Jasmine's Homecoming — Jasmine

(Anderson Heirs, Book 3) (The

Andersons, Book 15) Melody Anne
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Jasmine’s Homecoming
The Anderson Heirs
Book Three

By

Melody Anne
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 Dedication
This is dedicated to my niece Jasmine. May you achieve everything you
ever want in this lifetime and the next. I love you.

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Copyright © 2023 Melody Anne
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole
or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter
invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or
retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Printed and published in the United States of America.
Published by Falling Star Publications
Editing by Karen Lawson and Janet Hitchcock
Cover done by Emmy McCormack
Paperback cover done by Alisha Luiz

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 Books by Melody Anne
FIRST SERIES
He Saw Me First
She Saw Me First
At First Sight

The Andersons
Wins The Game
The Dance
The Fall
The Proposal
The Blackmail
The Runaway
The Final Stand
Unexpected Treasure
Hidden Treasure
Holiday Treasure
Priceless Treasure
The Ultimate Treasure

The Anderson Heirs

Book One: Sweet Noel
Book Two: Jacob’s Challenge
Book Three: Jasmine’s Homecoming

ANDERSON SPECIAL OPS

Shadows
Rising
Barriers
Shattered
Reborn

THE ANDERSON BILLIONAIRES

Finn
Noah
Brandon
Hudson
Crew

HORIZONS OF CHARLIE
Diamond Horizons
Sapphire Horizons
Opal Horizons
Emerald Horizons

SURRENDER SERIES
Surrender
Seduced
Scorched
Saved

UNDERCOVER BILLIONAIRES
Kian
Arden
Owen
Declan

TRUTH IN LIES
One too Many
Two Secrets Kept
Three Outs
Four Seconds Gone
Five Goodbye’s

BILLIONAIRE AVIATORS
Turbulent Intentions – Book One (Cooper)
Turbulent Desires – Book Two (Maverick)
Turbulent Waters – Book Three (Nick)
Turbulent Intrigue – Book Four (Ace)

The Titans
The Tycoon’s Revenge
The Tycoon’s Vacation
The Tycoon’s Proposal
The Tycoon’s Secret
The Lost Tycoon
Rescue Me

HEROES SERIES
Safe in his arms – Novella
Baby it’s Cold Outside
Her Unexpected Hero – Book One
Who I am with you – Book Two – Novella
Her Hometown Hero – Book Three
Following Her – Book Four – Novella
Her Forever Hero – Book Five
Her Found Hero – Book Six

TAKEN BY THE TRILLIONAIRE

#1 Xander – Ruth Cardello
#2 Bryan – J.S. Scott
#3 Chris – Melody Anne
#4 Virgin for the Trillionaire – Ruth Cardello
#5 Virgin for the Prince – J.S. Scott
#6 Virgin to Conquer – Melody Anne

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 Table of Contents
DEDICATION
BOOKS BY MELODY ANNE

PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE

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 Prelude

I wrote a Jasmine series with author John Henley that you can read
before or after this story if you’d like. You don’t have to read that series in
order to read this book. It’s a five-book series in which Jasmine goes to
Florida, makes new friends, and works for the FBI solving crimes. It’s
where she first meets Hunter, the hero in this book. They have a
partnership, and a romance.
When I decided to bring Jasmine back home to her family, I wanted to
write this book in a way that it could be a standalone, but I also couldn’t
forget all about her adventures in Miami. I just wanted to put this note in
here.
There are some spoilers in this book for the last book in that series, Five
Goodbye’s. Book five in that series is the only one I’d recommend you read
before this book if you want the shocking ending that then leads into this
book.
Again, you don’t have to read those books without being lost in this
book. I made sure of that. But they do go hand in hand, and you’d want to
read that book first before this one if you want to stay in order. The first
four books in that series can be read after without spoilers. It’s a really fun
series with a great cast of characters.
 It’s not contemporary romance though. There’s sex and romance, but it’s
more about friendships and solving crimes than leading to happily ever
afters. I hope those who have read the books love them as much as I’ve
enjoyed writing them with my co-writer. Now, on to Jasmine’s story. I
promise to quit torturing the eldest granddaughter of Joseph now and give
her a happily ever after . . . well, maybe a little torture first.

