Rich Soldier: The Dirty Thirty Pledge Book 2 Read online

  Rich Soldier

  The Dirty Thirty Pledge Book 2

  Penny Wylder

  Copyright © 2019 Penny Wylder

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is completely coincidental.

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  Contents

  1. Tia

  2. Wallace

  3. Wallace

  4. Wallace

  5. Tia

  6. Wallace

  7. Tia

  8. Wallace

  9. Tia

  10. Wallace

  11. Tia

  Epilogue

  Rich Groom

  Books By Penny Wylder

  1

  Tia

  The schedule in front of me is blurring in front of my eyes. I think that I’ve been looking at this for hours now, and I’m getting confused by my own color coding. God, there are too many projects and not enough people to get them done in time. We're going to need to hire some extra hands.

  It's a good problem to have as a contracting company, but it’s been happening more and more since I took on more responsibility at Connor’s Contracting, my family’s company. I love this business, and I love that we’re the number one builders in Green Hills, Tennessee, but it’s also a bit annoying since I've told my father time and time again that we’re biting off more than we can chew. He’s the one who meets with the clients, though, and I’m the one who ends up juggling the schedules and making the impossible possible.

  We have a roof reconstruction, a greenhouse refurbishment, replacing insulation in an attic, and an interior paint job. And those are just the smaller projects. We've got two from-scratch buildings as well, all the way from foundation to drywall. All of these projects overlap in the next couple of months. I don't know where he got the idea that we could fit this all in, but we'll need at least two more people. And that's if he and I both step in and work on the projects, too.

  Everything has to be done by the 28th of September. My heart lurches for a second, because I know that day. It's Wallace Monroe's birthday, and this year he'll be turning thirty. That's a long ways away from when we were young and in love at eighteen, but it still feels significant. I hate the way my heart still skips a beat whenever I think of him. I don’t even have to think of him. Someone can just say something that just sounds like his name and my ears perk up like they’ve been waiting to hear news about him. Anything.

  He'll probably have a party for his birthday. Who knows. Maybe he'll invite me?

  I laugh out loud even though there's no one to hear it. The office is empty. Yeah, right. Invite me? The girl who didn't even speak to him when he came back from a fucking battle zone and dumped an entire grocery store's worth of cereal on top of him? Not likely. I shouldn't even care anyway. I only thought of it because I saw the day. I don't care about Wallace. I don’t. Like a mantra, I repeat those words again and again: I do Not. Care.

  I've seen him around town sometimes, and he looks good. It's impossible not to notice that the good looks he had when he was younger have only intensified, body hardened with battle and face honed with serious intent. I noticed it when I dumped the cereal on him. But just because he looks good doesn't mean I care. Or that I miss him. Or that I still dream about him and that no one I’ve dated has even come close.

  I haven’t talked to him since the cereal incident—though there wasn’t much talking involved there—but then again, he hasn’t talked to me either. Two can play at that game. Not to mention that he probably has no use for me now that he’s a millionaire. He can have anything he wants in the world. Any woman. In this town there are hundreds that would fall over him if he let them. But it doesn’t matter. He’s free to do as he wants. It doesn’t matter to me. I have to keep telling myself that.

  Shaking my head, I run a hand across my face. What is wrong with me this morning? I seem to be getting lost in these thoughts that I can't shake. I have enough to do without Wallace Monroe invading my peace of mind today. I need to find my father and tell him that thanks to his over scheduling we need more hands. I'm not sure how that conversation is going to go. We can afford it with all the projects that we’ve got coming in, but finding reliable and skilled construction workers in Green Hills isn’t as easy as one would hope. We’ve gone through quite a few that weren’t up to our standards this year already. I’m not sure where we’re going to find more. And with all the work we have to do in such a short time, we can’t afford to hire people that will make mistakes.

  I print out a copy of the schedule and find a clipboard—knowing my dad, he's going to want to keep this copy to approve it—then I head out into the warehouse. We do have a couple of temps here working on storage and inventory, but I don't think that they'll be the right fit for helping us get the excess work done. They're just not built for it. And that's okay, construction isn't easy, and it's not for everyone.

  Some people say it shouldn't be for me since I'm a woman and it's not lady-like, but those people can go fuck themselves. I like building things. It’s like a puzzle, piecing it together to make it exactly how you want it. And there’s nothing more satisfying than a project completed to perfection.

  Wallace Monroe and I used to talk about building things together. Sat on my parents’ roof and dreamed of all the things we would design and build, until we were whispering, half asleep. He used to work construction during the summer in high school and I dreamed about becoming a big-city architect. But then he joined the army and didn’t come back and I found out that the big city life wasn’t for me. Ugh, he needs to get out of my head!

  But even though I didn’t end up where I thought I would, I like the satisfaction of knowing that something was put together with my own hands, and I also like knowing that I'm stronger than most of the guys that try to hit on me. The looks on their faces when I show them up are the best.

