Stalking Red: Copper River Romances, #2

By Cherime MacFarlane

Number 2 Listopia Romance With Strong Contemporary Females, Number 3 Listopia Western and Native American Romance
Red, Brenda Levere has been on her own for a very long time. PR, Paul Revere Jones comes from a big family, part Alaska Native and part white. When Red moves into his apartment complex, PR begins the hunt of a lifetime. He wants the prickly woman. Red throws a big glitch in his plans by getting involved with another man. PR continues his friendly interaction with Red as he bides his time. Reardon dumps Red and PR works to deepen their friendship. But Red is shy after being burned already. It's one tough hunt. Can he get her to the altar or will Red keep him at from getting too close as a friend with benefits?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cherime MacFarlane
• Release date: Jul 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201325305

Cherime MacFarlane

Meet Award-Winning, Best-Selling Author Cherime MacFarlane. A prolific multi-genre author, she has a broad range of interests that reflect her been there-done that life. Romance, Historical Fiction, Fantasy, Paranormal, all sorts of characters and plots evolve from a vivid imagination. As a reporter for the Copper Valley Views, Cherime MacFarlane received a letter of commendation from the Copper River Native Association for fair and balanced reporting. She was part of the Amazon Best Selling in Anthologies and Holidays, and Fantasy Anthologies and Short Stories. The Other Side of Dusk was a finalist in the McGrath house award of 2017.

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Copyright © 2013 Cherime MacFarlane

Copyright Notice:

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

Author's Note: Alaska is indeed a very small town which occupies a huge slice of the North American continent. Three degrees of separation may be too many in this small pool.

License Notes:

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and didn’t purchase it, or it wasn’t purchased for your use only, then please return to the retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Artwork: C. MacFarlane

Edited by: Dorothy May Mercer

Dedicated to: my family.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

Chapter One

About the Author:

Other books by the author:

Glossary

Chapter One

The bed moved. Brenda immediately became conscious. Her first thought was an earthquake was taking place until she looked over to see Reardon lifting the covers to crawl in beside her.

What the hell are you doing here? I took the keys back when you left me for Sandra. Get the hell out of my bed, Reardon!

Be reasonable, Sandra and I are quits.

The alcohol smell was overpowering. Reardon was plastered. Brenda jumped out of bed and then turned to the nightstand where she flipped on the lamp. Wearing nothing but his shorts, Reardon had a knee on the bed. In one hand he held the sheet and blanket.

How the hell did you get in here? You miserable piece of shit, you had spare keys made, didn't you?

Come on, Brenda. You know you didn't want to break up. So, I made a mistake; let's make up and...

No fricking way! Get your clothes on and get the hell out of here. You get a damn room. Hell, you can afford it! You've been letting some dumb broad pay your rent all along. I'm done paying your stud fees! Get the hell out!

She was screaming at him. Brenda's control snapped. She jumped up on the bed, ran across the mattress over to Reardon and threw herself against his chest with both arms straight out. He fell against the nightstand, knocking the lamp to the floor.

Get the hell out of here! I'm not taking your sorry ass back! You put me through enough. You're a low-life bastard, Reardon! What makes you think you're gonna weasel your way into my life again? I have a good mind to call the cops and have you thrown out!

Her red hair was tumbling over her forehead and into her face. Brenda brushed it out of her eyes with one hand as she jumped from the bed. Again, she pushed on the man who had been her lover, her fiancée until a woman with more money had appeared. With a sharp shove, she pushed Rick Reardon—Mr. Wonderful—out into the hallway as she screamed at him to get out.

***

PR Jones was a tired man. His mother had conned him into driving the old Share-A-Ride van belonging to the church down to Kenai for a youth group trip. The kids had screamed all the way down and all the way back. He knew they were only full of high spirits, just being kids.

But Friday had been a tough day at work. The electrical issue he was dealing with in a customer's car wasn’t proving easy to find. Instead of sleeping Saturday night, possible answers to the problem buzzed around in his brain. Now he was getting home late due to an accident on the Seward Highway, the only route into and out of Kenai.

He had delivered the van to the church, picked up his truck, then made it home to his apartment building in time to see Reardon opening the apartment complex's security door with a key. The bastard had dumped Brenda in early June. Jones was aware of the hurt Reardon had caused her as he and Brenda were friends. Brenda had spent the last few weeks hanging out with him and had cried on his shoulder several times.