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 Prologue
Jasmine

I wake to a beeping noise echoing in my head. I want to demand the

sound be turned off, thinking it’s my alarm, but my limbs are weak. As I
open my lips to groan, a sharp pain flares in my throat, letting me know
something’s seriously wrong. Discomfort washes through me, making me
panic where I lie. I start to move but realize that I hurt all over. An increase
of the beeping makes me panic even more.
“It’s okay, Jasmine, you’re fine,” a deep familiar voice says, reaching
through the fuzziness in my head. I turn as I open my eyes. Everything’s
blurry for a minute. When the haziness focuses, I see my partner, Hunter,
sitting at my side. Okay, I’m going to be okay. We’ll figure this out
together.
The beeping lessens as a sense of relief washes over me. I’m still
confused, but not panicked. “Thank goodness you’re awake,” he says. I try
to smile, but I’m sure I’m failing. I try to assure myself he’ll fill me in on
what’s happening. I’m sure I’ve simply hit my head. It will all be fine in
just a few minutes.
“What’s happening?” I croak, not recognizing the sound of my voice. It’s
as if I’m in a fog, and no matter how hard I try to climb out of it, I can’t
escape. I force myself to calm as I focus on Hunter. It’s like trying to hold
on to a dream as your body fully awakens. I’m struggling to put the puzzle
pieces together but can’t find the right place to set it.
“Do you remember our accident?” Hunter asks.
 I gaze at him in confusion. I don’t try to speak, just shake my head. I see
him wince but don’t know what the expression means. He takes my hand
and squeezes my fingers.
“What do you remember last?” he gently asks. Hunter and I have an
incredible relationship, but he’s gazing at me so tenderly I’m confused. I
look up at the ceiling as I try to calm myself and remember what happened
last. It comes to me.
“Our case, the bar . . .” He looks horrified, confusing me more. I go on,
telling him about the case we’ve been working on. Did I get injured? That
has to be what happened. There’s no other explanation. I must’ve been
bonked good on the head. I’m going to kick someone’s ass for this . . . that’s
for dang sure.
Hunter’s eyes have a sheen in them I don’t understand. He shakes his
head as I finish speaking, and my confusion grows worse.
“Jazz, do you want full truth, or do you need me to sugarcoat this?” he
carefully asks.
I’m still confused, but the initial panic was wanned. “We also tell each
other the truth,” I tell him. He knows better than to ask me something like
this. He lets out a long sigh. As soon as he starts speaking, I wonder if I
should’ve asked for some sugar.
“That was six months ago, Jasmine.” The words aren’t reassuring.
“What do you mean six months ago?” I gasp when I can catch my breath
again.
“Don’t be upset. I’ll explain it all to you, but you said full truth so there’s
the initial rip of the bandage,” he tells me.
I’m almost able to roll my eyes, but keep from doing just that. “I think
you’d be awfully upset if you were the one in this bed and I was sitting
there telling you that you’ve lost six months,” I say, more of my sass in my
voice, making me feel better already.
He gives me his first real smile since I woke up. “No, I’d be a mess, and
most likely pulling wires out and screaming at people,” he admits.
I nearly laugh. This Hunter I know well. We have a great partnership. I
realize his hand is still gripping mine. I’m not sure how I feel about this. I
do know I’m not pulling away from him. I like the touch, like the comfort
he’s offering.
My heart rate accelerates again, and the door opens, hurried footsteps
approaching. Men and women in white coats enter the room wearing
concerned expressions as they approach my bed.
One doctor steps forward, a middle-aged man with kind eyes. “Good to
see you awake, Jasmine. I’m Dr. Michaels and have been overseeing your
care.” I nod, well aware my heart’s beating too fast. I take some breaths as
one of the women move to the monitor and turn the sound down. Not
having to hear my own stats helps relax me.
“I bet you want some answers,” he says. I nod. It’s better I do this than
start making rude noises at him. I don’t want jokes, I want answers.
“You’ve been in a coma for two weeks,” he begins, his voice calm and
assuring. “During this time your brain has been through some pretty severe
trauma, most likely leading to memory loss.”
Tears fill my eyes as I again nod. “Have we figured out what you
remember last?” he asks. He looks from me to Hunter, then back to me. I
again nod.
“Six months ago,” I say, my voice choked. I’m not a weak woman, but
right now I feel fragile. I don’t like it. “Where’s my family?” There’s no
way if I’ve been in this hospital for two weeks that my family isn’t here.
 “They’re on their way back now. They’ve been here around the clock,”
the doctor says, and I manage another smile. The haggard look on his face
as he says this tells me that my grandfather’s been terrorizing this hospital.
“I bet they’ve been a handful,” I tell the people standing by my bed. One
of the nurses chuckles.
“Your gramps doesn’t like being told no or that there isn’t a firm answer
to any of his questions. We’ve all learned to figure out an answer to give
him . . . any answer at all,” Hunter says.
I smile. “He loves me.” They’re simple words and very true.
“Yes, he does. All of your family does.” Hunter looks like he wants to
say more, but he doesn’t. I turn back to the doctor.
“Will I get my memory back?” I ask.
Dr. Michaels expression softens as he nods. “Memory recovery is a very
complex process. In some cases, memories gradually return. In others,
they’re lost permanently. We’ll carefully monitor your progress and provide
all of the support you need.”
Fear mixes with hope within me. Dwelling on the unknown won’t do me
any good though. It could hinder any progress I make. I force myself to
quell my racing heart, and calm the storm raging within me.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get better.” I’ve
never been a quitter and never will be.
Dr. Michaels nods, then moves forward and checks my vitals. I ask a few
more questions, but it doesn’t help. I let out a relieved sigh when they exit
the room. I turn back to Hunter.
“Tell me what happened,” I say.
He retakes my hand. “We were working, in pursuit of a suspect. There
was a vehicle accident that landed us both in the hospital,” he says.
 “Well, that’s a short explanation,” I say with a slight chuckle. The more I
speak, the more my voice returns to normal. I press my memories to recall
the accident . . . but it’s eluding me. A part of my life’s gone, and there’s
nothing I can do about it right now.
I gaze at Hunter and something questionable flashes within me . . . like I
have feelings for him. What in the heck is this? Yes, I’ve had a crush on this
man for a long time, but I thought I had a handle on my emotions. It has to
be because I’m here and he’s here, and he’s being kind to me. In this
moment my mind’s a blank canvas and it’s simply waiting for color to fill it.
I feel a mixture of emotions, gratitude to be alive, happiness Hunter’s
with me, confusion over the time I’ve missed, and longing to understand it
all. I’m alive, though, and that’s what matters. The rest will work itself out.
This is one more life journey I’ll face like I’ve faced everything else.
“What are you thinking?” Hunter asks.
I smile, holding his gaze. “I don’t really know. I’m confused.”
His eyes soften with understanding. He leans in and kisses my forehead,
sending a slew of emotions through me.
“I’ll be right here at your side, Jazz. I’ll help you find yourself again,” he
tells me.
I’m not sure why, but I believe him. Something’s happening between us
even if I don’t understand what it is. Exhaustion pulls me under, and I give
in, falling asleep with Hunter at my side, his hand in mine.

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 Chapter One
Hunter

Jasmine’s been in and out of consciousness for days. Her family has
barely left the hospital, and though I’m still weak, I was cleared to leave a
while ago . . . but it’s not going to happen. I can’t leave her side. This is the
woman I love, the woman I still feel married to because of the damn dream
I had when in my own coma! It was beautiful and wonderful, and it rips me
in two that it was all in my head. It’s still not fully settling in my brain that
everything I thought I was experiencing while lying in a hospital bed wasn’t
real. I want that dream to come true, want it more than I’ve ever wanted
anything in my life.
I truly would be happy sitting right here with her for the rest of my life. I
love her, and I’ll do everything I can to make her fall in love with me all
over again if she never regains her memories.
I can’t stand seeing her in this hospital bed, her body less bruised, but
circles too easily resting beneath her beautiful blue eyes. She’s pale, but
she’ll soon be physically healthy again. Her mental health might take
longer. It doesn’t matter. Love isn’t just for better, it’s for all times. I loved
her before, but I love her even more now.
“She’s resting, Hunter,” Joseph Anderson, her grandfather, tells me.
“I know. She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known, and it just kills me
to see her lying here in bed like this,” I reply. She needs her rest, but I want
her up and alive and throwing barbs my way.
“As soon as she’s healthy we need to take her home,” Joseph says. He’s
being kind, quite something for this powerful man, but also firm. There’s no
chance I can fight this family. If they want their daughter — granddaughter
— home, then she will go home. I can either watch her leave, or I can go
along with her. There’s only one option . . . I’m taking a leave of absence
from work. I won’t leave her side unless she makes me go.
My heart breaks as I watch her sleep. We’ve been through a lot in the
couple of years I’ve known her, but we finally made it through the muddy
waters, and this is the best relationship I’ve ever had . . . and she doesn’t
remember a moment of it. We’ve made so many memories together . . . and
they’re all forgotten now. What can I do to help her remember?
“How is the Anderson clan doing today?” Dr. Michaels asks as he strides
into the room.
“We’ve had better days,” Lucas, Jasmine’s father, says.
“Well, our patient’s doing wonderfully. She’ll soon be ready for
discharge,” the doctor says.
A part of me wants to panic, wants to demand she doesn’t leave this
hospital until she’s fully back to herself. But I realize I’m being selfish
thinking this. She needs to go home, needs to be around things that are
familiar to her.
I might want to keep her in my own little bubble, but that would be
holding her back. I can’t do that to the woman I love more than I love
myself.
What if she never gets her memories back and decides she doesn’t want
to be with me anymore? I can’t imagine this happening, can’t imagine how
badly it would hurt. I won’t let that happen.
If she doesn’t remember our relationship, I’ll simply have to make her
fall in love with me all over again. It’s the only answer.
The doctor does his normal vital checks on Jasmine, then leaves the
room. I follow him. I need a break away from the overwhelming family,
and I certainly need a heavy dose of caffeine.
“Dr. Michaels,” I call when he starts to move away. He stops and looks
at me. He’s getting used to my questions by now but he’s always patient.
“What can I do to help her get her memories back?” I ask, desperation
dripping from my voice.
He smiles. “Don’t rush her, Hunter. The best thing you can do is to not
let her see your heartbreak and frustration. Keep her surrounded by things
that are familiar to her and be her friend. Give her the relationship she had
with you that she remembers, and stay at her side.”
“What if she never remembers?” I ask, voicing my worst fear.
“Then you’ll have to be the man she fell in love with in the first place. If
you did it once, you should be able to do it twice,” he tells me.
He walks away, leaving me standing in the busy hallway. I’ve been
thinking these thoughts. I’ll need to make her fall for me all over again. It
feels like a daunting task, but I firm my shoulders.
I made her fall for me once, and I can certainly do it again. I love this
woman, and I’ll do whatever it takes to help her heal. This isn’t about me,
it’s about her.

