To Live To Love (Swamp Heads #6) Read online

  TO LIVE

  Earle & Savvy’s Story

  By Esther E. Schmidt

  Copyright © 2019 by Esther E. Schmidt All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, without permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Incidents, names, places, characters and other stuff mentioned in this book is the results of the author’s imagination. To Live, To Love is a work of fiction. If there is any resemblance, it is entirely coincidental.

  This content is for mature audiences only. Please do not read if sexual situations, violence and explicit language offends you.

  Cover design by:

  Esther E. Schmidt

  Editor:

  Christi Durbin

  Cover Models:

  Darrin James and Chelle Lynn

  Photographer:

  JW Photography

  Dedication

  “But who has your back, Roscoe? Who is there for you?” ~Febe~

  This one’s for you, Christi.

  The one who always has my back and is always there for me.

  Table of contents

  TO LIVE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  TO LOVE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  ***Earle***

  What else can I put in there? Let’s see...I have a sandwich, an apple, a banana, chocolate...darn, can’t throw away perfectly good chocolate, right? Maybe the person going through my trash looking for food wouldn’t notice.

  Yeah, ‘cause if you’re hungry you don’t check an expiration date or at least I think you wouldn’t. Hell, I barely even check for an expiration date when I’m hungry...I just grab and eat. So, no, pretty sure a hungry person wouldn’t check but just devour the food instantly.

  I carefully place the stuff on top of all the other trash and head out to throw it in the garbage bin behind my house. I’ve noticed someone going through my trash yesterday, and hanging around the house. This time I’m going to hide at a safe distance and see if I can catch them.

  Not to run them off but to see if I can help out. I mean, when you’re stealing trash you must be in a tight pickle situation, right? So, here I am, hiding in the bushes on the left side of my house—which actually is my brother’s property—and have a nice view of the garbage bin.

  I’m house sitting for my brother. Well, I might as well consider it my house since the idiot hasn’t been home for years because of his work. Heck, even before that the man was never home and has always been consumed by his job. Not to mention he screwed up with bringing his work here a few months ago and with it risked the life of many others, but mainly our brother Zeke’s wife, Laudy. He even risked his own darn life, since Roscoe got injured too.

  Let’s just say Roscoe is consumed with his work and puts it before everything. It would be safe to say he won’t be coming home soon and this is now my effin’ house because the idiot won’t risk the wrath of our mom if he in fact does decide to show his face.

  Or maybe Ma isn’t as angry and would welcome him home with open arms, but not before she snags him by the hairs and gives him an earful. Either way, he needs to be shaken and smacked on the back of his head for doing what he did. Though most of us know he must have had his reasons.

  The whole situation did bring Zeke and Laudy back together, they’re all happy and enjoying life, and Roscoe’s responsible for that too. And not to mention he saved the whole town from a dirty sheriff. Yeah, it’s all a bit complicated and messy.

  Movement. I see movement near the trees and I can’t believe what I’m seeing. A delicate figure is dashing barefoot over to the garbage bin like a darting deer. A woman, probably ten years younger than me. She has thick platinum hair, which seems long but it’s bundled at the back of her head and it’s all knots and tangles.

  Her clothes are dirty and the way she rips open the garbage bag and tears into the chocolate? Yeah, hungry doesn’t cover it. She’s starving and I’ve seen enough. Stepping out from my hiding space—even if I’m silent as a rock—her eyes meet mine and she runs off.

  Effin’ hell, not the way I want to start my morning; running. But the little thief doesn’t leave me much of a choice. Do you even call someone who takes stuff you throw out a thief? Hell if I know, but it takes less effort to snatch her up from behind.

  “Let me go. Please. Please. I didn’t do anything. I don’t have anything. Please,” she begs and my chest tightens.

  I loosen my grip some but keep her in my arms. “I’m going to take your hand and we’re going to walk inside my house to get some food inside you, okay?”

  Her whole body goes rigid, “You what? Why? No. I didn’t do anything wrong; I won’t go with you. Let. Me. Go.”

  I let my arms fall away from her body and take a step back, raising my hands palms up—even if I’m facing her back—I tell her, “I won’t hurt you. Please, I only want to offer you some food and something to drink. Heck, if you want, we can sit out on the porch. I won’t touch you. I’ll do no such thing, but you can’t go on being hungry while I have food.”

  I won’t touch you? Effin’ hell what am I thinking blurting that line out? As if someone who intends to touch would say. Dammit, I sound like a pervert. If she starts running, I wouldn’t even blame her. Hell, I’d even run from myself if I were me.

  The captivating woman slowly turns and I’m looking into the most stunning crystal blue eyes. Those very eyes inspect every inch of me before she says, “Are you Earle? Or one of Roscoe’s other brothers?” Her voice sounds hopeful.

  Roscoe? What the hell? “How do you know Roscoe?”

  “Are you?” she presses, ignoring my question to fire one of her own in return.

  This whole situation is agitating. Releasing a sigh, I rub a hand down my face before I answer, “Yeah, I’m one of his brothers. Can you please tell me how you know my brother and why you’re mentioning him? ‘Cause him and the family are kinda in a tiny...I don’t know what to call it, but the last time he brought trouble our way he was fixing without telling us...it was messy. Messy but with a happy ending.” A happy ending? Great, Earle. Awesome communication skills.

