Wanted: Mercy (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read online

  Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Kelly Elliott. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Wanted remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Kelly Elliott, or their affiliates or licensors.

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  Mercy

  by Andrea Johnston

  Also by Andrea Johnston

  Life Rewritten

  COUNTRY ROAD SERIES

  Whiskey & Honey

  Tequila & Tailgates

  Martinis & Moonlight

  Champagne & Forever

  BREAK SERIES

  Spring Break

  Summer Break

  Winter Break (coming Winter 2017)

  Contents

  MERCY

  Also by Andrea Johnston

  Dedication

  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

  A note . . .

  About the Author

  Books in the Wanted World

  For everyone who has found family through friendship

  and true love when you least expect it.

  Chapter 1

  “PLEASE DON’T DO THIS. PLEASE, Gerty.” I sound pathetic—begging my twenty-something teal hatchback to live. Yes, live. I need my car to get her shit together and get me to Austin. Looking down at the gauges, I plead with them to tell me what’s wrong. That’s wishful thinking since they stopped working a year ago and the little arrow things just bounce without ever telling me anything.

  “Come on, girl. Look, six miles. You can do it.” My words are encouraging. Okay, they aren’t really encouraging. They’re more like begging with a sprinkling of frustration and the lingering sounds of tears lacing each word.

  Six miles and we’ll be in the town of Mason. If I’m lucky, Gerty will hold on for at least eight and allow me to get closer to the center of town. I’ve been in Mason once before and, while it’s been at least ten years, I’m sure it hasn’t changed much. That’s the brilliance of small Texas towns: they don’t change much. It’s also why I left small-town Texas: they don’t change much.

  I won’t cry. This isn’t a big deal. We’ve broken down before. Sure, it was in a town where I knew a lot of people. A town with taxis that could get me home if necessary. Home. I refuse to admit defeat. That “d” word is not in my vocabulary. I glance up in my rearview mirror and don’t see smoke billowing behind me; that’s good. And, because I was obviously a sinner in my past life and am being punished for said unknown sins, a puff of smoke appears in front of me.

  Dammit to hell. I’m going to be stranded in Mason, Texas. Mason, population . . . well, I don’t know what the population is, but I’m sure it’s less than I’m looking for as I start my new life.

  Again.

  Yes, at twenty-three I’m starting my life over. Third time’s a charm and all that. I’ll be fine. Everything is fine. Fine. A big word with only four letters. I should have known things were too good to be true in Lexington. I had a good job, a roommate who not only paid her rent on time but was willing to split a pizza and critique the latest episode of The Bachelor every week. Heck, the guy I enjoyed hanging out with, and who was absolutely willing to fulfill all of my sexual needs, wasn’t interested in a relationship. I was living the ultimate dream. Then, one day my roommate decided she needed to move back home. The guy, the one that wasn’t interested in a relationship? He fell in love and suddenly I was alone.

  Of course, I was—am—happy for everyone. Truthfully, it was that happiness that pushed me to give my notice at the bar I worked at, pack up Gerty with everything I own, and hit the road. My time in Lexington was over, and I needed to get back on track with my life plans.

  Two more puffs of white smoke billow from the hood of my baby, and I’m in denial. Encouragement. It’s all she needs. At the end of the day, Gerty is a girl. And, like any other young woman, she wants to be told she’s smart, fierce, and can handle any obstacle put in her way. I tell her that each time I turn over the ignition, along with hope and a prayer she’ll start and get me where I need to be.

  I enter the outskirts of Mason just as one of my mama’s favorite songs fills the car. I remember when I was little my mom would blast “Centerfold” by The J. Geils Band every Saturday morning and dance around while she cleaned our small house. I also remember when I went over to my best friend’s house. Valerie’s mama did not love me singing this song with a broom as my microphone. So stuffy. That’s what Mama used to say, and I’d have to agree.

  I see the town coming in the distance and think to myself, even if Gerty blows a gasket or whatever ails her, I’ll make it to at least a parking spot before she quits on me. And I spoke too soon. With a huge puff of smoke and two sputters, I pull Gerty to the side of the road. There’s no use trying to start her again. She’s done. I’m still hopeful she can be saved, but for now, the side of the road is where she’ll have to stay.

  I reach over to the passenger seat and pull my makeup bag out of my purse. If I’m going in search of a mechanic, I might as well make myself presentable. Flipping down the sun visor, I open the small mirror and gasp. Oh lordy. I look like I’ve been to hell and back. Twice.

  After applying a little powder, light shadow to enhance my dark blue eyes, and a little lip gloss, I pull my hair from the messy bun I threw it in hours ago and fluff it out a little. As much as it pains me to say it, this is as good as it’s going to get today. Tossing my phone in my purse, I exit my car and begin my trek into town.

  There aren’t any bright city lights here. No signs of local bands or any of the arts at all. I left a town like this for a life in the city, for a life that included museums, live music, and if I was lucky, a musician to call my own. I’ve been searching for that life for four years, and while I haven’t found it in the places I’ve lived, I know for a fact that what I need isn’t here in Mason, I just need to find a way out of this town.

