Emerald
By Emily Mims
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About this ebook
FINDING FOREVER
Asher Ellison and Trish McClellan are united in the fight against drug abuse, and Asher, an ex-con turned minister, thinks he’s found the successful businesswoman of his dreams. But Trish’s businesses are intimate shops and a strip club—and she herself occasionally takes to the pole. Fury is his first reaction upon finding out who she really is. Then desire, always desire. Asher’s surprise is no match for his attraction to this brash beauty, and then his devotion. And hers to him. Not the consternation of his congregation or the church’s board of deacons, not the threat to take away his ministry, not even the unknown and murderous enemy who’s about to zero in on Trish. His scarred, powerful arms will draw her close and keep her safe. As those who seek shall find, true love is eternal and divine.
Emily Mims
The author of over thirty romance novels, Emily Mims combined her writing career with a career in public education until leaving the classroom to write full time. The mother of two sons, she and her husband split their time between central Texas, eastern Tennessee, and Georgia visiting their kids and grandchildren. For relaxation Emily plays the piano, organ, dulcimer, and ukulele for two different performing groups, and even sings a little. She says, “I love to write romances because I believe in them. Romance happened to me and it can happen to any woman—if she’ll just let it.”
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Emerald - Emily Mims
THE SMOKY BLUES
Mountains, music, love.
FINDING FOREVER
Asher Ellison and Trish McClellan are united in the fight against drug abuse, and Asher, an ex-con turned minister, thinks he’s found the successful businesswoman of his dreams. But Trish’s businesses are intimate shops and a strip club—and she herself occasionally takes to the pole.
Fury is his first reaction upon finding out who she really is. Then desire, always desire. Asher’s surprise is no match for his attraction to this brash beauty, and then his devotion. And hers to him. Not the consternation of his congregation or the church’s board of deacons, not the threat to take away his ministry, not even the unknown and murderous enemy who’s about to zero in on Trish. His scarred, powerful arms will draw her close and keep her safe. As those who seek shall find, true love is eternal and divine.
EMERALD
A Smoky Blues Romance
Emily Mims
www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.
EMERALD
Copyright © 2017 Emily Wright Mims
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.
ISBN 978-1-944262-90-7
E-book formatting by Maureen Cutajar
www.gopublished.com
To all the men and women who have overcome addiction.
I stand in awe of your strength and courage.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, thanks to my beta reader Nancy Sartor and the Boroughs editors for making my work look so good. I also have special thanks on this book to my husband Charles. He is and always has been supportive of my work through two writing careers, cooking dinners, giving baths and doing endless loads of wash while I word-process away. He is also my technical support for all things computer related, a role I must admit I take for granted. Normally things go smoothly…but not while writing this book. He had to do two computer replacements with all that entailed (the first replacement computer had more problems than the computer it replaced) and then fifty-eight thousand words into the manuscript I got hit with the virus attack from hell. He managed to get the computer debugged and me back at work with no loss of work in an hour and a half. Charles, you are my hero! I love you.
CONTENTS
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
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Emily Mims
EMERALD
Prologue
North Carolina State Penitentiary, fifteen years ago
Asher Ellison stuffed the last of his meager belongings into the state-supplied duffel bag and stared down at the sparse contents. There wasn’t much to show for the last five years. Just a few prison-issued articles of clothing, a couple of college texts and a well-worn Bible. Symbols of the intellectual and spiritual journey he’d taken, courtesy of the State of North Carolina and the DEA. But it could have been worse. A lot worse. Even if it all had gone to hell that horrible night five years ago, the prosecutors honored the deal his attorney had struck in exchange for his cooperation in busting the drug ring with which he’d become involved. He’d only served five years for his involvement with the drug dealers who murdered his entire family—except for his younger brother, the brother he’d neither seen nor heard from since the night their parents’ house burned with their bodies inside.
Asher zipped the bag shut and sat down on his bunk then waited none too patiently until a stone-faced guard arrived. They made their way down dingy corridors, through two locked doors, past the visitation area that Asher had seen little of during his stay here, and into an area that was totally unfamiliar. He followed, mystified, as the guard ushered him into a suite of utilitarian offices that presumably housed the prison administration. Asher’s heart pounded in his throat. Had something happened to delay his release? No. They wouldn’t have given him the duffel to pack if they intended to keep him. His heart continued to throb as he and the guard approached a closed door labeled Warden
with the requisite middle-aged secretary seated at her desk, guarding the inner sanctum with a scowl on her face.
