Real Good Man

by Meghan March

  A fresh start.

  I can work from anywhere as long as I’m only going to be working for myself. All my communications are online, and as long as the factory can ship to me . . . this might actually work.

  “Are you for real? You think they’d let me? I’d pay rent, though. I don’t want anything for free.”

  Even if the rent is a quarter of what I’m paying in New York, I can swing it.

  “Let me make a call and I’ll get back to you. But if I know both of them, I’d say it’s time to start packing your stuff.”

  “I have to do that anyway, so I might as well get on it.”

  “You want me to come help?”

  I know Greer doesn’t have time to spare with everything going on in her life right now, but she’s the kind of friend who would drop it all to help me anyway.

  “No, I can take care of all of this. Just let me know what they say.”

  “I’ll call you back as soon as I know something.”

  “Love you, Greer.”

  “Love you, B.”

  When I hang up the phone, I focus on not getting my hopes up. There could be a million reasons why this won’t work. I lift my feet onto the couch and wrap my arms around my knees to hug them close to my chest.

  But what if it does work?

  I think of how Logan stormed out of my apartment without looking back.

  Am I ready to face him?

  Every time I’ve thought about never seeing him again, this funny tightness would pinch in my chest, making me wonder if I was too young to have a heart attack, because it couldn’t possibly be feelings causing it. Then I’d tell myself it was for the best.

  But now that the opportunity might be right in front of me . . . I can’t pass up the chance.

  This probably deserves some kind of red alert. I’m not ready to be done with a guy after one night.

  Logan Brantley is unlike any man I’ve ever met before, so why am I surprised that he’s the one to throw me completely off my game?

  I let a scene play out in my head. What would happen if I showed up in Gold Haven, Kentucky, and walked into his repair shop? I can just picture the look on his face. Shock. But maybe excitement too?

  But I’d have the upper hand, at least for a moment.

  I make my decision as impulsively as I do everything else. If Greer’s brother and sister-in-law say yes, I’m going to do it.

  Banner Regent is packing up her shit (and vodka) and moving to Kentucky.

  Chapter 20

  Logan

  As I push my cart down the aisle of Piggly Wiggly, I can feel eyes on me. My hands and clothes are clean, no trace of grease, but the scent of Fast Orange still clings. I nod to Mrs. Krispin, who works at the post office, and Ms. Cheadle, who works at the pharmacy.

  Before I left town to join the corps, the manager would have been trailing after me to make sure I didn’t shoplift, but today, eyes follow me for a completely different reason.

  I stop in front of the meat case and pick up a couple of packages of steak. I’m checking out the marbling when Gloria Barnum pushes her cart up next to mine.

  “I bet you’ve got some real talent with a grill.”

  I choose a package and meet her gaze. “I do all right. I’m sure there are people who do it better.”

  She scans the contents of my cart—a couple of dozen eggs, two pounds of bacon, orange juice, and a box of pancake mix. I haven’t made it over to the lunch meat, bread, or beer yet.

  “You trying to live on breakfast food, Logan Brantley? Might need a touch of variety in your diet. My daughter Jessica makes a tasty bacon-stuffed chicken casserole. She grates her own cheese instead of using Velveeta, even though it melts faster. I know she’d love to make it for you some night.”

  Gloria’s smile is as kind as her invitation, but I know what would happen if I accepted.

  “That’s a real nice thought, ma’am, but I’m a pretty simple guy and I can fend for myself. I’ll get some potatoes to go with that steak. Maybe even some burger and buns, and I’ll be set for a week.”

  She shakes her head, tsk-tsking quietly. “It’s such a shame you have to cook every meal for yourself or go out. Jessica has to carry the whole load at her place now since that lowlife boyfriend of hers took off before the baby was even born. Give her a call sometime. I bet you’d both find it pretty nice to have someone to share a meal with now and again.”

