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  FORGIVING PATIENCE

  Jennifer Simpkins

  Erotic Romance

  Secret Cravings Publishing

  www.secretcravingspublishing.com

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  A Secret Cravings Publishing Book

  Erotic Romance

  Forgiving Patience

  Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Simpkins

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-61885-503-9

  First E-book Publication: January 2013

  Cover design by Dawne Dominique

  Edited by Tara Chevrestt

  Proofread by E.L. Felder

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Secret Cravings Publishing

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

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  www.secretcravingspublishing.com

  Dedication

  I can’t say enough good things about Secret Cravings. I want to thank them for seeing the potential in Forgiving Patience, and giving it a home. Much thanks to my fabulous editor Tara Chevrestt. You truly made this book better the day you read it. And I have to thank E.L. Felder. You are amazing.

  Throughout the process of writing this book I was supported by some amazing people. To my husband, who never thought for a second I was crazy to embark on this crazy journey. For my mom who was my first reader and always my number one fan. Jennie—for being my sometimes late night writing partner and always believing I could do this before I even did. And to my sweet daughter, I hope you remember the dreams you have now as a child will still be reachable even when you’re grown.

  To the readers, I hope you enjoy reading Anna’s story, as much as I loved writing it.

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and the following trademark owners mentioned in this work of fiction.

  RC Cola

  Louisville Slugger

  Keds

  Coke

  Oil of Olay

  Roseanne – The television show

  White Diamonds by Elizabeth Taylor

  Baby Phat Fabulosity

  Mack truck

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  FORGIVING PATIENCE

  Jennifer Simpkins

  Copyright © 2012

  Chapter One

  “Jackass!” Anna Kelly screamed while gripping the wheel of her small convertible, waiting for the pounding heart residing in her throat to settle back down in her chest.

  Bastard. Reckless jerk. Lunatic. Words started spewing from her once guarded lips—words her mother would have scolded her for using if she were still alive. In a soothing but stern voice, she would say “little girls don’t talk that way, Anna.”

  Well, I’m not a little girl. Haven’t been in a long time.

  It felt liberating to vent. Letting the built-up anger that had settled inside her for most of her life spew out against a careless asshole felt even better.

  She forced her shaky body, filled with more rage than fear at the terrifying thought of being killed by what looked like the Green Monster of Fenway Park, to continue driving down the curvy stretch of road toward the home she’d sped away from eleven years before. She should’ve taken her New York Yankees license plate and shoved it into that Boston truck’s ass.

  Not that she knew for a fact he was a Boston fan. She just hated Fenway Green…and the truck rubbed her the wrong way.

  With a broken heart and soul at the age of eighteen, she couldn’t leave October Road fast enough. It was a lonesome path she’d spent fifteen years of her youth on. Except for hers and Ms. Edna’s property, hundreds o
f acres on the left side of the road were used for farming. Most of the lush farmland was used for growing corn, the rest left to be cut for hay.

  Forcing herself to take in a calming breath, she could smell the sweet scent only freshly cut hay could leave in the air. She then exhaled slowly.

  The breath was of no help. Her mind was still racing after her near-death experience.

  The Lawrence farm was off the main highway, a mile before her own road and leaving no reason for either brother to venture down her way. Unless her spitfire neighbor had a crazy-as-hell grandson, the reckless driver had to be some jerk joyriding in his daddy’s oversized truck.

  How dare the creep ride her bumper for the last mile, making her dart off into the vast brush that butted up to both sides of the road. She enjoyed driving fast—music loud—just like the next person, but she wasn’t about trying to kill somebody.

  Welcome back to Patience.

  She hadn’t wanted to come back here in the first place, and as she’d expected, things were already looking bleak.

  Finally, just to the right, she could see a clearing. She was almost there and it would be time to go to work. She’d been trying to pump herself up for the last hour or so, but now that the time had arrived, she didn’t know if she was ready. What if I’m not strong enough for the ass-kicking I’m about to put myself through? Why couldn’t Em have chosen to get married in Hawaii or the Smoky Mountains? Anywhere else in the world would be safer than in Patience.

  A mailbox painted on the side with the barely legible numbers nineteen and twelve was held up by a leaning piece of wood. Anything more than a slight breeze and the rotten wood was going to be lying in her ditch. She made a mental note to have it fixed.

  Where was the For Sale sign?

  Some kid—probably the one who’d ridden her bumper, must have taken it as some kind of joke. She would have to ask her realtor about that. The unkempt bushes lining the drive made it nearly impossible to see the front of the house. The smell of freshly cut grass filled her head—immediately making her think of the memories, at least the good ones, of the times she’d spent with friends at the ball field or having weenie roasts in the Lawrence family’s field. It was hands-down one of those smells that could take a person back in time. She couldn’t fight the urge to park there for several minutes, eyes closed and soaking it all in.

  She couldn’t glimpse the house she hadn’t seen since that rainy Sunday morning in May due to the four-wheel drive truck interfering with her view.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me! Fenway is parked in my drive,” she muttered. The idiot who’d come close to ending her life had his big-ass truck parked in her driveway. “Well, belated birthday present to me.” She was getting her wish and didn’t even have to blow out any candles. The guy was going to get a big piece of her mind.

  A few years ago, she would’ve avoided the confrontation, but not now. She was no longer a pushover. She’d grown a backbone—well, was in the process of growing one—and this guy was going to see the new Anna. This time she refused to be the same little girl who wasn’t allowed to have an opinion or voice when it came to her life. She was going to have to start standing up for herself, otherwise she would be just another woman who laid down and took what was given to her. Might as well use that backbone right now and show this boy who he’d just messed with.

