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  Bleu, Grass & Bourbon

  Olivia Gaines

  Davonshire House Publishing

  PO Box 9716

  Augusta, GA 30916

  THIS BOOK IS A WORK of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely a coincidence.

  © 2018 Olivia Gaines, Cheryl Aaron Corbin

  Copy Editor: Teri Thompson Blackwell

  Cover: Kou Graphics

  Olivia Gaines Make Up and Photograph by Latasla Gardner Photography

  ASIN:

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address, Davonshire House Publishing, PO Box 9716, Augusta, GA 30916.

  Printed in the United States of America

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 10 9 8

  First Davonshire House Publishing August 2018

  DEDICATION

  For my beautiful, brilliant Maya.

  “Being smart is a gift.

  I’ve met too many people who aren’t.

  Don’t waste it.” – Isiah Neary

  “Easy reading is damn hard writing.”

  - Nathaniel Hawthorne

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A special thank you to the Tuesday Sushi Club, Jessica, and Hildie,

  for keeping me grounded.

  To all the fans, friends and supporters of the dream as well as the Facebook community of writers who keep me focused, inspired and moving forward.

  Write On!

  Also by Olivia Gaines

  THE ZELDA DAIRIES

  It Happened Last Wednesday

  A Tantalizing Tuesday

  My Thursday Throwback

  A Frickin’ Fantastic Friday

  A Sensual Saturday

  A Saucy Sunday

  A Marvelous Monday

  The Slivers of Love Series

  The Cost to Play

  Thursday in Savannah

  Girl's Weekend

  Beneath the Well of Dawn

  Santa’s Big Helper

  A Menu for Loving

  The Davonshire Series

  Courting Guinevere

  Loving Words

  Vanity's Pleasure

  The Blakemore Files

  Being Mrs. Blakemore

  Shopping with Mrs. Blakemore

  Dancing with Mr. Blakemore

  Cruising with the Blakemores

  Dinner with the Blakemores

  Loving the Czar

  A Weekend with the Blakemores

  Being Mr. Blakemore

  Vacationing with the Blakemores

  Goodnight Mr. Blakemore

  The Modern Mail Order Brides

  North to Alaska

  Montana

  Wyoming Nights

  Oregon Trails

  On a Rainy Night in Georgia

  Buckeye and the Babe

  Bleu, Grass, Bourbon

  Other Novels

  A Menu for Loving

  Turning the Page

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 – Like A Slug to the Chest

  Chapter 2 – Crewing up the Fat

  Chapter 3 – What Was I thinking?

  Chapter 4 – Honey, That’s a lot of Beige.

  Chapter 5 – This Bed is Too Hard

  Chapter 6 – Baby, Meet the Crew

  Chapter 7 – Georgia on my Mind

  Chapter 8 – Framing It All

  Chapter 9 – Time, Talk and a Toybox

  Chapter 10 – Honey, I’m Home...

  Chapter 11 – And You’re an Asshole

  Chapter 12 – And Now This Asshole

  Chapter 13 – Amen, Vision, and WTF

  Chapter 14 – Mommy and Me

  Chapter 15 – Dinner, The Fishing Pond, and A Road Trip

  Chapter 16 – Mom, Dad, this is DeShondra

  Chapter 17 – Awww Mommy! I’m Grown!

  Chapter 18 – Closure

  Chapter 19 – Home Sweet Home

  Chapter 20 – New Job. I hate it.

  Chapter 21 – Pre-Wedding Jitters

  Chapter 22 – If anyone has reason that this man and woman...is that a gun?

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  The paperwork sat in his hand like a twenty-ton weight. It had taken less time than he’d imagined putting in the transfer to Louisville from the London field office in Kentucky. Ten years he’d been working in the dirt, getting dirtier than he’d desired, dealing with the filthiest in human nature. He was sick of it all. The idea of a nine to five sitting behind a desk would be a welcome change. He was uncertain how his lady would take the news of him moving into her neck of the woods could play out, he didn’t care. It was time for a change and he was ready for what was coming next, even if she hadn’t called to officially tell him the upcoming news. In his heart, he already knew.

