Tough Sell (Tough Love Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Back of the Book Stuff

  T r i x i e M o r e

  Tough

  Sell

  Tough Sell

  by

  Trixie More

  Copyright © 2018 by Trixie More. www.TrixieMore.com All rights reserved. First Edition, v 1.0, Between the Covers, LLC

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, inventions or locales is entirely coincidental. Reproduction, in whole or part, of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  I appreciate you taking the time to read my work, it means the world to me. Please consider leaving a review wherever you purchased this book or telling your friends about it, either would just rock.

  Thank you, thank you.

  Developmental Editing & Blurb Copy: Olivia Maclean

  www.CallOfTheWord.com

  Line Edit & Proofing: Marla Esposito

  www.ProofingStyle.com

  Book Cover: Adrijus Guscia

  www.RockingBookCovers.com

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Promises of Free Stuff

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To every woman who has got on with the business of rescuing herself.

  Welcome to the tribe, ladies.

  Dorothy

  God’s Gift

  From the Greek,

  Doron - gift and theos - God

  Prologue

  Appalachian Mountains

  Pikeston, Kentucky, 1992

  “Do you think she’ll take to us?” Helen Johansen asked. There was a slight furrow between her brows and it gave a little tug at Carl’s heart to see it there. At least, today it did.

  “Honey, it’s going to be fine.” They were driving on Interstate 80, cutting across New Jersey, headed for Appalachian territory. His wife, Helen, was supposed to be the navigator. Although she was more than capable, Carl had made sure he knew the route and could get them to their destination without her help. Today, she was vulnerable.

  “She must be so confused.” Helen chewed at the side of her thumb. “She’s so tiny.” His wife sighed and turned her lovely face toward him. It occurred to him that she was like a rudder, taking him in a new direction as she angled herself toward what she wanted. In this case, what she wanted was a child, so they were adopting a baby girl. When they returned home, he would have a daughter, eleven months old and already handicapped by a violent and very public past.

  He wracked his brain for something he could say to soothe his wife. It wasn’t his forte.

  In the end, he fell back on the same thing he always fell back on, the amazing combination that was the two of them together.

  “If she’s confused, then we’ll un-confuse her. If she’s hungry, we’ll feed her. If she’s sad, we’ll hug her. How hard could it be?” He risked a glance at Helen and smiled at what he saw. She was smirking at him and shaking her head. She wrapped a hand around his bicep and pulled herself across the center console just far enough to give him a peck on the cheek. He leaned over to make it easier for her and to stop her from causing an accident. She seemed to think he was made of steel.

  “You’re a lunkhead, but I love you,” she said. “Do you think she’ll come to love us?”

  He lost it.

  “Oh, for cryin’ out loud, Helen. Just stop it now. That baby’s family was murdered, she has no one in the world to care for her and we’re going to adopt her. Of course, she’ll love us. Everybody in America will love us.”

  “Carl! That’s not why we’re doing this!”

  “Honey, it’s going to be fine. She’s just a bitty thing. She’s got her whole life ahead of her.” He frowned at the traffic ahead. “Now, can you please check the map and tell me where the hell we are?”

  The tiny town of Pikeston, Kentucky was far bigger than he expected—geographically, that was. It felt like it took an hour to drive the fifteen miles from the border of the township to the town’s main street. The dilapidated center of town was lined with failing and closed businesses, a functioning gas station, a dollar store and a diner. On the way out of town, they passed stretches of forest fronted by matted and tangled clearings. The brown, brittle grasses rose thigh high. Loops of nasty thorn-covered brambles wove the tumbling fences into the landscape. Trailer homes tilted on cinder blocks and the strongest accent color, other than the deep black green of the pines, was the rust that dribbled over everything in sight. It looked like nobody in this town had two nickels to rub together. Carl pinched the bridge of his nose. Poverty looked the same everywhere.

  Beside him, his wife made a soft noise.

  “I’m sorry, Carl,” she said. She knew places like this brought back memories of his own history of penury.

  He dropped his hand back to the steering wheel and glanced over at Helen. Her blond hair curled under at her shoulders and the sun glinted off the simple gold cross and fine golden chain she’d worn every day since her first communion. She was twisted sideways in her seat, resting her back against the passenger door, one leg tucked up in front of her. He’d been watching the scenes outside the windows and she’d been watching him. She pushed her hair behind one ear. There was enough time to notice she wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, before he had to look at the road again.

  “Can you pull over?” Her voice was a little throaty. “We’re almost there. I just wanna hold you before we get there.”

  Despite himself, he smiled. He suspected this was for him. She’d always been his way out. Thirty seconds later, he flicked the blinker. They hadn’t passed a car in ten miles and the road was empty but he put the signal on anyway. The tires of the Lincoln rumbled and bounced as the car pulled onto the narrow shoulder. He shoved the vehicle into park, thumbing his seatbelt loose at the same time.

