Prose Before Bros
Green Valley Library Book #3
Cathy Yardley
www.smartypantsromance.com
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, rants, facts, contrivances, and incidents are either the product of the author’s questionable imagination or are used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or undead, events, locales is entirely coincidental if not somewhat disturbing/concerning.
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Copyright © 2019 by Smartypants Romance; All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, photographed, instagrammed, tweeted, twittered, twatted, tumbled, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without explicit written permission from the author.
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Made in the United States of America
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eBook Edition
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Epilogue
About the Author
Sneak Peek: Shelf Awareness, Book #4 in the Green Valley Library Series
Chapter One
Thuy Nguyen had never seen so many casseroles in her life.
She’d seen plenty of food before, of course. She’d gone to too many large gatherings and block parties and Lunar New Year’s to avoid seeing stacks of food presented for the delectation of the masses, but she’d never seen quite so many of the quintessential American food.
Squares, rectangles, circles of plastic storage ware covered every inch of the large oak dining room table. There were things she recognized, specifically salads: green, potato, macaroni. She guessed the pinkish stuff with cherries and marshmallows was ambrosia, since she’d remembered Maddy making that at the apartment. But the more food the throng of people brought in, the less recognizable it became. There was what looked like something with green beans, smothered in… gravy? With… almonds, maybe? Or mushrooms? Or — gah — both?
And then there was a dish that was just sort of smushy and… well, gray. Honest to God, gray. Like a vat full of spackle. She had to look away, gaining fortitude from the dark chocolate cake a nice woman named Jennifer Winston had dropped by, along with sincere condolences. Jennifer had mentioned that Mr. Blount had helped her when her roses developed a pernicious blight. Jennifer’s husband, Cletus, said that the man “was a wizard with manure” as well.
This place is so weird.
The funeral service had been that morning. She’d stood by her best friend Madison “Maddy” Blount’s side as they’d buried Maddy’s father. There was now a small reception for those who wanted to pay their respects to the family of Edward Blount.
Thuy wasn’t quite sure if the same number of people would’ve shown up if they just wanted to pay their respects, or because they were curious about Maddy’s situation. Maddy hadn’t been back to Tennessee since she’d left to go to college, which is how Thuy had met her — they’d been roomies in the dorms, and best friends ever since. Now, people saw that Maddy had returned seven months pregnant, with a woman in tow and no man in sight. Thuy had never lived in a small town, much less one in Tennessee, but she got the feeling it was the sort of thing that got tongues wagging. She could feel the curious stares crawling over her skin as she refilled the iced tea pitcher and made sure that Maddy wasn’t on her feet too much.
She’d been to funerals before, obviously. With her family’s history, funerals came a little too often, although the crowd was noticeably different. It was the town element that was really throwing her for a loop.
“So, you’re a friend of Madison’s, are you?” a woman’s voice asked behind her.
Thuy turned to see an older woman looking at her critically. She vaguely remembered this one — Mrs. Simmons, maybe? — because she’d been making less-than-veiled comments about Maddy’s pregnancy after the service. Thuy felt her protective instincts kick in, but knew this wasn’t the time for a scene. It wasn’t going to help Maddy at all to have her call this woman a nosy bitch in her living room.
Thuy pasted on her “can I help you?” smile, the one she’d perfected at the library. “Maddy’s my best friend. We roomed together at Cal.”
“Cal…?”
“University of California. Berkeley,” Thuy supplied, since Mrs. Simmons still looked confused.
The woman curled her lip a bit. “Going off to that hippie school,” she muttered.
“And how did you know Maddy’s father?” Thuy asked, trying to change the subject from Maddy’s supposed “hippie” ways.
The woman waved her hand. “Oh, everybody knew Edward Blount. How he managed to keep the farm going was a miracle, all by himself, with both of his kids going off and doing whatever they wanted…”
Thuy gripped her temper, feeling her smile sharpen on her face.
“… but the man had God’s own green thumb, and he managed to grow anything, as well as keep those cattle,” Mrs. Simmons continued. Her expression turned shrewd. “I suppose Maddy’ll sell the place now? No need for forty acres, especially in her condition.” Mrs. Simmons made a little gesture in front of her stomach, like she was rubbing a bowling ball.
“I have no idea,” Thuy answered, keeping her voice even.
“Really?” Mrs. Simmons paused, then said, “Well, if Maddy’s husband comes, maybe they could make a go of the farm, I suppose.”
