Lost Her (Lost #1)
Lost Her
(Lost #1)
Ginger Sharp
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2013 Ginger Sharp
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1492732281
ISBN-13: 978-1492732280
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to my Dirty Birdies, you know who you all are and to all those who enjoy steamy romance novels. Enjoy!
CONTENTS
DEDICATION
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To Mike, my poor husband, who had to endure my glares for him to leave the room while I wrote this series.
The brilliant Lisa Anne Zilney for reading, critiquing my literary mess and putting up with me!
And to everyone else that I tortured to give me feedback on the chapters that I emailed to them from time to time.
CHAPTER 1
It has been about a day since my daughter Katie and her friend Noelia have gone back home to the United States to go back to college after spring break. This was her first visit to San Bart Costa Rica where I moved to about 2 months ago. Now, I am just settling into my routine and trying to get my house cleaned up. Laundry is a tough chore when you live in a desolate hillside town along the beach of the Caribbean Sea.
With the fluctuating power and outages that could last for days, I really need to stay on top of my chores. As I load the washer with more bleach for the towels, I think to myself gosh those girls can never just use one towel, I look at the clothes line which is full already. I sure hope the towels would dry before my afternoon rain shower, so I can get the rest on the line. The washer is located underneath the small, one bedroom house that I purchased with my retirement fund. I have an issue with the wash water that just runs down the hillside. I have to think about getting that drain tube underground since my three dogs like to roll in the mud. Another chore mess to think about once my students attend their two week break for spring planting on their family farms. It will be nice when I will have two weeks off to enjoy manual labor fixing, or trying to fix, up my house, not!
Always right before a rain shower, it gets humid which dissipates when the sun dries up all the moisture after the storm. I feel the moist air. I love the warmth, but I can feel the humidity rising. I decide that I better take the semi dry towels off the line.
Once inside my house, I stretch the towels across a make shift rope that I tether between the living room to the kitchen. This will help drying time, I think to myself. I look around my house. The kitchen, dining room and living room are just one big room that has a huge covered deck through the glass slider off the living room. The deck extends to the bedroom which also has its own glass slider. For just one person and three German Shepherds, the house has plenty of room. Now that I am 41 years old, I really do not want to spend my life cleaning a house that is too big for one person to handle. This house is perfect, with the views of the jungle below me and the sea out in the distance. It is all I need to live and forget everything I left behind in the States.
I have to stop procrastinating as I am still looking out to the sea and have to get to looking over my lesson plan for the last week before break. I landed a really wonderful job here in San Bart thanks to a great friend and I do not want to screw it up. I completely enjoy teaching World History and English to the students in the town. The class size is so small, with about 8 boys and 4 girls. The school is mixed ages from 5 to 15 years old in a small 10 classroom building that looks like a bunch of double wide trailers put together on the beach. I could not have asked for a better job in paradise, and it is all mine! I no longer have anyone depending on me to keep up the homestead.
I look over the lesson plan for a little while and decide that it is time to walk into town with my pack of dogs to meet up with Parker, another teacher who is from New Zealand, for some dinner. Once I arrive, Parker gives me a hug. He knows that I enjoy these early Sunday dinners in town after the town’s people have attended church. They would all feast and attempt to practice their broken English conversations with me. This always makes me laugh.
Parker and I were keeping each other company when Señor Marquis started telling us gringo jokes. Señor Marquis was an older man about 65ish, and he has helped me with some maintenance issues at my home. Parker recommended him to me when I moved in. Just then some of the most amazing food came to the table that Parker had ordered before I arrived. I just loved the Mar Cantina: this is where Katie and Noelia spent all their time while I was teaching. The girls also spent many nights here drinking with the local farm boys. There is not much going on in this town, making this the only place to really hang out.
Señor Marquis excuses himself since our meals had arrived. “Seriously Parker, you know I can’t eat this much.” I say looking at him with a small grimace. I know his game, and I am not playing, but I do enjoy his company.
Parker laughingly responds, “Miss Rich Rich Olivia, you have that all powerful generator up in that house of yours to power this entire town when it goes down again.”
I hate it when he calls me Miss Rich Rich; I spent a good portion of my money getting set up here. “But, I do not have the money for fuel,” I responded with a scowl.
“I can always help with fuel money if you let me store my leftovers in that refrigerator of yours and heat it up for dinner this week in that wonderful microwave you got going on. I will share the leftovers with you. Plus, you need to get some weight on your bony self.” He ended with a chuckle.
Light bulb idea just went off in my head, “You are right and I can share my appliances with you if you help me over break with some manual labor.” I really do not like having Parker at my house. He is very flirty and touchy. Even my daughter thought that Parker, the 36 year old pretty boy looked like Hugh actor guy when he played in the Swordfish movie. But Parker with his tanned skin, dimpled chin and sun bleached dirty blonde hair, was a heavy flirt. He has a muscular chest and amazing abdominal muscles. He is maybe six feet two inches tall and surfs about ten times a day. I am exaggerating about the surfing. He is just as lonely as I am and also running from something. But for now, I can sure use those muscles on drainage pipe digging.
