Come and Get It: A Small Town Bachelor Romance

by Knox, Abby

  “You,” she says, in a lethal, charged half-whisper.

  I smile brightly. “Sure is. Do I know you?”

  She grits her teeth, glances over her shoulder to see who may be in earshot, and then hisses at me. “Drea is my sister, you colossal asshole.”

  “Nice to meet you, dear. I’ll have a strawberry milkshake and a grilled cheese. Those ones we got in prison just ain’t right. Haha, see what I did there?”

  The poor thing’s eyes nearly pop out of her face. “No.”

  “No? Do I need to find another table?”

  She points a finger at me while still holding on to her notepad. It’s a special skill for servers who know how to stick up for themselves and don’t give a fuck about tips.

  “I’m not going to throw my sister under the bus by running my mouth. But if you care even a little bit about her, you will not only need to find another table, you need to find a whole new restaurant in a whole new town,” she says.

  I nod and suck on my bottom lip for a second. I squint my eyes real charming like. “You must be Ever.”

  No reply but a stony, horrified face. Guess she ain’t falling for the crinkly crow’s feet look.

  “So…no milkshake either?”

  Chapter 6

  Drea

  “My big sister is banging a felon. How did you think I was going to act?”

  Ever—and her huge pregnant belly—is parked in one of the wingback chairs in my chambers because she’s too tired to stand up while she condemns me.

  “Exactly like this, which is why I didn’t confide in you before the fact,” I say calmly.

  She looks hurt. “You don’t trust me.”

  “I can’t imagine why, since clearly both you and Logan have such clear heads about this,” I say. I have to be in court in five minutes, and I wonder how long this visit is going to last.

  “Sarcasm. Great. I thought that was my job,” she says.

  I give her my big-sister-who-raised-you face. “Your job is to focus on your own damn family and leave me alone. I am not your dotty spinster older sister.”

  “I’m hurt you would believe I think of you like that,” she says. “And to top off this day, he applied for a job. At the Feed & Seed. With Logan.”

  “And? He needs a job.”

  She rolls her eyes. “He’s just trying to push all our buttons! Maybe he could have applied to work with Devin first? The bull jizz factory is always looking for help.”

  I laugh at her word choice. “There’s that maturity I’ve come to expect from you.”

  “Jeezus, what has gotten into you?” she huffs, and suddenly she’s the big sister.

  I fold my arms. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m tired. Tired of everyone in this town being so judgmental of people who have paid their debt to society and refuse to let them move on.”

  Ever sniffs. “He can move on without taking down my sister’s political career.”

  “I’m not a politician. I perform a public service. I’m a judge.”

  “You are an elected official. It’s political whether you want it to be or not.”

  I smile genuinely at her. I love my sister. I really do. “That might be the smartest thing you’ve said so far in this conversation. Why are you wasting your time being a waitress when you could go to law school?”

  “Oh! Now who’s being insulting? What’s wrong with being a waitress?”

  “Nothing, I just…”

  “I’ll have you know that my tips have funded at least two trips to Europe for my family. If I have to slog through law school and pay off student loans I won’t be able to just up and travel whenever I feel like it. If I still worked at the paper, I would be working 60 hours a week. I don’t necessarily need to use my journalism degree to help provide for my family.”

  I stand up. “And I don’t need to do anything at all to justify myself to you or to anyone else.”

  I walk to my closet and take out my robe.

  “I’m just worried is all, Drea…”

  I pull it on and adjust my hair in the mirror on the inside of the closet door. “Then you need to stop being a helicopter sister, stay out of my way and mind your own business. You don't need to be worrying about me when you have to get ready for this baby.”

  “I’m a champion baby mama; this is nothing. I could give birth while detasseling a row of corn and keep going.”

  “By all means. Whatever keeps you busy.”

  “That was bitchy,” she says, rubbing her tummy for sympathy, as if I’ve insulted her unborn fetus.

  “Newsflash: I am a bitch. I’ve just been holding it in for what feels like a century. Now if you don’t mind, I have court.”

  She roars, “We’re not done here!”

  I throw out, “And you’ve never spent a single day of your life detasseling corn, you big baby!”

  Chapter 7

  Paul

  I address another part of my sobriety and calm: exposure.

  Exposure to alcohol and assholes. No better place for that than Carrie’s Tavern.

  Besides, it’s been a long time since I went there. When I arrive, I notice the name has changed to “Scotty’s.”

  I saunter in with my hat tilted low, making my way up to the bar without causing a scene among the families and business people having lunch. A few familiar barflies are in the corner, in the same spot they were in the last time I was here. They see me and nod, and I nod back.

  Nobody seems to have noticed who I am, aside from the bartender. Scotty knows me immediately.

  “Chet,” he says.

  “I hate to be a douche, but it’s Paul now. That was my mom’s maiden name.”

  “You sure never hated being a douche before.”

  I deserve that. “Yeah, well, I’m a different person now. New life, new name.”

  “I feel ya. When I retired from the military, Carrie wanted to start having more babies as soon as possible, and didn’t want to run this bar anymore. She worked so hard while I was overseas, how could I say no? Hence the name change for the bar.”