The guard disappeared. The secretary motioned to a sagging sofa. Asher sat, his hands worrying the duffel strap as the minutes ticked by. Finally the secretary’s phone buzzed and she motioned to Asher. Door’s unlocked. Go on in.
Unlocked doors had not been a part of Asher’s life for so long, it added to the tension. He wiped his sweaty hand on the prison-issue jeans and cursed the trembling in his legs as he stepped inside. Warden Mooney looked at Asher with the warmth of a cobra eyeing a mouse. Have a seat, Ellison.
Yes, sir.
Asher swallowed the dust in his throat and sat in the lumpy chair across the desk. He didn’t think the warden talked with all exiting prisoners. What was this about?
The warden looked over a sheaf of papers that Asher suspected were his prison records. When he looked up, his smile was sardonic. Jailhouse conversion, huh?
Yes, sir.
Warden Mooney looked at him thoughtfully. Normally, those supposed changes of heart aren’t worth shit and everybody knows it, but Chaplain Jimenez thinks yours may have been for real. Was it?
Yes, it was.
Asher leaned forward. It’s made all the difference in my life.
Didn’t stop you from getting into the occasional dustup.
The warden looked pointedly at an angry scar on Asher’s face, made by a shiv during a cafeteria fight. The scar ran from Asher’s left eyebrow all the way to his chin.
Asher shrugged. There were those who took exception to my conversion. Especially when they realized I meant it.
So it would seem.
Warden Mooney looked down at the records. You managed to finish your degree online. Good going. Apparently, the time spent here with us wasn’t a total waste after all.
I hope not.
Asher shifted restlessly in the lumpy chair. Where was the warden going with this?
Good.
Mooney leaned forward, his gaze intense. Ellison, you should have never landed here in the first place. You had too much going for you. Now, have you learned anything from the last five years?
Asher swallowed. I’ll never go within a mile of drugs again, if that’s what you’re asking. Especially after what it cost me and my family.
He felt the old bitter regret well up, and quickly stuffed it down. Look ahead, Chaplain Jimenez had counseled him over and over. Don’t dwell on the past. Look to the future.
I hope you mean it. Despite all that’s happened and a prison record you’ll never shed, you have enormous potential. You’re only twenty-eight, plenty young to start over. You can make a hell of a good life for yourself, if you just will. I don’t say that to very many of our alumni.
Thank you. I’ll remember that.
Good luck out there.
Asher thanked him again, and they shook hands. The warden picked up the phone, and a different guard immediately appeared to lead Asher to the doors that opened to the first free air that he’d breathed in five long years. He blinked as he and the other inmates being released stepped through the gate and onto the sidewalk beside a parking lot. There was nobody waiting for him, but there were a couple of cheap taxis that could run him into Hillsborough. Between the pittance the state put in his pocket and the more substantial amount his grandmother sent, he would be able to hire one of them. He signaled and one pulled up. He slid in. Where to?
the cabbie asked.
Asher gave him the name of an inexpensive downtown hotel. He ran his fingers through his too-short hair, glad that he could now grow it long again, the way he liked it. What’s the first thing you’re gonna do, now that you’re sprung?
the cabbie asked. Get laid?
Yeah, that’s first.
Asher grinned and his cock twitched. Five years was a long time to be in love with his right hand.
The cabbie laughed. That’s what most of you say. Then what?
Tomorrow I’ll find me an old bike and buy it. It’ll have to be a cheap one, though.
He had a little money left from before he went to prison, just enough to cover a used motorcycle and food until he could find a job of some kind.
Don’t matter as long as it runs.
True.
The cabbie turned his attention to the highway. Yes, Asher thought, that was the plan. Tonight he would get laid. Tomorrow he would get a bike. Then he would figure out how to atone for what he’d caused. He’d figure out how make the rest of his life count for something…
Chapter One
Present day
Reverend Asher Ellison glanced at the clock on the wall and groaned inwardly. How much longer was this deacon’s meeting going to drag on? It was after five already and the good deacons had been at it since three, but they were only two-thirds of the way down the agenda. Between Hugh Caskey’s rambling monologues espousing the need to approve every item listed, and Joe Barstow’s long-winded diatribes as to why they should nix them all, he and the board could easily be there another hour and a half. Ninety unnecessary minutes, in his opinion. If Dean Gregory, the chairman of the board, would just cut to the chase and call for a vote after a five-minute discussion of the topic at hand, they could be out of there in thirty minutes or less. But Dean seemed determined that every deacon have his say before calling for a vote. Some of his deacons had a lot to say.
