Doing It Over (A Most Likely to Novel Book 1)

by Catherine Bybee

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ten Years Later

  Grants Pass killed her car. Melanie turned off the interstate and headed toward the coast, knowing the chances of passing other drivers once the sun set were nil. The noise from under the hood and the occasional coughing of exhaust that exploded from her tailpipe were evidence of her earlier conviction.

  Grants Pass killed her car.

  “C’mon, baby . . . only twenty-five more miles.” She patted the dashboard and spoke in a soft voice to keep from waking Hope.

  Melanie glanced at the backseat. Hope clutched her favorite stuffed animal, her legs curled under her and her head resting on a pillow. Her pouty pink lips slacked open and her eyes were closed.

  The trip had started out as an adventure, but once they had been on the road for eight hours, Hope did what any seven-year-old would . . . she whined.

  That was a day and a half ago. They stopped for meals and one night in a roadside motel.

  The car sputtered, swinging Melanie’s attention back to the road. Pine trees spiked toward the dusky sky, the clouds and smell in the air told her rain was close.

  All she needed to do was coast into River Bend. She had enough money to stay at Miss Gina’s Bed-and-Breakfast for a couple of nights. Hopefully Gina would offer an “old times’ sake” discount in exchange for help in the kitchen . . . maybe the making of a few beds and she could stay a little longer.

  All she had to do was limp her car into town and pray Miss Gina could take her in early. She wasn’t expected for another week.

  Melanie rounded the corner and immediately dodged a pothole that would have swallowed her front end had she not seen it. As she corrected the steering, a new sound rang from her already pissed off engine.

  She held her breath and decided to ease up on the gas.

  The noise stayed with her.

  The next corner had the occasional “check engine” light turning a steady red. Melanie tapped her dashboard, hoping it was wrong.

  Twenty more miles. Twenty more miles.

  Hope’s sleepy voice pulled Melanie from her silent chant. “Mommy?”

  “Hey, sweetie.”

  “Are we there yet?”

  “Almost.” She offered a weak smile over her shoulder.

  “When did it get dark?”

  Good question . . . When I wasn’t looking. “Not long ago.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “I know . . . we’re almost there.”

  Her piece of crap car sputtered and slowed. “No, no, no.”

  “Is the car sick again?”

  “No . . . yes . . . just a little longer.” Worry etched up her spine as rain started to fall.

  She reached for her cell phone and cussed under her breath. No Service.

  Of course not. Why would River Bend bother with updated cell towers when two-way radios worked just fine?

  “Hope, honey, I want you to look at Mommy’s phone and tell me if we get service.”

  Hope reached for the phone and placed it in her lap.

  Less than a mile later, Hope said, “One bar . . . wait . . . no, it’s gone.”

  A second light on her dash sprang to life. This one flashed, as if calling Melanie an idiot for continuing to drive. “I have no choice,” she said as she hit the dash again.

  Seemed the car took offense and coughed one last time before the engine gave up altogether.

  “No. C’mon . . . no!”

  “That’s not good,” Hope said.

  “Not good at all.” Melanie managed to pull off the road by a good two feet. She shoved the car in neutral and attempted to start her again.

  Click.

  Click.

  She rested her head on the steering wheel and closed her eyes. Eighteen more miles. That’s all she’d needed. The desire to roll into a ball and block out her situation nearly took over her good sense.

  “It’s okay, Mommy. We can walk.”

  Melanie released a frustrated laugh. “No, hon . . . it’s too dark.” And too far.

  Hope undid her seat belt and handed her the cell phone. “You can call someone.”

  She attempted a smile and glanced at the phone.

  No Service.

  She waved it in the air.

  Nothing.

  She shoved the door open and stood alongside the dark road waving her phone in the air. The ambient light lit her face, but still, the words No Service mocked her.

  Melanie reached into the car and popped the trunk.

  As the rain settled in, she pulled a sweatshirt from her suitcase and another from Hope’s bright purple bag.

  After turning on her flashers and popping the hood as a sign to anyone who might drive by that they could use help, Melanie climbed into the backseat with her daughter.

  She shook her rain-soaked hair and pulled Hope’s sweatshirt over her head. “It’s going to get a little cold.”

  “We can run the heater.”

  “It only works when the engine runs, sweetie.”

  “Oh.”

  Melanie found the remainder of their road trip food and offered the last of the cheesy crackers and gummy bears to her daughter. Someone would come along, she told herself.

  She dialed 911 and pressed Send on the off chance the No Service notice was as out of order as her car.

  It rang once, and then went dead . . . Melanie tried a few more times before giving up.

  “Do you know where we are?” Hope asked with a mouth full of crackers.

  “River Bend is only a few miles away.”

  Hope wiped the sleeve of her shirt against the condensation on the window and peered out. “There’s a lot of trees.”

  Melanie found herself smiling. “Yeah. I missed them.”

  “Our trees are smaller.”

  “When I was about your age, I used to climb some of these trees.”

  Hope’s blue eyes grew wide. “You climbed a tree?”

