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 PATRIOT
DIRTY SINNERS
M.K. MOORE
Patriot (Dirty Sinners) by M.K. Moore
©M.K. Moore 2022 Flirty Filth Publishing.

All Rights Reserved.

By the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any
part of this book without permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the
author’s intellectual property. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or
used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author
except for brief quotations used in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of
the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales, or organizations is
entirely coincidental.
The use of actors, artists, movies, TV shows and song titles/lyrics throughout this book are
done so for storytelling purposes and should in no way be seen as an advertisement.
Trademark names are used editorially with no intention of infringement of the respective
owner’s trademark.
This book is intended for adults only. Contains sexual content and language that may offend
some. The suggested reading audience is 18 years or older. I consider this book as Erotic
Adult Romance.
Cover Created by Bookin It Designs
https://www.facebook.com/bookinitdesigns

Created with Vellum

 CONTENTS

Blurb

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Epilogue
Epilogue

Looking for more Dirty Sinners? Look no further!

Acknowledgments
Other books by MK Moore
About the Author
BLURB
XAVIER “PATRIOT” THOMPSON

Growing up in Haven, I did what I was told to do by my father. All

that changes now. I am forging my own path after my time in the
Army. I never thought it would take me to the Dirty Sinners, but
here I am, prospecting at my age. When my job at the Lust & Sin
leads me to her, I will do anything to protect her from her past.
CELESTE “LIL’ BIT” OLSEN

It was nothing but bad luck that brought me to Haven, or so I

thought. After meeting Patriot, I started believing in Fate, until my
past caught up with me. Instead of running away, I run to him. He
protects me like no man ever has. I can only sin with him. I won’t
give that up without a fight.
This is a safe, over-the-top insta-everything that is oh, so steamy…
This September, 18 of your favorite authors take you to the
mountains of Haven, Tennessee. This small town is known for its
wild times, alpha men, and the Dirty Sinners MC—a group of rowdy
hell-raising bikers who don’t have a problem getting their hands dirty
in order to do good. Crime, passion, and the forbidden temptation of
love will push them all to the line.
Will they ride through life craving soulmates as their penance for the
crimes they’ve committed? Or can a Dirty Sinner be saved?
CHAPTER 1
 PATRIOT

G rowing up in Haven, all I ever wanted was to get out of this

town and make it big literally anywhere else. I had it all
planned out. I only applied to colleges in other states. I was
pre-law. I had the perfect fiancée that I met at Freshman
Orientation. All the things I thought I needed to succeed in life. I
was eighteen and I thought I had the world by the balls. That was
eight years ago now. I’ve been home for a year now. My father,
Tobias, is the mayor of Haven. He fully expected me to fall right back
into my old life, but I’ve changed too much for that. Gone is the
meek boy who left here for higher learning. I’ve seen too much.
Done too much at this point to ever go back to the pushover I once
was. I’m not saying I had a terrible childhood, because I didn’t. I
had the best of everything. I was loved and cared for. I had the best
clothes, and shoes. I had money to spend. I played sports, I dated,
but everything I did back then was to please my father. I had good
grades and the right kind of friends. Right to my father, anyway. My
father married my mother, Lara, when they eighteen. My mom had
to have been pregnant already, but I never thought they got married
because they had to. There was never any evidence of that. In fact,
I’m pretty sure I only know what love is because of them. I was born
a couple of months later. When he was a rookie firefighter, he was
injured during the territory dispute the MC’s had going on back then
and has been bitter about ever since. He does, however, think that
being the mayor is his civic duty and I can’t help feeling that I am
supposed to be an extension of that. I had to be own man. It was
important to me. It became everything once I was away from him
and Haven.
I fairly quickly ascertained that college wasn’t for me and Jean
wasn’t the perfect fiancée either. After one semester, I dropped out
and joined the Army without a second thought. I was in basic
training before I knew it and in Afghanistan soon after. I was an
infantryman and I saw a lot of action. There isn’t much I can’t do
with a weapon. Knives, guns, a skillet that one time. I can handle
whatever is thrown at me. All of those hard-earned skills would have
been wasted on being a lawyer. Once my time was up, I wasn’t sure
I even wanted to go home, but something called out to me. I still
don’t know exactly what that was.
Once home, I bought an Indian Chieftain motorcycle and joined
the local motorcycle club and am prospecting now. They call me
Patriot, which I prefer to Xavier, but I’m still earning my place. They
have assigned me to be the daytime bouncer at the club’s strip club,
the Sin & Lust. I just do what I’m told and after eight years in the
service, I appreciate the order that the Dirty Sinner’s provides me.
I got a little apartment outside of town and prefer to spend my
non club time there. My parents just don’t understand why I’m doing
this and if I’m being honest, neither do I. However, I’m twenty-seven
years old and I am not about to let my parents, especially my father,
tell me what do with my life. I know he feels betrayed by my
decision to join the Sinners, but I can’t let him dictate my life.
My father hates the MC, always has, probably because they
wouldn’t let him join back in the day. Ever since I joined, he’s
ramped his shit up and is intent on taking them down. I avoid him
like the plague because I don’t want Prez thinking I’m a narc or
something.
The strip club opens at pretty early and even the day shift girls
aren’t bad. I never had time for chicks when I was serving but I’ve
dated some since I’ve been home. None of them were long-term
material, but I tried to get out there. I firmly avoid the club candy
though. I’m a jealous man by nature and I don’t share.
 I’m still an early riser, so I get a run in and head to the gym
before my shift at the club starts. After a hot shower, I hop on my
bike and head to work. I park at the club and walk down the street
to grab some coffee and food at the diner. I grab to-go coffees for
Angel and Becca, a waitress at the club. I feel bad for the girl. Her
eyes are so freaking haunted. I’ve heard bits and pieces of her story
from Dolly, but I don’t pry.
When I get the club the door in already unlocked and Warrant is
playing. There are no customer’s yet, but Angel is wiping down
tables and Becca is behind the bar.
“Morning, Ladies,” I call from the doorway.
“Morning, Pat,” Becca calls, cheerily. She’s always happy that one.
“Good morning, Patriot,” Angel says. Neither one of them look up
from their chores. I hand each of them their coffees and take my
place by the door.
At exactly ten-thirty, Gus, a regular, walks in and head for his
usual seat at the bar. Becca serves him all day long. He walks home,
sleeps it off, and does all again the next day. He’s quiet and he tips
the girls well, even though he rarely watches the shows.
I chuckle as Delilah, which I’m sure isn’t her real name, saunters
up on the stage at eleven. A few more customers have come and
sitting in front of the stage. Delilah is six months pregnant and
doesn’t take her job too seriously right now. Today she’s dressed like
a schoolgirl in trouble and is stripping to Papa Don’t Preach. The
customer’s, the pigs that they are, love her. She’s not club candy but
there are rumors going around that a patched member knocked her
up, but most gossip is lies, especially in Haven. I take all that with a
grain of salt.
I’m a few hours in when the front door opens and the sunlight
streams in. I don’t think anything of it until a beautiful girl stops in
front of me. Slowly, I look her up and down. She’s tall, curvy, and
has a riot of blonde hair. Somewhere deep inside of me, something
primal takes hold. She’s mine, my soul or my conscious is screaming
it over and over in my head. It’s never done this shit before, so I am
inclined to listen to what it has to say.
 “Hi. I’m inquiring about the dancer position. Can you point me in
the right the direction?”
Hell no. Over my dead body will anybody in this town see this girl
naked but me. Come hell or high water this girl, whoever the hell
she is, is mine.
CHAPTER 2
 CELESTE

