Roundabout Road (Saving the Sinners of Preacher's Bend Book 2) (2 page)

Shoving her cell phone back into her pocket, disgusted
with all men, and knowing Mack could hold a grudge as well as he could hold
back on other . . . Well, he held back on far more important aspects of his
life if the mood suited him or he knew he could get away with it.

Still, he’d said time and time again unless she had
something to say to him he actually wanted to hear—perhaps at this late stage
of the game, such as
“I’m sorry, I should have told you much, much sooner
about still being married to Jake”—
and before Mack got up the nerve to
propose to her, and then made really big plans for the rest of their lives, and
before
he’d made of complete fool of himself in front of his peers—he
wasn’t picking up the line.

Damnit!
Mack
Wells not speaking to her wasn’t something she could live with. They always spoke
to each other. There wasn’t a single day or night passing they did not say they
love each other.

Most men at some point in their lives turn into stubborn
jackasses—usually at will—and Mack was certainly a man.

When this sordid mess was dealt with, when able to
take a deep breath, he’ll surely see the error of his ways. When all this over,
the love of her life will come crawling on hands and knees to beg forgiveness from
her. You’ll see. You’ll see, and you can then be the first in line to say, ‘
See?
Liddy was right
!’ Foolish women do get it right every so often.

Jake and she . . .

Okay! Enough already
! So what if they never actually got around to filing for divorce from
one another? There’re far worse things in life to forget, worse crimes to
commit. Adultery, for one. Buckshot sent into a man’s ass, for another.

And so what if she couldn’t marry Mack—legally—until
Jake signed a few . . .Damnit, technically speaking, and in a legal sort of
way, until the wretched bastard signs a few documents she now had in her
possession and then those documents processed through the judicial system.

If Liddy could not marry Mack, all hell might break
loose. If all hell broke loose, she could lose her one and only chance at having
her name put up in neon lights. She could lose Mack. Better yet, she won’t be
able to show her face in Miami—ever!

Liddy would rather not find out what the rest of her
life was going to be if this happened.

All because of a lousy, lowlife, scum-sucking piece of
trash who she couldn’t seem to get rid of? Well, of course. Why would she have
thought being married to Jake would have turned out any differently?

Oh, just speaking his name aloud made her blood boil.

However, she was quite certain this terrible
circumstance could be corrected—given time. In her possession was a thick
packet of annulment papers. Thirty-eight sheets of crisp white paper copied
four times and notarized. Unfortunately, notarized or not, no one in Preacher’s
Bend was to get an annulment. It’s sort of an unspoken rule here.

Liddy supposed it was right up there with never
stealing strawberries from old ladies’ strawberry beds while not looking; and
when the cows get out you help put them back in, whether they be your cows or
not. Generosity came in waves in Preacher’s Bend.

The tide to Liddy’s limited supply of generosity
drifted out to sea, late yesterday afternoon; the full moon keeping it as far
out of reach as possible, and the anxiety because of this increasing each
passing second it stayed out of her reach.

Oh, sure!
In
Preacher’s Bend a man could sleep with as many women as he liked, run off with
as many as he could get away with swiping out of other folks’ beds, and make
babies with just about every single one of them, if he had too. But a woman was
not—not now, not later,
not ever!—
allowed to correct a dire mistake by getting
an annulment, especially in a town named after a saintly preacher.

This bloody damn town never changed any of their other
rules before, so she’d not been prepared for any such rule changes this time
around.
Why would they have started doing so now?
Good grief!

She did get the picture. No annulment. Not now. Not
ever. Did she not just tell you this town sucked?

Her life, her existence because of one very bipolar
rule change in a strip-mining, blood sucking, black hole was now ruined.

In less than twenty-four hours, she’d hit rock bottom.
And damn, if the impact wasn’t hard to her already damaged knees.

Chapter Two

Shoving the thick pack of unsigned annulment papers into
her four hundred dollar leather briefcase, Liddy could not help but close her
eyes, groaning aloud as mere afterthought. She couldn’t help but hate the past.

She met up with Theodora Rosebud a half day ago. Theodora
was Jake’s boss. The old woman lived at the far end of
Roundabout Road.
Though
their years were sixty-four in difference, Theodora and Liddy . . .they burned their
bridges to the ground for a man who did not deserve the time of day from either
one of them.

And every Sunday since the beginning of time, Theodora
went about Preacher’s Bend in her
Bitch
cycle.
Damnit!
She was quite
good at this, too. And Jake? Jake hadn’t come home for two whole days.

He was living at the back of Theodora’s peach orchard
in a one-room shack specifically made for the beekeeper.
Giggle, giggle
.
Tsk, tsk
. Sorry about that. She was still having a very difficult time at
picturing Jake with a large swarm of buzzing bees; and not thinking it so damn
funny she could pee her pants.

Nevertheless, his not being there for two whole days
meant either he was in deep shit with his parole officer, or he was sleeping
with her; under the circumstances, the latter not very likely. Preacher’s Bend
had only two law enforcement officers, if you could really call them officers—or
even enforcing any laws. Chief Ceril Berken and Deputy Debra Wesley did what little
they had to, to earn a paycheck.

