Out-Lanta: A Second Chance Novella Read online

  Out-lanta: A Second Chance Novella

  Magnolias and Moonshine Novella Book 13

  Tina DeSalvo

  Also by Tina DeSalvo

  Elli, a Second Chance Novel

  Jewell, a Second Chance Novel

  Hunt for Christmas, a Second Chance Novella

  And coming Summer 2017 - Abby, a Second Chance Novel

  "Tina DeSalvo writes with warmth and wit. Her characters leap off the page into your heart!" – Cherry Adair, NY Times Bestselling Author

  "Elli is...a delightful and uplifting read...it's simply excellent in so many ways! A keeper." – NY Times Bestselling Author, Heather Graham

  "Tender, tense, a sweet yet sexy love story. In Jewel, Tina DeSalvo takes us inside our deep fears and fantasies in a tale as poignant as it is innovative and satisfying." – Stella Cameron, New York Times Bestselling Author of the Alex Duggins Mysteries.

  What readers are saying about Tina’s books...

  Hunt for Christmas, a Second Chance Novel, by Tina DeSalvo is the perfect holiday read. Or anytime read, for that matter. It’s sweet and sexy with a large helping of smolder.

  An adorable Cajun Christmas romance novella. Touching and smart. A sweet read to lift your spirits for an afternoon break.

  Jewell was an amazingly dynamic character to follow around who's lessons and experiences could teach readers about some of the themes that apply to their own lives. This story has all of the perfect elements that makes a page turning session into late nights of obsessive reading.

  This book is amazing!!!

  Jewell is full of mystery, romance, family matters, and a grand plantation with some secrets.

  The kind of story that pulls you in and doesn't let you go. You end each chapter eager to start the next and are sorry when the last chapter ends.

  Out-Lanta: A Second Chance Novella, Copyright © 2017 by Tina DeSalvo

  All rights reserved. This publication may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior express written permission of the author. Please report the unauthorized distribution of this publication by contacting the author at www.tinadesalvo.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental

  This book was fun to write, thanks to the lovely people who knew so much more than I do about Polish food, culture and language. You know who you are...I wish I could name each of you. Please know how grateful I am to you for your inspiration and knowledge. This Italian-American girl living in Cajun country would never have been able to understand Chrusciki, dill pickle soup, and the Polish Babcia if it wasn’t for you. I hope I captured the wonderful spirit that resides in you...in Ania, as she experiences the deep south of the US for the first time.

  Welcome to the Magnolias and Moonshine series, where you’ll fall in love with the South.

  Twenty New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon bestselling authors joined together to bring you a taste of Southern charm in this brand-new Magnolias & Moonshine series.

  There is something for everyone with these ten sweet and ten sizzle contemporary romance novellas. You’ll enjoy stories with cowboys, weddings, county fairs, lovers reunited, and much more.

  Step into the world of the South and hear the cicadas, taste the mint juleps, see the stars, and smell the magnolias.

  Authors in novella release order:

  Ciara Knight (Sweet)

  Hildie McQueen (Sizzle)

  Beth Williamson (Sizzle)

  Susan Hatler (Sweet)

  Lindi Peterson (Sweet)

  Kymber Morgan (Sizzle)

  Amanda McIntyre (Sizzle)

  Lucy McConnell (Sweet)

  Sharon Hamilton (Sizzle)

  Lisa Kessler (Sizzle)

  Kirsten Osbourne (Sweet)

  Susan Carlisle (Sizzle)

  Tina DeSalvo (Sizzle)

  Raine English (Sweet)

  Amelia C. Adams (Sweet)

  E. E. Burke (Sizzle)

  Melinda Curtis (Sweet)

  Merry Farmer (Sizzle)

  Shanna Hatfield (Sweet)

  Jennifer Peel (Sweet)

  Chapter One

  “Okay ladies, I’m all yours,” Luke Marcelle said as he climbed into his sleek, deep red BMW M3 convertible. He’d left the Jeep he used for work back home in Louisiana, choosing to make the road trip to Atlanta in what he called his recreational vehicle. Luke put his Nikon digital camera into his backpack on the center console between the front seats. He turned to look at his passengers in the back seat. “I got my photos from the beautiful Swan House and boxwood gardens for work. I’m finished here at the Atlanta History Center. The rest of the afternoon is for your pleasure.”

