Last Call_A Small-Town Romance

by Nancy Stopper

  Last Call

  Prequel novella in the Oak Grove series

  By

  Nancy Stopper

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dear Readers

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Dear Readers,

  WELCOME TO OAK Grove, Pennsylvania. Oak Grove isn’t a real town, but it embodies the best of what I believe small towns to be: happy people, friendly neighbors, and people looking out for each other. This town has been dancing around in my mind for a couple of years, from the town green where friends and neighbors meet for picnics and festivals, to the wide sidewalks in front of the cute shops around the green.

  Last Call is Carla and Butch’s story. This novella is a prequel to the actual series of novels about the Bennett family. I wrote this story after I’d already written the first three novels in the series, although Last Call takes place almost six months before the first book. Carla kept popping up in my stories, asking for her story to be told. Turns out, she had already found her happily-ever-after, I just needed to tell the story.

  So, I hope you enjoy reading how Carla helps Butch tear down his emotional walls and Butch reassures Carla that he’s in this for the long haul. And if you enjoy their story, come back and visit again. When you finish with this story, stay tuned for a sneak peek of Lucas and Sarah’s book, One Last Risk, included in the back, as well as a link where you can pick it up on your favorite retailer. For now, kick up your feet with a hot cup of coffee and a brownie from Emma’s new bakery—Mug ’n Muffin—and enjoy Butch and Carla’s story.

  Want to know the day the next Oak Grove book is released? Sign up for my mailing list!

  Nancy Stopper

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  Chapter One

  BUTCH GRIPPED THE handlebars comfortably, at one with the road. The air blew around him, over him and the rumble of his motorcycle vibrated beneath him. What he wouldn’t give to pull off his helmet and let the wind blow through his hair. Riding without one might be legal in Pennsylvania, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d treated far too many head injuries from idiots not wearing a helmet.

  The sky darkened. He only had an hour left on the trip back to Oak Grove. If the clouds opened now, he was in deep shit. Snow and a motorcycle just didn’t mix; although, if he had a soft, willing woman behind him, he’d tolerate a little snow. That hadn’t happened for a long time, though. The demons that cursed him, the label he couldn’t shake, made him a poor candidate.

  He’d put his job, his life in Oak Grove, out of his mind during his time away. But each mile closer to home he drove, the confusion and demons crept back in. Regardless, the time had come, good or bad, for him to go home.

  He pushed the throttle, kicking his bike up a notch as he rounded the curves of the back roads on the way into town. Gripping the bike with his thighs, he leaned into the turn. The trees blew by him, freshly fallen snow clinging to the branches. He’d have been home a couple of days ago if the last storm hadn’t socked him in. Right now, clear roads stretched out beneath him and the wind blew at his back. He was almost home.

  When he pulled into the gas station at the edge of town, there weren’t any other cars at the pumps. As he climbed off his bike and pulled off his helmet, Radar Reeves stepped out of the office. A huge smile split his face.

  “Butch!”

  Butch smacked his friend on the back. “Radar. How you doing?”

  “Good. Good. When’d you get back to town?”

  “Just now. Wanted to top off in case this storm drops some snow on us.”

  Radar tilted his head up to the sky and sniffed. “It’s gonna be a bad one.”

  Damn. Radar’s sixth sense had never been wrong before. Thank goodness Butch only had a few miles left until he reached the warm house he owned on the edge of town.

  Radar swiped a greasy rag over his hands. “So, how was your trip? Where’d you go.”

  “All over. Got some great shots.” A random elective he’d taken during undergrad had turned Butch on to his passion for taking pictures. He barely had time to pull out the camera these days, but his time away had been the perfect opportunity. When he was behind the camera and the lens filtered out the noise in his head, he could finally breathe. He could be anonymous, hiding behind his lens, capturing life instead of living his own. And that’s what he’d done the past few months—traveled through the south taking photos. The demons had finally quieted.

  “Can’t wait to see them. Listen, man, I gotta tell you—”

  Butch tapped the nozzle twice and returned the spout to the pump. “I’d love to catch up, but I gotta get a move on. The house has been locked up tight and the tractor’s probably behind eight inches of snow already. Don’t want get stuck when this new snow’s a comin’.”

  Just to prove Radar’s point, snowflakes blew around Butch. A cold breeze ruffled the hair on his collar. Maybe he’d skip the haircut he’d planned before he went back to work. A little bit of the real Butch in an otherwise straight-laced job. He turned the key and his engine roared to life in a deep rumble. Butch yelled over the roar of his engine and tugged his helmet on. “Listen, Radar, I gotta get going. We’ll catch up soon at Last Call.”

  Radar said something else but his voice was drowned out by the growl coming from Butch’s bike. After throwing Radar a final wave, Butch headed for home.

  Before long, he rolled into the driveway of his small cottage near the town green. Just as he’d asked when he called ahead, the neighbor had plowed the driveway. He’d have to return the favor tomorrow as long as the storm didn’t last any longer than that. Regardless, they were expecting him at work tomorrow night. Maybe more so considering the additional workload from bad weather.