It was bait, the cheapest kind. This woman wanted confirmation or denial about Maddy’s marital status. Maddy had warned her: small towns turn gossip into blood sport. Just smile and nod.
Fortunately, handling aggressive library patrons was something Thuy had some practice in. She could take some passive-aggressive nosiness. She smiled at Mrs. Simmons’ comment, nodding silently.
Mrs. Simmons’ expression turned irritated. “I said, if Maddy’s husband… or boyfriend…?”
“Oh! We are out of iced tea,” Thuy said, ignoring the implied question entirely. “Thank you for coming and being so supportive.” With that, she deliberately turned her back on the woman, who gasped at the rudeness of the brush-off — but couldn’t really reply, because of the complimentary statement at the end.
Thuy retreated to the kitchen where Maddy was leaning against a counter, dressed in black, rubbing her back. At seven months along, her stomach was prominent. “How’re you holding up?” Thu
y asked in a low voice, as she pulled more iced tea from the fridge, mixing in the sugar syrup solution. She then mixed up another batch of lemonade iced tea. She didn’t want Maddy to worry about anything food related, not today. And she certainly didn’t want Maddy to try lifting anything.
“I’m hanging in there,” Maddy replied in a low voice. “I’d had a chance to make my peace with Dad, at least, over the past few years. Or as close to it as we were going to get.”
She noticed Maddy kept staring at the door. “You’re waiting for your brother, aren’t you?”
Maddy nodded sadly. “I don’t think he’s coming.”
“Why don’t you describe him? So I know what to look for.”
Maddy shrugged. “I’ve barely seen him since I was… what, twelve,” she said. “He’s big. Tall, I mean, and muscular. Or at least, he used to be. Maybe he got fat by now. It’s been sixteen years.”
“Maybe he just doesn’t want to get caught in the crush,” Thuy muttered, her eyes flicking to the doorway and the crowd of people beyond.
Maddy laughed. “Yeah, there are a lot of people. Dad would’ve been surprised at the turnout.
He was well known, but he wasn’t exactly popular.”
No, from what she’d gathered, Edward Blount Sr. was an asshole, to the world in general and to his kids in particular. A hell of a farmer or rancher or whatever, but an asshole.
“This morning at church, I had a woman ask me flat out where the father of my baby was,” Maddy said in a whisper, making a face.
Thuy grimaced. “What’d you say?”
“That it wasn’t her business.” Maddy shrugged. “Hey, I figured, if she was going to be rude, then I could be rude, right? But she kept on going. Said that there was no way that I could take care of a baby all by myself.”
Thuy stared. “Does she not realize how many single moms there are in the United States? What, does she live under a rock?”
“I told her that I wasn’t alone. I had you.” Maddy started giggling. “So, don’t be surprised if people start making comments about us being lesbians.”
Thuy grinned. “If I swung that way, I’d be all over you,” she admitted. “And I don’t care what these people think. It’s not like we’re going to be here that long anyway.”
Maddy looked uncomfortable. “Still have the will reading,” she said. “Dad set up some lawyer as the executor. I guess I’ll see Teddy then if nothing else.” She frowned. “If Dad left him anything in the will. He did basically disown Teddy. And ever since Teddy joined that gang, he wrote us off, too.”
Thuy felt pain for Maddy. She of all people could understand how complicated feelings for family could be. She gave Maddy a hug, stroking her hair. “It’ll be all right,” she crooned, wishing fiercely that she could make everything all right for her friend.
Of course, that was the exact moment that Mrs. Nosy Simmons came in. She goggled at the sight of them hugging.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” she said, her eyes wide.
Thuy fought the urge to laugh, instead cuddling Maddy closer. “Yes?”
She felt Maddy’s body shaking with suppressed chuckles.
“Oh. Uh…” The woman turned on her heel and retreated quickly.
“By the time that gets to her hairdresser, she’s going to say we were full-on making out by the sink,” Thuy observed, letting Maddy go.
“In front of God and everybody,” Maddy agreed with a giggle.
Thuy glanced at her phone. It was eight-thirty, and it was going to take time to Tetris all the food into the fridge and freezer. Besides, Maddy needed her rest. “Let me know if you want me to clear the house,” Thuy said.
“I’ll take you up on that,” Maddy said, grimacing a little and rubbing her back again. “Let’s give it another hour, and then you can go all ‘closing time’ on people and kick them out. Nobody does it better than a librarian.”
Thuy chuckled and knuckle-bumped Maddy, then went out to refill the pitchers of drinks. She loved Maddy like the sister she never had, and she owed Maddy more than she could ever repay. She could put up with a bunch of small-minded small-town people for a week or two if it meant making things easier for her bestie.
