Small-Town Heart Read online

  Table of Contents

  Small-Town Heart

  Dedication

  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

  Sample: Whiskey & Honey

  Acknowledgments

  From the Author

  About the Author

  Other books by Andrea Johnston

  Small-Town Heart

  Copyright © 2018 by Andrea Johnston

  Cover design and Formatting by Uplifting Designs

  Editing by Karen L. of The Proof Is in the Reading, LLC

  Cover Photo by iStock

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. No part of this publication may be stored or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, people – living or dead – is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, characters, businesses, artists, and the like which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or, it was not purchased for you then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for supporting this author.

  For my husband.

  You are the reason I believe in love.

  Chapter 1

  “Please don’t do this. Please, Gerty.” I sound pathetic—begging my twenty-something-year-old teal hatchback to live. Yes, live. I need my car to get her shit together and get me to Austin. Looking at the gauges, I plead with them to tell me what’s wrong. That’s wishful thinking since they stopped working a year ago and the little arrow things bounce without telling me anything.

  “Come on, girl. Look, six miles. You can do it.” My words are encouraging. Okay, they aren’t really encouraging. They’re more like begging with a sprinkling of frustration and the lingering sounds of tears lacing each word.

  Six miles and we’ll be in the town of Fayhill. If I’m lucky, Gerty will hold on for at least eight and allow me to get closer to the center of town. I’ve been to this town once before and, while it’s been at least ten years, I’m sure it hasn’t changed much. That’s the brilliance of small Texas towns: they don’t change much. It’s also why I left small-town Texas: they don’t change much.

  I won’t cry. This isn’t a big deal. We’ve broken down before. Sure, it was in a town where I knew a lot of people. A town with taxis that could get me home if necessary. Home. I refuse to admit defeat. That “d” word is not in my vocabulary. I glance up in my rearview mirror and don’t see smoke billowing behind me; that’s good. And, because I was obviously a sinner in my past life and am being punished for said unknown sins, a puff of smoke appears in front of me.

  Dammit to hell. I’m going to be stranded in Fayhill, Texas. Fayhill, population . . . well, I don’t know what the population is, but I’m sure it’s less than what I’m looking for as I start my new life.

  Again.

  Yes, at twenty-three I’m starting my life over. Third time’s a charm and all that. I’ll be fine. Everything is fine. Fine. A big word with only four letters. I should have known things were too good to be true in Lexington. I had a good job, a roommate who not only paid her rent on time but was willing to split a pizza and critique the latest episode of The Bachelor every week. Heck, the guy I enjoyed hanging out with, and was absolutely willing to fulfill all of my sexual needs, wasn’t interested in a relationship. I was living the ultimate dream.

  Then, one day my roommate decided she needed to move back home.

  The guy, the one that wasn’t interested in a relationship? He fell in love.

  In a matter of weeks, I found myself with extra bills and nobody to spend my free time with. Sure, I had co-workers I could hang out with but considering one of those co-workers is the woman my ex-fling fell in love with, that wasn’t exactly a comfortable situation.

  Of course, I was—am—happy for everyone. Truthfully, it was that happiness that pushed me to give my notice as a cocktail waitress at Country Road. Once I packed up Gerty with everything I owned and hit the road, my time in Lexington was over. I needed to move forward with my original life plans.

  Sure, I took a few detours along the way, one being to visit my mom. A week into my two-week stay with her and I was going insane. I pulled up a map of the great state of Texas and decided I’d see what Austin might hold for me. So far, it’s holding my dreams because it looks like I’m stopping in Fayhill, at least for the afternoon.

  Two more puffs of white smoke billow from the hood of my baby, and I’m in denial. Encouragement. It’s all she needs. At the end of the day, Gerty is a girl. And, like any other young woman, she wants to be told she’s smart, fierce, and can handle any obstacle put in her way. I tell her that each time I turn over the ignition, along with hope and a prayer she’ll start and get me where I need to be.

  I enter the outskirts of Fayhill just as one of my mama’s favorite songs fills the car. I remember when I was little my mom would blast “Centerfold” by The J. Geils Band every Saturday morning and dance around while she cleaned our small house. I also remember when I went over to my best friend’s house. Valerie’s mama did not love me singing this song with a broom as my microphone. So stuffy. That’s what Mama used to say, and I’d have to agree.

  I see the town coming in the distance and think to myself, even if Gerty blows a gasket or whatever ails her, I’ll make it to at least a parking spot before she quits on me. And I spoke too soon. With a huge puff of smoke and two sputters, I pull Gerty to the side of the road. There’s no use trying to start her again. She’s done. I’m still hopeful she can be saved, but for now, the side of the road is where she’ll have to stay.

  I reach over to the passenger seat and pull my makeup bag out of my purse. If I’m going in search of a mechanic, I might as well make myself presentable. Flipping down the sun visor, I open the small mirror and gasp. Oh lordy. I look like I’ve been to hell and back. Twice.