  My mother would much rather I flirt back, but it's just not that easy. I need someone who's going to match me, not assume that they're better than me because they were born a man.

  My father's not in his office when I check, and he's not on the loading dock either. Only people there are the temps and Bryan, a regular, unloading palates of bricks off a truck. "Bryan, you seen my dad?"

  He shrugs, and I try not to show any frustration. Lately Dad has been nowhere I need him. But he's still in charge, which means I need him a lot, to sign and approve things. I want him to hand over more responsibility to me, but he keeps saying that I'm not ready. It might be easier to see that I'm ready if I didn't have to track him down every second of every day. Or arrange schedules that are nearly impossible.

  I step to the side as one of the temps roll by with a forklift and a brick pallet, and I think that my eyes are tricking me. Because Wallace Monroe is here, standing on the other side of the warehouse, like I summoned him out of my mind. I shake my head, seeing if my mind is really that deep down the rabbit hole, but his image doesn't go away. So he's really here. Why?

  He looks around and when he sees me walking toward him, he smiles. I'd forgotten what that smile does to him, and what it does to me. It transforms his entire face into something beautiful—even more than it already is—and it gives me butterflies. There's something about it that reaches down into my gut and sings a song of possibility and lo
nging. More than longing. A sweet ache and desire that’s been missing for a long damn time.

  I can't think about that. I can't even allow it as a possibility. Not after everything. After all this time, I still don't know why he left, and that's a hole that I don't think can be patched. Even by a smile as brilliant as that one. "Wallace?"

  "Hi, Tia."

  We stop a few feet away from each other, and both step to the side as the forklift passes and starts to rise up from the floor. Wallace seems suddenly awkward, like he doesn't know what to do. I don’t really either, and I need to find my Dad. I wait a few more seconds before I ask him, "Can I help you with something?"

  "I just...I came to talk to you."

  That takes me a little by surprise. Why now? "About what?"

  "Anything, really." He laughs, "Some stuff has happened and you've been on my mind. So I came to talk to you, to explain—”

  There's a huge cracking sound and I see the pallet of bricks crack on the forklift right behind him. I lunge forward and pull him past me, jumping too as bricks cascade to the floor in a shattering crash, spilling over onto where we were just standing. I stumble as I jump out of the way and fall, landing on something that's definitely not the floor. It's Wallace.

  We're face to face now, and my mind is racing with what just happened, that either of us could have been crushed by that avalanche. My body is racing for an entirely different, and inappropriate, reason. I can't believe I'm even noticing this when I just escaped death, but Wallace's body is everything that I thought it might be under those clothes—hard and defined—I can feel it. I feel myself blush, and God the need that surges through me takes my breath away. The way he's looking at me, I've seen that look on his face before, a long time ago. He wants to kiss me, and right now, for whatever reason on God's green earth, I might let him.

  "Holy shit," I hear Dad's voice. "Are you all right?"

  It breaks the spell, and I scramble off of Wallace so I'm standing. Surveying the wreckage behind me, I get why. The pallet cracked in half, and I didn't even see the worst part of it. The stack nearest us would have at least crushed Wallace. Shit. "I think so," I say, looking up at the temp on the forklift, who's still staring at everything with a gaping mouth. "Bryan?"

  He steps around the corner more fully. "This guy has his license, right?"

  "I do, I swear," the temp says from behind me. "I've never had this happen before."

  Dad looks at the wreckage. "Yeah, looks like it was just a bad pallet, not user error."

  "We have to make very, very sure of that," I say to him quietly.

  "We will." He turns to the rest of the workers. "All right guys, no injuries, so let's get this cleaned up."

  I pass him the clipboard. "We need more people, we've booked more than we can handle."

  Nodding, he wanders closer to the pile of broken bricks. "I'll take a look at it."

  Wallace has gotten to his feet, brushing off dust from his clothes. "Thanks," he says. “You know, I never thought you'd save me from something collapsing on me. Based on last time." He means it as a joke, but it's not funny. Not now.

  "Well you shouldn't have even been here in the first place, Wallace. If you hadn't been standing there, I wouldn't have had to save you, would I?" And I wouldn't have gotten to feel your body against mine or have that lapse that made me want to kiss you. Anger rises up in me. Enough is enough. It doesn’t matter how my body reacts, there’s too much history between us. "What are you doing here?"

  "Like I said before I was so rudely interrupted by the bricks, I came to talk to you."

  "And what do you think that you and I have to talk about?" I say, letting my anger snap out at him. "We were together. You left without saying a word. I thought I made it pretty clear that I didn't want to talk to you the last time."

  He doesn't change his expression, but I can tell that it's strained now. "I was hoping that you'd give me the chance to explain. Maybe over coffee."

  "Over coffee?"

  He shrugs. "Or lunch, dinner, even just a walk."

