Love in Deed: A Silver Fox Small Town Romance (Green Valley Library Book 6)

by Smartypants Romance

  As I clip-clop my way down the hall like a toddler in those first stages of walking, I decide to give my tomato plants a final check. In these last days of October, I’d be lucky to get any fruit off the vines. As I fumble with the back door and survey the pots in a regimental lineup down the staircase, I notice something lying on the second step. I hobble down the risers, cautious as I go, surpassing the stair and then turning back for it once on level ground.

  A single sunflower rests on the wooden slat. The daisy-like petals are a luscious golden color with a saucer-sized center of deep brown. Almost ready to seed, it’s perfect and precious, and it reminds me of when I used to grow such a beautiful thing. There isn’t a scent so much as a texture in the unique flower, and I draw the round face to my nose and drag the tip over the rugged middle.

  A smile grows on my lips as I glance down and notice a small square scrap on the stair. On first inspection, I think it’s garbage blown up on the step, but upon reaching forward, I see it’s a piece of cardboard, one inch by one inch, like the inner flap on the top of a dry food package. Turning it over, I note I’m correct in my assessment. It’s the inside of a macaroni and cheese box. Flipping the square back over, I notice a giant letter B fills as much of the space as possible. My lips continue to curl in confusion and sudden amusement.

  Did someone leave this flower for me?

  Did someone place this scrap next to it to signal this gift is mine?

  Where did the macaroni and cheese box come from?

  Instantly, my eyes roam across the gravel drive to the closed door of the barn. Jedd’s truck is missing, and I question if he ever returned from wherever he went last evening. Only briefly do I consider if he’ll ever come back because something tells me Jedd will return. Glancing at the flower, I wonder if he’s already been here.

  The week after Halloween brings more changes for me. I learn my sister has been the target of young hooligans in the area. Nathan Ryder came to her rescue, and the two of them are an official couple. It’s about time. Not to mention—but not because of Nathan—my sister has made some adjustments to her typical attire in conjunction with her blossoming love. The changes haven’t gone unnoticed by me, and so we break from our normal visit to the Piggly Wiggly when I ask Naomi if she’ll take me to The Beauty Mark, the local hair salon.

  I can’t remember the last time I had my hair “done,” and I must admit there is no greater pleasure than having someone else wash your hair. The girl who works on mine is new and young, and I didn’t catch her name. I’m lost to the boisterous conversation of Hazel Cumberstone and Mabel Murphy—the Hester twins—as the shampooer massages my scalp.

  Hazel and Mabel are around forty-ish and best friends with my sister Scotia. Us Winters sisters were not born and bred in Green Valley like these women. We came from a small armpit of a community called Cedar Gap. I didn’t have to go to high school in Green Valley to recognize Hazel and Mabel peaked at that time and have held onto their rung of the local popularity ladder well into adulthood.

  “Can you believe it?” Hazel states loudly, her Tennessee drawl on full display. I miss the follow-up as the technician rinses my hair.

  Helping me sit up from the wash sink, I hear Mabel’s reply. “And after all this time.” She sighs, clutching at her neck only to discover she’s missing her pearls.

  I glance over at Naomi, who meets my eyes across the beauty salon, reading my concern that they’re discussing Naomi and her new relationship status. She shakes her head, dismissing my thoughts. Naomi and I were once close even though our brother, Jebediah, was in the middle of us in birth order. We had secret looks and knowing glances. I’ve missed those moments between us.

  I’m escorted to a chair, and a protective drape is tossed over my clothing. The girl runs her fingers through my damp strands and tugs on the ends.

  “May I suggest a change?” She holds up the ends so I can view them in the mirror. “These ends are split, and the weight of your hair is holding down a natural wave.” She releases my hair and turns her hand sideways, just under my chin. “If I cut your hair to here, the curl would relax, and your hair would make the young girls jealous.”

  My brows crease in the reflection. This woman could qualify as a young girl, so I have no idea what she’s referencing.

