Under the Lights (22 page)

“I'm ready. No matter how messy it gets.”

He rested his forehead against hers. “I kept thinking I didn't even have a solid foundation in the ground to offer, but I was wrong. Loving you is my foundation, and we can build on that. I
want
to build on that. I don't know what that building will look like, but I know it won't ever shift out from under us. It'll stand forever.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He kissed her. “I'm sorry I took off. Trust me when I tell you I'm seriously kicking myself in the ass right now for not at least trying to talk to you first.”

“Don't do that again.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him close. He was hers. Forever.

When she thought about how close they'd come to losing each other because of bullheadedness, she shivered. He held her tighter and kissed her neck. “I'm going to love spending the rest of my life with you.”

They heard the screen door slam, and she wasn't surprised when Chase took a step back from her in reflex. She saw her father on the front porch, one eyebrow raised as if waiting for some kind of explanation as to why Chase Sanders was back in his driveway.

Chase took a step toward the porch, and Kelly slid her hand into his to walk with him. “From now on, we're a team.”

He grinned and squeezed her hand. “Then I've already won.”

Coach met them at the bottom of the stairs and gave Chase a hard look. “I was beginning to wonder about you, son. I was pretty sure I'd taught you better than to give up on what you wanted most.”

“I always had to learn the hard way.”

Coach turned to Kelly, and she smiled for her dad. “I'm trying to think of a football analogy that doesn't sound weird in front of you. Scoring drive. In the end zone. They all sound a little inappropriate, though.”

He chuckled. “I'll just say welcome to the family, son.”

Kelly's throat tightened as she watched the two men she loved shake hands. Then her dad went back inside to give them more privacy.

“You should probably shut your truck off before it runs out of gas,” she said, wiping away the last wetness from her cheeks.

“Uh, yeah.” He did that, then pulled her into his arms again. “I really do have to go back. I was thinking I could spend a couple more days here, though. With you.”

“I want that more than anything. I'm on duty for a few more hours, though.”

“I can sit on the curb in front of your apartment until you're done. That'll give people something to talk about.”

She slapped his shoulder. “Or I can give you the keys.”

He kissed her until she could barely breathe. “I'll be waiting for you when you get home. I'll make us a frozen pizza.”

Happiness curled through her, and she laughed as she threw her arms around his neck. “It's a date.”

Please turn the page for a sneak peek at

Defending Hearts

The next book in the Boys of Fall series by Shannon Stacey

 

Available November 2015 from Jove
Books

D
odging bullets had a way of making a man realize he wasn't young anymore. Dodging them for no good reason made the realization a lot harder to shove to the back of his mind.

Alex Murphy sat on the thin mattress in his shitty motel room and looked at the photo on his phone's screen again. It wasn't one of the many he'd taken during his week in the volatile region, using instincts and years of experience to capture on film a population on the brink of revolution. It was one some random passerby had taken with his cellphone and it had gone viral. It was the photo the world would remember.

Alex would still sell his pictures. They told the story in a way one viral camera shot couldn't. But times and technology were constantly changing, and sometimes he felt like a dinosaur.
Photojournalismasaurus.

Burnout. As much as he didn't want to admit it, even to himself, a decade of freelancing and travel—only to be scooped by a teenager with a cellphone and Instagram account—took its toll, and it might be time to take a break. The idea of going back to Rhode Island didn't appeal to him, though. The apartment in Providence was a place to keep his stuff, but it had never felt like a home.

Using his thumb, Alex navigated to a recent photo album he'd set up on his phone, titled
Stewart Mills, NH.
After almost a decade and a half away, he'd recently spent about ten days there and, when it was time to leave, he'd found himself wishing he could stay a little longer.

He flicked through the photos, pausing over each one. Not with a technical eye, but to gauge his emotional response. Old friends laughing. People he'd known most of his life, but who were practically strangers. A town that had once been his entire world. And Coach McDonnell, who had taken the ragtag group of boys making up the Stewart Mills Eagles football team and made them men.

Alex had been on the first Stewart Mills Eagles football team to win the championship back in the day and, when the town cut the football team's funding, he'd been one of the alumni players who returned to help out with a fund-raising drive to save it. He'd gone out of love for Coach McDonnell, but rediscovering his hometown had also reminded him of how nice it could be to have roots. He hadn't felt grounded to any one place in a very long time.

He wanted to go back.

The plan was taking shape in his mind even as he closed out the photo app and pulled up his contacts. Calculating
time zones was second nature to him at this point, so he knew it was safe to call Kelly McDonnell, the coach's daughter and a police officer for the town. She'd given him her cell number when he was in town, and he tapped it.

She answered on the third ring. “Hey, Alex.”

“Are you busy right now?”

“Nope. I'm actually sitting in my cruiser, making sure everybody slows down and doesn't hit the power company guys replacing a transformer. What's up? Did you forget something?”

