Never Let Me Go (Welcome To Redemption) (26 page)

Like right now.

“Sara, we all know how capable you are.” Garrett’s tone was annoyingly placating. “But what would you do if Mike showed up on our doorstep and got a good look at Ethan? Hell, even a blind man could see the resemblance.”

She swallowed hard, not wanting to even
think
about what could happen if Mike and Ethan came face to face. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll be careful.”

With a heavy sigh, Garrett rose to his feet. “Listen, I’ve got to go meet up with Hamilton and Dreyer. We’ll talk later.” He swiped his keys off the counter and headed for the front door.

Sara watched him leave with a bad feeling in her gut. She should’ve tried to talk him into staying home tonight. With that notorious temper of his, Garrett had never been able to hide from trouble.

Somehow, someway, it always found him.

* * *

Mike Andrews felt sick to his damn stomach. As he stood in the doorway of his childhood home, memories assaulted him like a swarm of bees, stinging him with their painful reminders.

The old man’s dead.

He stepped into the living room and pushed the front door shut behind him. His nostrils flared in disgust. The house smelled the same as it always had. The stench of stale beer mingled with the faint smell of cooked onions and the musty odor emanating from the basement.

His gaze settled on the old recliner that sat directly across from the twenty-five-inch console television his parents had received as a wedding present. The chair, originally smoke blue, was now a dullish-gray, the upholstery worn and tattered, the seat cushion permanently stained with piss. The old man had passed out drunk in that chair almost every night since the day it was delivered to the house.

And, according to the officer Mike had spoken to last night, he’d died in that chair. Suffered a massive heart attack while watching TV and sucking down a beer. A truly fitting end, if you asked Mike. The old man deserved nothing better than to have died alone.

Bitterness welled up like bile in Mike’s throat.

He moved into the kitchen, and the smell was even worse in there. Christ, what he wouldn’t do for a can of Lysol. Hard to believe this room had been his sanctuary as a young boy. His mother had spent

most of her time here, cooking and baking, the only two things that hadn’t pissed his dad off.

Mike pulled a chair back from the table, flipped it around, and straddled it. His eyes drifted around the room and came to rest on the cookie jar he’d bought for his mother when he was ten years old, a huge ceramic strawberry that had usually been filled with chocolate chip cookies. His favorite. Although, every once in a while she’d make peanut butter and he’d loved those almost as much.

He laid his arms along the back of the chair, laced his fingers together, and rested his chin on them. His chest ached in a way it hadn’t in years. His mother had died of breast cancer two weeks before his thirteenth birthday. It had happened so fast that most people hadn’t even known she was sick. His father had known, though, and hadn’t much cared. Mike didn’t have a single memory of the old man helping her in any way. It hadn’t mattered how sick she was, dinner had to be on the table by six o’clock or he’d bitch and gripe all night. If she was lucky. If not, he’d backhand her, yank her around by the hair. Sometimes, he’d shove her so hard she’d fall to her knees.

Mike squeezed his eyes shut, as if he could somehow block out the memories. But he knew he couldn’t. He’d been trying to for years and had never been successful.

He rose to his feet, flipped the chair back around, and moved to stand next to the sink. Reclining back against the counter, he crossed his feet at the ankles and rubbed his eyes.

Damn, he hadn’t been this tired in a long time. He’d gotten precious little sleep the night before and, since he’d already tossed his bags in the truck, he’d taken off straight from the station. The only stop he’d made was for a couple of burgers to eat on the way. Maneuvering through rush hour traffic while choking down a burger had been quite a trick, but once he’d gotten past Milwaukee, traffic had thinned out, so he’d turned on the radio and tried to relax. The drive from Chicago was a whole lot longer than he remembered.

Probably because he’d been so reluctant to make the trip.

Mike retrieved his bags from the truck and made his way down the hall to his old bedroom. He paused on the threshold, wondering if his father had cleared out his room after he’d left. No, he decided, the old man had been much too lazy to have bothered. Mike turned the knob and opened the door.
 
