Hometown Series Box Set

by Kirsten Fullmer

  The car went over another bump and Gloria lurched awake with a snort. Her eyes scanned the interior of the limo, and when she realized where she was, she jumped.

  Ned, however, kept her tucked to his side. “Good morning,” he said.

  Gloria straightened, rolled her shoulders, and then glanced at the clock. “Good morning,” she said. Then amended, “It doesn’t feel like morning.”

  “No, it doesn’t, d—does it.” He laughed.

  She turned to her reflection in the dark window and wiped at the makeup she was sure must be caked under her eyes. Fergus’ old house came into view. “Want to come in?” she asked, but Ned didn’t respond, so she snuggled back into the cuddly spot under his arm.

  “Last night was…” she started, but it was too much to put into words.

  “I hear that Nadine a—apologized,” Ned said. “I would have liked to see that.”

  Gloria turned to him in surprise. “How…”

  “Really?” he asked, with a grin.

  “Right… Smithville,” she mumbled.

  “Elliot is quite proud of himself, about us getting together, by the way.” He chuckled, causing her to grin and shake her head. Then he sobered. “What are you going to do about N—Nadine?” he asked, watching for her reaction.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose life will go on and I’ll keep doing what I’ve been doing. If she really wants to be friends, she will. I can’t change her, or anyone else.”

  He nodded.

  “You know,” she said, looking off into space, “This whole thing has made me realize that how I feel depends on my attitude, not someone else. When I was too happy and busy to think about those women, they didn’t hurt me.”

  Ned looked past her, seeing the town and it’s people in his mind. “I’m sure your right.” It was advice he should follow for himself, he reasoned. Then he sighed, his arm tightening around her. “I d—don’t want this to end,” he said, his expression serious, and his gaze on the ceiling.

  She swatted his chest with her purse. “If you think you’re getting away now, you’re crazy.”

  He laughed. But then, uncertain as to how his two separate lives would fit together, he looked dubious. “So, what’s next?” he asked, trying to visualize what Gloria would tell everyone about their evening at the club.

  She looked up at him, waiting until his gaze was on her face, then, with love in her eyes, she smiled. She’d found a hard-working, beautiful man; and a good friend who also loved her. He may be extremely talented, famous, and in great demand in the city, but here at home he was a normal guy who worked two jobs and was proud to take care of his community. She thought for a moment then took his hand in hers. “How about we cook Fergus the biggest Christmas breakfast he’s ever seen…”

  THE END

  For the story of Tara, Justin and Winnie, read Hometown Girl at Heart

  http://amzn.to/2k3yWDS

  To learn more about Julia, Chad, Bobby, and Fergus, read Hometown Girl After All

  http://amzn.to/2ztsqsK

  To find out how Lizzie and Elliot came to own a farm and Alpacas, read Hometown Girl Forever

  http://amzn.to/2n9IcaF

  Hometown Girl Again

  Copyright © 2020 by Kirsten Fullmer

  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.

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter One

  Alex looked away from the flags flapping in the breeze over the grave, and his gaze snagged the cool, knowing eye of Winnie. To assure the old lady that he was fine, he inclined his head and offered her his best trademark wink.

  Winnie was a bit wiser than the average Smithville resident, however, and didn’t fall for his flirtatious manner. Instead, she gave him a concerned grandmotherly look.

  Alex cleared his throat and returned his attention to the funeral, careful not to meet another eye. It wouldn’t do to have the whole town thinking he was some worked-up, distraught veteran.

  Two young soldiers in crisp, full-dress uniform snapped a salute as the flag-draped coffin was placed over the open grave. Alex had witnessed this scene too many times. Not to mention all the funerals he’d had to miss during deployments.

  Near the grave stood the only two family members that old Hershel had left -- his niece, Becky, and her second cousin, Katie.