  He opened the envelope, looking at the new course for his life. There were three positions available in Louisville. One was in the warehouse, counting containers and taking inventory of confiscated weapons, drugs, and moonshine. The second was in Industry Operations as the assistant director ensuring that all firearms and explosives were handled and stored in a safe manner. The third job put him on the road at least twelve days out of the month. That one he most definitely didn’t want.

  Opening the manila envelope, he sighed as he saw the words “Congratulations Assistant Director.”

  Good. A desk job. Management. Pay increase. Solid hours. A regular life. He would need that with what was coming down the pike.

  “Suit up,” Stoli Manchester, the section chief, called out. “We got a lead on the Faulks.”

  “What is the intel?” Isiah Neary asked the Special Agent in Charge John Ramos. The very last thing he wanted to contend with before departing the London offices was a week in the mud watching pick-up trucks go in and out of barns in the woods. The chiggers, ticks, and mosquitos alone were the neighborhood welcoming committee, and he was over all of it.

  “The Faulks are moving a shipment of AR15s, C4, meth and some pretty nasty shit in the next week. We have to get boots on the ground, surveillance in place, and a course of action to stop that truck and bring these dogs to heal,” Ramos said.

  “When do we leave?” Isiah asked.

  “In 30 mikes,” Ramos said. “Grab the essentials, be in the truck and ready to move.”

  Isiah knew the drill. His rucksack stayed packed with fresh clothing, his favorite coffee, and a snuggly blanket for the extremely cold nights that were inevitable. He also carried a small bottle of his favorite Bourbon to take a sip of when the mission ended and everyone on his team had packed up and prepared to come home. They always came home. This trip would be no different. However, one big difference was that he would be going to a new home when it all was said and done. Isiah held the envelope.

  The paper felt heavy. The equipment felt heavy and even the phone in his pocket seemed to weigh him down. Before each mission, he made a habit of calling his father, telling his mother he loved her, and touching base with his brothers. Today was no exception.

  He held the device in his hand, looking at the screen, wanting in his heart to make one other call. To his surprise, the person he wanted to call was calling him. It took everything in him not to smile in front of the team.

  “Go,” he said into the line, trying not to draw any attention to himself.

  “Isiah?” DeShondra Leman said into the phone.

  “Yeap, I hear you. Go,” he said.

  “I assume by your brusque tone that you are in a room and unable to speak to me,” she said, feeling some sort of way at his high-handedness.


  “Affirmative,” he said, his heart thudding in his chest at the sound of her voice.

  “I was hoping we could get together and talk,” she said softly.

  “I am headed out for a week; won’t be back for seven to ten days at a minimum. It is dangerous, so speak while I can hear you,” he told her.

  DeShondra needed to speak with him face to face. She didn’t wish to discuss such delicate matters with her bearded beau over the phone. Especially not with the news she needed to share. Her pause made Isiah adjust his tone with her.

  “Baby tell me what you need to me know. I’m out of time here and have to roll out,” Isiah said in hushed tones, trying to add a hint of affection to the call so he didn’t sound like the designated asshole.

  “I don’t want to discuss this over the phone,” she said.

  “Speak. I have to leave in less than seven minutes,” he firmly stated.

  She inhaled deeply, wanting to phrase it just right, but she’d never been one to beat a dead squirrel after she’d poisoned it in the back yard. She inhaled deeply again, saying a prayer to whichever god was on duty and let the words fly.

  “The rabbit died,” she blurted out.

  “Okay,” he replied.

  “You do know what that means correct?”

  “Yep, but ain’t nothing I can do about it right now,” he said, watching Ramos circle his hand above his head for the team to rally on him. “I’ll be back in a week. We can talk then.”