  His talk about his wife and babies makes me sour. Good for him, but it’s just another reminder of all the things I missed out on. I simply nod in response.

  “What can I get ya?”

  “Dr. Pepper.”

  “You got it.”

  I hear a minor commotion behind me as I sit at the bar. But I learned in prison that it’s always better to keep your head down and not get involved.

  I hear random whispers with the word “Chet” being thrown around derisively. I sip my Dr. Pepper and ride out this wave of awkwardness. Shit, why did I come in here?

  I just breathe. I do not have to engage. I paid my debts. There’s no reason why I can’t be here. If Scotty asks me to leave, I’ll leave. Beyond that, there’s no reason to engage with any of these people.

  “Well, well, well,” comes a deep voice behind me.

  Jackson Clay.

  Shit. Here we go.

  I keep my eyes trained on the mirror at the back of the row of liquor bottles. I say nothing.

  “How was life on the inside, ol’ Chet?”

  I don’t respond or react because I can’t tell what his intention is.

  “Fair enough. I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk to me. After all I am partially responsible for your ass ending up in jail. And I did kick your ass a time or two, with good reason…”

  I set my drink on the bar and press eight fingers together as I stare at him in the mirror. “There a point to this one-sided conversation?”

  Jackson turns on his barstool to look at me. “Hey, I just thought you might want to know your truck is in storage in my barn. You want it, it’s yours.”

  That took an unexpected turn. A kindness from that high and mighty Jackson Clay…who’d a thunk it?

  I turn to him and finally look him in the eye.

  “Yeah, I do want my truck back.”

  “Thought so,” Jackson says, sipping his iced tea. “I’m headed back
there right now. Wanna take a ride?”

  Jee-zus. The last thing I want is to accept a ride from this guy. Like I’m in need of charity when I got two good legs.

  “I can walk.”

  Jackson laughs. “Don’t be an asshole. It’ll take you an hour to walk out to the farm, and my wife’s art class will just be getting out by then. We’re gonna get your ass in and out as fast as possible. Maggie sees you, she’s gonna get real salty with me.”

  I swallow and the pit of regret and anxiety in my stomach does a somersault.

  I hate to admit it but he’s correct. A few awkward moments hitching a ride with Jackson is way less awkward than running into Maggie. I was a real dipshit to everyone, but especially to her.

  “Fine, let’s go,” I say.

  The ride out to the farm is quiet. Mostly because of my new habit of not speaking until I’m spoken to. The only words that pass between us is my explanation about my new name. He doesn’t mock me, though I’m prepared for him to do so.

  When we arrive, everything looks different. The long driveway has an iron archway designating this gargantuan piece of land as Morning Glory Farms, and underneath that, “Bed & Breakfast, Cultural and Events Center.”

  It’s all I can do to keep the vomit from rising in my throat.

  What the fuck does any of that mean?

  We drive a little farther beyond the main farmhouse, which has been added on to since the last time I saw this place. There’s some new directional signage indicating the art studio in the old stone barn, petting zoo in the opposite direction, and special events farther down.

  About six more buildings have popped up out here than there used to be. A new sign along one of his farm roads points the way to Clay’s Pond. Used to be just “the pond” back in the day when my high school buddies would go there to drink and raise hell.

  Everything has changed.

  Jackson has done well for himself and I can’t lie. It guts me that I don’t have my own land anymore, but it sure is pretty out here, even if it is a little hoity toity. He has his own separate garage just for all his trucks and trailers. Son of a bitch.

  We park and get out, and he leads me into the back of the garage. He nods toward a cloth tarp, indicating I should do the honors.

  I pull back the tarp and there she is. My silver, tricked-out cherry of an extended cab Silverado is still in good condition. It’s clean as the day I bought her, cash on the barrel.

  “I got it out and drove it around the property at least once a week to keep it in good condition. Ran it up to 60 every so often just to keep the pipes clear.”

  This might be the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me, aside from Drea and her letters to me in prison.

  I just stand there, staring at my truck, trying not to let Jackson see my emotions.

  “Why would you do this for me?”

  He shrugs. “It’s a nice truck. A man’s truck is a man’s truck.”

  I swallow hard. “Good a reason as any.”

  I slide behind the wheel and start her up. She rumbles like a dream. It’s corny as hell but I get a lump in my throat.

  Jackson pats the hood. I get the message. I better get gone before Maggie's class is over and she doesn’t want to see me.

  Rules on the inside were simple. Rules on the outside are harder.

  I nod to Jackson in thanks and take off down the farm road. In minutes, I’m out on the county highway.

  I crest the hill and take in the sight of the perfect rows of corn on the neighboring farm as I drive down the highway.

  The sun is shining high in the bright blue, cloudless sky. The corn is high. The air is sweet. I’m behind the wheel of my truck. And if everything keeps going this way, I might have a job before the day is over.

  Who knows, I might even have a real place to live by the time the sun sets.

  For the second time today, I let myself smile.

  Chapter 8

  Paul

  Chuck at the Feed & Seed spends about five minutes looking over my application and doesn’t say a word about the fact that I have a criminal record.

