Wayworn Lovers
Wayworn Lovers
Renowned composer and lyricist Giselle Bonnaire suffers from anxiety disorder and agoraphobia. She needs a driver and housekeeper or she won’t be able to work. Tierney Edwards, a restless, wandering soul, is on the move again, never staying in one place more than a few months. The two women are each other’s opposites, one nomad and one recluse, but when destiny places them together, their mutual attraction can’t be denied.
Giselle knows her heart will break when Tierney moves on again. But Tierney has never felt so at home, which scares her. Can these women, so bruised by life and experience, find a way to break free of the past—or will they have to say good-bye?
Praise for Gun Brooke’s Fiction
Fierce Overture
“Gun Brooke creates memorable characters, and Noelle and Helena are no exception. Each woman is ‘more than meets the eye’ as each exhibits depth, fears, and longings. And the sexual tension between them is real, hot, and raw.”—Just About Write
Coffee Sonata
“In Coffee Sonata, the lives of these four women become intertwined. In forming friendships and love, closets and disabilities are discussed, along with differences in age and backgrounds. Love and friendship are areas filled with complexity and nuances. Brooke takes her time to savor the complexities while her main characters savor their excellent cups of coffee. If you enjoy a good love story, a great setting, and wonderful characters, look for Coffee Sonata at your favorite gay and lesbian bookstore.”—Family & Friends Magazine
Sheridan’s Fate
“Sheridan’s fire and Lark’s warm embers are enough to make this book sizzle. Brooke, however, has gone beyond the wonderful emotional explorations of these characters to tell the story of those who, for various reasons, become differently-abled. Whether it is a bullet, an illness, or a problem at birth, many women and men find themselves in Sheridan’s situation. Her courage and Lark’s gentleness and determination send this romance into a ‘must read.’”—Just About Write
Course of Action
“Brooke’s words capture the intensity of their growing relationship. Her prose throughout the book is breathtaking and heart-stopping. Where have you been hiding, Gun Brooke? I, for one, would like to see more romances from this author.”—Independent Gay Writer
September Canvas
“In this character-driven story, trust is earned and secrets are uncovered. Deanna and Faythe are fully fleshed out and prove to the reader each has much depth, talent, wit and problem-solving abilities. September Canvas is a good read with a thoroughly satisfying conclusion.”—Just About Write
Soul Unique
“This is the first book that Gun Brooke has written in a first person perspective, and that was 100% the correct choice. She avoids the pitfalls of trying to tell a story about living with an autism spectrum disorder that she’s never experienced, instead making it the story of someone who falls in love with a person living with Asperger’s. …Soul Unique is her best. It was an ambitious project that turned out beautifully. I highly recommend it.”—The Lesbian Review
Thorns of the Past
“What I really liked from the offset is that Brooke steered clear of the typical butch PI with femme damsel in distress trope. Both main characters are what I would call ordinary women—they both wear suits for work, they both dress down in sweatpants and sweatshirts in the evening. As a result, I instantly found it a lot easier to relate, and connect with both. Each of their pasts hold dreadful memories and pain, and the passages where they opened up to each other about those events were very moving.”—Rainbow Reviews
The Supreme Constellations Series
“Protector of the Realm has it all; sabotage, corruption, erotic love and exhilarating space fights. Gun Brooke’s second novel is forceful with a winning combination of solid characters and a brilliant plot. The book exemplifies her growth as inventive storyteller and is sure to garner multiple awards in the coming year.”—Just About Write
“[Protector of the Realm] is first and foremost a romance, and whilst it has action and adventure, it is the romance that drives it.The book moves along at a cracking pace, and there is much happening throughout to make it a good page-turner. The action sequences are very well done, and make for an adrenaline rush.”—The Lesbian Review
“Brooke is an amazing author, and has written in other genres. Never have I read a book where I started at the top of the page and don’t know what will happen two paragraphs later. She keeps the excitement going, and the pages turning.”—MegaScene
Wayworn Lovers
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Wayworn Lovers
© 2018 By Gun Brooke. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13:978-1-62639-996-9
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, NY 12185
First Edition: June 2018
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Shelley Thrasher
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Sheri (hindsightgraphics@gmail.com)
Cover Art By Gun Brooke
By the Author
Romances:
Course of Action
Coffee Sonata
Sheridan’s Fate
September Canvas
Fierce Overture
Speed Demons
The Blush Factor
Soul Unique
A Reluctant Enterprise
Piece of Cake
Thorns of the Past
Wayworn Lovers
Supreme Constellations Series:
Protector of the Realm
Rebel’s Quest
Warrior’s Valor
Pirate’s Fortune
Exodus Series:
Advance
Pathfinder
Escape
Arrival
Novella Anthology:
Change Horizons
Acknowledgments
I’m not alone in finishing this novel. There are lots of people working in the wings and/or encouraging me. My wingmen are some awesome people, let me tell you.
