Mark Me

  Mark Me

  A Hope Parish Novella

  By Zoe Dawson

  Published by Blue Moon Creative, LLC

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright by Karen Alarie. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your preferred vendor and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Author Note

  I make every effort to research thoroughly all subject matter, but I’m not infallible. If you find anything in my novels that I have incorrect, please feel free to let me know.

  ISBN: 978-0-9909075-5-8

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  Cover Design by Zoe Dawson

  Acknowledgments

  I'd like to thank beta readers Sue Stewart and Leisha O’Quinn. Thank you, also, to Faith Freewoman for her excellent advice and editing skills.

  Dedication

  To taking a stand.

  Chapter One

  Rory

  The military teaches you discipline, and the Marines teach you the principles of being tough. I’m not saying they teach you to be tough. That’s something you learn all on your own. You either step up or you fall on your ass. You find what you need inside you or you cut and run and forever wonder why you couldn’t hack it.

  Some guys have it. You can look into their eyes and you get a chill. Ethan Fairchild was that kind of guy. He was my best friend and the buddy who had my back. In fact, Ethan saved my life during a mission which involved him receiving the Navy Cross.

  I’ve been in heart-wrenching, heartrending, heartbreaking combat. Civilians throw around words like duty and honor, but they’re just words to them. For Ethan and me, they have meaning. They are the blood in our veins, the flesh on our bones, and the heart that beats hard and true. It might all sound hokey or jarhead and gung-ho asshole. But that’s me. That’s what I know and understand, and that is how I got out alive.

  I’m physically fit, can do a freakishly high number of push-ups and sit-ups, run for distances that would make a normal man drop. I’m a Force Recon Marine, and being out of the service doesn’t change a thing. I will always be a Marine. I have a will of steel.

  Except when it comes to Savannah Hawkins.

  Green-eyed blonde, sweet Southern belle with a body that any man would die to touch.

  She flounced into Outlaws often, and that’s usually when I wished it was more a bar than a place where people could bring their families for some of the best damn food this side of New Orleans.

  Braxton Outlaw was my boss, but he was fair and tough, just what I was used to, and I respected him for that. I also respected him because he was strong enough to go after what he wanted.

  Savannah was too young and innocent for me. I was sure of it, and she’d barely begun to understand what she wanted, let alone how to go after it. I was a man and had a man’s needs and appetites. I’d already seen the worst life had to offer, both in my personal life and in combat. Didn’t make it any easier for me to resist looking at her and thinking rough, over the edge man thoughts.

  Was it my imagination that when she looked at me she was thinking very indecent woman thoughts? She looked angelic to me, untouched, untested. I wasn’t innocent, and what I wanted from her was raw and primal, came from a darkness that had shaped me.

  I also wanted to go slow with Savannah. Which wouldn’t even have occurred to me in the past. But even though I usually did what I wanted to do, the military taught me discipline, and I followed orders then. Now that I was out, I was more than ready to do things which were my own. Something as individual as inking and piercing my skin. Something I created from scratch, like the many tattoos I designed.

  That sweet Southern belle had no idea how to handle me. I needed to stay focused. That meant it was hands off, not only for my sake, but for hers, too.

  Kee-rist. I ran my hand over my face and wiped down the bar for the third time. Savannah, who was sitting at a table with Boone and Verity, slid those sloe eyes over to me, giving me direct eye contact, lingering for a moment, then sliding teasingly away. Appreciation and attraction clear in a pair of hot green eyes.

  What the hell was I supposed to do about that?

  “Not a damn thing,” a deep voice said next to me. I flinched and glanced over to see Braxton looking at Savannah.

  “Did I say that out loud?”

  Braxton smirked, wiping his hands on his apron, savory smells emanating from his kitchen. “No, huckleberry. You didn’t have to.” He grabbed a glass and poured some seltzer water into it. “You’re broadcasting it like sweet Zydeco from the radio. Trust me.” He took a few sips and smirked again. “She’s a land mine. I know you know what I’m talking about. If you thought James Sutton was overprotective, you should meet her ma, Clementine Hawkins. Look up barracuda in the dictionary, huckleberry, and her ma’s picture will be right there next to it. That woman might be wearing a pretty pink bow, but don’t let that fool you. She’s a street fighter.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not going…”

  He laughed and slung an arm around my neck and said, “Sure you are. I’m just telling you that this town is tough, especially on someone like you.”

  “What?”

  “Outsider, pierced, tattooed and, to top it off, Yankee. Miz Hawkins took one gander at you during River Pearl’s luncheon and said, ‘hell, no,’ although I’m sure it was in a much more ladylike way.”

  I chuckled, because Brax could be so damned sarcastic. “You’re saying even body armor won’t save me?”

  He squeezed and let me go. “Ha! Pretty much, son. Now I’m selfish, and I’d say stay away from her because you’re one fine bartender. Better than Boone, and he’s good at it. I don’t want to lose you out in the swamp where no one will find your mutilated body if you mess up Miz Hawkins’s plans.”