  “And we are here for youz pleasure, too,” eighty-eight-year-old Izzy Bienvenu said from the back seat where she sat under an enormous floppy straw hat to the right of her fifty-something year old niece, Ruby. Both women were from Cane, Louisiana where Luke had moved his business a few years ago. “It’s nice we’ze all happened to be in Atlanta at da same time. We’ze are ready to party wit you and take youz mind off of work.”

  Tanté Izzy and Ruby looked like they were ready for a NFL Sunday game in the Superdome rather than ‘partying’ in the springtime with him. Luke appreciated their team loyalty and got a chuckle seeing them in their bedazzled black and gold New Orleans Saints t-shirts and huge black, sunglasses that looked like bumblebee eyes. Even though football season was months away, Tanté Izzy said they were wearing the Saint’s t-shirts because they wanted the Atlanta Falcon fans to know that their rival Who-Dat fans were around. She sure enjoyed making the sport of fan-mania an all year long fandom. The fancy sunglasses they wore had nothing to do with being a super-fan, though. According to Tanté Izzy, she and Ruby wore them because they looked sexier with them on while riding in his red-hot convertible with the top down.

  “Party?” Ruby said, shaking her head, causing her bright red bangs to swish across her forehead from under the giant hat she wore. “Don’t you think that’s an overstatement. Luke here doesn’t want to go out dancing and clubbing with us, Tanté Izzy. He’s too busy for that. He’s just going to spend an afternoon with us. Remember, he’s got a lot to do for that big project he’s bidding on. It’s for that new neighborhood that he wants to build not too far from Cane. The one he’s taking all those pretty pictures for.” She looked at Luke. “What’s it called again?”

  “Magnolia Row.”

  “He’s going to grow his construction company from building houses and commercial buildings one client at a time to building thousands of houses for just one client.” Ruby explained to Tanté Izzy who was adjusting her own huge hat on her tiny head.

  “He hasn’t gotten dat big job, yet,” Tanté Izzy whispered to Ruby, but he heard her just fine from the front seat. “He’s still got to win da bid over two other companies. We’ze here to take his mind off of dat. So hush youz mouth.” Then in a louder voice she spoke directly to Luke. “Ruby and I are ready to go on da Walking Dead Tour.”

  “From the Classical 1928 Swan House, or as you ladies refer to it as President Snow’s Mansion from The Hunger Games, to the Walking Dead tour.” He started the car and closed his eyes, enjoying the sound of the powerful engine purring to life. Just then, the passenger door flung open and a rustle of noisy fabric and feathers along with a blur of bright white filled the front seat.

  “What the hell?” Eith
er he was hallucinating or a beautiful dark haired bride had just jumped in his car.

  “Go, Go, Go,” the stranger in white screamed, banging on the dash. Even though she’d only spoken three short words, he could tell she had a foreign accent. The bride looked past him with big blue eyes focused on the woodland path on the other side of the parking lot.

  “Drive! Please.”

  “Hell no. I’ve seen this movie and I’m not interested in Buford T. Justice chasing me across Georgia.”

  “Oh. I get out then if you do not drive.” The woman started to shift to get out of the car, struggling with the dress. The top of the dress fit like shrink wrap on her very shapely body making it difficult for her to bend and move. Yet, as stingy that part of her dress was with fabric, the bottom more than compensated for it. Starting with a huge flare around her knees, there seemed to be miles of voluminous fabric there. It equally made movement a problem for her. How had she even managed to get into his sports car?

  She looked somewhere past him again.

  “No. He drive,” Ruby said, unintentionally speaking like the runaway bride had.

