by Jamie Magee
***
If there was one thing Willowhaven knew how to do it was to have a parade. The streets were jammed full so you could barely move.
All the girls and Georgia had gone to the square. They knew that way Grace could see the floats longer as the curved around.
Georgia wished she had her camera, and more than once tried to get the one Harley had, but settled for just asking her to get a shot of Grace doing something.
Grace loved the parade but was attached to Georgia, clung to her hip as she waved to the floats. She would laugh and dance, but only if Georgia did.
Cynthia had pulled out all the stops and had gotten not one ice-cream cone but two. Grace reached for Cynthia, who was sitting on the tailgate that was parked on the side of the street, then perched herself beside her.
“You know Wyatt told me this crazy story one time,” Harley said to Georgia.
“Oh yeah?” Georgia said with a lifted brow. She loved the old stories, hearing how exaggerated they were.
“Yeah, he said when they were boys he and Easton had snuck away at a parade—they wanted to see better so they hid on the square behind the cannons, but one of them hit one and it raised up to the sky and fired.
“No way,” Georgia said with a laugh.
“They all have tall tales when you get him and his boys together. His dad is the worst,” Harley said, nudging Beckett who wasn’t paying attention to her but to his brothers that were all around them laughing like this was the best day of their life.
“Did you ask him about it?”
“Yeah, Beckett swore it went off, but I think it was a firework. You know what,” Harley said leaning to the side, “I think there are fireworks strapped to it now.”
“Are you serious?” Georgia asked, her defensive side coming out.
“I did see a few boys running around over there early this morning,” Cynthia said from behind where Georgia was.
“Every generation of boys tries to top the last,” Camille said. “Last thing we need is fireworks in this crowd with all these little ones.”
Georgia was staring down the center of the square. There was a monument at the midpoint and four cannons pointing out in each direction. She did think she saw something by each of them coming out from the ground, a pipe kind of deal. Her first instinct was to get Grace away from this area.
“There’s a break in the floats. You and Georgia go on over there and see if that’s the case. If so, I’ll get Beckett to flag down the sheriff,” Camille said.
Before Georgia could suggest that Beckett or any of her uncles or cousins that were around them go instead, Harley had her arm and they were running across the street to investigate.
“Are you sure the town doesn’t have something set up for the end of the parade?” Georgia asked when they made it to the square.
“I don’t know what these are,” Harley said, nodding to a few white pipes coming from the ground. Each of them ran alongside of the cannons. “But these cannons are not locked down. Stay right here. Make sure no one comes up here. I’ll get Beckett,” Harley said as she ran down the stairs.
Nervously Georgia looked across the way to where Grace was. Cynthia had pulled her back farther, and she was now perched on the top of the cab of a truck sitting between Cynthia and Camille. Beckett was with them. Georgia looked all around, sure Harley ran off in the wrong direction.
Right then, the sound came from the pipes. She heard air moving through them. At the same time, the unmistakable scream of fire trucks filled the air.
It sounded like there was hundreds of them, like they were heading right for her. She turned and saw them racing down a road that connected with the square, the barricades blocking them being pulled away.
The air sound from the pipes became louder then all at once Georgia heard a pop. Before she could jump or think to move, lavender petals started to rain down on her, all shooting from those pipes then falling slowly across the gentle breeze.
It was too much to comprehend when she heard the crowd cheer like they were enjoying the show, when she saw all the wailing fire trucks begin to circle the square. The first one stopped—firemen in turn out suits climbed out but only to climb on the truck, then they pushed a canvas down. On it the word ‘Will’ was there, bolder than life itself. The truck behind it stopped, too, and the same thing happened, men jumped out, climbed the truck and pushed a canvas down.
Georgia was slowly turning in place as lavender petals rained down on her, reading each truck, feeling her heart hammer, her breath hitch. Six trucks in all and each with one word, and as she slowly spun she read the words, “Will you marry me Georgia Armstrong?”
Right when she read the word ‘Armstrong,’ she saw Easton, in full turn out gear, walking up the steps. His stare connected with hers, fell somewhere deep inside.
Right then she didn’t hear the crowd, didn’t hear the random sounds the trucks were making or even see the petals falling around her. All she saw was him.
When he reached her, knelt to one knee, and took her hand, he slightly tilted his head fighting the thick emotion he felt rising in his throat.
She gasped a smile.
“I’ve rehearsed this—please let me say it all.”
Georgia sucked in a sharp breath as she gripped his hand.
“I love you.” His lips shaped the words, ones she could barely hear over the crowd. “I want a life with you. I want it all.”
All she could do was nod a frantic yes. He breathed a smile, sliding the ring on her finger, then stood and wiped her tears away as his mouth covered hers.
They heard the crowd go wild but that didn’t slow their kiss.
He pulled away, took his jacket off and put it around her, the one that clearly said ‘Ballantine.’ The fire trucks sounded their horns; their sirens beeped on and off.
“That would be a yes, ladies and gentleman,” Memphis said across the intercom.
Georgia laughed as Easton picked her up and spun her around, before slowly lowering her to his lips once more.
Right then Wyatt walked up the steps with Grace. “I know the two of you are in your moment but she insisted she wants a ride on the truck, Daddy-o,”
Easton reached for Grace, put her on his hip, then pulled Georgia to his lips once more. Grace reached across her dad, clearly yelling, “Ma ma,” along with “ride,” over the crowd.