  “Isiah, I don’t know how to handle the news, let alone your reaction to it. I am full of hormones and emotions, and quite honestly, I’m a little scared,” she told him.

  “Understandable, but at the time we were making our decision to take the risk, do you remember my words to you?” Isiah asked her.

  “Yes. You said that if this day came, you would be here for us both,” she replied.

  “My words have not changed,” he said. “I’m out of time. We will talk when I return.”

  “Sure,” she said, her voice laced with disappointment at his reaction to the news. What did I expect, for him to start passing cigars out in the office? I don’t know what to expect myself.

  “Do you know what we are having?”

  “No, it’s too soon,” she said.

  “I want a boy, but if it’s not, I guess I will learn to sit through tea parties and how to do hair. Chin up, we’ll talk soon. Keep it hot for me until I get there,” he said, clicking off the line.

  His heart was thumping in his chest like he’d taken a huge hit of cocaine. His vision was blurry as he felt his way down the hall he’d come in and out of for ten years. They were making this same run into the hills to a dirty cabin filled with men with bad aim who left lemonade all over the toilet seat. The run into the hills meant a week of crappy food, poor conversations on improper ways to handle a vagina, and of course, right wing mini-militias that had purchased millions of dollars of weapons and contraband. He’d been on this Ferris wheel one time too many and he was ready to throw up.

  When he loaded in the back of the Suburban, the papers were left in his desk to which he’d handle upon his return. He’d give his notice when he got back and pack his few items and prepare to head to Louisville to start a new life. An uncharacteristic smile covered his bearded face. I’m going to be somebody’s Daddy!

  He needed to call the Arch Angel before he rolled out. He had measures in place in case anything was to ever happen to him, but this was a new entry into his journal of life. Isiah Neary needed a few moments.

  “Ramos, I need two minutes,” he said, opening the back door.

  “Make it one, Neary,” Ramos called back.

  He punched in the number, calling his brother who answered immediately. There was a great deal to tell Gabriel but he only had the two minutes. Gabriel needed to know.

  “Hey,” Gabriel said.

  “Hey back,” Isiah paused. “A couple of things. The paperwork came through and so did that phone call we discussed in Vegas.”

  Gabriel held the phone tight in his hand. “Oh really? What’s the plan?”

  “I am headed out for seven to ten days on an op, and I don’t have a full plan yet. I just wanted to make sure that you had my Power of Attorney in case, you know, the shit goes South,” Isiah said.

  “Everything is in order,” Gabe replied.

  “If...you make sure they are taken care of all the way through,” Isiah said. “Also, get me addresses and basic info on where she lives, that kind of stuff. I’m looking at that farm, just outside of town in Louisville. I need you to make that happen.”

  “Nothing is going to happen to you, Bleu,” Gabriel told him. “Stop being so full of gloom and doom.”

  “Gabe, I have to think differently now. I’m going to be somebody’s Daddy,” Isiah said.

  “Call me when you get back,” Gabe said.

  “Neary, we are rolling now!” Ramos called out.

  “Moving!” Isiah said, climbing back in the vehicle. He disconnected the call to his brother and covered his mouth with his hand. He had to hide his smile. A promotion. A new baby. A good woman who talked way too much and a new chapter all in one day.

  Yeah, a little farm just outside of town with a fish pond, loads of Kentucky blue grass, and a room for my Bourbon collection. No toys in Daddy’s Bourbon room though. A different kind of adrenalin pumped through him, but right now, his head needed to be in the game and not on DeShondra Leman.

  Hmmm. DeShondra Neary. He liked the sound of it.

