Tasha and Davis at 333 Harper's Cove
Deanndra Hall
Tasha and Davis at 333 Harper’s Cove
Deanndra Hall
Celtic Muse Publishing, LLC
Contents
Welcome to Harper’s Cove
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
About the Author
Also by Deanndra Hall
Tasha and Davis at 333 Harper’s Cove
Harper’s Cove, Book 6
Copyright 2015 Deanndra Hall
Celtic Muse Publishing, LLC
P.O. Box 3722
Paducah, KY 42002-3722
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction.
Names of characters, places, and events are the construction of the author, except those locations that are well-known and of general knowledge, and all are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental, and great care was taken to design places, locations, or businesses that fit into the regional landscape without actual identification; as such, resemblance to actual places, locations, or businesses is coincidental. Any mention of a branded item, artistic work, or well-known business establishment, is used for authenticity in the work of fiction and was chosen by the author because of personal preference, its high quality, or the authenticity it lends to the work of fiction; the author has received no remuneration, either monetary or in-kind, for use of said product names, artistic work, or business establishments, and mention is not intended as advertising, nor does it constitute an endorsement. The author is solely responsible for content.
Cover design & Formatting by:
Drue Hoffman, Buoni Amici Press.
Disclaimer:
Material in this work of fiction is of a graphic sexual nature and is not intended for audiences under 18 years of age.
To D’lynn
I can always count on you to be the first to comment, and it’s always positive. I love you for that. Can I please clone you? I could use a hundred of you! Hugs and love always, friend.
— Deanndra
Welcome to Harper’s Cove
Writing novels is my first love. I like nothing better than to take a name, find a photo that represents the face I have for him or her in my mind, assign a birthdate, an occupation, a love interest, family, friends, and sometimes enemies, and let my imagination go wild. If novels didn’t take so long to write, I’d crank out one a week!
That’s how I got the idea for this series. They’re short, quick reads that will get your motor humming and entertain you enough to wonder what the next couple in the cove will be up to. I was trying to figure out a way to plug in some short but quality reading between the volumes of the Love Under Construction series, and along came Karen and Brett and blew me away! I couldn’t wait to get started on this series, and I think it’ll be different from anything you’ve read before.
Take a stroll down Harper’s Cove and see what’s going on. And try not to be too judgmental; we’ve all got skeletons in our closets.
Love and happy reading,
Deanndra
1
Tasha
The last few months have been very strange. When we first started talking, I thought this was going to be a bad idea, but the first time I met Davis, I knew. Something about him just made me feel like choosing to dive in with him was going to be a good decision. Sure, he’s gorgeous, but he’s something more. There’s someone all locked up inside that beautiful shell, just dying to get out. I have to figure out if I can set that Davis free.
This has turned out to be a great move for us. God help him, he’s so repressed that he’s barely functioning. There was no question that I had to get him out of there. Between the old flames who’d burned him to a crisp and the family who didn’t want anyone to know that he was related to them because they thought he was so weird, staying there wasn’t an option. Real estate shopping on the internet isn’t always a good idea, but from what we could tell at a distance, this house looked like a possibility. When we physically looked at it, I wasn’t sure it was the right one, but it seemed as though it would be perfect for what we needed. Turns out we were one hundred percent right.
We got everything in place last night, and it looks good. On Saturday, we’ll work on the privacy fence. Boards will go on the inside, staggered so they’re behind the cracks between the ones on the outside. That way no one can see through the cracks in the fence. I don’t want the neighbors to be able to peek in while I’m exercising and training him. That won’t do at all.
I already had some equipment, but I’ve ordered more. The boxes will start showing up in a couple of days, and it’s going to be exciting. I can just smell the leather, hear it creak, feel it against my skin. Just thinking about it sets my heart racing.
So we’ve got two weeks before the first time we go to a group event. Dani and I have been corresponding for several months, but now we’ll get to meet. She’s been so nice to me. I just hope this group is a good fit for Davis. He’s my main concern, of course, and if this arrangement isn’t beneficial for him, our relationship just isn’t going to work.
And I haven’t met very many of the neighbors yet. A couple of them have waved at me. The only one I’ve actually met is this woman named Gloria from down the street. She came down the second day we were here and brought an angel food cake. But something tells me she’s far from an angel. Maybe it was the smell of rum on her. I swear, if I’d snapped a lighter in front of her, she would’ve burst into flames. It was nice of her to come over, but something about her made me very uncomfortable, and it was more than the liquor. I can’t explain it. A lot of people have told me I don’t listen to my intuition often enough. Maybe I should.
Gloria
More new neighbors. Good lord, I hope they’re better than the ones we have now.
I went over there to meet them. Tasha Fields and Davis Hogan. They seem nice enough … now. But lately, it’s been one of those situations where I think the neighbors are nice and normal, and BAM! They’re some kind of freaks. Even the ministers at the church.
