Count On Me: Baytown Boys

by Maryann Jordan

  Count On Me

  Baytown Boys

  Maryann Jordan

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  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

  Also by Maryann Jordan

  About the Author

  Count on Me (Baytown Boys) Copyright 2020

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, then you are reading an illegal pirated copy. If you would be concerned about working for no pay, then please respect the author’s work! Make sure that you are only reading a copy that has been officially released by the author.

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

  Cover Design by: Becky McGraw

  ISBN ebook: 978-1-947214-54-5

  ISBN print: 978-1-947214-55-2

  Created with Vellum

  Author’s Note

  Please remember that this is a work of fiction. I have lived in numerous states as well as overseas, but for the last twenty years have called Virginia my home. I often choose to use fictional city names with some geographical accuracies.

  These fictionally named cities allow me to use my creativity and not feel constricted by attempting to accurately portray the areas.

  It is my hope that my readers will allow me this creative license and understand my fictional world.

  I also do quite a bit of research on my books and try to write on subjects with accuracy. There will always be points where creative license will be used in order to create scenes or plots.

  1

  Jerking awake, Scott Redding bolted up in bed, kicking at the covers with his right leg, unable to move his left. A weight sat on his chest as he clawed toward consciousness. Managing to toss the covers to the floor, he reached down to rub his aching leg and dug his fingers into his left thigh. Massaging downward, his fingers passed his knee and then came to nothing.

  Eyes open wide now, he flopped back onto the mattress, a curse leaving his lips. Wiping his hand over his sweaty face, he rolled over and moved to the side of the bed. Grabbing his crutch, he stood and limped into the bathroom. Wetting a small towel, he washed his face and neck, the cool water helping to cleanse the nightmare from his mind.

  As always when dreams woke him, he forced his thoughts to travel down a different path. Makowitz, Torgenson, Bullock, Kandle, Roberts... all good men. Most still alive. Some still active. Blowing out his breath, he remembered the early morning runs, most during pre-dawn over the rough Afghanistan terrain. There was a hill where they would stop and watch the sunrise. It always struck him as strange to watch the sun lift in the sky and know that it was the same sun that rose over his home near the Chesapeake Bay back in the States. The same sunrise that his grandfather always watched.

  He knew the dangers, but surrounded by fellow soldiers, he always felt safe. But then, traveling from one post to another, the truck in front of him ran over an IED. The larger vehicle lifted into the air, landing partially on the front of his. Seeing the hulking metal coming toward him was the last he remembered.

  He awoke in the camp hospital, but his world was fuzzy. All he could remember was walking on the beach on the Eastern Shore of Maryland with his high school girlfriend and hoping she would let him get to second base. Or further.

  The next time he regained consciousness, he was in a hospital in Germany. His parents were standing near his bed, but confusion marred his reality. He could not understand why his mother was crying. The covers were pushed back, and when he looked down, his naked right foot lay on top.

  And below his left knee was nothing.

  No pain. Just nothing.

  Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Surgery. Rehabilitation. Anger mixed with acceptance. At least I came back. One of his buddies had been killed in the blast along with two more in other vehicles. And that did not include those injured along with him.

  His living nightmare had been almost two years ago. Most of his team had moved into his memory, part of his past that remained firmly there. Now, he had created a new life for himself, firmly ensconced in Baytown. New home. New friends. New job.

  The nightmares came rarely now, but knowing that sleep would be elusive, Scott used his crutch for balance and went back into the bedroom. Soulful brown eyes stared up at him from a large pillow on the floor. “Hey, Rufus. Gonna get up now. You want to come?”

  His dog stood and stretched. Then, giving a full body shake that made his ears slap against the side of his head, he followed Scott into the kitchen. Rufus was a rescue. He had been a young hunting dog at one time, but an accident had taken one of his legs. His owner gave him to the shelter, but they had a hard time finding someone to take him on. As soon as Scott and Rufus lay eyes on each other, it was as though they knew they were a match. Rufus’ tail began to thump on the floor, and Scott grinned widely, taking him home that day.

  “You hungry, boy?”

  The question was purely rhetorical. Rufus was always hungry. As soon as the kibble went into his bowl, the dog immediately began to crunch. Flipping on the coffee pot, Scott scrambled eggs, microwaved a few slices of bacon, and popped bread into the toaster.

  Sitting at his table, he watched the morning sun rise on the Eastern Shore again, but now he was in Virginia. And he thought of those in uniform who were still overseas, watching the sun rise from where they were.

  Ruffling his hand over Rufus’ head, he said, “Come on, boy. Let’s go for a little run.”