He laughed. “Nope. How are things in Stewart Mills?”

“Pretty good. Everybody's still on a bit of a high from Eagles Fest, for which I can never thank you enough.”

“The Eagles are why I'm calling, actually,” he said. “I was looking through the photographs I took while I was there, and the story's unfinished. I'm thinking about coming back for a while and following at least the opening of the team's season.”

“Following them professionally, you mean? Like for a story?”

“If I can get releases from everybody, I'd like to do a story, yes. Or maybe even a book. There are a lot of towns going through what Stewart Mills has faced, and what you all did is pretty inspirational. And I'd like to broaden the angle, too. Make it about the entire town and not just the team, though that's the core story, of course.”

“Wow.” There were a few seconds of silence while she digested what he'd said. “That sounds really great, as long as you respect privacy where it's requested and recognize there are some things people wouldn't want shared.”

He chuckled. “Don't worry, Officer McDonnell. I won't hurt anybody and I won't share anything people don't want shared.”

“Shouldn't be a problem, then.”

“Perfect. I called you because I'm hoping, since you know the community in and out, that you could recommend a place to stay. I know the motel's closed up, but maybe somebody willing to rent an apartment or even a house on a month-to-month, short-term basis?”

“With so many people losing their homes, the rental market's incredibly tight right now.” She sighed and he gave her a moment to think. “You know, Gretchen was talking to me about renting a room at the farm. She hasn't because she's nervous about having a stranger living with her grandmother, but renting to a friend can end badly when there's money involved.”

“I'm not a stranger, but I'm not exactly a friend, either.” He remembered Gretchen Walker from school, and he'd had a chance to talk to her a few times during Eagles Fest. She was an attractive woman, but she was definitely a closed book. “All I need is a place to sleep and it wouldn't be long-term, so maybe I'm a good opportunity for a trial run.”

“That's what I was thinking. The room has its own bathroom and you'd have access to the kitchen, not that her grandmother would let you go hungry. I'll talk to Gretchen and have her get back to you. She'll have to talk it over with Gram, too. Can she call you at this number?”

“The time zones will be a horror show for the next few days, so email's the best bet.” When she said she was ready, he gave her his email address. “It sounds perfect on my end, so I'll look forward to hearing from her.”

Once he hung up with Kelly, Alex flopped back on the mattress and stared up at the peeling ceiling. Maybe it was the professional version of a midlife crisis, but he needed a break, and Stewart Mills seemed like the perfect place to regroup and make a plan for his future.

Chronicling the current state of his hometown and the Eagles while rediscovering his roots would simply be a bonus.

—

“Y
ou have to stop trying to sit on Gram's lap,” Gretchen Walker told the sixty-pound chocolate Lab looking up at her with adoring eyes. “You're not good for the circulation in her legs.”

Cocoa tilted her head sideways and blinked before raising her paw for a high five. Gretchen sighed and gave her one. It seemed to be the only trick the newest member of the Walker family knew, so it was her answer to everything.

It had been the nurse at Gram's doctor's office who suggested a dog might be good company for her grandmother, since Gretchen had her hands full trying to work the farm, and Gram had immediately agreed. Gretchen had driven her to the shelter in the city, anticipating a fluffy little lapdog who would be content to curl up with Gram and watch her knit the days away.

Instead, Gram had fallen in love with a big Lab the color of rich hot chocolate, and Gretchen had to admit she felt an immediate connection with the dog, too. The entire household budget had to be recalculated to accommodate the beast's food costs, but it was nice to get a high five every once in a while. And Cocoa seemed to love the sound of Gram's voice, so everybody was happy.

“My rocking chair isn't big enough for both of us,” Gram pointed out. “Maybe we should trade it for one of those leather love seats with the double recliner ends and the built-in cup holders.”

Sure they should. What furniture store wouldn't want to trade a fancy leather love seat for a decades-old glider rocker with a cushion perfectly molded to Gram's skinny behind? “We'll see.”

“You sound just like your grandfather when you say that.
We'll see
means we can't afford it and you don't want to flat out tell me no.”

Gretchen didn't bother denying it. “For now, you need to train her to curl up next to your feet on the floor. She's too heavy to be on your lap. It's not good for you.”

“Go wash up,” Gram said without making any promises. “Breakfast is ready.”

With a sigh, Gretchen went to the sink and washed her hands. She'd already gathered eggs from the chickens and fed the three horses they boarded for a family that lived in the southern part of the state. She'd have to clean their stalls and work in the gardens later, but for now she was starving.

“Maybe we can afford a new love seat now that the Murphy boy's going to be living here,” Gram said while Gretchen took a seat at the table and took a scalding swallow of the coffee waiting for her.

