914 Bittersweet Ln.: A Cherry Falls Romance

by Frankie Love

  914 Bittersweet Ln

  A Cherry Falls Romance

  Frankie Love

  Contents

  914 Bittersweet Lane

  1. Holt

  2. Paisley

  3. Holt

  4. Paisley

  5. Paisley

  6. Holt

  7. Paisley

  8. Holt

  9. Paisley

  10. Holt

  11. Paisley

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  More Cherry Falls…

  About Frankie

  Want a Freebie?

  Copyright © 2021 by Frankie Love

  Cover By Cormac Covers

  Edited by Happily Ever Author

  Proofread By Norma’s Nook Proofreading

  Cherry Falls World Created By Frankie Love and Hope Ford

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  914 Bittersweet Lane

  A Cherry Falls Romance

  By Frankie Love

  With blonde hair and sun-kissed skin, Paisley Cassidy looks like summer.

  Her eyes, though, tell a different story.

  Everyone here in the Ranch Lands knows her life has been sadder than the songs she writes. Her voice is the sound of an angel who lost its wings a long time ago. Hauntingly beautiful.

  Her dreams of leaving town were dashed the day her mama set fire to her family home.

  Now, Paisley’s life is nothing but sacrifice.

  I know a thing or two about giving up dreams, but most folks wouldn’t guess it.

  I mask my heartbreak with a smile but Paisley sees the cracks.

  She sees all of me.

  I want to give this girl the life she longs for: the big city stage.

  But we don’t always get what we want.

  And some love stories don’t have a happy ending.

  Good thing I’m the one fighting for Paisley.

  There’s been enough bitterness in this girl’s life.

  It’s time for her to find the sweet.

  Even if it’s not with me.

  Dear Reader,

  This trip to Cherry Falls starts with Holt Stone – a big-hearted rancher who believes in three things: hard work, love, and the power of line dancing.

  You don’t have to love a man in cowboy boots to appreciate Holt’s moves.

  I promise – he can deliver on and off the dance floor.

  Xo, Frankie

  Cherry Falls is filled with returning characters and iconic destinations that will begin to feel like family. When you leave the city and drive into Cherry Falls, it’s like you’ve finally come home.

  The cherry on top? Each book delivers a swoon-worthy, sexy romance!

  So welcome to Cherry Falls, we hope you stay awhile!

  Holt

  The September sun is relentless in that perfect sorta way and I can’t help but smile. Never imagined being back in my hometown, had other plans, that’s for damn sure, but it’s honest work and there’s something to be said for that.

  “You coming out tonight?” Austin asks as we leave the livestock barn. I’m headed toward the parking lot, ready to find myself dinner after a long day in the pasture. Austin lives here along with lots of the ranchers who rent rooms at Cherry Blossom Ranch.

  “Tipsy Cow?” I ask.

  He nods. “Always. Devil in the Highway’s playing tonight. So you best bring your dancing shoes.”

  I grin. “Sounds good. I’ll wear my boots.”

  Austin laughs, knowing me well. Line dancing at the local dive bar is my favorite way to cut loose after a long week. Dancing has always been easy for me – my mama taught me when I was young. I wish when she looked at me now, she could remember.

  In my Chevy, I turn on the ignition and hand crank down the window. This truck's old, older than me. It was my pa's before he passed and he left it to me, which means something.

  I don't have a lot from when he was alive. And my ma, with her memory as it is, there's not a lot of stories to tell. There's regret with that, of course, that I shouldn’t have left the moment I turned eighteen, shouldn’t have been so damn determined to make it on my own. I wish I had stayed around a hell of a lot longer, made sure to sit and listen at the table after dinner when I was still a kid instead of always running off with my friends.

  Now when I sit with Ma, she looks off in the distance, unable to remember much except the last moment. Her early-onset dementia changed things for her, changed things for me, too.

  Not wanting to get lost in too much sadness, I turn on the radio, and Willie Nelson’s “Our Song” comes on. I shake my head. Damn, this song was my ma’s favorite. My pops would play it for her after a long week. They’d dance, hand in hand, in the living room. I wish she could remember. I sure do. With my hand on the tuner, I nearly turn it off, overcome with sadness, but instead, I turn up the volume, leaning into the happy memory.

  Life always feels so damn heavy. That's why I like working these fields. This job, it was simple enough to get. I used to do this work when I was in high school. When I wasn't on the baseball field, I'd come out here all summer and fall, rounding up cattle, counting tails and heads, getting livestock ready to go to auction. Now I'm doing it again, just higher on the pay scale.

  My stomach grumbles, and I look at the time. I guess it took Austin and I longer today to finish up our duties, which makes sense, considering it's the end of the season. Soon enough, we'll be replanting hay and getting ready for the winter. But now, it's a slow month. Everything's been sold and we're just getting things ready again to turn over.

  We're not farmers, and we don't work with the horses. I'm a cattle rancher and the work is honest. That's why I like it. There's no games out there in the pasture. The cattle, they don't lie. And Austin, he's new in town, but he's a good guy. He's a solid one to be working with, and it’s good to have a buddy to meet up with at the Tipsy Cow on Friday nights.

