Until Mike Mayra Statham & Boom

Factory Publishing
Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmass.com/product/until-mike-mayra-statham-boom-factory-publishing/
Until Mike
Mayra Statham
 Contents

Blurb

Prologue
1. Tasha
2. Mike Granger
3. Mike
4. Tasha
5. Mike
6. Tasha
7. Mike
8. Tasha
9. Tasha
10. Mike
11. Tasha
12. Mike
13. Tasha
14. Mike
15. Tasha
16. Mike
17. Tasha
18. Mike
19. Tasha
20. Tasha
21. Mike
22. Tasha
23. Mike
24. Tasha
25. Mike
26. Tasha
27. Mike
28. Tasha
29. Mike
Epilogue
Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Mayra
Acknowledgments
About Boom Factory Publishing
Until Mike

Copyright © 2023 by Mayra Statham

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Published by Boom Factory Publishing, LLC.

Mayra Statham CONTRIBUTOR to the Original Works was granted permission by Aurora Rose Reynolds, ORIGINAL AUTHOR, to
use the copyrighted characters and/ or worlds created by Aurora Rose Reynolds in the Original Work; all copyright protection to the
characters and/ or worlds of Aurora Rose Reynolds in the Original Works are and shall continue to be retained by Aurora Rose
Reynolds. You can find all of Aurora Rose Reynolds Original Works on most major retailers. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or
by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a
reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, story lines and
incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events,
locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
 Blurb

Mike Granger is a divorced single dad of twin teenage daughters. He’s worked hard to maintain a
good relationship with not only his daughters but his ex-wife. Their blended family is what people
consider the exception, not the rule. At thirty-eight, Mike’s given up hope of finding the one. He dates,
but even then, he keeps women at arm’s length, never really allowing himself to get too close.
Natasha ‘Tasha’ Torres is a first grade teacher who has kissed her fair share of frogs that never,
not once, turned into a prince. She wants to believe in love and happily ever afters, but it’s especially
hard after her last breakup.
After Tasha almost gets Mike arrested due to a misunderstanding when he pretends to be someone
he’s not, he shocks her by inviting her to dinner, and they spend an incredible night together.
Too bad she doesn’t hear from him after.
There are moments in life you can’t ignore. Moments where the world seems smaller than you
could have ever imagined, almost like life is trying to give you hints about the one you should be with.
But will Mike listen? Or will his ego get the best of him when he jumps to conclusions at every turn?

Get ready for a boom-tastic good time with this insta-love that reminds you love and family can look
different for everyone!

Until Mike is part of Aurora Rose Reynolds' Happily Ever Alpha World. If you loved Until
December and Until July, then you will want to read Until Mike.
Prologue
 Natasha ‘Tasha’ Torres

“W hat do you mean, you can’t do this?” Silas asked like the whole notion was inconceivable. He
stared at the box in my hands like I was holding a live snake instead of his things.
“What part is confusing you?” I asked, standing a little taller at my doorway.
“Hey!” He pointed at me. “Watch it,” he warned, his voice low and scary. I might have flinched,
but I didn’t move. I wasn’t going to budge.
Not this time.
“Look, Silas, last week was a lot, and it got me thinking that—"
“I told you I was out of town!” he yelled, cutting me off. He was loud enough that the neighbor
across the street stopped at her mailbox and stood there watching. Guarding to make sure I was okay.
“Silas—”
“I didn’t know it was your birthday! I forgot!” My back teeth mashed together. It wasn’t about my
birthday. I’d been ignoring red flag after red flag when it came to the man in front of me.
“Jesus, can’t you get off my back? You’re such a fucking drama queen.” He rolled his eyes, and
my mind went blank.
He didn’t care enough to even text. I shook my head and looked up at the sky behind him. Maybe
one day, one day, I’ll get it right.
“If you only knew what my week’s been like.” He kept talking, going off about what, I didn’t care.
I just stared at him as he made the whole thing about himself. Every word out of his mouth made me
feel more and more of a chump than I already did.
Two years ago, a teacher, Mr. Jetson, had been fired for his erratic behavior. A week later, he
returned to campus armed and threatened our vice principal, Gladys. Thankfully, our beloved janitor
had stepped in and tackled him.
Stopping a terrible tragedy from happening.
That whole incident had been the catalyst for major changes in my life.
I’d had a man then. Someone I had been seeing for ten years. We’d been high school sweethearts
who stayed together. We even lived together. It’d been great. I’d loved Drew with everything I had,
but that love had changed into a friendship. I’d been ignoring the signs for longer than I was proud to
admit. The way we seemed to ignore talking about the future should have been a red flag, but that was
what hindsight was for. We were almost bored with each other, and we’d come to a standstill.
A week after the shooting, on my thirtieth birthday, we’d sat down for a heart-to-heart. One that,
by the end of it, had Drew moving out. A year after that, I decided to try again. I’d been out with some
friends from work and had met Silas.
Older and successful, he’d drawn me in. I thought the man had his life together, and I was ready
for mine to kick back up.
But the longer we were together, the harder it was to ignore things. Red flags.
He was always late. That was, if he showed up at all. He ignored calls and texts. Would
disappear completely for weeks at a time. Silas Daniels had been a rebound.
A guy I should have only dated and had fun with before moving on.
But I hadn’t.
I’d stayed in that relationship because I was scared to be alone again.
Most of my family was back in San Diego. The friends I had were great but had families of their
own. What the hell had I been thinking? You weren’t, a voice mumbled in the back of my mind I knew
was right.
“I’m sorry you had a tough week. I really am. But I don’t see this”—I pointed back and forth
between us—“isn’t going anywhere.”
“Where does it have to go?” he shouted, turning a brighter shade of red. But I managed to stay
calm. I had no idea how, but I just stood there. Holding the box of the things he’d left at my place for
over a year.
Staring at the man who might have been older but acted like a child. The proof was in front of me.
He was throwing a temper tantrum. Why had I put up with it? There were times like this where his
true colors shined through. Times he had turned red and mean.
“We have no future,” I gently pointed out, trying my hardest not to hurt his feelings.
“Of course, we don’t!” he hissed, running his fingers through his thinning hair. “I’m married, you
stupid bitch!” I froze for a moment.
He is married. I blinked.
“What?” I asked. He repeated himself, then went on about something else, but I couldn’t make it
out. He is married?
And just like that, the last year made sense.
He is married! Silas is married! Something in me snapped awake. “You’re an asshole.” I shoved
the box forward and into his hands.
“And you’re a fucking desperate, lonely bitch gagging for it,” he responded.
“You have two minutes to get off my property before I call the cops,” I muttered. Then I took one
step back and slammed the door in his face.
He is married!
God, I wish I could slam the door in his stupid face all over again! He yelled and shouted.
Cursing all sorts of things before stomping away. But I didn’t move. I simply slid down against the
front door of the three-bedroom home I had bought six months after Drew and I had broken up and
shut my eyes.
Am I desperate for love?
I had been. I was done with that.
One day.
One day, I would look up at the light blue sky with fluffy clouds holding my person’s hand. I had
to believe that.
But for right now? I was done.
Chapter 1
Tasha
 Three Months Later

I put the last staple in the wall before stepping back to admire my work. A peace I hadn’t felt in a
while settled over me. My first grade classroom was all set and ready to go for the new school
year.
Bright pops of color with familiar Disney character faces smiled brightly at me as my eyes
roamed the space as a whole. I was about to start my seventh year of teaching and finally felt like I
was coming into my own.
I was proud of what I was doing and who I was becoming.
At thirty-two, I had hoped I would have figured things out a little sooner. But like my Abuela used
to say, everything happens in its own time. Considering everything I had been through the last two
years, I knew she was looking down from heaven with an easy smile, ready to tell me ‘I told you so.’
After everything happened with Jetson two years ago and my breakup with two very different
men, I had taken some much-needed me time.
Looking back, I knew why I put up with Silas. I’d been scared to be alone. It’s why the whole
thing lasted way too long. Now knowing he was married, and I had been the other woman, made me
feel sick and shameful.
In the back of my mind, I knew the things he’d say or do didn’t add up. But I’d ignored the red
flags. I wished I had called him out from the start. But we lived and learned.
I’d wanted to tell his wife the truth, wanted to approach her and apologize. But had chosen to let it
be. I never wanted to do anything with Silas again. If saw him ever again, it would be too soon. I
shook the thoughts away when a knock sounded from the door.
“Hey!” December, one of the teachers and my friend, grinned broadly. “Tash! The room looks
great!”
“Thank you.” I smiled. “I’m pretty happy with it! Your room done? Need any help?” I offered, but
December shook her head.
“It’s all done. The boys came in and helped,” she replied, and my smile grew. You could feel the
joy radiating from her.
“Good.” I grinned. December Mayson, now December Black, and I had grown closer after the
whole Jetson situation. She had usually kept to herself before that, but slowly, with time, we’d grown
closer.
“Any chance you want to go for a coffee?” she asked with hope in her eyes, and I started to nod
before I could get the words out.
“Yes!” I groaned. “I need a caffeine boost after this. Let me grab my purse.” I walked to my desk,
grabbing my things before following December out.
 We caught up on the drive there. Sharing all about what we’d done during the summer since we
hadn’t had a chance to get together during our vacation. Seeing December and knowing what she had
gave me hope. Hope that despite having chosen poorly with Silas or whatever his real name was, that
maybe one day, I’d find that kind of forever love she had. I still remembered when she told her man,
Garrett, she was moving in. I always thought it was the bravest, craziest thing I had ever seen.
Now, as I stared at her while she shared about her stepsons and daughter and husband and a dog
named Sloth, I didn’t think of it as crazy. She’d been brave. Jumping into love only for it to turn out
roses. Best freaking story ever!
I told her about my short visit to San Diego and showed her pictures of my trip to Wild Animal
Park. She laughed with me about the way my parents forced me to go with them any time I was in
town.
They insisted I loved it. And maybe, secretly, I did.
We stepped into the local coffee shop, and my eyes widened. “It’s full!” December smiled, and I
nodded.
It was definitely crowded.
Noisy from the blenders and people talking. I didn’t mind it. Who could blame them? Everyone
was waiting for their own jolt from the elixir of life. I’d been staring up at the menu. Trying to decide
if I wanted to stay with my usual or try something new while listening to December’s story about her
boys, Max and Mitchell, when something happened.
Something different.
For some reason, I glanced away from the menu. A prickling at the base of my neck drew my
attention toward one of the side entrances. In the back of my head, I was conscious of December
talking to me. I smiled and nodded in all the right moments, but if I was honest, I had no idea what she
was saying.
Not when all the noise in the coffee shop seemed to slowly shift into a quiet buzzing until it turned
into nothing but soft, white noise. For a moment, it felt like I was watching a movie scene. People
moved, almost as if creating a walkway for someone. A tall figure with dark hair in a dark suit.
That’s when I noticed him.
The most beautiful man I had ever laid eyes on walked in.
Confidently.
Powerfully.
His stern gaze set on the screen of the cell phone in his hand, but it was like he knew the coffee
shop’s floorplan by heart. Never bumping into anyone or anything. His hair was perfectly styled.
Clean cut at the sides and little longer on top, and freshly trimmed. His profile was beautiful enough
to take my breath away.
If I’d been a cartoon character, I swear I would have had circles dancing and floating around the
top of my head.
Just like that, I was smitten. It was like a whoosh or BOOM!
A moment where my heart and mind agreed simultaneously on this handsome stranger.
Tall and muscular with the most amazing bone structure. His jaw was a thing of beauty. Sharp and
squared paired with a double dose of rugged masculinity. All of it wrapped up in navy-blue dress
slacks that fit him like they’d been tailored to his muscular thighs and a white dress shirt that had the
sleeves rolled up his strong forearms.
Holy forearm porn.
I tried to force myself to stop staring at him, but I couldn’t look away. Thick and muscular. Just
like the rest of him. I shook my head, and my eyes widened. It felt like he was approaching us.
Coming closer with every step.
Not that a man like him would ever look twice in my direction.
“You’re going to swallow a fly.” December giggled, and I snapped out of my trance.
“What?” I asked, licking my lips.
“He’s cute. Not married. No ring,” she quietly noted. I laughed. Loudly. Probably too loud and too
obnoxious. I could feel the people around us staring, but I ignored it. I couldn’t help it as I leaned into
her, hooking my elbow with hers.
“Please. A man like that is way out of my league,” I noted. My heart stung at the reality of my
words. I glanced over as he took his place at the end of a line that had grown a lot longer since we’d
stepped in. An ache in my chest swelled as thoughts popped into my head.
Thoughts I shouldn’t be having.
I was single. Happy. Mostly. I didn’t need anyone.
“You know not everyone is like your jerk of an—" I turned to look up at her and shrugged.
“I know,” I whispered, not letting her finish her sentence. Silas didn’t deserve us even mentioning
his name. December knew what had happened. She’d checked in on me more than a couple of times
since we broke up.
“I’m okay being on my own,” I shared, not sure if I was reminder for December or myself.
“I know. But a guy like that…” She wagged her brows, and we both laughed. And it felt good to
laugh. We ordered our drinks and stood to the side as we waited. But I kept stealing peeks at him.
He looked like the cover model on one of the romance novels my best friend Wanda was always
trying to push on me. He ordered, and when he smiled at the barista, I swore my knees wobbled.
Mr. Sexy Stranger was sinfully delicious.
December got a call, and I told her not to worry about her drink. I’d keep an ear out for it. She
stepped out, and I was left alone with my thoughts. I glanced down at the floor, too afraid to look back
up at Mr. Sexy Stranger. But that didn’t stop my mind from wandering. I started to wonder what it’d
be like to have a man like that in my life.
“Tasha!” “December!” Our names were called, and I moved to retrieve our drink. With both our
cups in my hands, I looked up and toward where he’d gone to stand.
And just then, our eyes met. Locked.
And my heart beat triple time.
Then he went in for the kill with a smile that had me immediately turning to look at the top of my
shoes as shyness took over. When I looked back up, I laughed at myself as a brunette behind me
walked right towards him and hugged him.
He hadn’t locked eyes with me.
Of course, he didn’t!
I seriously needed to cut romance novels off my reading list. I was hopeless. Did I really think a
guy like him would see me across from a coffee shop and fall head over heels for me?
Life was not a romance novel.
I walked out of the shop in search for December, I reminded myself I needed to wise up. I knew
better than to wish for the impossible. And a man like Mr. Sexy Stranger was definitely the
impossible.
Chapter 2
 Mike Granger