And no, I did not do what he said I did. I didn’t, I swear. He lied. I don’t know why. There’s something really, really fishy going on over there.
Anyway, I made an angel food cake and took it over there to the new people. The lady named Tasha came to the door but she didn’t invite me in. What’s with people these days? I’m used to taking something to the neighbors and they invite me in for coffee and a sit-down. It always gave me a chance to look around their place, see what they’re like, but no. These days, people don’t do that anymore.
Sandra, one of the women from church, came over for an early afternoon cocktail the other day. I think it was about eleven or eleven thirty. Anyway, I was talking about that and Sandra says, “You know, the younger people are a lot busier than we used to be. The women work and the husbands help raise the kids and all that. It’s a different world.” I think she’s right. Why, every time I see one of the neighbors outside, they’re rushing from their car to the house, just almost running. At first I thought maybe they were desperate to get to the bathroom, but it’s every day, every time I see them. I just don’t get it. They don’t have time to chat or anything.
Anyway, Sandra says, “We just have to make time for each other. And we can set an example for them.” And in the very next breath, sh
e says, “Gloria, don’t you think you should slow down a little with those Bloody Marys?”
I was a little shocked. I mean, I’d only had two. Besides, I make them with that vegetable cocktail juice, so they’re healthy. And a stalk of celery. I mean, what’s wrong with that? I can’t imagine why she’d say that. She sounds just like Russell, giving me grief because I want to have a little fun. What’s the harm? It’s not like I’m a lush or anything.
Well, I’m not!
2
Tasha
When I found the box waiting for us this evening, I was so excited! I opened it up and then decided I’d wait for Davis before I started stringing everything out.
When he came through the door, his eyes went wide. “Is this what I think it is? Can we open it?”
“Let’s eat first.” I’m already headed toward the kitchen, pulling things from the refrigerator. “What do you want for dinner tonight?” I look behind me and I don’t see Davis―for just a few seconds. Then I look down.
He’s on all fours on the floor, waiting, and I know what he wants. I reach into the crisper drawer and pull out a bag of baby carrots, then make a kissing sound. On his hands and knees, he sways gently as he moves toward me, and when he reaches me, he lets out that sound I love so much. “Good boy,” I say and stick out my hand, palm flat and carrot in the middle of it, so he can take the treat gently. “You must have had a stressful day.” I pat his shoulder as he chews it, his head bobbing up and down.
I go about fixing dinner, and I know exactly what to do. For myself, I fix a chicken breast, some green peas, and a sweet potato. For Davis, it’s a quarter of a head of lettuce, three more carrot sticks, two celery sticks, an apple, and a handful of Cheerios―we use them as oats. I sit down with my food and listen as he rustles around on the plate and munches his fodder.
He’s no longer Davis at this point. He’s Trusty. I reach down a couple of times and pat his head as I eat. He’s been finished for about five minutes when I get all of mine down, and I pick up the plate. There’s nothing left―he’s even eaten the apple core. I make a note to myself to slice and core the apple next time. I know it’s a point of honor for him, but I really don’t want him eating the things. After I clean everything up, I head back into the living room to the boxes and start pulling it all out.
The first one is the bridle I ordered. It’s absolutely beautiful, all handmade leatherwork with silver buckles and a nice rubber bit. I have to look at the picture three or four times to get it on right. Then I take it off and put on the halter I ordered, a pretty nylon braided one in shades of blue and green. Once it’s fitted correctly, I snap the matching lead line on and tie the lead to the coffee table leg. I keep going through the boxes until I find the most expensive thing I ordered.
The horse head mask. That thing set me back a good bit, but it was worth it. It’s gorgeous, all handcrafted and polished to a beautiful glow, and admiring it is all I can do. I intentionally ordered all of the leather goods in brown instead of black. The leather smith said he’d never done any in brown, but he was happy to, and they’re very distinctive. I can’t wait for Davis to wear everything. As I’m admiring it, he tosses his head and crawls toward me. “Like these, boy?” I ask as I scratch behind his ear, and he snorts and gives me a soft nicker. “I know. Maybe we’ll have somewhere to wear them soon. Or you can just wear them in the house. Might as well get some use out of them, huh?” But he’s not paying any attention to me; he’s busy staring out the window at the birds out there. “And maybe we can get the fence fixed this weekend so you can go out in the backyard. That would be nice, huh?” He doesn’t respond. He’s in the zone.
I take everything downstairs to the basement and put it away, and while I’m down there, I hear him rustling around upstairs. Then there’s a whinny from the top of the stairs. “Yes, you may come down.” He tromps down the stairs in biped mode, then drops to his hands and knees again on the floor. Crossing the space, he pushes open the wooden gate we built on his little stall, using his nose to do it. Circling it a couple of times, he finally stops and rests his chin on the top of the gate, and I pat the crown of his head. It’s almost the weekend. And that’s when the fun will begin.