  “Oh Beverly, honey, I didn’t recognize you,” Mabel states from somewhere to my left. She wouldn’t recognize me as it’s been a while since she’s come to visit. At first, well-meaning folk came often to the farm. Casseroles. Volunteers. But time moved on while we stood still, and the visiting occurred less often. I’d have been sad at the loss of these women if I’d considered them friends, but I don’t.

  “You should do as she suggests, sweetheart,” Hazel bellows from somewhere in the salon. “Trixie is a miracle worker. And shorter hair could make you look younger.”

  “Why does she want to look younger?” Mabel inquires of her sister, not directly insulting me, but more a question of pride. “I’m happy to be the age I am. Embrace your forties. Love yourself.” Mabel sits straighter in her seat, but the girl working on her color job forces her head back at an angle so she can continue painting the roots underneath.

  “Forty is a good look on you, sister,” Hazel rectifies. “I just mean…” Her voice lowers as if she intends to whisper, but the hushed tone travels the salon. “You look so much older than you are. Sort of on-the-shelf, if you take my meaning. Spinsterish.” The -ish hisses as Mabel nods in agreement.

  “Hold still, Miss Mabel,” the color technician warns, and Mabel stops rocking. I’m ready to retort that I don’t care how young or old I look until I glance up at myself and see the long grayish locks, wet and weighted against my face.

  “It’d be real pretty on you, Miss Beverly. We could even whiten it. Highlight the gray. That’s so popular.”

  “Speaking of gray…” Hazel’s disembodied voice travels to me once again, and I assume she’s getting her nails done at the manicure table in the corner. “I heard there’s a silver fox living on your farm.”

  “Oh, I haven’t seen such an anim—”

  “She means that hot hunk of a man with silver hair building in your barn,” Mabel conspiratorially whispers.

  “Jedd?” I question, and immediately close my eyes, knowing I’ve just given these women fuel for the interrogation fires.

  “Jeeeeeeed,” Hazel drawls from her corner.

  “Jedd,” Mabel repeats on a short, sharp, one-syllable breath. “What a rugged name. Jedd. Jedd. Jedd.” Her repetition and breathiness is faintly sexual, and I draw in a breath. Naomi rarely shares library gossip, but she’s admitted the sisters are voracious romance readers and have shared a risqué poem or two during Thursday Night Poetry readings.

  My sister clears her throat to my right, suppressing a chuckle. She’s been flipping through a magazine, though I’m certain she isn’t reading.

  “Yes, well, he’s—”

  “Speaking of rugged. Your new man is quite delicious, Miss Naomi.” Without turning my head, I know my sister’s blushing at Hazel’s mention of Nathan.

  “Thank you,” Naomi hesitates, and my lips curl. I’m happy for my sister. Deep down inside, love is my wish for anyone, even if I don’t believe it will ever exist for me.

  “Speaking of delicious men, have y’all seen Billy Winston lately?” Hazel mutters, rather loud for all to hear, along with accompanied sound effects. “Mmm…mmm…mmm. He is eye candy.”

  Mabel clucks at her sister. “Now, Hazel, your cougar is showing. And what about Jasper?” Jasper and Hazel were high school sweethearts as seems to be the norm for many in the older set of Green Valley. He hasn’t aged how one would expect of the former homecoming king.

  “Actually, Billy is only a few years younger than us, sister, and eye candy implies I’m only savoring by sight. There’s nothing wrong with inspecting what’s fine in the world.”

  “Well, speaking of fine, what about Jethro Winston?” Mabel waves her hand in front of h
er face, fanning the false heat. These women have no shame. “Fatherhood dost become him.” The thirty-ish father of three has always been extremely good looking.

  “Bethany Winston knew how to birth beautiful babies,” Hazel adds, and the room falls into a reflective silence at the mention of a beloved woman from the community. My eyes seek Naomi, as Bethany was also a librarian at the public library and one of her best friends. “May she rest in peace, of course,” Hazel tacks on to her ministrations.

  “Rest in peace,” Mabel agrees, nodding once again. Mabel is a widow to a war hero, so her prayer is more empathetic. The color technician grows frustrated and forcibly holds Mabel’s head to finish the final touches of color at the nape of her neck.

  While this conversation has been plummeting, my hair girl has been tapping on her phone. I’m ready to comment on the youth of this country and their electronic addiction when she reaches forward and shows me an image on her screen.