D amn it. Of course, the coffee shop was packed with people. It was the end of summer, school
was about to kick back up, and it seemed like everyone and their mom needed an icy jolt of
caffeine. The shop was warm.
Too hot.
I undid the top button of my dress shirt and stretched my neck.
I’d never been a patient man.
My ex-wife should have known that since we’d been in one another’s lives longer than we had
been without. High school sweethearts who got knocked up and married for the wrong reasons a few
years after graduation. Despite all that, we’d ended our marriage on an okay note. Somehow, by some
miracle, stayed amicable through the years since we’d split.
Some would even go as far as call us friends.
I didn’t care.
We had done it for our twin girls, Ruth and Margo.
We’d worked at it, even when it had been tough to see each other. There was almost nothing I
wouldn’t do for my daughters. Our twin girls were about to start their junior year of high school and
close to turning sixteen.
Sixteen. When the hell did that happen?
I shook my head and swallowed hard. Where had the time gone? One moment, my girls were these
bald, chubby-cheeked babies who fit in the palm of my hands, and now they were teenagers talking
about cars, boys, parties, and worse, going away to college.
I wasn’t stupid.
Realistically, I knew graduation and college were right around the corner, whether I was ready for
it or not. I looked around the shop, and time felt like it stopped. My eyes connected with the most
beautiful set of dark orbs I’d ever seen.
And for a moment, everything felt brighter.
A tickle of something in the back of my brain started to spark to life. Something like familiarity
and excitement. My heart trembled in my chest, and the tips of my fingers tingled to touch her.
But before I could figure out what the hell was happening to me, I saw Jessa, my ex-wife, walking
right toward me from behind the mysterious dark-eyed, dark-haired beauty.
I set a smile in place as she neared and came over to give me a hug. Hugs were just Jess’ way.
“Sorry I’m late!” She shrugged, and I rolled my eyes. I was used to Jess being late to everything.
Her mom used to joke she was born three weeks late.
“It’d be more shocking if you were on time,” I teased, and she laughed. I looked behind her to see
if the beauty was still there, but she wasn’t. Had I imagined the angel?
“You okay?” Jess asked. I cleared my throat, giving her my attention.
“Fine.” I smiled tightly.
To many, it was crazy to believe we were friends. But we were. We’d both worked hard to stay
amicable for our kids and had found that even though it hadn’t worked out between us romantically,
we weren’t half bad as friends.
“Let me go order—" I shook my head.
“I already did,” I muttered, and she grinned. “Large black with enough sugar to send you into a
coma.”
“Well, you’re just Mr. Funny Pants today,” Jessa teased, and I shrugged.
“Come on, let’s go get a seat.” I waved and pulled out a chair for her when we found an empty
spot.
“Thanks.” She sat and got comfortable. Placing a designer bag on the table and taking out her
phone and a notebook. I knew anytime she brought out that damn thing, it was going to be a long chat.
“Mike!” The barista called.
“I got it.” I patted Jess on the shoulder before making my way to the drink counter and grabbing
both and some napkins.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Can you believe they’re going to be sixteen?” Jess said, the sadness and pride in her voice clear
as day. I knew exactly how she was feeling. I cleared my own throat from the emotion that threatened
to overwhelm me.
“Honestly? I can’t.” I shook my head and grinned. “You remember that first time we thought we
lost Margo?”
“Oh my god!” Jess covered her face with her hands. “And we found her in Ruth’s crib!”
“They’ve always been tight.”
“Mostly.” Her lips twitched.
“Mostly,” I repeated. Because as much as my girls loved one another, when they bonked heads,
they really bonked heads. The twins were identical physically. But personality wise, they were as
different as night and day.
“You know they’re talking about schools on opposite ends of the continent?”
“It was inevitable.” I shrugged, feeling a hell of a lot older than my thirty-eight. “So, the party
notebook is out.” I pointed at the pink and teal notebook in front of her. “How much is this going to
cost?” Jessa laughed and shook her head.
“It’s not that bad.”
“Hmm, let me ask you something, when you tell Russell it’s not going to be that bad, does he still
believe you or—"
“Shut up!” She laughed, taking my playful teasing easily.
“How are Russell and Emmy?” I asked.
My ex had married a really good guy about a year after our divorce was finalized . A couple of
years later, she’d had another daughter, Emmy.
“They’re good. Emmy’s starting first grade this week.”
“First grade? How?” I made a face. She pulled her phone out and showed me a picture of the
three girls hanging out on the couch, wearing some kind of Mickey Mouse ears. “She’s so big,” I
noted, genuinely happy for the life my ex had built.
 “Right?” She sighed wistfully. “Russell is good. He has some big trip coming up soon.”
“Gotcha. So. Notebook.” I pointed at it, and she gifted me a sneaky smile.
“Right.” Jess went to open it and hesitated.
She looked up at me, and I frowned. There was a look on her face that warned me I wasn’t going
to appreciate whatever was about to come out of her mouth.
“You know…”
“What?” I picked up my coffee and took a healthy drink before setting it down, waiting on Jess to
tell me what was going through her screwy head.
“You could date, you know? The girls would be happy for you and—"
“Not this again.” I groaned, running my fingers through my hair.
“I know a couple of —"
“Okay, we’re gong to stop right there.” I shook my head. “First off, I’m fine. I’m good. Happy
where my life—"
“You’re alone,” she cut me off.
“No, I’m not. I got the girls and you and Russell.” I smirked, and she rolled her eyes like I knew
she would. “Talking seriously, I got the guys from my fantasy football team and my brother. I go out,
and I have fun.”
“You hook up with random women.” She rolled her eyes, and I laughed at what she thought my life
was. She wasn’t far off the mark, but I wasn’t a man whore. I hadn’t had sex with anyone in the last
six months.
“Either way, babe, no disrespect, it’s none of your business,” I gently laid out because it wasn’t.
“But—"
“Secondly, we’re cool, you and I. We do it for the girls, and honestly, as weird as the whole
situation is, you’re one of my best friends. And I have no problem being best friends with my ex-
wife.”
“That’s good because I know a couple—"
“But I’m going to have a problem if said ex-wife starts trying to play matchmaker with her single
friends on…” I paused and tilted my head and studied her for a moment. “The PTA?” I guessed, and
she rolled her eyes but sheepishly smiled at me.
“Emmy’s ballet group,” she muttered under her breath.
“Ah. There ya go. Matchmaking is not your forte, and we’re not going to do that. Okay?”
“Fine.” She looked down at the notebook, opening it to the page she’d been looking for before
staring up at me. “Wait, what do you mean matchmaking is not my forte?”
“Remember that one time you tried to hook my brother up with that one girl in your office?” I
reminded her, and her eyes widened.
“She was a nice girl!”
“Jess, she was married to a bounty hunter!”
We both laughed at the memory of my brother groaning on and on about the worst date in history.
Turned out my ex hadn’t been specific enough about the date she was setting up. In the meantime, the
girl had thought my brother was a woman she was meeting to talk books with. Not a blind date. The
girl’s muscle-bound husband had gone with her and threatened to rip my brother’s eyes out of his
head.
“Whatever.” She shrugged it off. “Fine. I’ll leave it alone.”
“Thank you.”
“For now.” I made a face, but before I could tell her not to ever think about it, she brought out the
guest list for the twins’ sweet sixteen. “What do you think?” she asked, and I nodded.
“That all looks good. My parents are excited.” I added, and she smiled.
We talked for a little longer about the details. I offered to help out a little more, but she was an
event planner. The woman thrived off the chaos of party planning. Especially when it came to big
shindigs.
“I’ll send you a couple of car ideas,” I shared. She nodded while chewing on her lower lip.
“What?” I asked, knowing she was holding back.
“Do you really think they each need a car? I mean… is that spoiling them?”
“If they weren’t twins, would we be getting each of them a car when they turned sixteen?”
“If we could swing it? Yeah, why not.”
“There ya go. Like you said, they’re talking about going to school on different coasts. They’re
going to need a car eventually.”
“But is it too much? I mean, you know Russ and I could help,” she offered. I looked away, trying
not to lose my cool. Her new husband made good money. They were more than comfortable.
“You know I’m okay, right? Money wise? I do well.”
“Right, but…”
“But the girls will be in charge of paying half their car insurance, and we’re splitting the rest. I’m
getting them good cars, babe, but it’s not like I’m busting my back buying each of them Maseratis. I’m
getting them used, new-to-them cars that will safely and comfortably get them from point a to point b.”
“Okay,” she sighed. I could see the relief in her eyes, and it hit me.
“You’ve been worried about this?” I asked.
“Mike, you spoil them.” I opened and then shut my mouth. I was most definitely guilty of spoiling
them. She wasn’t wrong. I did. They were my girls. My everything. “But I’m glad we talked it out,”
she added, and I nodded.
“We good?” I asked and watched her face transform.
“Always.” She smiled. I nodded. We finished our coffee while we talked a little more about our
twins. Then I walked her to her car before heading back to work.
Back in the office, I noticed the front desk was empty. Our receptionist was nowhere to be seen. It
wasn’t unusual. The desk was usually left unmanned when Jeanie had to make copies or use the
bathroom. But as I walked toward my office and passed the women’s bathroom, she opened the door
and jumped.
“Oh my god!” she yipped, her eyes wide as she looked up at me. “Mr. Granger,” she squeaked.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”
She looked pale.
Frightened almost.
“No worries,” I quickly said. “You okay, Jeanie?” She was usually bubbly and happy.
But right in front of me, she looked more than startled. Her worried gaze moved over my shoulder
toward the bathroom door, but all she did was give me a tight smile and a nod before hurrying to her
desk.
It was weird, but I tried to shrug it off as I stepped toward my desk when the bathroom door
opened, and Daniel Silas stepped out. Righting his tie with a cocky grin on his face. I frowned, and
our eyes locked for a moment before he looked away and alked toward his own office on the other
end of the building.
I didn’t like the guy.
There was something sleazy about him. He was the owner’s son-in-law of the family- owned
insurance company I managed. I’d come to the conclusion I would never get along with the guy by his
second week. He was a douchebag and a half. Cocky and arrogant with a heaping spoonful of know-
it-all syndrome. But the boss, his father-in-law, had some misguided notion of who he was, and no
matter the mistake the dick made, he got away with it.
But if he was messing around with Jeanie where he could get caught, so be it. It was none of my
business, but I was looking forward to the ass getting caught.
Chapter 3
Mike
 One Month Later