If only she could track down Maddy’s brother, she thought with a grimace, and went back to work cleaning.
Chapter Two
Drill sat at a low table at the Dragon Biker Bar, taking lazy pulls off a long-necked bottle of beer, feeling numb.
Part of it might be exhaustion. The club had been in a state of freefall since their president Razor St. Claire had gone to jail as a result of their vice president, Darrell Winston, going states’ evidence against him. Their trusted lieutenant Repo had gone on the road — on the run, if rumors were to be believed. Even Razor’s psycho wife had gone missing, under even more dire circumstances and rumors that were only whispered. The resulting power vacuum had meant a lot of infighting, a lot of desertion. The crew was a shadow of its former self. But the results were Drill’s old friend Catfish landing on top, running the show. Of course, he’d leaned plenty on Drill as his muscle, and Drill had spent the past six months kicking a lot of asses to get people in line.
Now, Catfish was off in the back rooms somewhere with Dirty Dave, trying to brainstorm some way to build the crew back to its former glory. Their finances were a mess, their income significantly reduced. Drill didn’t care about that so much. He felt tired just thinking about it.
But that wasn’t the only reason for his numbness.
He’d seen his father’s obituary almost by accident. He’d been eating breakfast over at Daisy’s Nut House, and he’d picked up a newspaper someone had left behind out of sheer boredom. To see his father’s stern face staring at him in inky newsprint had been like a blow to the sternum.
Edward Blount. Dead at age sixty-six, leaving behind a son and a daughter.
He didn’t know who’d written up the notice. Obviously, someone who was good at putting things politely and succinctly. Whoever it was had mentioned that the elder Edward Blount had been predeceased by his wife, Maisey. It also said that he was the fifth generation of Blounts to run the farm that still sat on the outskirts of Green Valley.
They say if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all, so the obituary ended rather abruptly from there, only listing the funeral and burial, with family and friends gathering at the farmhouse after.
He figured his sister Maddy must be setting up the reception or whatever afterward, at his father’s home. His father had no other kin to speak of, being an only child, to the constant disappointment of Drill’s grandparents. Drill wondered absently how his sister was faring. Last he’d heard, she’d headed out to California, and as far as he knew, hadn’t been back since.
Don’t think about it. He took another pull of beer from the bottle. He was too tired to think about the past, anyway.
“Want some company?” one of the biker groupies — Tish? Misha? — asked, sliding onto his lap and reaching to stroke his shaved-bald head. He hated when they did that. He sighed, stopping her hands. Her closeness gave him a good look into her eyes. Even in the dim lighting, he could see her pupils were the size of dimes. Squinting, he saw that she was starting to get the tell-tale scabs and itchy rash of a meth head.
He sighed again, turning grim as she struggled harder, brushing her tits against his chest. “Not interested.”
She pressed harder, until he gently shoved her off, turning back to his beer.
“What the hell, Drill?” the girl snapped, her voice high pitched enough to compete with the blaring music. “You think you’re too good for me or something?”
Jesus be a fence, he thought with irritation, then blinked. He hadn’t thought of that particular saying in years, not since he was…
Nope. Wasn’t gonna accidentally wander down that Memory Lane. He shook his head. “I’m just not interested.”
“Aw, lay off him, Alice,” a young guy said. The kid was dressed in all black, hi
s blond hair cut short at the sides but flopping at the top. Drill recognized him as Pete Lundy, son of the local bank manager, recent college drop-out, and low-level weed dealer. He was also a tentative Wraith recruit. Man, we must be desperate, Drill thought derisively. “Drill’s father just died. That’s bound to mess a guy up.”
Alice’s eyes were confused. “Who’s his Dad?”
Drill stared at them as they continued their conversation. Like I’m not even here.
“Old man Blount,” Pete continued easily. “Or Old Man Blunt, if the rumors were true. Said that he could grow anything, and just before he died, he pretty much did. Like some of the highest-grade pot in the world — for ‘medicinal’ purposes.”
Drill gritted his teeth. He knew better. His father could probably grow roses out of granite — the man was God’s own farmer — but Drill knew his father would sooner burn down all forty acres of land than break the law.
No, his stupid thug of a son was the only one capable of that.
“D’you know, I tried to sneak into his greenhouse one night to find out if it was true?” Pete went on conversationally to Drill, as Alice watched eagerly. “Guy went after me with his twelve-gauge.”
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