Berken, bless his soul, could shoot a man in the back
if ever the need was there. His eyesight was impeccable. He’d wanted the
position of Sheriff, but thus far got passed over for the younger men to obtain
the position.

Debra Wesley wanted the job, too. But she was a woman,
and even those brain-dead know Preacher’s Bend wasn’t going to let a woman have
political bargaining power
and
a gun at her hip.

Even so, Debra was a woman no one should mess around
with. She was what those living in Preacher’s Bend loosely termed a rather
highly explosive individual caught on steroids. The woman was bloody damn dangerous—to
a fault. She could be a real nasty witch, too.

Liddy could say this about her, because she knew Debra
Wesley like the back of her hand, as well as she knew Jake Giotti. Debra was
Liddy’s sister. Sister-in-law, really. As said, Jake and she still married
technically
made her related to Debra.

God help us all!

Liddy was quite certain Jake wished he were an only
child. But he had Debra and another half-sister Bets. Liddy was certain he was proud
of both these fine upstanding women.

Okay
.
Wait
.
Let her dry her eyes on that one, too.

Christ! She still hadn’t gotten over the idea of a
swarm of bees around his head. Therefore, she wasn’t exactly the greatest at
lying through her teeth about one’s ill-collected family.

Although Jake wasn’t an only child, Liddy, in fact, was.
Her parents considered their options and chose to quit while ahead. Once they’d
figured out having children together—as in,
with each other—
would put a
kink in their drinking habits, they’d stopped having sex altogether. Even she
knew skeletons in one’s closet were usually best left alone when long dead. But
what one would call the product of one very lust-driven Curt Giotti, Jake’s
father, who’d consorted with a whole lot of woman from the wrong side of the
tracks, and who got away with it for twelve full years, Jake, the darling man,
was the only
legitimate
Giotti around these parts.

Yet, no matter who or
what
he was, Debra was now
his parole officer. And Liddy could bet Debra was getting a real kick out of
seeing Jake sweat it out. If it wasn’t so damn funny to even think about—good
ole` Debra telling sweet, terribly innocent Jake what to do, when to do it, and
why—Liddy was certain she could have cried in her soup bowl.

Theodora Rosebud didn’t know where Jake was. Debra was
not privy to his whereabouts. Or, if she was, she sure as hell was not saying
where to Liddy. And Lord knew Debra was mad enough, at not only Jake, but at
Ceril, too. Chief Berken had gone off without her, chasing ghostly shadows down
in the abandoned quarry, for God knew how long, and only for God knew why. Ceril
tended never to tell Debra what he was up to.

He left Debra behind to tend to the police department
all on her own. This included manning the phones. Hell, as far as Liddy figured,
Debra Wesley didn’t know one end of a telephone from the other, but she could
shoot a man, right between the . . . Her aim was always between the, um,
eyes
.

She was paid for what she was good at—being mean and a
real bitch.

To those who no longer lived in Preacher’s Bend, Sundays
sucked around here,
especially
if you were now considered an outsider; a
backstabbing, life-altering treacherous snake to each of its Christian-minded
elders. That would be her, precisely.

Liddy hadn’t done any real harm to those still in Preacher’s
Bend—past or present. She never took anything they weren’t willing to give
away. What she’d done was leave without saying Good-bye. And without question—the
part of her leaving without saying Good-bye—was the deadliest of all sins to
commit in a town so small-minded it couldn’t see its ass even if bent over.

No one was to leave Preacher’s Bend without its
residents acknowledgeable of where it was the person was to end up. Disappearance
severed gossip lines and those around here lived for the connection.

Christ
! Even
she hadn’t known where it was she would end up. Liddy just knew she had to go;
if not for herself, then for the well-being and personal safety of one
incredibly gorgeous Jake Giotti. You know? The guy dressed in form fitting
leather jacket, big snake tattoo, and his sweet ass seated comfortably on a custom-built,
low-riding Harley.

God, she hated him! She hated Jake so much her teeth were
starting to ache.

She’d been hurt so deeply by the man, and so angry with
him ever since, and filled with such a violent temper toward him . . . even she
could have shot him right between the
eyes
that fateful night—without
flinching, chipping a nail, or breaking into a sweat.

But the past was the past, as it should be. She’d let
it go.

While thinking this through, while she sorted her thoughts
together as best she could, get the bile to lower from her esophagus, she
turned her head to glance out the large window of Rachel’s Café . . . and
precisely when a world she thought she knew came to an abrupt end.

She hadn’t touched the plate of food in front of her
simply because she wasn’t as hungry as she’d been when first coming through the
doors. But when one’s world ends so abruptly, food should not matter a hill of
beans to the scheme of things.

She could not pull her gaze from the window even if her
life depended on it. Time had seemed to speed up momentarily—fast forward, then
slammed directly into her heart and considerably staggered her.