“T hanks,“Anytime,
Randy,” I told one of the agents.
Mike.” My cell started to ring the moment I stepped back into my office. I
glanced at it and answered it immediately when I saw Jess’ name on my screen.
“Hey, everything okay?”
“Umm, yeah, kinda.” The worry in her voice had me paying attention.
“What’s up? Talk to me.”
“It’s just... I need to ask you for the world’s hugest favor, and I know I’m a pain in your ass, but
—"
“Breathe, Jessa.”
“I’m an hour away. I had an appointment for a wedding venue this couple wanted to see and got
stuck in traffic.”
“Okay,” I drawled out slowly.
“There is some kind of accident. Russ is away on business in Portland.”
“Jess, what do you need?”
“Emmy gets out of school in twenty, and there is no way I will make it there on time. I need you to
go get her. Please.”
“Babe—"
“I know. I know you’re busy and Emmy is not your problem. And I’m really, really sorry. I tried
everyone, but you know Krissy and Mom are on that cruise. And Russ’ parents live an hour away.”
Jess’ voice started to crack, which told me she was on the edge of panic.
“Breathe, Jess.” I could feel her anxiety through the phone.
“I’ve never even been ten minutes late to pick up any of the girls, and the traffic is literally a
parking lot, Mike.” I knew if she wasn’t crying already, she was moments away from it.
“I got her. Don’t worry,” I promised.
“You sure?”
“I got her,” I repeated.
“Thank you! Thank you so much, Mike,” Jess’ voice cracked again, and I sighed.
“Relax, okay? I got Emmy. I’m gonna leave work now. The girls are out of school at four today?”
“Five. They have cross country practice.”
“Okay.” I breathed in. I glanced at my schedule. Thankfully, it wasn’t crazy busy. “I’ll take the rest
of the day and take her to get ice cream, return her to you all hopped up on sugar,” I teased.
“Cute, Mike.” She chuckled.
“I’m serious.” I grinned, picking up my keys from my desk.
 “I know.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “Can you let me know when you have her?”
“Will do,” I promised then ended the call.
I shot off a couple of emails, letting my staff know I would be gone for the rest of the day, and
headed toward the elementary school. It had been a couple of years since I’d had to do the whole
school pickup. I’d forgotten what elementary school traffic was like. My girls were sixteen now, so
the years had allowed the memory to soften and grow fuzzy, but damn, school parking was crazy. I
parked my truck across the crowded lot and headed toward where Jessa said Emmy’s class was
released from.
I found the little blonde-haired girl and waved at her.
“Emmy!” I called out, but it was too crowded and busy for her to see me, so I called her name
again, “Emmy!” I raised my arm to grab her attention.
Finally, the girl looked up. Her big blue eyes opened wide before she waved hello shyly and
tugged on the arm of the woman next to her. When the woman bent down to be able to hear Emmy, her
dark hair fell over her face, and when she brushed it away, my heart flipped inside my chest.
It was her.
The beautiful woman from the coffee shop a few weeks earlier.
I shook my head as they walked toward me.
“Hi, can I help you?” she asked, the school security fence between us. Close up, she was even
prettier than I had first thought.
“Hi, I am here to pick up Emmy.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t let you take her.” She winced. I frowned. Jess owed me big.
“And why’s that?”
“You aren’t on her emergency card,” she shared. I bit the inside of my cheek. I had no idea how
she would know that, but I had to try something else because Jess would lose a gasket if the school
didn’t hand Emmy over.
“Oh, well, that’s because I’m her dad.” The white lie slipped past my lips without thinking.
“You are?” The pretty teacher’s face was unreadable. I nodded, totally lying. I watched as she
bent down and smiled at Emmy. “Honey, can you do me a favor and go tell Mrs. Black something?”
She leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Emmy smiled and nodded before turning her big
blue eyes in my direction.
“Okay, bye, Mike!” Emmy waved, and I winced. I had a bad feeling I’d messed up.
The moment Emmy was gone from hearing range, her teacher frowned. “I don’t know who you
are, but I cannot release Emmy into your care.”
“Look, lady, I’m her dad,” I doubled down on the lie, and the pretty teacher’s dark brow rose with
attitude. Attitude that kinda had my body waking up.
“Look, mister, I don’t know who you are, but Russell is a class parent. That means I know who
Russell, Emmy’s dad, is.”
Shit.
“Now you better go, or I’m going to call the police.”
“You know what? Please call them, and at the same time call, Em’s mom.” I crossed my arms
over my chest, patience non-existent.
There I was, doing a favor for my ex, and now I was getting the cops called on me.
“Fine, then.” She took out a phone with a hot pink case from her pocket, calling my bluff. I had a
feeling my day had just turned to shit.
Chapter 4
 Tasha

I watched Cobi Mayson, who I knew because he was December’s cousin, walk toward us. He was
all tall and broody and incredibly hot. From what I’d seen, the Maysons were all genetically
gifted. But not in a way where you would think they were full of themselves. Everyone I had met
from her family was incredibly awesome.
“What seems to be the problem here?” he asked as his gaze bounced between the guy trying to
pick up Emmy and had lied about being Russell Thompson and me. I saw the flicker of recognition,
but he moved his gaze to the guy next to me.
“Look, this is a huge misunderstanding. I’m here to pick up Emmy Thompson. Her mom called me
and asked me to get her.”
“Tasha?” Cobi asked, but before I could say a word, the guy cut in.
“Tasha?” he repeated. His blue eyes bounced from the police officer to me and back. “You two
know each other?” he asked almost with a growl, and both Cobi and I turned to look at him.
“Miss Torres is a family friend,” Cobi answered. That was sweet. Ignoring the hot stranger’s
question, I focused on what was happening. I shook my head as I looked at Cobi, not missing the fact
another patrol car had pulled up.
“He’s not on the emergency contact,” I informed him and felt the guy get closer. His body heat
should have creeped me out. I didn’t like or appreciate people invading my space, but as I turned to
look at him over my shoulder, I didn’t mind him being near me.
“How would you know? You didn’t even check it,” he muttered. I suddenly remembered why I
didn’t like people close to me. Stepping back, I frowned.
“Emmy Thompson has three people on her list, all of which I have met. Her grandmother and her
sisters,” I shared as calmly as I could manage. Which honestly was not easy. I prided myself on
making sure no matter what, my students would always be safe. Especially after what happened two
years before. It might have been a little excessive, but I memorized everyone’s emergency card. It
wasn’t that hard since my class was on the smaller size this year.
“Those are my daughters.” He exhaled harshly, and I took another step back. Cobi noticed and
quickly moved between us.
“So, you’re saying—"
“Emmy is my ex-wife’s daughter. I am just picking her up!” His square jaw clenched tightly, and I
shivered. My traitorous body was having the most inappropriate reaction to a possible kidnapper.
“And why is that, sir? You get in some kind of fight with your ex?” Cobi asked, reaching for the
cuffs on his utility belt.
“Excuse me?” The guy’s blue eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. “In a fight
with… Jesus! No! Look, this sounds worse. I just—"
“Okay, sir, let’s go ahead and turn around.” Cobi started to pull out the handcuffs, and a muscle
beneath the stranger’s eyes started to twitch.
“You cannot be serious.”
“Kidnapping is a serious charge.”
“Kidnapping!” he shouted. I turned to make sure Emmy wasn’t close by. Thankfully, December
had taken her inside the office. “This is fucking—"
“Watch your tone, sir,” Cobi warned. The guy growled but thankfully turned around without much
more of a fight. Cobi pulled his cuffs out, and just as he was closing them around his wrists, I
watched Jessa Thompson running toward us.
“I am so sorry!” she cried. “What happened? Mike! Why are you handcuffed?”
“I’m not an emergency contact, Jess,” he deadpanned. I watched her eyes widen, and guilt started
to prickle at me.
I had a feeling—no, I was almost certain—the whole thing was a huge mistake.
Thankfully, Cobi Mayson and now another officer who had joined us could sense the same thing.
“Look, man, how about you take a seat here, and I’m gonna go talk to your—"
“Ex-wife,” she quickly chimed in. “I’m his ex-wife,” she repeated. I could feel the hot stranger’s
eyes on me.
Glaring at me.
My face burned from the misunderstanding.
Before I knew it, Jess Thompson was explaining everything. She hadn’t realized she had never
added him and apologized profusely. Explaining how she had been stuck in traffic and asked her ex-
husband for help, and he had stepped in. I glanced at the guy she called Mike, and my eyes widened.
I hadn’t recognized him earlier.
He was the sexy stranger from the coffee shop right before school started. The one who had
popped into my head more than once since.
“Okay. I’m sorry about cuffing you, man,” Cobi apologized. “We just have to be safe,” he
muttered. I could tell Cobi and the other officer thought the whole thing was funny.
And if I had been watching it instead of being the one who had called the cops on the guy, I would
have a giggle myself.
Instead, I just felt bad.
“You were just doing your job,” Mike mumbled, rubbing his wrists the moment the cuffs came off.
“Miss Torres, I am so sorry,” Emmy’s mom apologized. I blushed. Heat and embarrassment
seemed to flood every one of my pores.
“I’m sorry, I just… he said he was her dad and—" Mrs. Thompson closed her eyes and nodded.
“Russell is a class parent.” She shook her head and looked at me. “You were just being safe.” She
nodded before leaning in and hugging me. The frazzled woman then talked to Mike before the two of
them went into the office while I stood there. Most of the looky-loos had already left, and all the kids
had been picked up.
“You did good,” Cobi encouraged. I turned to look at him. “Especially after…” He cleared his
throat. “You were making sure your student didn’t go off with a stranger. You know who picks the
kids up, and when your gut tells you something is off, it’s good to listen to it. Don’t feel bad,” he
encouraged, and before I could say anything, he lifted his chin and waved as he walked toward his
car.
I shivered as a cool breeze swept through the breezeway I was standing by before I headed to my
classroom to get my things.
I couldn’t believe the misunderstanding. What a great first impression, Tash, a voice in my head
teased. I rolled my eyes at myself. I locked my classroom and headed to my car, waving goodbye to a
couple of teachers who were still around. I opened the trunk of my older Toyota Rav4 and tossed my
things in. I could hear Emmy’s mom talking to her hot ex-husband. I turned to watch them and
wondered why they didn’t work.
They seemed to get along better than any divorced couple I had ever met. Who would offer to pick
up their ex’s kid they had with someone else? It made me like him even more. Damn it.
I found myself slightly engrossed with what was going on across the parking lot. My lips pulled
up into a smile as the tall man kneeled and hugged Emmy. Making her laugh before standing up and
ruffling her hair just a split second before she ran toward the backseat of her mom’s luxury car.
They waved at one another again, and I turned my attention to the trunk of my car, not wanting to
spy any more than I already had. I heard her car start up, reverse, and drive away a moment later.
When heavy footsteps started toward me, I breathed in deep.
He was coming over. Great.
Probably about to yell at me. I couldn’t blame him. He’d been trying to do the right thing, helping
his ex-wife out of a jam, and I’d almost got him arrested. I turned quickly, and my eyes widened at
how close he already was. I stood straight, ready to take the harsh words I knew were coming my
way.
The sight of him was slightly disarming. God, he’s handsome. Too bad he’d be yelling at me in
five. Four. Three. Two—
“Would you like to have dinner?” he asked, shoving his hands into his front pocket. I frowned.
“What?” Am I having a stroke? Is he really yelling at me and my mind is making up things my
heart wishes for?
“Would you like to have dinner?” he repeated with a slight twitch to his lips.
“I’m planning on it. I mean at home. I just—" The deep sound of his chuckles had the jumbled
words dying on my tongue.
“I mean, would you like to have dinner with me?” he clarified. I stared at him.
I blinked once. Twice. Three times as his words processed in my head.
“I almost got you arrested!” I blurted out, but he didn’t react. Or he did, but not the way I had
expected him to.
“You did.” His lips quirked upward into an almost boyish smile.
“You were handcuffed,” I reminded him, probably not making the situation any better.
“I remember.” His blue eyes glittered, and I blinked. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”
“Okay,” I found myself agreeing way too quickly. He extended his hand. I felt like I was hovering
over my own body. Watching myself reach for his hand. The warmth of his rugged hand engulfed
mine. The back of my neck warmed and prickled with something.
Something like familiarity and something else. Something I wasn’t sure I could name.
“Let me help,” he offered kindly. Reaching up with his free arm, he shut the trunk of my compact
SUV. “Don’t forget to lock it, babe.” My eyes darted to the ground to hide the blush on my cheeks. He
called me babe.
“Right,” I whispered, pressing the fob to do as he suggested while I followed him to a massive
black truck. “What do you get in this? Like ten miles to the gallon?” The words hurtled out of my
mouth, making me wince. “I just mean— I didn’t mean that in a mean way. I just—“
“Cute and funny,” he muttered with humor. “I’m not offended.” He opened the door. I looked up at
it and frowned, silently trying to figure out how I’d launch my short body up into the seat.
“Maybe we should take my car?” I turned to suggest, taking a step forward and bumping into him.
“Why is that?” His eyes sparkled like he thought I was funny, but he didn’t want to come off as
rude.
“I’m kinda…”
“Vertically challenged?” he guessed, doing that eyebrow thing that could come off as cocky on
some men but for some reason didn’t do that for him. If anything, he felt more approachable instead of
intimidating.
“Right and—"
“I got you, short stuff.” His words had hardly processed when he swooped in and picked me up.
“Ohmygod!” I yelped, my arm instinctively wrapping around his neck and holding on for dear life.
My eyes widened. Our gazes connected. His eyes were so much more than blue.
“I won’t let you fall,” his deep voice rumbled, and my heart skipped a beat.
“Oh, umm, you sure?” I shut my eyes and winced. Talk about ruining a moment. I opened my eyes,
but he hadn’t moved. He just stood by the passenger door, holding me like a groom would his bride,
his smiling gaze locked with mine.
“I promise. I got you. You’re safe with me, shorty.” He winked. My face felt like it was a million
degrees. He set me down on the passenger seat then leaned in close and stayed near.
“Thank you,” I whispered. My brain seemed to slowly process everything. My breathing was
choppy, and if I was right, his was, too. His face turned serious, and he his head as if trying to snap
himself out of his own thoughts.
“Here,” he rumbled, reaching for the seatbelt. He pulled it out and leaned in closer to click it into
place. “There. Safe now.” His hands squeezed the tips of my fingers before he pulled back and shut
my door.
I had no idea how I found myself in this spot, but I wasn’t going to question it. Live a little, my
best friend, Wanda’s voice, played through my mind. She’d literally jumped for joy when I’d kicked
Silas to the curb. All thoughts of my bestie disappeared when he got in and shut the door. I watched
with rapt attention as he leaned forward and took his wallet out of his back pocket. Before I could ask
what he was doing, he pulled out his license.
“Here.” He handed it to me, and my brows bunched.
“What do I need—"
“Snap a pic of it, babe. Send it to someone, let them know you’re with me.” It wasn’t a request but
a demand.
“Why? Am I going to go missing since I almost got you arrested?” I half joked, half seriously
asked. He stared at me for a moment like he didn’t know what to make of me.
“No. It’s just smart to always let someone know where you are and who you’re with.” He
shrugged and waited for me to snap a picture.
“Are you serious right now?”
“Very.” He nodded. “I have two girls. Teenagers.”
“Ruth and Margo,” I noted. I’d met them on back-to-school night. They were good kids.
“You seriously have a great memory.” A schoolgirl-sounding giggle bubbled out of me. I slapped
my hand over my mouth.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what that was,” I whispered the moment I dropped my hand. Why am I
such a nerd?
“But yeah. Ruth and Margo. I tell them all the time a woman can never be too careful. Especially
nowadays.”
“I’m not a teenager.”
“No, but I’m guessing you’re not much older.” I snorted and found my body relaxing into the seat.
“How old do you think I am?” I stared at him and watched as his brows bunched up.
“How old are you?” he frowned, ignoring my question.
“I’m over thirty, sir. I’m nowhere close to teenaged.”
“How well over?” His eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe me.
“Isn’t it rude to ask a lady her age or something?” I sassed. He looked down with a cute smile on
his lips.
“You’re right,” he muttered.
“I usually am.” I sighed dramatically. “It’s a blessing and a curse. Like my good memory.” I
pointed at my head, and my shoulders dropped. “I’m really sorry about almost getting you arrested.”
“Short stuff, you gotta know something right now.” He paused, and my heart felt like it was
floating inside of me. “Today’s been the highlight of my month.” He winked, and I smiled. “Now I got
street cred with my girls when I tell them I was almost hauled off to the slammer.” I laughed, looking
out at the empty lot. “Allergies,” he said out of nowhere.
“What?”
“Do you got any allergies, shorty?”
“No. Wait, yes! To penicillin,” I shared and then felt embarrassed again. There was something
about the way he was looking at me that made me want to squirm in my seat. Instead, I pressed my
thighs together and stayed still. “By the look on your face, that’s not what you meant,” I added softly. I
was most definitely the world’s biggest nerd and had no game at all.
“Nope. But good to know. Let’s get us fed.” His arm moved to the back of my seat, shifting the air
around us.
The scent of his masculine cologne drifted into my nose, and I had to swallow down a moan.
What the hell is wrong with me? I wondered as I moved my gaze toward the windshield, praying the
entire time he drove I wouldn’t make more of an idiot of myself.
Chapter 5
 Mike

