Texas Tornado

By Jolene Faye

“One more,” his husky voice almost whispered as his dark, stormy looking eyes traced her small face. She wasn't sure if it was the way his lips curled, the soft edges of his eyes or his deep voice, but the tall dark and quiet cowboy sent a shiver up her spine. Smiling slowly and trying to break away from his soul piercing gaze, Megan nodded and allowed him to pull her a bit closer, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head.
The scent of her hair and perfume waffling around them, he pulled her closer savoring the warmth of her body pressing against his. The rise and fall of her breathing pressed her small rounded breasts against his chest. His eyes narrowing softly as he looked down at her. Blake’s body was more affected by this little beauty than he realized when the tingling need growing in his loins struck him like a lightning bolt. The searing heat of her small hands holding on to his shoulders burned into his skin. She smelled so good, was so warm and soft against his hard, bulky body.The soft humming she’d been doing was unmistakably striking him to his very core. His arms wrapped in a close, protective shield over the small frame of the woman. He savored the heated closeness of their bodies and closed his eyes momentarily as the fingers of her hand stroked lazily over the taut muscles of his neck.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jolene Faye
• Release date: Jun 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476145686

Jolene Faye

Born in a small Texas town, Jolene Faye grew up a country girl on a small farm. From early on, she was an avid reader. Starting all the way back when she was barely a teen, the writings of authors such as Stephen King, John Grisham and Danielle Steel intensified her love of the written word. Always daydreaming and often not being able to sleep, Jolene penned her dreams and thoughts on whatever notebook she had around. As the size of the farm she grew up on dwindled, her lifelong dreams often revolved around living on a big sprawling ranch. Only her love of animals could compare to her love of the written word. As the years passed with her writing poems and short stories, Jolene envisioned her adult life. She knew someday she would become a veterinarian, own and live on a large beautiful ranch and eventually retire to running a quaint little bed and breakfast. As it often happens, life had other plans for Jolene as she came to find, the day her soul mate walked into her life. Never giving much thought about marriage, children or a family, life literally turned her plans upside down. The hot July day when she looked into the eyes of her first born child, all her old dreams faded. The only future Jolene could see in the bright eyes of her baby girl were those of the child growing, becoming successful and following her own dreams. With a love greater that she'd ever known, Jolene watched as youthful dreams molded into the dreams of a mother. Devoting the next fourteen years of her life to raising, caring for, and encouraging the dreams of both her little girls, Jolene lived a happy life. As her oldest child grew and started sharing her own dreams, the long suppressed love Jolene once had for reading and writing resurfaced. Wanting to show her children they should never give up their dreams, she sat down once again with pen to paper and dreamed. With several short stories started, the old flame of imagination lit the fires in Jolene's vivid dreams. Often dreaming of scene as she struggled with insomnia, Jolene formed her visions into words. Playing each piece over in her mind like a movie, the familiarity of the characters intensified, making them feel almost real. After months of her thoughts pouring out onto the computer screen and debating if she should share her stories, Jolene's family encouraged her. Having read several well written and memorable ebooks on Smashwords over the years, she took the leap. With her hands shaking, her doubts telling her it wasn't good enough, and her breath held tight, Jolene clicked. Her heart stopped as the Publish button depressed. Her eyes wide and unbelieving as the progress wheels twirled on her screen. Listening to her two girls argue over a television show behind her, Jolene finally and slowly sighed realizing she had just done the very thing she spent the last fourteen years of her life encouraging her daughters to do. She was following her dreams. *Personal Note* I want to take this time to thank everyone who read and enjoyed my first book Texas Tornado. Since it's conception, so many stories have been floating through my mind. I have since finished another book and am excited to get through the editing and review process so I can publish it as well. I'd like to ask everyone who has read or will read Texas Tornado to post a review, good or bad, I'd like to know what everyone thought of it. Please feel free to contact me anytime! Google Website - https://sites.google.com/site/jolenefaye2012/ gMail - [e-mail] Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/jolene.faye.1 Smashwords - https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/JoleneFaye

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Texas Tornado

By Jolene Faye

Copyright 2012 Jolene Faye

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

Texas Tornado

The crisp morning air whistled a sad tune through the door wing window of the old man’s truck. The clanging of shovels, rakes and other tools in the bed of the truck as it bumped along the muddy dirt road broke the silence that had been suffocating in the cab of the vehicle for the last fifteen miles. She loved the beginning of spring when everything was new and fresh. That’s what Megan had hoped for when she met the kindly old man a few months ago, a new and fresh start to her life. The snail’s pace of the truck gave her time to take in the scenery around her. The newly grown grasses dipped in the shimmering dew of this morning’s fog. She smiled softly as the calves in the roadside pastures frolicked around their mothers'. The sun crawled slowly over the mountain top as it turned the thing wispy clouds into a beautiful portrait of radiant pastel colors.

