What Are The Odds

By Kimberley Hatch

Life doesn’t always turn out the way you planned, especially when you’re Sutton Payne.
A long way from the bright lights of Las Vegas, the tiny town of Broken Bow, Nebraska, might as well be on a different planet as far as she’s concerned. But that doesn’t stop Sutton from taking a chance on a better life there.
Everything in Broken Bow seems perfect--except for Gwen’s grandson, Austin. The town veterinarian might be easy on the eyes and a huge help to his grandmother, but Sutton can’t see past his cold demeanor.
Until Gwen needs them both.
Forced to spend time together for the sake of Gwen, Austin rolls the dice and opens his heart to Sutton. But when you’re Sutton Payne, what happens in Vegas doesn't stay in Vegas. As her past catches up with her, and her new life comes crashing down around her, Sutton wonders if Austin will still bet on her, or if the odds were never in her favor to begin with.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kimberley Hatch
• Release date: Sep 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370175925

Kimberley Hatch

You might recognize Kimberley Hatch from that one thing, that one time from somewhere, but you can’t be sure. Her junior high school English teachers would be pretty surprised to learn that she grew up to become a writer and reads anything she can get her hands on. Growing up in Arizona she spent her time practicing karate and playing with the family golden retriever. As an adult, Kimberley lives in Mesa, AZ with her extremely patient husband and wonderful daughter. She spends her time reading, writing, playing the piano and getting too emotionally involved in TV shows. She has an unbeatable losing streak for family game nights and is constantly convincing her Golden Retriever and German shepherd to get out of the pool. Kimberley spends far too much time and money at Target with her mom and even more time leaving random and strange voicemails for her super awesome best friend. For someone with such a big ego she finds it incredibly difficult to write about herself. She finds it amazing that other people love the characters in her head as much as she does.

Book preview

Roland wants to see you, in his office. I’m not sure who says it; by the time I turn around she’s melted into the crowd.

Great, I mutter, weaving through the dark room full of waitresses, half naked strippers and the sleazy guys paying for a good time at noon on a Tuesday.

I place my serving tray on the bar as I pass, rolling my eyes at the bartender. Walking down the hall toward Roland’s office I balance in my too high stilettos and adjust my barely there uniform before knocking on his door.

His grunt, in lieu of a greeting, lets me know he’s not in the best of moods. Sit, he commands. I’m tempted to stand just to prove that I’m not a trained dog, but I remind myself that he’s my boss. Dropping into the puke colored leather chair disturbs the air, and I do my best not to choke on the stale cigarette smoke lingering in his office. Do you know why you’re here? I watch him drop the pen he was tapping against old fashioned accounting books.

In a club as sketchy as this, even by Vegas standards, I suppose it’s easier to skim off the top if you crunch the numbers by hand. Aggravated by my silence he snaps his fingers in front of my face to grab my attention.

Leaning back in the chair with a sigh I guess, Because of my sparkling personality? I try to hold back a smile, but fail miserably.

His angry façade falls away, in his place he gives me a frustrated laugh. Damn it, Sutton. I told you, you’re on thin ice and if I got one more complaint… His promise to fire me goes unspoken.

Are you firing me? What am I supposed to do? Let the sleaze balls put their hands on me? He can’t expect me to be okay with that.

It’s a strip club. He’s dead serious, he expects me to let that happen.

I’m a waitress, not a stripper. I flop back against the chair as if my point has been made, case closed.

He leans back in his chair as well, rubbing his face. As if contemplating what to do. Perhaps I’ve gone too far this time. I need this job. I watch silently as he pushes to his feet and walks around his desk coming to rest against it in front of me. Maybe there’s something I can do, he offers.

I’m not sure if it’s hope or desperation that forces me to beg. Anything, please, I need this job.

Studying my face, he appears to measure his words carefully. I’ll need something from you in return.

Name it. Behave, not slap customers, whatever I need to do to keep this job.

I’m frozen, watching him unzip his pants. This has to be a joke. This can’t be happening. My chest tightens when he leans over my chair, propping his hands on the armrests, boxing me in. I’m trapped.

He’s too close. I can’t breathe. Leaning closer still he sniffs my neck making me want to vomit. His sweaty stench brings my past rushing back. A past I’ve tried so hard to forget. Every night as I fall asleep I push the memories from my mind. Always lying in bed facing the bedroom door. So that I won’t be caught off guard if anyone tries to come in. My fingers clenched around the pepper spray I keep under my pillow. What I wouldn’t give for that pepper spray now.

Roland’s fat fingers trace a line from my collar bone, between my breasts, over my stomach and attempt to claw their way under the plum corset that makes up half of my uniform.

I’m not the scared little girl I was six years ago. This time I will fight back because no one is going to stumble through that door like last time.

This time, I need to save myself.

Seizing his chance in the moment that I can’t command my body to move, he grabs a hold of my wrist, roughly shoving my hand down his open pants. Tears rolling down my cheeks are the only response I can muster.

You like that? You want this, I can tell.

The sneer in his voice makes my skin crawl, but releases me from my trance. His cheek is pressing against my neck while one hand paws at my corset.