  “Yes?” she asked, her voice shaky one second and in the next her hand flew to her mouth and she shouted with complete assertiveness. “I need you driving. Now. They are coming. Hurry.” Her accent was heavier than it was at first. She was now adding a “k” at the end of her ing words.

  “Go. Go. Go.” Tanté Izzy and Ruby screamed at the same time.

  “One of those three men wearing the tuxedoes, has a gun,” Ruby shouted. “God, he must be the jilted groom.”

  “I gotz my gun too,” Tanté Izzy yelled, reaching into her purse. Hearing that was all the incentive Luke needed. The thought of a shoot-out between an angry fiancé and an elderly Cajun woman had him punching his foot on the accelerator. The powerful engine responded as it was engineered to and they sped off.

  The bride’s veil blew up behind her like a kite tail, whipping Tanté Izzy and Ruby in the face as it trailed to the trunk of the car.

  “Oh, no,” the bride cried, tugging on the material flying behind her head. It caught the wind and came around to cover Luke’s face. He slammed on his brakes.

  “Are you trying to get us killed?” he yanked the white fabric off of his face as she tried bundling it up into a ball. That’s when a ping sounded near the side of the car. All three women screamed.

  Luke flinched and floored it. “Holy crap, lady. I’ve heard of shotgun weddings before, but this is ridiculous.”

  “Oh, God, I’m going to be dead,” she said, folding over onto her lap and giving Luke a full view of the back of her dress and the deep plunge which left a view of more fair skin than not. Hell, there was hardly any dress in the back at all.

  “I’m calling 9-1-1,” Ruby shouted. “A person should be able to say no and leave a wedding if they want...even the bride.”

  “Nie. No. Please.” The woman jerked up, reached around and grabbed the phone from Ruby’s hand. A tear slid down her cheek. “No police. I get out of car,” she offered and looked back to see if anyone was following them.

  Luke did the same. Two cars cut the corner behind them. He sped up and took the next turn and then three after that without slowing down. His car was a performance dream. The women were grabbing onto the back and bottom of their seats to keep from falling over, even though the car hugged each turn smoothly. Luke hooked a hard, fast left and pulled into what looked like an old office parking garage. He hit the brakes, turned the wheel and stopped the car facing in the direction they had just come it. He turned off the headlights and the darkness from the empty garage closed in around them. He left the engine running.

  “Where can I drop you off?” he asked the woman with the white-knuckled grip on his dash.

  Tanté Izzy smacked him in the back of the head and leaned between the console seats. “You liked drivin’ fast too much.”

  “Hey, I was just trying to keep us from getting shot.”

  “You are crazy driver,” the bride said, letting go of the dash. “Thank you for keeping us not getting dead.”

  “Youz talk funny. Where are youz from?”

  The woman looked over her shoulder to Tanté Izzy, then back toward where cars were passing on the street outside of the parking garage. “Lithuania,” she replied, but something in her tone told Luke she was lying. “You have an accent too. Where are you from?”

  “God’s country.” Tanté Izzy said with a big smile. Ruby nodded next to her.

  “That’s for sure,” Ruby added. “We’re from a town called Cane in Louisiana. It’s near New Orleans.”

  “Ruby and I is Cajun,” Tanté Izzy piped in, as if that explained everything. “Luke’s not Cajun by birth but he’z Cajun by friendship.”

  The probably not-Lithuanian bride’s dark brows lifted. She clearly didn’t understand what any of that meant, but didn’t ask for an explanation. She was looking around the quiet parking garage.

  Luke pulled out his phone. “Shall I call you a cab?”

  “No. I can walk.” She picked Ruby’s phone up off the floor where it had fallen in the mad getaway, and handed it back. “I’m sorry for taking it.” Luke frowned hearing her insert a k again in an ing word - to make taking sound like takink. Her accent made her sound more vulnerable somehow. She opened the door, the bottom of her wedding dress poured out like a flooding river over the banks.