  Scott sat in the office that his grandfather used to occupy for so many years, recently updated. His grandfather had adorned the wall behind his desk with his degrees and associations in heavy frames that now were replaced by local artisans’ paintings of shore scenes. And on the credenza behind the desk now sat framed pictures of both his family and his military family, the team he served with in Afghanistan.

  In some ways, it still seemed surreal to be back in Baytown, occupying the office that he had visited so often when a child. Scott loved his grandfather but never anticipated following in his footsteps. Instead, he had craved adventure, and the desire to travel far outside the bounds of the tiny town had called him to join the military after high school. His gaze landed on the photograph of his former team, and his lips curved slightly at the youthful faces, cocky smiles, and the surety that they would all come home safely having fought for God and country. Oh, the folly of youth.

  “Good morning, Scott.”

  The greeting startled him out of his musings, and he looked up as Lia McFarlane stood in the doorway, smiling at him. Her long, d
ark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and her warm eyes twinkled. She had always been attractive, but since falling in love with Aiden McFarlane, her face now held a glow from deep within.

  “Good morning,” he replied, smiling in return.

  She walked in and sat down in one of the leather chairs in his office, and her gaze drifted around the room as his had earlier. Lia had come to Baytown, buying out his grandfather’s accounting business when he retired. Scott knew his grandfather would have preferred to sell it to him, but Scott was finishing his master’s degree and not ready to take on the business’ responsibilities. As soon as he finished, he’d contacted Lia and she hired him as an employee, then, several months later, offered him a partnership, which he’d accepted gratefully.

  “I’m glad we were able to expand and update the office.” She quickly looked back over and smiled. “Your grandfather’s office was perfect for him, but for us, it was a little…”

  “Stuffy? I think that’s the word you’re looking for,” he said, and they both laughed.

  When the building next door became available, they bought it and renovated the entire space. They each had a large office, Scott taking over the one that had been used by his grandfather. Besides Lia’s office, there was now another for a future accountant, if needed. They also had two conference rooms plus an employee workroom. The ever-efficient secretary, Mrs. Markham, had an updated reception area as well.

  Just then, Mrs. Markham walked in with a small tray in her hand. Setting it on his desk, she handed a cup of coffee to both he and Lia before taking the third cup for herself. Settling in the other chair, the three sipped in companionable silence for a moment. This was something new that Lia had begun several months ago… a chance for each working day to start with the three of them sharing coffee together.

  Scott enjoyed his morning cup of coffee as much as anyone, but over time, he’d begun to appreciate the pleasant way to start each morning.

  “Any luck with house hunting?” Lia asked, turning to Scott.

  He shook his head. “No, not yet. I’m driving the real estate agent crazy, but I think my biggest problem is I just can’t define what I’m really looking for. The historical houses in town are nice, but the ones already restored are fairly expensive. I’m not into doing the restoration work for the ones that are more moderately priced. Plus, I don’t really want to be right on top of my neighbors.”

  “So, you’d like a little space?” Mrs. Markham asked, peering at him over her cup.

  “Yes, I see myself in a place that has a little bit of land around it. Breathing room, I guess you’d call it.”

  “I’m sure there’s lots of places in the country outside of Baytown that are for sale,” Lia added.

  He sighed heavily. “So far, nothing has resonated with me.”

  Mrs. Markham looked at her watch and startled. “Oh, my goodness. I didn’t realize the time.” Looking up at Scott, she said, “Your client will be here in a few minutes.” She stood and gathered the empty coffee cups before carrying the tray out of the office.

  He looked at his online calendar and his brow scrunched. “Beau Weston? Is he a new client?”

  Shaking her head, Lia replied, “I’m sorry. I meant to tell you that I’m handing him over to you. He’s been around forever, and your grandfather used to be his accountant. He’s a wonderful man, and we got along fine. But I have to say that when he heard that Thomas Redding’s grandson was here, he seemed happy. Plus,” she shrugged with a smile, “he runs a farm, and with you being a tax accountant, I think you’re a better fit for him.”

  Scott thought that he and Lia made a good team. His specialty was tax accounting, focusing on businesses, and her specialty was fraud. They both handled the customers’ tax questions in preparation but utilized their specialties as much as possible.

  Lia continued, “In fact, I think he mentioned the American Legion when I met with him last year. You might have already made his acquaintance.”

  She had barely left his office when Mrs. Markham showed at his doorway and said, “Mr. Redding, your appointment is here.” Standing to the side, she ushered in an older gentleman, introducing, “This is Beau Weston.”

