Ride to Redemption

Ride to Redemption

DJ Wilson

ebook published by Riscatto
Publishing Inc.

Copyright 2015, David Wilson

No part of this eBook may be reproduced or shared by any
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License
Notes

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ISBN: 978-1-60414-808-4

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses,
places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s
imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. 

I dedicate this book to
the Princess. She is my most ardent fan and longs for the day she’ll find a
prince in me, not a frog.

Introduction

E
xperiencing
and surviving both prosperity and adversity defines our essence. Over the
course of our lives, we learn to appreciate the true meaning of prosperity,
usually after suffering adversity. Like most life-lessons, I’ve learned this
the hard way. During an aggressive life-altering maneuver to right some
grievous wrongs, decisions I made in earnest ultimately affected many others.

Everyone
deserves a second chance; some even need a third, fourth, and fifth. So, when
fate knocks, answer the door. Throw caution to the wind, and play the hand
you’re dealt. In my case, it was aces and eights — the dead man’s hand.

…
And then I met the girl of my dreams…

It’s
a long story — one that’s worth sharing, but I must warn you beforehand,
it’s filled with broken promises, shattered dreams, unrequited love, unbridled
lust, and finally redemption. In the end, it’s complicated.

I
am a designer, a dreamer of big dreams, and as of late, a topnotch freelance
personal financial crisis manager for the mess of my own making. I live in the
gilded foothills of the Great Smokey Mountains — the heart of Tennessee.
My home sits beside on the shores of Dale Hollow Lake, and I love this area
more than any other I’ve ever visited.

I
found myself here because I wanted to re-invent me. It is remote and wild, and
seemed to offer a fresh start. That was exactly what I needed, because the once
great D, builder of multimillion dollar homes for the rich and famous had been
laid low by a conniving rat. Recovery from my inglorious fall is where this
story begins.

My
last and most infamous project brought down a mismanaged financial empire, as
well as the greedy s.o.b. who ran it. This “financial whiz,” R.J. Standford,
managed to lose upwards of $8 billion in shady offshore investments. He had
promised “too good to be true” returns to his investors, most of which were
normal upper middle class American families — doctors and lawyers and
such. The one not so normal investor was prominent New York City Italian
family, the Gambino family.

Now,
here’s where it gets bizarre.

Some
of Standford’s former clients — those most desperately in need of redemption
— started receiving small bags of large-carat diamonds. Once a month, a
select few of these all-but-forgotten investors got these packages filled with
120 to 180 2 to 3-carat diamonds. Each package was worth $1.5 to $2 million
dollars. Enclosed in each parcel was a simple handwritten note that said,
“Please use all that you need to be made whole and pay the rest forward.”
Thankfully, as word got out, the suicides caused by Standford’s ill-fated
scheme declined because these little “gifts” gave them renewed hope that they,
too, could receive a saving grace in the mail.

But,
back to me … My move to Tennessee wasn’t just a fresh start; it was a whole new
identity for me. It also helped me conceal those aforementioned large-carat
diamonds, as well as miscellaneous South African trinkets and a treasure trove
of mega-buck financial records and ledgers I’d obtained from the shadiest of
shady business foes across the globe. My lakefront escape gave me some
much-needed breathing room to ponder how I was going to deliver the bulk of
these ill-gotten gains to deserving folk without a paper trail or legal
repercussions for anyone involved.

I’m
getting ahead of myself. Let’s back up a little and see how I got myself into
this mess.

Trying
to do the right thing … that’s what cost me my business, my family, my friends,
and my life, as I knew it, though some things were better off forgotten. What I
couldn’t forget was the damage my ex-husband and I inflicted on our sons
through the slow and painful death of our marriage. That will take a lifetime
to repair no matter where I live, or what name I use.