F or so long, all I’ve thought about was getting away from my

mother and stepfather. My life has been miserable, and I just
wanted to be free. From birth to ten years old, my life was
great. Then my father died, and my mom married the first
douchebag that paid her any attention. It was bad from the day he
moved in. Imagine being ten years old and your mother getting mad
at you for your stepfather’s lecherous stares and inappropriate
touching. Like I had any control over that monster’s actions. It didn’t
matter though. Every time something happened my mom beat my
ass to the point I couldn’t sit down. No one believed me. Not my
teachers, not social services. No one. As an adult, I now know that
everyone in my life let me down and what happened to me wasn’t
my fault. At sixteen, I stole a couple thousand dollars from under my
mom’s bed. She didn’t believe in banks, thankfully. I bought a cheap
used car from old man Jackson in my neighborhood, and I was gone
the day I got my driver’s license. I never finished high school, but
the only thing that mattered was getting away. I’ll get my GED one
day. As soon as I feel safe, if that ever happens. I hope it does, but
the realist in me is telling me that it won’t. I can’t have normal
again.
Now, I am far away from that nightmare. I left California and just
drove. I can handle anything that comes my way, but a young girl
traveling alone isn’t the best idea, so Mr. Jackson gave me a gun to
use for protection. In the two, almost three years, that I’ve been
gone, I haven’t had to use it. Most people are too worried about
their own shit to pay attention to me, and I love that. I can go for
days without ever even talking to another person. Some nights, I
wake up disoriented and I right back in my pale pink bedroom
reliving the things that happened to me. My stepdad never made it
past touches, but the intent was there, and I knew every time that it
happened, I was going to get my ass beat. It’s enough to make me
afraid. Then I remember that I’m free. Totally free. Totally alone.
When I’m low on money, I get a waitressing job and make just
enough to keep going for a while. I’ve been lucky. I’d work for a few
weeks under the table and then be gone. If anyone asked, my name
was Colleen. No one ever asked for my story, and I never offered it
up. I don’t do social media and I have a cheap burner phone that I
throw out every so often.
Today my luck has finally run out. My car shut off in the middle
of the road and it won’t turn back on. I had a good run with Betty.
The 1994 Camry has seen better days, but now I am stuck in this
town until I figure something else out. I’m barely out of the car
when two teenagers run toward me after getting out of the truck
stopped behind me.
“You alright, miss?” One of them asks.
“Yeah, my car just broke down.”
“Alright. You steer and we’ll push you out of the road into the
parking lot over there,” The driver says, pointing to the closet
parking lot from here.
“Thank you so much,” I say.
“No problem. We wouldn’t want you to get hit out here.”
I nod and get back into the car, pop it into neutral and steer
while they push me into a parking space. Putting it in park, I get out
and thank them again. They just wave, jog over to their truck and
drive away. I wonder if everyone in this town is as nice as those
boys.
Turning around, I let out a little giggle when I see just where I’ve
broken down. Sin & Lust Exotic Dancers. It would be just my luck to
break down here. I notice the now hiring dancer sign immediately
and think that I could totally do that. Squaring my shoulders, I walk
toward the building and pull the door open. It’s way darker inside
than it is outside, and I have to blink several times to get my eyes to
adjust to the darkness. I walk over to a podium where a large man
is sitting. Even in the near darkness, I can see he’s hot as hell and I
can say with a certainty that I’ve noticed a man before. I’ve avoided
them for all the wrong reasons, I’m sure. Well, I was sure of that.
Until now.
“Hi. I’m inquiring about the dancer position. Can you point me in
the right the direction?” I ask, after swallowing thickly. The giant of
a man doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me with his mouth
open a little bit. “Sir?”
He clears his throat and stands up. Instinctively, I take a step
back from him. He doesn’t come any closer.
“Are you new around here?” he asks. His voice is thick and
gravelly. It goes straight to my core, causing me to shiver.
“Ah, yes. Just now actually. I’m Celeste,” I say, extending my
hand to him. I don’t know why I felt compelled to give him my real
name, but I did. It’s out there now, and I don’t hate it. “Are you the
manager?”
“No, Lil’ Bit, I’m not. I’m Xavier, but my friends call me Patriot.” Lil
bit? Who does this guy think he is?
“Nice to meet you, Patriot.” I give him my best smile.
“It definitely is,” he replies but doesn’t say anything else.
“So… the manager?” I ask, trying to look around his big body,
but it’s no use.
“No.”
“No?”
“You can’t be a dancer here.” His firm response takes me by
surprise.
“Why not?” I ask, on the verge of tears. I need a job to be able
to pay for the car repairs.
I start to panic. My breathing becomes labored and constricted.
And then nothing.
CHAPTER 3
 PATRIOT

“S hit,” I growl as I catch her before she hits the floor. I carry
her to the nearest couch, praying it’s not covered in some
skivvy guys jizz. I lie her down and call for a glass of water,
which Becca rushes over. I drop down to my knees in front of her
and brush her hair away from her face. At my touch she jerks
awake, her big blue staring up at me. Then she tries to scramble
away from me. “Hold on, girl. Drink this,” I say handing her the glass
of water Becca brought me.
“How do I know that you didn’t put something in it?” she asks.
“Smart girl,” I say, taking a huge gulp of the cold water. After that
she sits up and drinks the water.
“Thank you. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Are you alright now?”
“Yes, but I need the dancer job. Can you please point me in the
right direction.”
“Do you have any experience?” I ask, suddenly needing to know
if she’s bared herself to others before.
“No.” Good, I think letting about a breath that I didn’t realize I
was holding in.
“What do you have experience with?”
“I can waitress.”
“You’re hired,” I say, not even a hundred percent sure I have the
authority to do that. I smooth it over with the boss though.
“I am?”
 “To be clear, that job is for a fully clothed waitress. You got that?”
“Yes. Thank you so much,” she says, clearly grateful.
“You said you just arrived. Where are you staying?”
“Nowhere yet. I literally just got here.”
“I know the owner over at the Sunset Motel. She’ll fix you up,” I
tell her. It’s probably way too soon to take her to my place and never
let her leave. Probably.
“She?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah. Mrs. Jethro is seventy-six years young and is always
looking for a stray to take in.” I chuckle. It’s the truth. I don’t think
she’s ever taken money for anyone to stay there. She likes the
company and the conversation.
“Stray?”
“That’s what she calls her guests. She doesn’t charge for the
rooms.”
“How does she make money?”
“I don’t know. It’s not polite to ask that is these parts.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“No worries. When you’re ready, I’ll walk you over there and
introduce you. You can start tomorrow at ten. We’ve got regulars
that leave before five.
“I’m ready now. I’m dying to take a hot shower,” she says, and
my eyes widen. Was that an invitation to join her? “I also need to
get my bag out of my car and find a mechanic.”
“I know the best mechanic,” I tell her, helping her to her feet.
“Do you know everybody in this town?”
“I was born and raised here. There ain’t another town quite like
Haven.”
“I’m beginning to see that,” she replies.
“Becca, I’ll be back in ten.”
“No problem. I’ve got Wally if anything goes wrong,” she says
referenced the shotgun mounted under the bar.
“It shouldn’t come to him,” I say, chuckling again. We step out
into the sunlight and walk over to her car. It’s a piece of shit, but I
make a mental note to call Jake to get it looked at. I walk her down
to the motel and introduce her to Mrs. Jethro, who loves her
instantly. The feeling is mutual. I don’t know what it is about her, but
I want her.
At work, I spend the next few weeks getting to know her. The
more I get to know her, the more I like her. She’s an excellent
waitress, and the customers love her, but each time I ask her out for
dinner, she turns me the hell down. I fucking hate it.
One day soon, she’ll say yes and then all bets are off. She’ll be
my wife before she knows what hit her.
CHAPTER 4
 CELESTE