  I wish I could say this is the first conversation I’ve had in Piggly Wiggly that jumped from talking about grilling to someone offering up their daughter, but it’s not. I can’t blame Gloria, though; she worries about her kid and grandbaby just like any decent mama would. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that an asshole who won’t even stick around to see his kid born isn’t likely to pitch in for support.

  “I appreciate the struggle she’s having, Gloria. It’s a real shame. I’m sure she’s going to find a great guy who will appreciate both her and that little girl.”

  She finally takes my hint that I’m not going to be that guy, and pushes her cart on down the aisle. I need a woman to want me for more than what I’ve got in my wallet or my bank account.

  As I reach for a package of ground sirloin, I can’t help but shake my head. It’s funny how things change. Gloria Barnum would have had a heart attack if I’d pulled up in my Camaro to take Jessica on a date when I was in high school, and it wouldn’t have been because of the three-year age difference.

  The reputation I had as the troublemaking Brantley kid haunted me for years. Before I left the military, my mom passed away from a drug overdose, and when I came back to Gold Haven, people didn’t exactly welcome me with open arms.

  It wasn’t until I took over Chuck’s garage and word got out that I was making good money and keeping my nose clean that women started showing up at my service station with purposely flat tires and engines making funny noises only they could hear.

  Mrs. Barnum disappears around the corner past the dairy case.

  Which reminds me, I forgot to get cheese. After selecting some pepper jack, I grab lunch meat from the deli, bread, and a six-pack of beer.

  I’m met with another familiar face when I push my cart into the checkout line. Unfortunately, this isn’t a friendly one.

  Roy Planter glares at me as his daughter, Rachel, sells him a case of beer and a carton of cigarettes. He leaves the stench of stale smoke behind him as he hands over the money. He keeps his scowl pinned in place as he hefts his purchases and leaves the store.

  Rachel’s expression isn’t much different from her dad’s. “You know he needed that job.”

  I put my groceries on the belt and give her an answer she doesn’t want to hear. “I needed your dad not to be drunk when he came into work to do that job.”

  The red blush of embarrassment stains her cheeks. “It’s a disease, you know. How about a little Christian compassion? It ain’t easy for him to deal with.”

  I reach for my wallet, amazed at her hypocrisy. “You ain’t blaming this on me. You sell him a case of beer every damn day instead of pushing him to go to AA.”

  It sure isn’t my place to judge, but if she’s going to fault me for firing him after costing me thousands of dollars in damage, you better believe I’m going to point out her faults in return.

  “He won’t go to AA. I’ve tried. I don’t know what else to do.”

  Her desperation comes through loud and clear, and I feel it to my depths. I felt the same way about my mama, and she was just as stubborn. I gave up on her, and maybe I shouldn’t have. Rachel shouldn’t make my mistake.

  “Get your ma to push him too. It’s not too late. Otherwise, one of these days he might not just hurt himself. He might hurt someone else, and this whole town would suffer for it.”

  An expression of despair creeps over her face, like she’s already pictured the situation a hundred times. “I know,” she whispers. “But Ma isn’t going to do anything. She can’t say a word without him flying off the handle.”
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  “You ever heard of an intervention? Maybe you and your brother and your ma could all talk to him at the same time.”

  She shrugs, and I know the suggestion will go unused. She looks back up at me, pain in her eyes. “Want to help me forget about it for a few hours? I get off at ten.”

  When I came back to town, I promised myself I wouldn’t be the guy with that reputation, the one who shits where he eats. I’ve done a pretty good job of staying true to that, and I’m not about to break the rule for Rachel Planter.

  “Sorry, I’ve got plans.”

  She finally starts ringing up my groceries when I hear voices from the checkout lane beside me.

  “Yep, she moved in today. I saw her. I guess Holly Wix is plannin’ to use Rosemary’s place as a flophouse for all her fancy New York friends.”

