Fighting for Us: A Small Town Family Romance (The Bailey Brothers Book 2)

by Claire Kingsley

  “Hey, you guys,” I said. “Do you want to grab a table?”

  I hugged my mom and Jack and gestured to an empty table, all before realizing they had my little brother with them. Elijah stood back a few feet, his face buried in a hood and his hands stuffed in the front pockets.

  “Oh hey, Eli.”

  “Hi.”

  One-word answers were about all any of us could get out of him lately, so I didn’t let it bother me.

  “Do you guys want anything?” I asked as we took our seats.

  “Thanks, but we can’t stay more than a few minutes,” Mom said. “We were downtown, so we figured we’d pop in and say hi.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “You don’t happen to know anything about the street signs around town, do you?” Jack asked.

  I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling. I’d seen them this morning—there was even one on my street—but I didn’t know who’d done it. Not that it would be hard to guess. This had Logan and Gavin written all over it. Possibly Levi, too.

  “I don’t know anything about it.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

  Mom put a hand on his arm. “I don’t think you should worry about it.”

  “Do you know something?” He glanced at her, his mouth lifting in a smile.

  “No, but it’s just a bunch of stickers. Someone will take them down.”

  “This town,” he muttered.

  I caught Elijah’s eye, intending to wink at him. He had to find this funny. But he didn’t smile back.

  “That’s not the reason we stopped in,” Mom said. “I spoke with Gram yesterday. She said Asher’s home.”

  “Yeah, I was wondering if you’d seen him.”

  Mom shook her head. “No, although I saw the old truck parked out front and wondered who was using it.”

  I tapped my fingers on the table. I didn’t particularly want to get into the details with my Mom. She loved Asher, but she also worried about me. Which was understandable, I was her daughter. But at the moment, I wasn’t sure what to say. I decided to keep it simple.

  “Well, he’s home. He was released early, which is obviously great news. Now he’s… adjusting.”

  “I suppose that makes sense. I’m sure the transition can be difficult.”

  “It’ll definitely be difficult,” Jack said. “He’ll need some time to get used to everything again.”

  I caught Jack’s eye and gave him a grateful smile. He’d never met Asher, but of course he knew the Bailey family. And he knew what had happened to me—why Asher had done what he’d done. He’d never said so explicitly, but I got the impression that he didn’t think Asher should have been imprisoned.

  He was right. He shouldn’t have. But there wasn’t any point dwelling on that now.

  “Have you seen him?” Mom asked.

  “A little bit. I talked to him yesterday. It was good to see him, obviously.”

  Elijah still didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure if he even remembered Asher. He’d been four when Asher had been sent away, and we’d kept most of it from him. I figured he knew by now what had happened, or at least the version appropriate for an eleven-year-old. This probably wasn’t all that interesting to him.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Mom said. “Well, we need to get going. We have a meeting at the school.”

  We all stood, and I hugged Jack, then my mom. Elijah scooted toward the door, so I let him have his space. He wasn’t into hugs these days.

  “If you see Asher before we do, tell him we’re glad he’s home,” Mom said.

  “I will.”

  I said goodbye and watched them go, grateful she hadn’t pushed for news about our engagement.

  The Knotty Knitter was just up the street from Lola, the pinup-girl statue outside the Dame and Dapper Barber Shop. I parked my car, and with my tote bag of yarn and crochet projects hanging from my arm, I went inside.

  Stitch and Sip was held in the back of the store, past the aisles of yarn and various other sewing and craft supplies. Mismatched armchairs and a couch worn from years of use were arranged in a circle, near a big table where Jessie Montgomery—Knotty Knitter owner and resident crafting genius—held workshops and tutorials.

  The large coffee table had a few plates with meticulously laid-out snacks, probably courtesy of Tillie Bailey-Linfield. Tillie was a retired piano teacher, and Asher’s great-aunt on his father’s side. She loved playing hostess almost as much as town gossip.