I just got off work at the club. I don’t dance, of course, but I
waitress during the day shift. It’s an I have to admit that I like
that Patriot watches me so much. I can always feel his eyes on
me. It makes me feel alive.
I had been putting Patriot whenever he asked me out at work,
but I couldn’t do it anymore. When I finally agreed to go out on a
date with Patriot, I had to. I really want him. He’s such a nice guy
not to mention the fact that he’s hot as hell. He never looks at the
dancers and only escorts them to their cars at the end of their shifts.
I don’t have any clothes that would be good for going out, so I
borrowed a black dress from Delilah, my one and only friend from
the Sin & Lust from her pre-pregnancy days. It’s tight and
formfitting. I love it.
After brushing my hair, I’m ready to go. I don’t own any makeup
because I don’t know how to apply it, so it is what it is.
He arrives at six o’clock on the dot. I open the motel room door
and there he is. He looks so hot in head-to-toe leather. He’s holding
a hot pink helmet in his hands.
“Ready, babe?”
“Yes,” I answer a little too loudly. He hold out his other hand,
which I take. He leads me to his bike and helps me onto it. Then he
puts the helmet on and straps it at my chin. Then he climbs on.
“Put your arms around my waist,” he growls. My body is already
melded to his, but I do what he says. “Hold on, and don’t let go.”
 “Never,” I whisper into his ear.
Then he starts the bike up and I swear I can feel it my pussy.
The vibrations are so strong. Then he gets going, out on the two
lane and with the wind in my hair, I finally know what it’s like to be
free. I giggle as the wind sweeps all around me.
He stops in front of a store front, but there’s no restaurant in
sight.
“I thought we were going out to eat…”
“I’m cooking for you.” He says it so matter of factly.
“Really?” I ask, arching an eyebrow at him as I take the helmet
off.
“Yes. I make a mean pasta.”
“I love pasta,” I admit, trying to remember the last time I had
any. I’ve mostly eaten fast food in addition to diner food in the last
few years. This should be so good.
After a delicious meal and pleasant conversation, we’re sitting on
his couch.
Then he moves closer to me, and I let him. Everything about this
feels right, and even if it isn’t, I want to make this mistake. He leans
into me, and I kiss him. Boldly. Like I know what I’m doing. I just go
for it. Then his hands are in my hair. I moan as he deepens the kiss.
I try to touch his chest, but I can’t.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he groans between kisses.
“I want to touch you,” I tell him, my hands once again seeking
purchase.
“Calm down, Lil’ Bit. We’ve got all night.”
“Do we?” I demand, wanting everything all at once.
“Yes, we do.”
He kisses me again, then stands up from the couch. He lifts me
into his arms and carries me out of the living room and into his
bedroom. He’s driving me crazy with his lips sucking on my neck like
this. In the bedroom, he drops me down on the bed and begins to
take his clothes off. I spring into gear and pull the dress over my
head, revealing my naked body. A bra and panties really didn’t go
with the dress.
 “If I had known you were naked under that dress, we’d never
have your motel room,” he growls. In a flash, he’s naked too and
stalking toward me like I’m his prey. In a way, I guess I am. His
hands on my skin is a welcome feeling.
“What a bad girl,” he says through gritted teeth as he reaches my
pussy. He skims his fingers over it before burying his face there.
Once his tongue finds my core, I shoot up into a sitting position.
Nothing has ever felt as good as his mouth does on my needing and
achy pussy. He gently pushes my shoulders back down and I can’t
help moaning, more than ready for him. When I come, he finally
positions himself at my opening. He’s gripping the base of his cock
and guiding it into me. He leans down and kisses me. “Is this what
you want, Lil’ Bit?
“Yes.” I moan. He needs no further encouragement. He pushes
all the way into me in one thrust. I cry out and he stops. My eyes
pop open and he has an awed or maybe confused look on his face.
“A virgin? How? You’re so fucking beautiful, it’s not possible that
no one has touched you.” I don’t want to tell him about my past. I
never want to tell anyone, but I do tell him the truth as to why I’ve
waited.
“I have been saving myself for a man worthy of me. Please don’t
stop, Xavier.” Using his real name at this moment seems more
appropriate than his road name. He’s such a good man. I’m beyond
glad that it’s him.
He begins to move erratically, and I try to meet his every thrust.
When he finds my clit, I am unable to take it anymore. I come loudly
and screaming his name.
“Squeeze my cock, baby. Take every last fucking drop. You are
fucking mine, Celeste. You will never know another cock. Ever. You
are going to give me babies and I will breed this tight ass pussy.” I
moan. Fuck, he is such a dirty talker and I love it. When he finally
comes, he drops his weight down onto me. I love it. For the first
time in forever, I feel safe.
“Fuck, babe. That is amazing. I must be hurting you, though,” He
says as he begins to move. I hold on to him because I don’t want
him to leave me.
 “I can handle whatever you want to give me.” His cock twitches
inside of me and I smile while running my fingers over his bare back.
Life finally seems to be going my way.
TWO MONTHS LATER
I should have known that my life was never my own. I just got
comfortable in Haven. I moved in with Patriot, but I’ve been holding
back on him, and he knows it. We’ve made love every night and it’s
been amazing. I’ve really earned my place here and I don’t want to
leave, but it looks like I am going to have to. I just established an
address, got my birth certificate and social security card. For the first
time I want to put down some roots, but that’s all over now.
Somehow, my picture was posted online during a customer’s
bachelor party at the club. I didn’t even know about it until my mom
called and asked for me. Thankfully, Patriot answered the phone and
didn’t provide that information, but it’s only a matter of time before
she comes for me. Her money more so than me, I’m sure.
“What the fuck was all that about?” Patriot asks as soon as we
are home.
“What do you mean?”
“The first phone call you get. Explain it to me. It’s your mother
and you look like you’re about to be sick.”
“I…”
“Don’t lie to me, Celeste. I think I know you well enough to know
you are straight up about to lie to me.”
“I didn’t have a great home life,” I say, downplaying it.
“Okay… There’s more to it. I know it.”
“Of course, there is,” I say taking a deep breath before launching
into the story of me. Throughout the whole thing, Patriot is
clenching and unclenching his fists. When I’m done, he doesn’t say
anything. “Say something, please.” I pray that he doesn’t look at me
differently now.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with that, babe. That’s fucking awful.
I’ll kill them both.”
“You can’t do that,” I tell him. I wouldn’t him to spend the rest of
his life in prison for me. I burst into tears, and he gathers me into
his arms while I give into the weakness that was me for the last
time. He doesn’t judge me or yell at me. He just holds me and lets
me cry and snot all over his t-shirt.
“I love you, Celeste. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you.”
“You love me?” I ask, sniffling. That has to be the least sexy
sound I’ve ever heard.
“Yes. Of course, I love you.”
“I love you too,” I admit for the first time.
“I know. You tell me in your sleep every night.”
“I do?”
“Yep. Every night.”
“I had no idea,” I say, walking into his open arms. He hugs me
tightly and kisses me hard. Thank fuck he’s not treating me any
different than before. I think if he treated me like a fragile, broken
thing I’d die.
“Marry me, Celeste.”
“Yes,” I say, finally realizing that my mom and stepdad don’t own
me. I’m safe and happy and it has nothing to do with them.
The best thing I can do is live my life with this man and be
happy.
And that’s just what I’m going to do.
EPILOGUE
PATRIOT
THREE YEARS LATER

