Once and Forever: Once Series, #3

Once and Forever

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M.S. Kaye

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this stripped book.

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Once and Forever

Copyright © 2016 MS Kaye

All rights reserved.

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ISBN: (ebook) 978-1-939590-93-0

Inkspell Publishing

5764 Woodbine Ave.

Pinckney, MI 48169

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Edited By Rie Langdon

Cover art By Najla Qamber

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This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Dedication

For Corey, forever.

Chapter One

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You know what he did to git sent to prison? one of the convenience store clerks murmured to the other.

Trace could just hear them over the horrible rendition of Jingle Bells playin’ through the speakers. He ignored them, like he always did. He tried to come into town late in the evening to avoid people as much as possible, but that also meant it was quiet enough that he could often hear what people murmured about him. Once he’d grabbed some protein bars and a can of beer, he headed up to the counter to pay.

The clerk with a buzz-cut told him the total, and Trace handed him some cash.

Neither of the clerks made eye contact with him, but they both hovered over the cash register as if he might snatch it and run.

Buzz-cut closed the cash drawer right quick and handed Trace’s change back.

Thank you. Trace stuffed the change in his pocket, took the bag of protein bars in one hand and his beer in the other, and walked out of the store.

He headed for the back lot toward the alley. He could get through most of downtown by way of the alley. This late at night it was almost too dark to see where he was goin’, but that was part of what he liked about it.

Bitch, someone growled. And then the sound of something—or someone—smacking into the brick wall of the back of the convenience store.

Trace moved more quickly and turned the corner, and he caught sight of a skinny, young woman punching a man in the face. His head snapped back. But then another man slammed his fist across her jaw. She looked so frail that the punch seemed like shooting a cannon ball at a piece of notebook paper.

Hey! Trace roared and ran at them. Git away from her.

The second man pulled his fist back, but Trace slammed him against the wall before he could hit the girl again. The man looked at Trace, and his eyes grew wide.

The other man grabbed Trace’s arm and tried to pull him off his friend.

Trace lifted his arm out of his grasp and then swung his elbow back. He hit him across his face, where the girl had already punched him. The man yelled out in pain and held his hands over his nose and mouth. Then he bolted.

Trace turned back to the man he had pinned to the wall, who stared at him with wide eyes. Trace let go and growled, Git.

The man ran.

Trace knelt down by the girl. She was wedged between the wall and the ground. Dark blood streamed out of her mouth and nose like motor oil across a lily. Her nose was crooked, obviously broken, and her T-shirt was ripped half off.

Hey, Trace said in a gentle voice. Can you hear me?

She groaned, barely audibly. That one small sound held so much pain Trace could almost feel it himself.

It’s all right, darlin’, Trace murmured. You’ll be all right. Carefully, he slipped his hands under the girl’s back and legs and lifted her. She weighed almost nothing. As he looked at her, he realized she was older than he’d initially thought, probably late twenties, maybe a few years younger than Trace.

He started quickly down the alley, careful not to jostle her. As he approached one of the few lights in the alley, he glanced down at her face, and for a second he saw past the bruising, swelling, and blood. The swelling probably actually filled out her face as it should have been. She was gaunt everywhere she wasn’t swollen, as if she hadn’t eaten properly in years. But he saw the lovely angles of her face, the softness of her dark hair.

Her eyes fluttered open, and he almost stopped. He’d never seen eyes like hers. They weren’t some bold color, no blue or green, just dark brown. But they were large, and sweet, and penetrating.

In those few seconds, he swore she stripped his soul bare.

Who are you? She barely forced the words out. She sounded like a northerner.

Shh. Don’t try to talk or move. I’m takin’ you someplace you can get help. Someplace safe.

No. I’m not going home with you. No, no. Let me go.

He paused his walking and looked down at her. They were past the light now, so she probably couldn’t see him well, especially with all her facial bruising, so he tried to make his voice as comforting as possible. I’m not takin’ you to my home. I promise I don’t want anything from you. I’m takin’ you someplace safe. Then he added, Someplace with no men.

Her eyes had fallen shut again, and her voice barely made sound. No such thing as safe.

He continued waking, even faster. I promise, darlin’. This place is safe.

Her body relaxed in his arms. He wasn’t sure if she’d decided not to struggle, or if she’d fully lost consciousness.

He came to the end of the alley and took a good look around before crossing Duval Street. The last thing he needed was for someone to see him carryin’ some beat-up young woman. No one was around. He crossed quickly, walked up a driveway, and ’round the back of the big, stone building. This place stuck out like a toad at a flea circus. He still wasn’t sure why the Church had built a convent in this tiny Georgia town. Maybe it’d made sense back in the early 1900s when it was originally built.

At the back kitchen door, he used the toe of his boot to knock. Dried mud from the fields fell from the sole of his boot to the doorstep.

He waited, hoping Mother Avila answered.

Someone peeked out the window to the left of the door, and then the door opened. Trace, Mother Avila said. What’s going on? She was in her nightclothes and a robe. Trace had never seen her without her habit. Some of the nuns wore common clothes in town sometimes, but never Mother Avila. Gray streaked her black hair pulled back in a bun, and her skin seemed even darker next to her pale peach robe.

Someone beat her up behind Jake’s. I was hopin’ your doc could help her. One of the nuns had a medical degree and gave basic treatment to the poor.

She looks pretty bad. Sister Marie hasn’t done emergency medicine in a long time.

She was conscious and lucid a few minutes ago; I’m hopin’ she looks worse ’an she is. And I don’t think she can afford the clinic. Trace wished he could pay for it, but he was hardly scraping by. He’d just gotten out of prison, and no one wanted to hire him for anything that paid worth a damn. Then he added, Please.

Mother Avila made that appraising eye contact of hers. Of course we’ll help her. She motioned for him to carry the woman inside.

He followed her down a hall and then down another hall. The old wood floors creaked under his shoes. Finally, they came to a tiny room with a bed in the corner. Trace suspected all the nuns’ rooms were like this, small and plain. Something about it was comfortable to him. Carefully, he laid the young woman down on the bed. Then he backed up. A few seconds later, two more nuns swept into the room. The younger one took one look at the injured woman and walked quickly back out. Mother Avila had just started to clean the woman’s face, while the second nun adjusted her shirt to cover better, when another older nun came in. The others moved out of the way; this was obviously Sister Marie, the doctor.

Trace stood against the wall, out of the way, and watched.

The doctor checked her pulse, her eyes, her cuts and bruises.

Finally, Trace lost patience. Is she goin’ to be all right?

The doctor looked over at him. She’ll take some healing, but she seems to be stable.

Her nose is broken. Can you set it? He doubted she did that kind of thing often.

She smiled a little. We’ll take good care of her.

That was what he’d needed to hear. Thank you, ma’am. He slipped out of the room and out of the convent. He didn’t look back, but he thought about the young woman the whole walk home.

Chapter Two

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Six years later

Thomas stared out the window at the flakes slowly drifting past, the first snowfall of the year. He always thought about Eden on Thanksgiving. Their mother had loved to make it an event, and their father had done his best to continue the tradition, but never with quite as much finesse. Thomas smiled a little as he remembered the year he’d forgotten to thaw the turkey ahead of time. They’d had Hamburger Helper as the main course, and it’d been wonderful.

Then his smile faded.

He hadn’t seen or heard from Eden in twelve years. The only blood family he had left. He’d stopped actively searching a few years ago.