Lost in her thoughts, she wondered where she would go from here just as a long, troubled sigh broke into her thoughts. I’m sorry Megan, I truly am. You know I’d have you stay on as long as you’d like, but it’s just not right. The sadness in the voice breaking her heart almost as much as packing her duffle did early this morning. I know Gus, I shouldn’t have stayed with you as long as I did already. I know how small towns work, I just thought maybe… her soft voice trailed off as she caught the glint of sunlight reflecting in the building tears of the old man sitting beside her.

If my Martha were still around, you could stay with us as long as you needed, but without her, it’s just not right a young lady your age living with an old coot like myself. The old cowhand half snorted a laugh as he willed himself to not shed a tear like an emotional old bag, he thought to himself. A forced but still broken hearted smile played on her lips as she placed her small hand on his arm and reassured the sweet old man that she too knew he was right and this was for the best. He had already defended her presence at his small spread three times which she could count in the last couple of months that she had spent helping him around his small ranch or slinging drinks at his bar. Gus Winslow didn’t have a huge herd of cattle and couldn’t afford a bunkhouse full of hired hands to help him along, so when she wondered into town that night couple months ago, cold and starving, he offered her a hot meal, a waitressing job in the bar and a warm bed to sleep on. Megan worked tirelessly around Gus’ old place, from working his small, wilting herd of cattle to sprucing up the barn, a few things around the farmhouse, and slinging drinks nightly in his small but surprisingly popular little bar. She had been happy just having a warm place to lay her head and friendly company.

I’m not sure how ol’ Blake will feel about you being a woman, Megan, but give him this when you talk to him about being hired on. The worn calloused hand of the old rancher dug in his front shirt pocket and pulled out a folded square of paper. Turning to the girl beside him, he forced a smile, holding back the tears as he pulled the truck to a stop alongside the muddy dirt road. Looking past the watery eyes of her old companion up the long dirt driveway outside his door, her eyes gleamed in the sunlight like two wayward emeralds lost in a sea of reddened wheat. Pulling her hands through her strawberry blond hair, she tied it back at her collar and leaned over giving the kind old man a hug. I can never thank you enough Gus, she stammered as tears threatened to escape her own eyes. With one last loving look into the damp eyes of her friend, she swung open the door of his old truck and hopped out onto the muddy old dirt road. I’ll see you tomorrow night, she smiled reassuring her dear friend their departure wasn’t permanent. With her duffle slung over her shoulder, Megan brushed away the one determined tear that rolled slowly over her freckled cheek and waved into the sunlight as the old rusted truck pulled away. A heaviness fell over her soul as she peered up the long driveway ahead of her, if this don’t work, I don’t know what I’m going to do, she muttered to herself and she heaved the heavy duffle higher up on her shoulder and started up the long driveway.

~*~ ~*~

After ten minutes of walking and reflecting on her time at Gus’ place and the long nights at the bar, pouring drinks, dancing with some of the more regular patrons and repeatedly keeping the pawing hands at bay. Her friendly conversations, not to mention a little harmless flirting did bring her a decent amount of tips each night as she, Roxy and Gus closed the bar. Megan began looking around at all the signs of spring showing on either side of the long, muddy drive. With the storm last night, the air was still chilled and the dew still clinging thickly on everything it had touched. A smile pressed at Megan’s pink lips as a squirrel scurried across in front of her, the singing of the morning birds flittering through the crisp air and the sound of the freshly thawed brook bubbling happily alongside the drive. This was indeed a beautiful place, she thought to herself as she dropped the heavy duffle onto the still wet grass. Ruffling for a moment in the large bag, she pulled out a brush and mirror before untying her tangled mess of wheat colored hair. Don’t think the wild look will help my plea, she laughed to her reflection in the small mirror.

