Dixie Under Siege (A Warrior's Passion #2) - Natasza Waters Page 0,7
Sasha’s concerned expression. “What’s going on?”
“I rushed home as soon as I heard. I thought Dixie would be a mess,” her younger sister said.
Her pulse quickened. “Something bad happen?”
“Spit it out, Sasha,” their mother ordered.
“Josh left this morning…to join the Navy. He’s gone.”
Dix picked up another pod and calmly slit the seam with her nail, opening the green flesh, then rubbed her thumb down the shiny inner skin to dislodge the peas into the bowl.
When she finished, Dix turned her head to look at her mother, the woman’s eyes narrowed in anger.
“This is your doing, isn’t it? Not only did you manage to darken your soul with sin, but you manipulated Josh into leaving somehow.” Her mother reached behind her waist and untied her apron, thrusting the fabric onto the counter. “Everyone will be asking questions. What do you expect me to say?”
Dixie rose, intending on going to her room to answer the college acceptance letter. She’d pack her bags and ask one of her brothers for a ride to the bus station in St. George.
“Well, answer me!” her mother shouted.
“Tell them that Josh can do anything he puts his mind to. That he’ll be a success. But the one thing he won’t have to endure is being tied down to a wife at eighteen freaking years old!”
Chapter Two
Dixie considered flipping a coin. Heads, she’d run from the stalker who’d followed her across twelve states—or tails, allow Navy SEAL Commander Josh Hunter into her life again.
Both options posed unforeseen perils.
An incoming text beeped and she dug her cell from the outer pocket of her leather purse.
Wait for me.
She snorted. If he’d asked that fifteen years ago, she might have considered his suggestion. Instead, he’d dumped her. She quickly tapped out a response.
Don’t need a babysitter.
Her ex-fiancé had offered to help find the guy who’d sent her creepy notes for years. Offered was the wrong term. He’d learned about the notes and instantly grabbed the reins with a take-no-prisoners attitude. Trapping her in the hallway of the Erotic Bean, he’d reminded her of their sizzling indiscretions as young adults. Followed with a sexually charged warning that time and distance hadn’t changed a thing.
Little did Josh know, everything had changed.
Dixie glanced around the Erotic Bean coffeehouse. The rich, wood-planked floors swept clean, crumbs beneath the maple tables and seating areas vacuumed, and ready for another day. Her staff had completed closing duties before vacating for the evening, which included sanitizing the equipment, restocking the fridges, and filling the hoppers. Four patio tables and their chairs were stacked neatly next to the front door.
Water trickled over the stone feature situated in the middle of her shop, interrupting the silence. Since leaving her childhood home in Utah, she’d learned to accept the life of a lone wolf. Contact with her family consisted of a couple conversations a year with her younger sister.
Now that her stalker had made his presence known again, uncertainty plugged her thoughts like one of her espresso-based ice cream frappés in a straw.
Her phone beeped with another text, but she ignored it. Josh needed a reminder too. She wasn’t one of his SEALs. If he thought he was going to take charge of her life, he was sadly mistaken.
Next to the entrance, the streetlight splashed through the large picture window and washed across Rayne Levy’s favorite spot when she’d visit the shop. A cozy corner with two seats and a palm tree. In a moment of weakness, Rayne had convinced Dixie to reveal her troubles to Josh.
Dix could chalk that up to another mistake. The SEAL wasn’t anything like the guy she’d nearly married.
After one fiery argument they’d gone their separate ways. Josh had joined the Navy and she’d attended college.
All water under a bridge the size of the arched crossing between Coronado Island and downtown San Diego.
It had been a year since Dixie settled here and opened the Erotic Bean. Owning a coffeehouse and bookstore combination had always been her dream. When she’d decided to take the entrepreneurial leap, Dixie could barely afford the lease located on a popular street that bled onto the Silver Strand, where the amphibious base was located.
She’d prayed her idea would pay off. Within a few weeks, new customers became regulars. Her fear of losing everything, including the five-year nest egg she’d saved, vanished.
Until now.
It had taken her stalker longer to find her this time. She could close the coffeehouse, pack her possessions in cardboard boxes and hit the road. U-Haul practically knew her on