Love Is More Than Skin Deep (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 4) Read online

  Contents

  Love Is More Than Skin Deep

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Foreword

  Chapter 1: Shelby

  Chapter 2: Mark

  Chapter 3: Shelby

  Chapter 4: Mark

  Chapter 5: Shelby

  Chapter 6: Mark

  Chapter 7: Shelby

  Chapter 8: Mark

  Chapter 9: Shelby

  Chapter 10: Mark

  Chapter 11: Shelby

  Chapter 12: Mark

  Chapter 13: Shelby

  Chapter 14: Mark

  Chapter 15: Shelby

  Chapter 16: Mark

  Chapter 17: Shelby

  Chapter 18: Mark

  Chapter 19: Shelby

  Chapter 20: Mark

  Chapter 21: Shelby

  Chapter 22: Mark

  Chapter 23: Shelby

  Chapter 24: Mark

  Epilogue: Shelby

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Previews

  Preview of Hearts of Jade (A Hidden Hearts Novel #4)

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Jade

  Chapter 2: Declan

  Preview of Sheltered Hearts (A Hidden Hearts Novel #2)

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Jessica

  Chapter 2: Mitch

  Preview of If You Knew Me

  Chapter 1: Sadie

  Chapter 2: Elijah

  A Final Note

  Table of Contents

  © 2016 Mary Crawford. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews – without permission in writing from its publisher, Mary Crawford and Diversity Ink Press.

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

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. I’m not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published on August 27, 2016, by Diversity Ink Press and Mary Crawford.

  ISBN-10:1-945637-02-1 • ISBN-13:978-1-945637-02-5 • ASIN: B01G7TAUKC

  This book is dedicated to Judy Noble Cloud.

  May those nineteen pictures you chose to share

  while you were baring your soul to the world

  start an awareness campaign bigger than your dreams

  and save more lives than anyone can count.

  Thank you for allowing me to use your

  story as the vehicle to write mine.

  My journey with skin cancer began over twenty years ago, in 1995. It was mainly a private journey, until the Fall of 2015. In September 2015, I had cancerous areas removed in what was my most invasive surgery to date. During the three-hour surgery, I had 23 places removed, ten by excision (meaning I had ten places on me that had stitches) and thirteen by laser. I was immobile for two weeks following the surgery, and I continue to have lasting effects from the skin cancer and surgery.

  A month after that surgery, I made a private post on my Facebook page with a narrative of what I had been through with the surgery and recovery process and included pictures of me during various stages of recovery. A friend urged me to make the post public so he could share it, and after initially resisting, I agreed. What subsequently transpired was incredible – people shared the post, their friends shared the post, and businesses shared the post. Eventually, media outlets around the world picked up the post, and a local news station aired my story. People were talking about and becoming more informed about skin cancer – a cancer that although is the most common cancer in the United States, tends to remain relatively low on people’s radar.

  It was through the sharing of the Facebook post that Mary Crawford saw it. Mary contacted me in February 2016 and asked if she could use my story as a storyline for one of her characters in an upcoming book. Mary explained that she donates 15% of her profits from each book to charity and that I would be allowed to choose the charity for this novel. I was thrilled that Mary wanted to help further awareness regarding skin cancer, and I am honored to choose The Skin Cancer Foundation (www.skincancer.org) as the charity for this book.

  My hope is that you take good care of your skin – your future self will thank you. And I hope you enjoy Love is More Than Skin Deep!

  Judy Noble Cloud

  GRIPPING MY IDEA FOLDER IN my hand, I pause at the front door of Ink’d Deep. I can’t believe I’m being such a chicken about this. This isn’t even my first tattoo. This really cool chick, Delaney Jane, gave me my first one a couple months ago when I first found out that I would be part of a traveling teacher program this summer. Unfortunately, she told me that the design that I want on my back is not the type of work she does, so she passed me off to one of her colleagues. I hope whoever takes me on is as chill as she is. Delaney Jane and I really clicked and I’m afraid to trust someone new. I’ve heard that a piece as large as the one I want to get hurts a lot more than that little compass on my ankle bone. I take a deep breath and try to center myself. You know what they say — nothing ventured nothing gained. If it hurts a little, it will be a reminder of all that I have gone through to get the piece of paper that was the impetus for this tattoo.

  I smile to myself. That’s right. I earned a Masters Degree all by myself with nobody’s help. I did that when nobody thought that I would be able to accomplish anything remotely close. So, what’s a little needle and ink on my skin? I can accomplish anything.

  As I step into the shop, I’m struck by the vibe here. It’s distinctly masculine, but as always, there is a clear feminine heartbeat running through the whole business. A statuesque young woman walks toward me, her hair is ink black and down to her waist. I feel a tinge of envy. My hair is more like Ramen noodles. I’ve tried hair straighteners and flat irons to no avail. I went through a stage in high school where I tried to look like everyone else and all I ended up doing was frying my hair. If one more person calls me pocket-sized, I think I’ll go insane. Although being small was handy when I was younger, it doesn’t do me any favors now. It’s mortifying to have two college degrees and still be offered the children’s menu at a restaurant.