  Holly Wix, the hometown girl who made good, is the one who’s ultimately responsible for me getting all tangled up with Banner. If Holly hadn’t married a billionaire and his sister hadn’t stayed at her gran’s, I wouldn’t know Banner existed.

  And I wouldn’t have left New York City with an empty flatbed and my pride shredded like the flag they just replaced outside the VFW.

  “Who is it this time?” one woman asks.

  “I’m not sure, but she was real pretty. Her hair was all different shades of blond. Must be some fancy new style. I wish I’d gotten a picture to show my niece. She’d know if it’s someone famous.”

  No way in hell.

  The description of “different shades of blond” doesn’t seem too specific, but I know one woman who fits that description all too well.

  But there’s no way in hell Banner Regent would set foot in BFE or Podunk or whatever else she called Gold Haven, Kentucky.

  Unless she’s here for you, a voice in my head argues.

  I pay for my groceries, wish Rachel luck with her dad, and push my cart outside. I consider it fate that I’m parked next to Wanda Jenkins, who just delivered the gossip inside Piggly Wiggly.

  “Can I give you a hand loading up your groceries, Ms. Jenkins?” I ask.

  She’s sliding her key into the trunk lock on her Bonneville, but pauses at my offer. “A handsome man who wants to help me with my bags? I’d be silly to say no.”

  I reach for a paper sack when she finishes unlocking and popping the trunk, and settle it inside. “Did you say there’s someone staying at Holly’s gran’s place? I usually try to keep an eye on it, but I hadn’t heard anything about someone coming to use it.”

  Ms. Jenkins’s eyes light up at the prospect of her being in the know when clearly I’m not.

  “Oh yes, that’s exactly what I said. I saw her carrying a couple big suitcases inside, so maybe she’s staying a while. But you know those city girls; they probably over-pack for every little thing.”

  “I do know a few of those city girls, and you’re usually right. Maybe I should swing by and see what’s going on there, just in case.”

  Her interest ticks up another notch. “You probably should. We need to look out for each other in this town. Outsiders aren’t always welcome.”

  I hold back a sarcastic comment at her response, because even though I’m from this town, they all considered me an outsider until I started making bank.

  “I’ll report back with what I find.”

  She nods vigorously. “You be sure to do that.”

  Damn Holly and her friends, and all the trouble they’ve brought to my door.

  I load my groceries into my truck, and when I pull out of the parking lot, I still turn in the opposite direction of home.

  Chapter 21

  Logan

  Holly’s gran’s house is lit up. Not just one light but all of them, like the person inside is scared of the dark. There’s no car out front, but through the drawn lace curtains, I can make out a person inside.

  I’ve got two choices: pick up the phone and call Holly to find out who’s there, or knock on the door and find out for myself. I go for option two.

  My headlights cut across the white siding and purple front porch. The curtains twitch, so I know whoever is inside knows they’ve got company.

  I climb out of my truck, shut the door, and make my way up the front steps. When I knock on the door, the top of a blond head pops into view through the small glass windows set in the top of the door.

  No fucking way. Turns out the gossips had it right this time.

  She’s not tall enough, so she has to jump to peek through the window. Her whiskey-colored eyes widen when she sees me.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Bruce?” I call from the front porch when she disappears from view.

  A few moments of silence pass before the door is yanked open and Banner Regent stares at me from behind the screen door.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Banner cocks a jean-covered hip, and it’s impossible to miss the attitude she’s throwing my way. The chest area of her white sweater is smudged with dust, but she still looks downright edible. My cock takes notice, even though I tell myself I’m still pissed at her.

  “What am I doing here? I live here. But last time I checked, New York princesses don’t set foot in BFE.”

  Her full lips press into a flat line, but she still looks sexy as hell. Fuck me.

  “First off,” she says, raising one finger into the air, “I’m no princess. And if I were, you’d be wrong anyway, because I’m standing right in the middle of BFE.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “Does it matter?”

