With One More Look At You Read online

  WITH ONE MORE LOOK AT YOU

  ♦●♦●♦●♦●♦

  MARY J. WILLIAMS

  Copyright © 2017 by Mary J. Williams.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any

  format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the

  Copyright owner and publisher of this book.

  First Ebook Printing, 2017

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Writing isn't easy. But I love every second. A blank screen isn't the enemy. It is the opportunity to create new friends and take them on amazing adventures and life-changing journeys. I feel blessed to spend my days weaving tales that are unique—because I made them.

  Billionaires. Songwriters. Artists. Actors. Directors. Stuntmen. Football players. They fill the pages and become dear friends I hope you will want to revisit again and again.

  Thank you for jumping into my books and coming along for the journey.

  HOW TO GET IN TOUCH

  Please visit me at these sites, sign up for my newsletter or leave a message.

  http://www.maryjwilliams.net/

  https://www.facebook.com/maryjwilliamsauthor/?ref=hl

  https://twitter.com/maryjwilliams05

  https://www.pinterest.com/maryj0675/

  https://www.instagram.com/2015romance/

  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5648619.Mary_J_Williams

  MORE BOOKS BY MARY J. WILLIAMS

  Harper Falls Series

  If I Loved You

  If Tomorrow Never Comes

  If You Only Knew

  If I Had You (Christmas in Harper Falls)

  Hollywood Legends Series

  Dreaming with a Broken Heart

  Dreaming with My Eyes Wide Open

  Dreaming Again

  Dreaming of a White Christmas

  (Caleb and Callie's story)

  One Pass Away Series

  After the Rain

  After All These Years

  After the Fire

  Hart of Rock and Roll

  Flowers on the Wall

  Flowers and Cages

  Flowers are Red

  Flowers for Zoe

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  HOW TO GET IN TOUCH

  MORE BOOKS BY MARY J. WILLIAMS

  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 FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  AFTER THE RAIN

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  AFTER ALL THESE YEARS

  PROLOGUE

  AFTER THE FIRE

  PROLOGUE

  DREAMING WITH A BROKEN HEART

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  DREAMING WITH MY EYES WIDE OPEN

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  DREAMING OF YOUR LOVE

  PROLOGUE

  IF I LOVED YOU

  PROLOGUE

  FLOWERS FOR ZOE HART OF ROCK AND ROLL BOOK FOUR

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  "GET UP. WE'RE leaving."

  Sophie kept her eyes closed, pretending she was actually asleep. In truth, it was too hot. The air in the tiny motel room was thick with humidity, stale cigarettes, and mildew. Sweat drenched her body, soaking through the scratchy sheet. She could barely breathe, let alone hope for a decent night's sleep. However, when her mother kicked the bed for the second time, Sophie didn't stir.

  "If your ass isn't in the car by the time I've loaded our suitcases, I won't wait," Joy Lipton threw their meager possessions into a bag. "You can stay in this shithole of a town and fend for yourself."

  When Sophie was younger, that used to sound like a threat. More and more, calling her mother's bluff sounded like a fine idea. Maybe this time, Joy would do both of them a favor and actually leave.

  For all intents and purposes, Sophie took care of herself. With what little money Joy provided, she bought groceries. Every time they checked into a motel, she would ask the manager if he had any odd jobs that needed to be done. Cheap labor—paid under the table. That kind of work wasn't hard to find, and it provided Sophie with a little extra spending cash.

  Sophie learned fast to keep her stash hidden. Joy had no problem stealing from her daughter. And no shame when caught red-handed. It was little enough payment for all she had sacrificed—both personally and financially. Sophie had rolled her eyes at the outrageous claim. That little gesture had earned her a slap across the face. Sophie didn't know which of them had been more surprised. For all her failings as a mother, Joy didn't hit. Verbal abuse was her specialty.

  The slap was never repeated. Sophie didn't dwell on the incident. There was no point. She was fifteen years old and looked at her life with a pragmatic attitude. For now, she was legally bound to a woman who ninety percent of the time treated her as though she were invisible. The other ten—filled with rants and crying fits—Sophie had learned to tune out. If Joy had a reason for keeping her daughter around, she wasn't sharing.

  "What did I say?" Sophie's only pair of jeans landed on her head. "Move. Now!"

  The little voice tempting Sophie to tell Joy to go to hell wasn't a match for the sliver of fear. Bravery was easy—in her head. In reality? The unknown was scarier than following her mother to another town. Sophie was a voracious reader. Since they moved so much, attending school was hit and miss. Books, magazines, newspapers. They had taught her most of what she knew—and provided her with a vivid imagination.

  The stories—both fact and fiction—led Sophie to an indisputable conclusion. The world wasn't kind to fifteen-year-old girls on their own. No matter how smart she thought she was. Or how much savvy she possessed. Without some kind of protection—even the barely there sort her mother provided—things almost never turned out well.

  Picturing herself in tattered clothes, freezing to death—quite a feat considering the mid-July heatwave—Sophie climbed out of bed. Chances were slim that she would perish as some kind of modern-day Little Match Girl. The perverts and/or murderers would probably get her first.