  The reverend stepped up to the grave to offer a prayer, and Alex bowed his head with the congregation. He’d miss old Hershel. Their camaraderie had been unconventional to say the least, yet he’d respected the eccentric old guy.

  The violent crack of the gun salute rang out, and he panicked. The rifle fire was part of the service, but his heart pounded nonetheless. Clenching his fists until his knuckles cracked, willing the dread away, he stared at Katie’s back. She, too, flinched as each of the remaining rounds blasted through the quiet morning, then echoed eerily off the hillsides.

  Tears sprang into Alex’s eyes, and he fumbled for his sunglasses. A knot the size of a baseball choked his throat. He brushed his finger under his nose, determined not to let anyone see him break down.

  Katie’s chin lowered, her face turned just enough for Alex to see the curve of her cheek. The years since their last meeting hadn’t changed her much. She wasn’t one to cry, but she must be feeling the loss of her uncle.

  He scoffed, berating himself for thinking he knew a damn thing about Katie. He hadn’t laid eyes on the woman for well over ten years.

  The first solemn notes of taps rang from a bugle -- sad and true. Agony fell hard on Alex as memories of his lost buddies flashed to the surface, threatening to pull him under.

  Men in the crowd, old and young, and even a few females saluted, causing guilt and shame to back up on top of his despair. But something else was there as well -- respect, pride, and a core of steel that he’d forgotten he possessed. Without another thought, his hand raised in a stiff salute.

  * * *

  Katherine watched the soldiers fold the flag through a surreal, travel-weary haze. She could appreciate people who did things in a precise manner, following strict procedure. It meant they cared.

  When the flag was a perfect triangle, the soldier handed it to her cousin, Becky. Katherine watched the man’s spotlessly gloved hands move in a halting, regimented manner. His somber voice uttered discreet, respectful words, thanking Becky for Hershel’s service. Lifting her gaze to study his face, Katherine realized how young the man was and so subdued. How many times had he done this duty for grieving families?

  The graveside service ended, and the rumble and shuffle of the crowd pressed in around her. She tensed, overwhelmed by the crush of strangers with their hands clasping hers, patting her back, and their low voices murmuring condolences. She struggled to recognize even one person.

  It had been over a decade since Katherine had been in Smithville, and everyone looked so different. Her mother was from Smithville -- was her father from here as well? Sadly, she knew nothing about the man. Her eyes scanned the crowd. Was he here today? Would she recognize him? Then again, how could she possibly recognize a man she’d never met? Her mother had not even owned a photo of the man, as far as Katherine knew. She moved a step closer to Becky, uncomfortable with the press of strangers, likely half the town from the looks of it.

  Becky certainly hadn’t changed much in the last ten years. The older woman’s hair had grayed a bit perhaps, but she was as outrageously colorful and flashy as she’d always been. And she still talked with her bejeweled hands, gesturing and motioning with them as she spoke.

  Then again, Katherine tended to notice people’s hands for some reason. Maybe because she was never quite sure what to do with her own.

  Clutching her bag tighter, she searched the crowd for a tall, dark man with straight black hair, but no one looked
like an older, male reflection of herself.

  Tara and Winnie approached, the first faces in the crowd that she knew. Old Winnie gave her a sad smile and squeezed her arm. Tara tugged a lock of hair over one shoulder and ran her fingers through it, waiting her turn.

  Then, as if her memory unfolded, people that Katherine recognized came into view. There was that woman, Marge, who ran the café, still sporting a bouffant hairdo; there was William’s kid brother, pushing up the same thick glasses with one knuckle.

  Had these people known her parents?

  The crowd parted, and there stood Alex. But how was that possible? Katherine caught only a glimpse of his face, but it was enough to halt her thought process altogether. He’d filled out since he was eighteen, putting on weight across the chest and through the shoulders. His sandy blond hair was longer than it had been that summer so long ago, and his jaw was covered with a beard. But as always, his dark eyes pierced her to the very core. He reached up with one hand to stroke his whiskers.