L ife has been amazing with Celeste. We got married in a small

church ceremony in town. My brothers from the club were
there with their women and their families. We have two
children now. Daisy and Kyra. They are sweet little princess who
have made us so happy. They are two and one years old and have
us wrapped around their little fingers. Once we had Daisy, my mom
approached us first and she was quickly followed by my dad. While
he doesn’t like what I do, especially now that I am a patched
member, we agree to disagree. Grandchildren have a way of
mending fences, and they sure did that. They are actually with them
for the night, which they do at least once a week and I get the
chance to spend the entire night inside my woman. Earlier we went
for a ride on the bike and that revved her up. It always does.
“Just like that,” she moans as loudly as she possibly can while I
eat my perfect wife’s pussy like the fucking queen that she is. Her
pleasure is my pleasure. I used to hate that he was so good at this,
but now that I know it’s all for me and it’s only ever been for me, I
am a bit more relaxed. Of course, that might
have something to do with the fact that I am well on my way to
my fourth orgasm of the night.
I like to make her come hard before I take her. Just thinking
about sliding into her tight cunt has my mouth dry. I swallow thickly.
I think about pushing into her over and over and that makes me eat
her harder. I push two fingers into her until she’s screaming my
name.
When she comes again, she pushes my head away from her. I
place soft kisses up her torso and up to her tight nipples. I am
gentle until I reach her lips. Brutally, I kiss her. She moans when she
tastes herself on my tongue and deepens the kiss, trying to get
more of it. My thick beard is soaked with her juices. It gets all over
her tits and my chest and that turns me on even more.
 Pulling back from the kiss, I lean up on my elbows, looking down
at her. Her eyes trace over her name tattooed on my collarbone. To
say that I am obsessed with her would be an understatement. I
think that I have shown that multiple times over the years. It is not
the only ink I have but it is the ink that means the most. We got our
names tattooed on each other and that is sexy as hell.
We are forever. Nothing and no one will ever come between us.
I’d like to see them try. Every day with this woman is better than the
last and I can’t wait for all the rest of them.
EPILOGUE
CELESTE
ONE YEAR LATER

I t’s been years since I’ve seen my mother, but without a shadow
of a doubt, I’m looking at her right now. She’s less than a
hundred feet from me but she hasn’t seen me yet. I’ve got my
girls with me. Instead of going into the grocery store, I back out of
the spot and use the hands-free phone to call Patriot. I’m trying not
freak out, so the girls don’t freak, but that’s not easy.
“I’m about to head into church,” he says, letting me know he’s on
official club business.
“I’m going back home. I saw my mom in town.”
“Get home and arm the alarm. I’ll be there in as soon as I can. I
love you, Lil’ Bit.” I love that he can tell I’m freaked without having
to actually sound that way.
“Okay. I love you too.” I say, hanging up. This is a small town,
and everyone knows us. It’s only a matter of time before some well-
meaning neighbor points her to our house, thinking they are doing
me a favor. I shiver thinking of that woman anywhere near my
daughters. Since having kids, it’s easy to know that my mother was
never a real mother. She was a monster, just like her piece of shit
husband. I heard he died a while back of natural causes. I can’t help
thinking that was too good for him. I take solace in the fact that he’s
probably burning in hell for what he did.
I get home and pull directly into the garage, closing it behind me.
I get the girls out of the car and usher them into the house. They
are watching Amazon Prime before I know it, never once questioning
why I got them dressed and into the car, drove to town, and came
right back home. They are happy and content with their shows.
Thankfully.
I smile at them before going into the living room and watching
the front of the house like one of those paranoid old men who think
the world is going to end. In less than five minutes, I hear a
thunderous roar as ten bikes comes down the street and park in our
driveway. I smile when I realize that he’s brought the calvary. She
did come to the house, but one look at the Patriot and his brothers
sent her running in the opposite direction as fast as she could. Good
riddance, bitch.
No matter what happens, it’s the most amazing feeling to know
that Patriot loves and protects me, no matter what.

Did I mention that I love my life now? I’ve never felt so safe as I do
when I’m nestled in Haven Tennessee, tucked into the best man in
the world’s arms. I absolutely can’t wait to see what the rest of our
lives have in store for us.
LOOKING FOR MORE DIRTY SINNERS?
LOOK NO FURTHER!

Reaper by Penelope Wylde

https://mybook.to/pwreaper
Ace by Cameron Hart
https://mybook.to/CH-Ace
Rock & Crank by Ember Davis
https://mybook.to/Rock-Crank
Lean by Layne Daniels
mybook.to/LD-Lean
Gamble by Elyse Kelly
mybook.to/EK-Gamble
Bash by Jaycee Wolfe
mybook.to/JW-Bash
Diablo by Haley Travis
 mybook.to/HT-Diablo
Rattler & Beast by Mae Harden
mybook.to/MH-Rattler-Beast
Judas by Elisa Leigh
mybook.to/EL-Judas
Slick by Bree Weeks
mybook.to/BW-Slick
Cutter by Ava Pearl
mybook.to/AP-Cutter
Caveman by Tracie Douglas
mybook.to/TD-Caveman
Preach by Ja'Nese Dixon
mybook.to/JD-Preach
Hawk by Dee Ellis
mybook.to/DE-Hawk
Fox by Mazzy King
mybook.to/MK-Fox
Code by Andi Lynn
mybook.to/AL-Code
Fixer by Imani Jay
mybook.to/IJ-Fixer
Patriot by MK Moore
mybook.to/MM-Patriot
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I want to thank my husband, Daryl. You are so supportive of my

dreams and I love you so fucking much for like ever.

Thank you, Mama, for all of your support! I love you.

Karlee, thank you for being a friend. #GoldenGirls reference. But

seriously, thank you!!!! Love you .6 times!!!

Elisa, you're the best!

ChaShiree, thank you for being my friend and supporting me, no

matter what I write.

JENNY!!! You are the best damn alpha reader a girl could have!

To all of my readers, you guys are the ones that make this possible!
Thank you for reading me and taking the time to review. You don’t
know how much seeing your words of encouragement help me when
I am struggling!

