Welcome To My World (Hell Yeah!)

WELCOME TO MY WORLD

Hell Yeah! Book 14

SABLE HUNTER

Continue the Hell Yeah! Series with book 14

The first time Bowie Travis Malone laid eyes on Cassie Cartwright, she knocked him for a loop. He was as drawn to her side as a moth to a flame. A green eyed angel with golden hair, she made his heart hammer in his chest and his body ache to hold her close. But the moment he asks her to dance, the truth of her condition almost brings him to his knees – Cassie is in a wheelchair. Cassie is used to men passing her by, they can’t see beyond the handicap that defines her boundaries. When she sees Bowie walking across the room toward her, she thinks he is the sexiest man in the world and once they talk, she realizes he is as kind and smart as he is handsome. She dreads the moment when he asks her to dance and she has to tell him she can’t. Their first meeting seals their fate. Both are drawn to each other by threads that fate wove long ago. Bowie realizes he wants Cassie above all others, and thinks she is perfect – just the way she is. Cassie is afraid to dream that he might be able to see something in her that no one else ever has. Love, desire, and affection draw them together but reality may shatter their dreams. The tragic accident that put Cassie in a wheelchair will come back to haunt them. And when Bowie realizes he was the one responsible – nothing will ever be the same. He will begin a quest to build a world where Cassie will feel cherished and welcome – if only she will be able to forgive.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 Sable Hunter

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Beau Coup Publishing
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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

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PROLOGUE

TARGET PRACTICE 10:38 A.M. – July 17
th
, 1995

Squinting into the sun, Travis Malone measured the distance between him and the white target nailed to a scrub oak about fifty yards to the west. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he weighed his chances and found them good. “I’ll bet you five dollars I can hit that dude right between the eyes.”

  Harvey Clooney sipped his soda and put one hand on his hip, surveying the possibility. He weighed the likelihood that his friend was a good enough shot to strike the human-shaped cutout over a hundred and fifty feet away. Harvey seriously doubted it. “Nah, I don’t think so.” He spat for good measure. “Sights on your ole’ 243 are bent. I don’t think you can hit the broad side of a barn with that thing.”

  “We’ll see.” Travis aimed carefully. He was a crack shot. Uncle Michael had taught him how to shoot, how to hunt and how to track. That’s what he wanted to be when he grew up, a tracker like his dad’s brother. Michael specialized in wilderness rescues. Why just last month, his uncle had found three hikers who’d gotten lost up in Yellowstone. When he located them, they were half-starved and half-frozen, but they’d survived. A fourth had been eaten by a bear. It wasn’t funny, but the whole idea of adventure on that grand of a scale made Travis smile just thinking about it.

  “Are ya gonna shoot today or should I go home and get a snack and check back with you later?” Harvey drawled.

  “Keep your britches on.”

  Travis was smart, or at least his mother said he was. Course most mothers thought their boys were smart. The school said he had a high IQ. Maybe they were right, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he liked to solve problems and think things through. And right now, he was calculating the chances of him winning money from Clooney. Travis thought his chances were pretty good.

 
BOOM!

  The boys kept their eyes on the target. Or tried to. Faster than a speeding bullet means what it says. As if in slow motion, they watched the human figure jerk as the projectile found its goal.

  And then they heard the small, high-pitched scream.

WRONG PLACE, WRONG TIME 10:38 A. M. July 17
th
, 1995

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Cassie spoke to the bird in a sing-song fashion. “Come here, come to Cassie.”

  The bird stood still, cocking its head from the left to the right, watching Cassie. She didn’t know what kind of bird it was, maybe a mockingbird. She knew a song about a mockingbird pulling a two-horse plow that her grandpa had sung, but she didn’t really know what a two-horse plow was anyway. Cassie bent over, her fingers folded into small fists. She was trying to make herself small and less dangerous looking to the little bird. “I’ll catch you a worm if you’ll be my little bird.”

  Since her mother had died, Cassie was lonely. Her dad worked so much and she didn’t have any friends to spend time with. So, she was always on the lookout for a playmate, like this little bird. But so far, she hadn’t had a lot of luck. Maybe someday her dad would let her have a kitten or a puppy.

  At six years old, she knew how to use her imagination. So lately, she’d begun to imagine what it would be like to have a friend. When she was alone, she’d think about how they would look or what her friend’s name would be. A girl friend would be nice, someone to play dolls with or make mud pies together. But Cassie thought it would be more fun to have a friend who was a boy. Boys could run fast and climb high and Cassie liked to do those things. Her dad called her a ‘tomboy,’ but she didn’t really understand what he meant. The boy who would be her friend would have dark hair, dark eyes and he’d be nice.

  To Cassie’s surprise, the bird hadn’t moved. She shook with excitement. Would it let her touch its feathers? She moved slower, reaching one hand out. “Good bird. Good bird.” Oh, she was close.

 
BOOM!

  One moment Cassie was walking along happily, the next second she felt a pain so great, it stole her breath and turned her world into red-hot agony. She cried out just once. And then, she knew no more.

Nothing Will Ever Be The Same

  “What was that?” Harvey’s eyes bugged.

  “I don’t know.” Travis could barely talk. “Come on, let’s go see.” He carefully placed the 243 on the ground by a fence post and they took off running. As they sprinted across the pasture, Travis began to pray. How many times had his uncle and his dad cautioned him about gun safety? His adrenaline was pumping and he’d broken out in a cold sweat.