  After applying a little powder, light shadow to enhance my dark blue eyes, and a little lip gloss, I pull my hair from the messy bun I threw it in hours ago and fluff it out a little. As much as it pains me to say it, this is as good as it’s going to get today. Tossing my phone in my purse, I exit my car and begin my trek into town.

  There aren’t any bright city lights here. No signs of local bands or any of the arts at all. I left a town like this for a life in t
he city, for a life that included museums, live music, and if I was lucky, a little fling with a musician. I’ve been searching for that life for four years, and while I haven’t found it in the places I’ve lived, I know for a fact that what I need isn’t here in Fayhill, I just need to find a way out of this town.

  Chapter 2

  The walk into town isn’t too bad. Well, as far as long walks go. Apparently, my ability to determine distance leaves something to be desired. What I assumed was a short walk turned into a rather long and dusty walk. The sun is high and bright in the sky, causing my skin to tingle, and I wish I had put on sunscreen this morning. I don’t burn often, but I am vigilant about my skin care. A little protection from the sun is always one of the first steps in my morning routine. Only, I was driving most of the night and didn’t think to apply any before I left poor Gerty on the side of the road.

  My sweet Gerty. I already miss her.

  As I enter the town of Fayhill, I take in my surroundings. Store fronts depicting various businesses adorn either side of the main street through town. A women’s boutique, a lawyer’s office, and a pawn shop sit on one side of the main street while the other side houses a hair salon, a cell phone store, and a small café. At the end of the street, a city square doubles as a small park with a clock tower, large fountain, and what looks to be the courthouse.

  My stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday as I stop in front of the small café, The Mess Hall. Well, that’s an original name for a restaurant. Peeking in the window, I see a stereotypical small-town diner. The Mess Hall screams “greasy spoon” and it’s like an old friend inviting me in for a quick visit, my stomach sounds its approval of the stop as well.

  I note the “Help Wanted” sign hung below the “Open” sign before glancing back through the large window. Inside, customers sit at tables, laughing and talking more like they are there together than separate. A waitress who looks to be about my mom’s age, with flaming red hair and bright lipstick to match, bustles around, filling mugs of coffee with a huge smile on her face. When I open the door, a bell chimes above my head, signaling my appearance.

  The waitress greets me with a smile and a wave toward an empty table as she hustles behind the kitchen window where I note a small amount of smoke. I take a seat at the counter, removing my messenger bag and placing it on the stool next to me before turning over the waiting coffee cup.

  After a few minutes, the woman appears from the kitchen with her arms holding multiple plates like she’s presenting them to the patrons. I watch in awe as she maneuvers between the few tables delivering food then retrieving the coffee pot and filling cups before turning her attention to me.

  “Morning, honey. Coffee?” she asks while simultaneously pouring coffee into my waiting cup, not waiting for me to respond.

  “Looks like you have your hands full. Literally,” I observe.

  “Yeah, my cook fell ill and couldn’t make it in this morning. So, I’m running solo today. Hopefully the good Lord will look kindly on me and encourage everyone to eat at home this morning.” I look up at the clock hanging on the wall. If Fayhill is like my hometown, the after-church crowd will be here for pancakes and omelets within the hour.

  “Do you need some help?” I ask. Dammit. What am I doing? I need to find a mechanic and get Gerty looked at, so I can get on the road again. Which, I’m sure is wishful thinking on a Sunday in small-town Texas, but a girl can wish.

  Except, this woman—Vera, according to her nametag—is so frazzled I feel awful sitting here drinking coffee and not offering her any support. What’s a few hours helping her out? Maybe that good karma will carry over into fixing Gerty. Vera’s eyes widen in surprise at my offer, so I continue. “I have waitressing experience and since my car is broken down outside of town, I don’t have anywhere to be right now.”

  “Hell, girl. I don’t care if you have experience. If you can write down words and pour coffee, I’ll take it!” Vera exclaims.

  Refusing to allow me to serve anyone on an empty stomach, Vera quickly scrambles some eggs while I begin to study the menu. I’m halfway through the “griddle” section when Vera declares that since she was doing all the cooking we’d only offer three breakfast choices today, and if customers didn’t like it, they could “go home and cook their own damn food.” Her words, not mine.

  Three hours and two very sore feet later, I’m sitting in one of the empty booths, drinking a glass of water, when Vera throws herself into the booth opposite of me. I watch her over the rim of my glass as I take a sip. She’s either deep in thought or assessing me. I assume it’s the latter and prepare myself for her to unleash the third degree on me.

  “It just occurred to me I never got your name. I’m a horrible business owner,” she says, sighing.

  “Nah, we were just busy. My name is Beth,” I say, extending my hand in greeting.

  Eyeing me quizzically, Vera shakes my hand then snorts. “Sweetie, don’t bullshit a bullshitter. Your name is not Beth. Try again.”

