Worth Every Cent (Worth It Series, #2)

by Lexy Timms

  Well, he didn’t even eat, so what the hell had that made him?

  I blinked away the tears I’d refused to cry by then and found my father crawling into his old pickup truck. He moved like he was recovering from a hangover. I was surprised he was still living, driving around in that damn thing. I figured he would’ve wrapped himself around a pole in town or something.

  Monster. Bottom-feeder. You’re nothing, Grayson. Nothing.

  It took Anton a long time to reverse the damage my father inflicted on me. I’d taken his words to heart as a child. Cried myself to sleep night after night, begging a God that didn’t exist for answers as to why my mother left me. Why my father didn’t love me. Why he stuck me with a family that was better off dead, than alive and failing to raise a little boy.

  Anton finally showed me that his words were bullshit, though. And now, I had the proof. The evidence that what my father told me was false. I had billions upon billions of dollars at my disposal and the admiration of entire nations.

  But watching my father drive off swerving down the road filled me with an emptiness I hadn’t experienced since the night he shattered that bowl against the wall.

  Opening up the door of my convertible, I sank down into it. I put up the top and rolled up the windows, not interested in finding the good in Stillsville any longer. My eyes stayed hooked on the road in front of me, not caring about who was walking alongside me or who was crossing in front of me. I found my way back to Anton’s house and parked my car, then stepped out and headed for the porch.

  Until the garage caught the corner of my eye.

  I could still turn this trip around. There was still an opportunity to make something of it and leave on a valuable note. Turning, I started for the dusty place, letting myself into the garage so I could rip the tarp off that wrecked Chevy. My eyes scanned over it as my hand fell into every dent and scratch I had forced upon it. My feet kicked at the flattened tires as memories of that accident came careening back to my mind.

  This car represented the one time I had truly let Anton down.

  And I wasn’t going to allow his car to stay in that condition.

  Restoring this car to its former glory could be my last ‘thank you’ to him. To a man I owed such a gigantic debt of gratitude. I was selfish when he took me in. Angry, with a chip on my shoulder the size of the Grand Canyon. And even after I left for college, I rarely made it back to see him. Holidays and some summers, but not much outside of that. Then, I was drafted and I never came home. We talked on the phone. Wrote letters sometimes. But outside of that, I didn’t have the time. That’s what I told myself.

  The truth was, I didn’t make the time.

  Didn’t make the damn time for the one man that cared for me and showed me kindness. For the man that saved my life.

  But I would make the time for him now. I couldn’t dwell on the past any longer and I couldn’t allow myself to stay bound to it. Looking around at the tools that hung on the wall, a grin slipped across my cheeks. I closed my eyes and conjured the man’s face. His thick Russian accent, the shock of thick white hair, and the wrinkles that added a gentleness to his stern features.

  That was my purpose in Stillsville this time. The house could be sold. The furniture donated.

  But this car?

  I would restore it the way Anton had restored me. With love.

  It was the least of what I owed him.

  Chapter 4

  Michelle

  A Friday afternoon shift. The calm before the storm. At least, that was what we called it at the diner. There were only a few gray heads in the place, bobbing around the diner and talking to one another. I filled up the coffee mugs of the patrons sitting in my section as I braced myself for the onslaught that would be Friday dinner service.

  Then, the bell above the door rang.

  I looked over to see who was coming in and saw a man I didn’t recognize. A bespectacled older man with a head of white hair and kind hazel eyes. I watched Cecily run up to him and usher him into one of my booths, then went back and stood behind the counter to play something on her phone.

  Ringing up two booths, I handed them their checks before making my way over to the lonely man in the corner.

  “Welcome to our little corner of the world,” I said with a smile. “What can I get for you this afternoon?”

  “I’ll start with a mug of your finest black coffee,” he said.

  “Can I interest you in a slice of our infamous pecan pie to go along with that? It’s a fan favorite here,” I said.

  “Oh, no-no. The amount of sugar in one slice of pecan pie exceeds my daily limit and approaches even my weekly limit. And I really do enjoy my M&M’s in the evening.”

  My eyebrows rose at his matter-of-fact statement as a soothing chuckle fell from his lips.

  “I am Dr. Luke Simmons. I’m the physician with the practice on the other side of town,” he said.

  “Then that explains it,” I said with a smile. “And I have to personally say thank you for staying in this small town. I haven’t personally met you yet, but everyone talks about Dr. Simmons as being the last doctor in town.”

  “Most of my colleagues abandoned this place for the outlying towns. Bigger places. Better equipped to handle things. But this place is home for me, and every town should have a physician on staff.”

  “So no to the pecan pie, but a possible yes to our house salad?” I asked.

  “Now you’re talking,” he said as he put down his menu. “I prefer the ‘practice what I preach’ mode in order to serve as an example to my patients. No matter how delicious a slice of pie might smell.”

  “Well the smells are free in this joint,” I said. “I’ll be right back with your coffee.”

  I watched the man pull out his phone and start thumbing through it. I settled a cup of coffee in front of him before setting a small carafe on the tabletop. He was warm. Comforting. His presence put me at ease.