  "Finally." Joy shut the last suitcase. "Take a pee and get dressed. We're out of here in under five."

  Grabbing a pair of clean underwear and a t-shirt, Sophie took her jeans and shuffled to the bathroom. "What's the hurry?"

  As if Sophie didn't know. They typically high-tailed it in the middle of the night for one of two reasons. Either Joy had pissed off her latest boyfriend—and Sophie used the term lightly—or they couldn't pay the bill. More times than she could count, it was both.

  "There is only one reason that matters." Joy tossed her long, chemically enhanced red hair over her shoulder. "I'm your mother."

  Sophie was glad she had her back to her mother. The expression on her face—major eye roll—might have earned her another slap. Joy trotted out the 'I'm your mother' crap from time to time as if it actually meant something. The days of Sophie wanting Joy's love and approval were long gone. The spark of hope wasn't c
ompletely dead. However, she would need more than the occasional smile and a pat on the head for it to bloom into a full-fledged flame.

  There was so much about her mother that Sophie didn't understand. One second, she seemed like the dimmest bulb in the box. The next, her mind was sharp as a tack. It changed depending on the situation—and Joy's level of interest. Men were the highest priority. Other women, not so much. Sophie did know one thing. Her mother wanted to be the center of attention. The best way to get information was to act as if she didn't care.

  "Whatever," Sophie said with a shrug.

  Perfectly mimicking Joy's hair flip, Sophie nonchalantly closed the bathroom door. She barely had the cap off the toothpaste when like clockwork, she heard Joy's raised voice.

  "I've finally landed the big fish."

  Bigger than the plywood salesman in Topeka? Or the guy in Scottsdale who made a living selling bathroom fixtures? Sophie spat into the sink. They had been nice enough—that was her impression from the short amount of time she spent in their company. She could say the same about most of the guys Joy hooked up with. Every man was the one—until he wasn't.

  These once-in-a-lifetime relationships rarely lasted six months. Once, Joy actually managed to last a year before going off the rails. Sometimes things ended with a whimper. Mostly with a bang. But either way, end they did. Inevitably as the sun came up in the east.

  Sophie used the toilet. Washed her hands and face. Combed her shoulder-length dark hair. All the while, Joy waxed on and on about her latest and greatest conquest. Her mother was like a battery-operated bunny. Once she started, she went on and on and on.

  "We met at The Tremont."

  The first thing Joy would do when they hit a new town was scope out every bar. The dives were for fun, the classier ones for business. Hotel watering holes were the best. Sophie had never been inside, but she knew The Tremont was the most expensive place in the area.

  Technically, Joy wasn't a prostitute. Yes. Sex was involved. And money. But almost never on the first date. The random hand job. Oral when priming the pump became absolutely necessary.

  The fact that Sophie knew all of this was disturbing on so many levels. That it no longer bothered her was just plain sad.

  "His name is Newt. Newton Branson, to be exact. The edges are a little rough, but he is class all the way. Expensive champagne. Top-shelf whiskey. Do you know that he didn't even blink when I ordered the lobster?"

  In Joy's world, not grousing over the dinner bill was a certified stamp of approval. Though she never ate more than a bite or two of her meal—a girl had to watch her figure—she liked when it cost as much as possible.

  Joy Lipton was beautiful. Head to toe, she had the kind of looks that attracted attention. Male attention. The only thing average about her was her height. High cheekbones. Full lips. Wide eyes the color of dark chocolate. Sophie had seen her draw a man with nothing but a smile. Curvy and buxom, if she wasn't vigilant, her body tended to run toward fat. Petrified of gaining a single pound, Joy lived on little more than coffee and cigarettes. Add alcohol when somebody else was paying.

  Personality wise, Sophie and Joy were miles apart. Physically, the difference was even greater. Other than their cheekbones and the color of their eyes, any resemblance between mother and daughter was harder to find than Waldo.

  Sophie was a stick. That wasn't an insult, it was a fact. Tall—at fifteen she already topped Joy by a good four inches—and skinny without a trace of her mother's curves. Though she wasn't terribly worried that her breasts were non-existent. And her hips? Well, she didn't have hips. Or a waist for that matter. Her body was pretty much a straight line from top to bottom. As long as she remained healthy and able to stand on her own two feet, Sophie didn't care about the rest.

  Leaving the bathroom, Sophie retrieved the paper bag she had saved from last night's takeout. When Joy saw what Sophie was doing, she stopped her glowing commentary of Newt Branson's stellar qualities long enough to shake her head.

  "Forget that crap."

  Without a pause, Sophie filled the bag with various toiletries strewn around the bathroom. The almost-empty toothpaste. The bottle of shampoo she had purchased the day before. The counter was filled with potions, and lotions Joy didn't think she wanted. In a day or two, she would change her tune. From experience, Sophie knew if anything was left behind, the fault would fall on her shoulders.