So,
I’m rebuilding myself from the ground up — I’ve done it before. I’m a
little older this time around — my hair’s got some gray and the crow’s
feet around my infamous bedroom-brown eyes are more pronounced, but I’ve
started a daily exercise regimen of weights and walking five miles a day, in an
effort to eventually fit into my Air Force blues again and think I’m looking
pretty buff. My mind’s still sharp and while my heart is a little more broken,
it’s also much more wiser.

My
outlook on life is different now; I’ve finally grown up. I cherish each moment
and do all the good I can so I won’t repeat the mistakes of my past. I also
continue to dream big, in brilliant vivid colors …

 
… for when the dreams stop, so will the
breathing.

Chapter
1

F
riday
morning broke with pastel oranges, reds and blues painted across the sky. As I
gazed out the window and into this gorgeous day, I hoped this artistic canvas
signaled something more than the norm, might be in store for me today. This
day, unlike the others of late, wasn’t filled with solitude; instead I had a
glimpse of hope.

Having
escaped from a relationship with my much loved ex, I had resigned myself to the
fact that living alone was a far better state for me. Being in the presence of
someone I loved, who after twenty-five years of togetherness, no longer had the
time, space, or desire for me, drained me of my life’s blood. Alone was better,
by a long shot, than stuck and disgruntled in that once enduring relationship.

I
scrambled out the door for my five-mile wake-up walk with Major, my constant
four-legged companion, leading the way. This daily morning ritual continually
healed me, mostly because it cleared the cobwebs brought on by too many
restless nights.

For
me, however, the day was just starting and after dropping Major by the house, I
began my daily 40-minute trek to Starbucks for my morning jolt of reality in a
cup. On this particular day, I ordered a
venti breve
latte from my
ever-perky, blue-eyed barista Lauren. After her chipper farewell and smile, I
headed out the door.

As
I stepped from the curb, an attractive brunette in a Range Rover raced through
the drive-thru lane and almost took out my latte — narrowly missing me.
Slamming on the brakes, she proceeded to mouth some rather animated foul words.
Having just seen my life flash before my eyes in this near-death experience, I
decided there was no better way to exit this world than by being run down by a
beautiful woman. I could just imagine the headlines:
Crazed Woman Takes Out
Man in Starbucks Drive-thru.

She,
too, must have seen the situation as nearly fatal, because she slid her vehicle
into the nearest parking space and jumped out screaming, “Are you okay?”

“Uh,
no
,” I said with more than a hint of sarcasm. “Just what were you
thinking? Did you think the drive-thru was part of the NASCAR circuit? Even
worse, you could have spilled my latte! My witty comment and smirk took some of
the sting out of my reprimand.

Even
though I’d eased up on her, tears cascaded down her cheeks, leaving trails
through the best Sephora had to offer. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I wasn’t
thinking. All I could think was ‘I need caffeine!’ I’ve been on the road for
two hours and I can barely keep my eyes open. Today was supposed to be
special.
It’s my birthday.

“Are
most of your birthdays
special
?” I chuckled.

“Well,
this is the first time in a long time that I’ve been single on my birthday.”

I
could tell she’d been daydreaming about what she’d be doing to celebrate so she
wouldn’t be alone. Seems she, too, came to the Starbucks lonely. Though from
what I could tell, there was no reason for her to be alone. She was a
beautiful, thirty-something woman who was dressed to impress. She was wearing
high glossed-brown, mid-calf riding boots, skinny cords, and a white V-neck
silk blouse that accentuated her attributes, over which she sported a bright
red cardigan that hung almost to her knees.
Stunning
, I thought.
Delicious
may be an even better description.
I must really be starving for the scent,
touch, and feel of a woman from the reaction I was having.

“You
need to take a deep breath, close your eyes, and think of something wonderful
for just a moment,” I said softly, yet firmly.

She
did as I instructed as I watched her trembling ease and the color return to her
face.

“There,
that wasn’t so bad, everything has a way of working out. Are we good?”

“Yes,”
she replied, still a bit shaken.

“Great.
Now how about I treat you to your caffeine fix to celebrate your birthday and
the fact that I’m still in the land of the living?”