PR parked his vehicle hurriedly. Brenda had been adamant about getting the keys back from Reardon, but it appeared the guy had copies made he had not returned to her. Somehow, Jones just didn’t see her letting Reardon in again.

As soon as he got the security door open, he heard shouting in Brenda's downstairs apartment which was in the very front of the building. She was clearly pissed. Reardon was a first-class prick; PR knew she might need a little help. Brenda wasn’t a big woman even though she made up for lack of height with a temper like a ticked-off wolverine. PR’s mouth quirked up in a grin as he heard the shouting escalate.

Jones banged on the apartment door. Hey, Brenda! It's me, PR. Open the door, Honey! What's going on in there?

He figured he'd just become the boyfriend. Reardon wouldn't know they were still just friends. Although, PR was hoping to change his status with Brenda once he thought she was really over the shithead.

He tried the doorknob; it opened, giving PR a good view of the pushing match in the hall which Brenda was clearly winning. From the jerky way Reardon moved while trying to keep from falling, it was a pretty sure bet Brenda's ex had been drinking. There was still enough light in the summer sky over Anchorage to see Reardon's clothing in a tangled pile. He had dumped his t-shirt and pants on the couch.

Hey, man! Leave my girl alone! PR strode down the hall and grabbed Reardon's shoulder. After spinning the other man around, PR pushed him in the direction of the couch.

Brenda ran up behind her ex. She shoved him so hard, he fell face down on the sofa cushion. Thanks, Jones. This bastard kept a key! Can you believe the little creep? He thought he was gonna meander right on in here and take up with good ole, dumb little me. Prick!

Brenda walked over to kick Reardon in the ass with one bare foot. Then she bounced around holding her toes. Look what you made me do, you shit! God's gift to lonely hearts all over Anchorage.

Easy there, Honey! PR wagged a finger at her with a grin. You call this jerk a taxi. I'll get the keys out of his pocket and we can send him on his way.

PR started toward Reardon's pants to get the keys.

Come on, Brenda, Honey. What are you doing fooling around with this little punk half-breed, anyway? Reardon slurred out.

Brenda looked at Jones' face. The insult Reardon had thrown in PR's direction caused his mouth to form a thin line. PR's fists clenched. Brenda knew a creep like Reardon would certainly do his best to get the law involved if PR touched him in any manner. Brenda walked over to the couch where she grabbed double handfuls of Rearden's coiffed blond hair.

You're talking about my boyfriend. He was here for me when you dumped me for Ms. Moneybags. I'm not calling you a taxi; I'm booting your ass out. The next call will be to the Anchorage Police Department. You can explain a little B&E to them when they get here. It will look so good on your resume, future big-time lawyer with a breaking and entering charge.

Screw that! You gave me a key. The big blond man reached for his pants.

Yeah, and I took the keys back too. So, what are you doing with a set? I had to return them to the building manager. He can testify he got them. So where did these come from?

Brenda grabbed the bunch of keys from Reardon's pants pocket. She tossed the lot to PR who quickly slipped the two keys from the ring.

Get dressed and get out! She threw his jeans at him. Reardon caught the pants and wiggled into them, then stood to zip them up. Before her ex could get the snap done, Brenda wadded up his shirt and tossed it at his head. It was inside out, but he didn't notice as he pulled it on.

She scooped up his expensive gym shoes and turned to PR. Would you please open the door for this piece of garbage, dear?

Brenda grabbed Reardon with her other hand. With the front of his shirt clutched in her fingers, she pulled him out of the living room into the vestibule. Reardon was out of her apartment in short order. PR went over to hold the security door to the building open as Brenda tossed the shoes into the parking lot.

Slipping around behind her ex, Brenda pushed him out the door with an angry grunt. He stumbled down the stairs to the parking lot as she pulled the security door closed. After stamping one bare foot on the floor, she turned to Jones.

PR, I'm so sorry you had to get involved in this mess again. Damn it, I had no idea the jerk made a spare set of keys.

Jones made a jaw wrenching yawn which caused him to shake his head.

Brenda took his arm. She began tugging him up the stairs. Did you just get home? Oh, you had the church field trip for your mom, didn't you? I'm sorry to be keeping you up. Let’s get you upstairs to bed. You get up a whole lot earlier in the morning than I do. Are you hungry? What can I do to help?

R let her drag him up the stairs then down the hall to his apartment door. Brenda was a force which refused to be turned aside once she got a grip on something. As she had a grip on his arm, Jones went along meekly. He wasn't into resisting her.