  I don't usually go out to eat at restaurants. My ma may not have much of a memory, but she can follow a recipe and the kitchen is usually stocked. While I'm working, she has a nurse who's at the house who walks through recipes with her. It keeps my ma happy, occupied. And even if she doesn't remember me, I know she likes to see me smile as I eat a slice of the apple pie she’s baked or the casserole she's prepared. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes are her specialty. Ma knows how to make her son smile.

  But I know she's taken care of tonight. One thing I made sure to do, well, hell, my therapist told me I had to do, was make sure that one night a week I had a night caregiver for her so that I could just think about myself, about the fact I am a 29-year-old man who altered his life plan to make sure his mother is taken care of.

  It felt selfish at first, but hell, I figured the therapist went to college and studied this shit, so she probably knew what she was talking about. And, it turns out, it's been good for me.

  I've been here in the Ranch Lands for a year, and going to the Tipsy Cow is one thing that has saved my sanity. Dancing may sound like a lame thing to do, but it's fun. The bands are usually good. The music's loud. And I don't even drink that much. I just do the line dances, which are great because I don't even need a partner. I don't need to talk to anybody. I don't need to worry about good pickup lines or making the right kind of eye contact, being smooth, because God knows – I'm not.

  Line dancing, it's a solo sport most of the time. I can just keep my hands on my hips, eyes on my feet
and get lost. Sometimes that's where I want to be.

  Life hasn't exactly panned out as I planned. What 29-year-old man ever plans on living at home, moving back to their bedroom, their own twin-size bed? Not many, but my mom needs me and maybe I need her.

  Regardless, when I pass Annie's Roadside Diner, I decide to turn in, thinking a burger and fries sound mighty good right about now. Probably could use a shower and a fresh shirt, but hell. I must have missed the dinner rush because the place is damn near empty. I've never come in here this time of day. The few times I have come here, it's been for a cup of coffee in the morning, maybe some hash browns and eggs with Austin.

  Right now, though, the sun is filtering through the windows and most of the booths are polished clean. There's a few old men sitting and eating what looks like pot roast and potatoes and I smile, thinking I can see myself doing the same 40 years from now.

  "Can I help you?" a woman asks, coming in from the kitchen. The moment she sashays through those swinging doors, my cock gets woken in a way it hasn't in one hell of a long time.

  This woman, well, she is all sorts of sunshine, the kind I thought I'd been feeling all damn day here in September out in the fields. But the sunlight I felt is nothing like her: long chestnut hair, wavy in ways that just make you ache to run your fingers through it, big cheeks and a pink-lipped smile. Looks like she's been kissed by the sun in a way that makes me want to kiss her, too, just to see if she tastes like honey, to see if she tastes as sweet as she looks.

  I swallow. "A table for one," I say.

  "You want a table, a booth, or the counter?" she asks, hand on her hip, reaching for a menu that's tucked next to the cash register. She's a slender thing, the kind of girl you could wrap your arm around and hold close, the kind of girl you get scared of letting go of in case she gets lost or loses her way.

  But that's all first impressions. It changes when I tell her the counter's fine and I sit down, and she stands behind that counter, handing me a menu, and I see into her eyes. And then I realize something that I hadn't understood at first glance.

  She is not the kind of girl who's going to get lost. Not at all. She's not the kind of girl who needs you to wrap her in an arm. She doesn't need you to protect her or hold her.

  She's the kind of girl who has eyes filled with fire.

  And maybe at first glance I thought it was sunshine that was filling her face, but it's more than that. It's bigger than the sun. Whatever is driving this girl forward, it's bigger than a planet, bigger than the solar system. The only thing I can figure is it's love, and that right there breaks my goddamn heart because it makes me think she's already fallen, already been caught, already been found, held, taken.

  I look down at her ring finger and it's empty, and it makes me think, well damn, maybe I got a chance. But I don't doubt she's already in love, loved.

  I look at the name tag on her polyester dress. Paisley.

  The light bulb goes off. I know that name.

  I know her, of her, at least. Paisley Cassidy.

  She knows it before I even need to say it. She knows that she's been seen, found, that I know who she is because Paisley Cassidy is a name that gets tossed around this town.

  Not because she's been used up and dried out. No, because Paisley Cassidy is a tragedy, a story of heartbreak and loss.

  Paisley Cassidy has loved, does love, but it's not a man who has her heart.

  Paisley

  He's looking at me like he knows me, and after reading my name tag, I'm guessing he knows more than I wish he did.

  I have no idea who he is. I mean, I know he is handsome as hell, tall and fit, strong. With forearms that tell me he's probably been working in a field all day or working the cattle or the horses at one of the ranches in town.

  He pulled up in a Chevy – alone. He has worn blue jeans that hug his hips and a flannel shirt tucked into a belt. He has a clean jaw and recently cut hair, which tells me someone's looking after him, or at least taught him something about looking after himself. His eyes are clear. He's sober and clean. His fingernails are too, which means, well, he's not a user, and maybe to some people all that wouldn't matter, but I'm not some people. Those things? They matter to me.