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 Chapter Two
Jasmine

“Rummy!” I say as I lay my cards down and lean back with a smirk on
my lips.
“Again?” Hunter smiles at me. “I think you’re cheating.”
I chuckle. It feels good to laugh. It’s something I haven’t felt like doing
for a while. I want out of this dang bed, and out of this hospital. It’s going
to happen soon. Until then, Hunter’s been at my side practically day and
night . . . and what’s weird about this is . . . I like it.
He’s assured me we’re in love, and when I look at him with confusion,
he simply tells me he’s up for making me fall in love with him all over
again. I have my doubts, but I have to admit I like spending time with him. I
always have though. He’s a great partner at work.
My family is in and out of the room, but it’s clear that they love Hunter
because they’re more than happy for the two of us to spend plenty of alone
time together. Gramps is all about matchmaking. He wants a whole new set
of great-grandchildren to spoil. The thought of me as a mother is terrifying.
I want nothing to do with that. Or at least I don’t think I’m ready for that.
The more time I spend with Hunter, the more my convictions are shaken.
“How can I cheat when I’m stuck in this bed?” I ask as I stick my lip out
in a perfected pout. Hunter laughs. He seems to laugh a lot. I like it.
“I’m sure you, of all people, can figure out how to cheat from a hospital
bed,” he tells me.
He’s not wrong. I’m good at figuring things out. I’m currently not
cheating though . . . but I’m not above doing it . . . when necessary.
 I’m still in shock about this car accident we had that sent me here. How
in the world can I go through something so traumatic and not remember a
thing about it? This seems impossible. I’m also confused about what’s
happening between Hunter and me. I have the feelings I remember having
six months ago, these feelings of attraction, or wondering if I have a crush
on him or not, or wondering if we should try a relationship.
To find out we’ve been in a relationship that I can’t remember isn’t
sitting well with me. Is this all a joke? Am I going to wake up tomorrow
and realize this is a big prank? I’m too smart to believe that.
Nobody, not even my family, could pull off such an elaborate prank.
One thing I know for sure is that I’m very sick of being in this dang
hospital. I want to go home, and I want it yesterday. I’m not sure what
home is anymore though. Is it my condo here in Miami, or is it in Seattle
where I spent most of my life? If only this was easy.
Then again, when have I ever wanted life to be easy? I’ve always said
easy is boring.
“I brought cupcakes.” Thinking of the devil. That’s Gramps’s voice
booming out in the hallway. The laughter that flows after his grand
announcement makes me smile.
“There’s my beautiful girl,” he says as he fills my hospital room
doorway, which is saying something since they are extra-large to
accommodate the beds that need to be wheeled in and out of the room.
Gramps stands about six-foot-five, and he’s large in stature and presence.
He’s also the best man I know. My dad’s right there with him.
“Gramps, I thought you were playing golf today,” I say.
“I couldn’t concentrate, not with you in here,” he tells me as he moves
forward.
 He leans down and kisses my forehead and I glow from the inside out. I
love having Gramps here. I might complain at times, but I love him more
than life itself. He’s my favorite just as I know I’m his . . . even if he
doesn’t admit it out loud. All of the family knows. Gramps and I have a
bond that can never be broken.
I sit up a bit straighter, grateful for the company when I know so many
people in hospitals get no visitors at all. With my larger-than-life family
around me the atmosphere is lighter, and laughter bounces off the walls.
Their very presence chases away the shadows of uncertainty that have been
filling me since waking to find I’ve lost a chunk of time.
“Okay, Jazzy, we’re going to play a memory game today,” Gramps says
with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Gramps isn’t normally a games type of
man, unless it’s the game of matchmaking. He’s got my interest.
“What do you have, Gramps?” I say. Hunter loves playing games with
me. It really does help the time pass when I’m stuck in this bed far more
than I like. I’ve never been the type to sleep the day away. I can’t do this
much longer.
My dad steps forward, holding up his phone. “These phones are a
blessing and a curse,” he says with a chuckle. “This is a word-guessing
game. We will all take turns describing a word without saying it, then you’ll
have to guess what it is. Think you can do it with your broken brain?”
“Dad! That’s just mean,” I say with a laugh.
“You’ve always been smart, Jazz. I like this humble girl before me,” Dad
says before he leans down and gives me a kiss on the forehead.
“I love you too, Dad,” I say. This goes without saying. Our family might
have squabbles every once in a while, but it’s never anything big. “Now,
bring the game on. I’m going to destroy all of you.”
 My mother, Amy steps forward, excitement in her voice. I’m glad to see
her this way. When I first woke up, it looked like she’d aged twenty years.
She’s much more back to herself now that I’m doing well.
“Okay, Jazz, I’ll start. Imagine you’re in the kitchen, and making
something sweet. It’s a fluffy dessert, usually topped with frosting. What is
it?”
“Really, Mom?” I say with a raise of my brows.
“Just play along,” she says with a chuckle. “I don’t pick the words, the
phone does.”
“Hmm, ice-cream,” I sarcastically say, and Hunter chuckles.
“Minus one point,” Gramps calls out.
“You know I was joking,” I tell him as I sit a bit higher.
“It counts,” he smugly says.
“Cake!” I say. No more joking for me. I play to win.
“Only two tries. Very good,” my mother says as if I really did get the
first answer wrong. Grr.
“Bring on the next,” I demand. Everyone laughs. I might just be the most
competitive member of our family, and that’s saying a lot in the Anderson
clan.
Hunter leans down and squeezes my hand. “Kick their asses,” he
whispers, making me smile.
“You know I will,” I assure him.
The game continues with each of my family members taking turns. The
words get harder, and not a single one stumps me. We all laugh as the clues
grow more creative, and some of the words are a bit dirty . . . dirty enough
that a few go over my gramps’s head, and make me slightly blush.
As the game continues, I feel even more grateful for this big family who
loves me so much. Being with them assures me I’m going to be okay, that
no matter what I’ll heal. I’ll get to go home. I love this crazy family of
mine.
Through our game, our laughter, and the playful banter, my family and
my partner remind me that I’m not ever alone. They will be with me each
step of the way to guide me, hold my hand, and help me to fill in the gaps in
the missing pieces of my life. If my memories are gone forever, then we’ll
make new ones together.
Chaos reigns supreme for a while longer before my family departs. And
as much as I love them, I let out a sigh of relief. Seeing them is wonderful
and overwhelming at the same time. I sit back and gaze at Hunter . . . glad
he’s still here. What does this tell me about him and me?
Apparently, the staff has figured out he’s not leaving. I think they like
having him around. Not only is he more than easy on the eyes, but he’s a
solid man with a heart of gold. I can see why I fell in love with him. Will I
do it a second time? If I do, what does that mean? I’m too young to think of
forever, aren’t I?
“Okay, now that the chaos of your family is over, it’s time for a calmer
game of One Sentence Stories,” Hunter says.
I raise my brows. “What in the world is that?”
“It’s where I start with a sentence and you make the next one until we
have a full story,” he tells me. I smile.
“Why don’t I get to start?” I ask. My competitive streak still hasn’t
ended.
“Okay, you start then,” he says, leaning back in his chair as he munches
on a slice of pizza. This man can eat pizza and tacos on rotating nights
every day for the rest of his life. I like it.
“There was a girl in a coma,” I begin, making him chuckle.
 “Every night at exactly three in the morning, she’d let out a loud moan,
making the hospital staff come running,” he quickly puts in, making me
giggle.
“They couldn’t figure out if she was in pain . . . or ecstasy,” I say,
waggling my brows. This time he choke-coughs. Oh, I do like playing with
this man.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “But then, on the fourteenth night this happened,
she sat up straight in bed at exactly three, and her eyes popped open.” He
widens his own eyes as he looks around my dim room.
“She starts chanting, I need a DQ Oreo Blizzard,” I say, keeping my
smile at bay.
“And the nurse rushed into the room with not only a blizzard, but also a
large order of onion rings,” Hunter says.
We continue with our story for another hour, and eventually end up with
coma girl bathing in Jell-O and squawking like a bird. I might not
remember my romance with Hunter, but if this is the way it’s been between
us for the past six months, I’m more than willing to jump in and sign up for
at least another six months.