Asher glanced back up at the clock. Two and a half minutes had elapsed since he’d last checked the time. He supposed he could excuse himself. At Pine Hill, the board of deacons was the governing body of the church and called all the shots. As pastor, he was in their employ and was at this meeting in an observing and advising capacity only, included mostly as a courtesy to his position. But if he did leave, he could bet his July paycheck that one of the more fiscally conservative deacons, Jed Dyson most likely, would bring up the church budget, specifically mentioning the allotment of monies to support the Jake Barstow Community Center the church had opened several months ago in downtown Kingsport. The clinic was an expensive proposition the church had taken on in the name of their late pastor, and some of the thriftier members were beginning to question the value. No way was Asher going to risk anything happening to that allocation, or the center it supported. That center was most of the reason he’d come on board at Pine Hill. It was a golden opportunity to use his God-given talent to fight drug addiction among the poor and society’s outcasts with the backing of a respected community church. He had a gift for working with those who, for whatever reason, marched to the beat of a different drummer. They were his calling, and a big part of his job description here at Pine Hill.
If the price was putting up with boring deacons’ meetings and prissy church ladies who couldn’t seem to get past his ponytail and his Harley, for the chance to minister to those who needed him the most, he would pay it gladly.
Or some days not so gladly. He shifted in his seat as Joe Barstow began another diatribe, this one criticizing the plan to move Vacation Bible School to an evening time slot. He listened with half an ear and earned himself a blistering glare from Joe for agreeing with Hugh that yes, moving the favorite summer activity to a time when more parents could participate worked just fine for him. He started to add more but caught the twinkle in Dean’s eye and bit back his comment, grateful that at least one of the deacons shared his sentiments about the whole thing.
He settled back, mentally chastising himself for his impatience and preparing himself to wait this out, and was pleasantly surprised a few minutes later when his phone buzzed. His secretary was on the line. Excuse me, gentlemen. Caitlyn wouldn’t interrupt us if it wasn’t important.
He punched talk button. Yes, Caitlyn?
His normally take-charge secretary sounded rattled. Asher, a phone call just came in from the Kingsport Police dispatcher. There was an explosion in the back room of the community center. The police are on their way.
Asher bit back an unpreacherlike curse. Was anybody hurt?
You know as much as I do.
Tell them I’ll be right there. Oh, and call Timberlynn. See if Sawyer’s around.
He turned to the deacons. Gentlemen, there has been an incident down at the center. An explosion of some sort. Dean can fill me in tomorrow on the rest of your meeting. If you will excuse me?
The deacons looked at one another with concern. Joe Barstow was visibly shaken, which was natural since the clinic was named after his late son. Do you need me to come with you?
Dean asked.
Sawyer almost told him yes. Of all his deacons, Dean Gregory seemed to appreciate what the clinic could mean in the lives of Kingsport’s addicts. But maybe it would be better if they finished their business meeting. How about if I call you the minute I know something?
he suggested instead.
Dean nodded. Let us know what you find out, Pastor Asher.
Will do.
Asher grabbed his helmet off his desk, and sprinted to the old white Harley he rode every day the weather permitted. The hot July wind whipped his face and blew his long hair out behind his helmet as he raced down the winding road that would take him off Pine Mountain and into the small city of Kingsport, one of a trio of towns right at the eastern tip of Tennessee. The sun shone brightly on the mountains, green with verdant growth this time of year, but their beauty barely registered this afternoon as Asher dreaded whatever awaited him at the center. As beautiful as the mountains were and however bucolic the region, Appalachia was not without its problems, drug abuse being serious enough to cost young Jake Barstow his life, and inspire the church to build and fund the downtown facility to aid in the ongoing battle. An expensive battle, and one that was about to cost the small church just that much more.
He roared down the highway and into Kingsport, passing through the more affluent parts of town and into one of the poorer sections. Had Caitlyn reached Sawyer? His brother felt as strongly about fighting drug abuse as he did. Too strongly, if the questionable actions that had cost him his career in law enforcement were anything to go by. Sawyer, a crackerjack investigator, was now working private security and had finally, finally passed the job of saving the world on to others. He was still opposed to drugs and would do what he could to thwart drug use, but he wasn’t taking foolish chances and putting others in danger like he had for too long. Maybe Sawyer’s change of heart would help heal the Ellison brothers’ twenty-year breach, a breach that Asher had come to Tennessee in part to try to end. They were making strides. Asher figured calling on Sawyer for his professional expertise wouldn’t hurt that progress.