He leans in smirking, “So you need manual labor, what do you have in mind,” he says with a wink of his hazel eyes.
I laughing at his flirting, “I need to dig and put down drainage pipes for the gray water from the washer, sinks and shower to go underground.” I spoke with a completely serious look on my face.
“Really,” he asked with a scowl, “we are in paradise and you are going all conservationists with putting in drain pipes. Let it run down the hillside, duh.”
“It is the mud, I can’t stand the dogs rolling in the mud,” I emphasize a sense of urgency in my tone.
“Okay there sweetie, so you do not like dirty dogs?” as he leans in looking me right in the eye with a wink again.
Great, now I know that I just blushed at his comment. I retaliate with, “Don’t get all perverted on me pretty boy.”
Seriousness came over his eyes, “So you do thin
k I am good looking. Your daughter told me so.”
I am going to have to speak with Katie about her drama gossip when I go over the mountain to get phone reception in a few days. Ugh, now how do I respond? I do not want to lead him on, I am still not yet settled in my past life, but I am not saying no, yet I am. I work with him and that old saying comes to mind, you do not shit where you eat. “Parker, I am damaged and trying to heal, you know all of this. Please don’t,” I say with a begging plea.
He nods, “I will help you, my girl, and I will still share the leftovers with you,” he speaks softly. We finish up our meal and say our goodbyes.
I like to be home before dark and it is critical to my safety to keep that rule. Not really any crime here, but the jungle animals scare me. My 1984 Land Cruiser truck runs awesome, but I do not want to push my luck since gas and parts are hard to come by down here. I am deep in my thoughts about this upcoming week with the students before break. I was starting to think I may go easy on them this week when I hear my name being shouted out from down the road, “Olivia, wait would you,” Parker is running toward me with a bag of leftovers. “Hey, the fridge right” he continues to gasp for air.
“Oh yes, I forgot. Here I will take them,” as I reach for the bag he is pulling them away from me.
“No, I will carry them up to your house; I want to make sure the leftovers get there.” His voice perks up from being out of breath from running up the hill.
We get up to the house and I unlock the door. I allow Parker to step into the dark house. I flip on the light to the kitchen and I point to the refrigerator. Parker brushes by me to go to the refrigerator and he smells heavenly.
“Parker why is it that you always smell like a damned coconut?” Oh my gosh, did I really just let that slip out of my mouth? Dummy I hope he ignores me.
He laughs, “I use Hawaiian Tropic sun lotion every day to keep my skin baby soft and to protect it from the sun. Judging from your reaction you like the smell as much as your sniffing daughter does.”
I blush again and the only thing I come up with is, “Yup, I like coconuts.” Not too witty of me again.
“Show me this labor project you have for break,” he says as he is walking toward the door. I show him around to the back of the house where the water comes out. “That does not look like it could possibly be a problem,” pointing down with his finger.
“Oh it is, once the water comes out of the tube it spews mud all over the place,” I nod.
“Show me,” he says, “Go turn on the water.” I run up to the house and turn on the kitchen sink full force. I run to the slider and open it to stand looking down on him from the deck. “I only see a trickle,” he says while leaning over.
“Give it a second and don’t get too close,” I call down to him. As he puts his hand up to silence me, mud shoots up from the tube all over Parker’s nice white linen button down shirt. I could not keep from laughing. I speedily move to the bathroom closet to grab a towel and follow the cursed yelling down to the yard. He is standing at the base of the house unbuttoning his shirt. My eyes instantly dart to his very smooth ripped muscular chest with a canal between the abdominal muscles that stretch from his belly button to sternum. I look up to his face and his eyes meet mine. Shit, I was caught staring and I know he is completely enjoying my embarrassment. I rebound my head to the washer, “Here give me your shirt. I will throw it in the washer and bring it to you tomorrow at school.”
He hands it to me and I hand him the towel. “I am going to the house to wash up,” he smirks and winks his gorgeous eye as he turns away from me. Oh no, he knows I was gawking at his bare chest. I have been caught and I feel flushed.
I walk in to the house and Parker is sitting on my couch, shirtless, with his bare feet propped up on the nice coffee table Señor Marquis made for me, a beer in his hand and another one on the coffee table. “Hey, get those feet off of Señor Marquis’s table, he made that for me out of Cenizero,” I call over to him. “And, let me go and find you a shirt.”
“Sure,” he responds.
I walk back to the living room to hand him the shirt which he places on the coffee table and hands me my beer. “Amazing view you have here. The sunrises must be breathless,” he whispered and continues, “What are you doing on Saturday, because I am taking my friends up to National Park for my birthday and I thought you may want to get out for a while?”
I look past him and get up to walk out on the deck. “I can’t, I have dogs,” I said looking over to him.
“Um, you can bring your dogs with us and you love swimming up there,” he responds to me like I am dense. He stands up and walks out to the deck to join me. He is leaning on the railing next to me. “My friends are fun. Remember Marcus? You met him when you first came here,” he pauses. “Olivia, I do not understand why you think you need to keep punishing yourself, you need to get out of your own head, he says looking right into my eyes. “You are not a bad, horrible person and you must stop beating yourself up. Please come with us, I know you will have a great day with my friends,” he pleads.