  “What are those?” I asked, my awareness still on Savannah even though I wasn’t looking at her.

  Braxton gave me a sympathetic look. “She’s slated to marry Gray Lancaster, who is going to be an officer when he’s done at West Point. She’ll become one of the pillars of the community, raise more pretty babies so they then keep the upscale malls in business, fill up the garden party and debutante chairs, and provide for the entitled who will surely need wives and husbands. They call that a legacy.”

  “Ha. Ha. Ha.”

  “I know. But, that’s her dream. Don’t be the dream killer.”

  “Is that what Savannah wants?”

  Braxton drank the rest of the seltzer and set the glass in the sink. “She was strong enough to tell her ma to back off when she wanted to work with Boone and stick to it. Believe me, with our reputation back when she started working for Boone, it was no easy trick. So I would say that there may be trouble in paradise for Mama Hawkins. Hell, I barely understand River half the time, and I love her. Other women, I’m at a loss.”

  I chuckled again. “I understand women,” I said, eyeing Savannah one more time before facing Brax again. “They’re relatively easy, actually. Dealing with them? That�
�s another thing altogether.”

  Brax folded his arms over his chest. “Oh, yeah? Clue me in then.”

  I leaned in like I was passing on the secrets of the universe. “They want what everybody wants. Love, acceptance, and to be understood. Women want men to listen to them. Support them when they need it, bring them flowers just because, and treat them like they are important, appreciated. Hell, man, if you do a load of laundry, it would be as good as hitting her g-spot.”

  “Shoot, son. That’s golden.” He slapped me on the back. “I’m giving you a raise, and I’m going to stop on the way home and get River some flowers.”

  I gave him a sly grin. “You will get a bunch of man points for that.”

  “Cool. Thanks, huckleberry, and for the record, don’t give a flying fuck what this town thinks, or anyone else. I got your back. Just telling you the odds.”

  “Never tell me the odds,” I said. “It makes me want to beat them.”

  Savannah got up to leave with Verity and Boone, but not before she gave me one last sultry look. Hmm, innocent? Maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe I didn’t know women at all.

  After a bad night, a nightmare night, where the trauma of my past crashed into combat and intermingled, I met the real estate agent Bradley Stephens, who was going to show me what looked like the prime spot for my tattoo parlor. It was situated in downtown Suttontowne. The place needed some work, he told me. But I was handy, could probably have the place up and running in about six to eight weeks and still keep my job at the bar until I started to turn a profit. Suttontowne was in a good, central location, and got a lot of traffic going from New Orleans to Lafayette and back.

  I figured I could make a decent living here. And this would be mine. Something I built with my own two hands and my own imagination.

  When I pulled up, an old, stooped guy was standing by the door. Geez, he looked ancient. White hair, craggy face and bright blue eyes.

  “Mr. Stephens?”

  “Ya. Nice to meet you.” He indicated the building. “This is it. Four thousand square feet of space, and you could live above it, if that was somethin’ that interested you. You buyin’ or rentin’?” he asked, unlocking the door and ushering me inside.

  “Buying.” At first look, the downstairs was in bad shape. The walls needed some new sheetrock, and the floors were shot, some boards loose in places. But there was amazing crown molding I would keep, and a beautiful tin ceiling in a diamond pattern. The stairs took up too much of the space, and I thought a spiral staircase to streamline the area would be both cool and functional. “Is the upstairs plumbed?” I asked while we climbed the stairs.

  The upper floor was one big space as well, clearly used as a type of storage area and—bonus!—it had the same tin ceiling pattern up here, too. It also had a great balcony. “No. I’m afraid not, but the plumbing downstairs gives you a base.” He bent down and picked up some debris. “It’s not in the best shape, but it’s got the location. What you putting in here?”

  “Tattoo parlor.”

  He eyed me for a minute, taking in my lip piercing. “You ain’t from around here.”

  I snorted. “What gave me away?”

  “The accent has to be from the North.”

  “New York City.”

  He laughed. “That right? Never met me a Yankee.”

  “That a problem?”

  His brow rose and he gave me a sidelong glance, shrugging. “Never said it was a problem, young fella. You served with Ethan Fairchild, is what I heard.”

  “That’s right. Marines.”

  He mulled it over. “Well, Yankee or no, you did your duty, and Ethan is good people. That’s fine by me.”

  I nodded, relieved this old coot of a real estate agent wasn’t going to hold where I was from against me. “What’s the cost of this place?”

  He thought for a moment. “I think sixty-five is fair for this here property, because you gotta do a lot to it. But like I said, it’s good and visible, and right on the main route into and outta of town. You also have the parking you’ll need with the small lot. That suit you?”