T here was a comfortable silence between us as I drove us to West 22 Tacos. I had no idea how
the hell I had the most beautiful woman I had ever seen sitting in my truck, but I did.
A woman who almost got me arrested.
The reminder of what happened had my lips twitching. “I’m sorry about saying I was Emmy’s
dad,” I apologized. When I thought about it from her end, the afternoon must have been kinda scary. A
guy comes to pick up one of her students saying he’s a dad when you very well know he isn’t.
“I’m guessing you didn’t know he was a class parent.”
“Not even a little bit.” I shook my head, glancing at her. Her face was delicate. The lines and
angles made my fingers ache to touch her. Her skin had the prettiest, smoothest olive tone, almost
bronze.
“I’m sorry for calling the cops.”
“I kinda dared you to,” I admitted, reaching for her hand. And when she let me hold it, I felt a
hundred feet tall.
“You did.” She grinned just as I put the truck in Park. I stared at her for a moment. I had no idea
what the hell I was doing.
I had sworn off women. I’d been divorced, cheated on, and scammed. When it came to matters of
the heart, I was not a lucky guy. It’s why I didn’t date. I hung out with my guy friends and brothers. On
occasion, when the mood hit, I’d go to a bar and hook up with a random faceless woman.
I hadn’t done that in a while.
Over six months.
But as I stared at Tasha’s dark eyes smiling up at me, something in my heart blossomed. Something
like hope.
“Wait here,” I ordered gently. I hurried out of the truck and moved toward hers. I opened it just as
she reached for her purse and undid her seatbelt. I reached in and helped her get out, then set her
down on the ground.
“Come on, short stuff, I’m starving,” I mumbled. We walked in. It was a little busier than I had
expected. “You mind us sitting on the patio?” I asked, ready for her to make a face or pout like most
women in my life would.
“Not at all,” she surprised me by answering. With my hand in hers, she followed close behind me
as I led the way to the back patio. I grabbed us a table and menus. I pretended to study the menu when
I knew exactly what I was going to order.
“Have you been here before?” I asked.
“No.” Her attention was intensely focused on the menu. “Oh my god. Everything in here sounds
good.”
“It is,” I assured her. I pointed out a couple of my favorites and patiently waited, enjoying the
opportunity to watch her closely. A waitress came by and asked if we were ready. Tasha nodded, and
I urged her to order first. Before I knew it, our waitress came by with our waters and food. I started to
dig in and stopped at the soft little sound that escaped from her lips.
My eyes moved to the beautiful woman in front of me. She moaned softly, and the sound literally
left my dick hard. Instantly. She did the most adorable happy dance the moment she took a bite of her
Al Pastor tacos.
“What?” she asked, grabbing a napkin. “Do I have something on my face?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“No.” I cleared my throat, my voice deeper than usual. “It’s good, right?”
“Delicious! Wanna share the vegetarian Queso Fundido?”
“Yeah,” I agreed easily. I had no idea why the cheesy meaty appetizer was vegetarian or how, but
I didn’t care. At that point, I was positive I’d eat wasabi-covered slugs if she asked me to.
The patio was softly lit with strings of old-fashioned lightbulbs. Rows after rows hung overhead,
casting us in a soft, almost romantic light. I’d just met her, but I felt an undeniable pull.
“Do you like teaching?” I asked, feeling like it was a good place to start in trying to get to know
her. My mind was whirring, almost buzzing with an undeniable need to know more about her.
“I love it. I don’t think there was anything else I ever wanted to be other than…” She blushed, and
I leaned in closer.
“Other than what?” I asked, almost like she was sharing a secret. I had a feeling she was.
“Don’t laugh.”
“Pinky promise.” I rested my elbow against the wooden picnic table, wiggling my pinky. She
leaned in and hooked hers with mine.
“Well, if you’re pinky promising.” She grinned. The blush on her cheeks moved to her neck. “I
wanted to have my own cooking show.” She made a face but didn’t move away, our pinkies still
hooked together.
Jesus, in that moment, I felt at least ten years younger. She made me feel that.
“How old were you?”
“Like seven?” She shrugged and pulled her pinky away from mine, resting her hands on the table.
“I would get my parents’ old camera and set it in front of me while I made things in my Easy Bake
oven,” she shared and made a face.
“That’s cute.” I grinned. I could almost picture it. A little girl with long dark hair, bright eyes that
sparkled with depth and wisdom, smiling at a camera as she cooked and baked up all kinds of treats
with enthusiasm. “I bet it was a great show.”
“It was so cheesy!” She laughed, and I relaxed.
“What do you like about teaching the most?”
“The kids,” she answered immediately.
“You teach first grade?” She nodded while taking a healthy chug of water.
“I love it. I started with fourth graders and then moved to first my third year, and I kinda just fell
in love. At that age, the kids are like these amazing little sponges. You see it in their eyes when they
get it, you know? When they get reading and putting words together. It’s incredible to witness this
foundation of education start to set in. Almost like magic.”
“That’s incredible.” I noted, “I think teachers are highly underappreciated. I honestly wouldn’t be
able to do what you do.”
“You don’t even know if I’m good or not.” She laughed a little, trying to bat away the compliment.
 “I do know,” I argued, but I could tell by the way she was staring back at me she didn’t
completely believe me. “I’m serious.”
“How?”
“You memorized your students’ emergency cards. You have, what? Twenty kids in your class?”
“Twenty-two,” she corrected. I wiped my face with a napkin.
“See? That alone shows you care.” Her gaze dropped to her plate before it rose to meet mine
head on. “Caring is the hardest thing.”
“What about you? What do you do?”
“I’m in insurance.” I shrugged, and she moved her hand in a silent motion for me to expand.
“There’s not much to say.”
“Uh-uh. No way do I believe that!”
“You really wanna know?” I asked, running my tongue over my teeth, hoping I didn’t have
something stuck in them.
“I do. How did you get into it? Do you like it? Enjoy it?”
“It’s a job.” I pressed my lips together and shrugged. “So, Jess and I were pretty young. We had
been high school sweethearts. I had just turned twenty-one when she told me she’s pregnant, and I
stepped up.”
“Wow.”
“I left school and got a job. I used to work at a car dealership. I used to be the one who got the
cars all shined up and ready when one was purchased. The manager knew my dad, knew my situation,
and offered me a sales spot. I was good at it. Did that for a little bit. Until this big guy, Ray, came in.
Needed a fleet for his guys at his company. Took a shine to me and offered me a gig. I’d still be
working off commission, but it sure as hell was a lot more and steadier. That was around when we
found out we were not only having one baby but two.”
“Twins. That must have been a shock.”
“Yep. Shock was an understatement. I can still remember feeling like I was going to pass out
when the doc laid the news on us.” I shrugged and smiled. “Best gift I ever got. I love my girls, but as
a twenty-two-year-old, I was scared out of my mind.”
“I bet.”
“Anyhow, I went to work at Ray’s insurance company. Good place. Family owned. Successful
and steady work. Monday through Friday without crazy hours. Every couple of years, I moved up and
up. I can’t go any higher since my boss decided to hire his son-in-law as VP and will probably hand
the company over to him the moment he retires,” I shared, trying not to sound bitter about it, but fuck,
it was hard.
“Did you go back to school?” she surprised me by asking. No one had ever asked me that.
“No.” I shook my head, then, because she’d shared, or maybe it was because I was more
comfortable around her than I had ever been with not just a woman but anyone, I kept sharing. “I’ve
thought about it,” I admitted. She smiled softly. “Maybe one day.” I shrugged, and she blinked.
“It’s never too late. At least that’s what I tell myself when it comes to going back, too.”
“For your masters?” I asked and watched her eyes soften.
“Yeah. Maybe one day. But I’m okay where I am, you know? Happy.”
“Right.”
“Are you?” she asked. I stared at her. It was hard not to get lost in her dark gaze. “Happy, I
mean?”
“Right now? Yeah. I really am,” I answered without letting my eyes waver from hers. She
blushed.
The conversation flowed easily. We talked as we ate. Enjoying each other’s company so much that
when we finished our meal, I asked if she wanted to go for a walk. Because honestly, there was no
way I was ready to drive her back to her car and for the night to end.
I liked her.
Really liked her.
There was something about Tasha Torres that drew me in and made me hungrier for more with
every morsel she shared. Thankfully, there was a park right across the street from the restaurant, and
we walked around. It surprised me how easily we seemed to get along. In the back of my mind, the
part of me that had been hurt before was cautious.
Weary that she was too good to be true.
Yet I found myself pulled in deeper. Turned out Tasha had two sisters and a brother. They all lived
in San Diego, California, as did her parents, who were still happily married. She’d gone to school in
Tennessee and had never left. I found myself on pins and needles wanting to know more and more.
Never in my thirty-eight years on earth had I ever felt drawn to someone. We passed an ice cream
truck, and she insisted I let her buy us one since I had paid for dinner. I let her.
I had a bad feeling telling her no would be hard as hell.
By the time I drove her back to school, the sun had set completely. I opened her door and walked
her to her car.
“I had a good time.” She smiled up at me. My hand rose. Jesus, I was taking liberties I shouldn’t
with the sweet schoolteacher, but my hands seemed to have a mind of their own. I cupped her face,
and I couldn’t believe just how soft her skin actually was. I was dying to kiss her, and by the dreamy
look on her face, I knew she wanted it, too.
But something stopped me.
That part of my heart that had been shut off to the possibility of me sharing my life with anyone
came alive, reminding me of the world of hurt I’d be in if I did something stupid like kiss her.
She was Emmy’s teacher, for goodness sake. What the hell am I doing? The reminder helped me
get my shit together. I exhaled slowly.
“I’ll follow you home,” I blurted out, putting a little space between us. I watched as
disappointment filled her eyes. They dropped to my lips and moved back up.
“Oh? You don’t have—“
“I want to,” I cut her off. The hopeful part of me fought the scorned one. “Come on.” My thumb
stroked the smooth line of her jaw one more time before I dropped my hand to open her driver’s door.
She slipped in and looked up at me. Regret started to eat at me.
“I’ll follow you,” I repeated before shutting the door and hurrying to my truck. The entire drive to
her place, I wanted to kick my own ass.
I should have kissed her.
No! It’s too soon! a stubborn little voice in the back of my mind whispered. I tried to argue it, but
before I knew it, Tasha was pulling into a residential area and into a driveway. I parked my truck
behind hers and met her at the trunk of her Rav4.
“Here, let me help you,” I offered, taking the big canvas bag full of papers from her and tossing it
over my shoulder.
I was seriously fucked.
If I wanted space, I should have never followed her home.
Now I knew exactly where she lived and how to find her if I wanted. We walked up her driveway
in silence. The night was pretty. Clear, dark skies with stars shining brightly beneath the luminescent
moon. A knot grew heavy in my throat. I hated feeling indecisive. There was something about Tasha
that pulled me in, something I couldn’t ignore but sure as fuck should. I had an ex-wife who was
determined on being my best friend, two twin teenage girls about to turn sixteen, and all the drama
that came with it. I had my hands full.
“Thanks for today. It was fun,” she noted softly. I wanted to groan.
Fuck me, the sweet sound of her voice made me hard. Or harder. Her voice made me want to
forget every damn reason I shouldn’t just pull her in and kiss her like my life depended on it. My heart
rate picked up, and something like butterflies started to flap their wings in my belly.
Me! An almost forty-year-old man was experiencing freaking flutters for the first time like a kid
about to have his first kiss.
“It was interesting,” I strained, and she blinked. Her lashes were long and dark. Almost like ink.
“I’m really sorry again about, you know, the whole ‘almost getting you arrested for attempted
kidnapping’ thing.”
“I’m not,” I muttered. The words slipped past my lips, and I didn’t regret them. Not one bit.
With a sly grin on my face, I knew what I was doing. I was playing with fire. I was flirting. I knew
it, and she did, too, by the way her lips tipped upward.
I was giving her hope.
Hell, who the hell was I kidding? I was giving myself hope.
“You’re not?” she asked, almost surprised, wistful.
“Not at all, babe. Got to meet you and have dinner. I really had fun.”
“Me too.” She stepped forward, closing the space between us, and there was no fighting the way
she made me hard. Jesus, it was like all the blood in my body was rushing southbound, along with
whatever braincells I had left.
“A lot more fun than I’ve had in a long time.” My voice dropped an octave. I breathed in deeply,
desperate for oxygen in my lungs. Fuck, I wanted her; there was no denying it.
Even the air around us smelled like her.
Sweet and spicy all at the same time. I wanted to bury my face into the crook of her neck and
breathe her in. I wouldn’t stop until I figured out each distinct note. What came from her body wash,
what came from whatever sexy-ass perfume she had spritzed on that morning, and what was just her
natural scent. I wanted to put my hands on those sweet, flared hips of hers and pick her up, force her
legs to wrap around my waist as her chest pressed against mine before caging her against the wall and
kissing her until both our lungs burned for oxygen.
But for some asinine reason, I decided I wasn’t going to touch her.
I shoved my hands into the front pockets of my dress slacks, hoping to god she didn’t notice the
massive bulging happening behind them.
“Thanks for dinner.” Her hands touching my bicep was almost my undoing.
“Thanks for the company.”
“I know it’s late, but—"
Please don’t ask me inside.
Ask me!
The good and bad sides we all have inside us argued. Battled really. “Would you like to come
inside?” she asked so fucking sweetly I wanted to give her anything she desired. Her dark eyes gazed
up at me with so much longing, my body felt like it was trembling with need. The attraction was plain
as day. Both hers and mine. The sexual chemistry and anticipation thick in the air between us.
 “I’m sorry,” my voice rasped. “Not tonight.”
And just like that, I saw it.
Hell, I felt it.
The sting of rejection she was feeling. I wanted to take the words back immediately. Tell her it
had nothing to do with her. I was about to do just that when she stepped back, taking her soft hands off
my body and putting space I hated between us.
“Oh. Right.” She glanced down nervously. When her face rose, she avoided my eyes. “Well, umm,
right. I’ll take my bag.” She pointed at my shoulder. Her dark eyes didn’t lock with mine.
“Babe,” I called, and when our eyes connected, I swallowed.
Tell her something. Anything!
And like an idiot, I stayed quiet. I reached for the bag on my shoulder and handed it over to her.
Those pretty, dark eyes dimmed, and I hated myself for it. “Here you go.” My voice sounded raspy.
“Thanks. See you around.” She waved behind her, then opened and shut the door before I could
say a word.
It was better this way.
I’d had a great night.
I’d get home, jerk off, and keep living my life the way I had before I met Tasha. That was for the
best. I had been living my life unaware of what had been missing. I could go back to it. Teacher Tasha
Torres was a complication I didn’t need. With that plan set, I walked to my truck, and just as I was
about to open the door, I shook my head.
What the hell am I doing?
Chapter 6
 Tasha

