Read Online Breaking the Rules by Barbara Samuel, Ruth Wind - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Barbara Samuel, Ruth Wind
Tags: Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Action & Adventure, Contemporary Fiction, Contemporary Women, Women's Fiction
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“My sister, Mattie O’Neal. She left her boyfriend standing at the altar and we just want to find her and let her know everything is okay.”
Cora patted her apron pocket for glasses. “Poor thing,” she said.
“You can’t tell it in the picture,” Redhead said, “but she has the most gorgeous hair you’ve ever seen. Way past her hips, kind of wavy.”
With a sudden flash, Zeke remembered why Mattie looked so familiar—and understood why he couldn’t place her. He also realized Redhead was lying. Moving as lazily as possible, he stood up, dropped a dollar on the counter, picked up the envelope full of money and waved to Roxanne.
As he headed for the door, he heard Redhead say, “Her hands are scarred, too. Burned them with paraffin making candles when she was sixteen.”
Zeke walked faster. Just as he reached the front door, Roxanne said, “Burned hands? Mary’s hands are burned like that.”
The hairs on the back of his neck stiff as teeth, Zeke shoved open the door. Coming in were two guys from the road crew. Both had been in the bar last night.
They trapped him with the open door in his hand. “Zeke Shephard, you dog! Did you manage to beat Mary’s game last night?”
Zeke glanced over his shoulder just as Redhead and his sinister pal came to their feet. They stared at him. Redhead’s expression was considerably less guileless now.
Zeke pushed through the two men and hopped on his bike, hauling it upright as he turned the key. The engine lit just as the two men came out of the restaurant. By the time Zeke cleared the parking lot, they were in the El Camino.
* * *
Mattie rolled her change and stuck it in a sock at the bottom of her huge leather purse, the only thing she had left from her old life. In bills, she counted nine twenties, six fives and twenty-three ones—the spoils of her pool games last night. $233. Not a fortune, but enough to get her out of Kismet.
In a small tote bag were her meager clothes and a bag of toiletries. She added oranges, cheese crackers in little packets, two Butterfingers and a family-size pack of gum. Last was a battered paperback copy of Collected English Poets that she had found in the thrift store when she’d bought her shorts. She touched it lovingly as she settled it in the tote.
A small part of her mourned her personal library back home, the well-tended, lovingly preserved books she’d been collecting since high school. A friend had built special shelves for her in the living room of the small apartment. Mattie wondered what would happen to that library now. It wasn’t, with its sonnets and poetry and literary criticism, the sort of collection many people would care about.
With a small sigh, she brushed the thought away. The lost library fell into the realm of things she could do nothing about. No point in moaning and groaning about it.
After double-checking to make sure she’d forgotten nothing, she stood by the window of the cheery cabin, visually embracing the view of ferns and pines and majestic red rocks one more time. Before she’d come here, she’d had no idea the world could be so still and quiet a thing; had never dreamed nature offered such a bounty of sensual pleasures. She’d spent her entire life within the confines of Kansas City.
Damn Zeke Shephard, anyway. If it weren’t for him, she might have made some kind of life for herself here, far away from anyone she’d ever known. If not for him—
No, it wasn’t his fault. She had to be honest enough to admit she had wanted to spill her secrets to him, take him into her confidence.
A pang shot through her chest. In leaving Kismet, she’d be leaving Zeke, too. A part of her knew she would always wonder what it might have been like to let herself go, just once, and experience the promise of dangerous pleasure he exuded like musk.
A wisp of poetry floated through her mind: How arrives it joy lies slain, and why unblooms the best hope ever sown?
The extreme melancholy of the
Cora patted her apron pocket for glasses. “Poor thing,” she said.
“You can’t tell it in the picture,” Redhead said, “but she has the most gorgeous hair you’ve ever seen. Way past her hips, kind of wavy.”
With a sudden flash, Zeke remembered why Mattie looked so familiar—and understood why he couldn’t place her. He also realized Redhead was lying. Moving as lazily as possible, he stood up, dropped a dollar on the counter, picked up the envelope full of money and waved to Roxanne.
As he headed for the door, he heard Redhead say, “Her hands are scarred, too. Burned them with paraffin making candles when she was sixteen.”
Zeke walked faster. Just as he reached the front door, Roxanne said, “Burned hands? Mary’s hands are burned like that.”
The hairs on the back of his neck stiff as teeth, Zeke shoved open the door. Coming in were two guys from the road crew. Both had been in the bar last night.
They trapped him with the open door in his hand. “Zeke Shephard, you dog! Did you manage to beat Mary’s game last night?”
Zeke glanced over his shoulder just as Redhead and his sinister pal came to their feet. They stared at him. Redhead’s expression was considerably less guileless now.
Zeke pushed through the two men and hopped on his bike, hauling it upright as he turned the key. The engine lit just as the two men came out of the restaurant. By the time Zeke cleared the parking lot, they were in the El Camino.
* * *
Mattie rolled her change and stuck it in a sock at the bottom of her huge leather purse, the only thing she had left from her old life. In bills, she counted nine twenties, six fives and twenty-three ones—the spoils of her pool games last night. $233. Not a fortune, but enough to get her out of Kismet.
In a small tote bag were her meager clothes and a bag of toiletries. She added oranges, cheese crackers in little packets, two Butterfingers and a family-size pack of gum. Last was a battered paperback copy of Collected English Poets that she had found in the thrift store when she’d bought her shorts. She touched it lovingly as she settled it in the tote.
A small part of her mourned her personal library back home, the well-tended, lovingly preserved books she’d been collecting since high school. A friend had built special shelves for her in the living room of the small apartment. Mattie wondered what would happen to that library now. It wasn’t, with its sonnets and poetry and literary criticism, the sort of collection many people would care about.
With a small sigh, she brushed the thought away. The lost library fell into the realm of things she could do nothing about. No point in moaning and groaning about it.
After double-checking to make sure she’d forgotten nothing, she stood by the window of the cheery cabin, visually embracing the view of ferns and pines and majestic red rocks one more time. Before she’d come here, she’d had no idea the world could be so still and quiet a thing; had never dreamed nature offered such a bounty of sensual pleasures. She’d spent her entire life within the confines of Kansas City.
Damn Zeke Shephard, anyway. If it weren’t for him, she might have made some kind of life for herself here, far away from anyone she’d ever known. If not for him—
No, it wasn’t his fault. She had to be honest enough to admit she had wanted to spill her secrets to him, take him into her confidence.
A pang shot through her chest. In leaving Kismet, she’d be leaving Zeke, too. A part of her knew she would always wonder what it might have been like to let herself go, just once, and experience the promise of dangerous pleasure he exuded like musk.
A wisp of poetry floated through her mind: How arrives it joy lies slain, and why unblooms the best hope ever sown?
The extreme melancholy of the
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