Missy's Gentle Giant

MISSY’S GENTLE GIANT

By

P. D. Miller

Title: 
MISSY’S GENTLE GIANT

Copyright 2009
Penny D. Miller

Published by the
author.

Pen Line
Productions

Revised July-August
2012

All rights
reserved.  Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization
of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or
other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography,
photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system
is forbidden without the written permission of the copyright holder, Penny D.
Miller at Pen Line Productions,
www.penlineproductions.com

This is a work
or fiction.  Names, characters, places and incidents are either the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events
or locales is entirely coincidental.

This edition is
published by arrangement with the author, Penny D. Miller

If you have any
questions, see needed corrections or wish to see other novels by this author,
she may be contacted at
[email protected]
 
or 
www.penlineproductions.com

For people who like to read and Dinah

TABLE
OF 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
One

Ben looked around at the fields of
dried up mesquite and shook his head.  Damn, it took a long time to get
through Texas.  Shifting his seven foot frame, he rubbed the back of his
neck.  Oh, he was doing something he just loved.  Yeah right! 
Driving a damn big rig was the last thing in the world he wanted to do! 
Why was he such a sucker?  All it took was for Whitney to tell him Gonzalo
Sanchez from McAllen, Texas, asked for help because they found coke twice on
his trucks, and like an idiot, he was wheeling his way down to find out what
was going on.

Hell, he hadn’t even thought of
Gonzalo for the past four years, not since they flew back from Iraq together
and promised to stay in contact.  So much for promises.  But Gonzalo
running coke?  It didn’t fit, not the Gonzalo he knew anyway.  Not
the Gonzalo who asked his kid sister, Missy, to write to lonely Charger
Spinelli for two years.  Still a person could change.  He shook his
head.  Not the Gonzalo he knew.

He looked around at the flat, near
barren landscape and shifted uncomfortably.  No matter how damn big the
truck was, he was tired as hell of sitting and needed more room.  Damn,
after he left San Antonio everything ended.  At least he spent a couple of
great nights in San Antonio.  His grin widened into a smile.  Those
chicks were wonderful, and no telling how long it would be before he got back
to civilization.  No towns, no nothing, well not totally true, but nothing
of any size, and since the little town past Falfurrias, nothing at all.

Ben smiled when he remembered how
one time Gonzalo ran into another Hispanic guy in Iraq, and they were surprised
as hell to learn they were from neighboring towns.  He’d thought the guys
were next door neighbors the way they carried on about running into each
other.  What did they call this area?  Oh yeah, the “Rio Grande Valley.” 
Ben saw a sign just out of San Antonio saying he was heading toward the Rio
Grande Valley.

So far Ben had seen no towns,
nothing besides open space, a gas station here and there and an immigration
station on the other side of the highway.  Ben made a mental note to
remember it.  Their dogs checked out stuff pretty well.  Sixty-five
miles to McAllen from Falfurrias and next to nothing in between.  He
rubbed the back of his neck again, glanced in the rearview mirror after he
passed an old battered car on the side of the road, saw some beautiful female
legs and stomped on the brake.

As soon as he stopped the truck, he
backed up to get off the road.  Those were the prettiest damn legs in the
world bent in the front of the car trying to open the hood.  What red
blooded American male would keep on going rather than help a lady in distress? 
Certainly not red blooded Italian-American Charger Spinelli!  Damn, her
body was nice!  Those jeans fit her just right.  Her dark, almost
black hair flowed down to her waist!  He kept his eyes on her all the
while he backed up the truck.  She didn’t even glance his way, and still
she must know damn well he was there.  Smart chick to ignore just anyone. 
Oh, now she looks up.  Hot damn!  What beautiful dimples with her
sensational smile.  Talk about beautiful!  So tiny, perfect figure,
just looking at her made him grin.  He could hardly wait to get close to
her.

“Got problems?”  He walked
back from his truck.  Dumb question.  No answer either.  He
stopped in front of her.  “Got a problem?”

“Abigail’s plumb wore out.” 
She smiled.

“Abigail?”

“My car—I think she has heat
stroke.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me down here. 
Sure is hot.”  He stared down at the tiny thing standing in front of her
beat up car.  No taller than five feet, beautiful almond colored eyes, no
makeup, and oh, those dimples.