Dabbing softly at the tender bruise under her right eye, Megan smoothed makeup over her fair skin. The darkness of the reminder from last night stubbornly tinted her light complexion. Megan’s eyes traced slowly over the reflection of her face in the small handheld mirror and sighed. She never could understand what all the fuss was about. Men had always been drawn to her like moths to a flame. As Megan idly counted the freckles on her milky skin, she could not wrap her mind around it all. Barely five foot tall, Megan always got a good laugh as she’d dance with the tall cowboys at the bar. Her legs were fairly muscular due to her love of the long walks that usually started her day no matter where she was. Her hips, while in her mind were a bit larger than she would have liked, rounded softly toward the soft curve of her small waist. Megan sighed softly as she looked down the front of her shirt and raised an amused eyebrow. Like most women, she assured herself quietly, she had wished she had been more blessed in the breasts department. Her small rounded breasts were still firm, but undoubtedly to her were some of the features that lead folks to believe she were much younger than twenty-seven. Megan’s eyes quickly scanned over the speckling of freckles on her chest before focusing back on her small framed face in the mirror. She knew she was pretty. Much of the features of her face reminded her of an old photograph of her mother that dressed the fireplace mantel all those years ago in her grandfather’s home. The plumpness of her soft full lips always made her face look pouty, Megan thought as she counted away at the freckles dotting her soft milky complexion. The soft hues of greens sparkled in her eyes, her father’s eyes she corrected herself silently as she traced the long, tangled lengths of her straight, red stained locks of honey toned hair. Blowing a hard, slow but focused breath upward, Megan watched her bangs float up into the air and fall back softly against her forehead as she mused once again to her reflection, I just don’t get it. Combing through her silken hair she smoothed it over each shoulder of the red flannel collar of her shirt. Megan began to braid her long locks as she shifted on the duffle bag. After a few minutes of securing her two long braids of flaxen hair, she gave herself a once over. Looks ok for a ranch hand, don’t you think? she asked playfully toward the two doves that had perched on the fence across from her and cooed happily. Brushing her hands over the dampened cuffs of her jeans, Megan stood looking down at the crumpled bottom of her flannel shirt. Hmmm, she hummed to herself as she tied the two flapping bottoms of her shirt hem together in front of her and buttoned the first couple of buttons above the now secured knot. Picking at the black specks of long weed seeds and hair that clung to the soft cotton of her white tank top just above the knot of her flannel shirt, her eyes rested on the long scar wrapping around her small, pale wrist and grimaced. Turning back to her overstuffed, duffle bag she pulled free from a mess of waddled clothes a fine pair of leather work gloves. Dusting them against her hip, Megan pulled them on one finger at a time. Satisfied that they covered her scar, she fixed her slightly worn straw hat back down over her parted braids. Tying up her duffle bag, she huffed as she heaved it back onto her shoulder. As Megan began her walk again, her mind drifted to the hideous scar encircling her wrist and dropped her head from the bright sunshine, this has to work out, it just has to, she whispered to herself whole heartedly.

~*~ ~*~

Blake tossed uneasily, bringing a hand up to block the sun from his eyes that had slipped between the dark curtains over the window. Damn, he exhaled, rolling his tired, sore body over the edge of the bed throwing a quick, squinted glance at the clock as his feet hit the floor. Pressing the palms of his calloused hands to his face, Blake shook his head as he wiped at his sleepy eyes. Blinking a few times to adjust to the growing light in his room, Blake’s stormy blue eyes all bloodshot from the night before, searched for his clothes on the nearby chair. His long lean body revolted as he stood stretching, every bone cracking their loud disapproval of his movements. Grimacing as he reached for his jeans, Blake caught a glimpse at himself in the full length mirror. His body long and lean, the years of sun tanning his skin to a hue lightly darker than toffee, he brought his hand to his stubbly chin and rubbed it slowly. The sun shone brightly on the hints of gray hair sneaking through the blackened sea of his hair. Sliding his fingers through the dark, thick mass of his curly black hair he frowned wondering where all the years had gone. Though he had just turned thirty-six a few months back, mornings like these he felt much, much older. His eyes as dark as the clouds from last night’s storm looked over his toned body and scowled at his reflection. You’re getting too damn old for all that yeehawing, he mumbled as he rubbed at his tired, sore shoulders. His critical observations of his body beginning to turn his already bad mood sourer were interrupted by the loud rapping knock on his door. Boss, you alive in there, called a jovial voice from behind the heavy wood door. Yea Cookie, but you won’t be if there is no coffee left, he grunted as he pulled on his clothes and headed for the door.

Eeew weee boss, that you smellin’ like someone slept in a sourmash barrel? the chipper little man laughed as he poured a steaming cup of dark coffee into a large red mug. Coffee and the swirling smells of a hearty breakfast usually put a smile on Blake’s face. Good lawd! the aging cook quipped again, jokingly pinching the end of his nose as he placed the mug in front of his employer. That bad eh? Blake asked only half listening as his friend rattled on, slapping three runny eggs and a couple slices of