Irrevocably Mine (Imagine Ink Book 3) by Verlene Landon

Author:Verlene Landon [Landon, Verlene]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rusty Halo Books
Published: 2016-09-11T21:00:00+00:00

Dax started second-guessing his departure before he ever made it to the front door. He wasn’t a runner, never had been. Hell, never would be, but Stacy was. He took a calculated risk and now, he was afraid it was a major miscalculation. What if his attempt to give her space to stop her flight caused her to believe he didn’t care enough to stay and fight? Fortunately, deep down, he knew that wasn’t the case. Stacy would use the space to evaluate, reevaluate, Hell, make a list like Erika does and come to a logical conclusion. Right?

Deep down didn’t do much to soothe the surface, but it was out of his hands now. Stacy had to deal with shit her own way. The possibility she might distance herself was eating away at his soul, but he kept telling himself possibly was better than definitely. If he interfered, it was a foregone conclusion, so he took the course with the best odds. It didn’t help with the horde of Vikings raging through his stomach.

Dax found himself at the Reid’s instead of home. The sun was just thinking about waking up. Francis was already on the porch, beckoning him in with a cup of coffee, or he would have pulled away. He hadn’t realized he’d been aimlessly riding for so long until he shut down his bike and met Francis on the front porch. It seemed like he’d just left Stacy’s bed. The older woman thrust the cup in his hands, reached up, and patted him on the shoulder lovingly while directing him toward the screen door. “Come on in, son, Frank is finishing up the biscuits and gravy now. Good thing you happened along, you know when Frank’s in charge of breakfast, he makes enough to feed an army. If somebody don’t eat it, I’ll be up to my ears in gravy.”

That was all she said. Francis Reid seemed to understand he didn’t want to talk or be quizzed, even though it was obvious she knew something was troubling him. It was written on her aging, but beautiful, face. It was an unspoken transfer in her touch. It was so many things. She knew, maybe not details, but the lady most certainly knew. After watching his own mother self-destruct for years, only to glimpse what he’d missed when she was in recovery, Francis willingly and happily filled a void in his life. She was everything that was good in this world, and Dax loved her as sure as if she had birthed him herself. Francis seemed to revel in the dynamic, too.

Seated at the table and sipping his second cup of coffee, the comfortable silence felt therapeutic. It was only broken by the sound of a china plate being placed in front of him with Frank’s announcement, “The best SOS south of the Mason Dixon right there. Eat up, son.”

“Frank! I’ve told you not to call it that.”

“What, shit on a shingle? Well, when I make it, that’s what it’ll be called.

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