After All These Years
By Gwen Masters
()
About this ebook
Bobby died over twenty years ago, and Marilyn moved on - but then came William.
When Marilyn first meets William at the train station on a cold December day, she thinks he's crazy. Soon she realises that he's not crazy—just quirky—and she is stunned that he recognises her as the wife of Bobby Overmire, a Marine who was killed in the Beirut bombings in 1983.
As time passes, Marilyn becomes much more interested in William than in the husband she lost over two decades ago. But William is harbouring a secret-a secret that could destroy Marilyn's world all over again.
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After All These Years - Gwen Masters
A Total-E-Bound Publication
www.total-e-bound.com
After All These Years
ISBN #978-0-85715-811-6
©Copyright Gwen Masters 2011
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright November 2011
Edited by Lisa Cox
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2011 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-burning and a sexometer of 2.
AFTER ALL THESE YEARS
Gwen Masters
Bobby died over twenty years ago, and Marilyn moved on - but then came William.
When Marilyn first meets William at the train station on a cold December day, she thinks he’s crazy. Soon she realises that he’s not crazy—just quirky—and she is stunned that he recognises her as the wife of Bobby Overmire, a Marine who was killed in the Beirut bombings in 1983.
As time passes, Marilyn becomes much more interested in William than in the husband she lost over two decades ago. But William is harbouring a secret—a secret that could destroy Marilyn’s world all over again.
Dedication
For Patrick Jane…
Your rock-solid faith in us never ceases to amaze me.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Timex: Timex Corporation
Zippo: Zippo Manufacturing Co.
Rolex: Rolex Watch Company
Chapter One
You are a gift,
the stranger murmured.
I didn’t feel like a gift. I was a forty-something mother of three children who hadn’t flown the nest so much as they had fallen from it. I had too much grey in my hair, an aching back and a minimum-wage job at a fast food restaurant that always left me with a rabid distaste for anything fried. It was the dead of winter in Chicago, the snow was piled up in high drifts everywhere and my train was more than fashionably late.
I looked up from my book and wiped the hair from my eyes. My knitted cap was too small—it was something left over from the kids and it must have been from the middle school years considering how old the thing was. I touched it and was suddenly aware of my well-bitten fingernails.
What did you say?
I was certain I had heard him wrong.
The man was tall. His dark hair was long, curls and waves that fell to his shoulders, greying at the temples. The cold wind picked it up and blew it back from his face. He was dressed in a trench coat, one of those plaid ones that always reminded me of private dicks in old-fashioned movies. He looked like he needed a good shave and a long nap.
You are a gift,
he said again, and this time I was certain I had heard him correctly. I was also certain he was a little bit nuts. They were everywhere, especially at this time of year.
I don’t have any change to spare,
I said, and looked back down at my novel.
A laugh rumbled up out of him. It was low and soft and kept going, like a train coming down the tracks. I glanced back up at him, but he wasn’t looking at me. His head was thrown back and he was gazing up at the grey sky, at the clouds that hovered too close. The laughter broke loose. It was loud and full-bodied, the kind of laugh that came from a man who had no worries in the world.
The belt of his trench coat opened a bit and I caught a glimpse of what had to be silk underneath it. That’s when I noticed his shoes, polished to a high shine. On his wrist was a watch that looked expensive.
Oh, shit,
I said. I’m sorry. I thought—well, you know what I thought.
He stopped laughing. It seemed to take a massive effort. It has obviously been a long time since you thought of yourself as a gift.
A gift?
I looked at him closely. He could still be one of those nutcases. He might just have a lot of money to take with him while he went down to the funny farm.
A gift, a present, a Christmas delight,
he said merrily, as if it was the easiest thing in the world to understand.
You lost me.
He looked around at the other people nearby. Most of them were sitting on benches and not paying the least bit of attention. This was the part of town where someone could be mugged and nobody would lift a finger to stop it.
These people sit here among angels, and they haven’t a clue.
Then I knew he was nuts. I looked back down at my book, hoping he would get the hint. Thanks for the compliment.
You think I’m crazy.
I nodded and kept reading.
I don’t blame you for thinking that. It’s not every day that you run into someone like me, Marilyn.
I slowly looked up. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, grinning at me.
What did you say?
Marilyn,
he said softly, teasingly, like a little kid