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 Chapter Three
Jasmine

I’ve been lying alone in my room for about thirty minutes gazing at the
sterile white walls, smelling the strong disinfectant, and I’m bummed.
Hunter rarely leaves my side, but he had to take a phone call that will take a
while. I guess he’s taking a leave of absence from work. I want him to come
back and entertain me. This is confusing. I don’t need entertained.
I’m Jasmine freaking Anderson, and I have mad skills in everything I do.
They’re finally letting me get up and walk around, but I had a strenuous
physical therapy session earlier, and I’m exhausted. Well, my body’s
exhausted, but my brain’s running at its normal, Mach one-thousand pace.
The beeping of the monitors behind me, and the hushed whispers of the
nurses in the hallway are the only sounds currently filling the air. I’m close
to calling Gramps just so I don’t have to be lost in my own brain. I need
anything to break up my thoughts. They’re a little out of hand right now
with me being so sedentary.
Before I go too stir crazy, I hear familiar voices coming to me from the
heavens, or like the sunshine breaking through the clouds after a storm. My
door’s thrust all of the way open and I grin as Ember and Mora burst into
the room, smiles making their already radiant faces glow.
“I’ve missed you guys,” I practically shout as they move over to my bed
and take turns strangling me with their hugs. My monitor beeps as my heart
thunders. This time it’s out of sheer happiness though. I love these two
women and I’m so dang pleased they’re here.
 Ember’s been my best friend since we were too tiny to remember, and I
met Mora a couple of years ago, and she instantly became a soul sister. I
love these women, and I’m beyond thrilled to have them with me.
“Jazzy,” Mora exclaims, her face aglow with a mix of excitement and
exhaustion. “You have to hear about my adventures!”
“But not before you hear about the story I’m currently working on. It’s a
nail-biter,” Ember says, a mischievous glint in her beautiful eyes. My smile
grows as they take seats, one on either side of my bed. These girls are my
heart and soul. I can face just about anything as long as I have them with
me.
“I love you guys. I want to hear everything from both of you,” I insist.
Mora starts absentmindedly shuffling a deck of cards as she gazes at me.
“Because you’ve lost six months, you won’t remember that I joined Doctors
Without Borders,” she begins. “I flew in all of the way from Africa to see
you. Don’t ever scare me like this again.”
I look at her in awe. “Oh my gosh, Mora, that’s great!” I tell her. “I want
to know all about it.”
She leans forward, exhilaration in her expression. “It’s challenging and
rewarding. I love every minute of it. The conditions are tough, and there are
a thousand stories I can tell you . . . but the most important part of all of it is
that I’m helping people who truly need it, Jazz. I’m making a difference and
I’ve never been so happy to be a doctor.”
“I want to hear about every single patient,” I tell her, and both of them
laugh.
“That would take years, but I’ll certainly share my favorites,” she says.
“But not yet,” Ember chimes in, her eyes shining. “While Mora’s saving
lives, I’ve been working on groundbreaking stories. The one I’m currently
doing is about a crooked politician in Washington State. I’ve uncovered
evidence of corruption and deceit that goes all of the way to the top. This
story will certainly shake things up for our home state.”
I laugh, feeling the excitement flowing from both of my friends. “Leave
it to you, Ember, to dig up the truth no matter what it takes,” I say. I love
how brilliant my friends are.
Ember grins, a mix of pride and determination resting on her face. “I do
this job because I love it and because I want to make the world a better
place. I won’t accept anything of myself but the best. And you know what?
When this story breaks, we’ll out all of those bastards who are abusing their
power. We’ll be the ones making a difference in this world and bringing
trust back to the people who elect those crooked sons-of-” She pauses for a
moment. “I need a new saying cause I love my mama.”
This makes all three of us laugh . . . hard. “I agree. I refuse to use that
statement from here on out,” I say.
Mora begins dealing cards for a game of rummy while we keep up the
conversation. I love the sound of the cards shuffling and shifting and being
laid on the dinner tray resting in front of me. I also love the sound of my
best friends’ voices.
Laughing with these two, sharing stories, talking about our lives makes
me forget all about the pain and uncertainty I’ve faced since I woke from
my coma. Here with my friends, I’m strengthened, determined, and more
importantly, hopeful.
No matter how dire things look, there’s always a light at the end of the
tunnel. Every battle we face is something worth fighting because it makes
us better people. With these girls at my side, we can slay dragons.
We continue playing cards and the room fills with lively chatter and a lot
of laughter, making the nurses stop in to see what all of the ruckus is. Of
course, in my room, they’re used to the unusual. I have a naturally
boisterous family. That extends to my friends as well.
Ember tosses a card on the table, a triumphant grin playing on her lips.
“You won’t believe what happened when I cornered that sleazy politician,
Jazz. The man was sweating bullets, stumbling all over himself like a
clumsy puppet, turning beet red. It was great!”
Mora chuckles, shaking her head. We’ve all seen Ember when she has
her sights set on a new victim. “Ember, you’re one hell of a strong woman
and have nerves of steel. I’m going to start calling you Superwoman. I can
close my eyes and see the panic on that man’s face when you demanded
answers from him.”
Ember shrugs, not out of modesty, but because her story isn’t finished
yet. She’ll be toasting us all when the story breaks. “It’s about holding those
people accountable, the ones who are supposed to have our best interests at
heart. The whole world needs to know the truth, so no matter what it takes,
I’ll eventually get my story. I don’t care if I have to climb through the
sewers to drain the swamp, I’ll damn well do it.”
I smile, knowing and loving this side of my best friend. Her passion is
something to behold. “Both of you are incredible women and are saving the
world one person at a time. I admire you so much,” I tell them, setting
down my cards for a moment so I can squeeze their arms.
I turn and gaze at Mora. “You’re giving up a lot to work for pennies in
Africa, and you don’t look at it like a sacrifice, instead as a reward. I love
that so much.” I turn to Ember. “And your courage to break a story and out
someone from power who doesn’t deserve to be there is beautiful. I’m very
inspired by you both.”
Mora laughs, but I see the praise matters to her. “Jasmine, you’re an
inspiration to me every single day. You’re the strongest woman I know, not
just physically but mentally as well. You take down bad guys without
breaking a sweat. It’s great that we all have our strengths and can hold our
heads high no matter where we go. I couldn’t ask for two better friends than
the two of you.”
“I have to agree with Mora,” Ember says. “You’re so damn strong,
Jasmine. This is just a blip on your life’s journey. You’re going to get out of
here, remember everything, and be stronger than ever. Mora and I will be
here for you the entire time.”
I have to fight tears. “No, you won’t be here. You’ll continue living your
lives. But we’ll check in regularly with each other. If I was dying, I’d have
you here for sure, but I’m not close to death. We’re going to create a lot
more stories in our lives to share with each other. We can’t do that if you’re
hanging with me as I go through this damn therapy.”
“We aren’t leaving you,” Mora says, looking like the idea of that is
absolutely absurd.
“I agree with the doctor,” Ember says as she leans back and crosses her
arms.
“You don’t have to leave right this minute, but I’m putting you on the
no-visitor list after tonight. I want you to go back to your lives and shine,” I
insist. We all glare at each other for several moments, and then Ember
breaks the tension with a laugh before she leans in closer.
“Okay we’ll argue about this later but, if you’re going to be a brat, tell
us: have you and Hunter had any kinky hospital room sex?” Shockingly, my
cheeks heat as a blush steals over me.
“No!” I say too loud. Both girls look at me with determination and hope.
They remember my relationship with Hunter even if I don’t. They seem
determined to remind me. Do I want to go down this road with them?
 “Jazzy, we’re your besties, and are here to tell you that you’re absolutely
head-over-heels in love with Hunter,” Mora says. “We’re going to remind
you by pointing out some of the amazing things you two have done
together.”
Ember nods in agreement. “You had this date night with us that’s one to