  Cutting the engine, she peeled her washed-out jeans and T-shirt clad body off the leather seat, swinging the door open in one smooth motion. Marching to the truck first, she blew back the pieces of hair that were falling on her face. What she wouldn’t do for a hair tie. It was just like any other Tennessee summer, and the air was hot and humid. Every part of her felt disgusting. If she got rid of the roadrunner parked in her drive fast enough, she would have time to strip off her clothes, open the bottle of wine she’d brought, and take a long bubble bath. A bath that wrinkled every part of her body.

  She tried peeking past the over-sized tires which were covered with mud to peer into the window, but only found an RC Cola can in the designated holder, trash thrown on the passenger floorboard and a simple gold chain dangling from the rearview. Nothing useful.

  She stomped to the right, then to the left of the house. Nothing. He couldn’t have gone far. He had to show his ugly face sooner or later to get to his play toy out front. She would just prop herself up against his door and wait.

  She wished she had her Louisville Slugger or what did her crazy aunt call it?—oh, yeah, ball-buster. When Anna got her first place in Linden, Aunt Lidia insisted that she get a ball-buster. She would remind Anna that every woman needed protection from the crazies in the world. That’s what she needed. She could use it on the truck, then the guy. That would let out some of her built-up anger.

  “Can I help you?” A deep masculine voice questioned from behind her.

  Anna whipped her head around, almost losing her balance in the process, coming into contact with a white T-shirt stretched around toned muscles that were used to hard work as well as torn jeans showing everything he had to offer a woman. She didn’t know much about sex, but had a feeling this guy was the pure definition of what sex could be. At least, what great sex would be like.

  Was it getting hotter? For a second she considered fanning herself but used her brain instead and didn’t give the man standing in front of her the satisfaction of knowing he was drool-worthy.

  To top it off, his ball cap hung low over his brow, shielding his eyes from the sun and hopefully, from her uncontrollable stare. A man with a ball cap was a sure turn-on. This was no boy, as she’d first had thought. Hell, no—he was a full-blooded male. He was sexy as he—

  Wait… She remembered the first time she had heard that southern boy drawl—and the last.

  No way! This could not be him. She knew it was, but how could it be? She kept her features remote and unreadable as she looked at his suntanned, stubbled face.

  She could take one glance at him and know he wasn’t the same guy she’d professed her stupid young love to all those years ago. The guy she’d willingly given her heart to. He was hard and unyielding. A world of hurt and disappointment was in his guarded eyes.

  He still, just as in his younger days, could probably get away with pretty much anything, including murder, with those same sinful good looks. Damn Lawrence boys. They were unnaturally blessed with the kind of good looks that made every woman in Patience, and the two surrounding counties, come running.

  “Jake.”

  “That’s what most women call me, but judging by your pissed-off expression, you might have a few other choice names.” He leaned a shoulder against one of the front porch columns and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

  Peeling her gaze away from his perfect body, she noticed that all four columns looked freshly painted glossy white. Scanning the rest of the house, she could see—what in the world?—new black barnyard-style shutters glistening in the sun. She’d expected peeling paint revealing exposed wood. She’d thought she was going to have to spend a small fortune restoring the outer beauty of the aging house. How is this possible?

  The clearing of a throat brought her back to the man. Oh, yeah, Jake. She would figure out the whole house thing later. Right now she had bigger things to worry about. Like a sexy man glistening with sweat.

  She could do this. He might not have been expected, but she was strong enough to take on big bad Jake Lawrence. Fortunately, she wasn’t the same impressionable eighteen year-old girl. Like him, she too, had changed. “Did you not just see me back there?”

  “Not sure what you’re talking about, sweetness.”

  Did he really just say that? She let the sweetness go because he knew damn well what she was talking about. How could he not? “I find that hard to believe since you rode my bumper for almost a mile. Do you know you ended up running me off the road? I could’ve been Ms. Edna for all you knew.”

  “First, I knew you weren’t Edna. The old woman drives a Buick, for God’s sake. Second, Edna goes Ameri
can all the way, not some foreign make. She wouldn’t be caught dead in what you poke around in.”

  “Thought you didn’t know what I was talking about?”

  He smirked. “If I’d wanted to run you off the road…I would have.”

  “Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?”

  “Just stating the obvious.”

  “You could have killed me.” She knew she was over-exaggerating. He seemed nonchalant about the incident, and it was irritating, to say the least.

  He bent his head downward, kicking some of the day’s mud covering most of his work boot off the side of the porch. What was his deal? Did he make it some kind of habit to go around torturing innocent women because he had the need for speed? Then again—he had a reputation for causing pain and suffering for people who didn’t deserve it.

  Finally, after being satisfied with the look of his shoe, he said, “Come on, Anna. You know your life wasn’t in any danger, and I sure as hell wasn’t close to ending it.” A corner of his lip turned up. She didn’t know if it was supposed to be a half smile or if he was trying to intimidate her. Neither one was going to work. Maybe the smile…no…not even the sexy grin.

  Intimidating or not, it was the first time she had heard her name spoken by that mouth in eleven years. She had a plain name. Nothing special. He had no nicknames for her, except for the sweetness comment, nor did he draw out a syllable—still, he said it like no other man she had ever been around. It took all her strength to stay composed and not get unnerved.