  He reminded me of someone.

  “Have you decided what you might want to eat?” I asked.

  “I think your house salad and house soup sounds phenomenal right about now,” he said. “But only if you tell me why you’re an unfamiliar face in town.”

  “Because I didn’t grow up here, Dr. Simmons.”

  “Please, call me Luke,” he said.

  “Well, Dr. Luke, I’ll go put your order in. It should be up in no time.”

  I went to put his order in and service some of the other patrons, but found myself gravitating back towards him. I enjoyed our snippets of conversation in between things other people needed. But I knew the Friday night rush was coming in soon, which meant I wouldn’t have a lot of time to talk with the man before he left of his own volition.

  “Here we go. One house salad with our house dressing on the side, and one bowl of our vegetable soup,” I said.

  “It smells great. Thank you,” he said.

  “I really hope you enjoy it. I haven’t tried the house dressing yet, so you’ll have to let me know how it is.”

  “Not a salad person?” he asked.

  “Not a dressing person. A little oil and vinegar goes a long way with me.”

  “‘Atta, girl. No one should ever snub their nose at a plate full of vegetables.”

  “I’ve never been the type to complain about them,” I said with a smile. “So you say you grew up around here?”

  “Yep. Born in 1942 and never left once. Except to go to medical school.”

  My eyes widened at his statement.

  “Did you say 1942?” I asked.

  “Why? Do I look older than that?”

  “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a year over fifty,” I said.

  “Such a compliment from a beautiful young woman. I’m seventy six years old, if you can believe it.”

  “No, I can’t. So this practice what you preach regimen must be working.”

  “Michy!” Cecily called out. “Need your help!”

  “Michy?” Luke asked.

>   “Michelle. But some people around here have shortened it up to Michy.”

  “Then by the look on your face, I think I’ll stick to Michelle,” he said with a grin.

  The flood of patrons into the diner forced me to end my conversation with the comforting man in the corner booth. Cecily and I rushed to get people seated before Brad came out, tending to a family himself. I figured out that it was the city councilmen with his wife and children, so all of our excess attention was to be thrown into them.

  “Make sure their drinks are correct.”

  “The wife doesn’t like butter anywhere near her food.”

  “Come on, guys. Move faster. They expect prompt service.”

  The dinner rush always took me by surprise, no matter how many times I worked it. Always a real trial by fire type of situation. Cecily almost always ducked into a bathroom to gather herself, leaving me to tend the entire floor on my own. Sometimes Brad would step in, and other times he would walk straight into the women’s restroom and demand Cecily get back out on the floor with me.

  But it seemed as if luck wasn’t with me tonight.

  While carrying a massive tray of drinks for the family, I tripped over a chair leg and went crashing to the floor. Soda and tea and water spilled everywhere, drenching me and the floor underneath my body. Some splashed onto the kids and even onto the city councilmen’s wife. The anger in their eyes was unmistakable.

  “Go home,” Brad said. “I’ll finish this up.”

  “I just tripped. That’s all that—”

  “You tripped and soaked the wife of the city councilmen. I have to clean up your mess so they don’t destroy the reputation of this place. Our service hinges on their happiness. Go home, Michelle.”

  I bit back tears as I cashed out the few tips I got that day and started my journey to the motel I was staying in. Would my luck ever change? I wasn’t sure it would. One hiccup at the worst possible time at my new place of work, and my job suddenly hung in the balance. At least, that was how Brad made me feel. I didn’t want to be destined to hop from one shitty job to another. And I didn’t want to be destined for shitty relationships for the rest of my life, either.

  But every time I turned around, it seemed as if life was reminding me that I wouldn’t amount to anything.

  It snuffed out the hope I tried to keep lit in my soul.

  My mile and a half journey back to the motel took me right by the local watering hole. Music poured from the door as people opened it and I found I recognized the song. I bobbed my head to the beat of the music pouring through the walls and mouthed the lyrics, and soon I found myself crossing the street.

  Paying the cover fee.

  Opening the door for myself.

  The idea of blowing off a little steam seemed nice. I was soaked to the bone in soda and water, but I didn’t care at that point. I didn’t care about much of anything at that point. I walked up to the bar, where the bartender gave me an odd look. I held up my apron before pointing over to the diner, and she seemed to sympathize wholly with me.

  “What’ll it be after a hard day at work?” she asked.

  “A glass of your strongest wine,” I said.

  I sat in the darkness of the bar and sipped on it. The band played song after song I recognized, but all I could focus on was the harshness of the alcohol in my drink. It tasted nowhere near as smooth as the wine from Grayson’s vineyard.

  The wine from that night.

  I threw back the rest of the drink and choked it down. I needed to get over it already. Gray was gone and he was never coming back to this place. Hell, I never wanted to come back to this place either, and I’d taken up residence in it. I slid my glass to the bartender and she promptly poured me another one, and I figured my measly tip money could be put to some sort of use. I tapped my foot along with the music and enjoyed the break, though people kept giving me odd looks.

  I could only imagine what I looked like to them.

  “Well hello there, pretty thing.”