XOXO,
MK
OTHER BOOKS BY MK MOORE

To Love Series
-Brother in Law to Love
-Heel to Love
-Wife to Love

XOXO Series
-XOXO

425 Madison Series Multi-Author Series

-Let Me Love You (Book 2)
-Let Me Stay (Book 17) (also A Vitali Crime Family member)

The Ice Cream Shop Multi-Author Series

-Love & Candy Canes (Book 29)

Royally Yours
-A Princess for Hans
-A Duke for Carolyne

Love In Norlyn
-Madame President

Regret, South Dakota

-My Aubree
-Her Forever
-My Sheriff

Owned
-Christmas Auction

The Vitali Crime Family

 -Don’t You Know?
-Don’t You See?
-Mobbed Up Love

-So Good
-Xander’s Treat
-One Night Wasn’t Enough
-Thanksgiving Ever After
-One Night…
-There’s No Escaping Him
-Blush For Me
-Revving Her Engine
-Lucky Irish
-Quick To Love
-Kiss Me Forever
-Kiss Me, I'm Irish-ish

Ranchero Hills
-Getting Her Back

The Kingdom of Raultshire

-Her King (Book 1)

Dirty Sinners Multi-Author Series

-Patriot

The Gridiron Series Multi-Author Series

-Hail Mary

The Breeder Series Multi-Author Series

-Bred By My Savior (Vitali Crime Family)

Auction Series Multi-Author Series

-Wise Investment
 Real Hot Seals Multi-Author Series
-SEAL My Fate

Endless Obsession Multi-Author Series

-Famous Obsession

Mountain Ridge Resort Multi-Author Series

-Resort Heat

Rock My World Multi-Author Series

-Rock Steady

May December Romance Multi-Author Series

-Dirty Secret

All-American Boy Series Multi-Author Series

-Good Boy… Bad Man

Cherry Falls Multi-Author Series

-629 Extra Curricular Way

Girls On Top Multi-Author Series

-Rehabbing the Colonel written with ChaShiree M
-Romancing the President

Vanished Series Multi-Author Series

-Vanished in Newark

Curvy Girl Summer Multi-Author Series

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Virgin Call Girls Multi-Author Series

-Riley's Temptation

7 Deadly Sins Multi-Author Series

-Greedy Girl
 Spring's Mountain Men Multi-Author Series
-Loving A Mountain Man

Oregon Alphas written with Rachelle Stevensen

-His Tight End

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-Bachelor No More (Book 2)

80's Baby Series Multi-Author Series

-I Want To Know What Love Is

80's Baby II Series Multi-Author Series

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-Trolled (Book 8)

Mermaid Kisses Multi-Author Series

-Filthy Wishes

The Pearl Clutcher’s Collective presents: Stupid Cupid Multi-Author Series

-His Gothic Valentine

The Pearl Clutcher’s Collective presents: I Put A Spell On You Multi-Author Series
-Bewitch You

The Pearl Clutcher's Collective presents: Soldiers For Christmas Multi-Author Series
-Codename: Phantom

The Pearl Clutcher's Collective presents: Hearts, Flames, & Hoses Multi-Author Series
-Fire Safety

The Flirt Club Multi-Author Series

-Baby Don’t Go (Beach Babies)
-Perfect Fit (Flirty Fitness)
 -The Pirate’s Booty (Ahoy, Me Hearties!)

After I Do Multi-Author Series

-Have You Met My Wife? (Vitali Crime Family)

Seven Brides of Christmas Multi-Author Series

-A Groom For Christmas written with KL Fast (Book 1)
-A Bride For Christmas (Book 2)

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-Fancy Curves (Book 2)

The Caribbean Rivalry Series written with C.M. Steele

-Stealing Destiny (Book 2)
-Taking Her For Granted (Book 4)

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-Finding His Heart

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Holiday Firecrackers Multi-Author Series

-Conrad’s Firecracker (Book 8)
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 "I want to get this here cheque cashed," said John,
pulling his pocket-book from his breast-pocket, and then
fumbling in it to find his valuable paper. It was some little
time before he could lay his strong clumsy fingers upon it,
and put it down on the desk.

"Who gave you this?" asked the clerk.

"Justice Burns, it's for thirty pounds; you see my uncle,

he left me a legacy, and—"

The man of business cut the speech of the countryman

short.

"This cheque is of no use," he said, pushing it back

towards John, "there is no signature on it."

Carey stared in blank amazement, first at the speaker,

then at the cheque. What the clerk had said was true
enough; the gouty Justice in drawing out the cheque had
forgotten to sign his name.

John rubbed his heated forehead, and looked perplexed.

"What's to be done?" said he.

"You must take back the cheque and get it signed, of

course," said the clerk; "as it is, it is of no more use than
blank paper." And having thus summarily dismissed the
business, the clerk turned away to attend to a gentleman
who had just entered the office.

"This ben't the First of April, or I should have thought

the Justice had chosen to play me a trick," thought John,
as, somewhat mortified and provoked, he replaced the
cheque in his pocket-book, and then quitted the bank.
 "He'd no right to send me on such a fool's errand as this
because he'd a twinge in his gouty foot. I'll tell him my
mind when I see him to-morrow. I'll just go and refresh
myself now a bit; for an hour of walking about this Babel
takes more out of a fellow than a day spent in hedging and
ditching. I'll buy the few things I want, and then get home
as fast as my legs will carry me. I shall be ashamed to tell
Dick Brace that I've lost a day's work, and had a twenty
miles' walk for my pains; 'twill always be a-coming up as a
joke against me."

CHAPTER III.
In the Dark.

JOHN CAREY had enjoyed his walk to London, and had

never so much as thought if he were tired or not; but
whether from the noise and excitement to which he had
been unaccustomed, or whether from the damp on his
spirits telling on his bodily frame, the road which he
retraced on his return seemed to him a weary long one. The
sun set in a bank of clouds, a heavy mist filled the air; it
appeared to John as if he should never get beyond the line
of streets and villas which stretch, mile after mile, along the
suburbs of London. The country was reached at last, but the
evening mist lay so heavy upon it, that John could see
nothing of the fields, and the hedges and trees which
bordered the road loomed dim and indistinct through the
increasing darkness. John had no inclination to whistle.
 "Somehow, everything looks dull to me this evening,
and I feel a bit down-hearted," muttered John, as he
dragged his weary limbs along. "Mother says as how there's
nothing ever comes to us by chance, that there's never a
brier thrown across a pilgrim's way but he may pluck a
blessing from it. I don't see how that can be, but mayhap
that's because I ain't a pilgrim, and don't ask or look for the
blessing. I can see nothing in this here matter about the
cheque but the stupid blunder of a lazy old glutton, and all I
get from it is a waste of shoe-leather, and a loss of time and
temper. I suppose that I shall have another trudge up to
London to-morrow; no, that there Justice should pay for the
coach, if there's anything of justice in him but the name."

Darker and darker grew the night, weary and more

weary the traveller; one of his shoes hurt his foot, and he
painfully limped along.

"If I didn't know every foot of the road here," said John
to himself, as he turned down the lane which led to his
home, "I'd be a-losing myself in the darkness. I wish I'd
done as my mother bade, and taken my father's good
oaken stick; one doesn't think, when setting out fresh and
hearty in broad daylight, how glad one may be of a staff
before the journey is done."

John was to have need of that staff in more ways than

one. Scarcely had the thought passed through his mind,
when he was suddenly startled by a violent blow on the
back of his head, which knocked off his cap, and stretched
him on the road. Up the young lion sprang in a moment,
facing the cowardly assailant who had attacked him from
behind, and receiving as he did so, another heavy blow,
which made him stagger backwards, while the blood gushed
from his wound. John was bold and strong, and not one to
be easily mastered in a struggle, but he had been taken by
surprise, he was weary, and had no weapon but his own
bare fists.