Coming up . . . No. Christ, it was more like waltzing
up, with a most definite and very familiar swagger . . .

Was it?
Good
God! Could it be?

Jake Giotti? The same Jake Giotti who was
technically
her husband, but a slightly new and improved version of the man?

He was dressed in what looked to be a very expensive
silk suit but minus one perfectly God-forgiving, forty-five-thousand dollars,
custom built Harley Davidson motorcycle stuck between his legs. As well, minus
at least twelve inches of gorgeous brown hair he’d always tied in a ponytail
with thick leather strap. Unless a certain someone untied it for him, but no
one was mentioning any names now, were they? Or stating this very same someone had
been in the throes of blessedly hot and sweaty sex with the man, either!

Thee Jake Giotti?

Jesus! He was walking right toward the window, coming
straight for Rachel’s Cafe with a sly grin on his face.

In the blink of an eye, Liddy’s life flashed before her
eyes. It came into view in full Technicolor, and all she could do was staring at
the change ten years in him had done. From head to toe, he was no longer the
Jake she remembered.
Good God
! He’d physically grown into something far
better, something far more dangerous, and something far more devastating to the
naked eye.

To peace of mind and state of well-being, he was . . .
he was wearing a suit for Pete’s sake!

 Bloody Hell! Why would he be wearing a suit?

All men looked hot in a suit.

Was her heart beating faster under her stubborn
jackass hide by just looking at his physique, his swaggering walk? Surely not. Liddy
was marrying the love of her life in less than a few short weeks. Because of
this, how could her heart betray her as such?

Or was she about to marry the love of her life?

Had she not thought to do that already in life?
Married a man who was supposed to be the only real love of her life, and then
some?

Well? Hadn’t she?

****

Jake slowly moved his sunglasses off his eyes to the
top of his head and entered Rachel’s. He was late, and he knew far better than
anyone around here that he was. But to a man, being tardy always had good
reasons. A regrettable delay, he had an alibi. At least one a wee bit more
reliable than the last one he’d tried using on Debra.

And, of course, Debra would certainly be furious with
him by now; the woman out riding with a posse, searching high and low for his
whereabouts just to pick his carcass clean. She’d been gunning for him to screw
up for the last three years. He was only adding more fuel to the fire.

Debra, on any given day, made it a point to be mad at
someone on a daily basis. With any hope, he could smooth the woman over this
time. She might even have had a good night’s rest. There were times when Debra
could be a real pushover to his many likable charms, if he played his cards
right.

Yeah, right!
And
the huge tattoo on his arm, a tattoo he’d been itching to get rid of as of late,
was nothing more than a cute cuddly kitten sporting angelic wings. Debra was no
pushover. She was a cop, large and mean. And if ever a reason for being just
plum mean to him, today would be the day.

Jake hated cops about as much as he hated . . .

No
.
Jesus!
He surely could not go there now! The past was what it was . . . the past.

His half-sister was nothing more than an overgrown
bitch. The woman could eat a gallon of lead paint and not feel a thing. She was
practically inhuman. Jake being tardy was going to be the tip of the iceberg
that would set her off.

He almost felt sorry for Preacher’s Bend this morning.
Almost. He wasn’t quite there yet. How in the hell he’d gotten stuck with her
as his parole officer . . .?

He let the door to the diner close behind his back
with a distinct hiss. The welcoming cold filled his lungs as he drew in a deep
breath of the greasy aroma and strode with long, steady strides toward his
usual booth set over by the large picture window.

Every Sunday this place smelled like crisp bacon and
over easy eggs. Rachel must have been trying something new today, because he
could swear there was the permeation of blueberries in the air.

Preacher’s Bend had certainly changed a lot in the
many years since he’d been living here. The café not as much. Nevertheless, as
long as his booth remained empty when his stomach was, he had no real reason to
complain about any of the town’s alterations. Changes meant better things were
coming in the near future. And who wouldn’t look forward to better things?

Rachel Rosebud was now the only owner of the diner.
Petty Tressle passed away—in fact, her funeral was last Thursday. The old car
lot at the far end of the block stood empty. Except for a few rusted-out Buicks
in back that didn’t run, and no one had ever been persuaded to buy when they
had, and the stray dogs and cats roaming freely at night, things pretty much
remained the same in Preacher’s Bend. Life went on as it should in a town of
this size.

Except him. He figured he’d changed the most of all
those here. But at least he could hold his head up high and look folks right in
the eye. As an untamable youth he’d never been able to look anyone in the eye, unless
they were of the female variety and somehow his gaze never quite went any
higher than beyond the neck.

Even then a wayward eye had gotten him in a whole heap
of trouble.

Women? Women had always been his downfall, but not
anymore. A long trail of tears was not his thing anymore.

All the closed-off memories of his past hit him like a
ton of bricks; almost as if he could sense their presence straight through his
soul. Inside here he could remember her.

Damnit!
Today
was not the day for any past ghosts to be haunting him, any more than they were
going to when dead.