“Ninety is hot?”  She glanced
at the back of his truck and grinned.  “No wonder, New York plates. 
You’re a long way from home.”

“Yeah, didn’t know Texas was so big
either.  What happened to the—Abigail?”

The girl shrugged.  “Outside
of San Antonio she started making these weird noises, especially when I put on
the brakes; then she just clunked and quit.  I think something fell out.”

“Yeah?  Let me look.” 
Ben walked over, opened the hood, peered under and poked his fingers around a
little here and there.  He walked around to the side and dropped to the
ground.  The girl followed him and bent over watching him roll to his back
and slide under the car a little.

He was the tallest, most muscular
piece of hunk she’d ever seen!  He was a giant next to her and blew her
mind away!  Those massive shoulders, the flat stomach, those thighs with
muscles stretching his jeans.  Whew!  Her mother never told her they
made men like him.  Not that she came from a family of small men.  In
her family they were all considered tall and well built, ex-football players,
but she was sure he was taller than Marco who was six feet.  And oh, his
beautiful black, scrumptious wavy hair!  Those dizzying brown eyes.

“Miss, you don’t happen to have a
wrench; do you?”  Ben’s forehead furrowed when he got no response. 
He rolled his head sideways, saw ten cute little toes twinkling at him from
sandals and felt a wild urge to kiss them.  “Miss, do you happen to have a
wrench?”  Nothing again.  Ben slid out from under the car.  She
was smiling down at him, and he saw those dimples and her sweet kissable
lips.  COOL IT LUNK HEAD!  The girl is just a kid, much too damn
young for hot blooded Italians.  “Miss, do you have a wrench?”

“In the trunk.  I’ll get
it.”  Quickly she opened the trunk and came back with a tool box. 
“Pop always teases me because I call everything wacha-ma-call-its and thig-a-ma-jigs. 
You’d better pick what you want yourself.”  She grinned again.

“Thanks.”  Damn those
dimples!  Ben opened the well stocked tool box and chose the wrench he
wanted.  He slid back under the car and tried to tighten a nut.  It
was a mistake.  The rod busted and dropped, banging him on the head. 
“Ouch!  Damn!  Son of a bitch!”

Remembering the girl, he bit his
tongue.  For a few moments he lay under the car watching stars and
fireworks go off in his head while he waited for the pain to subside. 
Rolling his head sideways, he saw those damn little toes still twinkling at
him.  “Sorry Miss it’s your rear-end.”  He slowly slid out from under
the car, pulled himself completely out and sat up.  Why did she not
answer?

“Oh my!  What happened to your
head?”  Her grin turned to frightened eyes and she reached out. 
Quickly she ran around the car, opened the door and pulled out a jug of
drinking water and a paper towel.  She poured water all over the towel and
came back to him.  “Now don’t move.  Let me wash this off.  Oh
dear, what happened?”  She dropped on her knees between his sprawled legs
and wiped his cut forehead.

“Abigail doesn’t like me?”  He
grinned.  She smelled wonderful, like springtime.  His fingertips
willed themselves to touch her, but he clenched his fists and put them behind
his back.  Clamping his teeth shut the muscles in his cheeks
rippled.  Her breasts were oh so kissably close.  Feeling instant
arousal, he clamped his eyes shut.

“Am I hurting you?”  She
frowned.

“No.”  Liar.  He couldn’t
breathe.  He should die right there and go straight to hell for what he
was thinking, too.

“There, give me your hand.” 
She reached out.  “Now just hold this towel there for a little while, and
we’ll see if the bleeding stops.”  His hand was on fire after her
touch.  He opened his eyes, and she was sitting back on her ankles showing
him deep dimples.  Color rose to his ears, and he felt dizzy.  No one
had ever affected him like this.

“Do you know what’s wrong with
Abigail besides not liking you?  I sure hope you can fix it, or my
brothers are going to kill me.”

“I said—maybe I didn’t—”  Ben
shook his head confused.  “It’s your—her—rear end.”

“Is that bad?”

“Worse than heat stroke.”

“More serious like a heart attack?”

“Yeah.”  He was saddened to
see her smile fade.

“Oh, oh.”  She rose, walked
back to where she kept the drinking water and rinsed off her hands, pulled out
a paper cup, poured water and brought it to him.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.  Thanks for
trying to fix Abigail.”  She turned back to the car, poured some water for
herself and put the jug inside.