Wearing a pair of gym shorts with a big oversized Proud To Be An Alaskan t-shirt, a barefoot Brenda was a vision as far as PR was concerned. She could drag him anywhere she wanted. There were a few places he would prefer, but for the moment this worked.

Brenda was still chattering, telling him all about what a louse Reardon was. PR agreed. Arrogant jerk was another term he’d assigned to the blond smartass.

Jones had been living in the apartment complex for almost three years. When Brenda moved in, PR immediately gravitated in her direction. She pulled at him like a giant black hole. Resistance was futile.

What Jones had determined was if he was going down, it would be in flames. No way would he be satisfied with anything other than marriage. He had delayed making a move as the timing wasn't right. Brenda was too skittish.

Then Reardon moved to Anchorage to clerk in the law firm Brenda worked for. PR disliked him on sight. Every time there was any interaction between the three of them, all Jones noticed was Reardon's obsession with himself. PR was pretty sure Brenda was a way station on Reardon's upwardly mobile course to big money.

PR barely managed to hang on to friend status while Reardon was around. The minute the big man took the gift of himself on to another lucky woman, Jones moved back into the picture. Friend status expanded to buddies. From the way the evening's entertainment played out, Brenda might be cured of her blond god complex.

She reached out to PR for his keys. Jones turned them over to her with a slight smile which was marred by another great yawn.

Let's get you inside. Sure you aren't hungry?

PR shook his head as he watched her unlock the door for him. Nope. All I want is a nice flat bed. I need to be prone.

He took the keys out of her fingers, planted a kiss on her forehead then turned her around by the shoulders. Go on, Brenda. Get some sleep. I think this time the dumb blond is history for sure.

She smiled at him over her shoulder. Thanks, Jones! I'm glad you were around.

PR watched her pert little butt bounce down the stairs before he closed the door. He went into his bedroom and took off his pants and boots. His shirt went into the pile at the foot of the bed. PR barely managed to get under the covers before he was out. But he was smiling. Reardon was finally out of Red's life.

***

Brenda slammed the alarm off with her hand. It had taken her a while to calm down enough to get to sleep. She was as angry as she had ever been. The problem was what was she going to do at the office? Letting go at the firm wasn’t acceptable. But staying professional in the face of this last blunder of Reardon's would be tough. She hoped he called in sick. It would give her a day to get it together.

Looking out of the blackout curtain across the bedroom window, Brenda watched Jones get into his truck. He had to be at work by seven; she didn't need to get to the office until nine. His help had been invaluable last night. Without him, Reardon might have managed to keep her from throwing him out.

Going to the bathroom, she threw her T-shirt into the hamper. First, she needed a shower.

Dressed and ready for work, Brenda grabbed her favorite breakfast—a mix of peanut butter, hazelnut, and cocoa spread on toast with a sliced banana. An insulated cup filled with coffee diluted with vanilla creamer sat on the counter waiting.

With a sigh, Brenda picked up the cup and her bag, then went out the door. In the car, she switched off the radio, it was a distraction.

Temper let-down bombarded her. She had a case of What Could I Have Done Better Blues. It seemed she was always faced with a morning after depression when she lost her temper.

Brenda replayed the whole Reardon thing back again through her mind. She should have known better than to have gotten involved in the beginning. Reardon had paid her attention. It had been amazing at first. The young going-somewhere law student was paying attention to her.

What she hadn’t considered was his need for a place to stay for the summer. It took the jerk little more than a week to be installed in her apartment. Since he was a student, of course he couldn't give her much money toward the bills and food.

As flattered as she had been, Brenda didn't even question his assertions. After Reardon had dumped her, she discovered he was being paid more for his summer clerking position than she received as a permanent employee. The cheap sleaze hadn’t wanted to bother trying to locate a summer rental when he could find a willing woman to put him up.

Brenda pulled into her parking place in downtown Anchorage in a sour mood. She was angry with herself for being taken in by Reardon. What really hurt was it had been more than two years since her last relationship, the one which left her heart shattered. Brenda thought she had learned something. Obviously, she still hadn’t quite passed the course when it came to men.

Getting out of the car, she reached into the passenger seat to grab her leather bag and what was left of the coffee in the cup holder. Locking the car with the remote, she made her way into what was one of Anchorage's tallest buildings. The firm's offices sat on the floor just below the penthouse.