  “It is.” It’s not. Well, it’s the name I’ve gone by the last few years, but it’s not the name I went by for eighteen years.

  “Sweetheart, if your name is Beth, my name is Cecilia,” she scoffs. “And, as much as I want to be exotic and worldly, I’m not. Don’t make me ask you to hand over your identification for tax purposes. Spill.”

  I roll my eyes before standing from the booth to fill my water glass wishing this clear liquid was something with more of a kick. Vodka or tequila, I’m not particular, just something other than plain old water. I turn to Vera and hate that she thinks I’m lying to her. Lying makes me feel awful and my hands start to sweat. Taking a deep breath, I retake my spot across from her and look her in the eye.

  “You’re a little up front about things, aren’t you? Trying to live up to the stereotypes of redheads?” I sass, motioning toward her hair.

  “Honey, it took me years to find the right box color to fit all of this,” she retorts while running her hands down her body. We both break out in laughter before I explain my name.

  “Beth is what I’ve gone by the last few years. But, you’re right. My name is Mercy Elizabeth Warner. Pleased to meet you,” I say with a smile as I extend my hand once again.

  “Mercy. That’s better. It fits you. Why would you want to be “Beth”? That’s so, ordinary. You, my dear Mercy, are not ordinary.”

  I scoff at her assessment. “You don’t even know me. I am pretty boring, actually.”

  “Honey, you walked your ass into an unfamiliar town with a broken car left on the side of the road before offering up your help to a stranger because you’re a good person. There’s nothing ordinary about that. Plus, you’re drop-dead gorgeous and should be walking runways not dirt roads.”

  I laugh at her and shake my head. “I’m just a girl trying to get to Austin is all. I’m happy to help. Do you think the repair shop is open yet?” I ask, looking at the clock. It’s early afternoon, I imagine the mechanics are in and looking for work.

  “Oh, Earl isn’t open on Sundays.”

  My eyes widen and my breath hitches. Isn’t open?

  “What? You can’t be serious!” I exclaim.

  “Calm down. He isn’t open, but I sent him a text message before I sat down, telling him you were broken down and saving my behind. He boo-hooed but finally agreed to tow your car to his shop. He’ll look at it tomorrow, first thing.”

  “Vera, thank you for doing that. Do you think he can be persuaded to make an exception? I don’t have anywhere to stay tonight. I made a hotel reservation in Austin. I mean . . . I suppose I could call an Uber or something, but the cost will be astronomical . . .” I say, trailing off in thought. I mentally calculate how much money I have in my wallet plus what I earned this morning helping Vera. The people of Fayhill are very generous with their tips.

  Vera stands from the booth and goes to the front window to turn the “Open” sign to “Closed” before turning to face me. “Mercy, honey, you’ll j
ust come stay with me for the night. I have a guest room and in the mornin’ you can meet up with Earl to figure out what your car needs for repairs.”

  I stare at her, mouth agape. Stay at her house? She doesn’t know me. I could be a grifter for heaven’s sake. I’m not, but she doesn’t know that. And Vera herself could be a serial killer. I’m not sure there are many serial killers running diners in small towns, but what do I know? Although, she has been kind, and Mom always said you should follow your gut. My gut tells me Vera is a good person.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

  “Mercy, there’s no imposin’. You helped me; I’m helpin’ you. Now, I also happen to know there’s a fresh bottle of tequila in my freezer needin’ some attention. What do you say? A girl’s night to celebrate you coming to town and saving my butt.”

  Oh yeah, Vera and I will get along just fine. “Sounds perfect. Do you happen to have a shower I can borrow? I smell like bacon, and while for some people that’s an aphrodisiac, it’s not exactly my go-to scent.”

  Vera laughs, and I join her. Once we’ve closed The Mess Hall, we walk out to her car and head for where Earl has parked Gerty for the afternoon. Sitting off to the side of his shop, she looks like her normal self. As I retrieve my small bag from the backseat, I bend down and whisper to her that everything is going to be okay. The people of Fayhill, Texas will take care of us.

  Chapter 3

  Margaritas, tacos, and a Twilight marathon isn’t how I expected to spend last night but that’s exactly what Vera and I did. I suppose Vera is the epitome of “don’t judge a book by its cover.” With her bold makeup, overly styled hair, and no-nonsense attitude, I expected a little more of an in-your-face type of movie, not a story about sparkly vampires.

  After we left Gerty, Vera drove us through town and her commentary had me in stitches. “That’s Mrs. Waters’ house. She’ll tell you she’s the reigning blue-ribbon winner for apple pie. She’d be wrong.” “Mona Jenkins is sweet as pie and the actual reigning blue-ribbon holder.” “Samuel lives there in the bright blue house. You’d think he’d repaint that by now, but I guess he thinks he’s a real-life Smurf.” It went on nonstop until she turned onto a quiet street only a few minutes from the diner.