remember. You went to that new rooftop restaurant on the ocean with
panoramic views that took months to get into. Hunter pulled some strings.
We can’t be sure if they were legal strings or not, but nothing’s out of line
when it comes to love. The ambiance of the place was positively magical,
and Hunter had every single detail down to a T.”
My brow furrows as I search for this memory in my befuddled brain. I
can’t find it. A spark inside of me makes me want to flush it out, but it’s no
use. So damn frustrating. “I can’t remember,” I say, hating this helplessness.
“That’s what we’re here for, to remind you,” Mora says as she gently
takes my hand. “You knocked your head and this is only a setback. You’re
too strong to let anything defeat you. Until you remember, Ember and I will
be your Jiminy Cricket.”
Ember leans forward, a gleam in her eyes. “Jazzy, that night on the
rooftop, you were madly in love with Hunter. The sparks were flying so
hard and hot, that all of us were nearly burned. We smiled with how much
you were smiling. The way the two of you looked together gave every
woman in the place orgasms. It was like nothing else in the world
mattered.”
Mora jumps back in, her voice excited. “You shared stories, laughter, and
talked about your dreams, all of the things you wanted to do together.
Hunter brings you to life unlike anything I’ve seen before. There’s a spark
inside you that only he can ignite. I’ve known Hunter a long time, and I’ve
never seen him look at another woman the way he looks at you.”
 I’m trying to wrap my brain around what they’re saying, but it seems
like a fairy tale, not real life. I so wish I could remember all of this for
myself. Doubt and confusion fill me no matter how hard I try to push them
away. I have no doubt whatsoever that these two ladies love me and only
want the best for me though. This, more than anything, gives me hope.
Ember continues speaking, her voice filled with conviction. “Jazz, love
can transcend every barrier trying to block our way in this journey of life. A
great force runs through us so deeply that nothing can stop it. Even if your
memories are temporarily lost, what you and Hunter have together is still
inside you. You’ll find it, the heavens will open, and you’ll once again be
free.”
Mora nods, her eyes filled with tears, a strange sight to see. “We have no
doubt whatsoever that you’ll remember your love again, Jazz. Your story is
far too strong to be forgotten. We’ll be here every step of the way . . . unless
we’re chasing bad guys.” This makes us all laugh.
“We can’t stop chasing bad guys,” I tell them.
“Hell no, we can’t, because we’re superheroes,” Mora says.
A mixture of emotion washes through me — frustration, longing, and an
incredibly deep yearning to remember this great love they speak of that I’m
unable to grasp. I want to feel what they say I’ve already felt. If nothing
else motivates me, this certainly does.
“I love you guys. Thank you for pushing me, for trying so hard.” I’m so
damn emotional, and I hate it. I know we’re not normally so cheesy, but I
love these women.
“We’re your besties. It’s our job to push you,” Ember says with a laugh
as she leans in and gives me a side hug. “You’ll have to do the same for us
someday. I’m sure we’re heading for concussions too since we live our lives
on the edge.”
 The sad part is it might just be true. We do live dangerous lives, but I
won’t live in fear. I need to live in the fast lane or give up on life altogether.
Mora and Ember feel the exact same way.
“Okay, this is getting way too mushy,” Mora says.
“I agree,” I tell her with a wet chuckle. I see a mischievous glint in
Ember’s eyes.
“Well, we’ve told you all of the great things from your date, but there’s
something we’ve been holding back,” Ember says as she giggles in pure
joy.
“What are you talking about?” I ask. Maybe I don’t want to know.
“During your date, there was . . . shall we say . . . a moment that got the
attention of every single person in the restaurant.”
I’m equally mortified and curious of what’s she’s talking about. “Spill,” I
demand.
Mora laughs along with her as she takes over. “You were so engrossed in
making googly eyes at Hunter that you didn’t notice the waiter who was
walking by with a tray full of dishes. Before any of us knew what was
coming, you rose from your chair, your seat crashing straight into him.”
She’s laughing hard now.
I look at her with pure mortification. “No! What did I do to the poor
man?”
Ember’s laughing hard now. “It was great! It was a scene straight out of
one our favorite romantic comedies. I replay it over and over again in my
mind . . . in slow motion. Both you and the waiter stumbled before he went
to the ground, and you landed straight in Hunter’s lap. He was ever the
hero.”
A laugh escapes my lips before I clamp my hand over my traitorous
mouth. This so isn’t funny. “Are you telling me the truth?” I demand. Both
Mora and Ember are practically rolling as they continue busting out in
laughter.
“Hunter started laughing hard, making you bounce up and down on his
lap, which I’m sure led to some tightness problems in his pants,” Mora
chokes out. “The man was wearing a grin the size of the Cheshire Cat as he
held on to you. You finally caved, and started laughing with him. Soon, the
entire crowd in the restaurant joined in . . . including the waiter on the
floor.”
As we laugh together in my hospital room my brain is itching to show
me this memory. It doesn’t open up like a unicorn immerging from the fog,
but it does give me hope that someday I’ll have this memory, and so many
more, back. I almost feel this connection they’re describing between me and
my partner. I want it so badly, I’m willing to do anything it takes to get it
back.
I might not remember the details of this particular date, but I’m eager to
create new memories with Hunter. I’m willing to try to discover this love
that Mora and Ember are so beautifully describing.
Our game progresses and our conversation continues on a lighter note as
we reminisce about old adventures and hilarious mishaps. The cards are
mere accessories to our beautiful friendship, mere distractions from the
weight of the outside world. With every card thrown down, our friendship
solidifies even more.
Ember talks about the time we were lost hiking in the mountains and
swore to never go on another trail again, but then found our way back to
another one the very next week. Mora speaks about the time we stumbled
onto a hidden lake, thinking it was our treasure alone to behold. The
memories continue to wash over us like a warm embrace, making me
momentarily forget all of my current woes.
 As the game draws to a close, Mora lays her final card with a triumphant
smile. “Rummy. I’m the winner and you’re the losers!”
Ember grumbles, and I pout. “Jerk,” I say with a laugh.
“You know it,” Mora proudly exclaims. We giggle some more, the sound
chasing any shadows from the room. This friendship matters above all else.
The sun fades, the outside darkening, and I still don’t care. I’m with my
besties, and together we’re conquering the world. Ember leans forward as I
grow tired. I’m not going to last too much longer so I want to enjoy the
final moments.
“You know that once I break this story wide open, I’m going for an even
bigger fish. Fighting for justice will always be my true calling in life.”
Mora nods in agreement. “And I may never come back to traditional
medicine. I love what I’m doing with Doctors Without Borders. There’s still
so much to be done and so many lives to be saved. I want a legacy of love
and care where healthcare is very much needed.”
“Maybe, just maybe, when I come out of this, I’ll change directions in
life. Maybe I’ll help others who are going through what I’m going through
now. Everything happens for a reason and this might be a new shift in my
life that’s much needed.”
Mora clings to my hand. “Jazzy, you have so much strength and love for
others, I think you could make a real difference in people’s lives. I say go
for it. For now you need to heal, then we’ll come together and figure out
what comes next.”
“I agree,” Ember says. “Your strength is unmatched. Together, the three
of us can rule the world so we’ll figure it out.”
“Okay, we got mushy again and you’re falling asleep so we’re going to
leave. We’ll be back though. You can’t make us go away quite yet,” Ember
says as she stands.
 “We’ll get back to the real world soon enough,” Mora agrees.
They both hug me, then I watch as they leave my room, their friendship
remaining with me. My room’s once again filled with silence, but I’m okay
with it this time. I settle into my bed and let the hope they left with me give
me comfort. With friends like them at my side, I can face anything thrown
my way. Now, if only I can figure out what to do about Hunter. That’s the
million-dollar question . . . and I have no answer.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter Four
Jasmine