  She swallowed hard as her breath caught in her throat, and then he was gone.

  Leaning to one side she stumbled into a stranger, her eyes darted back and forth searching through the moving mass of bodies for a second look.

  What is he doing here? Alex had made it clear all those years ago, that he was leaving this Godforsaken town forever to chase a brilliant future in the Army, a future with no room for anything or anyone, else.

  * * *

  “Make yourself comfortable,” Becky fussed, moving a chair closer to the attorney’s desk.

  Katherine’s gaze followed the multiple colored rings on Becky’s fingers. “Please, don’t worry about me. I’m fine,” she assured, flashing a polite but stiff smile.

  Fine was a term Katherine used loosely, considering she was consumed with guilt over the lack of attention she’d paid Hershel while he was living. It was a source of pride that she dealt with her obligations. She considered herself fastidious, first and foremost, and she couldn’t help but feel that she’d let old Hershel down. Her father had not cared about family ties, and she didn’t like to think she had inherited that trait, but perhaps she had.

  Straightening her back, she took a deep breath. It had taken a good five minutes to calm down after seeing Alex, and that wasn’t like her. She was not a flighty or demonstrative woman. But the way his fingers had stroked his beard… she knew those fingers.

  Irritated with herself, she smoothed her hands across the front of her simple black dress and laced her fingers in her lap, her default hand position.

  The attorney shuffled through a stack of papers with knobby red fingers, then tipped the pile up to bump the bottom on his desk.

  Katherine wondered if she was doomed to have arthritis like her mother. Was arthritis a genetic trait?

  “I think we’re ready to begin,” he said, looking over his reading glasses.

  Becky’s eyes darted toward the empty room behind them as she wound her finger in one of her many sparkling necklaces. “Is this everyone?”

  The attorney adjusted the stack of paperwork on his desk. “There were a few business matters to attend to, but as you know, you two are the only family Hershel had.”

  The words stung Katherine to the core. Hershel had been the grandfather figure in her life, and how had she treated him? Other than the one summer she’d spent in Smithville, she’d never seen the man again. Well, except for at her own mother’s memorial service.

  Hershel was actually Becky’s uncle, Katherine’s mother’s great uncle, if one was to be precise, and Becky was her second cousin. But considering she had such little family left, she supposed the details could be overlooked. Some would call Katherine a shirttail relative at best, but still, she should have been more thoughtful and attentive. After all, the old man had seen fit to travel cross-country to help her spread her mother’s ashes.

  “I suppose so,” Becky said. “But he had so many friends; the whole town loved him. I guess I thought more people would be here.”

  Watching her cousin, Katherine wondered what caused Becky’s unease. She didn’t know Becky well, but the older, hippie-style woman didn’t seem the type to stress about details. Was there more to this than she’d been told? Surely, the quiet old man hadn’t left a mess for the two of them to resolve.

  Her mother had liked Becky, Katherine recalled. Well, she scoffed inwardly, as much as her mother had liked anyone from Smithville. Her mom had been nearer to Becky’s age, and Katherine had always considered the colorful woman more of an auntie than a cousin. She knew that Becky had been sad when her mother left Smithville; Becky had said so herself.

  Katherine wasn’t completely sure why her mom had never returned to town or even why she left in the first place. The woman had made it clear that the topic was not open for discussion, but Katherine suspected it was because of her father. And seeing as how her own skin, hair, and eyes were a few shades darker than her mother’s, she’d always wondered if perhaps some Hispanic blood, or maybe even Native American…

  The attorney cleared his throat, interrupting Katherine’s thoughts. With a glance at the antique watch hanging on a pendant around her neck, she hoped the meeting wouldn’t take too long. She had a flight to catch, and the airport in Pittsburgh was nearly an hour away. Plus, her rental car had to be returned, and if there was a crowd at security—

  “Well then, let’s get on with it,” the attorney said. “I’d like to read only the part that pertains to you ladies, if that’s alright.” He inspected them again over his glasses. “Unless you have other questions?”

