Hell Yeah!: Gun Shy (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read online

  Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Sable Hunter. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Hell Yeah! remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Sable Hunter, or their affiliates or licensors.

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  GUN SHY

  By Sabrina York

  Gun Shy by Sabrina York

  Returning to his hometown to sell his hated father’s ranch, the last thing Andrew Grant expects to find on his first day in town is a reason to stay. But there she is, Melissa Divine. The girl he loved all those years ago.

  But Melissa has changed since those innocent days. She’s just escaped from a hellish marriage and wants nothing to do with any man. Especially not this big, burly alpha biker who reminds her of her ex.

  Can this former SEAL change her mind before his time runs out?

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Sable Hunter.

  Acknowledgements

  Heartfelt appreciation and humble thanks to Pansy Parsons, Fedora Chen and ELF. This story is so much better thanks to you and your amazing eyes.

  Editor: Write Right Edits

  Cover Artist: Dar Albert

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Other Hell Yeah! Kindle Worlds Releases

  Other Kindle Worlds Romances by Sabrina York

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Books by Sabrina York

  Chapter One

  Andrew Grant gunned the engine of his Harley as he waited for the light to change at the corner of Clay and Main. He sucked in a breath and tried to soothe the angst roiling in his gut at the familiar sights and sounds of the town where he’d grown up.

  It had been a long time since he’d set foot in this place, and for good reason. It was surreal to be here now. More surreal was the fact that his father was dead. Finally. Marcus Grant had dominated Andy’s world, his consciousness, his every breath since the day he was born.

  It was a strange thing to think of the world without that looming presence.

  But somehow, the knowledge made the sun shine a little brighter.

  It was a lovely day in late May in the Hill County of Central Texas, with a slight breeze and pleasant temperature. Quite a departure from the battlefields of Iraq, where he’d spent the past seven years.

  That was another thing he had to get used to. Being a civvie. He’d joined the Navy as soon as he was old enough to get the hell out of Dodge, and then became a contractor for one of the big paramilitary companies operating overseas, and he’d never looked back.

  ’Til now.

  How strange it was to be back, though Kerrville seemed unchanged—with the exception of more traffic. The town hall looked the same, as did the Schreiner mansion. Millie’s Diner was still there too, on Water Street.

  But he was definitely a different man.

  He was absolutely strong enough to face what had to be done, but he dreaded it.

  Surely it wasn’t cowardly to put it off for a day or two. Maybe a week.

  He’d reserved a room at a local motel so he wouldn’t have to sleep at the ranch while he settled his father’s estate. Not that he would have slept. The old house was full of horrific memories. Memories that made his years in Iraq look like a walk in the fucking park.

  The light changed and he revved the engine, whipping down Main Street as though running from the past.

  Which was foolish.

  You can’t run from something you carry inside yourself.

  As he followed his GPS and turned onto the road where his motel awaited, the blaring sign for a bar captured his attention and, with no hesitation, he turned into the parking lot.

  He needed a drink.

  Maybe two.

  It was early, so the bar was sparsely populated and dim. It matched his mood precisely. Andy bit back a grin as he noticed the mechanical bull in the middle of the cavernous room and the dancefloor at the far end. This place was probably a zoo later at night. Since it was close to his digs he’d probably be spending most evenings here, so he scoped out the place, looking for a quiet corner.

  He bellied up to the bar and lifted a finger to the dark-haired waitress who was wiping down the well-polished counter.

  She ignored him.

  After a moment with no reaction, irritation bubbled up within him.

  If this place had sucky service, he’d have to find another bar to hang out in. He couldn’t stand bad service.

  He cleared his throat and the waitress jumped and glanced at him. Or at least in his general direction.

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a melodic voice. “I didn’t hear you come in. What can I get you?”

  “Whisky,” he grumbled.

  “Any preference?”

  “Just whisky.” He didn’t care. Not today. Not in this town. He just wanted to numb the edges. Besides, it had been a long drive to make it to town before nightfall. All he wanted was to drink and chill.

  He watched as the waitress made her way to the bottles decorating the shelves above the bar. His brow furrowed when she didn’t reach for the whisky, but rather felt the bottles. Felt them. With a grin she pulled one out and queried, “How’s this?”

  She had unerringly found his favorite brand of Scotch. “Perfect.”

  “Rocks or neat?”

  “Neat.” Ice was nothing more than a diversion, and tonight he didn’t want anything watered down.

  She nodded and deftly poured a couple fingers into a lowball glass and set it on the counter.

  It was then he realized—to his shock—the waitress was blind.

  Nothing gave her away, other than the fact that her gaze didn’t quite connect with his and she set the tumbler just a little too far to the right of his elbow. But he knew it.

  His irritation at her melted like snow in springtime.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said gruffly. Honestly, sometimes he was such an ass.