  Chapter 2

  THE WALK INTO TOWN ISN’T too bad. Well, as long walks go. Apparently, my ability to determine distance leaves something to be desired. What I assumed was a short walk turned into a rather long and dusty walk. The sun is high and bright in the sky, causing my skin to tingle, and I wish I had put on sunscreen this morning. I don’t burn often, but I am vigilant about my skin care and sunscreen is always one of the first steps in my morning routine. Only, I was driving most of the night and didn’t think to apply any before I left poor Gerty on the side of the road.

  As I enter the town of Mason, I take in my surroundings. Store fronts depicting various businesses adorn either side of the main street through town. A women’s boutique, lawyer’s office, and pawn shop sit on one side of the main street while the other side houses a hair salon, a cell phone store, and a small café. At the end of the street, a city square doubles as a small park with a clock tower and the courthouse.

  My stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday as I stop in front of the small café, Miss Maye’s. Your stereotypical small-town diner, Miss Maye’s is inviting and familiar. I note the “Help Wanted” sign hung below the “Open” sign before glancing through the large window. Inside, customers sit at tables, laughing and talking more like they are there together than separate. A waitress who looks to be about my mom’s age, with flaming red hair and bright lipstick to match, bustles around, filling mugs of coffee with a huge smile on her face. When I open the door, a bell chimes above my head, signaling my appearance.

  The waitress greets me with a smile and a wave toward an empty table as she hustles behind the kitchen window where I note a small amount of smoke. I take a seat at the counter, removing my messenger bag and placing it on the stool next to me before turning over the waiting coffee cup.

  After a few minutes, the woman appears from the kitchen with her arms holding multiple plates like she’s presenting them to the patrons. I watch in awe as she maneuvers between the few tables delivering food then retrieving the coffee pot and filling cups before turning her attention to me.

  “Morning, honey. Coffee?” she asks while simultaneously pouring coffee into my waiting cup, not waiting for me to respond.

  “Looks like you have your hands full. Literally,” I observe.

  “Yeah, my cook fell ill and couldn’t make it in this morning. So, I’m running solo today. Hopefully the good Lord will look kindly on me and encourage everyone to eat at home this morning.” I look up at the clock hanging on the wall. If Mason is like my hometown, the after-church crowd will be here for pancakes and omelets within the hour.

  “Do you need some help?” I ask. Dammit. What am I doing? I need to get Gerty looked at and on the road again. But, this woman—Vera, according to her nametag—is so frazzled I feel awful sitting here drinking coffee. What’s a few hours helping her out? Maybe that good karma will carry over into fixing Gerty. Vera’s eyes widen in surprise at my offer, so I continue. “I have waitressing experience and since my car is broken down outside of town, I don’t have anywhere to be right now.”

&
nbsp; “Hell, girl. I don’t care if you have experience. If you can write down words and pour coffee, I’ll take it!” Vera exclaims.

  Refusing to allow me to serve anyone on an empty stomach, Vera quickly scrambles me some eggs while I begin to study the menu. I’m halfway through the “griddle” portion of the menu when Vera declares that since she was doing all the cooking we’d only offer three breakfast choices today, and if customers didn’t like it, they could go home and cook their own “damn food.” Her words, not mine.

  Three hours and two very sore feet later, I was sitting in one of the empty booths, drinking a glass of water, when Vera walked up and sat opposite of me. She didn’t speak immediately, and I took that as sign she was about to unleash the third degree on me.

  “It just occurred to me I never got your name. I’m a horrible business owner,” she says, sighing.

  “Nah, we were just busy. My name is Beth,” I say, extending my hand in greeting.

  Eyeing me quizzically, Vera shakes my hand then snorts. “Sweetie, don’t bullshit a bullshitter. Your name is not Beth. Try again.”

  “It is.” It’s not. Well, it’s the name I’ve gone by the last few years, but it’s not the name I went by for eighteen years.

  “Sweetheart, if your name is Beth, my name is Cecilia,” she scoffs. “And, as much as I want to be exotic and worldly, I’m not. Don’t make me ask you to hand over your identification for tax purposes. Spill.”

  I roll my eyes before standing from the booth to fill my water glass wishing this clear liquid was something with more of a kick. Vodka or tequila, I’m not particular, just something other than plain old water. I turn to Vera and hate that she thinks I’m lying to her. Lying makes me feel awful and my hands start to sweat. Taking a deep breath, I retake my spot across from her and look her in the eye.

  “Well, Beth is what I’ve gone by the last few years. But, you’re right. My name is Mercy Elizabeth Warner. Pleased to meet you,” I say with a smile as I extend my hand once again.

  “Mercy. That’s better. It fits you. Why would you want to be “Beth”? That’s so, ordinary. You, my dear Mercy, are not ordinary.”

  I scoff at her assessment. “You don’t even know me. I am pretty boring, actually.”

  “Honey, you walked your ass into town with a broken car left on the side of the road before offering up your help to a stranger because you’re a good person. There’s nothing ordinary about that. Plus, you’re drop-dead gorgeous and should be walking runways not dirt roads.”

  I laugh at her and shake my head. “I’m just a girl trying to get to Austin is all. I’m happy to help. Do you think the repair shop is open yet?” I ask, looking at the clock. It’s early afternoon, I imagine the mechanics are in and looking for work.