In vain John tried to close with his assailant, another

blow laid him prostrate again, and the highwayman kicked
him with his heavy boot, when attempting again to rise.
Lights seemed flashing in the young man's eyes, there was
a rushing sound in his ears, he had a confused sense of
pain and of a struggle for life, and then all consciousness
left him—John Carey lay senseless and bleeding.

While Sam Soames, stooping over him, rifled him of the

pocket-book, which the ruffian expected to find full of
money obtained by cashing the cheque. Soames made off
at once with his booty, without attempting to take anything
else, or to ascertain whether his victim yet breathed.

It was not long before the guilty Soames discovered

that he had hazarded soul and body for that of which he
could make no use. But had the pocket-book, instead of an
unsigned cheque, contained hundreds of bank-notes, worse
than worthless had been that which bore on it the stain of
blood, and carried with it a curse like that which rested
upon Cain, a fugitive and vagabond upon the face of the
earth.

John Carey lay for some time apparently lifeless,

perhaps it was the drizzling rain which awoke him at last;
he opened his eyes on the darkness, but was utterly unable
to move from the damp ground on which he was lying. He
could scarcely collect his senses sufficiently to remember
anything that had happened, or to imagine how he came to
be stretched there, helpless upon the road.

Gradually there dawned upon his mind some

recollection of a struggle, then a desire to get home, then a
belief that he should never be found till the morning, when
his corpse would be carried to his mother. So confused was
John's brain from the shock which it had sustained, that
even this idea was more like a half-waking dream, than an
actual effort of reasoning powers. The sufferer could not fix
his thoughts upon anything, not even on the awful
probability that he was on the very verge of an eternity for
which he was not prepared. Here lay the only son of the
widow, the child of so many fond prayers, likely, before the
night should have passed away, to be summoned before his
Maker, yet unable even to utter the cry—

"God be merciful to me, a sinner!"

CHAPTER IV.
The Watcher.

IN the meantime, Widow Carey sat hour after hour in

her little cottage, watching and waiting for the return of her
son. She had laid the supper ready, the home-made loaf on
the spotless cloth, the red herrings which she had bought
that afternoon as a dainty for John after his long tiring walk.
Though Mrs. Carey had had no refreshment since noon but
a cup of weak tea, she would not taste the food before her,
till John should be present to share it.
 Many a time Widow Carey rose, went to the door, and
looked down the lane, hoping to see the tall form which she
knew so well ascending the hill; many a time she fancied
that she heard his blithe whistle in the distance, and stirred
her little fire, and put on the kettle, that John might have
something warm to drink after being out so long in the
damp night air.

A very long time Widow Carey waited, and it was to her

all the longer from the anxious thoughts which were her
companions. Hard as she tried to draw comfort from prayer,
to assure herself that God would direct her and her son, and
bring everything right in the end, the shadow of
approaching troubles lay heavy that night on the widow.
She could not help picturing to herself John at the bar of the
"Jolly Ploughboys," constantly associating with a man of
Brace's loose and dangerous views, and a girl who never so
much as gave a thought to religion. Mrs. Carey pictured
John gradually becoming more careless and worldly, more
cold in his affection towards herself, more neglectful of his
duty towards God. The widow dreaded her son's being
exposed to temptations from which she had no power to
guard him, temptations to which his easy, unsuspicious
nature would especially expose him.

"Oh! If I could but have the comfort of knowing that my

boy had given himself, heart and soul, to his God—I think I
could bear any hardship or trial!" sighed the widow, as she
sat thinking, with her hand pressed over her eyes.

"He's such a loving son, such a brave, noble, generous

man, he has kept so steady, he has worked so hard, I don't
wonder that he feels less than others might feel the need of
a Saviour to forgive, and of the Holy Spirit to guide him. But
there's only one path that leads us to Heaven, and the Lord
Himself has told us that that path is a narrow one. We can't
walk on it, yet go on our own way, we can't follow two
guides at once who would take us in opposite directions;
and oh! If we wilfully stray but ever so little from the path
which God has marked out, 'tis in the nature of things that
we should wander off farther and farther. There's no
standing still in the journey of life; our course each day
must be upward or downward, and I'm afraid, how sorely
afraid, that my darling is entering upon one that will not
have a blessing upon it."

Time passed on, midnight was near; Mrs. Carey grew a

little alarmed. Certainly John might have been tempted to
tarry for the night in London, which offered so many
amusements, but she had never known him do so before.
He might have been persuaded by Dick Brace to join some
jovial party, and sit drinking to a late hour; the widow had
never known John give way to intemperance, but the doubt
which would rise in her mind, made her more uneasy and
restless than ever.

At last the poor mother could no longer stop in her

cottage, suspense was more than she could bear; she could
not sleep, she could not rest, she lighted her little lamp and
went forth into the darkness, in the faint hope of meeting
her son.

Chill fell the night rain upon the slight form of the
widow. Even to herself, it seemed as if she were bound on a
useless errand, and yet her heart impelled her to go on. Her
steps were on withered autumn leaves which the night wind
blew over her path; their rustle as they fell was the only
sound which reached the ear of the mother. Twice she
stopped and half resolved to go back, then went on her
dark dreary way.
 Presently the gaze of the widow fell on a dark object
indistinctly seen on the road; Mrs. Carey's heart throbbed
faster, and she quickened her steps. The light of her lamp
fell on something which seemed at once to stop the beating
of that heart altogether, and to curdle the very blood in her
veins!

Then from her lips burst a loud wild cry for help, a cry
which startled and aroused sleepers in the cottage next to
her own, so piercing and shrill it sounded on the still
midnight air. In a few minutes, but to the mother they
seemed like hours, forms were seen hurrying through the
darkness, and kindly voices answered the repeated cry for
aid. Widow Carey was found kneeling on the road by the
senseless body of her son, supporting his head upon her
knees, and, with trembling fingers, trying to staunch the
blood which flowed from a deep gash in the young man's
brow.

CHAPTER V.
Sickness and Sorrow.

A TIME of heavy tribulation to the widow followed the

horrors of that night. John Carey was not indeed killed, the
spark of life glimmered still, but he lay for weeks in a
dangerous state, sometimes buried in stupor, sometimes
raving with fever, never able to give a clear account of what
had occurred.
 It was evident that he had been the victim to violence;
the fact of his having gone to London to cash a cheque for a
considerable sum was soon known far and wide, and it was,
of course, concluded that the "young lion" had been waylaid
on his return home, and robbed of the money.

Search was made at once for the man who had

committed the crime, a reward was offered for his
apprehension. Suspicion fell upon Soames, who was proved
to have heard from John's own lips of the cheque, and
whose character and wretched circumstances made him
appear one not unlikely to have committed an act of
violence to save himself from destitution. The sudden
disappearance of Soames from the neighbourhood
confirmed the suspicion; but the wretched man succeeded
in eluding pursuit; he was reserved to suffer, at a later
period, the punishment due for other crimes.

In anguish, the widow watched and prayed by the

bedside of her suffering son, imploring God, day and night,
to spare his life and his reason. The crisis was over at
length; the fever was subdued, consciousness returned, but
the once powerful young man lay weak and helpless as a
child. His tawny locks shorn away, the bandage over his
brow, his eye dim, his cheek hollow, who, in that languid
invalid, would have recognised the "young lion!"