  When they rounded the side of the target and came to the pasture, they couldn’t believe their eyes. “Shit,” Harvey said with fear and panic in his voice. “You shot a little girl.”

  Travis took one look at the tiny body and the crimson stain on her pink dress and felt sick to his stomach. He had no words. She was so pale. The only colors his eyes could register were her blonde hair and all the blood.

  “Get help!” Harvey screamed.

  Yea, right, go get help. And so he ran hard, crying and praying.

  His legs and arms pumped frantically as he covered the ground between the cow pasture and his house. What happened? Where had she come from? Why hadn’t he checked behind the target? Question after question popped into his head as he neared the garage where his father was working on his lawn mower. “Dad! Dad!”

  B. T. Malone stood, wiping the grease off of his hands with a rag. “Calm down. What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve shot somebody.”

  His dad’s face went from indulgent to horrified. “What did you say, Son?”

  Travis started crying in earnest. “I shot a little girl.”

  “Oh, my God.” He grabbed Travis and shook him. “Where?”

  “In the pasture by the mill pond.”

  “Is she dead?”

  “I don’t know.”

  With only a second of hesitation, his dad flew into the house to call for an ambulance. When he returned, he was white as a sheet. “I’m going over there and see what’s happened. You go to your room and don’t come out until I get back. I’ll deal with you then.” His words were harsh. His meaning clear. He had done something very, very wrong.

The Aftermath – Travis

  Everything changed. Travis’ family protected him, but he knew there was talk. His dad had gone with him to the police station where he and Harvey told an officer what happened. Reporters wanted to talk to him but B. T. Malone refused to subject his son to the scrutiny. The phone rang and rang at their house. His mother ignored it. And they quit going places. No more church or going out to eat. The worst part was—no one would talk to him about it. Travis didn’t even know the name of the little girl he’d shot or if she was dead or alive. And he wanted to know.

  He needed to know.

  For the rest of the summer, Travis stayed inside. His uncle came to visit him and told him it wasn’t his fault. But he knew it was. He’d fired the gun.

  “Why did this happen, Uncle?” He asked, needing answers.

  Michael had put a big arm around his shoulders. “I don’t know, Bowie Travis. Things don’t always make sense. Just keep your eyes open, the universe has a way of giving you a sign.”

  One day, his mother informed him they were moving. He didn’t even get to tell Harvey goodbye. They moved from East Texas to Central Texas and he wasn’t Travis any longer, now his father insisted he change and go by his first name, Bowie.

  Dreams haunted him at night. He would never forget looking into the sun, never forget pulling the trigger or seeing that little girl lying so still. As long as he lived, he’d always remember her beautiful long blonde hair and the blood staining her pink dress.

  He wished he could take it back. He wished he could do the day over again.

  More than anything, Bowie wished he could tell her he was sorry.

THE AFTERMATH – CASSIE

  “I don’t want to be in a wheelchair!” Cassie cried.

  Her grandmother held her hand. “I’m so sorry. There’s no other way, sweetheart.” She pushed a strand of hair off Cassie’s tear dampened face. “It’s the pain, you can’t be expected to suffer with every step. And it’s getting worse.”

  Cassie knew it was getting worse. She’d lived with the pain since the accident.

  The accident.

  Her whole life had been defined by the accident.

  One day she’d been playing outside, chasing a little bird, the next she’d been ruined. Never again had she run or jumped or ridden a bicycle. Every step she’d taken had been painful. And over time, she’d lost function in her lower body. The bullet that was lodged near her spine had shifted as she grew, causing more and more problems. “How about the operation?”

  “It’s too risky.” Her grandmother shook her head. This was an eternal argument in her family, one where the real loser was her.

  “Grandma, I don’t want to hurt anymore.” She tried to tell them how much pain she was in every time she put any weight at all on her legs. Each year, each month, the number of steps she could take had dwindled until they were a pitiful few. Sharp, agonizing stabs of pain pierced her back anytime she put weight on her feet. Plus, the doctors said that the surgery could go either way. One scenario said they could remove the bullet and she’d most likely still be partially paralyzed, but the pain could possibly be eliminated. The second scenario was that the result of the operation could be a complete loss of sensation below the waist.

  Cassie was willing to risk it, just so long as the pain would go away.

  “Damn that boy who did this to you to hell!” The venom in her grandmother’s voice horrified Cassie.

  “He was just a little boy,” Cassie protested. From what she’d been told, and that hadn’t been much, the boy had only been a few years older than she’d been. The shooting had happened when they were both so young. Her family had moved shortly after she got out of the hospital, when her dad was transferred for his company, so she’d escaped the hometown gossip for the most part. Both her grandmother and her dad avoided the subject like the plague. The only person who’d discuss it with her was her cousin Destry. Everyone else treated the subject as if it was taboo, like not talking about it would make it had never happened. But it had. She was in a wheelchair.

  The young boy who had accidentally changed her life was grown now and Cassie was college age. “It’s water under the bridge.”

  “He stole your life.” Her grandmother’s voice was old, shaky and weathered by sorrow.

  “I’m sure he suffered too.” She hoped not.

  “I’d like just a few minutes with him. Do you know what I’d say to him?”

  “No.” And Cassie didn’t want to know. “But I know what I’d say to him.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I forgive you.” She was tired of the hate and the regrets.

  “You’re a fool.” Her grandmother spat at her.

  “Maybe.”

  Or maybe she’d figured out the only way she could survive.