  Becky and Katherine exchanged a glance, then both shook their heads. Katherine wanted to get back to her meticulously planned life, away from the guilt, memories, and haunting questions surrounding this place.

  “I’m not trying to skip anything or keep secrets. There is just a lot of legal jargon here,” the attorney assured.

  Becky rolled her hand in front of her to indicate that he should continue.

  “Okay, here we go.” He gave the papers a shake. “I, Hershel Blaylock, residing at— Uh” he cleared his throat, and glanced up. “We can skip this part. Let’s see…” he scanned down the page. “Blah, blah, declare this,” he scanned further. “…I direct my executors to— expenses of administering,” he mumbled and turned to the next page. “Here we are, ‘I give all tangible personal property and all policies and proceeds of insurance covering such property, to my niece Becky Blaylock, and my grand-niece Katherine Harris, to be split equally.’”

  Becky gasped and clasped both hands over her mouth.

  Katherine’s brow arched at Becky’s response.

  The attorney glanced up, his gaze taking in Becky’s surprise and then Katherine’s confusion. Finally, he cleared his throat and shifted through the papers, muttering as he skimmed. “Blah, blah, executors must pay out of the estate expenses, blah, blah.” He shuffled pages and continued. “If said beneficiary does not survive me… yada, yada…” He came to the last page. “I sign this will this day of—”

  He lowered the papers and looked up, his eyes settled on Becky, then darted to Katherine. He leaned back in his chair and removed his glasses, then laid them on the desk. “Looks as if you two ladies get all the property—lock, stock, and barrel.”

  * * *

  Alex’s truck rolled to a stop a hundred yards from the house. With the engine running, he stared across the expanse of grass toward Hershel’s home. The lawn needed a mow, but the rest of the yard was well tended. Even though the man had been ill, he’d taken pride in this place. But it felt different now -- empty, hollow. Alex scoffed. His entire life felt hollow lately. Hershel’s death had been a jolt and seeing Katie again certainly hadn’t helped his state of mind. Part of his melancholy could be related to her being in town— but he wasn’t ready to think about that yet. This whole getting injured and discharged from the Army bit hadn’t been part of his plans.

  But since the moment he heard that Hershel had passed, he’d known the
re was a chance Katie would be at the funeral. So, why did the sight of her knock the wind out of him? Was it because he’d let her down? Again?

  He shut off the ignition, opened the door, and stepped stiffly from the truck. A cool breeze whipped at his shirtsleeves and flapped the tail of his shirt against his back. The wind had a bite to it this time of year, especially with the sun going down, but he ignored it.

  Turning away from the house, he limped around to the back of the truck, his pace measured. One solid yank lowered the tailgate, and he reached into the bed to drag a cooler toward him. He drew two dripping, ice-cold beers from the cooler and set them on the tailgate. Then with a bottle opener on his key ring, he popped off the lids. Plodding toward the house, he decided he’d come back in the morning and mow the grass. It was the least he could do for the old guy. Besides, Becky was a good sort, and now that the place was surely hers, he could be a good neighbor while she sorted out the paperwork.

  When he neared the porch, he paused. “Here’s to you, old man,” he mumbled, choking on the words. He raised the bottles in salute, then placed one on the porch railing for Hershel and took a long swig from the other. This goodbye was more his style than the church-going crowd had been. A lump choked his throat and his heart sunk as misery filled his soul. He turned to lean on the porch column and squint back across the yard. He blinked and cleared his throat, working to hold emotions at bay.

  To move past the feelings threatening to overwhelm him, he pulled in a long breath through his nose. Find something to focus on -- that would help.

  The view was stunning. Before him lay a vista of forested rolling hills and open fields. The trees were beginning to bud, and the fields wore a hopeful tint of lime green. This was the perfect location for a house.