Page 42 of Oh, Hell No

It was after seven, and I was feeling buzzed. My thoughts kept going to Oz. Staying focused on the show was proving to be more difficult. I stuck my hand into the box of Goldfish and got a handful. I should probably put more in my stomach. Half the bottle of Zinfandel was gone. There was no telling what Perry had paid for it either. He’d given it to me my first day of school last year as a celebration on my new job. Since I wasn’t much of a drinker, I’d never had a reason to open it.

Tonight, I had needed something stronger than the light, fruity white wine I normally had on nights like this. It was elevendollars a bottle at the grocery store I went to down the street. Unfortunately, the stronger the wine, the more expensive the wine, but it still did not take away my thoughts of Oz. They seemed to just get more unrestrained as they galloped freely through my head.

My eyes shifted over to the mystery Squishmallow Toby had won for me. I’d left it with my bag of things for school. It was going to be a reward for the spelling bee winner in my class next week. Maybe give them some incentive since none of them seemed very excited about it.

Oz hadn’t won his date a Squishmallow. No, he’d gotten a soft, fluffy Jellycat puppy. Because the realm from whence he had come didn’t do second place.

I rolled my eyes and picked up my glass of wine. I did not want to care. Why would I care if he had been there with his own harem?! I didn’t like him. I didn’t trust him. He had been cruel to me.

Except when he hadn’t been. When he supplied me with clean clothing, made me dinner, gave me chocolate cake. Seemed more interested in me than telling me every moment of his life. I sulked, sinking back into the sofa. He’d made me sandwiches and packed me food and water for the drive back.

Then left me here and—poof—gone. A figment of my sexual imagination—until today.

Now, he was back in my head clearly again. That smirk, the way he wore a pair of jeans. I groaned; I was so messed up in the head. I was lusting over a man who was bad, bad, bad. If slapping myself would help, I would do it.

My eyes dropped to my phone on the table beside the unlit candle. I thought for a moment. I could look him up online and see if that woman was someone he was seeing seriously. Torture myself some more because that seemed healthy. No, wait, I didn’t even know his last name.

His first name wasn’t common though, and Madison wasn’t that big. I sat up straight and kept looking at my phone while debating this idea.

I mean, what could it hurt just to see if I can find out his last name? That’s not stalkerish. Is it? He knows mine, so why can’t I know his?

Standing up, I walked to the kitchen and opened the freezer to get out my chocolate ice cream pint and a spoon, then snatched the lighter from the junk drawer before going to sit back down. I placed my new snack on the coffee table, lit the candle in hopes that the smell would relax me like it was supposed to do, then picked up my phone, pint, and spoon. Pulling my legs up onto the sofa, I crossed them and took a blanket to place over my lap so as not to freeze my skin from the ice cream I wanted to put there.

Once I was settled in and comfy, I scooped a spoonful of the creamy goodness and slid it into my mouth while unlocking my phone and going to my Instagram app first. Oz didn’t look like someone with an Insta, but what did I really know about him? He’d shown up at a church festival today with a date. Not something I’d thought he’d do.

There were a lot more Ozes than I’d expected on Insta, but none of them was the one I was looking for. Scowling, I went to the web browser and searched his first name and Madison, Mississippi. I got some information on a live showing ofThe Wizard of Ozand many different items that came in ounces, but no people. Shoveling more ice cream into my mouth, I sat there and tried to think of another way to search it. I doubted Southern Mafia was going to lead me to anything.

The first T-shirt he had left for me to wear was in the bathroom. It had said something on the back.

Bootleg…wait…bootleg and whiskey and Madison, Mississippi.

Was that some company he knew? There was another word in the title. The first word. I could not remember what it had been. I’d read it, then put it on.

I typed inbootleg whiskey, Madison, Mississippi. The very first hit was Carver’s Bootleg Whiskey. That was it!

Grinning at my little bit of progress, although this could lead to absolutely nothing, I went to the website. It was impressive. Must be a big company, and the odds of it being connected to him began to dwindle. I looked over it and found the owners, who were rather attractive. Even the father. A dad and his two sons owned it and ran it in Madison. The father’s father, Robert Carver, had used his father’s bootleg whiskey recipe and perfected it, then opened his own distillery in 1974. As interesting as this all was and as appealing as the three men were, I wasn’t trying to cyberstalk them.

I scanned the site and found social media links. They had an Insta.Let’s give that a go. I clicked it and leaned forward to put the pint on my coffee table, then pick up my glass of wine before settling back to scan nosily through their posts.

The youngest son, Than, was on here more than the older one, Ransom, and the dad, Hale. In fact, Hale wasn’t on here at all. It was a shame. He had that silver-fox thing going for him. I slowly scanned reading the captions and thought a female must be in charge of this account when his face appeared and my thumb stopped the scrolling.

“Holy shit,” I whispered, staring down at Oz.

He was with Ransom, and they were shirtless, pouring something into big barrels. I leaned in closer to examine every bare inch of Oz I could see. I had been right about his abs…sculpted, rippled, and there was some ink too. I needed a fan, but I didn’t have one, so I took a big gulp of my wine instead. I briefly flicked my attention to Ransom and he was pretty impressive while shirtless, too, but I had a feeling that whoeverhad made this post knew that, leading me to believe once again that a woman was handling their social media.

I moved my eyes down to the caption, which read:Ransom with Oz Savelle, doing a little hands-on labor in the still today.

There were hashtags that I ignored as my gaze snapped back up to look at Oz. I had his last name—Savelle. I’d heard that before, but I couldn’t place where I had heard it. I tried to think of a kid at school who might have it, but none came to mind.

Going back to my web browser, I typed in the name Oz Savelle, and the first thing that came up was a Wikipedia for Oz Savelle. Widening my eyes, I clicked it, thinking this could not be the man that who abducted me, but what were the odds someone else had this name? The picture was a black-and-white photo of an older man standing with a horse that had medals around it and roses on it. That was not Oz. I read on to see who this was because they must be related. His name wasn’t common. This was most likely Oz’s namesake, who was famous, it seemed, with horses.

Oz Savelle, born in 1947 in Madison, Mississippi. Founder of Savelle Stables, LLC, Est. 1965, Madison, Mississippi, a thoroughbred horse-racing business, which bred and owned the 1998 Triple Crown Winner Dante Sky. His son, Jonas Savelle, is now CEO of Savelle Stables. Wife, Ellender Savelle. Children: Oz Savelle, 27, born April 10, 1998; Forge Savelle, 25, born December 16, 1999; and Kash Savelle,24, born January 1, 2001.

Holy crap. His family owned a stable that was famous. They had bred fifteen Kentucky Derby winners. There was a list of other races that their horses had won, but I knew nothing about horse racing, other than the Kentucky Derby was a big deal with hats and famous people liked to take pictures there.

Going back to the other sites that his name had brought up,I looked for the current Oz Savelle, and there were no Insta accounts for him, although the stables did have one that was very active. I clicked on it and scanned through the posts. Mostly horses in an elaborate stable, at races, with trophies and flowers. Finally, one with the face I was looking for.

Oz wore a dark blue suit that looked tailored to hug his body and an ice-blue shirt that made the color of his eyes stand out. In his hand was a large gold trophy and a panty-melting smile on his face. A tiny man with a helmet-looking thing on was beside him and another man, who I knew without reading the article had to be Oz’s father. Holy moly, the man had good genes to hand down. And hand down he had. The black suit he wore made him appear powerful and wealthy on top of the droolworthy-daddy thing. I shook my head in amazement, then took another drink.

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