As the elevators were small, slow, and crowded, she was prepared for the crush, but it still added to her overall feeling of bitchiness. She nodded to the receptionist as she made her way into the central area where the three legal secretaries, the other paralegal, and Brenda had their cubicles.

After stowing her bag beneath the desk, she put her coffee down then made her way to the receptionist's desk to sign in. She was happy to note a line through Reardon’s name with sick penciled in. At least she didn't have to put up with his nonsense today. Sick my butt! she thought. What Reardon was suffering from was a case of massive hangover.

It was no concern of hers. Brenda had two motions to draft first thing. The attorney assigned to both cases wasn’t a big fan of doing anything he couldn’t delegate. Of course, he was going to bill the client a good hour or maybe more for finalizing the motion she would draft. If the finished product needed as much as a comma changed, she was going to get called on the carpet.

Brenda put her head down as she slogged through the first motion with its memorandum and order. By ten in the morning, she was ready for a break. If she got a chance to take one, it would be a blessing. As a professional salaried employee, working through breaks and lunch was a regular occurrence.

While the legal secretaries went off to lunch giggling together, Brenda was proofreading the second motion she needed to finish. It had to be completed before the supervising attorney returned from his lunch meeting.

Digging through a drawer, she found an energy bar. It would be lunch. At least the coffee was free and plentiful. Refilling her cup, Brenda went back to her desk to save the document to the electronic file which held all the documents pertaining to the case she was presently working on.

As soon as he returned from lunch, St. Salver was expecting to see the motion waiting in the efile system on the server. He would spend ten minutes reviewing the document then send it to one of the legal secretaries to print out.

St. Salver would review the paper copy before signing it, thereby earning the hour the client would get billed for. Of course, the client was also being billed for her services, but at a reduced rate as she was only the paralegal.

Today it all left a bad taste in her mouth. But it paid the bills. Brenda was making double payments on her student loan to get it paid off quickly. After she was free of the huge debt, the paralegal certificate had bogged her down with, she intended to search for a job which might be challenging. She wanted to do something worthwhile. Until the student loan got paid off, though, she was trapped in this high-rise office at the mercy of St. Salver.

Chapter Two

Jones! You getting anywhere with the piece of shit?

The service manager hollered at him from the entrance to his service bay. PR was pretty sure the owner of the car was sitting in the waiting room. Maybe not sitting, perhaps pacing as he drove Warden bats.

Yeah! Fact is, I'm almost ready to light this puppy up and take a test drive. I need about a half hour more.

Warden wandered off muttering to himself. PR wasn't worried about his job. No one wanted the bad ones. He always got the ones no one else knew what to do with. So far, his track record was a good one.

Warden usually allowed him to do what was necessary without bugging him too much. There was the book from the manufacturer which allotted how much time a repair was to take. Making book time was required of anyone wanting to work in a big shop.

Then there were the mystery problem children which drove everyone else nuts. Those vehicles always made their way over to PR's repair bay, eventually.

It was way past lunchtime and being hungry, PR decided to take the car on a test run to the nearest drive-through burger place. If he had solved the intermittent electrical problem, he was home free. If not, he could always nuke the stuff after he made one more try at it. But he was pretty sure he’d found the culprit.

Alaskan roads were hell on vehicles. There were still a lot of gravel roads in Alaska. It was surprising how many luxury homes were at the end of a long gravel drive in the Matanuska Valley. He regularly got to service one convertible in particular which routinely got driven a mile and a half into the boonies, one way. The car was always coming in with stuff jarred loose.

BMW convertibles were not four by fours. The owner didn't appear to care, so Jones fixed it whenever something wiggled loose. If they were willing to pay, Jones was happy to keep it running at its best.

He put down the hood of the old sedan, buttoning it up for the test drive. PR had made only a minor modification to the vehicle. Since it was older and out of warranty, he tried to finish the job as quickly as possible.

Another victim of Alaska’s rough roads, it had required an imaginative repair. PR first wrapped the wires with electrical tape. The next step had him looking through Mr. Warden’s secretary’s garbage. Using the lid of a small yogurt container, he slipped the plastic between the wires to separate them.

The cables rubbed through the protective covering in two small spots. Occasionally the wires touched just enough to cause the electronics of the vehicle to hesitate and sometimes stall. It usually happened when the driver had to brake suddenly for any reason.

After wrapping the leads securely, PR took a small piece of fuel line, split it horizontally and placed the repaired wires inside. A couple of layers of