  “Oh, Earl isn’t open on Sundays.”

  My eyes widen and my breath hitches. Isn’t open?

  “What? You can’t be serious!” I exclaim.

  “Calm down. He isn’t open, but I sent him a text earlier, telling him you were broken down and helping me out. He boo-hooed but finally agreed to tow your car to his shop. He’ll look at it tomorrow, first thing.”

  “Vera, thank you for doing that. Do you think he can be persuaded to make an exception? I don’t have anywhere to stay tonight. I made a hotel reservation in Austin. I mean . . . I suppose I could call an Uber or something, but the cost will be astronomical . . .” I say trailing off in thought. I mentally calculate how much money I have in my wallet plus what I earned this morning helping Vera. The people of Mason are very generous with their tips.

  Vera stands from the booth and goes to the front window to turn the “Open” sign to “Closed” before turning to face me. “Mercy, honey, you’ll just come stay with me for the night. I have a guest room, and in the morning you can meet up with Earl and figure out what your car needs for repairs.”

  I stare at her, mouth agape. Stay at her house? She doesn’t even know me. I could be a grifter for heaven’s sake. I’m not but she doesn’t know that. And, Vera herself could be a serial killer. I’m not sure that there are many serial killers running diners in small towns, but what do I know? Although, she has been kind, and Mom always said you should follow your gut. My gut tells me Vera is a good person.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

  “Mercy, there’s no imposin’. You helped me, I’m helpin’ you. Now, I also happen to know there’s a fresh bottle of tequila in my freezer needin’ some attention. What do you say? A girl’s night to celebrate you coming to town and saving my butt.”

  Oh yeah, I think Vera and I will get along just fine. “Sounds perfect. Do you happen to have a shower I can borrow? I smell like bacon, and while for some people that’s an aphrodisiac, it’s not exactly my go-to scent.”

  Vera laughs, and I join her. Once we’ve closed the diner, we walk out to her car and head for where Earl has parked Gerty for the afternoon. Sitting off to the side of his shop, she looks like her normal self, and as I retrieve my small bag from the backseat I bend down and whisper to her that everything is going to be okay. The people of Mason, Texas will take care of us.

  Chapter 3

  MARGARITAS, TACOS, AND A TWILIGHT marathon isn’t how I expected to spend last night but that’s exactly what Vera and I did. I suppose Vera is the epitome of “don’t judge a book by its cover.” With her over the top makeup, overly styled hair, and no-nonsense attitude, I expected a little more of an in-your-face type of movie, not a story about sparkly vampires. After we left Gerty, Vera drove us through town and to her house. Her commentary as we drove through town had me in stitches.

  Once we pulled up to her cute little bungalow-style house, I was reminded of the places my friends lived in, growing up. A bit of nostalgia tugged at my heart as I remembered summers playing in the sprinklers and sleepovers with friends. With a bountiful garden of bright flowers, yard art, and a bright red front door, Vera’s home was exactly like her—inviting, bold, and a bit quirky.

  After a quick tour of the house, Vera led me to the restroom where I stripped off my day-old clothes and indulged in a long hot shower using all of Vera’s fancy body scrubs, gels, and masks. After my shower, I was greeted with a margarita and a plate of delicious tacos. Vera is the ultimate hostess, and I’m grateful for her hospitality.

  When I woke this morning with a slight headache, I wanted to blame it on sleeping in a strange bed or not having my own pillows. But I couldn’t do that when sleeping in Vera’s guest room bed was more like sleeping on a cloud. Or, what I’d expect a cloud felt like. Nope, the headache was likely thanks to the pitchers of margaritas and debate over Team Edward or Team Jacob. Honestly, I had never seen the movies, so I just went with Jacob because that actor is smoking hot. Now. Not then. Then he was a child in the most unfortunate wig. But now, in real time, he should be modeling those abs he sports.

  Once I’ve sucked down twice as many cups of my morning coffee as usual, I get ready to head to town with Vera. Vera doesn’t bother with the radio during our short drive. Instead, she fills the quiet with commentary on the townsfolk and an update on her cook. She assures me there’s plenty of time for me to check in with Earl before the diner is busy. Parting at the front of Miss Maye’s, I head down the street toward Earl’s shop sending up a little prayer he has good news for me.

  I’m standing here, watching Earl flip pages in a catalog, tap on his computer, and then sigh dramatically for about twenty minutes now. Sure, he greeted me with smile and offered me a bottled water when I first arrived. Other than that, though, he’s been engrossed in whatever research he’s doing.

  “Umm, excuse me, Earl?”

  Another sigh followed by a grunt is his response. Well, alrighty then. Admitting defeat, I take a seat on one of the red vinyl chairs against the large plate glass window to wait. Looking around the waiting area, I can’t help but wonder why Earl wouldn’t update the décor. It’s a little dated, and while I’m no computer whiz, even I know his computer with the apple on it is pricey. If I were Earl, I’d replace the cracked and peeling linoleum with something more durable and of this century, add some color to the wall behind the counter, and for all that is holy reupholster these chairs.