“I'm still not sure this is a good idea.” It had seemed like a great idea when Kelly brought it to her and through multiple emails with Alex over the last two weeks, but, now that it was actually going to happen, she couldn't help but have second thoughts.

Gram set a plate of biscuits and sausage gravy in front of her. “Wouldn't be fair to change your mind at this point. He'll be here in a few hours.”

“I know. It'll be strange having a man in the house again.” It had been nine years since her grandfather passed away, and it had only been her and Gram since.

“At least he'll have his own bathroom so we won't have to worry about falling in the toilet in the middle of the night if he leaves the seat up.”

Yeah, Gretchen thought, he'd have his own bathroom. He'd have
her
bathroom, along with the bedroom she'd had for years. But giving him his own space, except for the kitchen, made more sense than sharing a bathroom with him. Gretchen had never shared a bathroom with any man, and it seemed very intimate. Intimacy was definitely not what she was going for.

“I was thinking about making a ham tonight,” Gram continued. “And maybe my scalloped potatoes and creamed corn.”

Gretchen never turned down her grandmother's creamed corn, but she didn't like the way this was going, and the man hadn't even arrived yet. “Alex isn't going to be a guest. It's a business arrangement.”

Gram sat across the table from her with her own bowl of biscuits and gravy. “He's paying extra to eat meals with us. That's what you said.”

“Normal meals. You don't have to cook anything special for him.”

“I'll worry about what I'm cooking. Did you finish getting his room ready?”

Gretchen nodded, shoving a forkful of gravy-soaked biscuit into her mouth. She'd moved all of her belongings into the room next to Gram's, and everything from her bathroom into the one they'd be sharing. For Alex, they'd put on fresh bedding and put brand-new towels and washcloths in the bathroom.

Between Cocoa and Alex Murphy, they'd put out some cash recently, and Gretchen rubbed at the back of her neck. The room and board he'd be paying would help, but for right now, things were a little tighter than she'd like.

“You're going to come in early, right?” Gram asked. “You should clean up before Alex gets here. Maybe take a shower. Put on a little lipstick.”

Gretchen stared across the table. “What are you talking about? I don't even own lipstick, Gram.”

“You can borrow some of mine. Oh, Cherry Hot Pants would be a great shade on you with that dark hair of yours.”

“I am not putting Cherry Hot Pants on my lips.” Gretchen didn't even know what else to say about that. “I'll probably say hi and point him in the direction of his room, and then I'm going back to work.”

“You're never going to get a husband.”

Gretchen pushed her chair back and carried her dishes to the sink. This wasn't good. Not good at all. “I'm not putting on red lipstick. I'm not looking for a husband. Alex Murphy is going to be our tenant and nothing more. I mean it, Gram.”

The older woman smiled. “My great-grandmother ran a boardinghouse in London, and she took in an Irish boarder who fell head over heels for my grandmother. It was very romantic.”

“I don't have time for romance,” Gretchen said, shoving her feet into the barn boots she'd taken off at the back door. “I've got horseshit to shovel.”

—

A
lex hit the brake pedal hard, and the used Jeep Cherokee he'd owned for three days skidded to a stop. The Jeep's nose was about three feet past the stop sign.

Now that he wasn't an honored fund-raiser guest and therefore exempt from minor traffic mistakes, he glanced around to make sure he wasn't about to be busted by any of Stewart Mills' finest.

Several stop signs had been added between the time Alex and the others had graduated and gone off to college and their return for Eagles Fest, and they weren't the only changes. The recession had hit hard, the mills had closed, and things had gotten really hard for the people of Stewart Mills. As he drove through town, he noticed again the number of empty storefronts and real estate signs. There seemed to be fewer foreclosure auction signs, though, which was hopefully a sign the worst was behind them.

He found the turnoff to the Walker farm by memory and drove slowly up the long and bumpy dirt driveway. The big white farmhouse needed a little TLC, but he knew from his last visit to town that Gretchen had been running the place alone since her grandfather died, and that her grandmother had had some health issues. Nothing serious, but basically it was a one-woman show.

He got out of the Jeep and was greeted by a chocolate Lab who made it clear they were going to be the very best
of friends. Behind the dog was Gretchen Walker, though her greeting was a little more reserved.

“Welcome back,” she said, giving him a tight smile.

“Thanks. I'm looking forward to spending some time here.”

She nodded, folding her arms across her chest. Gretchen was tall and lean, with long, dark hair in a thick braid down her back. Old jeans tucked into even older barn boots hugged her legs, and she'd thrown a faded flannel shirt over a T-shirt.

Strong.
As the dog sat at her feet, Alex composed a mental snapshot of her, and that was the word that popped into his head. Not only did she have physical strength, but she also had an air of resolve and determination about her. He had no doubt when something—anything—needed doing, Gretchen would quietly step up and get it done.