by Louisa West
They pulled up on the lawn by the house. Rosie jumped down after Maggie and handed her the grocery bag. “Could you go put these away, Pumpkin? I’ll be along in a minute.”
Maggie clearly wanted to stay and listen in on the grown-up conversation but nodded. “Okay.”
“Thanks, hon,” Rosie said. Maggie dashed into the house like a bat out of hell, to minimize her chances of missing the whole conversation. Rosie turned to her neighbor, who had climbed out of the truck.
“Look,” she said, holding out one hand to stop him when he opened his mouth. “Since we’re neighbors, I’m gonna give you some friendly advice.”
His eyebrows had lifted as though pulled by invisible strings, but Rosie didn’t care. She needed to say this, and he needed to hear it.
“Don’t be coming around my place drunk like that. I’ve got a kid. If you do it again, I’ll call the cops.” She warmed to her subject. “In fact, don’t be coming around at all unless you’re invited. And none of that ‘King and Queen’ stuff in front of her – she's been through enough without having to listen to that.”
She finished laying down the law, her hands having crept to her hips as she’d talked. Now that she finished, she flicked her long dark ponytail back over her shoulder.
He took her in for a few seconds, his eyes almost the same kind of green as sea glass. He pursed his lips and nodded once.
“Fair enough,” he said at last, before holding out his hand. “Declan Forrest.”
It was her turn to lift a brow, but she reached for his hand anyway. It completely enveloped hers and was warm. Not as rough as she’d expected it to be. She felt some kind of tingling sensation in her palm as it connected with his, and it was almost enough to make her frown. It wasn’t romantic – it was more like a buzz of energy.
“Rosie Bell,” she replied, her shake firm for two pumps before she took her hand back. She slipped her hands straight into the pockets of her jeans to rid herself of the strange sensation.
“At ya service, Rosie,” Declan replied, offering a brief but friendly smile before turning back to his truck. “I’m right on through the woods that way.” He jutted his chin to the north-east. “If ya need anythin’, just holler.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll do that. And thanks again for the lift. We appreciate it.”
“No worries.” He stepped up into the truck and rumbled off down the drive.
Afternoon sun flooded the overgrown front yard of Fox Cottage. After a full day of work at the Go-Go Mart and walking the distance to town and back, Rosie was tired. Maggie chatted as they sat together, drinking home-made milkshakes on the porch, both barefoot and smiling.
“I wonder if there’s an ice cream shop in town.” Maggie sipped her milkshake. “Or a pizza place! Did you see that huge park the other day, Mom?”
“Kinda,” Rosie said, leaning on the railing and running her eyes over the weed-filled garden beds. “Maybe we can check it out tomorrow when I finish my shift.”
“And see if there’s an ice cream shop?” Maggie asked, her hazel eyes brightening at the thought.
“Maybe,” Rosie replied. “You can tell me which flavor you might choose while we pull some weeds.”
Maggie groaned. “Do I have to?”
Rosie almost smiled at the familiar tone of a preteen whine but stopped herself just in time. She’d already padded down the steps onto the dirt path leading to the cottage, and the warm raw earth beneath her feet felt like heaven. She squinted up at her daughter.
“You don’t ever have to do anything you don’t wanna,” she said, raising her milkshake cup to her lips. She peered at Maggie over the rim. “But I hope that you’ll pitch in with this. This place is our new home, and I’d like to stay here for a long while. Wouldn’t you?”
“Sure,” Maggie said, glancing up at the moss trailing from an ancient oak tree in the middle of the lawn. “It’s nice.”
Rosie smiled, finished her milkshake, and moved to set her cup on the top step of the porch for now.
“If you think it’s nice now, imagine it weed-free. Think of all the beautiful flowers we would have room to plant in these beds. And we could make a cute stone path, leading to the porch.” She held out a hand to Maggie, who grinned and took it.
A half-hour later, they had finished one garden bed but still had four more to do. The sun was beginning to dip below the high canopy of the surrounding woods, and Rosie’s mind had turned to what to fix for dinner. Maggie stretched.
“Can I have a bath now?” She lifted her dirty hands and wriggled her fingers at Rosie, who laughed.
“Sure. You know how to set it up.”
The sound of the washroom taps lulled her as she piled the garden waste into a corner of the yard. She’d check the rules on burning off some leaves tomorrow. Later on, they could have a small bonfire and make s’mores—one of Maggie’s favorite things.