  She glanced up at me from the pile of knitting in her lap and her eyebrows lifted. She shared a glance with Amy Garrett, who continued the knowing look, passing it to Violet Luscier.

  That answered my question. They knew Asher was home.

  “Hi, ladies.” I set my tote down and took a seat in one of the armchairs.

  They said polite hellos, and I nodded to Marlene Haven. She gave me a warm smile.

  The most shocking thing I’d learned at my first Stitch and Sip meeting was not that it wasn’t a group of little old ladies—Amy Garret was only a few years older than me, and we had other members who were younger still. The attendees varied a bit from week to week. No, the biggest surprise had been that this little group operated outside the Bailey-Haven feud. And Marlene Haven, mother to the notorious Haven brothers—and of course their sister, Annika—was a regularly attending member.

  No one had ever confirmed my suspicions, but I was convinced Stitch and Sip had begun decades ago as a way for the women of Tilikum to circumvent the feud, especially when it threatened to interfere with town governance. When things started to get out of hand, the members sat back here on shabby furniture and quietly—and very cordially—set things right.

  From the first time I’d come, it had felt like being let in on an important town secret. It was no surprise when Gram had casually mentioned that the sacred rule of Stitch and Sip was simple, but ironclad. What was said at Stitch and Sip stayed at Stitch and Sip.

  “No Gram tonight?” Violet asked. She was related to Gram, but I wasn’t quite sure how. Asher had called her Auntie, but on that side of his family, everyone was either a cousin, auntie, or uncle, regardless of their actual familial ties. Her eyes were like Gram’s—so dark they were almost black—and her skin was beautifully smooth, especially considering she was in her fifties.

  “I guess not,” I said. “I haven’t talked to her today.”

  “I suppose she’s otherwise occupied, what with the big news and everything.” Violet didn’t stop working on the blue baby hat she was crocheting.

  “Oh, Violet,” Tillie said. “Have a cookie.”

  “You mean to tell me we aren’t going to talk about the biggest thing that’s happened in this town in years?”

  “Not until everyone gets here.”

  I just rolled my eyes and started working on the gray and green beanie I’d started last week. Occasionally we worked on projects meant as gifts for friends or family, but most of the time, we made hats, scarves, and blankets for babies and children in need. The winters were cold here in the mountains, so we made sure every kid in town had what they needed to keep warm.

  The bell on the front door jingled and Cara swept into the shop. A half-finished scarf—or maybe it was supposed to be a hat; it was hard to tell—hung out of her tote. In her other hand, she carried an insulated cooler bag. Her red hair was down and she wore a fitted black shirt, cropped jeans, and a pair of shiny red stilettos.

  She set the cooler down, then tossed herself into a chair, unceremoniously dropping her tote bag. “Ladies.”

  “Those are quite the shoes,” Tillie said, adjusting her wire-rimmed glasses. “I’d fall right over if I tried to walk in them.”

  Cara pointed her toes. “Aren’t they adorable? I found them in my closet today and I swear I have no memory of buying them. But I’m sure glad I did.”

  “I need to borrow those,” I said.

  “Anytime, precious baby duckling.” She opened the cooler, set out cups, a
nd started pouring from a large stainless-steel tumbler. She added ice from another container and garnished each glass with a slice of lemon, then passed them around.

  The room went quiet as we sipped our Long Island iced teas—Cara really did know how to make an excellent cocktail—and worked on our respective projects. Eyes flicked to me now and then, and I knew they were waiting for someone to bring up Asher. He was the current hot topic for gossip in Tilikum. He had to be discussed at Stitch and Sip.

  Cara lounged in the chair next to me, her tote untouched. No one asked why she hadn’t resumed one of her projects. We all knew she was terrible at it. The craftiest Cara got was staging flat lay fashion photos for her Instagram feed.

  “All right, Grace,” Violet said, finally breaking the silence, “we need to hear it from the source. Is it true Asher escaped?”

  “Of course he didn’t escape,” Amy said. She had four boys under the age of eight and always looked like she needed a nap. “If he did, he’d be in hiding. I heard he’s on house arrest and has to wear one of those ankle monitors. That’s why hardly anyone’s seen him.”

