off were for. But the thought of God’s Gift to Bluebonnet, Texas, seeing me at my very worst was enough to make me shop in New Braunfels, forty minutes away.
“I got it, thanks.” I leaned into the basket again and continued to tug, unsuccessfully, while swearing under my breath.
He reached past me again and easily untangled the hanger, which had been stuck in the thick, red, plastic basket slats.
Holding out my bra, my
40DD
bra, he smiled at me, all innocent-like. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
The wholly and completely unreasonable urge to smack him almost got the better of me, and I clenched my jaw. It was just a blue bra, for heaven’s sake, and
my guy
was none of Rowdy Yates’s business.
Just then I heard a voice ring out over the intercom, “Lingerie, price check at register six.”