Len Barot, my publisher and the boss at Bold Strokes Books, is relentless in the best of ways when it comes to keeping her company the best possible for writers and readers. Shelley Thrasher, my beloved editor, knows my work through and through. An author in her own right, she is nothing short of amazing. Sandy Lowe, the go-to person at BSB, must be the most charming and caring person ever. Always lovely and professional, not to mention patient. I want also to mention Ruth Sternglantz, Cindy Cresap, and Sheri, plus all the other people who work in the wings at BSB to help produce our books.
Privately, I must acknowledge Sam, Laura, Georgi, and Eden, my first readers who pick up on things that my brain happily skipped, forgot, or disregarded. Thank you for the save, my friends.
Every writer needs to recharge their batteries, physically and emotionally, to be able to work. I have some terrific people in my inner circle that helped with that, whether they realized it or not. Elon, my soulmate, you do more than anyone else when it comes to my battery. Sounding
board, cook, driver, grocery-shopping partner, and last but not least, the love of my life…you are just awesome. My children and grandchildren, my son-in-law, my brother, my sister-in-law…the inner circle is pretty big.
My friend Soli deserves her own paragraph. I can’t imagine there being anyone else so encouraging and interested in the craft of writing as her. Plus, she is fun, warm, and very loyal, and you can imagine why I love and appreciate her very, very much.
And then there are the most important people of all—you, my readers. Thank you for buying my books, for the support, and for many, many lovely emails over the years. I love hearing from you and try to respond within a few days.
Dedication
For Soli
You are such a great, encouraging friend.
For Birgitta
The best neighbor in the world whose career in music is amazing and added to my inspiration to write this story.
Prologue
Giselle knew she had made a mistake as soon as she sat down at the table. Across from her, Mary Nelson, the woman Giselle had had a crush on when they were eighteen, sat smiling as she raised her glass.
“Glad you could join me, Giselle. I heard you rarely come into town, so I take this as a compliment.” She winked at Giselle and sipped from whatever strange green cocktail she was having.
“I work a lot,” Giselle managed to say as a waiter approached them. “Some mineral water, please.”
“Ah, come on. Mineral water here at La Mer Turquoise? You’ve got to have some of their famous red wine at least.” Mary crinkled her nose and turned to the waiter. “A glass of the house red for my, um, friend.” She giggled and shook her head as if Giselle were a child who simply didn’t know any better.
Giselle wasn’t thrilled that Mary had ordered her something she didn’t want but decided to let it slide. Perhaps Mary was nervous too. Granted, she didn’t appear ill at ease, but she might just be able to hide it better. Giselle’s palms felt damp, and her pulse had to be at least a hundred beats per minute.
The waiter returned with her glass and some more water. “I hope you’ll like it, ma’am.” One lingering look at Giselle and then he was hurrying to another table.
“You still got it, Gissy.” Mary winked at her. “Any ideas what you’d like as a starter? Want to share some calamari?”
Giselle wouldn’t, but since Mary had her heart set on it, she didn’t want to be the perpetual downer. “Fine. Why not? And what do you mean by I ‘still got it’?” She honestly had no clue.
“Aw, come on,” Mary said and giggled. “You were turning all the boys’ heads twenty years ago. Little did they know you were a lesbian. And neither did I, for that matter. When I moved back to East Quay three months ago, I was floored when I heard you came out.” Laughing, Mary patted Giselle’s hand.
Giselle wanted to pull her hand free, but anything that could escalate into a scene would harm her sense of inner stability. “You were braver than I was,” she murmured. “You were always out.”
“I was, wasn’t I?” Laughing even louder now, Mary looked pleased. “I always did go my own way. That’s what took me to New York, LA, and then back to East Quay. I heard this town has managed to produce some of the world’s most talented musicians right now. Including you!”
Giselle cringed. “I’m hardly a household name,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “I’m very much behind the scenes.”
“Which is a shame.” Tilting her head, Mary winked. “I mean, you are the one writing the music and the lyrics. Without you, the vocalists couldn’t perform.”
The altogether-too-familiar buzz began to echo in Giselle’s head as she noticed how some people at the closest tables began turning their heads in her direction. She tried to convince herself that everyone around them was watching the stunningly beautiful Mary, but that attempt didn’t slow Giselle’s pounding heart. “Please,” she murmured. “I prefer to work like that, and I’m not fond of too much attention.”