  “I heard his brothers found the fabled Montgomery treasure and it was so vast they used it to buy his way out of prison,” Cara deadpanned.

  I glared at her.

  She smirked.

  Tillie clicked her tongue. “Everybody knows there’s no such thing as the Montgomery treasure.”

  “Now hold on there, Tillie,” Violet said. “Some of the stories have nuggets of truth to them.”

  “You sound like old Harvey Johnston,” Tillie said.

  “I don’t know. I think Violet might be right,” Marlene said. She wore dark blue reading glasses and didn’t look up from her project while she spoke. “There’s something to that old story about the Montgomery fortune. I don’t know if anyone will ever find out what it was, but I think at the very least, it used to exist.”

  “Well, I can’t tell you if the Montgomery fortune is, or was, real,” I said. “But I can tell you that the Bailey boys didn’t find anything, no one bribed anyone, and Asher didn’t break out. He was granted clemency by the governor and his sentence declared adequate because of the circumstances of the case.”

  “Isn’t that something,” Tillie said. “Has anyone organized a meal train?”

  “The man got out of prison, not the hospital,” Violet said. “What does he need a meal train for?”

  “It’s a life transition,” Tillie said. “Everyone could use a hot meal during a difficult time.”

  “That’s a nice idea,” Marlene said.

  “So when’s the wedding?” Amy asked. “Are you going to set a date?”

  I could feel the color drain from my face and my hands went still in my lap.

  “Believe it or not, they aren’t in a rush,” Cara said smoothly. “I think that’s so smart. Some people would jump right into it and get married before they’ve adjusted to being together again. Holding off for a while and not putting more pressure on your relationship is really the right call.”

  I smiled at her with unending gratitude. “Thank you.”

  “That does make sense,” Amy said, nodding sagely. “Good for you.”

  The rest of the circle murmured their agreement.

  I knew what people said about me behind my back. Maybe not these ladies—they actually knew me. But other people in town thought I was stupid for waiting for Asher.

  Most of the time I didn’t care what anyone else thought. But right now, I was feeling pretty raw. And the last thing I wanted was their pity.

  Cara leaned close and lowered her voice. “By the way, I started the rumor that he escaped. I thought it sounded badass and I wanted to see if I could get anyone to repeat it.”

  “You’re terrible.”

  “I know.”

  My phone binged, so I picked it up to check. I had a text from a number I didn’t recognize.

  This is Asher. I have a phone now.

  My mouth twitched in a smile. It was a little thing—tiny, really. It didn’t mean much. There was a big gap between giving me his phone number and setting a wedding date. But it was something. And after the last few days, I’d take it.

  9

  Asher

  My temporary solution to being a grown-ass man living with his grandma again was to make myself useful. Sitting around would have quickly driven me crazy, so I found ways to stay busy. Gram’s house wasn’t in bad shape, especially considering it was over a hundred years old. But there were always things that needed attention.

  I’d spent yesterday repairing a leaky faucet in the downstairs bathroom and putting up some shelves in the pantry. Today, I’d already put a new coat of stain on the back porch, and started on the logs that needed to be cut and stacked for firewood. It was hot, sweaty work, especially with the spring sun blazing overhead. But I needed it—needed something to keep my feet rooted to the ground.

  While I worked, I tried to come up with a longer-term plan. But that was tough. Everything circled back to one central question: What was I going to do with my life now?

  I didn’t have an answer.

  Picking up where I’d left off had never been an option. A felony conviction was an automatic disqualifier for the fire department. I hadn’t finished my degree, but it was useless anyway. I could probably find a way to go back to school, but for what? The only thing I’d ever wanted to be was a firefighter. That dream had died a long time ago.

  Focusing on the short-term was simpler, but not particularly encouraging. I was starting from zero, with basically nothing. I had no job, no money, I hardly even had any clothes that fit. It felt like I was trying to claw my way out of a deep hole. I was so far down, the sky was nothing but a pinprick of light, high above me.