We
went inside and found an out-of-the-way table. “Since you nearly killed me,
don’t you think it’s about time you tell me your name?” I asked as I brazenly
extended my hand to hers. Thankfully, for me, she didn’t pull back or show me
the door or the floor. From the way her lean, muscled frame looked, she
probably had the skills to do the latter.

“Oh,
I’m sorry. My name is Candice Parker.”

This
was a name I didn’t want to forget, so I used word association to make sure it
was seared into my brain. I chose Candi for her, to remind me of her stunning
and delectable presence.

“Does
Candi work for you?” I asked.

“Sure.
Why not?”

“And
just what am I supposed to call you?”

“Let’s
start with D. If you decide you want to get to know me, more letters will
follow.”

“Great,”
she sighed. “Now I can tell all my girlfriends about this mysterious guy I
almost ran over, who goes by just the initial D. Makes you seem like a guy with
something to hide … Or are you just the normal guy who sits at home playing
Scrabble by himself turning one tile at a time?” she joked as her curly hair
glistened in the sunlight coming through the east facing window.

I
was mesmerized by her lips, which were plump and glossed to perfection. Her
beautiful eyes, red and swollen from crying, lead me to believe that not
everything in Candi’s life was perfect.

We
continued chatting, making small talk. I could tell when I got too personal
with my questions. The distant gaze in her eyes kept me at bay. During this
short conversation, I could sense the loneliness in her life. She reminded me
of myself. Those dark brown eyes mirrored my own.

My
heart, having now settled back in my chest began to meld with hers. We talked
about life; careers, our passions and dreams for what seemed like an entire
day, but in reality, only an hour had ticked off the clock.

It
sure would be great to spend some more time together before she drifts out of
my life,
I
thought.
Will I be able to keep her interest enough that she’ll want to see
me again when she returns from her birthday weekend with her girlfriends?
Fortunately, before these thoughts could escape from my lips, Candi’s cell
phone rang. It was her friend, Marcy, calling to tell her that she had to work
a few hours longer. She asked if Candi could just go to her condo and wait
until early afternoon.

Things
do have a way of looking up,
I thought,
one just has to believe. D, here’s your
chance to make the best of an awkward situation. Show her your world; take her
home to your retreat on the lake. Here’s a chance to wow her with her.
This
might be a once in a lifetime opportunity to see if there could ever be
something more.

I
was speechless, hoping that just maybe, if the stars aligned, Candi might suggest
she spend more time with me rather than alone at Marcy’s condo.

“Hey,
Mr. Scrabble, now that I’ve got unexpected free time, want to do something with
me?”

“You
mean now?” I stammered. Struggling to act surprised, I tried not to expose
“Hell Yeah!” wanting to escape my lips.

“Sure,
there’s no time like the present!” Her straightforward attitude was surprising
and refreshing.

“How
could I say no? How about I show you my world?”

We
headed out to the parking lot, as I thought about how she really did deserve
something special on her birthday. I held open the door to my truck and
motioned her in. We buckled up and exited the parking lot. I made a left
instead of the normal right I would take to get home. I was headed to Blossoms,
a local florist on Jefferson St.

“What’s
your favorite color?” I asked.

“Yellow
or royal blue,” she replied. “Why?”

“That’s
just me being the mysterious D. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Within
ten minutes of pulling up to the shop, I was back at the truck carrying a dozen
yellow roses, three royal blue, helium-filled Happy Birthday Balloons, and two
florists in tow. We sang “Happy Birthday, Candi” in unison. Although, we were a
little off key, probably because of me, we were a hit.

As
the impromptu chorus line departed, Candi squeezed my hand and whispered,
“Thank you.” Then, she blew me the most amazing kiss.

Points,
D,
I
thought.
You have scored points!

As
we wound through the farmlands and valleys on the way to my place, I discovered
Candi had a passion for old barns, especially those that display painted quilts
on their walls, as most do in Middle Tennessee. She seemed to like horses too,
though she told me that she’s yet to climb into the saddle and ride one.
I
bet I can fix that soon enough,
I thought.
Here’s another Brownie point
opportunity in the making.