  “Come ’ere, you,” he growled and reached over the console. Helen smiled and knelt up on the seat, her back rounding against the roof of the car, looking down at him, cupping his face, all that glossy blond hair making a curtain around them both and blocking out the wretched view. He kissed her the same way he’d been kissing her for twenty years, the same way he’d been kissing her since they were both fifteen. He kissed her because she c
ompleted him.

  “God, you’re a pain in the ass,” he said when they came up for air.

  Gentle fingers pushed his hair back from his forehead. Cool, callused palms smoothed the sides of his face. The shrill blat of the car’s horn broke the moment, as the woman he loved startled, jumped upward, and whacked her head into the ceiling.

  “Oh!” She batted at her hair as she collapsed back into the passenger seat, glancing around at the steamy windows. “I hit it with my hip.”

  He snorted at that. “At least I can’t see this damn place anymore.” Rolling down the windows and turning on the defroster took a minute. Helen sorted herself out. “You know, I got mixed feelings here,” he said at last.

  “I know.” The calm, simple response settled him. She was like that.

  “Not about the kid, though,” he hurried to clarify things.

  “I know.”

  He rubbed his hands over his face. “Let’s get this done.” He put the car in gear and pulled back onto the road, following a swirl of turkey vultures. “Ugly damn birds. Like this place.”

  Her hand rested on his thigh, but her attention was on the road now. “I think we make a right up here.”

  When he turned the corner, he knew she was right. He could see the same dilapidated barn he’d seen on TV, paint so weathered you only imagined it might have been red at one time. He could see the yellow police tape and a single white cruiser, with silent blue and red lights, parked in the drive. All of a sudden, he was ashamed of what they’d done just a few minutes earlier. How could they have kissed or smiled less than two miles from this nightmare?

  Beside him, Helen’s mouth drooped softly open and her eyes were sad as she echoed his thoughts. “I think I didn’t want to turn this corner.”

  “You gotta be kidding me,” he groused. “I sure as hell don’t want to see this. What are we doing here?” The car was already parked and in front of them, the driver’s door of the cruiser swung open. There wasn’t any time to debate it; Helen was already out of the car, her tan slacks and twin sweater set making her look like she was already someone’s conservative mother. She was a chameleon, his Helen was. He sighed, got out, and looked around. He didn’t miss the small outbuilding with the little moon and sun on the side. A well-pump dripped water. It was centrally located, at least. The ramshackle farm with its small colony of trailer homes, there were three dotting the landscape, was far too familiar. He glanced around, feeling like he might see his grandfather step out from behind the tumbling grain silo. It took only moments for him to catch up to Helen.

  “… understand, Mrs. Johansen. But I should warn you, it hasn’t been cleaned out yet.” The officer was a tall man, with dark sunglasses. His voice carried the local accent as easily as his frame carried his height.

  “Yes, Officer, I understand. But I think someday she’ll want to know.” Helen looked up at the man. “And I think we ought to be able to tell her.”

  With that, they were off, across the hard-packed dirt, up the worn wood steps and into what must have been the main farmhouse. At least there was electricity, he thought, as the officer flipped the wall switch. If they had been expecting blood splashed all over the house, then they were going to be disappointed. Other than the dust and garage sale furniture, things looked rather benign.

  “Do you want to see the whole place?” The cop’s lip curled a bit at that. What the man must think of them, Carl had no idea.

  “I think just the room where she …”

  “Look, Mrs. Johansen, with all due respect, once you’ve seen the farm and the living room, you’ll know all you need to about where Baby Dot came from. Trust me, you don’t want to see the room.”

  Carl agreed but held his tongue. When Helen was of the opinion that she had a duty, there was no stopping the woman.

  “Which way, Officer?”

  The man waved toward a back hallway. “I’m going to stay right here. Don’t touch anything in there.”

  Helen preceded Carl down the hall. On the left was a doorway, no door, just a curtain on a rod. The blood started right from there. He could see the small brown flecks on the cloth. Helen reached out and moved the curtain aside. Carl hurried to hold it out of her way. He didn’t want it to touch his wife. She moved into the room, late afternoon sun streamed through a ridiculously filthy window. A twin bed was pressed up against one wall. There was a dresser against the other and the window was between them. The floor was plain wooden boards, any finish long since worn off. Dirt filled in the grooves between the boards. Helen stood only a couple feet inside. He came up behind her and put his arm around her waist.

  The unmade bed was covered in a flowered cotton sheet set and a blue chenille spread. The center of the bed must have been drenched in the blood of the woman who had been murdered there. Now, the stain was varying shades of brown, and dry as dust. A baby’s pink rubber pacifier sat on the floor. His wife walked farther in and did a little half squat in front of the pacifier and then stood without touching it. She peered at the mountain of bric-a-brac covering the dresser: a packet of unopened mail, a crumpled pay stub that had been detached from a check, half used eye makeup, a pink, overturned bottle of perfume, a grimy yellow stuffed rabbit and a box of pampers. She stood for a couple minutes just looking. Turning, she spent another minute or two looking around the room and out the window. Her wide mouth turned down and her eyes were sorrowful.