  A cold blast of air struck him in the face when he stepped into the house. Dammit, what went wrong now? He zipped his jacket. He didn’t have the time or energy to deal with a broken furnace right now. He just wanted to settle in, have a warm meal, and fall into bed for the night because tomorrow would dawn way too early.

  He stomped down the cellar steps and grabbed a flashlight off the windowsill on his way to the furnace. Damn. The pilot light was out. That was easy enough to fix, but he wasn’t going to shiver in the cold while his house warmed up. He lit the pilot and headed back up the stairs.

  After grabbing his duffel bag, laptop, and camera from the saddlebags and tucking them inside the house, he climbed onto his bike. At least he could check in on some of his motorcycle club buddies at Last Call before diving head-first back into his first shift tomorrow.

  He rounded the town green, the familiar gazebo covered in snow and lit by a spotlight. That gazebo had become his symbol for home and he never failed to drive by on his way back into town.

  Oak Grove had quickly become home for him when he moved here three years ago. Despite the recent painful reminder of his personal shortcomings, this was his home. After growing up in Atlanta, he welcomed the quieter pace of Oak Grove. Especially in his line of work. Only in a small town did people smile and say hello when he walked down the street and greet him by name when he stepped into the local hardware store.

  Light splashed onto the sidewalk from a shop in the strip along the town green. As he passed slowly, a gray-haired woman straightened and look at him as she wiped the
glass of a display case. Mug ’n Muffin. Finally. This town had been begging for a good coffee shop. Hell, he could stand for a hot one right now. He parked next to the curb and went into the brightly-lit shop.

  “I’m sorry. I was just closing up ahead of the storm.” The woman inched behind the counter. What the hell? As he pulled off his helmet, her brows lowered and her shoulders relaxed. A stranger, decked in full leathers and long hair probably didn’t walk in too often.

  He tucked his hair behind his ears. “Sorry, ma’am. Name’s John Daniels. I live just around the corner. Don’t want to keep you. Do you have any coffee left? I got home to a busted furnace and no heat.”

  “Oh, you poor thing. How do you take your coffee?”

  “Just black, ma’am. Thanks.”

  The woman poured coffee into a paper cup and rounded the counter

  He inhaled the warmth wafting off the liquid before taking a big drink. The hot liquid poured down his throat and warmed him from the inside. “Thanks so much.”

  She nodded. “Emma McKenzie.”

  “How long have you been open, Emma? I’m sure you’re a welcome addition to town.”

  “A few weeks now, and yes, I’ve been told on more than one occasion this town was sorely in need of a coffee shop. I’m glad I could oblige.”

  He drank another sip as he looked around the shop. A variety of coffees lined deep wood shelves on one wall. The shiny bakery case in front of him sat empty now, but he could picture the colorful muffins and cookies tempting him on another occasion.

  His stomach growled. “I guess I need to get going and find some dinner.”

  “I’m so sorry I don’t have anything else to offer. People cleaned me out today before the storm, and I just packed the last of the leftovers away.” She motioned to the front window. “Speaking of which, you should be getting on your way before the snow gets any worse.”

  It was completely dark now and only a few lampposts cast light on the empty street. There weren’t any other cars, no one else was stupid enough to be out in the snow. Like him. Even the fire station was dark and quiet. In weather like this, though, they’d have their fair share of calls before the night was over. Thank goodness he wasn’t assigned a shift tonight. “What do I owe you for this great cup of coffee?”

  “It’s on the house, young man. Welcome home.”

  He didn’t feel like a young man. The weight of the world, at least the weight of a sweet little seven-year-old girl, rested heavy on him. He drank the last of his coffee and pitched the cup in the trash can on his way out.

  The snow swirled around him as he pushed his shoulder against the wind on the way to his bike. This was not a good idea. He should just head back and sit in the cold until his furnace kicked in. He zipped his jacket and raised the collar around his neck. Now that he warmed up with a great cup of coffee, he was looking forward to seeing his friends. Only a few more minutes and he’d be at Last Call.

  The last time he’d been at his favorite hangout was not one of his finer moments. After the shift, the one that drove him away from town, he’d thrown back quite a few beers. And he’d gotten angry. Some rude dipshit had insulted their waitress. Butch had flown out of his chair and his anger exploded in a fury of screaming curses and flying fists. Only after he’d gotten in a couple of well-placed punches had his buddies pulled him away.

  They’d dragged him home and poured him into bed. The next morning, his head pounded, his gut churned, and his blood knuckles throbbed. And regret settled deep in his soul. He couldn’t afford to lose his cool, no matter what happened at work. So he’d put in for a leave of absence, closed up the house, and climbed onto his bike.

  He pulled the bike to a stop as he turned into Last Call. What the hell? The parking lot was empty. No way had his club turned in for the night at eight o’clock, no matter the weather. Dim lights shone from within the building. Wait a minute? When did Spike uncover the windows? They’d always been dark, just like the clubs liked it. There were a few cars in the lot. He parked next to one and headed to the door.

  What in the hell is going on? The hub caps and metal signs that previously covered the wall were gone and dark gleaming wood reflected bright lights around the room . The pool tables lining the left side of the room had been removed and replaced by padded booths. Several round tables sat in the middle of the floor and colorful lights hung over each. A half dozen people sat around a single table near the back.