  In stepped a large man, dressed in clean overalls and a white, short-sleeved, buttoned shirt. His cheeks were ruddy and he had a shock of white hair on top of his head, wide smile peering out from a trimmed, white beard, and blue eyes that fairly twinkled. Scott had an image of Beau easily playing Santa Claus. And he could not help but grin.

  2

  “By God, you look just like your granddaddy did when he was younger. Nice to meet you,” Beau exuded, grabbing Scott’s extended hand.

  Still grinning in return at the firm and friendly handshake, Scott indicated for Beau to have a seat.

  “Can I get you anything? Coffee or water, perhaps?” Mrs. Markham asked.

  Beau shook his head and replied, “Thank you muchly, but I’ve already had my allotted caffeine for the morning. My Reba, God rest her soul, has been gone several years, but my granddaughter has taken her place, making sure I eat right. She lets me have two cups of coffee in the morning and that’s it.”

  Laughing, Mrs. Markham closed Scott’s door as she left the room.

  Beau turned around in his seat, settling his gaze on Scott. “I’ve missed the last couple of meetings, but I do recognize you from the American Legion. I know your granddaddy was mighty proud when you joined the military.”

  Chuckling, he shook his head slightly. “I believe my family eventually came around, but I can assure you when I first joined right out of high school, neither my grandfather nor my parents were very happy.”

  “Oh, that was just the fear talking,” Beau said, settling deeper into his seat. “I don’t believe your daddy served, but your granddaddy did, so he knew what it could be like. But make no mistake, he was proud.”

  “Thank you for that.” Scott relaxed, feeling an immediate camaraderie with the older man. Beau’s affable personality set him at ease, and while most people wanted to immediately get down to business, it was fine with Scott if Beau wanted to chat a little bit.

  “Heard you talk at one of the meetings about your injury. You’ve got my admiration, Scott. Anyone who can go through what you went through and come out of it doing as well as you did… well, like I said, you’ve got my admiration.”

  Shrugging, Scott patted his thigh and said, “Mr. Weston, I figure I’m lucky. I had some friends who didn’t make it back.”

  Beau nodded slowly, the light in his eyes dimming slightly. “Yeah, me too. Did a tour in ‘Nam.” He patted his leg as well and chuckled. “My knee gave out over there. To this day, I can tell the weather depending on how my knee feels.”

  The two men offered knowing smiles, the connection tangible. One of the things Scott had learned from participating in the multi-generational American Legion was that their service branches may be different as well as the battles they fought, but there was always a camaraderie amongst servicemen and women.

  Moving the conversation back to the reason Beau was visiting, he said, “I understand you have a farm? I apologize for not being prepared ahead of time, but I just found out that you would be my client.”

  “Oh, that’s fine,” Beau said, waving his beefy hand to the side, dismissing Scott’s concerns. “I like Mrs. McFarlane just fine and got no problem working with a woman, but she told me that you were real good with taxes. Plus, I was excited to meet Thomas’s grandson.”

  “Well, why don’t you tell me a little about your business?”

  Scott was not sure Beau’s smile could have spread wider, but as he began talking about his farm, it was obvious how much he cared about his land.

  “The farm’s been in my family for over a hundred and twenty-five years,” Beau began. “Farming is the only life I’ve known... the only life I’ve ever wanted. I met my wife when we were in high school. She was a pretty girl from the town, and I was just a country boy. Couldn’t believe she said ‘yes�
�� the first time I asked her out. Reba and me got married right after high school. Her daddy wasn’t happy, but Reba knew her mind. We moved into the farmhouse with my parents and eventually built a small house of our own on another part of the land. Once my parents passed, we moved back into the bigger farmhouse.”

  “What do you raise?” Scott hated that he had not read up on the Weston farm.

  “When our farm was at its biggest, we had over four hundred acres, raising corn, cotton, and potatoes. I also kept a few cows, had a prize bull, plus pigs and chickens.” His smile slid from his face, and he rubbed his fingers over the whiskers on his chin. “Years ago, during one of the recessions, I sold off a hundred acres to Luca Giordano, the Tomato King.”

  Eyebrows lifted, Scott did not have a chance to ask about that title before Beau began chuckling.

  “I see you haven’t heard that before,” Beau said, his smile back on his face. “The Giordano farm began snapping up farmland about thirty years ago. The Eastern Shore is known for its tomatoes, and he had direct contracts with companies like Campbell’s for their tomato soup.” Nodding his head, he added, “Big business being in tomatoes.”

  “I knew that tomatoes were one of the crops that grew prevalently around here, but I never thought about it being so important,” Scott replied. “I confess that I was gone for many years and have only recently come back to the Eastern Shore. It seems like there’s much I need to learn.”