  Chapter 1 – Like A Slug to the Chest

  He didn’t see it coming. The rapid firing of bullets had the agents scrambling like rats trying to avoid the rat catcher, but in this instance, the rat catchers had AR-15s, C4, and a compound wired to blow. Isiah Neary didn’t plan to die today, and if he could help it, he wasn’t planning to take a bullet either. However, his plans and the hillbilly hive of drug dealing gunrunners didn’t coincide. The bullet hit him square in the chest, lifting him off his feet and tossing him six feet in the air. He landed in a dry pile of leaves in a slump, out of breath, and hurting from his ears to his toes. Move man. You need to move. He couldn’t.

  Everything went black and all he could see was her face. DeShondra. She’s carrying my child. I want to be a father to my baby. I’m not going out like this.

  He struggled against the darkness, fighting, clawing to stay awake, taking small, even breaths to maintain consciousness. Hands were on his arms, dragging his body through the soft dirt. They called his name while Ramos yelled for the crew to fall back. Loud pops of gunfire rang in his ears, shaking away the fuzzy feeling in his head as his eyes slowly came open, the pain in his chest almost forcing them closed again, but his team needed him. She needed him. My child needs me.

  Isiah shook off the pain, getting to his knees and aiming his weapon in the direction of the gunfire. His vision wasn’t clear, but if anything, hostile stood in front of him, it was going to get a bullet. Blinking furiously, he got his feet and leaned against Christian Rogers, his wingman, who supported his weight. They made their way to cover where he left Isiah, who aimed his weapon towards the bad guys. Then suddenly, the noise stopped.

  He peered over the rotted log that Rogers left him behind, and a group of men, arms in the air, left the wooden structure which had been their base. Reinforcements had arrived to aid in accepting the surrender of the right-wing group and Isiah had never been happier to see anyone in his life. The backup meant life. His. Which would not get lost in a gunfight with a group of people who didn’t give two farthings about his plans for a future.

  “Neary, you are not on vacation. Get moving!” Ramos called as he passed Neary behind the log. The slugs embedded in his flack vest still made it hard to breathe, but he managed to get up on the two wobbly legs that had supported him for 36 years. He followed the team leader to the roundup, doing what he could to cuff and load the militiamen without showing any signs of pain or weakness. He gave a prayer of thanksgiving as Ramos loaded him up wi
th the first wave to return to the office. He still hadn’t regained an even breathing pattern, and the flack vest felt like a dead weight on his body. It had to come off. The material felt as if it were strangling him.

  Struggling. Fighting. He rode shotgun in the vehicle, yanking the vest off his body and rolling down the window. Lungs inhaled greedily at air, trying to aid in his breathing, but it wasn’t just the slug to the chest that had winded him, but also the sheer idea that a few inches higher and he would have lost his head. The awareness was a direct juxtaposition to the plans currently floating in his brain. Today was going to be his last day with the unit. Isiah didn’t care about two-week notices because in less than two weeks he could be back out there. Ten years were enough of taking chances. The only chance he wanted to take was on a new life with a woman who talked too much and worked too hard. A new idea of quiet evening dinners with sips of Bourbon as he watched her belly grow big with his child took over his thoughts.

  Time had not been on his side in the last three months. She’d been to his place several times, but she’d never officially invited him to hers. He knew where she lived—in an upscale neighborhood with houses too close to each other and nosy neighbors. That’s not where he wanted his child to grow up. Isiah craved wide open spaces with loads of land and a small pond on the property loaded with fish where he could show his boy how to bait a hook. The Neary clan was growing with Zeke as a new father, Gabriel married and he, too, soon would be a dad. His lady love hadn’t talked much about her family, but he knew she had a brother who had a boatload of kids. Their relationship needed room to grow as they held overnight guest and cookouts in the backyard.

  “Neary, you with me?” Rogers asked.

  “No,” he said somberly as the truck rolled into the station. “I’m not with you.”

  “Talk to me, Neary,” Rogers said, looking at his long-time wingman as they entered the office. Isiah Neary was a man he counted on having his back in the thick of the problem and when nerves got thin. In ten years, he’d never seen the man waver, buckle, or lose his gumption. This was unlike him.