  The woman extends her hand to me and greets, “Hello, welcome to Ink’d Deep, I’m Rogue Macklin. How can I help you?”

  “Umm… Hi, I’m Shelby Lyons… Um… I think I’d like to get a tattoo of a dream catcher on my back,” I blurt as I let go of the death grip I’ve got on my idea folder and place it in front of her.

  “You must be DJ’s client. She said you were all sorts of fun to work with. It’s nice to meet you. I can’t wait to see your ideas. I love drawing dream catchers,” she comments enthusiastically.

  “Really? Delaney seemed a little freaked out by my design,” I reveal.

  “I think it’s a matter of perspective, I love all that detail work and color. DJ hasn’t had quite as much time in the chair as I have. She’ll get more confident with stuff outside her wheelhouse after a while. She prefers to focus on old-school black and white art. The piece she did on your ankle is top-notch work, though.”

  I grin at her as I respond, “It is, isn’t it? The 3-D effect in it is so spot on that some people actually reach out to touch it like it’s real.”

  Rogue pulls out a couple of my draw
ings and compares them. “What do you have going on here?”

  “See the watercolor effect in the drawing with the orange? I want that style, but I want the colors to be more blues, teals and purples. Is that even possible? Can I combine two designs like that?” I ask, hopefully.

  Rogue shrugs as she pulls out a fresh sheet of paper and some colored pencils and starts to take some notes. “Shelby, it’s your tattoo, you tell me what you want. Close your eyes for a moment and tell me about the things that make you happy.”

  I start to let my eyes drift shut, but the analytical part of me rears its ugly head and I pop my eyes open and ask for clarification, “Any ol’ random thing or just stuff I like that’s related to the tattoo?”

  Rogue chuckles and responds, “I’ll get more specific later, but right now I just need to know what gives you the warm-fuzzies.”

  I draw a deep breath and let it out as I do when I’m meditating. I choose a dragonfly wind chime which is hanging from the ceiling as my focal point and try to clear my mind from everything negative. When I first started this stuff, it sounded really hokey to me, but it kind of works. I take a deep breath and try to flood my brain with all the things that I like. “My favorite thing in the whole wide world is old worn Levi jeans, warm from the dryer. I love lilac trees and kids finger-painting during summer vacation. I like tie-dyed shirts, Skittles and blowing big bubbles with bubblegum. I like walking through fields and blowing on dandelions.”

  The bell over the door rings and jolts me out of my happy bubble. An arresting man with short-cropped black hair and an angular face acknowledges me with a nod and a brief smile. For a moment, I actually forget how to breathe. Apparently, it’s not just me. Rogue notices my reaction and grins. “I don’t know about you, but if it were me, I would put that man on my ‘happy list’”

  “It would be nice if we could just go shopping for them that way, wouldn’t it?” I concede with a smirk. “Unfortunately, love has to be a two-way street and guys like that are rarely, if ever, interested in me. Most of them think that I’m the kid babysitter from down the street. I just graduated from my Masters program — that’s why I’m celebrating with a tattoo. Most guys like that are already situated in their careers. They want someone far more successful than me.”

  Rogue actually laughs out loud as she empathizes, “I used to think that way too, until I accidentally married a software mogul.”

  “How did you accidentally marry him?” I puzzle, trying to figure out what she means.

  “Wait, I didn’t actually mean that the way that it sounds. I didn’t accidentally marry him — I accidentally fell in love. When we first met, I wasn’t even sure he wasn’t scamming me because he was trying to tell me that I was somebody I wasn’t or at least I thought I wasn’t. Then, he was trying to give me money and expensive gifts all the time,” she explains. “Who does that? It took me a while to figure all that stuff out but by the time I did, it was too late, I was already head over heels in love with him. So, that’s how I fell in love with a software developer who has more money than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “Were you rich too?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

  “Oh, Geez, no!” Rogue exclaims. “I grew up on food stamps and visiting the food bank. My mom tried incredibly hard, but she was a single mom and sometimes the ends just didn’t meet.”

  “Was it hard to get used to your new lifestyle?” I ask, fascinated by her rags-to-riches story. I’ve read books with this storyline and seen it in movies, but I’ve never actually met someone who experienced it.

  Rogue gives me a small smile and admits, “It definitely grows on you.”

  Rogue tears a piece of paper off the tablet that she’s been working on and holds it up for me to see. I didn’t even realize that she’d been drawing the whole time we’ve been talking. It’s like she pulled the picture out of my imagination. Her drawing is better than anything I brought in — it’s floaty and free with movement. It’s simply perfect.

  “How do we get that from there to here?” I inquire, pointing to my back.

  “I’ll make a stencil for the rings, and freehand the rest. How ticklish are you?”

  “I don’t really know. I haven’t really had to rate myself against other people. I guess my ribs are a little tender,” I answer with a shrug.

  “I suppose we’ll see,” Rogue remarks. “Do you need to go to the changing room?”