Relying on my fight instinct, I yank my hand from his pants while simultaneously bringing my knee up as hard as this small space will allow.

Thankfully, I manage enough force to send him to the floor; crying out in pain.

I don’t stick around to hear the names he calls me, I take off down the hall, back toward the main staircase. I don’t slow down for fear of breaking an ankle in my stiletto’s or snagging my black tights. I don’t bother stopping to set my tray down or apologize to the customers I crash into, as I fly down the stairs. My flight instinct has kicked in and I don’t stop moving until I reach the staff lounge. Even then, I only stop long enough to throw my locker open, and snatch my keys and phone off the shelf before yanking out the duffle bag and exiting through the back door.

Only when the heavy metal door clangs shut behind me do I think about my next move. My panic filled brain doesn’t see any other choice but to run. Run from this shitty dead-end waitress job. Run from the city that sucked me in with its bright lights and promise of fame. I make a break for my car while I try to calm myself down enough to formulate a plan. I can’t manage to get the key in the door lock my shaking is out of control.

Finally, the key turns allowing me to take a much-needed breath. I become tangled in my duffle bag while attempting to get in the car as fast as possible. Once I’m in and the door is locked, I slowly place my hands on the steering wheel. I squeeze until my knuckles turn white hoping to stop the shaking, but it’s no use. Am I in shock? To calm my nerves, I press my head back against the seat and close my eyes. A few deep breaths don’t do much good. I wish I had someone to call, but there’s no one. I haven’t spoken to my mother since the day I left home, over six years ago. The last memory I have of her is her face distorted with rage. Screaming at me when a mother should have protected her child.

I’d foolishly thought that coming home to find her teenage daughter pinned to the couch by her latest boyfriend would mean that he’d be the subject of her rage. How wrong I was. With the smell of stale alcohol burning my nose and tears clouding my vision, I ran and never looked back.

I open my eyes to find that the lights that once drew me south to Sin City with big dreams, now hurt to look at.

Without warning, Roland’s sweaty skin pressing against mine flashes through my mind. My shakes return, bringing with them a cold sweat that spreads over my forehead and arms. I jam my key in the ignition and pray my old Corolla starts on the first try. My prayers are answered when the engine rumbles to life.

Unable to think of another plan, I head toward my apartment north of the city. Gradually, the neon grows farther apart and the drug dealers double. Parked outside my tiny shabby apartment building with its peeling paint and burned out light bulbs, makes me feel like I’m living two lives.

My eyes dart around in the darkness, straining to see anything out of the ordinary before I climb out of my car and rush to the door. Not wanting to be out in the open longer than I need to be.

After ensuring the door is bolted and locked, I drop my bag to my feet and look around at the furniture that was here when I moved in. When did this become my life? This is so far from anything I imagined for myself.

I turn my head, listening to a couple arguing a few doors down, when it occurs to me. How safe am I here? I can’t go back to work, not after what I’ve seen. I should also consider myself fired for running out in the middle of a shift.

Suddenly, staying here doesn’t sound like the best plan. I don’t know where to go, but I know I must put some distance between myself and Las Vegas. As if someone lit a fire under my ass, I grab my bag and race to the bedroom. Rather than turn the light on, I allow the living room light to flood the bedroom as I strip off my uniform.

In my haste to pack, I dash across the hall in nothing but the torn tights that go under my uniform. I analyze everything on the counter for no more than half a second before I sweep everything into the bag and race back to my room.

I wiggle into a pair of jeans that have been living on my bedroom floor for the past few days, and throw on a shirt that I’m sure is inside out.

Whether I have everything I need or not, I don’t care. I don’t spare the pathetic life I’ve built here a second glance as I walk out the door. With no job, and no friends to stick around for, I set out to start a new life. This time, one with meaning.

Pure adrenaline fueled my drive straight through Utah. I didn’t stop for anything other than gas until I crossed the Colorado border. Nearing complete exhaustion, I finally gave in and napped in my car at a truck stop for a couple of hours.

In a panic, I jolt awake, unsure of where I am until my brain catches up with my body. Even after I remember that I’m in a parking lot in Grand Junction, Colorado; my heart still won’t slow. I still don’t know where I’m headed, but I know I need to keep moving. To distract myself from my racing heart and budding anxiety, I focus on my growling stomach.

I walk up and down aisles of a convenience store filled with junk food, but immediately take into consideration that I no longer have a job. Minuscule savings will only last me so long. I opt for a tray of tortilla chips. The sales clerk points me in the direction of a humming machine dispensing liquid cheese. After flooding my container of chips and tossing on a few jalapeños, I spot a small counter lining the window that faces the parking lot. I take a seat on a cracked red leather stool and start devouring my meal.

The sun is once again beginning to fade and I can’t believe it’s been less than twenty-four hours since my old life ended. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m going to do when I get there, but something tells me it can’t be worse than the dead end I just ran from… or the one before that.

I eat in silence, hoping not to draw attention to myself, but a woman all alone in a place like this draws stares from the truck drivers passing through. I decide it’s better to leave now before I find myself in another unwanted situation. One drama at a time, please.