  No one cared if you were an ass in bivouac. Hell, most guys were asses in the field—farting and spitting as though they’d been raised by wolves. But he wasn’t surrounded by badass SEALs anymore. This was a kinder, gentler, civilian world.

  It would behoove him to be a little polite.

  “You new in town?” she asked, and Andy blinked.

  He couldn’t hold back a bark of laughter, though there was little humor in it. “I grew up here.”

  “Really?” Her brow quirked. It occurred to him she was a lovely thing. And she had excellent taste in whisky. “Your voice isn’t familiar to me. You’ve never been here before.”

  Not a question.

  “Yeah. I just got back into town. Been away seven years or so.” He glanced around the bar. “This place is new.”

  “Not so new.” She chuckled. “You probably know the owner. He grew up here too.”

  “Really?” He wasn’t in the mood for reunions of any kind. His plan was to slip into town all quiet-like, arrange to sell his dad’s place, and then continue on wanderi
ng the roads of this great nation on his Harley. He’d already visited sixteen states and planned to hit them all. Or at least those on the continent. “Who is it?” he asked, but only because it was good manners.

  “Isaac McCoy.”

  The name hit him like an IED. “Shit,” he said with a chuckle. “Isaac McCoy.” He and the McCoy brothers had been closer than bacon on a pig when they’d been younger. Andy couldn’t remember how many times they’d all been hauled before the principal in school.

  He scrubbed his face as the memories flooded him.

  “Hmm. I can tell by your tone you remember him.”

  “I remember all of them.”

  The waitress grinned. “They are hard to forget.”

  “Joseph and I were closest.” Probably because they’d both been cocky turdblossoms who thought they were God’s gift to women. Being on the football team back in high school hadn’t hurt. “What’s he doing now?”

  Her delicate shoulder lifted. “He’s married.”

  Andy barked a laugh. “Really? Is that all?”

  Her grin was infectious. “You’ll understand when you meet Cady.”

  Well, hell. He wasn’t meeting Cady.

  He didn’t plan to stick around long enough to meet anyone.

  There was only one person he was even remotely curious about, but he’d never ask. Because part of him didn’t want to know what had become of her.

  The door opened and a chipper male voice bounced off the walls. “Hey there, Emma. What’s the haps?”

  “Speak of the devil.”

  “Now, come on, darlin’. I’m hardly the devil. A minor demon, maybe.” The man, tall and broad with dark features shaded by the rim of his cowboy hat, headed for them.

  “We were just talking about you,” Emma said, gesturing in Andy’s general direction.

  The man pinned his curious gaze on Andy, and though Andy recognized Joseph at once—he hadn’t changed much—it was clear his once-friend didn’t remember him. Memories of the antics they’d gotten up to flooded his mind and his lips twitched.

  Despite his desire to remain anonymous on this trip, he found himself thrusting out his hand. “Grant,” he said. “Andy Grant.”

  Joseph’s eyes widened and he dropped down on the stool next to Andy. “You are shitting me.”

  “I shit you not.”

  “Holy crap.” He thumped Andy on the shoulder, tipping him sideways. “You did come back.”

  “Just took me seven years.” Andy sipped his whisky.

  “We were wondering if you would…when your dad died. Sorry about that, by the way.”

  “Are you?”

  Joseph snorted a laugh. “Well, not really.”

  Marcus Grant had been a mean son of a bitch but very few people in Kerrville—other than the McCoys—knew just how evil he could be. His father had been the kind of guy who could play the part of a righteous man to perfection. It still made Andy’s teeth grind to think of how revered he’d been in certain circles.

  “So, what have you been up to?” Joseph asked. “I remember you joined the service.”

  “The Navy. Yeah. Then I went on to work as a contractor in the field. I just, um, retired.” You could call it that. Getting your team blown to shit and your hip shattered wasn’t great for the resume.

  But Joseph didn’t need to know any of that. In fact, he grinned. “Where were you stationed?”

  “Iraq, mostly.”

  Joseph’s brows raised. “Fun.”

  “It was an adventure. But the body can only take so much abuse—”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “And after one particularly nasty IED, they mustered me out.” He tossed back his drink. “I was ready though.”

  “Emma, can you bring us two more of—what are you drinking?”

  “Whisky.”

  “Yeah. Whisky.”

  “Sure.” Andy watched as Emma deftly filled two more glasses. This time she got much closer to his elbow.

  “So what are you doing now?” Joseph asked.

  Andy shrugged. “I’m on walkabout.” He tipped his head to the side. “Well, rideabout. I’m touring the South on my Harley.”

  As he expected, Joseph’s eyes lit up. Joseph had always loved anything that went fast.

  “I stopped here to deal with my dad’s estate.”

  “Yeah. The place has been deserted for a while.”

  “Right.” As well it should be, but he didn’t want to talk about that. “Say. I hear you got leg shackled.”

  The change in Joseph was immediate. His face broke into an enormous smile and his features softened. “Yeah, I did. She’s something.”