  “I think I’m good,” I reply as I shrug off the jean jacket to reveal my leather halter top. It ties at the neck and at my waist leaving my entire back bare. Although it used to belong to my mom in the late 80s, it leaves a great deal to be desired in the modesty department. I cross my arm over my chest as I sit up, mindful of all of the alarmingly handsome guys that tend to wander around the tattoo shop. However, a quick look around confirms that none of them are paying me any mind. I have a quick mental laugh at my own expense. I should’ve expected as much.

  Rogue returns to the chair with a tray of colors and brightly colored gloves on. She studies me quickly and queries, “Ready?” She gestures for me to lie down on her bench. “Lie face down, please. Your arms can be in any position you’d like until I ask you to move. Any questions?”

  Suddenly, an attack of nerves hits and I blurt, “On a scale of one to ten — how bad is this going to hurt?”

  “Pain is an individual thing, I’ve had really young women in here do just fine with traditionally tough spots like ribs and the top of the feet and I’ve had big tough biker dudes practically fainting from pain over a run-of-the-mill tattoo. DJ said you were a real trooper with your ankle tattoo, so I don’t expect you to have any trouble with this one.”

  “Okay, I’ll try to focus on something other than the pain. I’m just being a wimp, I know.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up too much, back pieces are daunting. Marcus is all kinds of upset with me because I don’t have one yet. Everybody here thinks it’s funny that I’m a tattoo artist, but I don’t have any substantial work yet. Before I was married, it was because I used to do modeling on the side and having no tattoos made it easier for me to book work, but now it’s just because I’m waiting for the perfect inspiration to strike me.”

  I climb on the table and lie face down before I mumble into the pillow, “Wow, that surprises me. I thought everybody who worked at a place like this was covered in tattoos — but I understand what you mean about inspiration. My pieces mean something specific to me.”

  “You mentioned you were celebrating good news?” Rogue probes.

  I smile as I brag, “Yeah, I just received confirmation today that I’ve officially earned my Masters Degree in Elementary Education with an emphasis in Mathematics and Special Ed.”

  A wave of sadness overtakes me as I realize that Rogue, a perfect stranger, is the first person I’ve actually told my good news to. I have no one else left. Wow. I mean, I guess I knew that. Still, to put it in such stark terms, that on the happiest day I’ve had so far in my life, I’ve got no one to share it with except a random stranger who’s going to draw pretty pictures on my skin. That’s just sad. Good way to bum yourself out, Shel.

  I’m confused and a little embarrassed when Rogue hops up on her chair and announces in a loud voice, “I have good news over here at Station Four! What do we do at Ink’d Deep if someone has good news?”

  Everyone in the whole tattoo place starts to whistle, applaud and stomp their feet as they answer, “We celebrate!”

  “What’s the good news, Ro?” a guy covered in tattoos asks.

  “Marcus, I’m glad you asked. My extremely bright client — who incidentally I share with DJ, is going to teach math to elementary school kids. She just earned her Master’s degree. Let us ring the bell of prosperity and success.”

  Marcus reaches above his head and rings an old firehouse bell.

  “I’m ringing this three times for good luck,” he explains. When he finishes, everyone in the place stands up to give me an ovation. I’ve never had a
standing ovation before. Ever.

  During all the chaos, I managed to sit up and wrap a towel around myself. I am looking around the shop in absolute amazement as everyone is still clapping and smiling at me. The guy with the movie-star-good-looks is watching me intently. When I catch him studying me, he smiles at me and gives me a small salute.

  Rogue hops down off the chair and grins at me as she declares, “That was fun. I haven’t had a chance to do that in a while. Last time I used the bell, a woman was letting her husband know that they were expecting triplets. He wasn’t so sure it was good news.”

  “It’s definitely the first time anything like this has ever happened for me. When I graduated from my undergraduate program, I just got my diploma in the mail. Nobody knew it except me. It was kind of a bummer. I just ate a frozen TV dinner by myself in my apartment watching reruns of Millionaire Matchmaker.”

  “Next time you have good news, you’ll have to stop by here. We do good news justice around here—” Rogue suggests.

  “I’m not sure what’s next, I’m going to do a traveling teaching program for a little while. I’m headed to the Ninth Ward in Louisiana for a couple months this summer. I don’t know if that’s going to turn into a job; I suppose it could. I just don’t know if they can afford to pay me and I need to eat and pay back student loans.”

  “Oh, I so understand where you’re coming from. Before I met Tristan, I was doing college on the one-course-at-a-time plan. I’m still working on finishing my degree.” She pauses for a moment before asking, “Do you mind if I call a colleague over? I’m having a little bit of trouble with positioning your stencil.”

  “No, go right ahead. I’m just going to grab a little bit of water,” I respond. I’m confused because Rogue seemed so sure of herself, she didn’t seem at all timid like Delaney Jane. I saw her portfolio on the website. I know she’s not a beginner by any stretch of the imagination.

  When I see them walking in my direction, I lie back down and stretch out. I’m a little disconcerted by the grim expression on Rogue’s face. The mirth and lightheartedness from a few moments ago has vanished. I wonder if I said something to offend her, I can’t imagine what it would have been. She didn’t seem upset that I was going to Louisiana.