“Who says I even want to be married by thirty?”
Erica downed the last of her Coke, then crossed her jeans-clad legs. Adjusting the ankle strap of her spike-heeled sandals, she suddenly looked thoughtful. “Thirty-five, maybe. I gotta admit, any older would be freaky.”
“We’ll make our meeting, then, an even twenty years from now,” Della said, straightening as she always did with the brilliance of an idea or a piece of juicy gossip. “That means we’ll be back here on this same day, at the same time—” she did the math, ticking off the years on her fingers, red nails flashing “—in the year 2005.” Her gaze fell to her engagement ring, and she bit her lip. “Jeez, that sounds like something from a science fiction movie.”
Mattie tugged Della’s hand across the table, admiring the tiny diamond that adorned it. “At least one of us knows what’s in her future.”
Erica rolled her eyes, grabbed a bar napkin and tore it into four squares. She scribbled the future meeting date on every small scrap of paper, then slid the pieces of napkin across the table to the other three.
When each girl held a square, they looked up like reluctant knights of the round bar table, each making brief eye contact with the other. Shay looked relieved, hanging on to her scrap of napkin like a teddy bear. Della looked suddenly uncertain and Erica defiant, as usual. Mattie’s gaze wavered under the scrutiny of her friends, then strayed to the stack of envelopes with a look of pure longing….
Kristen Robinette
could never decide what she wanted to “be” when she grew up. She wanted to become an archaeologist, a firefighter, a psychiatrist, an equestrian, an artist, a police officer…all at the same time. After deciding that her affliction was actually the urge to write about such things, she set out to become a writer. Now a multipublished author with ever-changing fictional careers, she couldn’t be happier!
Kristen lives in Alabama with her husband and three daughters. When not at the keyboard, she can be found horseback riding, boating and generally avoiding domestic chores.
Hell’s Belles
Kristen Robinette
MILLS & BOON
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To Josh and Christina
You’re the only ending that fit.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
Haddes, Georgia
May 11, 1985
The four girls crashed the Stop-N-Bowl a few hours before its official opening, as they had virtually every Friday night for the last two years. They were now perched at a long-legged bar table, sipping colas and wondering what they’d gotten themselves into. Four white envelopes lay piled in the center of the table, the name of each girl written in her own handwriting across the outside.
Erica Donovan reached for her envelope only to have her hand slapped away by her friend Della Murphy.
“Don’t even think about it,” Della warned.
Despite her blond starlet looks, Della was the undisputed matriarch of the group. Though the girls were all eighteen, she had a worldliness and maturity that made her the natural leader of the pack.
At last night’s sleepover at Mattie Harold’s house they’d each agreed to participate in a self-improvement exercise found in a back issue of Cosmopolitan. “Make your own fantasy time capsule…” the article had dared. They’d since come off of their cheese-curl and pizza high and were now eyeing the envelopes with regret. Private thoughts took on a life of their own when pen met paper.
“This was so stupid.” Erica tossed her straight black hair over her shoulder and pretended not to care.
Della shot her a look. “Then what did you do it for?”
The two girls were as opposite as opposites came but they had a bond that thrived in the gray area that separated their opinions. Della had managed to go from mood rings and Rod Stewart to an engagement ring and impending mortgage without flinching. Erica, on the other hand, thought Della had lost her mind and had every intention of sowing her friend’s wild seeds for her.
“Search me. The only fantasy I have is to get the hell out of Haddes…”
“You’ve mentioned that.” The comment belonged to Shay Chambers. Shay had long since grown weary of Erica’s wanderlust. She pulled her long, shorts-clad legs up to sit yoga-style on the bar stool.
The pre-opening hustle and bustle as the waiters wiped down tables and stacked glasses was as close to the bar scene as the eighteen-year-olds had ever been. And it was as close as they were likely to come at the bowling alley, since Della’s family owned the place. In fact, Jack Murphy, Della’s older brother, would soon escort the underage girls out of the bar, ending their small taste of adulthood.
“I think it’s good to write down our goals,” Shay added. “It helps to know what we want in life. Right?”
“Um…” Mattie Harold