I set my bag on my pink couch and walked to the front door.

I wanted to chase after him.
Ask what I’d done or said wrong because I had no clue where I’d messed up.
But I didn’t.
That part of my life was done. I didn’t chase. I might powerwalk to catch an ice cream truck, but
that was as far as I’d go. Knowing that, I kicked off my shoes to make sure I stayed inside.
I rested the back of my head against the door and looked out at my living room, but all I could see
was him. Mike Granger. Mike.
How the hell did he wriggle his way under my skin so quickly?
The whole night was amazing. It might have started off funky with almost getting him arrested, but
dinner? If that had been a date, which he hadn’t called it that, but god, it’d felt that way, it would have
been the best I had ever been on.
Ever. Hands down.
We’d talked and laughed.
We’d even shared food from our plates. When we walked in the park, his hand found mine, and I
liked the way it felt. Our fingers tangled together. The rough, calloused touch of his palm covering
mine. I’d wanted to ask how he got those rough spots and seriously wanted to know what they’d feel
exploring my body.
But something happened on the way to my car.
He’d turned quiet.
I’d convinced myself it was all in my head. Especially when he insisted on following me home.
And when he’d walked me to my front door, I was so sure I’d been overthinking it. That he was
interested. I could have sworn he was with the way he was looking and touching me.
But he’d turned me down.
He didn’t want to come inside. He didn’t ask for my number or made plans for us to see one
another again.
And it hit me.
I’d been looking at him with hearts in my eyes, and he had probably just been lonely and wanted
company to share a meal. I’d made so much more out of the whole thing than it was. A mountain out of
a molehill.
“Good one, Tash,” I muttered, pushing myself of the door. I needed to do something. Busy work. I
glanced at my bag and sighed.
I had homework packets to get ready and reading to do.
 I moved to my bright pink velvet sectional to pick up my bag when a knock sounded from the front
door. I might have frozen, but my heart was pounding hard. I waited. Maybe I’d imagined the sound?
Another knock sounded. I turned.
From where I stood by my couch, I could still make out his truck in my driveway. My stomach
fluttered. Slowly, I walked to the door and turned the knob. I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him
there, but I was. My eyes moved upward to look at him.
God, he was beautiful.
But there was something different in the way he was looking at me. His eyes were intense and set
in a determined way. “Everything okay?”
“Give me your phone.” A muscle ticked at his jawline.
“Excuse me?” My brow rose, and whatever hope I had of him pulling me in and kissing me like I
was in some cheesy beautiful romcom faded.
“Phone, Tasha.” His jaw clenched. For some reason, I reached into my pocket without thinking
and handed it right over to him.
Just like that. No questions or arguments.
I watched as he punched things into the screen before his one phone chirped. His bright blue eyes
met mine, and my heart did this funny little thing in my chest when he handed it back to me and our
fingers brushed.
“Mike, I don’t understand,” I whispered. His gaze softened, and the lines on his brow relaxed. He
leaned in, and I froze. Is he going to kiss me?
My eyes fluttered shut as he neared. My heart skipped a beat and then dropped at the feel of his
lips on my cheek.
“Sweet dreams, short stuff. I’ll call you, okay?” he promised, and I nodded. I kept my eyes low. I
felt confused. Unsure of what was happening.
But he didn’t leave.
His hands moved to tip my chin up, and I was forced to meet those beautiful blue pools head on.
“I’ll call,” he repeated, almost reassuring me, and all I could do was nod because I didn’t trust my
voice. “Babe…” Whatever he might have been about to say never came, so I took a step back.
Away from his touch and the man who made my heart and head spin. I didn’t need the heartbreak I
had a feeling he could inflict.
“Drive safe,” I noted softly. The look he gave me had me feeling we weren’t done. But then again,
that could have been my imagination getting the better of me. Mike walked away without one look
back until he was inside the driver’s seat of his car. With one last wave, he drove off. I knew because
I stood there until his truck disappeared down my quiet street.
And I had a feeling he’d left with my heart in the front seat, right next to him.
“What the hell was that?” I asked the moment I shut and locked my front door. But since the empty
living room didn’t answer, I reached for my big work bag.
I might have had a great night with an amazing man who left me feeling more confused than I’d
ever felt, but I still had things to take care of. I carried my bag into my cozy kitchen, set it on my
powder blue kitchen table, and got to work.
My lips twitched, and I stopped working.
With a smile on my face, I stared out at the window in the kitchen that faced the dark backyard.
My hand moved up to my face, touching the spot he’d softly kissed. The skin still tingled. The
sensation of his lips and the scruffiness of his five-o’clock shadow lingered.
I had no idea what had happened, and no matter how hard I tried to bat away the feelings that
something bigger than I ever experienced had just started, I couldn’t.
Mike Granger was different.
I could feel it in my bones.
And even though I was probably making so much more out of a moment than it actually was, I had
never felt more alive in my life.
Chapter 7
 Mike

R egret was a bitch.