  “I could make your hair look like this. You have the face for it, and the white would be so pretty with your eyes.”

  I glance up at myself, squinting to see what she sees. My eyes are a grayish color, similar to my hair. When I was young, boys considered them exotic. I didn’t even know what that meant until Howard.

  “The way you look at me,” he’d said. I shiver with the memory. Then I think of Jedd.

  Jedd. Jedd. Jedd.

  How do my eyes appear to him? What do they say when I look into his?

  “Take it off,” I whisper, and the technician leans forward.

  “Pardon me?”

  “I mean, cut it as you wish. Color it too. I don’t care what it looks like.” But it’s a lie. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want a drastic change to myself, beginning with my hair.

  “I promise, you’re going to look even prettier than you already are, Miss Beverly.” I turn to glance back at the girl, narrowing my eyes in disbelief at her kind compliment. Her body crosses in front of mine as she sets her phone on the stand with scissors, combs, and a hair dryer. As she steps back, Mabel Murphy catches my eye.

  “Beautiful, like you’re meant to be, Beverly,” she says, holding my gaze for a second. I want to tell her she’s full of malarkey, but I hold my tongue and face the mirror, taking a deep breath. When the hair tech chops off the initial chunk, I already feel a little freer, the beginnings of the old me returning.

  Chapter Twelve

  [Beverly]

  “I love taking something old and giving it a new purpose,” Virginia Hanes mentions in this rerun of Nailed where she hunts antique shops for just the right item to complete her decorative genius. Tripper follows her with a fake chicken attached to a headpiece on his head.

  My fingers brush through my hair once again. I haven’t been able to stop touching the new style. Mabel was correct; the girl at The Beauty Mark is a miracle worker. My hair feels lighter, whiter, and I’m proud of how it turned out: with a subtle wave and easy upkeep. Not to mention, no more tight buns at the nape of my neck. The loose waves frame my face, softening the sharp edges. The color is more bright white than frosted like my sister Naomi’s, but our hair hints at sisterhood, despite a difference in length.

  “What about these, GinGin?” Tripper asks his wife, holding up an unidentifiable item that looks strangely sexual. Virginia rolls her eyes and shakes her head at her husband, who turns his backside to the cameraman and smacks his own tush with the heart-shaped paddle. I flinch in response and then giggle. It couldn’t have hurt him, but I’m imagining all sorts of inappropriate things with the old utensil and some bare skin. I blush and sweep my fingers up my neck and into my hair again.

  Thinking of bare skin, I haven’t seen Jedd since he dropped my backside in a tub of rainwater. I’ve been vigilant about watching out for him, but he hasn’t returned to the main house for supper. This also means he hasn’t offered an apology for throwing me in the tub. Perhaps the single flower was his plea for forgiveness, and it was rather sweet. I’ve had time to reflect on what I said to my daughter and what I implied to this stranger living in my barn. It isn’t as if I haven’t had years to think on my attitude or actions, but something about these past few days has made me continually reflective.

  What do I want out of life? I’m only forty-five, and while I feel ancient, this isn’t the end for me. What happened to the girl with dreams? I can answer that with one word: Howard. Without giving him undue credit, living with Howard did open a door for me, one I did not expect. Motherhood was the greatest gift. Raising my child has been a pleasure, but she’s grown and should be on her own, so what’s next? I’ve given up a decade of my life, decaying under emotions about a worthless man and the state of my health.

  “I ain’t dead yet,” Ewell used to say. “You can have it all when I go, but not before.”

  I’m not dead yet either, despite how I feel inside. Then I think of Jedd. Something about that man lights a fire in me, sparks my curiosity, and has turned me into a regular stalker watching for him out my window. It’s a new form of unhealthy behavior, yet I can’t seem to pull myself away. I’ve watched him take the few short steps to the barn from his truck. I’ve observed the use of his prosthetic arm and the unparalleled strength of his opposite bicep. I’ve sought out his silhouette in the shadows of the night, and I’ve smiled to myself when he’s caught me and waved. Only he hasn’t waved in days, because I haven’t seen a glimpse of him.