  The tiny woman sucks in a breath and nods warily. “I understand. I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

  Again...what the hell? “No, you’re not.” I grumble and point at the house. “Like I said, you’re gonna come with me to eat something. Then we’ll talk some more.”

  “I really shouldn’t. I don’t want to impose, and with what you just mentioned, I don’t want to cause more trouble,” she says, and with it her voice trembles and it makes my darn chest tighten.

  “That’s it,” I growl and she takes a step back. Shit. I need to get myself under control. “Sorry, I’m just angry at the whole situation, not at you. About the fact we’re still standing here while I can have you sitting at the dinner table with some food and coffee. Not to mention you’re asking if I’m Roscoe’s brother and seem to know him, and I’d like to find out why you’re basically living out of his trashcan. Well, it’s my trashcan now since the idiot hasn’t been inside his own house for years, but you get
the idea...coffee and some talkin’ it’s all I’m askin’.”

  “Coffee?” she gasps with effin’ longing in her eyes.

  “Yeah, come on, I have plenty.” I can’t help but chuckle. “Should have known coffee would spike your interest. I couldn’t add it to the garbage...maybe I should have placed tiny cups with one sip each in a trail leading into the kitchen, huh? Maybe that would have lured you inside.”

  The smile tugging on her pink lips light up her whole face. “Probably. You don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve had coffee. Or something warm to drink for that matter.”

  “Come on,” I mutter, unable to let my mind wrap around the fact this woman has been on her own—effin’ barefoot—without a decent meal or beverage for who knows how long.

  Strolling into the kitchen, I make fast work to make us a large pot of coffee. When I turn around, I see the woman still standing behind me.

  “Have a seat,” I tell her but she shakes her head.

  “I’d rather stand if you don’t mind,” she says and her gaze goes to the floor, her cheeks flaming red as if she’s embarrassed.

  And then it hits me ‘cause I’ve been there and when it was me with dirty clothes and bare feet, I couldn’t care less, but now I know the difference. It’s about appearances, feeling comfortable yourself, but mostly; feeling awkward for those around you.

  “You know...I just started the fresh pot of coffee; it’ll be ready in a bit. It leaves time for you to grab a shower. I’ll get some fresh, clean clothes for you to change into while we can wash yours and hang them in the sun so they dry quickly. If you want, of course, I’m not trying to get you naked. Shit. Why did I say that?” I rub both hands across my face. “It’s just that I smelled a few months ago when I didn’t shower and didn’t care how I looked and then my sister-in-law didn’t want to hug me and well, I saw the benefits in showering.” Yep, I’m a moron throwing rambling sentences out of my mouth because the way she looks at me? Yeah, I’m the weirdo in the room.

  “I got robbed of my bag while I was taking the bus to get here...I fell asleep and when I woke up my bag was gone...how stupid am I, huh? Well, even more of an idiot because then I got lost while searching for Roscoe’s house and my shoes got stuck and lost in the mud. And now I don’t have anything. Except for this.” She pulls a piece of paper out of her back pocket and holds it out for me.

  I recognize Roscoe’s handwriting and it’s his address scribbled on a piece of paper. “Did you talk to him? Did he give you this?”

  She gives me a nod and a small smile. “Yes, he scribbled something on a piece of paper and gave me a bus ticket. He told me to head over to this address and ask for Earle, one of his brothers, to look after me for a few weeks.”

  I have no clue why, but anger overtakes me. “Then why didn’t you effin’ ask? Why the heck did you go through my garbage and sleep in my hammock last night where the gators could get you?”

  She steps backward and her shoulders turn inward. Effin’ hell.

  “Sorry,” I grumble. “I need to learn how to keep my temper in check, but it’s not safe for you to be outside like,” I wave a hand in front of her up and down, “like...that.” And I cringe again at my own wording and movement. Shit. Why is it so hard to talk to her?

  “Don’t you think I know that? No shoes, dirty clothes. My stuff stolen. I didn’t choose to end up looking like this. I was supposed to look like I always do...presentable. But things happened and I arrived here looking like a homeless woman and I didn’t think anyone would believe me if I asked for help. And to think I’m a...” she seems to catch herself just in time and swallows her words. “Never mind. I would like a shower if the offer still stands.”

  “Heck, yeah, it stands. And you’re not sleeping outside anymore either. My brother said specifically to ask for me to look after you and that’s what I’m going to do. Doesn’t matter if I’m pissed at him or not, you’re mine to look after now, okay?” I growl. Dammit, why am I growling at every turn at this woman? I’ve been a cuddly darn teddy bear my whole life. I release a deep sigh and say, “By the way...if it wasn’t clear...I’m Earle.”

  Those crystal blue eyes lock on mine and she smiles bright, all straight white teeth, “My friends call me Savvy.”

  “Savvy.” I like the way her name rolls off my tongue. “Well, Savvy,” I rub a hand over my neck, getting uncomfortable by being locked under this gorgeous woman’s gaze. “I hope you can cook because I suck at it and if you’re spending the next few weeks with me you should be aware of that fun little fact.”