  I swallow, hating how I feel seen in this town, and I press my hands in my apron, reaching for a notepad, hating that I took this job. Abilene was right though, it is a good extra few shifts a week, and I can't complain about money and then not take a job when it's offered.

  I swallow, tapping the pen on the counter. "Do you know what you'd like?" I ask, licking my lips, looking away, wondering if I should go top off the coffee for the two men in the corner. I haven't learned any of the names of the men who come in here yet, any of the regulars. It's my third shift at the diner. I swallow, my feet are tired. I’m always tired.

  He clears his throat. "Any specials?"

  I look down at the notepad. "There's pot roast and potatoes, but it's a little dry." I smile. "What do you think?"

  "How about a burger and fries?"

  "Sure. Anything else?"

  "Coffee."

  I nod. "Coming right up."

  "Thanks, Paisley."

  I give him a side smile. "What's your name?" I say, reaching for the coffee pot, flipping over a white ceramic mug, pouring him a glass.

  "Holt, Holt Stone."

  "Yeah, you live here?"

  He nods. "Born and raised."

  "Really? I've never seen you before."

  "No? Well, I was gone for a few years."

  "How long's a few?" I ask him. He takes a drink of his coffee: black; I like that about a man. He doesn't need any cream or sugar to sweeten things up. How I drink mine too.

  "I was gone ten years. Eleven?"

  "You say it like it's a question."

  He shrugs. "I'm 29 now. I left the moment I turned 18. I couldn't wait to get out of this place."

  "Yet you're back home," I say, lifting my eyebrows, wistful.

  "Yeah, life changes. Things happen, right?"

  I nod, so slowly it's painful. "Yeah, life happens all right." I turn on my heels and hold up a finger. "I'm going to get this to the cook, I bet you're hungry after a long day at work?"

  He nods. "How'd you know?"

  I smile. "Ah, you're still in your work clothes."

  "Sorry about that, ma'am."

  "Don't ma'am me. I'm 21 years old."

  He laughs. "Fair enough."

  I give his burger order to the cook, and then I refill the coffee at the corner booth. Then I swing by the table in the center of the diner and collect the tip that a customer left, thankful it’s a sizeable one, and clear the dirty dishes they left behind. It's only 6:20 in the evening, but there’s a long lull after the dinner rush. I'm off at 7:00 and I'm staring down a long Friday night with nothing exciting on the agenda.

  Abilene swings in the front doors of the diner. "Hey, chica," she says, knocking my hip.

  "Hey," I say. "What are you doing here?"

  She shrugs. "I don't know. I was bored." She sidles up to the cash register before pouring herself a Diet Coke, looking around the diner. "Damn, this place is dead."

  "Yeah," I say. "Just a few customers."

  "Order’s up, Ms. Paisley."

  I smile, reaching for the hamburger and fries, and then deliver them to Holt. "Here you go, sir."

  "If I can't ma'am you, you can't sir me," he says.

  I smile. "Ketchup?"

  He nods. "Yes, please." I hand him a bottle and watch as he digs in. My mouth waters and I realize I'm a little hungry too. Abilene watches me stare.

  "Hey, so when do you get off?" she asks.

  "7:00," I say.

  "Carrie Jo is going to be here in ten.”

  “It's just one person who closes?" I ask, still trying to learn the ins and outs of Annie’s.

  "It gets pretty quiet. Annie will probably show up too. Those two ladies end up playing cards most of the night, serving apple pie to whoever shows up, drinking coffee wit
h moonshine till they decide to go home."

  I laugh. "That's funny. I've never worked at a place like this."

  "Yeah, well, Annie's is special."

  I can tell Holt is eavesdropping on our conversation. "If you guys don't have anything going on, you could always come out to the Tipsy Cow," he says.

  Abilene groans. "I'm not legal," she says. "I'm still 20. Can you believe it? I should probably get a fake ID."

  He chuckles. "That would be unnecessarily risky. It turns out you can just hang out with your boss and get her moonshine."

  She grins. "Yeah, probably. Nah, I'm not a drinker anyways."

  "Me either," I say.

  Holt nods. "Yeah, I'm not much of one myself."

  "Then why are you going to a bar on a Friday night?" I ask, not buying his story. "A man as hot as you at a bar…" I roll my eyes. "You're looking for trouble." My eyes widened as I realize I said all of that out loud.

  Abilene laughs. "Oh my God, you're crushing." Holt's cheeks turn a little pink and I smile, appreciating that he accepted the compliment.

  "Can I tell you a secret?" he says, dipping a fry in ketchup. "I don't go for the booze. I go to the Tipsy Cow for one reason and one reason only."

  "Devil on the Highway?" Abilene asks.

  He shakes his head. "No, they're good, but that's not why. I'm a dancer."

  "A dancer," I say, surprised. "Tell me more."

  "I like to line dance," he says, shrugging. "Maybe it's kind of cheesy or lame. I don't know. Maybe I'm old."

  "You're not old,” I say.

  "No?"

  "No," I smile, admitting that I think it's kind of cute that Holt Stone is a line dancer. He looks so manly, so gruff. But he also has a childish smile about him, a grin, a playfulness that I don't see around my life very often. I'm never playful. Never childish. Rarely silly.