Bored! I’m so dang bored. I’m about to be sprung from this stinking
hospital, but not until tomorrow. I love the staff who have been wonderful
to me, but I’m not a girl who likes to sit around and wait for anything. I
want adventure, and I want it all of the time. Those who sit around and wait
for something to come to them are assured failure.
I pout in my hospital bed, gazing out the window as restlessness courses
through my veins. The starkness of the white walls and the scent of sterile
cleaners is about to drive me positively mad. It’s suffocating me after being
in this boring place for weeks. I long for the taste of freedom and escape.
My fingers tap against my leg when an idea begins to spark within me.
No! I can’t do that. Even as I try to tell myself not to do it, it’s already too
late. A mischievous smile shapes the corners of my lips upright. If it’s
something I shouldn’t do . . . then I want it even more.
If this is my last day here, why not make it a memorable one? I need a
break from the constant monotony of this dang room. I’m alive, and I need
to live like I am. We only get one chance in this life to show who we are . . .
and I’m Jasmine Anderson, a badass no one can stop.
I slip from my bed, grateful to be wearing my own pajamas, which I’ve
insisted on from the time I woke up. No thank you to the scratchy hospital
gowns that show far more of my goodies to the world than I’m comfortable
showing. I move over to the wheelchair in the corner of my room I never
use. I’m not an invalid and hate being rolled around in the stupid
contraptions. They might want to treat me like I’m made of glass, but that
will never be who I am.
I scoot out of the room and move down the hallway to a patient
gathering area where two other women I’ve gotten to know are sitting on a
couch chatting. They look up and smile at me. Their eyes brighten when
they see the sparkle in my gaze.
“Want to get into trouble?” I whisper.
Gina nods. “What do you have in mind?”
“Monica grins. “I’m in.” They don’t even have to know what I’m up to
before they’re ready to play. I love it. Somewhere my conscious is telling
me I should probably reconsider, but to heck with that voice. It’s no fun at
all.
These women are just as eager to get out of this place as I am. We’re
grateful for the medicine that can fix us up, but not for the rules and
regulations that bind us down. People need to seriously lighten up a lot
more in their lives. Too many rules make it impossible to follow any of
them. A person can only take so much before they scream for freedom.
I move over to them, and we bend our heads together. A nurse walks in,
and we go quiet for a moment. She leaves, and our plan begins again. We’re
all beaming by the time we figure out how to carry out our adventure.
“Okay, be calm, and don’t give anything away,” I tell them.
“Would never consider it,” Monica says.
“You’re going to lose,” Gina says.
I laugh. “I don’t lose,” I assure them. They have determination written
all over their faces. Good. I want a battle . . . not an easy victory.
Gina and Monica climb into their wheelchairs and we all wheel
ourselves from the room. We each turn in different directions. I get a few
suspicious looks as I wheel past the nurses station. I’m never in this chair
and they’re smart not to trust me now that I am. I simply smile, and keep on
going.
Gina, Monica, and me are about to start a race. We’re each going to
separate corners, then in exactly fifteen minutes, the silent buzzer will
sound. The first person back to the patient room with a stolen prize wins.
I’m going to win. I reach my corner, and bounce in my seat as I wait to
begin. I like to win . . . and there’s no way I’ll cheat by even so much as ten
seconds. I want to own my victory.
I stare down at my watch, and as soon as it clicks over to ten AM on the
dot, I shoot out from my corner, my wheelchair effortlessly rolling down
the sterile corridor, my laughter echoing off the walls, causing some heads
to turn in my direction trying to figure out what in the world is going on.
Nurses and doctors turn as I pass by, momentarily caught off guard by
the sight of me flying past them. I hear more laughter from somewhere far
away and it makes me push myself even harder. It’s not easy to do as I keep
an eye out for other patients. All I need to do is mow somebody down and
feel like crap for the rest of my life.
I assure myself I’ve got this. I’m a skilled ninja who can navigate these
wide hallways quickly without harming anyone else. I’m past the initial
nurses when they figure out I’m doing something I shouldn’t be doing.
When I pass the next set of staff, I see a flash of mild annoyance and
covered amusement as they spin, attempting to stop me. I wonder if Gina
and Monica have staff hot on their tails as well.
I duck and weave, skillfully maneuvering through a maze of hallways,
my wheels spinning in a symphony of my rebellion. “Freedom!” I call out,
making more heads turn my way as I pick up speed and feel the air brushing
against my cheeks, my hair flying behind me as adrenaline roars through
my veins.
 I make a sharp turn, feeling my wheelchair teeter for a moment, causing
laughter to rush out of me as I pump my hands harder, making my wheels
pick up speed again. I catch my gramps coming out of the elevator, his
expression shocked for a moment before his face lights up with delight as
his eyes meet mine.
“You go, Jazz,” he hollers behind me as his laughter rings out behind
me, his joy infectious, filling the corridor with a warmth that permeates my
very soul. Gramps gets me, and knows I need adrenaline running through
my body. It will heal me beyond anything this hospital can do.
As my wheelchair race continues, the thrill of rebellion pulses through
my veins. I zip through more corridors, laughing and whooping with each
turn I take, loving the frustration in the voices from behind me. They might
be amused for a moment, but now that they haven’t been able to catch me
for a few minutes, they’re probably ready to tie me down. As I draw closer
to our ending point, I hear Monica and Gina drawing closer. It’s going to be
a camera flash finish to the room. I push harder.
I round the final bend, approaching the nurses station where I see one of
the larger male nurses standing by with his arms crossed. He’s trying to
appear stern, but I see the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. I wink at him,
throwing him off. It’s time to collect my prize.
With a skillful turn of my wheelchair I veer straight toward Billy, then
spin at the last second, avoiding his capture, as I swing out my hand and
grab his coffee sitting on the edge of the desk. He looks at me with a
mixture of shock and respect as I don’t even slow as I take my prize with
me, leaving a trail of chaos behind.
I see a cart in front of me loaded with napkins and I grab them, letting
them fly behind me, leaving a mess behind to slow down the staff hot on
Another random document with
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Contraband
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with
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eBook.

Title: Contraband

Author: Clarence Budington Kelland

Release date: November 8, 2023 [eBook #72066]

Language: English

Original publication: New York: Harper & Brothers, 1923

Credits: Tim Lindell, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file
was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK

CONTRABAND ***
CONTRABAND
 Books by
CLARENCE BUDINGTON KELLAND

Youth Challenges
The High Flyers
The Little Moment of Happiness
Scattergood Baines
Conflict
Contraband
The Hidden Spring
The Source
Sudden Jim

HARPER & BROTHERS

Publishers
 CONTRABAND
By
Clarence Budington Kelland
Author of
“YOUTH CHALLENGES” “THE HIGH FLYERS”
“THE LITTLE MOMENT OF HAPPINESS”
“SCATTERGOOD BAINES”
“CONFLICT” ETC.

