Alex Read online
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The Wild Rose Press
www.thewildrosepress.com
Copyright ©2008 by Monica Robinson
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Alex
Dedication
Prologue
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
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
About the author...
Thank you for purchasing
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Brett grabbed Alex's wrist
before pointing to the burn mark on her hand. “This is incentive. This proves you weren't afraid to try something on your own."
She twisted in his grasp and pulled free before repaying the iron grip on his arm and turning it over. “Is that what your scars mean to you?"
He flinched at the feel of her nails digging into his flesh.
"No, I didn't think they did,” she continued. “You view your scars as a permanent reminder of what you were and the regrets you have for taking the wrong road."
"What do you see?"
"I see a man who is terrified of repeating the mistakes he's already made up for.” She loosened her hold on him. “I see a man who hates the person he used to be so much that he's willing to fight to his last breath to make sure no one else ever feels the way he did. Even if it means butting heads with the most stubborn, pig-headed woman he's ever met."
Brett's resolve disintegrated. She was right. God help him, she knew exactly what he was feeling. He didn't know what was worse. The fact she'd been able to read him so easily or the fact he was glad. In either case, the jumbled feelings swirling through his head left him thoroughly unnerved.
He snaked his arm around her waist and yanked her to him. “You forgot the most beautiful."
You're crazy. Still, every fiber in his being ached to taste her full pouty lips while slipping his fingers in her hair to see if it was as soft as it looked. He knew what he should do, but the harder he tried to release her, the tighter his hold became. Yup, he was certifiably bonkers. And if he was lucky, the little men in white coats would take him away before he did something stupid—like act on his impulses.
"Oh, for God's sake. If you won't do it, I will.” Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his.
Alex
Prisoners of Desire, Book One
by
Monica Robinson
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Alex: Prisoners of Desire, Book One
COPYRIGHT ©
2008 by Monica Robinson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Tamra Westberry
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 706
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Yellow Rose Edition, 2009
Print ISBN 1-60154-510-X
Published in the United States of America
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Dedication
For Megan:
My lovely assistant and research goddess.
I'll always be your Baby Girl.
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Prologue
Bangor, Maine, Seven Months Ago
The audience sat in a hush while waiting for Judge Phillip Larson to enter the courtroom. No one stirred, though the same question was on everyone's mind. Would Alex Kincaid receive a sentence this time or would her daddy's bottomless bank account get her out of yet another jam? The billionaire's eldest daughter had been caught drinking and driving for the third time in eighteen months—a crime punishable by a prison sentence and the permanent revocation of her license.
"Put a yellow slicker on this guy and he'll look like the Gorton's fisherman.” Alex slouched in her seat and peered at the expression of disgust on her attorney's face. “What? He does."
"Miss Kincaid, I would suggest keeping your mouth shut,” Kevin Seabright remarked, his voice laced with a crisp New England accent. “You are looking at one hundred and ninety days in jail along with losing your license. Insulting the judge won't help."
Alex rolled her eyes and rose with the rest of the courtroom to greet the adjudicator. She forced a pleasant smile and clasped her hands in front of her. She knew how to play the part. As long as she looked sweet and innocent, she could get away with anything.
"Be seated,” Judge Larson eyed her with an indiscernible expression. “Miss Kincaid, you are aware of the fact this is your third OUI offense in the last eighteen months, correct?"
"Yes, Your Honor.” She glanced at him through her lashes, but his expression hadn't changed. If anything, he looked grimmer.
Uh oh. This doesn't look promising. She couldn't go to prison, she simply couldn't. How would it look to her friends? She was the daughter of Franklin Kincaid, for God's sake. Kincaid Foods were the hottest products in New England. She would be a laughing stock if she went to jail.
"You have been categorized by the state of Maine as a hardcore drunk driver.” Judge Larson lowered his glasses to the tip of his nose. “Do you know what that means?"
Of course she did. It meant she was a habitual offender and was about to lose her freedom. What she wouldn't give to get her hands around Greg Hawthorne's throat right now. She wouldn't have driven that night had her fiancé simply agreed to stay the night at a friend's house. No, she had to drive his obliterated tail home and consequently wound up pulled over when she failed to stop at a stop sign. Luckily, no one had been coming in the other direction, but she supposed that wasn't the point.
"Yes, Your Honor."
"The fact no one was hurt in this incident has played a very small role in determining your punishment.” He took a deep breath and drew back his bulky shoulders. “I hereby sentence you to one hundred and ninety days in county jail. However, I will suspend this sentence if you agree to attend a twelve week alcohol rehabilitation program and pay your debt to society through volunteer service."