  “Took a week to get the sap off my hands.”

  “I wanna climb a tree.”

  “My friend Zoe had the best climbing tree in the field by her house.”

  “You think it’s still there?”

  “Not a lot changes in a small town. My guess is, it’s still there and waiting for another little girl to climb it.”

  The pounding of the rain on the hood of the car intensified. Both of them looked up and Hope started to squirm.

  Oh, no.

  “Mommy?”

  Melanie closed her eyes . . .

  “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  As if on cue, the sky flashed and thunder shook the car.

  Melanie waited until Hope was squirming around the backseat before she shoved the both of them into their jackets and flung open the back door away from the road. Not that it mattered, no one had passed in the forty minutes they’d been sitting there.

  One foot outside the car and Melanie was up to her ankles in wet muck. A marsh more than a puddle sat right outside the door.

  She reached for her daughter and did her best to lift her away from the majority of the gunk. “We don’t want to leave the car, Hope. You’re going to have to pee here.”

  Hope squished her nose and looked as if she was about to object.

  The rain that was coming down in steady sheets picked up speed and Hope reached for her jeans.

  Melanie held Hope’s arm to keep her from falling and waited. A blast of cold air had her teeth chattering.

  She was about to encourage Hope to hurry when she stood upright and pulled up her pants. Rather than walking through the mud a second time, Melanie directed her daughter around the back of the car and helped her into the backseat.

  Instead of popping in beside her, Melanie moved to the driver’s seat and opened the trunk. They’d both have
to change into dry clothes or spend their first week in River Bend sick with the flu.

  “Damn rain,” she said once Hope was out of earshot.

  She tossed Hope’s smaller case into the front seat and went back for the second when light flittered across the trees above her car. For a brief second she thought it was lightning, then the sound of an engine met with the lights.

  Melanie dropped her suitcase beside her when a twin cab, long bed truck took the corner a little fast.

  She shielded her eyes from the light with one hand and waved with the other. “Please stop,” she whispered to herself. And don’t be an ax murderer.

  Her heart kicked hard when the truck splashed up a puddle in the middle of the street, spraying her already soaked frame to the bone. Just when she was sure the driver of the truck was going to pass her by, she heard a screech of brakes, and the red taillights filled the dark night.

  “Thank God.”

  The words no sooner left her lips than the truck gunned in reverse and did a thorough job of ensuring not one inch of her was dry.

  The tall frame of a man stepped out and peered at her from over the bed of the truck.

  “I-I think you missed a spot,” Melanie chattered.

  “What the hell are you doing standing on the side of the road in the rain?” The stranger was actually yelling at her.

  She couldn’t see his features under the hood of his coat . . . she glimpsed a bit of facial hair from the light inside the cab, but she couldn’t tell if it was I’m a mountain man hermit who chops up body parts of stranded women and children hair or a fashion statement.

  “I’m enjoying a walk,” she yelled back.

  “What?”

  Melanie shook her head. “My car broke down.”

  Just then, Hope opened the back door.

  “Mommy?”

  “Get back in the car, Hope.”

  “Do we have a ride to town?”

  Melanie shot a look at the stranger. “Get back in the car.”

  “But . . .”

  “Hope!” She used her Mom voice and her daughter closed the back door.

  She thought she saw the flash of the stranger’s teeth. The dark hid his eyes and didn’t give her any hint about their safety with the man.

  “Listen, lady . . . I can give you and your daughter a ride into town. It’s not very far.”

  Melanie wrapped her arms around herself and attempted to hold in a full body shiver. “Uhm . . . yeah . . . but you could be a parolee from Sing Sing.”

  The man laughed. “A parolee wouldn’t have stopped.”

  Maybe.

  “I-I’d feel better if you’d send a tow truck after me once you got into town.”

  “You want me to leave you out here?”

  She shivered again. “A tow truck is closer than Sing Sing. I’d appreciate the call,” she told him.

  The man shifted his head toward the road, then back to her and her broken-down car. “Suit yourself.” With that, he jumped back into the cab of his truck and started to drive away.

  He got as far as a few yards before pulling off to the side of the road and turning on his hazard lights.

  She wasn’t sure what the man was up to, but she didn’t see the point of standing in the rain any longer to figure him out.

  With her suitcase back in the trunk, she crawled in beside her daughter and closed the wind outside. Reaching over Hope, she locked the door and swiped her wet hand across the window to keep watch on the truck . . . or more importantly, the stranger inside.

  “Is he calling for help?” Hope asked.

  “I think so.”

  Melanie kept one eye out the window and fished a dry sweatshirt and leggings from her daughter’s clothes. One layer at a time, she managed to help her little girl into dryer clothing, shivering the whole time.

  She was tossing wet clothing onto the floor of the front seat when a fist knocked on her window.

  Melanie jumped.

  Outside, there wasn’t any evidence of another car . . . a tow truck . . . anything. Only the tall frame of the stranger. Since she couldn’t roll the window down to talk to him, she debated what to do.

  “Aren’t you going to open the door?” Hope asked.