  “No. Don’t go,” Ruby said, squeezing her broad shoulders into the small space next to Tanté Izzy so she could get closer to the bride. “It’s not safe for you to walk through the streets with an angry fiancé and his posse of groomsmen chasing after you. Not to mention that it will be impossible to drag that long Cathedral train behind you.” Ruby lowered her sunglasses down her nose and looked over the top of them. “From what I can see—spilling out the door like that—it sure looks like a real pretty train.”

  “We’ze ain’t goin’ to throw her to da wolves.” Tanté Izzy said looking at Luke.

  He shook his head. “You must have friends or family you can call.”

  She sighed. “I can walk.”

  Oh hell. That wasn’t the response he wanted to hear. Luke grabbed the steering wheel and looked out his window into the dark, dusty garage.

  “Luke Marcelle,” Tanté Izzy said, “dis girl needs our help and we’ze goin’ to give it to her. Don’t make her feel bad about it either. It took a lot of courage to walk out of her own weddin’ when all da people came to wish her a happy life.”

  The woman looked at Tanté Izzy. “You are a good Babcia. I thank you but I don’t want trouble for you or your grandson and daughter.”

  “Dey aren’t my grandson and daughter,” Tanté Izzy corrected. “Dey are family, Ruby by blood and Luke by friendship. Dey also are da peoples who are gonna help you.”

  Chapter Two

  “Thank you, Babcia.” Relief mingled with fear made Ania Darska’s body feel cold, although the air was warm and still. She’d gotten a break, if for only a short time.

  “I like you callin’ me Babcia,” Tanté Izzy said, her cloudy green eyes softening. “I don’t know what it means, but it sounds like a nice word. My name is Tanté Izzy.” The old lady pushed back the huge brim of her hat, then patted Ania on her bare shoulder. Her fingers were thin, firm. The gentle touch made her think of her own grandmother whose hard working hands felt the same when she’d touched her as child back in Poland.

  “Babcia—it means grandmother.”

  Ania could feel the small round medal of the iconic painting of the Black Madonna and child, biting into her big toe where it had settled in her left shoe. Her mother, God rest her soul, would be surprised and mortified that Ania had stepped on the special protective medal she had given her only daughter. She wouldn’t be surprised, however, that it was now causing Ania such discomfort and guilt. Her mother would have said that was because the Madonna-Queen of Poland-was disappointed that Ania had claimed she was from Lithuania, not her beautiful homeland of Poland. br />
  Ania felt terrible lying to these nice people who’d nearly been shot because of her. She hated not telling them why she had run from her wedding too. These were good, normal people. People who didn’t carry their only possession in the world inside a crystal-adorned pump. If they knew she had been about to marry a cold-blooded killer for the Polish-American mob, then they would call the police and expose her to a horrible fate she hoped to avoid. It would make no difference for them to know that she was to marry this killer only because she had no other choice.

  She and her blessed medal of the Lady of Czestochowa had to get out of town and hide. To do that, Ania had to...what? God, she didn’t have a clue. Her options were limited. She had no money, no car, no family, no friends, no passport.

  Turning, she looked at the two women in the back seat who were her only allies for now. She avoided making eye contact with the very tall, dark haired man with the broad shoulders and the piercing hazel eyes. They had called him Luke. He did not trust her. She understood that. She was a stranger with a groom who’d tried to shoot him. This Luke frightened her, even though he couldn’t be that bad of man if he was with the two nice ladies in the back seat. Still, he was a strong, fit, muscular man. In the last few years, all of the men she’d met whose muscles pulled tight against their shirts as Luke’s did in his blue button down shirt, were dangerous.

  Luke was looking at her like she had two alien heads and a spiked tail. He wanted her to leave. She needed to go. She had to figure out how to do that and stay away from Dorek.

  “She doesn’t look like she heard your question, Tanté Izzy,” the red-hair woman named Ruby said. What question? Ania hadn’t heard it. Ruby smiled at her and it confirmed what Ania already believed of the middle-aged woman by her friendly gestures and soft expressions. She was a pleasant person. It made her feel bad again that she had dragged them into all of this. “Ask her again. I think she’s in shock,” Ruby told Tanté Izzy.