I had never let regret fester. I knew having my girls early in life, I had traded in certain
things for parenthood. And I’d been okay with that. My career choice might not have been what
I had dreamt of doing with my life, but it paid the bills and made sure my girls never lacked for
anything.
Hell, I hadn’t even let myself regret dating Hilary, who had cheated, and Stefanie, who had stolen
from me.
But I regretted not kissing Tasha.
I’d been dying to call her. Talk to her. I just didn’t know what to say. I felt like I’d already fucked
up by not taking her offer to come into her place. Why the hell didn’t I go in? Because I was an idiot,
that’s why.
I hadn’t wanted to rush things.
I hadn’t been sure what was going on or who she was even if my heart was yelling at me that
Natasha Torres was ours. Dinner had gone so well I hadn’t wanted to press my luck. But I had a
feeling my luck had taken a turn.
And not for the better.
Every moment I was about to call or even text her, one of the women in my life called or popped
by. Between my daughters, my ex-wife, sister, and mom, I’d been busy every damn day for a whole
week.
A week.
When I found myself with time, it felt too late to message her, and I didn’t want to come off as
creepy. Seven days later, I was starting to wonder if I was remembering the night through rose-
colored glasses. There was no way Tasha was as great as I remembered, right? I shook my head,
pulling out my phone. I was off the main street in town, walking toward the flower shop since my
mom’s birthday was right around the corner.
“Hey, you!” the familiar feminine voice sounded, making my head pop up over the screen of my
cell.
“Jessa.” I grinned before my eyes dropped to the little blonde-headed girl holding her hand.
“Emmy! How are you?” I asked, stopping right in front of them.
“I think we both had the same idea.” Jess pointed up at the flower shop. “Your mom’s birthday?”
she guessed, and I chuckled.
“Yeah. Let’s go in.” I opened the door and waited for the two women to walk in first.
“I was thinking a plant. What do you think?” Jess asked. I nodded.
 “She would like that.”
Would Tasha like plants?
Is she into plants?
I shook my head as I looked around. Jess let go of Emmy’s hand and went to order whatever she
was ordering for my mom.
“What do you think of these, Em?” I asked, pointing at some pink roses.
“Very pretty.” She smiled and then pointed at the ones next to it. “Are those ponies?”
“Peonies,” I corrected, and she repeated the word, nodding her head.
“Those are my teacher’s favorite.” She scratched at her face, unknowingly giving me a little more
information on the woman who had been keeping me up late at night.
“They are?” I asked. “How do you know?”
“We were talking about springtime and flowers. We’re growing some in the front of our
classroom.”
“You guys are? That’s cool,” I noted just as Jess returned.
“Okay, Em, say bye to Mike. We gotta head to Nashville.”
“Nashville?” I asked.
“Dentist appointment,” she shared. Emmy made a face that had me laughing.
“Drive safe.”
“You, too.” She winked. Her gaze moved to the flowers I didn’t realize I was holding in my hand.
“Peonies? For Martha?”
“Miss Torres loves ponies!”
“Peonies,” we both corrected. Jess looked at me for a moment too long.
“Jes—"
“Miss Torres, huh?” Her brows rose almost to her hairline and then softened just like her familiar
gaze.
“It’s not like that.” The denial had acid burning in my belly.
“Sure, it’s not. You should grab a bunch.”
“I don’t need advice, Jess. Drive safe. Emmy, make sure your mom buys you a huge ice cream
after the dentist.” The little girl giggled, and my ex just rolled her eyes, waving behind her.
Thankfully, she took the hint I didn’t want to talk about Tasha. She exited the shop with her
youngest, and my attention moved to the flowers I was holding.
Pink and bright. Full of life.
So much like the woman who had been taking up all my free thoughts. I reached toward the other
peonies. There were all shades of pinks, oranges, and yellows. I picked a bunch of each and took it to
the cashier, asking if she could make an arrangement with them. She happily did, and I put in an order
to be delivered for my mom’s birthday. I found myself walking out with a hand-made bouquet
wrapped in craft paper.
I had no plans.
It was Friday night. For all I knew, Tasha could have plans.
A date even.
A date? Shit. I didn’t like the idea of another man stepping in and taking what was mine. Mine? I
sat in my truck and glanced at the bouquet in my passenger seat. I could almost see her sitting next to
me. Smiling brightly up at me. The sound of her laughter and voice had been playing on repeat for the
last week.
“Why not?” I muttered to myself, starting the engine of my truck and driving to the one place I
shouldn’t be showing up without calling. But I had to take a chance.
I had been radio silent for a week.
There was no way a text or call would cut it now. I had to make a gesture. I pulled up in front of
her house and frowned. It was after school, a little before five, and she wasn’t home. The driveway
was empty. I knew I had two choices. I knew that. Wait around or leave. But honestly, there was only
one.
I put my truck in Park, popped a window open, and waited.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
services by the foreign Powers for whom he acted. Mr. Bulwer wrote
to congratulate him on his success:—‘Your conduct and explanations
are equally good, and I am gratified with you beyond measure. There
is nothing to change in your views or intuitions.’
Again in a later letter, Mr. Bulwer repeats the expression of his
satisfaction:—‘I have a great regard for you, and a high opinion of
you, and, whenever it is in my power, will do you a service. Be sure
of success; I am for you. All of us have had to contend with
difficulties.’
Mr. Hay further received the thanks of the different Governments
concerned, and the Kings of Denmark and Sweden sent him
jewelled stars, as Commander of the Orders of the Danebrog, and of
the Polar Star respectively. These, according to Foreign Office
regulations, he declined, as also the Spanish Order of Charles XII.
Subsequently he received, from the two former sovereigns,
magnificent gifts of plate, which H.B.M.’s Government authorised
him to accept.
Some notes relating to this time, made by Mr. Hay in after years,
may prove of interest.

In the time of Sultan Mulai Abderahman it was not infrequent to

hear that some Basha, or Sheikh, who may have been supposed to
have taken part in an insurrection or given other serious cause for
displeasure to the Sultan, was summoned to the Court, and placed
in confinement.
The ‘Mul Meshwa’ or chief Usher of the Court acted on such
occasions as executioner, and bearing a cup of coffee, would visit
the victim and say, ‘Our Lord and Master sends you this,’ adding
peremptorily, should the unfortunate man hesitate, ‘Drink: it is our
Lord’s order. You are in the hands of God. What is written is written.’
 During the time that Abd-el-Kader carried on hostilities against the
French in Algeria, Sultan Mulai Abderahman had given strict orders
to his Ministers and Governors not to hold any communication with
this active and daring chief, as H.M. feared the French might find
some pretext for a quarrel with Morocco.
Sid Mohammed Ben Dris, a very clever man, was at that time
chief Uzir, and was suspected of being in communication with Abd-
el-Kader, and even of having suggested to him that (as he thought it
most probable Abd-el-Kader would succeed in turning the French out
of Algeria) he should enter Morocco, upset the Sultan, and usurp the
throne.
There is little doubt that, had Abd-el-Kader listened to these
suggestions, he might have succeeded in such an enterprise.
A courier, who had been dispatched secretly by the Uzir to Abd-el-
Kader, was arrested by the Governor of ‘Hiazna’: his letters seized
and sent direct to the Sultan. Amongst them, the Sultan found a
letter from Ben Dris to Abd-el-Kader with treasonable propositions.
Ben Dris was summoned to the presence of the Sultan, who
exhibited to him his letters asking, ‘Whose handwriting is this?’ Ben
Dris threw himself at the feet of the Sultan, crying out, ‘Amán
(mercy)! It is mine.’ ‘You are a vile traitor,’ said H.M. ‘Approach; put
out that tongue with which you solemnly swore, only the other day,
you had never written, and would never write, to Abd-el-Kader.’
The Uzir put out his tongue, of which the Sultan took hold and,
with one wrench, tore[5] it from its socket, leaving the tongue
paralysed and useless. ‘Go,’ said the Sultan; ‘your tongue can no
longer lie.’
 The Uzir withdrew, his tongue swelled in a frightful manner, and
he died shortly afterwards in great agonies; but few persons at the
time knew the cause of his disgrace and death.
French journals, and Frenchmen in general, accused the British
Government and their Representative in Morocco of being in
communication with Abd-el-Kader, and even of sending emissaries
and money to assist that chief in carrying on hostilities against the
French. But the accusations were without the slightest foundation,
and though on one occasion Abd-el-Kader addressed me a letter
asking for British intervention on his behalf, no reply was sent nor
was any notice taken of his communication, and certainly not one
farthing was ever given by our Government to this gallant and
patriotic chief. On the other hand, advice was unceasingly tendered
to the Moorish Government by my father, and subsequently by
myself, that they should hold no communication with Abd-el-Kader or
his followers, and should oppose his making the Rif country a basis
for hostile operations against the French, when driven out of Algeria.

Mr. Hay’s appointment at Tangier was as yet only a temporary

one. His chief at Constantinople, who evidently awaited his return,
writes in December, 1844:—

I am glad to hear that you have won such golden opinions in Spain and in
Downing Street, and for your sake I shall be glad to learn that promotion was the
result. But as the last letters from the Foreign Office speak of you as first attaché
to this Embassy on Alison’s apotheosis, I presume that you are to return, at least
for the present, and that being the case, I shall be glad to have your services as
soon as you can conveniently return to us. Napier is going home to be married. . . .
Add to this that I have lots of business in hand, and very important business too.
As Pisani is in the Chancery as of yore, I will avail myself of your help with less
sacrifice of your eyes, and hazard to your health.
I hope you will be able to read these hieroglyphics. Believe me very sincerely
yours,
 S. C.

The reference to ‘less sacrifice to your eyes,’ it may be inferred,

was a jesting allusion to an occurrence which had taken place at
Stambul, when Mr. Hay was Acting Private Secretary. The story is
told by Mr. Stanley Lane-Poole, in his Life of Sir S. Canning, how the
fiery Ambassador and his not less hot-headed young attaché, both
worn out with over-work, lost their tempers and their self-control[6].
In 1845, Mr. Hay succeeded his father as Political Agent and
Consul-General in Morocco. As will be gathered from the following
letter addressed to him by Lord Ponsonby, congratulating him on his
appointment, Mr. Hay considered that in diverging from the direct line
of a diplomatic career by becoming Agent and Consul-General, he
endangered his hopes of future advancement. But he decided on
incurring this risk, in order to assist his widowed mother, who had
been left with slender means, by undertaking the education of his
younger brothers. For many years he devoted half his salary to this
object, and, at a later period, to starting them in life or assisting any
member of his family who was in need of aid.