  What happened to Last Call? The one place he could be himself when life bogged him down. Where were his friends, his buddies in the club.

  He scanned the room, his eyes falling on a woman in the back, her hands waving and her blonde curls bobbing as she spoke.

  She turned his way, her eyes locked on him… and she froze.

  Chapter Two

  THE MAN STOOD frozen in the doorway, dressed head to toe in leather, mouth gaping. Dark blond hair hung to his broad shoulders that filled his jacket just right. She slid her eyes down to his thick, muscular thighs, no doubt earned from many hours on a bike. The man didn’t move as his eyes scanned the room. Stop it, Carla. When would she learn her lesson? She was done with bad boys, no matter what the man staring at her was doing to her insides.

  “And after that, we’ll be pulling out all the beer taps and installing pink lemonade…”

  Carl’s head snapped back to Joey. “Wait, what?”

  Everyone laughed.

  “I was recapping our first month, Carla. I know this is not the most exciting topic, but I swear, I’m almost done.”

  “Sorry, Joey. I guess I got distracted.”

  Joey turned and his gaze fell on the man who still stood in the doorway. “I’d say…”

  Rachel leaned over and nudged her. “Do you know him?”

  Did she? Nope, not this man. But she knew his type. Bad boy, dark and brooding… exactly the type of man she used to be attracted to. Not anymore. No, she would not be attracted to him. No matter how delicious his body was, or how she could almost feel his strong hands stroking her… She shook her head. “No. Never seen him before.”

  Rachel fanned herself. “Well, I have to say, that is one sexy hunk of a man. And he can’t take his eyes off you.”

  “You’re welcome to him. I’ve sworn off bad boys, remember?”

  Rachel smiled, a twinkle in her eye. “Didn’t I tell you? I met someone.”

  Carla leaned closer. Rachel probably wouldn’t appreciate her brother overhearing their conversation. “You did? Who is he?”

  “His name is Shane, and…”

  Joey poked his head between Carla and Rachel, an arm on each of their shoulders. “If you two ladies are done gossiping…”

  Carla giggled and Rachel’s hands flew to her mouth Joey squeezed Carla’s shoulder and stood up. “Meeting’s over.”

  The rest of the bar and kitchen staff clamored to their feet, shoving chairs under tables and resetting the room. Good… less for her to do before she headed out.

  Rachel nudged her and laughed. “Go over and talk to him. I think he’s confused… maybe he’s lost. You could help him find his way.”

  “He’s probably looking for Last Call.”

  Joey had bought the motorcycle club a couple of months ago, redecorated the interior and J.J.’s Bar and Grill was born. This wouldn’t be the first time a wayward biker made his way to their door only to be disappointed.

  I will not hit on the sexy man. I will not hit on the sexy man. Carla wiped her shaking hands on her apron and threw a towel on the bar on her way across the room. She kept her eyes locked on the sexy stranger. He stood still, a single eyebrow quirked and his lips pressed into a straight line.

  Day-um. He’d been attractive from across the room, but this man was ‘clothes falling off’ gorgeous up close. The beard covering the lower half of his face hid chiseled cheekbones. Some creative artistry on the helmet peeked out from under his arm, but his heavily-patched leather jacket blocked most of her view. And the entire time she approached, h
e never looked away. Not once. Gold flecks sparkled in the smoldering hazel eyes that raked up her body.

  Those panty-melting eyes bored into her, gutting her and leaving her spread out and exposed.

  “Can I help you?” Even his voice was sexy, the deep timbre washing over her and sinking into her soul.

  She laughed. Caught staring again. “Isn’t that my line?”

  “The last time I stopped by, this was a biker bar. Last Call?”

  “Sorry to tell you, Last Call closed a couple of months ago. This is J.J.’s Bar and Grill.” And her salvation. She had a home at J.J.’s and good friends at a time when she had neither.

  His face fell and his shoulders slumped.

  “I think most of the guys settled down at the Broken Spoke, about twenty miles south of here.” Good riddance to a few of them. One in particular.

  “Heard of it. Doesn’t help me tonight, though.” He motioned to the window.

  Rachel bumped Carla as she walked by, pulling her coat on and flinging her purse over her shoulder. “I’m outta here, Carla. Wanna get home before the storm. Don’t want my roommate sending the search dogs after me.”

  “Hey, squirt,” Joey yelled from behind the bar, “Call me when you get there.”

  Rachel shoved her hands on her hips. “You’re my brother, not my father. I don’t answer to you.”

  Big words. Typical Rachel. She was all talk, though. Joey’s phone was going to ring as soon as she walked in the door.

  Joey crossed his arms, a pout on his face. Pulling out all the stops, huh?

  Rachel huffed out a sigh and shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, alright. I’ll call when I get there.”

  “See ya’ later, brat.” Joey placed his hand over his heart, his fist closed.

  Rachel waved her hand in dismissal and shook her head.

  “Rachel…” He tapped his chest insistently.

  Rachel returned the gesture and opened the door. Strong winds ripped the handle out of her hand. She pushed her way out and slammed the door behind her.