  “I’m not an expert either, but I’ve been told I’m a great help in the kitchen, so maybe we could work together?” Savvy says and I’d like to work together with her on a lot of things, and not just food.

  Chapter Two

  ***Savvy***

  What a difference a shower makes. I feel as if I’ve gotten a boost from life itself. I glance at the mirror and take in my attire. Some might say I’m crazy. Hell, I’m pretty sure if my parents could see me now, they would have a stroke. But me? I love it. Earle said I could grab some of his clothes to wear and I did.

  I picked a white long-sleeved shirt and wrapped one of his flannel shirts around my waist as a skirt. Everything is big and long enough to cover up my personal bits seeing I don’t have clean underwear and I really didn’t want to put on the bra I’ve been wearing for three days straight. I washed my clothes while I was taking a shower and I carry them with me downstairs.

  Slipping outside, I hang my clothes out to dry in the sun, and go back inside to find Earle in the kitchen. The table is filled with sandwiches, fresh coffee, and some other yummy stuff. He pulls a chair back, waving for me to sit down, while he takes a seat across from me. He didn’t mention my clothing yet, but I do see the twinkle in his eyes and the corner of his mouth twitches.

  “My clothes look good on you,” he finally says, and releases a small chuckle that makes my breath catch and adds, “Never thought it could be worn like that, though. Shirt turned mini skirt, you’re inventive.”

  My cheeks burn from the compliment he just gave and I quickly mutter “Thanks,” and take a seat.

  I left my hair down when I washed and dried it with a towel. I’m happy enough to have gotten all of the knots out without having a conditioner and only washed it with Earle’s shampoo. But it’s clean, and that’s all that matters. I’m glad I had it dyed platinum silver before I got on a plane. I’m a natural brunette but I wanted to change it up, so I did.

  I mean, it’s not like I can get an escape from all the prying eyes all the time. This little ‘get away’ is an escape on so many levels. Though I really hate the reason I had to leave—was forced to leave—once I got on the plane it felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. Enough to take a breath and embrace my surroundings without a driving force behind it. Well, that is until my bodyguard sucked at his job—he lost sight of me—and my stuff was stolen.

  “Milk, sugar, honey, tea, I’ve put everything I have on the table and you’re free to take some or all. After we have some breakfast, we’re gonna order some clothes for you online.”

  I’m about to object but he points a finger in the air and wiggles it. “Nope, you don’t get a say in this. My brother’s note, remember?”

  My shoulders sag and even if I’m thrilled to have help, I also feel like a burden. It’s insane, really. If you know where I came from? Who I am? How much money is in my name? Not having anything right now is unbelievable.

  And yet it also makes me appreciate even more what this man is doing for me. Without even knowing me at all I might add. All because of some scribbled words on a piece of paper; one brother to another.

  I take a bite of a sandwich and my mouth waters from the delicious taste explosion, making some drool spill from my mouth. Ugh. How shameful is that? But it’s so freaking delicious and I’m too freaking hungry to care about manners and almost inhale the whole thing in two breaths.

  I take a few sips of milk t
o help it slide down easier, and lean back to release a deep sigh. Gosh it feels good to have something solid inside my belly. Clean clothes, freshly showered, full stomach, and the smell of fresh coffee teasing my nose. All the money my family possesses doesn’t have any more value than this.

  “Thank you,” I breathe and lock eyes with the man who granted me all this kindness.

  The man shrugs, “Repay me by staying here and doing more of that eating, and drinking, order some clothes, wear them, and we’ll call it even.”

  “Demanding much?” I mutter, but my belly flutters from his fierce look.

  He has the most gorgeous eyes and a long beard that appears well-groomed. His dark hair is combed back, with some gray hairs here and there, and wise crinkles surround his eyes. He’s older than me for sure, maybe even ten years older, but he looks amazing.

  Muscles bulge underneath his black t-shirt and his forearms peek out from underneath his plaid shirt, showing off veins from all the hard work he must do.

  It makes me wonder, “What do you do for a living?”

  Oh. Great. Where are my manners? If my parents could see me know. Horrified wouldn’t be the correct word for it. Though I would love for them to see me now...I miss them. A lot. Even if it’s only been a few days since I last saw them.

  “My brother, Cyrus, and his wife Bertie, own a gator farm called Bertie’s Snap and Wrap. I help out wherever I’m needed. Not an actual job...I don’t need one, but I like to keep busy. Fixing habitats, give a group of people a tour, or help out the vet who swings by daily to check on injured or rescued gators. Whatever I’m needed for.” His gaze is lingering on me while he sips coffee. “And you?”

  “I have a master’s degree in architecture and a bachelor’s degree in history. Though I always wanted to be a vet.” I give him a smile and think back on how many times I thought about changing directions.

  I’ve even bought some books about veterinary medicine to still some of my curiosity. I never was one to lock things down, but my father made me choose a path and so I ended up with a Master of Architecture. The history? More like forced to take on as a necessity for my status in life; one needs to have a solid background knowledge in a family like mine.