The doctor forbade any subject being mentioned to John

that could produce excitement; he must be kept as quiet as
possible, and have as much good wine and generous
nourishment as he could take to restore his exhausted
strength. Good wine, generous nourishment! How were they
to be procured? That question which she could not answer,
went to the mother's heart. Mrs. Carey had earned her
livelihood by charing and washing, but during her son's
illness she had been unable to earn a sixpence by either,
nursing him had engaged all her time, and taxed her utmost
strength.

During the first fortnight, his mother had felt the press
of poverty but little; John could hardly touch food, the
doctor had not sent in his bill, much interest was excited in
the neighbourhood, little presents were received, and the
few tradesmen who supplied necessaries let their accounts
run up, without troubling the afflicted mother for immediate
payment. Thus for a while, as has been said, Mrs. Carey,
watching by the sick-bed of John, and absorbed by the
anxiety caused by his critical state, felt no actual want of
money. But this did not last very long.

When John was once known to be likely to recover,

interest in his case grew weaker, while the need for help
grew greater. The hunger of convalescence began just when
the shelf was empty; and bills came dropping in when not a
sixpence was left in the purse. The baker, who had at first
been all sympathy and bustling kindness, shrugged his
shoulders, and threw out hints that a man in receipt of
wages was bound to subscribe to a club, and not leave the
burden of his support during sickness to a widowed mother,
and neighbours who were willing enough to help, but who
had to care for families of their own.

Dick Brace, over his glass of foaming ale, observed that

John Carey had been a simpleton to travel at night with
thirty pounds in his pocket, and doubly a simpleton for
having given notice in a low inn that he intended to do so.

Mrs. Carey, worn out with anxiety and watching, her

nerves shaken by lack of sleep, her spirits depressed by
debt and difficulties which thickened around her, found it
hard indeed to let patience have its perfect work, and to
place firm trust in the changeless love of Him who so sorely
tried her.

There are times in the experience of most Pilgrims to

Heaven when darkness seems to be above and around
them, and the Tempter whispers into their troubled ears,
"God hath forgotten to be gracious." The feeble body
weighs down the soul, the spirit can scarcely rise in prayer.
In such seasons of weakness and gloom, how soothing
these words of Scripture! "Who is among you that feareth
the Lord, that obeyeth the voice of His servant, that
walketh, in darkness and hath no light? let him trust in the
name of the Lord, and stay upon his God." *

* Isaiah l. 10.

The widow could better have borne her outward trials,

her son's illness, and the poverty which it brought with it,
had she been able to see any spiritual good arising from
them to one who was dearer to her than life. But it did not
seem to Mrs. Carey that affliction had brought John nearer
to God. When his brain had been excited by fever, it was
about Dinah that he had raved; and now, though he spoke
but little, John had more than once dropped words which
shewed that he had not given up his scheme of partnership
with Brace, that he still looked forward to being joint-
landlord with him of the little public-house near the brick
field. This grieved the widow beyond everything else.

She did not, indeed, fear that either Dick or Dinah

would have much to do with a penniless man who might—
and probably would—be unable to work for months yet to
come; but that John after all that had happened—after what
seemed to his mother like a solemn warning from Heaven—
should persist in going on his own wilful way against the
wishes of a parent who had almost broken down her health
in nursing him, nearly crushed his mother with grief.

One day (it was the first day on which John had been
able to sit up in a chair), Mrs. Carey placed before him the
little dinner which she had obtained with difficulty, and had
prepared with the greatest care. The pale, gaunt man, who
looked the wreck of what he had been, felt that strong
craving for food which often follows long illness, and the
slender repast which his mother brought excited his
impatience and scorn.

"Why, mother, you must think me a baby still,"

exclaimed the invalid almost with anger. "Is that spoonful of
minced meat a dinner to put before a man who could
devour a sirloin of beef? And where is the wine which the
doctor said I must have?" added John, glancing impatiently
round him.

"My son," answered the widow meekly, "I give you what
I can, not what I would?"

She had herself not tasted meat for a fortnight.

"What do you mean?" cried John. "You know as well as I

do that I've plenty of money—there's all the legacy left by
my uncle."

Another pang to the heart of the mother! She had often

noticed before that John's illness had affected his memory,
but she had hoped of late that this was improving. It was a
bitter disappointment to find him thus, as she thought,
forgetting the fact that he had been robbed as well as
almost murdered.

"What do you mean?" repeated the sick man with

petulance. "And why do you look so sad?"
 "My boy, you know that you were robbed of your all six
weeks ago," said the widow.

"Not of a farthing!" cried John. "Surely you cannot have

gone on all this time without asking for the money?"

He looked eagerly into the face of his mother, who could

hardly bear to meet his excited gaze.

"You applied for it yourself, dear John, on that dreadful

Monday," said she.

"And got a cheque—but the cheque was not signed, I

could not cash it, I could not get a farthing of the money!"
exclaimed John, with unusual animation. "Go, mother, go
directly to the Justice, ask him for the legacy which he has
in charge—tell him that the cheque was not worth a nettle-
leaf!"

John's manner was becoming more excited, for he read

in his mother's face that she either did not understand, or
did not believe him.

"I cannot go to Justice Burns and ask him for—for—"

Mrs. Carey did not finish the sentence aloud, but thought
"for money which he doubtless has paid already."

The simple widow knew nothing about cheques, had

never seen one in her life, and she feared that her son's
fever was returning upon him.

"If you do not go, I must, and will!" exclaimed John, by

a desperate effort starting to his feet, and then sinking back
exhausted on his seat.

"Oh! My son, I will do what you wish, anything that you

wish!" cried the anxious mother. "Only promise that you will
keep quiet, and I will go at once to the Justice."

CHAPTER VI.
The Mother's Errand.

NEVER had Mrs. Carey gone more unwillingly on an

errand. It was not merely that—after being long shut up in
a sick-room, weakened by watching and fasting, the fresh
air made her feel giddy, so that, but for her husband's good
staff, she could scarcely have gone on her way; but that she
shrank with extreme dislike from making what she feared to
be an unjust claim, and naturally dreaded that, by so doing,
she would arouse the anger of the Justice, whose irritable
temper was well known in the village.

"I'm sure that I shall never have the face to give him
my poor son's message," murmured the widow, as she at
last reached the Justice's door, and timidly rang the bell, so
timidly that the sound was not heard, and she had to ring
again.

"Would the Justice be so kind as to see me, just for two

minutes," said the poor woman, when the butler at last
appeared at the door.

The man glanced at the thin, anxious face, the shabby

but decent mourning; he felt pity for a widow who, as he
believed, had come to ask for charity, and who was not
likely to receive it.
 "Master does not care to see poor folk," observed he;
"there's no use coming to him."

"Perhaps if you were so kind as to give him my name,

Widow Carey, he might let me have just a word with him; I
bring a message from my son."

"Your son, what, the poor fellow who was almost

battered to pieces in the lane!" cried the butler. "Just you
wait here a little—there's no harm in taking in your name."

The butler was scarcely absent a minute, but in that

minute the poor widow had found time for a silent, fervent
prayer.

"The Justice will see you," said the kindhearted man,

and Mrs. Carey was ushered into the study.