  She wandered back out of the room, spent a few minutes looking around the kitchen. Finally, she seemed to come to some conclusion. What it was, he didn’t know.

  “We can go now. I’ve seen it.”

  He just nodded and followed her out. The officer trailed them in silence. Helen didn’t look around. She walked back to the car and got in, leaving Carl to thank the man for letting them in.

  “Are you picking up Baby Dot today?” The officer seemed to relax, now that it was clear that there would be no more sightseeing that day.

  “Yeah. I think it’s time. My wife, well, you heard her.”

  “Yeah. Some ways, I ’spose she’s right. She should be able to tell Dot about her people. ’S true that them’s adopted use’ly want to know.” The officer pushed his brim lower and got into his car. “I’ll just be following you out.”

  And with that, it was over and the two of them went forward as they always had, finding a way to build what they dreamed of. This time, it was a family.

  Chapter 1

  New York City, 2017

  The door to the New York apartment hit the hallway wall when it opened. Despite being in her bedroom with the door shut, Dorothy Johansen could tell what had happened by the sound of shoes falling from the rack by the door, and the giggle of her roommate, Allison.

  It was seven thirty in the morning and Allie was just getting home. Dorothy smiled. She must be out there with Derrick, her new boyfriend, a man Allie affectionately called her wrecking ball. Dorothy tried not to go right from that thought to the Eric Church song, which was, only the sexiest song to hit the country charts—ever. She stuffed her royal blue pumps into her carryall and took one last look at herself in the dresser mirror. She looked pretty good for once, and—added bonus—she was going to be on time for work. Well hallelujah. All she needed were her sneakers from the shoe rack.

  From the other side of the bedroom door she heard Derrick grunt. She smirked at the thought of her roommate getting the better of the man and opened her door slowly, not wanting to interrupt whatever was going on in Allie’s room. Dorothy peeked out into the hallway. Holy crow. Allie was kneeling in front of Derrick. Shutting the door in a rush, Dorothy closed her eyes but she couldn’t un-see the image in her mind—Allie, her back to Dorothy, in jeans and a navy hoodie, kneeling on the floor, Derrick’s hand fisted in her curly dark hair. She had her hands clenched together behind her back and her face pressed into his crotch.

  The man’s white teeth had been bared in a grimace and the way he’d been looking at Allie, made Dorothy wet just thinking about it. Glassy-e
yed and struck by wonder was the only way to describe it, one hand pushing Allie into him by her hair, the other gently holding her damp and tangled bangs away from her face. Lord. Allie must have him crammed all the way down her throat, since her face was almost inside the guy’s zipper. Dorothy shifted uncomfortably and backed away from the door. Seven thirty-five a.m. She could wait another five minutes and still get to work if she hurried.

  Despite his current snarl and his proclivity for what Allie called “bossy sex,” or maybe because of them, Derrick was perfect for Allie. She was tough and sweet and took care of everyone. Allie pretty much owned her life and everyone around her too. Probably letting him run things in their love life was a big relief for her. No such luck for Dorothy. Her men always seemed to be, well, distant. Certainly, she’d never been pushed against a wall or had a dick down her throat before she got her coat off. She felt a creeping familiar disappointment start in her chest as she thought of how long it had been since her latest guy, Flynn, had called her. She stood up abruptly. Weren’t they done yet?

  She listened intently to the sounds coming from the hallway, trying to tell if they were finished. Oh God, was he telling her to clean him? The deep bass of his voice softened to an indistinct rumble but Dorothy imagined Allie lapping at Derrick’s cock, dark with his arousal, licking semen from the sides, the base and tip while he looked down at her with that … expression. What a look he’d had on his face. Dorothy let her head fall back, stretching her neck, looking to the ceiling of her lonely bedroom. Ugh. She wasn’t going there. She was dressed for work and ready to leave. They had to wrap things up out there.

  Returning to the doorway, opening it just a crack, she peeked around and damn. She shut the door again. Blue jeans and pink lace underpants were on the floor in the hallway. This time Derrick’s back was to her. Allie had one long pretty calf curled around his waist, tiny toes pointing back at Dorothy. He had her up against the front door and now, now, she could hear the doorknob starting to rattle. Good God. She waited again, too irritated to be turned on, plus, she hadn’t been able to see anything interesting. His jeans had been slumped down but with his flannel shirt untucked, there wasn’t anything to see, unless you thought the way his hips were slamming back and forth was provocative. She wasn’t angry at them, Allie expected Dorothy to be gone by seven fifteen, after all. Dorothy looked at the clock. It was 7:53 a.m. now. There was nothing she could do. She had to leave.