  “I, uhm . . .”

  He knocked again.

  She jumped . . . again.

  The sound of the rain on the car made yelling through the steel impossible.

  Melanie opened the door but kept both hands on the door handle, ready to slam it closed.

  When he didn’t attempt to open it farther, she relaxed slightly.

  “The tow truck is an hour away. You sure you don’t want a ride?”

  The man was still a shadow, though his voice was somewhat soft.

  “An hour,” Hope whined beside her.

  “Hush.”

  “I’m not going to hurt ya, lady. I swear.” He lifted his hands in the air.

  “I bet Jack the Ripper said the same thing.”

  The man scratched his head.

  “You can move along. We’ll be fine.”

  The man grumbled, turned on his heel, and marched back to his truck.

  Melanie closed the door, locked it again, a wiped the windows to keep an eye on the stranger.

  “He seemed nice,” Hope added her opinion.

  “He might be, but I’m not taking any chances.” She noticed exhaust come from the tailpipe of the truck but it made no move to drive away. “Let this be a lesson for you, young lady. Don’t get in a car with a stranger.”

  “Won’t the guy in the tow truck be a stranger?” Hope asked.

  “Well, yeah . . . but that’s different.”

  “How?”

  It was time for Melanie to scratch her head. “It just is.”

  “That’s a Mom answer.”

  Melanie rolled her eyes at her wise daughter. “Tow truck drivers are there to help you when your car breaks down. They are doing their job.”

  “Like a policeman or a fireman?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They aren’t the only people that want to help strangers.”

  “I know, honey. Maybe that man just wants to help, but I don’t know him.” Trust is earned, not given freely. Even when it’s earned, it’s sometimes blown to tiny bits.

  Five minutes ticked by in silence when Hope ran out of questions about strangers and matters of trusting them.

  The stranger turned off his engine and sat in his cab.

  Melanie watched his shadow like a hawk.

  Less than twenty minutes later, the road flashed with red and blue lights as a sheriff’s squad car pulled around the corner and tucked in behind Melanie’s hunk of junk. “Stay here,” she said for the second time that night.

  The rain had let up to a steady fall instead of sheets, not that her body felt the difference.

  The officer pushed out of the car, placing a plastic-covered hat on their head.

  “Looks like you’re having some trouble.” Melanie heard the voice of a woman and felt her shoulders slump in relief.

  “Stupid car.” Melanie kicked the tire as she walked by.

  The officer shone her light on the car, then up into Melanie’s face.

  “Mel?”

  Melanie sucked in a breath. “JoAnne?”

  Jo shoved the light in her own face, giving Melanie the best relief of the night. “Oh, my God. I knew you were the sheriff, but . . . wow! Just look at you!”

  Her gun toting, flashlight shining BFF squealed like any friend should, and moved in for a hug.

  “Looks like you have it from here, Sheriff,” the voice of the stranger sounded in the drizzling rain.

  “Melanie’s an old friend. Thanks for the call, Wyatt.”

  So his name is Wyatt.

  �
��Might wanna teach your friend that not everyone wants to cut her up.”

  “I’ll do that,” Jo yelled as Wyatt slid back into his truck and left.

  “What’s he all about?” Melanie found herself asking.

  Before Jo could answer, Hope was ducking her head out of the backseat again. “Can I come out now?”

  Melanie waved her daughter from the car and she came running.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jo insisted Melanie and Hope stay with her until morning. It wasn’t hard saying yes when Hope all but begged for a hot meal and a warm house.

  With Jo back at work, Melanie settled into Jo’s childhood home. The bungalow’s footprint was the same, but the furniture had changed and the walls were free of floral patterned paper.

  Once Hope was tucked into the guest room, fed, showered, and exhausted, Melanie pulled the cork on a bottle of wine and lit a fire.

  The house felt smaller than she remembered . . . quiet. She’d never spent any time in the Ward home without her friend. She found herself looking around, waiting for Sheriff Ward to walk in the door and read her the riot act for drinking. Didn’t matter that she was twenty-eight now, well past the legal age to drink . . . your parents, or even your friend’s parents who knew you before you could wear a bra, intimidated you into believing you were still ten.

  Melanie wiggled sock-covered toes and let the flames warm the last part of her that still felt chilled.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she sat in front of a fireplace. Probably right after Hope was born when her mother sent her tickets to fly to the East Coast to visit. What a mess that was. Whatever maternal instinct her mother had when she was growing up had disappeared the day her divorce was final. The free trip to Connecticut was to ease her mother’s guilty conscience. Melanie went to try and give Hope a grandmother.

  By the time she boarded the plane back to California all hopes of a normal grandparent for her daughter had vanished.

  Felicia Bartlett sent her a hundred bucks and a generic birthday card every year . . . sent another check for Christmas. If Melanie could afford to deny the money, she would. But pride didn’t put food on the table. If it were just her, she’d probably send it back. Instead, she put every dollar in a savings account for Hope. It wouldn’t add up to much, but maybe by the time her daughter was driving, she could afford a running car for her.