  “She’d have to be, to win your stone-cold heart.”

  “Hey, my heart was never cold. If anything, it was too warm.” He waggled his brows. “But that’s all over now. Cady’s the only one for me.”

  “Happy?”

  “You bet.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “You’ll have to come over for dinner while you’re here. Meet her. Hell, the whole clan would love to see you again.”

  Awesome. Exactly what he was trying to avoid. But Joseph’s enthusiasm was infectious and Andy found himself wondering what it would be like to step back into that crowd. The McCoy clan had kept him sane as a kid. Sometimes even safe.

  More than once Aron McCoy had stepped in to save Andy from one of his father’s rampages.

  “I’d like that,” he found himself saying. And he didn’t even regret the words when they came out.

  He and Joseph left the bar and headed for that quiet table in the corner and his friend proceeded to bring him up to date on every single McCoy—and their new womenfolk. While Andy enjoyed hearing all of that, it made a strange slither of regret worm though his belly.

  What would life have been like if he’d stayed?

  Would he have married her?

  Probably not, since she’d been engaged to Baron Hadley when he left. Oh, and the fact he’d never dredged up the courage to ask her out. There was that.

  He’d always regretted the fact that he’d never told her how he felt. But that was a stupid-ass thing to regret. She’d been way out of his league.

  Naw, if he’d stayed he would either be dead or in prison. Because if he’d stayed, he would have killed his dad. With his bare hands.

  It was pointless to think about, because he had left. Life had happened the way it had.

  And the only regret he had was Melissa Divine.

  “I’m so sorry,” her voice echoed in his head, soft and sweet.

  It took a second for him to realize it wasn’t a memory or a dream.

  It was Melissa. She was here.

  He whipped around and stared at the woman who had just walked through the door and was rushing toward the bar. She was tall, slender and lithe, and her honey blonde hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, making her look as though she hadn’t aged a day. Her face was a combination of exquisite features that had always made his heart thrum with the piquant, turned up nose, those large doe-like eyes and bow-shaped lips.

  Which were now turned down in a frown.

  “I’m late. I’m late. I know.”

  Emma chuckled. “No worries, Mel. We’re not busy yet.”

  “I know. I know. But I hate being late.”

  The two girls continued to chat as they walked to the back of the bar, but even after they disappeared from view, Andy couldn’t rip his gaze from that doorway.

  Who’da thunk on his first day back in town, he might come face-to-face with the only possible reason to stay?

  Chapter Two

  Damn.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  There was nothing Melissa Divine-Hadley hated more than being late, especially to a relatively new job. She was so thankful to Isaac, the owner, and Doris, the manager, for giving her this opportunity—just when she desperately needed the extra work. The last thing she wanted to do was let them down.

  But everything had gon
e wrong today, from her alarm not going off, to a clunky old car that refused to turn over. She’d had to walk all the way here. Thank God she’d had the sense to get a place midway between her two jobs.

  Even though the bar wasn’t busy yet she hated leaving Emma alone, even for a few minutes. Though it was clear as glass that Emma didn’t need her—Emma didn’t need anyone to do her job, despite her visual impairment—Melissa hated the thought of letting her down.

  But Emma didn’t seem angry or disappointed. In fact, as Melissa set up her till, Emma hovered.

  Hovered.

  “So?” she said in a tone that made clear she expected Melissa to immediately know what she was talking about.

  “So, what?”

  Emma sighed. “So, have you thought about Chase?”

  Oh, crap. Yeah. She should have guessed. Emma had been trying to set her up with her cousin since Melissa walked through the door. Had she thought about it? No. Not a whit. There was nothing to think about. “Of course I thought about it, Emma, and it is so thoughtful of you to think of me. I appreciate it.”

  That was as close to a butt out as Melissa could get with Emma.

  Her friend’s button nose wrinkled. “You didn’t. You didn’t think about it, did you?”

  “Of course I did.” She’d thought about not thinking about it.

  “He is perfect for you. He’s tall and hunky and he is so gentle.”

  Melissa nodded, but she knew better. Most men who appeared gentle were only pretending. Baron had been the perfect gentleman…until there were no eyes on him. “I’m just not—”

  “Not ready. Yeah. I know.” Emma turned away, but she wasn’t finished. “You’ve got to get back on the horse sometime, Mel.”

  “Not when the horse kicks you,” she said in a sickly sweet tone. And then she regretted the edge to her words. Emma didn’t understand—thank God. She’d never been in the kind of situation that had been a personal hell for Melissa. She didn’t understand that some wounds didn’t ever go away—and for good reason.

  Survival.

  “I’ve known Chase my whole life. I’m telling you, he’s not like Baron.”

  Melissa didn’t have the heart to tell her it didn’t matter. If, by some miracle, there were some really truly nice guy out there, who really and truly had no desire to pound his wife into pulp on a regular basis, it didn’t matter.