And felt like he’d been punched in the gut. The room looked as if it hadn’t been touched at all. Rock posters covered the wall to his left, bubbled and faded. His Little League trophies still sat on the shelf above his dresser, each sporting half an inch of dust. Some of his old clothes were strewn across the room, most of them from the last time he’d been here and packed up his belongings in a rage.
Hell, there’s even a glass still sitting on the nightstand
.

He set his bags on the floor, walked over to the bed, and yanked off the comforter and sheets in one quick pull. After stripping the pillows, he gathered all the bedding and strode down the hall to the laundry room. He stuffed everything inside the washing machine, pressed the start button, and poured a stream of detergent in a circle over the bedding. A quick search turned up no fabric softener, but hey, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Mike returned to his room and sat down on the edge of the mattress. His eyes settled on the framed picture sitting on his dresser.
Sara.
So damn beautiful it hurt just to look at her. She’d turned sixteen shortly before that picture had been taken, and he remembered the day like it was yesterday.

A few friends had talked them into taking a ride down to Six Flags Great America, not far over the border into Illinois. They’d had a blast, too, riding every roller coaster in the park, plus the water ride and double-decker merry-go-round. Her idea, not his, he remembered with a reluctant grin.

He leaned forward, snatched the photo off the dresser, and swiped the dust away with his thumb.

Staring hard at the face that had haunted his dreams for the past eight years, he wondered what she looked like now. The vindictive part of him hoped the years hadn’t been kind, although somehow he knew that wouldn’t be the case.

She’d been a tiny slip of a thing, standing five-feet-two, a hundred and five pounds, if that. Her long, thick hair, the color of a shiny penny—not red, but a rich copper—had glowed like fire under the sun. Her eyes, Sara’s best feature in his opinion, were chocolate brown and huge, turning up slightly at the corners. He remembered the first time he’d met her, how all he could do was stare into those beautiful eyes.

Mike tossed her picture back on the dresser and snatched his old clothes up off the floor. His thoughts drifted to Sara’s brother, Nicky. He’d missed his old friend and had wanted to call him many times over the years. But there was no way in hell Nicky would’ve sided with anyone—even him—over his own family.

Which was exactly why he’d been so drawn to the Jamisons in the first place. They were a close-knit bunch who loved one another fiercely. Eventually, he’d started to consider himself one of the family, imagining he and Sara would marry one day, have kids of their own.

Cursing, Mike carried his old clothes into the laundry room and tossed them into the cracked, plastic yellow basket in the corner. He’d wash them and put them in a bag for Goodwill. The load of bedding hadn’t reached the rinse cycle yet, so he decided to head out for something to eat. He was starving and knew he’d never get anything done tonight if he didn’t put some food in his stomach.

He flipped on the radio as he backed out of the driveway. Searching through the stations, he wracked his brain to remember which one he used to listen to. When an old Aerosmith tune blasted through his speakers, the first genuine smile of the day lifted his lips.

Mike had driven for maybe ten minutes before a familiar neon sign appeared up ahead on the right. His smile widened. Krupp’s, he remembered, served up the best fried perch dinner in town. He parked his truck in the closest space he could find, noting the lot was pretty well packed.

He pulled open the door and the distinctive twang of country music spilled out, as did the tantalizing aroma of deep-fried chicken and fish. Making his way through the crowd, Mike sent up a silent prayer of thanks when he spotted an empty booth against the back wall.

He slid in and reached for the old, stained menu when one of the waitresses approached, her smile flirtatious. He read the name tag pinned to the baby doll T-shirt she wore bearing the tavern’s name. “Hey, Mandy, could I trouble you for a bottle of whatever you have imported and a fried perch basket?”

She tucked a stray wisp of shoulder-length auburn hair behind her ear. “You want fries or onion rings with the basket?”

