Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Hawk chuckled. Mark “Tex” Marsten, whom Hawk often called simply ‘The Cowboy’, took his pool games with Vegas very seriously, and even though he occasionally resorted to cheating, Tex often lost to her. The stakes were often things like holding her purse while they went lingerie shopping. Hawk didn’t want to know what happened when she lost; it was probably better to not know for sure. Either way, Hawk was reasonably certain that on any given night, he could lift up Abby Raines’ skirt and find a red handprint on her butt cheek-- not that Hawk would ever lift Abby’s skirt.
Hawk gave Mark a lot of shit, because that’s just how things were between them, but in the thick of it, Mark kept his head down and his shit together and did anything and everything that needed to be done. Once when they were all in the thick of it, Hawk had been flanked by two men that he’d been forced to gun down on the road to Basra. Amidst the gunfire, he’d failed to hear the third man coming up behind him for a kill shot. Mark had unholstered his sidearm and tapped the third man in the back of the head before he could get his shot off.
Hawk would not repay his brother’s kindness by making a move on his woman.
Besides, Vegas might be smoking hot and fun to be around, but she was also sexually submissive, and Hawk didn’t play that way, with whips and chains and whatever else. Whatever the Cowboy did with Vegas, though, Vegas apparently loved it because she looked genuinely happy.
Slick and Shooter were happily married, and Tex and Vegas were happily...doing whatever it was they did. Those were the only two couples that Hawk had ever seen that had the potential to make it long-term. Hawk didn’t do long-term; he did short-term- often. He scanned the bar for his next Ms. Right Now.
Chapter 2
“Yesterday, I go to the grocery store.”
Tildy’s nose crinkled.
“Ay,” Mari said, shaking her head.
Tildy smiled. “Close,” she told the much older woman. “Really close. Yesterday, I went to the grocery store.”
Mari blew out a frustrated breath. Tildy’s eyes slid to the clock on the classroom wall. It was nearly six o’clock. She was late, so late, but as Mari shifted in her seat and regained her focus, so did Tildy.
“Sorry,” the older, Mexican-soon-to-be-American woman said.
“You’re getting it,” Tildy assured her. “You really are.” When Mari looked doubtful, Tildy tacked on, “Honest.”
It was true. Despite having very little grasp of English, Mari had signed up for one of the classes Tildy volunteered to teach at the Rapid City Community Center, but Tildy was confident that Mari would be more than ready for her naturalization exam in December. She was determined to help Mari achieve her dream of becoming a U.S. Citizen, hence the after-class tutoring sessions three times a week.
“Let’s finish the exercises,” Tildy prompted.
Mari nodded and finished the rest of the conjugation exercises with only a few mistakes.
At six o’clock, the two women began packing up their things. For about the millionth time, Mari picked up her purse. Tildy didn’t even need to turn and look at the woman.
“Olvidelo,” Tildy said. Forget it.
Mari grunted. “Stubborn,” she said, shoving a few bills back into her wallet.
Tildy turned to smile at the other woman. “I make enough.”
Tildy was the Head Teller at the Black Hills Regional Bank downtown. This was a better paying job than the commercial laundry where Mariposa worked 6 days a week, even without taking into account Tildy’s hiked-up salary because her parents owned the bank.
“You’re worth more, Tildy,” Mari replied, reaching out and fingering the gold medallion around the younger woman’s neck. “You’re a good girl. I need five like you instead of the three I have, always chasing the wrong boys.”
Tildy laughed and tucked the pendant back into her shirt.
Tildy and Mariposa parted ways in front of the Community Center building. Mariposa walked to the covered bus stop at the end of the street, while Tildy rounded the corner of the building to the side lot where her Mercedes was parked.
She thumbed the key fob and unlocked the doors. As she started the engine, she felt the shudder of a rough idle that she’d noticed this morning when she left the house. It revved fine though, and Tildy turned out of the lot and headed across town.
Urban buildings gave way to small neighborhoods, with chain-link fences separating the yards, which eventually gave way to newer, nicer subdivisions with larger, landscaped yards. Tildy drove past all those and took the last road before leaving the city proper. The houses here were larger than even the Community Center and they were much nicer than Rapid City’s standard split-level ranches. Tildy pulled into a three-car garage of a French country inspired house with large windows and surrounded by mature trees. She killed the problematic engine. Thankfully, the other two vehicle bays were still empty.