I think I am leaning into him or maybe that was him leaning into me, I am not sure. Right now I am gazing into his perfect hazel eyes. The distance between us closes and our lips touch. His mouth opens to engulf mine. Then just as his tongue swipes mine, I pull away and stand straight up to face him. He grabs the back of my head and grips my hair. With his other hand on my shoulder and massive force, he leans in to take me in a kiss. I, being only 5’8”, take hold of both of his shoulders for support with my hands and fall into him, losing balance as his tongue massages my tongue. I am failing at stopping myself and instead let out a pleasurable moan as my hand slides down his shoulder to his pectorals where I can feel his heart beating rapidly. Then his thumb strokes my ear. Whoa, my head just came back to me: I have to stop this now, that ear is a weak spot for me. I break the kiss by pushing back from him. I look up at him; he has a very pleased look in his eyes that tells me he wants more. I feel like a high school girl again, trying to form the words of why we need to stop. The only thing that comes out of my mouth is, “We can’t do this.”
“What, why not?” he asks still gazing at me with those eyes.
“Parker, you know that I am married and we work together. Both are bad situations.” I whisper.
“Married, yeah, when is he ever going to care? Not once in the few months of you being here have I seen him and with your daughter being here…” then he just abruptly stops.
What does Parker know that I don’t? I didn’t want to ask. “Sorry Parker, let me drive you home. It is very dark outside, I speak to him cautiously.
“No, I will walk, I need to cool off, see you at school,” he turns abruptly with an anger in his voice. He stalks out of my house and slams the door behind him. Great, I just pissed off my only friend and I crossed the line.
CHAPTER 2
Listening to Chris Cornell on my iPod while walking to school with the dogs, I keep thinking of ways to correct my friendship with Parker. I turn the corner at the school and there he is with two coffees in his hand. He has been bringing me coffee since my second day of work. He hands the one cup to me and smiles. He speaks before I can get my words out, “I am sorry that I stepped over the line last night and I understand completely where our friendship lies. I know that you need more time.”
Ah, I feel so relieved. “Parker, I am sorry too and if you will have me, I would like to join you at the National Park this weekend,” with a smile trying to correct my wrong.
“Great, you will have a lot of fun. Ugh here sails in a boat of day trippers,” he sighs.
I turn to see the boat, “I hope that does not interfere with our kids pre-planting fútbol tournament today. Many of them do not go hiking and just lounge on the beach complaining when a soccer ball comes near them,” I reply with a grimace.
“I know, I know and let’s get these classes started, see you on the beach later,” waving as he heads toward his class.
It i
s fútbol time and the boys in my classroom are itching for me to release them to the beach. I love to watch the kids wiggle in anticipation. It reminds me so much of my son, Briar.
“Go,” as I wave my hand to them and they plow through the door to the beach. I follow with the new soccer balls in the net bag my daughter brought down with her for me. They run up to Parker who is calling out the player positions. The kids are playing and cheering. All they want to be when they grow up is on the fútbol team for Costa Rica. These kids play like there is no tomorrow. I start to see the day trippers moving around on the beach to watch the screaming students. The kids can be quite exciting to watch.
I see a man who walks toward the sideline on the opposite side of the field. He has a familiar walk. I don’t have my sunglasses on, so I am squinting to see if it is one of the kid’s fathers. The man moves to the side and I can see his very muscular legs and arms. I make out my three dogs. They are at this man’s feet like they scented him as familiar. My hand rises to cover my mouth in awe. His head turns to look at me and he puts his hand up to wave to me from across the soccer field. There, standing across the field is my husband, Ryan. Then it dawns on me why he is here: he has brought me divorce papers.
CHAPTER 3
Ryan- After my daughter came back from my all-expense paid trip for her and her girlfriend, Noelia, to visit her mother, prompting her for information was very easy. Katie spilled everything, from where Livi is living, how to get there, where Livi is working and all about her new friend who my daughter assures me wants to be more than just friends. Frustrated, I am at the end of tolerating Livi’s behavior. Since our son died, she has been out of control. She was so grief stricken, she lost her job and it made it next to impossible for us to pay the bills. She kept pleading with me that she needed a change of scenery, too many memories and she could not move on. She wanted to sell the house and move. I put my foot down a few times and reminded her that I work here and I support the family since she failed to keep her job. A day of extreme anger sparked for me on Christmas Day when her depression was over the top and she checked out mentally at my family’s holiday dinner. We had an argument on the ride home. I told her I was done and want a divorce; she was gone within the week. She sold one of her trucks, packed her stuff, and took the dogs. A week later I learned that she cleared out her retirement fund. I knew that she went to Los Angeles for about a month to stay with her childhood friend, Chris. Chris would check in with me often to keep me posted on Livi’s metal state. Chris called me one day and told me that Livi left him a goodbye note with no information about where she was going. Another good friend of Livi’s, who would not divulge any information, had set her up with a new job, but no one was telling me where she was. At that point, I was fine with her leaving since I was still blaming her for our son’s death. I really needed time myself to heal.