“Fries. And bring me some ketchup with that, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all,” she replied with a wink.

Mike’s lips puckered into a silent whistle of masculine appreciation as he watched her swish away in one of the tightest pairs of jeans he’d ever seen. He leaned back in the booth, his free arm draped comfortably over the top of the seat. Less than a minute later, she placed an ice-cold bottle of beer on the table in front of him.

“It’ll be a few minutes yet on the food.” She flashed him what he assumed to be an ‘I’m interested’ smile before sauntering off to take care of some other customers.

Pretty though she was, Mike wasn’t interested. Her hair wasn’t quite the right color, and her eyes were a few shades too light. Scowling at the direction of his thoughts, he gulped down a large swallow of beer.

His gaze traveled around the room. It had been nearly a decade since he’d been here, but he was pretty sure the place hadn’t changed much. Fairly large, it boasted roughly twenty tables and just as many booths. The bar was a good thirty stools long, the walls covered with the expected collection of beer signs, lighted mirrors, and other beer paraphernalia. The jukebox stood against the far wall right between the restrooms, and an old pinball machine that wasn’t lit up sat in the corner next to the men’s room.

His gaze skimmed over the four pool tables. All set up in a large square, and all occupied. Mike tilted the bottle to his lips and drained half of it in one long pull. His stomach rumbled when he spotted the waitress heading his way with a steaming basket and bottle of ketchup.

“Nice and hot. Enjoy,” she said. “And give me a holler when you’re ready for another beer.”

“I’ll do that, thanks.” Mmmm, he hadn’t had a good perch dinner in years. He picked up one of the batter-fried fillets and dunked it into the small bowl of tartar sauce.

“Hey, Mandy, we’re ready for another round here.”

Mike’s hand stopped halfway to his mouth. Dammit, he knew that voice. Eight years had gone by since he’d heard it, but there was no mistaking that deep baritone. He turned his head, and his gaze landed on the last person he’d have ever wanted to run into here in Green Bay.

Garrett Jamison.

“Ah, shit.”

~~~~~

“
There’s Only Been You
is a heartwarming story of family and a second chance at love. This is the first of what we hope is many novels from this talented new author. Reading Donna Marie Rogers is like coming home
.
”

~ Tori Carrington, Bestselling, award-winning author of
SOFIE METROPOLIS

“Love lost and found is the basis of this wonderfully heartwarming read. Throw in a years-old lie and a strong sense of family and it only gets better and better. A subplot concerning a dirty cop adds a nice mystery to spice up the story.”

~ 4 Stars, Romantic Times BOOK Reviews

“...Readers of contemporary romance will be thoroughly delighted in reading
There’s Only Been You
as Donna Marie Rogers delivers a tender tale of love, family, and second chances. I’m sure others will join in my great anticipation for her sequels.”

~ 5 Bookmarks, Ali Flores - Wild On Books

~~~~~

MEANT TO BE

Jamison series: Book 2

2010 Write Touch Reader Award Finalist

2010 Bean Pot Finalist

2010 Aspen Gold Finalist

2010 EPIC Award Finalist

She’s running from her past, he’s unsure about his future. Maybe together they can figure out what was MEANT TO BE...

Officer Garrett Jamison
is at the lowest point in his life. He’s lost faith in his ability as a police officer after unwittingly setting his sister up with a dirty cop. Garrett ended up getting shot, and his sister’s son kidnapped right out of his own bed. He takes a leave from the force, in need of some time to make a decision about his future. Too bad he can't get a decent night’s sleep thanks to his sexy new neighbor and her howling cat.

Jessica McGovern
moves halfway across the country to start a new life in Green Bay, Wisconsin after her ex-husband is convicted of involuntary manslaughter in the death of their young son. Her new neighbor is as infuriating as he is handsome, but when her ex is released from prison early and shows up in town, Jessica discovers she's never needed anyone more.