As
we meandered to my humble abode, I couldn’t wait to reach the lake so I could
show her what I had created with my second chance. It was all mine, but
unfortunately, it was mine alone.

Living
the single life may be great for many, but I’ve never enjoyed waking up alone.
It’s wonderful to have someone to hold you while you sleep, then wake with you
sporting a smile on her lips. I relish that “happy to be here” glow in her
eyes. I’m a hopeless dreamer, wanting to recreate that feeling daily. I believe
that it’s possible to find happiness in the midst of the storms. You just have
to be willing to “dance relentlessly,” whether it be in the rain, a monsoon or
even a hurricane, all to find the one whose passions complement yours. I
silently wished that Candi could be part of that hope I’d felt this morning and
that we wouldn’t end up as heartache later on.

Approaching
my home, we passed through two separate sets of security gates and I could
sense Candi’s trepidation. “It’s okay,” I assured her, taking her hand once
again. “They’re designed to keep unwelcome visitors out and protect my
privacy.”

“Just
who are you?” Candi asked.

“I’m
mysterious D, remember? I’ll tell you eventually, but first there’s someone I
want you to meet.”

As
we got out of the truck we were greeted by the constant roar of waterfalls and
my big bouncing roommate. “This is Major,” I said, pointing to my 105-pound
blond labradoodle. “He’s friendly,” I explained, “maybe too friendly. So if
you’re game, go ahead and introduce yourself.”

“Hi
Major, I’m Candi, so very nice to meet you,” she said as she ran her hand
through his 8-inch long, wavy, fur coat. Major seemed to like her, and
proceeded to jump up and put one massive paw on her shoulder and the other on
her breast. Candi, a little embarrassed, gasped and placed his feet back on the
ground.

I
ushered Candi through the front door, and introduced her to my “man cave,”
which included numerous mounts of moose, elk and deer hung on the walls as well
as life-sized bears and wolves standing guard throughout the great room and
den.

“Did
you kill all of these?” Candi asked, mesmerized by their numbers and size.

“A
long time ago,” I confessed, “while I was trying to find myself. That was
another life.”

“Your
house seems to be missing a woman’s touch,” Candi said, chuckling. “Besides all
the dead animals staring at me, you have absolutely no curtains. It’s just what
I would expect from a man — his world filled with his trophies and
treasures and no need for privacy.”

“I
hadn’t really thought of my home that way,” I said and chuckled as I grasped
her hand and led her out onto the deck and the waterfalls’ roars.

“Wow.
Waterfalls?”

“Yeah,
for thousands of years, Native Americans used these falls for washing, cleaning
and cooking. Let’s take a closer look,” I said, as I led her along the
limestone bluffs that encompassed my home. I showed her the rock outcroppings
and overhangs where previous residents had lived thousands of years ago. We
walked across the moss-covered rock and sat along a ledge, where the
eighty-foot tall canopy of trees shielded us from the sun.

“There’s
something magical and sacred about this place,” Candi whispered, “I can see why
you live here. If it was mine, I’d never want to leave.”

We
bonded again at that moment. I realized that sitting next to me was someone who
could see things through my eyes and appreciate the tranquility of my place.
Taking a chance, I put my arms around her, hoping she wouldn’t pull away. To my
surprise, she snuggled close, flipping her hair back from her eyes and focusing
squarely on mine. I was hoping she saw in me what I saw in her — a free
and lonely spirit starving for companionship.

In
that instant, Candi asked me the most amazing question. “Do you want to kiss
me, D?”

All
I could do was nod. The passion and the depth of her kiss was both humbling and
exciting. With each breath, I breathed her oxygen into me, and with each
exhale, she breathed my air in return. The longer we kissed, the hotter the air
we exchanged became. Suddenly the iron hold I’d had on my emotions broke, and I
felt like maybe, just maybe it was possible for me to experience love again.