  I glance back at my television set as the final refurbished rooms are presented to the homeowners of Nailed. Suddenly, a caravan of vehicles comes down my drive, passing the house for the first pasture. I’m quick to rise from my rocking chair to check out the ruckus—well, as quick as I can be—and reach for my arm braces to help me out to the yard.

  It’s early morning, and Hannah is still sleeping from her late-night shift at the Pink Pony. We haven’t encountered each other much over the past few days, and when we do, we keep quietly to ourselves. I’d like to think all is forgiven, but I know some wounds cut deep, and while the lashes were only words spoken from my mouth, my sensitive girl took them to heart. I’d have done the same thing. Howard was full of ridicule and disrespect, and I learned early on to keep my head down unless he lifted my chin for my attention. His father was equally an irritant, but a little less demeaning. Grouchy Ewell at least tried to increase my knowledge of farm living and offered me a plot for the pleasure of gardening.

  Memories of Ewell filter through my head as I struggle down the back steps. Ka-thunk. Ka-thunk. Ka-thunk, I hear until I reach gravel. It’s even slower going over the pebbly dirt surface, and I concentrate on where I place my crutches as I hear the opening and closing of vehicle doors and the rise of voices calling out to one another.

  “Bee?” I stop in my tracks, raising my head to find Jedd a few paces ahead of me. His metallic hand holds a baseball cap while his fingers scrape over his short hair. I hate to admit he’s a vision. That rugged skin. Those deep-set eyes. The questioning grin.

  A silver fox, Hazel called him.

  “Do you still hate me?” he asks, his voice hesitant as his eyes shift to my feet and then back to my face. I should hate him. I should still be angry, but strangely, I’m so relieved to see him standing before me that I forget why I’m mad.

  “You are kind of an ass,” I snark, but the bite in my tone is lacking.

  “You like my ass, though, honey, don’t you?” he teases back. Thankfully, he has no idea how much I’ve checked him out. I don’t even complain that he calls me honey, strangely liking the way he uses the endearment on me. He steps closer, and our eyes dance. His hand lifts, pauses and then withdraws, and I swallow a lump of confusion. Was he planning to touch me? Brush back my fresh hair, perhaps.

  “What’s all this racket?” I snap, the familiar edge tasting sour on my tongue as I dismiss his rejection. I inhale, holding myself still as I balance on the crutches.

  “It’s a barn raising.” Jedd’s eyes sparkle like pinpricks of starlight in a midnight sky, ex
citement ringing in his voice. He twists the baseball cap in his hand and then returns it to his head. A smile grows on his face, softening the hard lines. It’s almost infectious, but I steady my resolve, holding on to my anger with him.

  “Who said you could build a barn on my lot?” Did we talk about this? What’s wrong with the existing barn? I glance over at the building that has weathered decades and seasons but looks old and unloved. The paint’s peeling. The roof sags. “I thought you were repairing this one.”

  “I made a room for myself, but I don’t trust the structure for horses. Besides, we don’t need a gambrel-style roof on a stable. It’s too much extra space above the animals.”

  It makes sense, but still… “I don’t recall giving permission for another building on my land.”

  “You did give permission when you said I could stay.” His eyes drift to the dirt and then upward to my face. “I can still stay, right, Bee?”

  It’s a surprising question, considering he’s already got a load of people scrambling around the field and tossing around lumber. But equally surprising is the question itself. He’s asking if he can stay. He doesn’t want to leave. Of course, he has a reason to be here. He’s using my property for his project. The Jedd Juncture.

  Surprising me again, he steps closer, his broad stature filling my space. His hand cups the side of my face so quickly and startlingly that I don’t flinch at his touch. His thumb brushes back and forth over my cheek. His eyes search mine, and the intensity is too much. I look away.

  “Don’t matter,” he teases. “Because even if you told me to go, I wouldn’t leave.” My eyes shoot back to his, narrowing at the statement.

  “Go,” I mutter, lacking the muster to argue with him.

  Instead, he leans closer, brushing his nose along my cheek. I’m slack-jawed and stock-still at the liberties this man takes as he nears my ear.