  Ignoring the look of disgust, Sophie added the bag to the two suitcases sitting at the foot of the bed she and her mother shared.

  "If you've found Mr. Wonderful, why the sudden need to leave?"

  "Newt is headed back to his ranch in… I don't remember." Joy made a dismissive movement with her hand. "Somewhere west. He wants us to go with him."

  "Us?"

  By Sophie's calculations, the romance of the century wasn't much more than a weekend old. Joy never confessed that she had a daughter until much further into the relationship and only when it was absolutely unavoidable.

  "Naturally. We're a team."

  That wasn't how Sophie would have put it. A team conjured images of them working together toward a single goal. If Joy had an endgame in mind to their perpetual trek from one end of the country to the other, she certainly hadn't shared what it was. Sophie wasn't a player in the game. She was a reluctant observer. At best, an afterthought. At worst? Who knew? Though they had scraped rock bottom a time or two, Sophie had the feeling they had yet to hit it. If that day ever came, she had no doubt it would be every woman for herself.

  "Quiet," Joy warned. Picking up a suitcase, she cracked open the hotel room door. Peering right, then left, she motioned for Sophie to follow.

  Great. Sophie sighed. They were skipping out on their bill. It wasn't the first time. Joy always looked for crap-hole establishments—with male managers—that were willing to take cash under the table. Flirting and a couple of bucks usually got them a room. Joy's ample cleavage allowed them to stay past the first night. After that, it was down to how much shit the manager was willing to swallow. The promise of sex went further with some men than others.

  "Just a second."

  Ignoring Joy's hissed warning to get in the car, Sophie sprinted back to the room. With a sigh, she dug thirty-four dollars out of her pocket, tossing it onto the bedside table. The manager was a nice guy. Stupid. But a lot of men fell into that category when it came to her mother. The money didn't begin to cover what they owed. Sophie found it a way to assuage her conscience. Her way of convincing herself that she was better than the woman who gave birth to her.

  The second Sophie was in the car, Joy hit the gas. As always, their room was the last unit and the greatest distance from the office. It made getting away so much easier. No fuss. No muss. At least for Joy. She dropped her bombs from a distance. By the time the impact was felt, she was long gone.

  "Where are we going?"

  "Newt has invited us to stay with him for a little while."

  This was a new twist, Sophie thought. Since it was the second time her mother had said they were both going, it might actually be true. Occasionally, Joy went away with her current man for a long weekend. But stay for a little while? Sophie included? That didn't happen often. And if history were any judge, it wouldn't end well. The last time wasn't that long ago. Almost a year to be exact. After a few days filled with either heated arguments or pouting silence, they ended up stranded in Poughkeepsie. The gentleman friend stole their car and their clothing. The only reason he hadn't gotten away with their money was that Sophie followed her instincts hiding what little they had where neither adult could find it.

  With a sigh, Sophie looked out the window. How could Joy learn from her mistakes when she never admitted to making any? According to her mother, the disasters were never her fault. So she kept repeating them. Over and over again.

  "You said that Newt lives out west?"

  "That's right."

  "How far? We'll be lucky to make it to the county limits i
n this rusty bucket of bolts," Sophie warned.

  Their current transportation had been little better than when Joy acquired it last month from a used car salesman one town over. Wisely, Sophie had refrained from pointing out that if a beat-up old Ford Escort was the best she could do, Joy had been grossly exaggerating her talents.

  "We aren't driving. Newt is. He has a brand-new Escalade. That's a Cadillac. Top of the line." Joy practically vibrated with excitement.

  "How do you know?" Sophie wasn't averse to a little luxury. She had never ridden in a new car of any make or model. However, Joy tended to exaggerate. A lot.

  "He let me drive it. There is no mistaking that smell. Fresh from the factory."

  For now, Sophie would take Joy's word for it.

  "Any chance you can tell me where we are going. Other than west?" They were in California. There wasn't much west left. Unless Newt could magically drive them to Hawaii.

  "I don't know, Sophie." Joy's tone was impatient. "You'll find out when we get there."

  "Or I could simply ask Newt."

  "No." Joy shot Sophie a warning look. "Don't start asking Newt a bunch of questions. Be polite. And keep your thoughts to yourself. Understand?"

  "What's the problem with asking where he's taking us?"

  "Once you start, you don't know when to quit. The last thing I need is for him to get annoyed and dump us a hundred miles from nowhere. "

  Sophie frowned. "Didn't he think it strange that you wanted to meet him in the middle of the night?"

  "Newt likes to get an early start. His son's birthday is tomorrow. Talking him into leaving extra early wasn't a problem."

  "But—?"

  "Newt is taking us to his home. That's all you need to know."

  Sophie's heart leapt to her throat. Home. Just the word was enough to set her pulse racing. So many meanings. A million interpretations. For Sophie, the concept seemed like a dream. A place where she belonged.

  There would be no more limping from town to town. Someplace permanent where Sophie could attend school on a regular basis instead of a week here or a month there. A chance to make friends who lasted beyond a tentative hello and no goodbye at all.