  “Sixty would suit me better. I’ve got the plumbing to do for the upstairs. It will make a great living space. As you said, it does need work, but it also has good bones, and I’ll want to get an inspector out here to make sure the foundation is sound.”

  “I can live with that, since I’m the owner of this here property.” The old codger held out his hand and I took it. We shook on it, and I guess that was enough for him. “I’ve got some money to put down, but I’ll have to talk to the bank about a loan for the rest. I’ll be in touch with you as soon as it gets approved.”

  #

  Savannah

  I wheeled Boone’s landscaping truck and trailer up to the curb right outside my next job, The Garden Restaurant, before I hopped out and closed the door. Glancing across the street, I saw old man Stephens shaking the hand of someone…gorgeous Rory Finnegan! My heart fluttered, and it had everything to do with him. Geez, he was something. I’d seen enough bad boys to recognize it in him. With his dark hair going shaggy, and those hot, intense grass-green eyes, the hint of ink on his neck, and the thick curve of his biceps, my heart rate doubled while I watched him seal some kind of deal with Mr. Stephens.

  Rory Finnegan was putting down roots. He was staying in this town.

  I was never one to speculate or guess about what was going on. When my curiosity got going, I just asked. I’d been keeping my eye on that man ever since he came to Suttontowne, but simply hadn’t an opportunity to introduce myself. Outlaws was just too public, and word could get back to my momma. I knew that wouldn’t be good for him or for me.

  But there was something decidedly forbidden about Rory, even beyond my momma’s likely hissy fit. He was older than me, had seen a lot of the world, even been in combat. He was a seasoned man, not just coming into his manhood like Gray. I had a thing going with Gray, but it was more like something my momma and daddy wanted. It seemed like I would end up with Gray in the end. We were good friends, shared common interests. It would be easy and comfortable.

  Rory looked like he ruled the dark side and would give me an experience I’d never forget. I wondered what it would be like to step out of the box, cross the line, find out what it was like on the dark side just once in my life. I shivered in the December chill. The weather was mild for December, with Christmas only weeks away.

  I wasn’t totally innocent, but not exactly tested, either. It had happened about a year ago. The first time with Gray had been underwhelming, to say the least. He was so het up, he’d barely gotten inside me before it happened. It had been decidedly mediocre, and I didn’t think sex should be like that.

  I decided maybe a fling to see what I might be missing was in order. Ever since then, I’d kept my distance from Gray. I wasn’t quite sure why. It wasn’t like he was pressuring too much, but he was frustrated about it, that was for sure. Technically I was no longer a virgin, but I still felt like one.

  Without thinking about the consequences, I headed across the street as Mr. Stephens got into his truck. He waved at me when I passed him, then his truck buzzed off. Rory hadn’t moved. He’d watched me walk across the street.

  I’d seen Deke over Thanksgiving, and he was doing great in New York City. He’d gotten himself involved with that British woman fashion designer, Minnie Tattersall, who was working with Verity. She was pretty and sophisticated, and he looked as happy as a pig in mud. I was happy for him.

  I was also a bit jealous. He’d already figured out what he wanted to do. I wasn’t expected to do anything except marry well and follow in my momma’s footsteps. I was resigned to that.

  Maybe this would be my one and only chance to…rebel.

  “Hi,” I said. God, how lame. He must have thought I was an inept high schooler.

  He smiled and leaned back against the building, tucking his hands into the pockets of those tight, faded jeans he was rocking. My mouth went dry.

  He tilte
d his head, his dark hair caught the sun, and I could see natural golden highlights in the rich mass. I wondered if it was as soft as it looked.

  “Ma’am,” he said, his voice deep and cool, like liquid silver.

  When I realized that I was just standing there staring at him, I blurted out, “I’m Savannah Hawkins.”

  He pushed off the building and sauntered up to me in an easy, sexy stride, and my lungs seemed to take in less air the closer he got. He smelled heavenly, musky, spicy, and heated male.

  “I confess I know exactly who you are, Savannah, and I believe you know who I am.” His voice still very liquid and very cool.

  My cheeks went hot. So all those times I had stared at him, he had noticed. I had reason to stare. Rory seemed very serious, so very watchful of everything going on around him.

  Very fierce.

  He fascinated me, that fierceness, the planes and angles of his chiseled face, the slash of his cheekbones. He had dark eyebrows over those penetrating green eyes and, except for the stubble on his face, smooth, clear skin.

  “Rory Finnegan from New York City.”

  He nodded. “That’s right.” His expression was nothing short of a warning to beware. I’d set something off in him, something he didn’t want to acknowledge. I liked that, too.

  “You were a Marine.”

  “Ooh-rah. I still am a Marine.”

  “Just retired.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Warrior. Dangerous. I could see those in him. The heightened awareness, the physical readiness, and the predatory alertness of his expression. He was tuned for trouble—and he had disaster written all over him. No matter how fascinating I found him, my momma would never accept anyone like him to be a permanent part of my life.