He pulled up to the ramshackle old building, surrounded by emergency vehicles and at least one local news van. Sawyer’s tricked-out crossover was nowhere to be seen. Parked to one side were several vehicles that he recognized as regulars in the Pine Hill parking lot, and the snappy red Mustang convertible that belonged to Trish McClellan, one of his most faithful volunteers. A small smile touched Asher’s lips. Explosion or no, his afternoon was about to get a whole lot better.
Trish McClellan had that effect on him.
Asher made his way through the milling gawkers and snaking fire hoses to the yellow crime scene tape. He ducked under the tape but was met at the door by one of Kingport’s finest. No admission except to relevant personnel,
he declared. He eyed Asher up and down, taking in the ponytail, the prison tattoo peeking out from the collar of his blue denim shirt, and the worn jeans and biker boots.
Asher couldn’t help smiling, although he knew it wasn’t a nice to see you
smile. I’m Reverend Ellison. Pastor of Pine Hill. Does that make me relevant?
The policeman’s eyes snapped open. Oh. Sorry, sir.
He opened the door wide and ushered Asher in.
As Asher stepped inside, he caught Trish’s eye. She stood with two of the church volunteers to one side of the large reception area of the recently renovated lawyer’s office that now housed the community center. Despite the worry in them, she managed to flash a quick smile at him and give him a wink.
She’d enjoyed the policeman’s comeuppance as much as he did.
Shame on them.
Asher looked around the spacious front room they used as a food distribution site and his amusement faded. Although the explosion had been centered in the back, the room was covered with smoke and grime. The air was still thick with dust that would, in the next few hours, settle on every exposed surface. An acrid odor permeated every nook and cranny. And this isn’t even the worst of it, right?
he murmured to himself.
An older firefighter came to his side. Reverend Ellison?
If this firefighter was as taken aback by Asher’s appearance as the policeman, he hid it well. I’m Jeff Saunders, and I’m heading up the fire department’s investigation of this incident.
What happened?
Asher demanded.
Somebody threw a homemade bomb through the back window. It detonated when it hit the floor. This is by far not the worst of your damage. Here in the front, it’s primarily cosmetic. Nothing that a good dose of scrubbing and a coat or two of paint won’t take care of.
Thank God for that. What about the rest?
That’s a different story. Come on back.
Asher’s heart sank. He wasn’t sure how much of a price tag for the damage would be enough to tip the scales on the center. He didn’t want to find out.
He followed the firefighter past the counseling rooms and food storage closet. The farther they went, the more badly damaged the rooms and furniture, until they got to the very back, the three-room clinic where the bomb had been thrown. The clinic rooms were a beehive of activity, as both the police CSU and the arson investigators combed the debris for evidence.
Asher sucked in his breath as he surveyed the destruction. The walls and ceilings were heavily damaged, with huge holes in the Sheetrock and pits in the floor, and the examining tables and other furniture had been reduced to charred sticks and kindling. Their supplies, already meager, were unusable. It’s a miracle the whole place didn’t go up,
he said as he gingerly touched one of the damaged walls.
Wasn’t that kind of bomb. Whoever did this to you didn’t want to burn the place down, or they could have. They wanted to inconvenience you majorly and cost you some money.
Well, they certainly succeeded.
Asher looked around the room and his heart sank. This was going to cost a pretty penny to repair, over and above what the small, financially struggling church had already committed to the project. He would have to go back to the congregation and ask them to pony up yet again. He didn’t know if they would, or even could, come up with the additional funds.
He heard voices out in the hall, and Trish poked her head inside. You mind if we take a look?
she asked him and Saunders.
Saunders motioned them in. Trish and the two ladies who co-chaired the community outreach committee at church, Marge Truman and Julie Dawson, trooped inside and began a visual inspection, their expressions falling as they took in the extent of the damage. Trish whistled through her teeth. Whew, this is bad. Way worse than it looks like from the front.
She turned to Asher indignantly. Why would somebody do a thing like this?
I haven’t a clue,
Asher admitted.
Unfortunately, we need to talk about that very issue. Let’s go outside. I have some questions for you, Reverend, and would also like to talk to your volunteers. I assume you ladies work here at the clinic?
Trish and the women nodded. Asher motioned for the ladies to proceed, giving him a chance to admire Trish McClellan’s shapely backside in a pair of jeans that hugged her curves just right. The sway of her ass, while not deliberately provocative on her part, nevertheless caused his mouth to water a bit and his nether regions to sit up and take notice. Asher gave himself a moment to enjoy the view before turning his attention elsewhere. It wouldn’t be good for the