Stacked Up

Stacked Up

Prologue


Sarabelle would not stop crying.

“South, please,” Penny said to the greasy man behind the ticket booth, who had a toothpick in his mouth and a bored expression.

“There’s a lot of south, honey.” He pointed to a sign on the wall behind him, which listed all the available bus stops.

She looked at the sign while swaying lightly up and down and side to side. Thankfully, she had taken one of those BabyBjörn things before leaving.

“Best shut that baby up before you get on the bus or the passengers’ll be pissed.”

Penny ignored his comment and threw some money on the counter. “Tampa. That leaves now, right?” She hiked her big duffel bag higher on her shoulder and continued to rock her two-day-old daughter back and forth. “Shh. It’s okay, Belle. It’s okay.”

The man handed her a ticket and pointed to where the bus was loading.

“Any luggage?” asked the driver, who stood by the bus.

“No, sir.” Penny walked up the steps and awkwardly tried to hold her baby with one hand while stuffing the duffel bag into the luggage rack above her.

“Here, let me get that for you.”

“Oh, uh . . . thank you so much.”

The man smiled and put her bag in the overhead compartment.

Still wearing the baby sling, she sat down and maneuvered Sarabelle to a more comfortable position, cooing and patting her. Penny closed her eyes and prayed to God that leaving Oklahoma had been the right decision.

Several buses and a cab ride later, she pulled into an old run-down apartment complex in Tarpon Springs, Florida. She’d found the apartment online while at Fresh Start, the group home for unwed mothers she had been living in for the last four months.

She had seen an ad for Tarpon Springs’ famous sponge docks festival when she’d been searching the Web for places she could live. It turned out that the small town was famous for harvesting sponges and had a big yearly festival. She’d instantly fallen in love with the pictures and decided that if she was going to run away, she needed to run away to a town that was close to the ocean and where she wouldn’t know a soul. And Tarpon Springs felt right. She couldn’t explain why—it just did.

A few days ago, merely hours after the birth, a couple had visited her to talk about the adoption. She was supposed to meet with the adoption attorneys next, but she’d run away before the meeting.

All she’d brought was the money she’d taken from Lawrence, the BabyBjörn, whatever clothes fit into the big duffel bag, and a few trinkets she’d purchased for Belle before anyone else had known she was pregnant.

She’d even gone as far as answering an online ad for a bartender at what seemed like a small local bar called the Pier. It would be her first job ever. The owner, Patsy, had given her the job and agreed to wait a few days until Penny could get down to Florida. Patsy had also helped her find an apartment nearby.

When Penny asked the landlord for a recommendation for a babysitter, the kind woman had given her the name of Penny’s soon-to-be neighbor Ms. Hannigan. Chatting with Ms. Hannigan, Penny learned that she was a retired teacher and would happily watch Sarabelle while Penny worked.

Everyone had been so accommodating and helpful—she couldn’t believe her luck.

And now she was here.

Her new life.

New beginnings.

Far away from her controlling family and all the cameras.

Between the anxiety she felt at leaving her baby with a virtual stranger and making sure she did a good job, she was a wreck on her first day at the Pier. Plus, she felt uncomfortable in the tiny white shorts and tight T-shirt she had to wear for work. They weren’t trashy, but they were very different from her ultra-conservative wardrobe back home. Within an hour, she was sure Patsy would fire her. She had mixed up orders, dropped a few trays, and forgotten to ring up a few customers.

Right before her shift was about to end, a loud chortling laugh made her turn her head toward the door. A tall man, maybe six-three, walked in with a group of people. His gait was wide and he walked with determination and a confidence she’d never seen before. He wore a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled back, dark jeans that hugged his thick thighs, and a cowboy hat, which blocked her view of his eyes.

His laugh was infectious, and she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. There was something about a man who could laugh without any restraint. He was about to walk right by her when he stopped and turned, a smile still on his face. Now that he was closer, she could see two dimples.

“Watch it, darlin’, you’re about to drop—” he began, in a deep voice with a thick southern accent. Instantly her mind flashed to an image of him astride a horse, wrangling cattle. It reminded her of her life back in Oklahoma, on her parents’ ostentatious ranch.

“Oh, no,” Penny shrieked, and looked down at the mess she’d created when she dropped yet another tray. She was certain her newfound independence was going to be short-lived, because she didn’t see how Patsy wouldn’t fire her. And without a job, her days in Florida were numbered. “Darn it!” She began to pick up glass.

A tanned hand touched her wrist. “It’s all right. Patsy’ll understand.” She looked up, and the man tipped his hat and smiled.

Oh, my!

She’d never seen a smile like that before. It was the most genuine and sincere smile she’d ever seen. It was even better than his laugh. And those blue eyes—so clear they were almost translucent.

“Hey, sugar?” He squeezed her wrist. “You okay?”

She shook her head in order to clear her mind. “Yeah. Yes. Sorry. I, uh . . . oh, Patsy is going to fire me.” She dropped her gaze and resumed picking up the glass.

“Honey? You drop another tray?”

She looked up to see Patsy.

“I . . .” Her chin quivered, but she took a breath. She would not cry. All this time, she hadn’t cried; today wouldn’t be the day. A tray of broken glasses would not do her in.

The man stood and pulled her up with him.

“Hiya, Miz Patsy.” He released her hand and kissed Patsy’s cheek. “Sorry ’bout that. Crashed right into her. It was my fault.”

“W-what?” Penny said, surprised.

“You’re a hurricane, Travis Calhoun.” Patsy gave him a knowing smile. “Help the poor girl pick it up.” The bar owner chuckled and shoved a dustpan and a broom toward the man.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Penny whispered after Patsy had left.

“No sweat, sugar. You new to town?”

She wiped her hands on her apron and held it out. “Yes. I’m Penny Richards.”

He took her hand in his, and it felt as though all her nerve endings had suddenly come alive. She reflexively tried to pull her hand away, but he just held it tighter.

“You look scared.”

“And you look like a cowboy.”

He laughed loudly. “Well, Penny, I’m Travis Calhoun. Grew up in Texas. Wouldn’t call myself a cowboy—never been on a horse before. But I do love my cowboy hat.”

“Thank you for what you did. You know, taking the blame.” He just continued to look at her, their hands still locked together. “I’d better get back to work. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Travis.”

He pulled her close, startling her. “Sweetness, I have a feelin’ the pleasure’s goin’ to be all mine.” He winked, tipped his hat, and walked away.

Right there and then Penny knew, without any doubt, that this man was trouble. And if there was one thing she did not need, that was any more trouble.