“Are you going to take us on your truck?” Georgia asked with a wide grin.
“Your chariot awaits,” he said with a laugh as he led her down the steps.
They went to the first engine where Easton held up Grace for Memphis to grab, then Georgia, before he climbed beside her.
Grace squealed and clapped her hands as the trucks honked again.
Easton held his girls to his side as tightly as he could as the trucks became a part of the parade. He only tore his eyes away from Georgia for a moment or two, long enough to take in the town he’d grown up in, the town that had his roots.
Everywhere he looked he saw someone that helped bring him to this point in his life. But all around him he felt the men who inspired him to be more than ordinary, who taught him to be an original, to listen to his own soul at every crossroad.
Easton knew life had its hells but the rewards were so great that once the story was told, all you could remember was the bliss.
“This is home, Mr. Ballantine,” Georgia said when she leaned into him.
“You mean that?” he asked with a wide grin.
“I do.”
He leaned in and took her lips once more, hearing the whistles and cat calls, hearing his own daughter squeal and jump in his lap.
It could not get any better than this as far Easton was concerned.
Life was perfect.
Backdraft, Memphis story is now available for preorder. To stay up to date on all releases please be sure to sign up for the News Letter
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Other Books by Jamie Magee
EDGE (Paranormal Serial)
“Web of Hearts and Souls”
Insight (Book 1)
Embody (Book 2)
Image (Book 3)
Vital (Book 4)
Vindicate (Book 5)
Enflame (Book 6)
Imperial (Book 7)
Blakeshire (Book 8)
Emanate (Book 9)
Exaltation (Book 10)
See (Book 1)
Witness (Book 2)
Synergy (Book 3)
Redefined (Book 4)
Derive (Book 5)
Rivulet (Book 1)
Impulsion – Contemporary New Adult Love Story
Acknowledgements
Over the past four years I have published eighteen novels and each of the acknowledgements are moved from one novel to the next. That wasn’t done to take short cuts, but because on this journey I have been blessed enough to keep the same souls at my side. I wanted to take the time with this acknowledgement to state how precious they are to me.
My husband, no doubt, deserves some kind of medal! The man is there from the first instant the idea is thought to life, through the long days of writing where I slip into another world. He manages the blessed life we have built, taking care of our little ones, making sure that there is some kind of substantial meal on the table for each of us. He’s a saint when it comes to telling me what day of the week it is, and letting me know that dawn is approaching and it might be a good idea to get some sleep. He understands that music drives me and is just fine with the same song playing on repeat for days until I have the scene trapped in words. He’s used to having a conversation with me and in mid-sentence I stop and rush to write a line down. There is no doubt that he didn’t sign up to share his wife with the fictional family that always dances in my mind, but he rocks it all the same. I can’t tell you how amazing it is to have someone want your dreams as much as you do, someone that never lets doubt creep into your mindset.
My children, they make me smile every day. They are now to the point where they’re all for naming characters, dancing to that same song that plays over and over. They love to joke about ‘mom’s bubble’—they know that mom dreams wide awake and tease me when they have to pop that bubble to tell me something.
Steffini Walker, Sabrina Wells—there are not words to express how thankful I am to have found you both! Your love for these characters inspires me each and every day. I love you girls!!
Editors, they come in all shapes and sizes, each with their very own style and outlook on the words they’re reviewing. I struck gold with mine, and I mean that. It is hard to find someone who can not only edit the horrid mess I leave behind in my creative rushes, but to also find someone that can strengthen your story and not alter your voice. Someone who is not afraid to tell you exactly what you need to hear good or bad, to fortify your daydreams into words. Todd Barselow is a saint and I count my lucky stars each day that I found him in this crazy publishing world.
Graphic designers are one of the unsung heroes of the publishing world. Which is sad because they’re the ones that give your daydreams a face, they bring the emotion and definition to your work that readers new and old will recognize over time. Emma Michaels is another gift; she not only helped me find the image for my debut novel, Insight, but has also been through each of my covers since. She has a way of understanding exactly what I envision and does not rest until that vision is there before us both. This cover was far different from the others. It had to be more than an image that may or not change over the course of time. It had to be a logo, a brand, something that could be identified with this story for seasons to come. Emma rose to that challenge, and I have to say this is one of my favorite covers. It’s almost as if she saw the emblem in my mind clear as day and worked until it was created. Emma, you are amazing!
My Betas are amazing. It’s their truth that makes them that way, how they are not afraid to tell me what they like and don’t, how they don’t bat an eye when I hand them a contemporary story, a YA story, or this story. They read each with an open mind and their feedback is priceless. There is not a doubt that it always mirrors the feedback my readers will give me once the story is published for the world at large. Thank you girls for sharing my daydreams with me!
Readers. I swear to you, to this day it blows my mind that there are people on this earth that I will never have the chance to meet that have shared these stories with me, people who get it, who leave reality and step into my daydreams with me if only for a moment. You humble me. I can’t stress that enough. Thank you so much for taking a chance, giving up your time to read my work.
As you can clearly see, people often think that writers have solitary lives, and in some real fashion we do, but more so than not, the story you are reading was impacted by not only those that walked the publishing line with the writer, but the world at large. Inspiration is everywhere, in every dark and positive moment, in every song, drive, commercial. Everything is inspiration. Life is beautiful, even the dark stressful moments. You just have to find that beauty, and thankfully I have outstanding people in my life that ensure that I notice it each and every day.