  I shake my head. How can he even think this would be okay? After he broke my heart and left me with nothing? He doesn't deserve my time or my energy. "No."

  Wallace takes a breath and blows it out. "Is there anything I can say to change your mind, Tia? I'm not the same person that I was, and all I want is a chance to make things right."

  "If you wanted that, why didn't you try when you came back?"

  He presses his lips together. "Like you said, you made yourself pretty clear. I thought I'd give you some time."

  Anger flares through my system and I have to extend my fingers to keep them from curling into fists. He thought he'd give me time. Like my reactions are irrational and time will make me see the error of my ways. I don’t care that I was thinking of him kindly just a few minutes ago, there’s a reason we haven’t spoken in so long. There’s too much anger that rises when I remember what happened. That pain that’s still with me. And I can’t do it. "No, Wallace. I do not want to talk to you about that. And as you can see," I say, gesturing to the pile of bricks, "I'm pretty busy today. You found your way in, and you can see yourself out."

  I walk away from him and I don't look back. Who the hell does he think he is? Showing up after all these years offering an explanation that was needed a decade ago? You can’t just act like you know what's best for everyone when you don't know shit. Would hearing how he would justify breaking it off with no warning and no goodbye satisfy years of curiosity? Probably. But it wouldn't be satisfying. There's nothing big enough to fill the gap and the pain that he left. And you don't just get a free pass because you suddenly decide that now is the time to make amends.

  There's a tiny spark in my mind that reminds me how close I was to kissing him, and that I was just wondering today if he was going to invite me to his birthday party, but I shove it down. It's nothing. Just the natural wonderings and thoughts you have when you think about someone you haven't thought about in a long time. Because I haven't. Thought about him. Not in a long time.

  Or at least that's what I'm going to keep telling myself. I don't want to admit how many things everyday bring him to mind.

  I peek through the blinds of my office window, and he's still standing there, talking to my father. There's a pang of jealousy, that my dad can just talk to him like that, without any of the baggage or anger that's between us. There's that niggling thought again, that if I accepted his offer to talk, maybe we could talk like that too. NO.

  I drop the blinds closed again. My brain needs to get its shit together. I don't have a place in my life or my heart for Wallace Monroe. Not anymore.

  2

  Wallace

  Well...that went well. I suppose it went as well as I could have been expected. Not sure what made me think that I could just show up at her work and she would just listen to me without any good reason. At the bare minimum, I can consider it an upside that she saved me from dying, though I'd like to hope that anyone would have done that. I could have died, or at the very least had some broken bones if she hadn't pulled me out of the way.

  I thought I’d had a good plan. I wanted to surprise her, ask her to dinner, make it seem spontaneous. Yeah, that didn’t work. I’m not sure why I thought it would. Tia’s always been a really up-front kind of girl, and I don’t think that time has changed that. But I haven’t been able to get her out of my head. Not since Frankie and Annabelle got together.

  They had so much shit that drove them apart, and they got over it. It got me thinking that it could be the same with Tia. I guess I was wrong. But maybe there’s still a chance. I sigh, rubbing my neck and stretching, assessing whether there’s any damage from that fall.

  Almost dying aside, I want to be back there lying with her on top of me, because that felt so good. Better than my imagination and memories combined. Those have been plaguing me lately too. She's so soft and curvy and I had to hold my hands back from sliding down to her ass. For a split second when we were that cl
ose, I was going to kiss her. God, I’ve been dying to kiss her again. Kissing her feels like breathing. If her father hadn't interrupted, I would have without question. She probably would have slapped the shit out of me.

  It might have been worth it, though.

  "You okay, son?"

  Speak of the devil, Tia's father Charles speaks from behind me, and I turn to face him. "I believe so, sir." He holds out a hand, and I shake it.

  "Been a while since I've seen you up close. Although I've seen you around town here and there."

  "Yes, sir. Got back from deployment a few years ago."

  He gives me a long, hard, look. "Where from?"

  "Afghanistan," I say swallowing. I thought everybody knew. My business seems to be everybody’s business now. The three owners of the First Shot bar franchise—one of the only things Green Hills is famous for—don’t get much privacy around here. But Charles was never one for gossip.

  "Some buddies of mine are still out that way," he says. "Not an easy place to go to or come back from."

  "No, it's not."

  Charles slips the clipboard he's holding under his arm and clasps his hands in front of him, like by talking about the military he's falling back into old habits. "How are you holding up? I had a rough time re-entering civilian life, and I never faced anything like what I'm sure you faced over there."

  There are flashes of screams and death in my head, followed by the inevitable wave of guilt. I shouldn't be here. Not in Green Hills, not anywhere. I should be dead. I can't say that out loud, though. People think that you're crazy when you say stuff like that out loud. But there's no reason that I should be alive when everyone else died. No reason but luck. But the universe did try to drop a pallet of bricks on my head, so maybe my luck’s running out.