  I grit my teeth. This woman is more frustrating than any I’ve met before, but damned if I don’t like seeing her all riled up. “Sure does, especially if you’re here to apologize for tossing me out of your apartment on my ass—”

  She sucks in a breath. “I did not toss you out on your ass. You stormed out and left. Big difference, dude.”

  “That doesn’t tell me why you’re here.”

  She props a hand on her hip. “It’s not really any of your business. I’m spending some time out of the city and doing a favor for a friend by housesitting.”

  I may have only spent one night with Banner, but I’ve gotten to know her through weeks of texting. “What the hell happened?”

  Her expression turns mulish. “Why do you think something happened?”

  “Hell must have frozen over for you to leave your little universe of an island.”

  She cranes her head to the side to look behind me. “I don’t see the devil ice skating behind you anywhere, so I guess you’re wrong. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

  A shrill beeping blares from inside.

  “Shit!” Banner spins around and rushes back inside.

  The unmistakable smell of smoke hits my nose, and I yank open the screen door. A gray cloud rises off whatever is on the stove as Banner grabs a towel and starts waving it around. She miscalculates her movements and the fringed ends catch fire.

  “Fuck.” I round the table that takes up the center of the kitchen and move her out of the way to turn off the burner and grab the towel out of her hand. Crossing the room, I toss it in the sink and put out the flames. I throw open the front windows before turning to face her.

  “You trying to burn the whole damn house down?”

  Her face pales to sheet white. “No.”

  The word comes out shaky, and it takes a shit load of willpower to stop myself from pulling her against my chest and holding her until the fright is forgotten. Instead, I scan the room to make sure nothing else is on fire as the smoke alarm finally quiets. My attention stops on the frying pan and what looks like charred roadkill inside it.

  “I was trying to make dinner.” Banner’s tone starts out timid, but each word gains volume and sassy attitude. “Until you showed up and started acting like a jerk and I burned it!”

  She’s so damn sexy when she’s pissed. I can’t help but push her a little more. “Honey, I think whatever you were making was doomed long before I showed up.”
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  Her brows dive into angry slashes. “Why did I ever think I liked you? You’re just as much of a jerk as those assholes in Manhattan.”

  I don’t take offense to what I know isn’t true. “At least I’m a jerk that doesn’t burn dinner. What were you trying to make?”

  She shakes her head. “Like you care.”

  I lean back, resting a hip on the table in the middle of the kitchen, and wait.

  “Bacon. I was trying to cook bacon.” She spits out the words, sounding so miserable, I almost feel bad for laughing at her.

  “It’s not the last pig on the planet, Bruce. No need to look like you’re never gonna have bacon again.”

  “When you haven’t had real bacon in approximately five years, it sure feels like it. That was the only package.”

  I look at the lump in the pan. “The whole package in one pan? Damn, Bruce. Did you separate it?”

  She shakes her head. “I thought that happened as it thawed and cooked.”

  I’m pretty sure my eyebrows damn near hit my hairline. “You put frozen bacon in a chunk in a frying pan?”

  Banner’s shoulders slump as she lifts a hand to her face. “I knew I should have googled it. I don’t cook, okay?”

  “What’d you use that fancy kitchen in your apartment for then?”

  “Heating up takeout. Caterers used it occasionally for dinner parties.”

  I’m not sure why I’m surprised, but I am. “Are you serious?”

  “Does anyone deliver out here? Sushi? Thai? Vietnamese? I could go for some pho.” She stops when she realizes what she just said is ridiculous, and holds up a hand. “Let me try that again. Pizza? Chinese?”

  I’m already heading for the door when I answer. “There’s one pizza joint in town that might deliver out this far, but even I wouldn’t let you eat that.”

  Chapter 22

  Banner

  “You’re just going to leave?”

  First Logan Brantley shows up to see me murder bacon, and now he’s going to just leave without another word?

  “You really are an asshole,” I yell as the door slams behind him.