Harper & Brothers Publishers

New York and London
 CONTRABAND

Copyright, 1923
By Harper & Brothers
Printed in the U.S.A.

First Edition
A-X
CONTRABAND
CONTRABAND
 CHAPTER I
TUBAL gave the key another quarter turn in the quoins and tested
the security of the type in the form with the heel of his grimy hand.
After which he shut his eyes very tight and ran his tongue carefully
over his upper teeth and clucked. Then, in the voice of one who
pronounces a new and wonderful thought he spoke:
“Simmy,” he said, “I dunno. Mebby so—mebby not. There’s p’ints in
favor and p’ints against.”
“I,” said Simmy with the cocksureness of his seventeen years, “am
goin’ to git through. Don’t ketch me workin’ for no woman.”
“She’s one of them college wimmin we’ve been readin’ about.”
“Makes it wuss. Wimmin,” said Simmy, who had given deep thought
to such matters and reached profound conclusions, “hain’t got no
business gittin’ all eddicated up. What they ought to study is cook
books. That’s what I say.”
“Calc’late she’ll be gifted with big words.”
“She’ll wear them kind of glasses,” said Simmy, “that’ll make you
think you’re lookin’ into the show winders of the Busy Big Store if you
come onto her face to face.”
“Simmy, I’ll tell you suthin’.... I’ll be fifty year old, come September,
and I hain’t never married one of ’em yit.”
“I hain’t never goin’ to marry, neither.”
“Shake,” said Tubal.
There ensued a silence while Tubal completed the locking of the
form and secured it on the job press.
“Well,” said Tubal for the hundredth time, “Ol’ Man Nupley’s dead
and gone.”
“Seems like he might ’a’ left this here paper to you ’n’ me that’s
worked and slaved fer him, instid of to this female nephew of
his’n....”
“Niece,” corrected Tubal. “No.... Ol’ Man Nupley wa’n’t fond of me,
but he didn’t owe me no grudge to warrant him wishin’ this thing onto
me. Say, we got out two issues since he passed away, hain’t we?
You ’n’ me—alone and unaided.... Gawd!” Tubal mopped his brow at
recollection of the mental anguish suffered in achieving this feat of
editorship.
“They was dum good issues,” Simmy said, pridefully.
Tubal was not without his pride in the accomplishment—a pride
tinctured with doubt which had been made acute that very morning
when he stopped in the post office for the mail. Certain of the
village’s professional humorists had greeted him with enthusiasm,
and quoted from his works with relish. Tubal had been very much put
to it for copy to fill the paper, and had seized upon every incident,
great or small, as worthy of mention, and as lengthy mention as he
could achieve. He had not used one word where there was a
possibility of enlisting two. For instance, after hearing it quoted, he
felt there was some defect in the style of the personal which stated:
Our fellow townsman, Herbert Whitcomb, has painted his
large and spacious and comfortable residence on Pine
Street near the corner with a coat of white paint. Herb did
the job himself, working evenings, but not Sundays, he
being a Methodist and superintendent of the Sunday
School. Many assembled to watch our Selectman and
tyler of the Masonic lodge (Herb) working at the job of
painting his residence, and thus, besides showing public
spirit in improving the general appearance of our village,
gave many something to do, there being no other
amusement in town. Good for you, Herb. That is the spirit
we like.
He had rather fancied the item about Jim Bagby, and considered he
had filled the maximum space with a minute piece of news.
 Jim Bagby our prominent farmer and Democrat from north
of town, has been dynamiting out the stumps out of the
pasture lot that he has used to pasture cattle. Jim used for
the purpose the best and most powerful brand of dynamite
he could get and the numerous explosions of the
dynamite, each blast removing a stump out of the pasture,
could be heard the length and breadth of the village.
Dynamite, says Jim, is the thing to make the wilderness
blossom like a rose. Another year we hope to see the
pasture out of which Jim dynamited the stumps covered
with the verdure of potatoes or other garden truck.
Tubal recalled the mental anguish which went into the composition of
these and columns of other similar items, and solemnly renounced
forever the dignities of editorship.
“No,” he said, waggling his head gravely, “I calc’late Ol’ Man Nupley
done us a favor by leavin’ this sheet to somebody else.”
“She’ll be comin’ on the noon train,” said Simmy. “That’s when I quit.”
“I s’pose,” Tubal said, as he cocked his eye at a cockroach scurrying
across the floor, “she’ll favor Ol’ Man Nupley in looks. Seems like
that’s a cross heavier ’n any woman ought to bear.” He estimated the
rate of progress of the roach, and, as it were, brought down his bird
with a supremely skillfully aimed deluge of the juice of the weed. “If
wimmin is goin’ to insist on keepin’ on bein’ wimmin, they ought to
see to it you kin look at ’em without sufferin’.”
“Mebby she’s jest comin’ up to sell out,” said Simmy, hopefully.
“Sell? Sell this here rag?... Say!”
“Why not, I’d like to know?”
“Because,” said Tubal, “it owes about two hundred dollars more’n it’s
wuth ... and, now we lost the county advertisin’, it’ll owe a dum sight
more.”
He walked to the door which gave from the front of the shop to the
business and editorial office of the paper, and there he stood as if
upon some vantage point, surveying all that existed of the Gibeon
Free Press. What he saw was not especially inviting; nowhere was
an indication of that romance which is believed to lurk about the
business of disseminating news. The shop wore the haphazard look
of a junk yard, contented to recline and snore in dust and frowziness.
The room wore the air of a place where nothing ever happens and
where nothing is apt to happen.... Just inside the door squatted the
antiquated, limping cylinder press which gave birth weekly to the
Free Press, and which gave off with sullen brazenness the look of
overmuch child-bearing. It knew it was going to break down in the
middle of every run, and it had been cursed at so often and so
fluently that it was utterly indifferent. It was a press without ambition.
Of late years it had gotten into a frame of mind where it didn’t care a
hang whether it printed a paper or not—which is an alarming state of
mind for a printing press to be in.... Over to the right were shelves of
stock, ill sorted, dusty, dog eared at the corners where Tubal had
rubbed his shoulder against them in passing. Thin stacks of red and
blue board, upon which tickets for the Methodist lawn sociable or the
Baptist chicken dinner might be painted, lopped with discouraged
limpness over the edge of the shelving and said improper and
insulting things to the slatternly press. A couple of stones elbowed
each other and a case of type a little further back, and a
comparatively new (and unpaid-for) job press, whose paint still
existed even to shininess in spots, rather stuck up its nose at the rest
of the company and felt itself altogether too good for such society.
There was also a theoretical spittoon—theoretical because it was the
one spot in the room safe from Tubal’s unerring jets of tobacco juice.
These were the high spots arising from a jumble of rubbish which it
was easier to kick about from place to place than to remove
altogether.... Tubal waggled his head.
He turned to survey the business and editorial office, and found
nothing there to uplift his soul. There was a grimy railing of matched
lumber, inside which a table staggered under an accumulation of
exchanges and catalogues and old cuts brought in to pass the
evening of their lives as paper weights. An old black-walnut desk
with a bookcase in its second story tried to maintain a faded dignity
beside an old safe from which the combination knob had been