Gloria
I saw that Tasha girl coming in today. They had a big bunch of boxes on their front porch. I thought about going over and getting them. That would’ve given me an excuse to ring the doorbell and talk to her, but I decided against it. After what happened in church that day, I’m careful to make sure nobody misunderstands what I’m doing.
Yesterday afternoon at the grocery store, I ran into Sadie Foster from down in the four hundred block, and we talked for a bit. Of course, she tried to gossip. First thing she said was, “You know those new people aren’t married, right?”
“No! I didn’t know that!” Actually, I’d already guessed it. “Living in sin, I suppose?”
She nodded. “I guess so. I don’t know much about them. Nobody does. I think one of them has the last name Fields.”
Well, finally―I know something about somebody that she doesn’t. First time that’s ever happened. “I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough. Gossip buzzes around here like flies on a garbage pail. So I’ll just keep my ear to the ground.”
Now, as I watch, a car pulls up and the guy gets out. I have to say, he’s a hunky addition to the neighborhood. I'd like to get to know him a little better―oh yeah. I watch him open the door and disappear into the house. God only knows what they’re doing in there.
Another trip into the kitchen gives me a whiskey sour; I just went ahead and made a double. Makes sense to me. I’m sipping it when Russell walks in the door. “Hey, honey! How’d it go?”
“I sold three of those new knives I bought last week and swapped a couple of older ones for a nice skinning knife. What have you done today?”
“Oh, cleaned the bathrooms. Did a couple of loads of laundry. Thought about going over to talk to the new neighbors―”
“Gloria,” he starts, “you know you should leave them alone. Please, please don’t go making trouble for them.”
“I’d never do that!” I almost shriek. I can’t believe he’d accuse me of that!
“Gloria, you always do that. You just can’t help yourself.” He looks at my hand. “And what are you drinking?”
“It’s a citrus drink.” That’s not a lie―it has lemon juice in it.
Russell’s eyes narrow. “Whiskey sour?”
“It’s well past lunchtime, Russell,” I remind him. “Nothing wrong with having something refreshing before dinner.”
“Depends on whether or not you can sit up through dinner without falling over, I suppose.” He stalks past me and into the kitchen. “By the way, what’s for dinner?”
“Chicken cacciatore and green beans. Oh, and some of that squash you love so much,” I add so he knows I was thinking of him while I was pulling it together.
“You gonna be sober enough to finish it?” he calls from the refrigerator.
“I can’t believe you’re asking me that. Of course I will be.” I get up and head in there, and in a few minutes I’m slinging pots and pans and generally making a racket. At least he knows I’m busy. I can’t bother the neighbors. I’m cooking dinner.
And tomorrow is another day.
Tasha
Sunday morning I hear Davis moving around early. I think he’s excited; he has been ever since I got the call yesterday. Then he opens the bedroom door. “Tash?”
“Yeah.”
“You getting up?”
“Yeah. Give me ten minutes.”
“I’ll make breakfast. You want bacon or sausage?”
Good lord, he is excited. “Bacon. Extra crispy. And no juice. What are you having?”
“Oatmeal.” Closest things to oats he can get, I suppose.
I finally stumble to the kitchen to find he’s got quite the spread there. Fruit, waffles, eggs, toast, bacon, and his oatmeal. “God, Davis, you knocked yourself out!”
“I want you to keep up your strength. It’s going to be a busy day.” He’s busy stirring something into his oatmeal. “I’m putting wheat germ in my oatmeal. I need it.” He’s so damn health-conscious that it makes me feel guilty when I’m eating something I shouldn’t. But only a little.
As soon as we finish eating, I help him clean up the breakfast dishes, and then we set out to get showered and dressed. When I’m finished in the shower, I help Davis dry his hair and he helps me dry mine. We both have curly hair, and I leave mine curly, but I straighten his with a straightening iron―I’ve never seen a horse with curly hair. He wanted to shave one side of his head, but I talked him out of it. We’ve got to function in the real world, and that wouldn’t help him.
I put on my riding breeches, my tailored white blouse, and my riding boots, careful to wipe the dust from their toes. Then I pull my hair back and wrap it with a tie. I think about putting on an underbust corset over my blouse, then decide against it. When I finish, I head to the kitchen to grab my cooler and load water into it. I’m working away when I hear a soft voice say, “Do I look okay?”
I turn and almost gasp. Davis stands there in skin-tight brown Lycra, and every muscle is highlighted in a delicious way. God, he’s amazing. I can’t believe I haven’t slept with him yet, but I get a feeling it won’t be long. Of course, he’d do me right now―he’d do anything I say. But that’s not how I want it. I want to know this will work before I take that step. “You look amazing, sweetie. Just amazing.” And that’s when I see it.