It's better than sitting in a jail cell. She peeked at Kevin and when he nodded his urging,
Alex swallowed the tears of frustration threatening to choke her.
"I'm willing, Your Honor."
"You are also to pay a fifteen hundred-dollar fine and your license will be permanently revoked,” the judge added.
Kevin rose and lifted his pen. “I have just one question, Your Honor. Where will my client be spending her community service?"
That was what she wanted to know. She would be mortified if she had to collect trash along the side of the road.
"When I have made my decision, Counselor, you will be the first to know.” Judge Larson then addressed the rest of the courtroom, “Court is adjourned."
Once the judge left the room, Alex sunk into her chair. Rehab? Who did he think she was? Paris Hilton? People of her social class didn't go to rehab. They made deals to prevent such things.
A heavy hand fell on her shoulder and she glanced up to see her father standing behind her, a solemn expression etching his rugged face.
"It was a good deal, Alexandra,” he said. “You're twenty-two years old. It's time you started taking responsibility for your actions. I think community service is just what you need."
How could he say that? She'd been trying to do the more responsible thing by not allowing Greg to drive. Granted, she'd had a few drinks herself, but she'd been by far more sober than her fiancé.
"Daddy, you don't understand,” she protested while pushing herself to her feet. “The only reason I drove that night was because I didn't want Greg driving."
"What if someone had been coming at the intersection? You could have killed that person and you would be looking at something far worse than a few hours of volunteer work.” He jerked his arm away when she reached out to take his coat sleeve. “No! I have had it with your complete lack of responsibility. I have a better idea. Once you've finished serving your community service for the court, you will begin volunteer work that I assign for you. By the time you're done there, you will know what hard work and responsibility are about."
Alex's eyes widened. “What do you mean? Are you going to put me to work in one of your manufacturing plants?"
Franklin sneered and shook his head. “Nothing so posh,” he growled. “No, you are going to stay with your uncle for six months and you are going to do everything he says, when he says it."
Her uncle Jason? The man owned a horse ranch in the most rural part of Texas. What kind of help could a city girl like her be to a ranch? Not that Bangor was much of a city. There were just under thirty-two thousand inhabitants and that excluded the college students attending the University of Maine in Orono.
"I don't know the first thing about horses except that you ride them,” she objected. “They'll chase me off within a week."
A dark smile twisted his lips as he turned toward the exit. “I'll make it worth Jason's while to keep you around.” He paused. “If you refuse, you can kiss your trust fund good-bye. I'll divide it up between your sisters.” With that, he slipped through the swinging doors, leaving Alex to gape after him.
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"Well, I'll be damned,” Jason Kincaid chuckled. “Yeah, I've got room for Alex. Not sure what kind of help the little hell raiser will be, but I can give it a shot."
Brett Hartman looked up from his plate and furrowed his eyebrows. Another worker was coming to the Bar K? Having served on the prosperous horse ranch for nearly six years, he had come to think of Jason as more than a warden. He saw him as a friend, a mentor. Everything he knew about ranching and how to cope in society were in thanks to Jason's patience and expertise.
Jason let out a hoot of laughter. “Six months? You are out of your mind if you think Alex will stick around that long. Town is almost two miles away and the closest bar is nearly five miles away."
Brett swallowed a groan. Great. Just what they needed—another party animal. Not that he had room to talk. Until Jason got a hold of him, Brett had seen more than his share of parties and drugs. Instead of scowling, he let a one-sided grin touch his lips and returned his attention to his plate.
"You're family, Frank. I'm not going to take your money. If you want to send money as an allowance, that's fine,” Jason declared. “Don't you worry about it. Guarantee you that by the time I'm done, you won't recognize your own child. All right. Bye."
Jason hung up the phone and returned to the dinner table, eying the five men sitting around him. “Sorry, boys,” he apologized and shifted his gaze to Brett. “I bet you're dying to know what that was about, aren't you?"
Damn, he'd been caught. Brett's cheeks burned, certain his face was as red as the checkered tablecloth beneath his plate. “It's none of my business."
Another of the men laughed and he glanced up to find his best friend, Charlie Garrison, covering his mouth with the side of his fist.
"You're a horrible liar, Brett. You might just as well ‘fess up to eavesdropping.” He picked up his fork and shoveled some of the potatoes into his mouth.