‘I have been wishing,’ wrote Lord Ponsonby in April, 1845, ‘ever since I heard
of your appointment, to write to you and say how very much I rejoiced at it, but I
fancied it might be more prudent to hold my tongue; your letter of the 11th
(received this night) has set me free, and I will declare my conviction that however
advantageous your nomination to the important post may be to yourself, the
English Government will find it more so for their own objects. Your intimate
knowledge of the country where you are to serve, and I will add, your talents, your
zeal, your courage and honesty and manner, such as I know them to be, will
enable you to overcome difficulties which might be held insuperable; and I suspect
that the time will come when you will have to encounter them. Aberdeen is a kind
man, and I have no doubt of his considering your father’s services as they deserve
to be considered, but I am very sure he would not have shown his estimation of
them in the way he has done, unless he had cause to know and to appreciate the
capacity of the father’s son. Have no fear that “the door of ambition is closed
against you.” I think it is opened wide to you now; there will be plenty of room for
the display of your judgment and activity in the management of questions of great
importance, and as I feel confident you will succeed, I entertain no doubt of your
mounting to what are called higher posts, though I do doubt if you will find any of
them demanding more skill and vigour in the occupier than you will be called upon
to display where you now are.
‘Your most kind remembrance of the time we passed together gives me very
great pleasure; you are a man to make the most profit of experience, and in that
time I allude to, many affairs well worth noting were in fermentation. I am too wise
(excuse this vanity) to attribute to myself anything more than honesty and good
fortune as the cause of the success that attended the Embassy, and it is claiming a
great deal too much I fear. I will accept, gratefully, the kind things you say of me
personally, and I am happy to know that my manner to you (for there were no
deeds) showed the feeling of friendship for you which sprung up in me from my
observation of your good qualities.
‘Lady Ponsonby is well, and at this moment I hope amusing herself at a ball at
Lady Palmerston’s. I will give your message to her when she comes home, and I
am sure she will be most happy to receive it. She has shared in my rejoicings for
your advancement.’
 CHAPTER VII.

POLITICAL AGENT AT TANGIER AND FIRST MISSION TO

MARÁKESH. 1845-46.

On November 6, 1845, Mr. Hay writes as follows to the Hon. A.

Gordon:—

I have been daily expecting a summons ‘to the Court exalted of the Lord’ (par
excellence), but His Sherifian Majesty has made a move from the city of Meknes,
fearing, I suppose, to be stalemated by the knight Bugeaud and his ten thousand
pawns.
By latest accounts from the interior the Sultan has arrived at the united town of
Rabat and Salli, the latter famous, as you may remember, in days of yore for its
dreaded rovers.
To-morrow I expect a courier from the Sultan which will decide, I hope, the time
and place for my visit to His Majesty, and, when en route, I hope to be able to
better amuse you by some accounts of this ‘barbarous’ people.
You ask whether I think the Moors will submit to be ‘peaceably invaded’ by the
French in their ‘chasse’ of Abd-el-Kader? My answer is in the negative, and I fear
that such invasion will produce a most complicated state of affairs throughout this
Empire, which might hereafter create a question of grave importance.
The French start from a wrong principle in their mania for destroying Abd-el-
Kader; for if this French hydra were killed to-morrow, few months would elapse
before another arose. It is to the hostile and fanatical feeling of the inhabitants that
they must attribute all their troubles, and until they find a better cure for this feeling
than a system of violence and retaliation, battle and murder will never cease in that
territory as long as an armed Arab exists.
When Algiers was first taken, my late father, who was an old soldier, and knew
the character of the Arab, remarked to the French Chargé d’Affaires, who was
boasting of the importance of their newly-acquired colony, that ‘it would prove a
very dear conquest,’ and that he felt positive that ‘before twenty years elapsed, a
hundred thousand men would be required to hold the country, and that each year
would bring fresh demands for troops, not to protect their colonists, but to destroy
the Arabs.’
Another evil for the French Government is that the military chiefs, sent to fight
in Africa, know that if there be no Abd-el-Kader there will be no Duc d’Isly, no
‘gloire,’ no crosses. Were either Louis Philippe, or Guizot, Governor of Algiers, I
could foresee something like future tranquillity; but at present I look forward to a
series of events, upon which I could write chapters, that will render necessary
either the conquest of Morocco by the French, or the limitation, for another score
of years, of their possessions to within a day’s journey of the coast.
I must not be more explicit on this subject, or you would think me perhaps to be
trespassing on the limits of what a servant of the public is not justified in writing
thus privately. . . .
Here at once, in a three hours’ sail from Gibraltar, you are transported, as if by
enchantment, a thousand or two thousand years back, and you find yourself
among the same people and the same style of living as you read of in the
Scriptures. The Bible and the ‘Arabian Nights’ are your best handbooks, and would
best prepare you for the scene. Lane’s most excellent work, on the ‘Customs and
Manners of the Egyptians,’ is the most exact work I ever read of Mohammedan
customs, and is very applicable to this country.

Mr. Hay started on his mission to Sultan Mulai Abderahman on

March 3, 1846. The following extracts are taken from letters
addressed to his mother during the journey, and forwarded by her to
the Hon. A. Gordon at Mr. Hay’s request.

I am off for the exalted Court of His Sherifian Majesty Sultan Mulai
Abderahman, and alas! it is Tuesday, an unlucky day for ‘the faithful’:
for ‘Telatsa felatsa,’ say the Moors—on the third day (Tuesday) all
fails; but good omens have attended the start, and, as I am taught by
my favourite trooper, Kaid Abd-el-Kerim, now snoring at my tent
door, good omens such as I have experienced this morning will
counterbalance the unlucky day: ‘God forbid,’ said he, ‘that its name
should be repeated.’
 Yes, as I put my foot in the stirrup, a holy dervish, one who would
be profanely called in Europe a madman, rushed up and threw his
patchwork and party-coloured mantle over me, and, lifting up his
hand towards heaven, cried out, ‘God’s blessing and the Sultan’s
favour be with you!’ I threw his Holiness a small coin, for no doubt I
had deprived him of much virtue,—at least I should suppose so by
the otherwise unaccountable creeping and itching I experienced; but
perhaps my fancy may have misled me.
Kaid ‘Bu Jebel’ (‘the Father of the Mountain,’ grandfather, I
suppose, of the Mouse!), with his doughty followers, compose my
escort—some thirty in all. I found them drawn up in zig-zag line in
the little Sok (market-place), headed, though not commanded, by
young Sid Abd-el-Malek, the son of my old friend Kaid Ben Abu,
governor of Rif, who, at my particular request, is to accompany us.
In the outer market-place all the corps of foreign Representatives,
a host of chevaliers, but very mal à cheval, joined our party, and a
scene commenced, which continued till they left us, of snorting,
rearing, kicking, and exclamations. Apologies, mille pardonizing, ‘et
mille et mille’ were offered, when the heels of one of their chargers
passed within an inch of my knee-pan.
Powder-play was commenced by the Kaid, and some of my
colleagues became suddenly pedestrians. I think I can match any
one of them on horseback, although the pen may yield. God be
praised! we parted without injury.
An honest countryman from the village of Suanni, on passing by,
offered me his bowl of milk to drink. It was not to be refused, and as I
lifted the weighty earthen vessel to my mouth, my horse made a
slight plunge, and a copious libation gushed over my gilded
armour[7] and accoutrements.
 ‘Oh! what good fortune,’ shouted my escort. ‘Peace and plenty!’
Omen the second.
Our baggage had started some time before us, and had halted at
‘Ain Dalia,’ or ‘the fountain of the vine;’ the encampment, consisting
of some thirteen tents, enlivened the scene and the wild country
around.
A camp is a pretty sight, and these people, lately enfranchised, as
it were, from their nomad life, well understand the arrangements and
economy expedient on such occasions. Our nags were soon
picketed round the tents, and the camp attendants, drawn up in line,
called down, as I approached, God’s blessing on their work, with a
prayer for a safe journey and return.
A quarrel or two, with much screaming and uttering of the most
guttural sounds, followed this momentary calm. The Moors are
children, and children will quarrel. Kaddor swore at the Hadj’s great-
great-grandmother, and the Hadj burnt all Kaddor’s ancestors. Their
friends intervened, and there was much mediation, but peace could
not be effected. My turn then came, and I said, ‘God’s curse on the
devil, who causes men’s hearts to be blackened by passion. Love
each other, as God loveth you.’ So the Hadj gave Kaddor a hearty
buss, and Kaddor, with pouting lips, kissed the Hadj’s grizzly beard,
and each cursed the devil.
At coffee time I invited the Kaids and the Taleb to sip with me, and
wondrous tales ensued on their part, and in return I talked of
Stambul, its magnificence and fame.
Kaid Abd-el-Kerim informed me he commanded as ‘Kaid Erha,’ or
colonel, a body of cavalry at the battle of Isly in 1844, when
Maréchal Bugeaud invaded Morocco with a force of twelve thousand
men and attacked the Sultan’s army.
 Kaid Abd-el-Kerim described the strong position that Sid
Mohammed, the eldest son of Sultan Mulai Abderahman, had taken
up with his forces on the brow of a hill, and how earthworks had
been thrown up, on which field-pieces were placed, under the
command of a Spanish renegade, who had been a sergeant of
artillery in Spain. ‘But,’ said the Kaid, ‘I do not consider the conflict
with the French can be called a battle.’
‘How is that?’ I inquired, ‘for the Moorish forces were routed, the
Sultan’s camp and the field-pieces taken possession of.’
‘Yes,’ said the Kaid. ‘Still I maintain it could not be called a battle,
for we never had an opportunity of a fair fight, so as to be able to
judge whether the Mussulmen or the French were the braver
warriors.’
I then asked the Kaid to describe what took place, as also his
reasons for not considering it a fair fight.
The Kaid replied: ‘When the French force first came in sight, at a
distance of about an hour’s walk (3½ miles), we observed that
neither cavalry, infantry, nor artillery were spread out—as ought to be
done—in line, before a battle. They had formed together a compact
mass like a “berod” (swarm of bees), and thus advanced towards us
without a halt, banners flying, and music playing. It was a “fraja” (a
very fine sight).
‘Sid Mohammed ordered our cavalry to advance on the plain
below the encampment, and the infantry, chiefly composed of tribes
of mountaineers, to take up their position on our flanks on the
adjoining slopes.
‘On came the French, on, on, without halting, or firing a gun,
notwithstanding that our artillery played upon them, and the tribes
kept up a running fire from the heights on each flank. On came the
French, without a pause that would give us an opportunity of a fair
fight to test the prowess of the contending forces.’
‘Explain,’ I interposed, ‘what you consider would have been a
battle.’
‘Why,’ resumed the Kaid, ‘the French force ought to have halted
when they got within half a mile; then we should have ordered a
body of cavalry to advance and charge; the French might have done
likewise; the troopers would have met, and a hand-to-hand conflict
would have ensued. Those who got worsted would have retreated;
other bodies on either side would have charged, and then likewise
the infantry would have advanced and joined in the affray. Finally,
when either force retreated, the artillery would have covered their
retreat, the battle would have been brought to a conclusion and we
should have known who were the best and bravest warriors: but no
—on came the French without a halt, and when our cavalry charged,
the French infantry fired and mowed them down, even killing with
their bayonets some of our troopers who had charged right up to the
mass of French soldiers.
‘On they came; our cavalry, after repeated charges, having no
opportunity of fair fight, retreated, and so did the tribes. The
renegade fired his field-pieces as the French advanced upon our
camp, and he, as also many of the artillerymen, were killed standing
at their guns.
‘What was to be done? It was quite a surprise. Sid Mohammed
fled with all the cavalry, abandoning tents, ammunition, and many
thousand animals.
‘It was not a fair battle, and therefore I do not consider it a defeat.’
 The Taleb then gave us the following dialogue between the ‘fellah’
(farmer) Ben Taieb Zarhoni and the wise F’ki Sid Mohammed Ben
Nasr.
Ben Nasr. ‘God has permitted the cursed Nazarenes to take
possession of Algiers, as a punishment for the sins of the
Mussulmans of that territory who had neglected to follow the
precepts of our Prophet—may God’s blessing be upon him! Ere long
we Moors shall likewise be punished for our sins and wickedness by
the anger of God, who will permit the Christians to take possession
of the country of our forefathers.’
Zarhoni. ‘I do not comprehend why an all-just God should punish,
without discrimination, in this manner; for, in so doing, he punishes
the innocent as well as the guilty. Why should the man who has
obeyed God’s precepts from his youth upwards, become subject to
the law of the accursed Christian because some of his brethren are
sinful? How comes it that the Deity, in His wisdom, has not found
more just ways of inflicting punishment on the guilty?’
Ben Nasr. ‘After the Deluge and the destruction of mankind,
Noah’s mind was troubled with the same fallacies, and he prayed to
God to enlighten him and teach him why the innocent were drowned
as well as the sinful. He was thereupon thrown into a trance, and
God sent a great number of fleas which crawled up his leg; upon one
biting him, Noah awoke and rubbed his hand over the bitten part,
killing not only the offending flea, but many others.
‘An Angel then appeared and said, “O man! Why killest thou fleas
which have not injured thee?”
‘Noah answered and said, “O Lord! These fleas are insignificant
and noxious creatures.”
 ‘To which the Angel replied, “As thou hast destroyed these insects
and not distinguished between the guilty and the harmless, on
account of the offence of one flea, thus also had the Almighty
ordained the Deluge for the destruction of mankind—who were, in
His sight, but noxious creatures upon earth.”
‘Noah bowed his head to the ground, and was dumb.’
Zarhoni. ‘If I had been Noah, I should have replied to the Angel
—“An almighty, an all-seeing God could distinguish the guilty from
the innocent: but a poor ignorant man, awaking from a dream on
being bitten by a flea, could not be expected to select which was the
offending, and which the harmless flea.”’
Ben Nasr. ‘It appears Noah was not so ready with a reply as you
are.’
Next we had the history of the son of Tama, who would not say
‘Enshallah’ (God willing).
‘“Say Enshallah! when you propose to make a journey or to
undertake anything: then fortune will attend you,” said the learned
F’ki Bitiwi to his young friend Selam Amu.
‘Know you not what the other day befell Abd-el-Kerim the son of
Tama the widow of the Sheikh of Amar? Hear then.
‘Abd-el-Kerim, last market day, told his mother he was going to
the Sok of Had-el-Gharbía to buy a cow.
‘The widow Tama, a devout good woman, reprimanded her son
for not adding “Enshallah.” To this Abd-el-Kerim replied, in a taunting
and blasphemous manner, that he needed not God’s assistance,
either to go to market, or to buy a cow; for, said the rash young man,
“Have I not here in the hood of my jelab more than sufficient money
for the purpose? Have I not legs to carry me to the Sok? Are there
not always cows to be sold?”
‘His mother again rebuked him, saying, “Without God’s will and
His assistance, no man can succeed in life.”
‘Abd-el-Kerim laughed at her and, shaking the money in his hood,
set off to the market which was only about an hour’s journey from
their village.
‘On reaching the river Gharifa he found it unusually swollen and
was obliged to wade more than waist deep.
‘When he reached the middle of the stream, the current was
running very strong and there came on a heavy shower of rain. Abd-
el-Kerim forgot the money in the hood of his jelab and pulled it over
his head to prevent his getting wet, and the coins fell into the river
and were lost in the mud.
‘In vain did Abd-el-Kerim dive and endeavour to recover his
money. The river was rising, the current became more rapid every
moment and he was obliged to retrace his steps and return in a very
wretched state to his village. Wet to the skin, without his money or
his cow, bitterly repenting that he had not followed his mother’s
advice, he vowed he would endeavour to be a better Moslem in the
future.
‘On entering the village, he met his cousin Husain, who, having
seen him set out in the morning for the market, inquired what
brought him back so early.
‘Oh, said Abd-el-Kerim, it has pleased God that I should not listen
to the advice of my mother, who desired me to say “Enshallah.” I
intended to have bought a cow, but God ordained I should reach the
river just as it pleased God it should begin to rain. And then it was
His will that I should forget the money in the hood of my jelab: so I
pulled the hood over my head and by God’s will it was ordained that
my money should thus be lost in the river. Now, if it please God, I
vow with God’s assistance, never to say or do anything without
asking the aid and blessing of the Almighty—Enshallah!’
Another story was that of ‘the lion and the lark.’