  I looked over at the bartender before my eyes settled on the man that had walked up.

  “What kind of trouble did you get into tonight?”

  “Spilled some drinks at work,” I said flatly.

  “Well, let me buy you a glass of what you’re drinking to help you erase the memory.”

  “No thanks,” I said.

  I had three men at various stages of intoxication offer me drinks. Like I wasn’t already covered in them. The unwanted attention forced me to close out my tab and abandon my post, pushing me closer to the crowd of people gathered to hear the band. I didn’t need another glass of wine anyway. Three had been enough, and with it settling into an empty stomach, my worries about work were already melting away. At least if I lost my job, I had enough money to get to another town and hole up in another shitty motel until I could find another shitty job.

  So long as it was shitty, I had a shot.

  I moved closer to the crowd on the dance floor and swayed my hips. I closed my eyes and moved to the beat as I twirled myself around. Alone in my own little world, standing in a dark corner of the stage, minding my own damn business and trying to salvage my evening.

  But the second I opened my eyes as the crowd began to clap, a familiar face came into view. A strong body with long arms and massive hands, leaning over the pool table and shooting a cue ball across the green felt table.

  What the hell was Grayson MacDonald doing back in Stillsville?

  Chapter 5

  Grayson

  The band was shit, but I tried to ignore it as I positioned my cue against the white ball on the pool table. All they did was play one shitty cover after another and boomed it out across the damn bar. Nothing original. Nothing to separate them from all the other shitty cover bands that came rolling through this small town. But it was something to do on a Friday night. I bit down on my tongue to concentrate on my shot. The man I was playing against watched me with hooded eyes and a beer up to his lips. I remembered him vaguely from high school. Both of us had been on the football team together for a little while. But I made varsity my sophomore year while he rode the junior varsity bench all four hellish years of high school.

  I’m surprised he didn’t slap me across the face, too.

  Currently, I had one hundred dollars riding on whether the eight-ball I was trying to sink made it into the corner pocket. It was an almost impossible shot, but it made the game a little more interesting. I drew my cue back and knocked against the white ball, watching as it bounced off his striped balls and the edges of the table. It rolled towards the eight-ball smoothly. Slowly. Deftly. Until it tapped against it and slowly inched it into the damn pocket.

  I stood up and smiled as the guy groaned and rolled his eyes.

  “Here,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I said, as I picked up the money off the table. “Always nice to play against a viable opponent.”

  But he wasn’t happy at all. I looked over at him as he tossed his stick down onto the table, muttering curses underneath his breath. In retrospect, it was easy to win pool against a drunk. The way he stumbled on his feet told me everything I needed to know about his current physical state. He stalked off without even acknowledging my presence, so I tucked the money into my back pocket before grabbing the two sticks.

  Just another example of Stillville’s finest.

  As I hung up the sticks and dug the balls out of the pockets on the table, I wondered if coming back was a mistake. Putting up with these people just to settle Anton’s estate face to face almost didn’t seem worth it. Plus, I hadn’t seen her. And while part of me was relieved, the other part of me was upset about it. Was Michelle even still in town? Had she left as well? The idea sent me down a spiraling thought process that almost took me under. Where would she have gone? If she went back home, where was that? Was there a chance I would ever stumble across her again?

  Just then, a flash of red caught the corner of my eye.

  I whipped my head up from the gree
n felted table and honed in on the color. The body attached to it had swiveling hips as her eyes locked straight onto mine. My heart beat faster in my chest as I took in the sight of her. Electricity flew through my veins. Michelle was there. In that bar. Listening to the same shitty music I was, and staring at me in much the same way I probably was with her. My hands tingled with the want to touch her. My legs craved the ability to cross the floor to get to her. I rose up and walked around the pool table, beginning my journey towards the woman who had me hooked with her electrical currents.

  But then her eyes diverted from mine.

  And her body turned away from me.

  Her legs carried her as quickly as she could make it towards the door. I moved through the crowd to intercept her. She wasn’t getting away again. I wasn’t letting go of her this time. I pushed people out of my way and ignored their curses before I stepped in front of her, blocking her route to the only damn exit in the place.

  “Hello, Michelle,” I said.

  Her beautiful green eyes stared up at me as that cute smattering of freckles along her nose and cheeks glistened under the dim lights of the bar. But even though her eyes were wide, her face was guarded. Unwavering in its emotional state, despite the shock flooding her beautiful, sparkling gaze.

  Her clothes were stained and her hair seemed a little stringy, but it didn’t matter to me.

  Michelle was still in town, and I could feel her body heat beating against me.

  “What are you doing in Stillsville?” she asked.

  “Some things have come with Anton’s estate again. I flew back in to take care of them personally,” I said.

  “So you did leave.”

  The way she said it slapped me across the face. That seemed to happen a lot in this town nowadays.

  “I did,” I said.

  “Back to your vineyard?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Back to Maria?”

  “To my personal assistant, yes.”

  I watched her brow tick in confusion as a bit of softness drifted over her features.

  “What’s going on with Anton’s estate?” Michelle asked.