  But there was only one thing I could do. Climb.

  And truthfully, I didn’t have nothing. Gram had put a roof over my head—given me a safe place to land. Grandad’s old truck was a beast to drive, but it worked. I had a way to get around.

  Yesterday afternoon, an old laptop had mysteriously appeared on the kitchen table. I didn’t know who’d left it there, and Gram claimed she didn’t know anything about it. My guess was Evan, but he’d come and gone without anyone seeing him. Later, Levi had quietly left a phone with a sticky note warning me not to eat up all his data.

  I swung the ax and it sank deep into the wood with a crack. I was still struggling with the sense of gratitude I had for my family. It felt out of place with the anger and resentment—and paranoia—that continuously burned in my gut. I wasn’t used to it.

  But it was better than the gnawing sense of hopelessness that ate at me. I wasn’t going to sit on my ass and wait for someone to fix my fucked-up life, but I hated feeling adrift and without purpose.

  My clothes stuck to my skin, so I put the ax down and peeled off my shirt. I hadn’t slept well last night and now that it was late afternoon, exhaustion was getting to me. Of course, I hadn’t slept well in years, so that was nothing new. But I kept waking up in a panic, not realizing where I was.

  I wiped my face on my shirt and tossed it aside. Grace weighed on my mind more heavily than anything else. What did she see when she looked at me? Did she see the truth? Did she understand?

  My back prickled and I had the sudden sensation that I was being watched. Adrenaline shot through me, making my heart pound and my hands involuntarily clench into fists. I fucking hated that feeling. I ground my teeth together, ready to fight, even though logically I knew I didn’t have to. I wasn’t there anymore, but my instincts were too strong.

  Whipping around, I came face to face with—

  A fucking squirrel.

  It sat on a log, its bushy gray tail twitching. It was a fat little shit—clearly not hurting for food.

  I let out a breath and relaxed my shoulders, feeling like an idiot. What the hell had I expected, a guy with neck tattoos wielding a shank? Jesus.

  “What are you looking at?”

  It didn’t even flinch, j
ust twitched its tail again.

  “I don’t know what you’re waiting for. I don’t have any food.”

  Around here, where there was one squirrel, there were usually a lot more, but I didn’t see a gang of furry cohorts lingering nearby. When we were kids, the damn squirrels had made off with our snacks more times that I could count. They were fast little fuckers who could steal your sandwich and be up a tree before you realized it was gone.

  The squirrel seemed content to stare at me with its beady black eyes, which was creepy, but probably harmless. I ignored it and went back to chopping wood.

  After splitting a few more rounds, I stacked the pieces on the wood pile. My arms and back were tired and my stomach growled with hunger. I’d probably done enough for one day, so I put the ax and splitting maul away in the shed. Gram’s chickens clucked and scratched in the dirt. I paused to eye the coop where she kept them safe from predators at night. The coop wasn’t in bad repair, but it was small. I’d have to ask her if she wanted a bigger one. It would give me something else to do.

  I went back to the wood pile to grab my shirt, but I didn’t see it lying on the ground where I’d left it. That was weird. Had I put it somewhere else? I hunted around for a few minutes, increasingly confused. I’d dropped it right there, and no one else was here.

  God, I was losing it.

  The back door opened, and Gram strolled out onto the porch. The chickens clucked at her.

  “Bear, why don’t you come on in and get yourself cleaned up.”

  “Yeah, I was just about to.” I glanced around again.

  “Did you lose something?”

  “My shirt.” I turned in a circle. “I took it off right here and now it’s gone. You didn’t grab it, did you?”

  “No. It was probably the squirrels.”

  I furrowed my brow and looked back toward the creek. “Why would a squirrel take a shirt? I don’t think that’s normal.”

  “Do you really expect normal around here?”

  That was a fair point. My stomach gnawed at me with an urgency that overrode the mystery of my shirt, so I abandoned the search and went up the porch steps. “I guess not.”