On my way, out to my car I double back to the small cosmetics section and grab the only box of brunette hair dye. Leaving behind a life full of neon and strip clubs makes me want to leave my grown out bleached blonde hair behind too.

Hours later, I’m somewhere in the middle of Nebraska. About three hours ago my car started making a funny noise, and I’m praying it makes it through the night and into the next town. To make matters worse: one minute the sky is so clear that I can see stars for miles, and then suddenly rain is hitting my windshield so fast my wipers can’t keep up.

Knowing that it’s too dangerous to keep moving, I’m forced to pull off to the side of the road and wait out the storm. While I wait, I dig through my bag looking for a phone charger that isn’t there.

Not being able to play on my phone leaves me little else to do, so I give up and stare out the window, willing the rain to let up. Finally, something goes my way because the drops become less angry and my headlights manage to shine more than just a couple feet in front of the car.

Shit! I yell, when I see a figure wearing white standing about twenty feet away from the front of my car.

Daring another look at my uninvited visitor, something looks strange so I flick on my high beams and squint trying to make out who it could be. A nervous laugh bursts from my lips when I realize, it’s not a person at all, but a Native American statue wearing a large headdress. As the rain eases up a little more, I can just make out the sign resting in the statues arms, Welcome to Broken Bow. Where the west begins.

Broken Bow, huh? I announce to myself.

If the rain has let up enough for me to read that sign, I figure it’s safe enough to drive again. Making my way slowly through this tiny town. It appears everyone has closed-up shop. I pass by what I’m sure is a weathered courthouse during the day, and a cute old gazebo in what I guess to be the town center. Before I know it, I’ve seen the whole town and I’m leaving at the opposite end of where I came in.

A few miles outside of Broken Bow the small rattle my car had been making turns into a big angry noise. Another mile after that, smoke starts pouring out from under my hood, leaving no choice but to pull over again.

Turning my car off, I stare in disbelief at the smoke rising into the night sky. Not having any other choice than to check it out, I zip up my old worn black leather jacket. I take one last deep breath and push the door open and step out into the rain. When I slam my door closed I lose my footing on the slippery mud, falling flat on my ass. Super. I want to cry at my life. Is the universe playing some cruel joke on me? How could I have possibly been so bad in a past life to deserve all the shit that’s piling on me now?

Sitting on the ground, allowing the rain to soak through my hair and jeans, I force myself to my feet. My butt and the back of my thighs hurt; I wouldn’t be surprised if I have a bruise tomorrow.

I make it to the front of the car, careful not to slip again. I try to open the hood, but don’t have the first clue as to how it’s done. I’ve seen people on TV reach under somewhere before the hood just pops open. I try everything I can think of, but nothing works. The smoke seems to be slowing down. I think that’s a good sign, but the fact that there is smoke at all tells me that this car isn’t going anywhere, at least not tonight.

I feel like a sitting duck out here in the pitch black. With my only option being to start walking, I duck back into the car for the maroon duffle bag that’s holding all my worldly possessions and sling it over my shoulder.

Having just been through town I know there’s no one awake. Instead, I opt for the direction I was headed and hope everything works out.

After thirty minutes on foot I haven’t seen a thing, except for a couple of cows in a field. The cows don’t notice my presence and I’m glad for that. My feet hurt, and my faded purple converse sneakers are soaking wet and caked with mud. Every step I take on this gravel road lets out a loud squishing sound. Without the sun to warm me, I pull my leather jacket tighter around my body and fold my arms across my chest. Not a soul in sight. No lights except for the few stars beginning to peek through the dispersing clouds, and I’m drenched. At this rate, I’d spring for a hotel for the night. I just need to find a town, hopefully sooner rather than later.

I’m so caught up in my own thoughts that I walk directly into an old mailbox landing on my rear for the second time in the past hour. This time, I do cry. It’s hard to breathe, my ribs hurt, my butt and legs sting, and my ego is bruised. I drop my face to my hands and let myself cry it out in the middle of nowhere Nebraska. I cry because life keeps dumping crap on me. I cry because I’m alone. I cry because I’m scared and I don’t know what to do about any of it. I’m not sure how much time passes before my tears run their course, but I feel mildly better letting go of some of the tension that’s been coursing through my body the past two days.

I take a deep breath and puff my chest out before I let it out and get to my feet. Once I’m up I inspect the old gray mailbox I walked into. I can’t quite make out the faded name printed on the side. Just beyond the mailbox is a dirt driveway connecting to the gravel road. Down the driveway, is a large metal arch. With the help of the moon reflecting off the letters I read, Mercer Ranch, aloud. My voice startles me as it seems to carry on the endless fields around me.

The iron-gate under the archway is open. I’m hoping that’s a sign, that whoever lives beyond the dirt drive might help me out. Hopefully they’ll let me use their phone.

With every step I take down this darkened driveway I realize I’m one step further away from the main road. It’s silly, but being on the main road gave me an illusion of security. I’m quickly convincing myself that I’m the next victim in a