Wrong Side of Forty
Contents (36)
- Wrong Side of Forty
- Jana DeLeon
- Contents
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty-One
- About the Author
- Paranormal Women’s Fiction
Wrong Side of Forty
Jana DeLeon
Copyright © 2020 by Jana DeLeon
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Paperback/eBook cover design by The Illustrated Author.
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Contents
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
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
About the Author
Paranormal Women’s Fiction
Chapter One
Marina Trahan dropped into the driver’s seat of her well-used Honda Accord and turned on the engine. Hot air blasted from the vents, making her feel as if she were in the middle of the desert rather than tucked away in Last Chance, a tiny bayou town in southeast Louisiana. The humidity, which sat at around a thousand percent, made it so hot and sticky that after even a minute outside, a person felt as if they’d gone five rounds with Mike Tyson. Young Mike Tyson. Before he’d married and lost his edge.
She put the car in Drive and grabbed the steering wheel, then cursed and let go. She’d forgotten to put that thingy on her dashboard again, and the steering wheel felt like a skillet that had been sitting on high heat for an hour. She shook her hands, silently willing them to stop burning, then grabbed a bottle of water from her purse and dumped some of it on the steering wheel. Sitting here waiting for it to cool wasn’t an option. It was only August. She’d be waiting until October.
With both herself and her steering wheel now dripping, she pulled out of the parking lot of the Cut & Curl, where she’d worked as a stylist for twenty-five years, and directed her vehicle onto Main Street and then into the cute little neighborhood of historic homes that occupied three blocks behind the center of town.
Maybe that was her problem, she thought as she drove. She’d married and lost her edge. Of course, that was presuming she’d ever had an edge. And Harold wasn’t all that bad. Yes, he was balding, and had a spare tire around his waist that you could drive to Mississippi, and he preferred his tax returns and spreadsheets to a spirited discussion about most anything else, but he had a good CPA practice, and along with the money she made as a stylist, they had a comfortable lifestyle.
Still, it seemed that everything she’d heard or read lately was about how to spice things up. Especially when the kids left home. They only had the one daughter, Avery, but she’d been the work of at least ten as far as Marina was concerned. Smart, bullheaded, and a raging extrovert, she’d kept Marina running until last week, when she’d driven off to the university in New Orleans. Marina had crawled into bed after she left and hadn’t come out for sixteen hours.