Clearly Mary thought she was playing it coy, because she gave a loud laugh that drew even more attention from the other patrons. “Oh, no. Don’t give me that. Of course, you should demand credit where it’s due. You’re a genius. I know some people in the music industry, and they sing your praises, no pun intended. That’s partly why I looked you up, you know. I had to see for myself how the shy girl from school could have changed so fundamentally. I mean, you were mostly homeschooled as well, which added to your mystery.”
“I really haven’t changed, Mary.” Palms damp now, Giselle experienced the all-too-familiar tunnel vision that often preceded a full-blown panic attack. Anxiety rose like hot bile inside her, and she gripped the napkin on her lap. “I honestly am the same person.”
“Aw, come on. I find it hard to see how someone who’s written songs for the most famous names in the industry both here and in Europe could be cut from the same cloth as little, scrawny Giselle from twenty-some years ago.” Mary tilted her head and scrutinized Giselle. “Are you all right though? You look pale.”
“I’m fine. I just need to visit the restroom.” Giselle stood but moved too fast, and her chair fell backward, hitting the hardwood floor with a resounding clatter. Flinching, Giselle knew it was too late for breathing into her ever-present paper bag in the restroom now. She gasped for air, and the familiar excruciating pain erupted in her chest. She was certain she’d faint.
“Giselle!” Mary was suddenly by her side and grabbed her arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Must…get out of here…have to go home.” Sounding husky and barely getting the words out, Giselle tried to feel her way toward the exit. Instead, she misjudged her position and bumped into an unknown woman, who gave a startled yelp.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going, lady.” A male voice rose above the noise in Giselle’s head.
Giselle took several, rapid steps backward and stumbled into something that fell to the floor with a loud bang. Small, bitter cold projectiles hit Giselle, and the last remnant of calmness in her mind suggested they were ice cubes. Frigid water splashed against her thin blouse.
Standing there unable to move, Giselle was now hyperventilating and whimpering. Hands, which she surmised belonged to Mary, nudged her toward the exit.
“Let’s go, Giselle. You need some air.”
It should be reassuring to recognize Mary’s voice, but instead, Giselle withdrew.
“Easy. You’re having some sort of panic attack or something.”
“Must go home.” Giselle tried to free herself, but Mary kept a firm grip of her left arm as they exited the restaurant.
“I’ll take you, okay? You’re not doing too well.”
Giselle blinked several times, trying to clear her vision. The pity in Mary’s voice coincided with the expression on her face.
“No. Just leave me alone. I should have…known better. I’ll go to my car and…and just wait it out. It’ll pass. It always does.”
Giselle freed herself, but then the male voice from the restaurant sounded again.
“I have called an ambulance,” he said, apparently calmer now. “She clearly needs help.”
“No ambulance,” Giselle pleaded. Now when her vision was back, she could tell people had gathered around her on the sidewalk, and the restaurant patrons were staring at her through the window.
“Just sit here,” Mary said, pushing her down onto a bench. “It’s a great idea to have a doctor examine you.”
Fury and fear battled inside Giselle, and she locked them all out of her mind and withdrew again. Her shell seemed to become increasingly impenetrable with time. This was her worst episode yet, and she would make sure she didn’t have any more, even if that meant retreating into her house or garden.
She would never subject herself to this type of humiliation again. Never.
Chapter One
Tierney stepped off the bus and retrieved her large backpack from its belly. Hoisting it, she looked around, pleased with the lovely scenery and picturesque mai
n street. East Quay had looked awesome on the map on her cellphone, and so far, it didn’t disappoint.
Gazing around, Tierney found a message board with tourist information and began walking over to it. The trees on either side of Main Street were almost in bloom. Small green leaves flickered in the faint breeze, bathing the street in a green light.
Tierney ran her fingertip against the first notes, humming. Clearly the inhabitants of East Quay posted everything from missing pets and garage sales to temp jobs on this message board, much like people did in similar towns all over the US. Aware she had only eighty-some dollars left in her wallet, she had to find something fast. She didn’t need money for accommodations, as she had her lightweight tent and her brilliant find in a thrift store in Stowe, Vermont—a high-end sleeping bag. It would keep her warm even if the temperature dropped below zero. Granted, she hadn’t tested it in such extreme weather, but the review in a hiking magazine she had read at a library claimed that was true. It was still only September, and a persistent Indian summer had made it a moot point so far.
Pulling off a few tabs asking for someone to walk dogs and trim hedges, as well as one wanting someone to paint a garden shed, Tierney couldn’t help but overhear two women talking. The one to the left—curvy, middle-aged, and with jet-black hair—shook her head.