Brett mimicked him. “Keep riding me, Charlie, and you'll end up cooking breakfast tomorrow.” He turned his attention to Jason. “Sorry, I guess I did listen in."
Jason leaned his elbows on the edge of the table and watched the bickering friends with amusement. “No need to apologize. In a way, that phone call will affect all of you. We're taking on another worker."
Charlie lifted a dark eyebrow. “Bad attitude or addict?” All eyes turned to him. “It ain't no big secret that every one of us here has a history with either drugs or nasty attitudes. I just want to know what I should expect."
Jason let out a puff of air. “It isn't a big secret,” he corrected. He continued when Charlie shrugged, “For all I know, maybe both. My brother informed me that his eldest recently received a sentence for five hundred hours of community service because of a DUI. Third offense, and the troublemaker is only twenty-two."
Brett glanced around the table until his eyes landed on the youngest of the five men. Daniel Johnson stared at his plate without blinking.
Not even eighteen, Daniel came to the Bar K after facing vehicular manslaughter charges when he crashed his Camaro into a tree almost a year ago. There had been only one survivor—Daniel. If Brett recalled the story correctly, his friend's blood alcohol content had been .15 at the time of the accident.
"I'll set ‘em straight, Jason.” Daniel lifted his eyes. “If it weren't for you requesting me to be here, I'd probably be rotting in some cell, waiting to be executed. DA wanted to go for murder charges. Would have gotten it too, I'm sure."
A sympathetic smile touched Jason's lips as he contemplated the teen. “I bet you would, Daniel."
"So, when is this person coming? We're going to need help delivering the foals this summer,” Brett said, hoping to change the subject before they reached the topic of progress reports. He had nothing useful to add and he would just as soon not mention this if he could help it.
Jason grinned knowingly, but allowed the topic switch. “June.” Then with a clap of his hands he said, “Now, let's finish eating, shall we? Supper's getting cold."
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Chapter One
San Eduardo, Texas, Present Day
"Is it always this hot?"
Alex fanned herself with the flight itinerary in her hand. As if riding in coach for six hours wasn't bad enough, she had an hour and a half ride back to the Bar K in an old, beat up Chevy truck that didn't have air conditioning.
Her uncle peered at her from the corner of his eye before shaking his head. “No, it's usually about fifteen degrees warmer in July and August,” he returned wittily. “And it gets pretty darn cold in the winter. Probably not as cold as what you're used to though. What was the low y'all had last winter?"
Alex tore her gaze from the passing scenery to her uncle. She had seen pictures of him, but she hadn't counted on him looking quite so, well, young. Granted, he was considerably younger than her father, but there wasn't so much as a hint of gray in his chestnut-colored hair and his dark brown eyes were free of worry lines.
The community service hadn't been nearly as daunting as she'd feared. During the winter months, she had shoveled sidewalks for the elderly and though it took her nearly two hours to do a single house, the people were extremely appreciative of her effort. Some had even invited her inside for a cup of hot chocolate once she'd finished.
"I'll tell you, I'd rather shovel six inches of snow than eight inches of manure,” Jason commented with a chuckle. “It's probably about the same amount of physical labor."
Alex blanched. Dear God, tell me that isn't going to be my job. She'd finally come to terms with the fact she had to work on the Bar K for the next six months, but it would be a nightmare of epic proportions if she had to shovel horse dung the entire time.
"Uh, Uncle Jason? I—I'm not going to be shoveling manure, am I?"
Jason shook his head and turned down the road leading to the ranch. “Not unless you want to. The boys take care of that,” he replied. “Your chores are more ... of the domestic sort."
The only thing resembling domestication she had ever done was help her father choose which type of pâté to serve at one of his many dinner parties.
"Such as?"
"Such as, cooking the meals, cleaning the main house and washing the laundry. Brett will help you for the first few nights when it comes to the cooking. He's pretty handy in the kitchen, but I think he would prefer to be out working with the horses."
Cooking? She thought with a wince. Now, that ought to be interesting. Her last attempt at cooking had been in the seventh grade when the school curriculum demanded all females take a cooking course. Even then, she had paid Debbie Winters twenty dollars to bake the pie for her.
"You do know how to cook, right?” he asked a moment later.
"Of course,” she lied. Where's Debbie when you need her?
"Uh huh,” Jason drawled. “There are a few things you need to know before we get to the house. First, this is supposed to teach you something. I don't necessarily mean just how to take care of a ranch and the six bachelors who run it."
Heartbreaker
Alex