A lion was prowling, on a hot summer’s day, in the plains of Sahel,

and was about to tread on the nest of a lark, which was brooding
over its unfledged larklings, when the bird thus addressed the royal
beast: ‘O greatest and most powerful Sultan of the forest, have pity
on a poor bird and her helpless young!’
The lion, looking with the greatest contempt on the little lark,
replied, ‘Is it for thy wretched offspring, or for thee—despicable bird
—that I should swerve one step from my course?’ And at the same
moment he placed his paw upon the nest, and crushed the young
larks.
The mother flew up towards the heavens, wailing piteously, and
trilled out, ‘O cruel tyrant! God created me and my little ones whom
thou hast now destroyed: from His throne do I seek justice and
retribution. With Him all creatures are equal: thy strength, O lion, in
His sight, is not more regarded than my helplessness.
‘O God! I place my confidence in Thee! Thou art our Defender.
Thou art the Judge of all creatures.’
‘A curse,’ said the lion, ‘upon thy babbling tongue!’
The lark, soaring higher and higher, continued her song of
lamentation and woe; when suddenly she heard a voice from
heaven, and Gabriel, the messenger of God, thus addressed her,
‘Thy prayer, O lark, is heard, and justice shall be done unto thee.
Seek the aid of the winged tribes, God ordains that they shall
succour thee.’
The lark had hardly recovered from her astonishment at the
heavenly voice, when a falcon and a host of flies and gnats
surrounded her. The falcon addressing her said, ‘Thou seekest
justice and revenge. They shall be thine, for I am sent by Allah. The
powerful one shall be humbled and shall be made to learn God’s
strength and might; even through his humblest creatures.
‘Hark ye, O gnats! Seek the lion in his den in the thicket; torment
him with myriads of stings until he flies into the open. I shall then
pounce on his back and tear his flesh with my talons. Then—O flies!
do ye enter into the wounds in his body and fill them with maggots
and corruption. Thus shall the strong be humbled. Thus shall those
who despise God’s creatures, and who rule with wanton tyranny over
the weak, be made to know that there is no power nor strength but in
God Almighty, the Most High.’
The directions of the falcon were carried out, and the lion,
tormented by myriads of gnats, fled from his lair unto the plain. There
the falcon pounced on his back and tore his flesh. Innumerable
swarms of flies filled his body with maggots and corruption.
In a few days the tyrant of the forest, the terror of man and beast,
died in a loathsome and miserable manner.
Thus was the lark avenged.
March 4. Our tents were struck at daybreak. More prisoners at the
muleteer’s tent, and again I had to play mediator. The accusation
was that sufficient barley had not been provided for the soldiers’
horses. On examining the case, I found that more than enough had
been brought; but that a Kaid, who had followed us from the town by
way of compliment, was now returning and wanted to carry with him
a rich harvest from these poor people. This I put a stop to and
released the prisoners.
Crossing the line of hills called Akba el Hamra, we passed Dar
Aklau, or house of Aklau—a famous robber—and reached a wide
plain traversed by the rivers of Kholj and Hashef, in which is found
much ‘shebbel[8],’ a fish like a salmon, though the flesh is white and
a most dainty dish when roasted or fried. The fisheries are a
monopoly of the Government. Here we were met by the Kaid Sheikh
of Gharbía and about seventy cavalry who, after welcoming us in the
name of the Sultan, wheeled round and headed our party.
Our place of encampment is again a well-chosen site. A ‘mona’ of
sheep, fowls, shebbel, eggs, butter, bread, milk and oranges was
now brought, and a horrid cutting of throats ensued. I wish we did
not know that mutton belonged to a sheep or the wing of a fowl to a
chicken. A camp scene sadly reminds me that man is a bloodthirsty
creature.
March 5. Rain! Rain in torrents!
About midday we had half an hour’s fine weather, and I sallied out
in search of antiquities, and found numbers of large square hewn
stones covering the green turf. Here and there were remains of a
well-built wall—but of no height or form to enable me, in my
ignorance, to say what these ruins had been. Every appearance
around indicated the remains of a town of importance, probably
Roman. The Moors tell me that in digging they find many ruins
underground. In one place, however, called Uhara, there were the
ruined remains of what would appear to have been a castle or
barrack. This the Arabs declared to have been the palace of the
Sultan of Portugal’s daughter. It is possible that this building is
Portuguese, for they—the Portuguese—possessed all this line of
country, and would naturally select the same advantageous position
for a castle as their predecessors the Romans. The material of this
building was thin flat stones, not hewn, but apparently collected from
the surface of the soil and built with a hard cement—not mortar—as
far as I could judge. The remnant of an arched well was near the
building. We also came across what appeared to have been an
amphitheatre, formed in part by the natural rising of the ground and
in part by the hand of man. Not far from this site, some years ago, I
stumbled by chance on a much more perfect amphitheatre[9], in
which were still the steps or seats for the spectators and the dens for
the wild beasts and gladiators.
On returning to camp I found that the Sheikh of Ibdaua had
arrived with his cavalry to present his salams; but had come empty-
handed—‘not even a bowl of milk’—as I was informed by Kaid
Serbul, who has been sent by the Basha to provide ‘mona.’ So this
Kaid-caterer has not allowed the Bedouin to approach my ‘Exalted
Presence.’ I must, however, make friends with this gentleman, and
show him by and by, if he prove a tame Moslem, that the Englishman
is not so hard upon him as his own countrymen. A good name is
what I wish to leave amongst these poor people. Some day it may
prove of importance.
March 7. Starting our baggage at an early hour, so as to give time
for the animals and baggage to be taken in boats across the river,
and the tents to be pitched, we followed in the afternoon.
El Araish was soon in sight, and its fine river El Kus (the Lixus of
the ancients). The Sultan’s fleet, consisting of four dismantled and
rotten brigs, lay in this river. The captains of these vessels hoisted
their flags as I passed. A twelve-oared boat, with the captain of the
port and crew in full dress, awaited me; and two or three boats for
the horses. One of these boats, by way of compliment, was destined
to convey my horse all alone! At the port-gate was the Governor of
the town, with a guard of honour drawn up to receive me, and in the
Custom House the administrator and other authorities welcomed us
with the usual salams and compliments.
The cat is out of the bag! Every night since we have started I have
heard loud disputing and high words, in which fowls, eggs, mutton,
&c., prevailed. It appears that from the plentiful mona I receive, a
large surplus of live-stock remains, though my servants and
followers eat to their hearts’ content and are looking twice as sleek
as when they left Tangier. These sheep and fowls had been
appropriated by them without my knowledge, and sold as they
thought best, and one of the ‘Faithful’ complained to me because my
Arab secretary, Sid Ben Yahia, insisted upon having his share of the
spoil. I have put a stop to this shameless proceeding and have let
them know that, as the food is given to me by the Sultan’s orders to
be eaten, it shall be eaten and not an atom sold. So what my friends
can’t eat, David Sicsu and the Arab secretary shall; and what they
cannot, my servants shall; and what they cannot eat, the muleteers
shall devour; and what the muleteers can’t eat, the poor shall; and
what the poor can’t eat, they shall keep till they can. I have made
one or two Moors discontented by this arrangement, but have
pleased the majority: this is my aim, and to be just to all.
March 8. Rain again in the morning, but we made a start, and it
turned out a most delightful day. Our path was over undulating hills
of a red sandy soil, covered with rich grass, and the ‘klakh[10],’ an
annual fennel-like plant, growing nine and ten feet high; the ‘silphion’
of the Greeks, producing gum ammoniac, the ‘fasogh’ of the Arabs.
Here and there we passed patches of fine wheat and barley, the
latter already in the ear. It is distressing to see this wide extent of
country almost uninhabited, and its rich soil only cultivated where the
wandering Arab happens to pitch his tent; yet capable, I should
judge, of competing with any corn producing country in Europe.
There was little or no variety of scenery on the road, and we did not
meet half a dozen persons, or see en passant more than two Arab
‘duars,’ till we reached the spot of our encampment, near a limpid
stream, called ‘Gla.’
March 9. On approaching an Arab duar, we witnessed a curious
spectacle. The Arabs were flitting, and conveying their mosque on
two mules’ backs. This place of prayer is a conical hut, about nine
feet high and five in diameter. The priest alone enters at the time of
prayer, the congregation going through their devotions in the open
air.
Our encampment we found near a lake or marsh called ‘el Kra.’
St. Leger and myself waded in up to our middles after coot and duck,
but only got a ducking and one coot.
Later, we Nazarenes sallied out to visit the Arab tents,
accompanied by Moors with sticks to keep off the dogs, which seem
to have a great dislike to the Christian, and bark their curses in as
guttural sounds as their masters. The women and children peeped at
us when distant, but scuttled into their tents as we approached,
though two old Arab hags, dressed in the dirtiest of woollen rags,
held together with large silver brooches (of the same form as the
Scotch brooch made for the plaid, and used much after the same
fashion for confining their dress at the shoulder), held their ground
and scrutinised us with witch-like eyes. One fine girl, however, took