removed for fear somebody would shut and lock it, as once
happened, with disastrous results. On the wall hung a group picture
of the state legislature of 1882. One could have bedded down a cow
very comfortably in the waste paper on the floor.
“Simmy,” said Jake, solemnly, “she’s a hell of a messy place. Seems
like we ought to kind of tidy up some for the new proprietor—or
suthin’. No use, though. Hain’t no place to begin. Only thing wuth
cleanin’ up is the chattel mortgage Abner Fownes holds over the
place....” He turned and scowled at Simmy and smote his hands
together. “By Jing!” he said, “the’s one thing we kin do—we kin wash
your face. That’ll show.”
Simmy responded by jerking his thumb toward the front door, before
which two men had paused, one a diminutive hunchback, the other
an enormous, fleshy individual with a beard of the sort worn, not for
adornment, but as the result of indolence which regards shaving as a
labor not to be endured. The pair talked with manifest excitement for
a moment before they entered.
“Mornin’,” said Tubal.
“Mornin’,” said the corpulent one. The hunchback squinted and
showed his long and very white teeth, but did not respond verbally to
the greeting.
“Say,” said the big man, “seen the sheriff?”
“Why?” replied Tubal.
“’Cause,” said Deputy Jenney, “if you hain’t nobody has.”
“Since last night about nine o’clock,” said the hunchback in the
unpleasant, high-pitched voice not uncommon to those cursed as he
was cursed.
“He got off’n the front porch last night around nine o’clock and says
to his wife he was goin’ out to pump him a pail of fresh water. Didn’t
put on a hat or nothin’.... That’s the last anybody’s seen of him. Yes,
sir. Jest stepped into the house and out of the back door——”
“Mebby he fell down the well,” said Tubal, helpfully.
“His wife’s terrible upsot. I been searchin’ for him since daybreak, but
not a hide or hair kin I find—nor a soul that seen him. He might of
went up in a balloon right out of his back yard for all the trace he’s
left.”
“What d’ye mistrust?” asked Tubal.
“You hain’t seen him?”
“No.”
“Well, say, don’t make no hullabaloo about it in the paper—yit.
Mebby everything’s all right.”
The hunchback laughed, not a long, hearty laugh of many haw-haw-
haws after the fashion of male Gibeon, but one short nasal sound
that was almost a squawk.
“Might be,” said Simmy, “he sneaked off to lay for one of them rum
runners.”
“What rum runners?” said the hunchback, snapping out the words
viciously and fixing his gimlet eyes on the boy with an unblinking
stare.
“The ones,” said Simmy, with perfect logic, “that’s doin’ the rum
runnin’.”
“Hum!... Jest dropped in to ask if you seen him—and to kind of warn
you not to go printin’ nothin’ prematurelike. We’ll be gittin’ along,
Peewee and me.... Seems mighty funny a man ’u’d up and
disappear like that, especial the sheriff, without leavin’ no word with
me.” Deputy Jenney allowed his bulk to surge toward the door, and
Peewee Bangs followed at his heels—a good-natured, dull-witted
mastiff and an off-breed, heel-snapping, terrier mongrel....
“Well,” said Tubal, “that’s that. I hain’t mislaid no pet sheriff.”
“Mebby,” said Simmy, with bated breath, “them miscreants has
waylaid him and masacreed him.”
“Shucks!... Say, you been readin’ them dime-novel, Jesse James
stories ag’in.... Go wash your face.”
In the distance, echoing from hill to hill and careening down the
valley, sounded the whistle of a locomotive.
“On time,” said Tubal.
“And her comin’ on it,” said Simmy.
From that moment neither of them spoke. They remained in a sort of
state of suspended animation, listening for the arrival of the train,
awaiting the arrival of the new proprietor of the Gibeon Free Press....
Ten minutes later the bus stopped before the door and a young
woman alighted. Two pairs of eyes inside the printing office stared at
her and then turned to meet.
“’Tain’t her,” said Tubal.
Tubal based his statement upon a preconception with which the
young lady did not at all agree. She was small and very slender.
Tubal guessed she was eighteen, when, as a matter of fact, she was
twenty-two. There was about her an air of class, of breeding such as
Tubal had noted in certain summer visitors in Gibeon. From head to
feet she was dressed in white—a tiny white hat upon her chestnut
hair, a white jacket, a white skirt, not too short, but of suitable length
for an active young woman, and white buckskin shoes.... All these
points Tubal might have admitted in the new owner of the Free
Press, but when he scrutinized her face, he knew. No relative of Old
Man Nupley could look like that! She was lovely—no less—with the
dazzling, bewitching loveliness of intelligent youth. She was
something more than lovely, she was individual. There was a certain
pertness about her nose and chin, humor lurked in the corners of her
eyes. She would think and say interesting things, and it would be
very difficult to frighten her.... Tubal waggled his head, woman-hater
that he was, and admitted inwardly that there were points in her
favor.
And then—and then she advanced toward the door and opened it.
“This is the office of the Free Press, is it not?” she said.
“Yes ’m. What kin we do for you?”
“I’m not sure. A great deal, I hope.... I am Carmel Lee—the—the new
editor of this paper.”
In his astonishment Tubal pointed a lean, inky finger at the tip of her
nose, and poked it at her twice before he could speak. “You!... You!”
he said, and then swallowed hard, and felt as if he were unpleasantly
suspended between heaven and earth with nothing to do or say.
“I,” she answered.
Tubal swung his head slowly and glared at Simmy, evidently laying
the blame for this dénoûement upon the boy’s shoulders.
“Git out of here,” he whispered, hoarsely, “and for Gawd’s sake—
wash your face.”
Simmy vanished, and Tubal, praying for succor, remained,
nonplused, speechless for once.
“Is that my desk?” asked Miss Lee. “Um!...” Then she won Tubal’s
undying devotion at a single stroke. “I presume,” she said, “you are
foreman of the composing room.”
He nodded dumbly.
“You—you look very nice and efficient. I’m glad I’m going to have a
man like you to help me.... Is it very hard to run a real newspaper?”
“It’s easy. You hain’t got any idea how easy it is. Why, Simmy and
me, we done it for two issues, and ’twan’t no chore to speak of!...
Where’s that Simmy?... Hey, Simmy!”
“He went,” said Miss Lee, “to wash his face.... Now I think I shall go
to the hotel. It’s next door, isn’t it?... After I have lunch I’ll come back,
and we’ll go to work. You’ll—have to take me in hand, won’t you?...
Is this a—a profitable paper?”
“By gosh! it will be. We’ll make her the doggonedest paper ’n the
state. We’ll——”
“Thank you,” said Miss Lee. “Right after lunch we’ll start in.” And with
that she walked daintily out of the office and turned toward the
Commercial House.... Tubal gave a great sigh and leaned on the
office railing.
“Has she gone?” came a whisper from the shop.
“You come here. Git in here where I kin talk to you.”
“Here I be.... Say, when do we quit?”
“Quit? Quit what?”
“Our jobs. We was goin’ to. You ’n’ me won’t work for no woman?”
“Who said so? Who said anythin’ about quittin’, I’d like to know. Not
me.... And say, if I ketch you tryin’ to quit, I’ll skin you alive.... You ’n’
me, we got to stick by that leetle gal, we have.... Foreman of the
composin’ room!... By jing!... Perty as a picture.... By jing!”
“Say, you gone crazy, or what?”
“She’s a-comin’ back right after lunch. Git to work, you. Git this office
cleaned up and swept up and dusted up.... Think she kin work
amongst this filth.... Git a mop and a pail. We’ll fix up this hole so’s
she kin eat off’n the floor if she takes a notion.... Simmy, she’s goin’
to stay and run this here paper. That cunnin’ leetle gal’s goin’ to be
our boss.... Goddlemighty!...”