  We’re standing over by the grain silos and he’s got a clipboard to hold down the paperwork, and a pencil behind his ear.

  “I’m willing to give you a shot. Heck, I’m gonna put you on the crew that’s laying some grass down at this address.” He writes down the address on a scrap of paper and hands it to me. “One of our guys is taking family leave soon so you can fill in while he’s gone. If you work well with the rest of the crew, we might have a permanent place for you.”

  I head over to the property, and when I pull up I realize two things. First, I think this is the house where that famous children’s book author lives—or, at least, it used to be. I think Drea mentioned in one of her letters that the lady died. She’d sent some newspaper articles on occasion. Not that there was ever a ton of hard-hitting news around town. Second, Drea’s man-child brother-in-law, Logan, is there, half-assing his effort at laying some sod.

  I get out and shut my truck door. At the noise, Logan looks up from his task.

  Fuck.

  I knew this day was turning out too good.

  Then I put it all together. He’s the one taking family leave. It was his extremely pregnant wife who nearly chased me out of Hawk’s Diner.

  This fuckin’ town. There’s so much overlap it’s almost incestuous.

  But I do my breathing and I saunter up to Logan.

  “You the man in charge?”

  He squints against the sunlight, and then his facial expression turns from curious to downright pissed off. “You.”

  I shrug. “Chuck sent me.”

  Logan points a finger at me. “Did you just get hired on to fuck with me?”

  I will not get defensive. I will not get defensive. “No,” I say calmly. “I didn’t know you worked here. So let’s just try to get through today without beating the shit out of each other, OK?”

  Logan grits his teeth. “Fine. But you need to know this whole thing is causing my wife stress, and stress is not good for her. Causing my wife stress is not how you get on my good side.”

  I decide Logan is a lost cause, so I look around for something to do. I take charge of a section of yard and get to work rolling out sod, and spend the rest of the next couple of hours avoiding Logan and simply enjoying the hard work and the sunshine.

  At lunchtime, I keep working while the other workers take a break. No point in stopping when I don’t have anything to eat. It occurs to me the only calories I’ve consumed today were in that Dr. Pepper at Scotty’s. My stomach starts to rumble at the smell of fast food someone picked up for the group.

  A short but powerful-looking black woman approaches me. “Hey, I’m Edie. You want some lunch? I have some homemade chicken salad.”

  I see Logan eyeballing me. Apparently I’m not allowed to talk to anyone of the female persuasion.

  “Sure,” I say, taking her up on her offer. “But I don’t think Logan wants me talking to the clients. I’m an ex-convict—a very recent ex-con.”

  She arches an eyebrow at me. “I know all about you, Paul. Don’t mind him. I can handle myself. Come on in.”

  While I follow her inside, I hear her comment that her husband is the mayor and she runs the local bookstore. “So if you try anything you’ll be run out of town on a rail.”

  “OK,” I say.

  She laughs while making me a sandwich. She hands it to me and says, “That was a bad joke. Sorry. Here.”

  I eat it over the sink. “You can sit down,” she says, gesturing to the table.

  But I shake my head. “I don’t want to get dirt all over your house.”

  “Fair enough. Listen,” she says while I’m eating. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Logan, but whatever it is, it ain’t worth it.”

  I speak while I’m eating my sandwich. Bad manners, but damn if this ain’t the best chicken salad I’ve ever had in my life. Of course my taste buds have been pe
rmanently dulled from terrible prison food. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Look,” she says, her eyes seeming to penetrate right through me. “Everyone in this town is interconnected, to the point of being weird and scary. There’s no point in avoiding it or walking on eggshells. Logan and Ever were sort of…built-in friends when I got engaged to Lane. One thing I’ve learned is that it doesn’t matter if you’re pure as driven snow or an ex-con, somebody will always remember your past, and it will always follow you. So if you want to stay in this town, you just can’t let people get under your skin.”

  I have no idea why this lady is talking to me like this. She doesn’t even know me. Maybe it’s her job as the wife of the mayor or something.

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m probably not sticking around this place for long. I just have to show that I tried to get a job. You know, for my parole officer and shit. Sorry, I shouldn’t cuss around a lady.”

  “Shit, whatever,” she laughs. “Well, it would be too bad if you left. You’re the only dude out there who managed to lay a straight line of sod on my lawn. Some people think I’m too demanding. I tend to think some people should go back to being a park ranger.” She winks at me and we share a silent moment of understanding while I finish the delicious sandwich.

  “Thanks for the eats, ma’am. Back to the salt mines.”

  As soon as I take a step back outside, Logan is standing in my way. I try to move around him to step down the stairs. He blocks me.

  “Come on, man,” I say.

  “What were you talking to her about?”

  I smile. “Nothing. Just talking about how former park ranger-slash-trust fund babies shouldn’t pretend to know how to do landscaping.”

  I shouldn’t have said that. He points a finger at my chest. “Listen. You seem to be making the rounds today on all the women in my friends and family circle, and I don’t like it.”

  I’m careful not to take a step closer when I say, “You don’t have to like it. But you don’t have to be the antagonist, either.”