The knees of the widow trembled under her, partly from

weariness, partly from fear; she grasped her staff more
tightly, and leant more heavily on it. Timidly she glanced at
the Justice as she entered his presence. He was, as when
John had seen him, bolstered with cushions and swathed
with wraps, but his fat swollen face looked more grave and
annoyed than when young Carey had come for his money.

"How shall I ever dare to tell him what brings me here!"

thought the widow.

Justice Burns was the first to speak, which he did in a

sharp decided tone. "I know what you've come for, Mrs.
Carey."

"He's clever—for I scarce know myself," was the poor

woman's silent reflection.
 "When a man's ill, and worried with sleeplessness and
pain," continued the Justice, knitting his brows, "no one has
a right to find fault, if for once, he make a stupid blunder."

"I'm so glad—so thankful that you think so, Sir, I'm sure
you're very good," began John's mother, amazed that the
Justice should guess beforehand what she had come to say.
"I hope then, that you'll kindly forgive—"

"Forgive—I've nothing to forgive!" cried the Justice,

surprised in his turn. "I never dreamed that the cheque had
not been signed, till two days ago I glanced over my bank-
book, and found that the thirty pounds had never been
drawn by your son. As I had concluded—like the rest of the
world—that he had been robbed of that sum, I wrote up to
London to make inquiries, and heard this morning that a
countryman had presented an unsigned cheque in Argyll
Street, which, of course, had not been cashed. I'll not
trouble you again with cheque; here's the money in good
hard cash; I'd have sent it, had you not called;" the Justice
pushed across the table a canvass bag heavy with gold. "I
suppose that you can give a receipt; just count out the
money, and see that all's right."

To the surprise of the Justice, the poor widow, instead

of taking up the bag, burst into tears. The relief was so
great, so unexpected, that, weak as she was, it quite
overcame her.

"Well, I see nothing to cry about," said Justice Burns, in

a softened tone, for, selfish as he was, even he had a kindly
corner in his heart; "it was odd enough that I should have
made such a blunder for the first time in my life, but it was
the rarest piece of luck for your son that I neglected to sign
that cheque."
 "It was a blessing," faltered the widow, drying her eyes.
"Oh! Sir—it was all through God's blessing!"

CHAPTER VII.
Thinking over it.

WHILE his mother was putting on her bonnet before

setting out on her errand, John Carey had finished the
slender meal which appeared to leave him more hungry
than before. He had watched the widow as she had taken
his father's staff from the corner to stay her feeble steps,
and it had then struck John, for the first time, how much his
mother had aged since his illness, how pale and weary she
looked.

"Stay, dear mother," John had cried, with a feeling of

self-reproach; "you look so tired, I can't bear to see it. Wait,
and we'll find some one else to send."

But the widow's only reply had been a faint smile, as

she had left the cottage on her errand for her son.

"My mother has been half-killing herself for me,

ungrateful dog that I am," muttered John, his self-reproach
growing stronger and stronger. "Why, what can she have
been living on all these six weeks, while I've been lying like
a log in my bed? I can see well enough in her face what
she's been a-suffering for me, without grudging, without
complaining, bearing with all my ill temper, nursing me
night after night! And what kind of a return do I make for it
all? Did I not say to mother this very morning that I wanted
to speak to Dick Brace about our little piece of business?
She only sighed—I could see she was vexed; but I let her
be vexed rather, than give up what I'd set my heart on.

"I've sometimes thought," continued John Carey, still

muttering to himself, "I've sometimes thought that if I ever
get well again—and now it's like as I may—I'd turn to God,
serve Him as my parents have served Him, and begin what
mother calls a pilgrim's life in good earnest. But if I did so—
ah! The first steps are those as be so hard to take! If I did
so—I must honour and obey my mother, as the Bible tells
me I should; I must give up this pleasant plan of starting in
business with Brace, I must give up the 'Jolly Ploughboys.'
'Twould be a hard pull—it would!"

John rubbed his chin; thinking wearied him, but he

could not throw the subject off his mind.

"I might give up Dick Brace and the business, but that
would not be the worst of it. Dinah Dealtry!" thought John.
"She would not look at a mere day-labourer—she would not
live in a cottage like this with my mother!"

He glanced with something like discontent around him

at the humble home in which he had been born.

"Dinah has as good as told me that she'd ha' nothing to

say to a man who could not offer her a house of her own. If
she wouldn't choose to live with mother, mother wouldn't
care to live with her; them two could never get on together,
they've such different notions and ways."

John heaved a sigh of perplexity and vexation.

 "It seems as if I must choose between the two, for I
can't have both—that's clear; and I must choose between
the two paths also; I know well enough which is the right
one, but—but—how thinking does make one's head ache—
and one's heart too for the matter of that!"

There are many who, like John Carey, are quite

convinced that the pilgrim's path is the right one, the only
path which can end in peace; many who are almost
persuaded to try it, and who yet shrink back from the
sacrifice of what conscience tells them that they must leave
behind, if they decide on following the Lord fully in their
daily walk through life. It was from this hesitation, from this
indecision, so dangerous to the soul, that our Lord would
warn His servants when He spoke those solemn words: "If
thy hand offend thee (cause to offend) cut it off; it is better
for thee to enter into life maimed, than having two hands to
go into hell." * Things dear as a hand or an eye must be
given up through God's helping Grace, if they keep us back
from the narrow way which leads unto life eternal.

* Mark ix. 43.

John Carey thought long, and thought sadly; his brain

grew weary, his mind confused, till at length he could do no
more than simply lift up his heart to God, and ask for His
Spirit to guide him. The once strong, self-willed man was
becoming more like the little child who knows his own
weakness, and turns to a parent for help and support.

John's solitude was suddenly broken by the sound of

tramping footsteps without, and then a loud rap from some
one's knuckles on the outer door of the cottage. The latch
was lifted, and Dick Brace entered with a quick, bustling air.
He threw down a newly-killed pigeon on the table, and
greeted John in a loud hearty tone, such as had not been
heard for many weeks in that sick-room.

"Ha! Old fellow, glad to see you about again, though,"

he added with an oath, "you look like one who's had to
swim hard for life—they've cropt your mane, and not left
much of the 'young lion' about you. I've brought a pigeon
I've shot with a new gun I've been trying—no, it's not worth
talking about," he added, with a blustering awkwardness of
manner, as John seemed about to thank him for the bird.

And Brace seated himself opposite to the invalid,

looking fidgety and somewhat embarrassed, as John might
have perceived, had he not been too busy with his own
thoughts to notice the manner of his companion.

"You are just the man as I was a-wanting to see," said

young Carey, his pale face flushing with the effort of
speaking; "I've something to say to ye, Dick, and I'd better
out with it at once. You see, I don't want to deal
unhandsome by you—but about that partnership we meant
to set up—"

"Of course that affair went to smash when you were

robbed of your tin," interrupted Dick Brace; "one can't set
up in business with only a shovel, a spade, and a hammer!"

"But I was not robbed," began Carey, when again his

companion cut him short.

"Besides, I've been thinking," said Dick, "that two

landlords would be one too many for the 'Jolly
Ploughboys'—a landlady would be quite another thing; so,"
he added, with an awkward little laugh, "I'm going to enter
into partnership for life, and I've found Dinah Dealtry quite
willing to set up in business with me."