A low rumble sounded from down the track leading up to the house, and Rosie’s head snapped towards the noise. Before long, a silver pickup truck pulled into the clearing. A man parked it on the edge of the drive, smiling as he started up the lawn towards Rosie.
“Well, hi there,” he called, wiping his hands on his jeans as he approached, and then offering one to Rosie once he was closer. She hesitated and then held her hands up so he could see that they were dirty. He nodded in acknowledgment.
“You must be Miss Bell. I’m Terry Holt. I own the hunting shop in town, Oh Shoot. You’ve met my wife, Tammy.”
Rosie lifted her chin in recognition. So, this was shy Tammy’s husband, and thanks to Prissy Bishop, Rosie knew that they’d had trouble having kids.
“I did,” Rosie said with a nod. Though she didn't know either of them well, she was a little surprised to imagine shy but fashionable Tammy with someone so gregarious. “She was good enough to call on me the other day.”
Terry smiled. “That's my Tammy. Sweet as molasses.” He gestured at the yard. “She mentioned that you might need a little help with some things around the place. I’ve just come from Huntsville. Thought I’d stop in on my way back home and see if I could be of any assistance.”
His smile, which until then had been polite and genial, took on a devious cast. Rosie thought she noticed his eyes skim down from her face to her décolletage, but when she blinked, he looked as friendly as he had two minutes before.
“Actually,” she said, not stubborn enough to turn him down, “I have a garden bench that I can’t lift on my own. Would it be too much—”
“Not at all,” he cut her off, putting his hands on his hips in a that-suits-me-down-to-the-ground gesture. “Beautiful woman like you, without a man around the house to fix what needs attention. Hell,” he grinned, “it’d be my pleasure.”
When Rosie didn't immediately respond to his idle flirtation, he continued. “Just point me in the right direction.”
He held out his hand, indicating for her to walk ahead. Again, Rosie hesitated. She felt uncomfortable walking in front of him, so she forced a smile and began to walk so slowly he had no choice but to walk beside her.
On a slope that was the beginnings of what the locals called The Ridge, a rusted garden bench rested upturned. Ivy had conquered the twisted iron, reclaimed by the spirit of nature that seemed to surround the cottage itself.
“I’d like it up by the house. Do you think it’s too heavy for the both of us?”
Her question was genuine, but for some reason, it made Terry smirk. An uneasy feeling churned in Rosie’s stomach.
“I think we oughta be just about able to handle it,” he said, ripping the ivy from the bench before waving his hand at Rosie. “You take that end. I’ll walk backwards—don’t let me fall, now,” he chuckled.
Rosie quirked a brow and lifted. The bench was very heavy, and she strained with the weight as Terry adjusted his grip. “Let me know if you need to rest,” he said, and they were moving before Rosie knew it.
After all his talk of 'no man around' and his little sm
irk, Rosie had no intention of asking for a break, even if she did need one. She clenched her teeth as they walked the bench over to the old oak tree in the middle of the lawn, facing the drive. They put it down, and he let out a deep breath.
“Hoo boy,” he laughed, oblivious to the thunder in Rosie’s look. “She’s not a pretty girl, but she’s solid as hell.”
Rosie crossed her arms. “She’ll be pretty enough, once I put my stamp on her.”
Terry’s gaze narrowed, and the corners of his lips turned up in a lazy smile. “Now that I don’t doubt for a minute, Miss Rosie.”
She felt again that same discomfort she kept questioning. Was he just being a hospitable Southern gentleman? Or was he a Southern rogue pushing her boundaries, to find out how far she was willing to push boundaries herself?
“Been a while since I've been on this property,” he said, fingers riding in his belt loops as he turned to look around them. “Used to be a little trellis over here with an old grapevine, though I don't expect it's still growing anything anymore. Been quite a while since anyone's taken care of it.”
He began walking up a small incline, and she reluctantly followed. As they walked, he explained all the local landmarks – particularly those around Fox Cottage. It was clear that he was a woodsman, as though owning a hunting and fishing supply store hadn’t tipped her off to that already.
“Used to be, you could see the river through here. Wonder if you still can.” He stood at the highest point on the property and looked in the direction of the riverbank. “There!”
Uninvited, he took a step nearer to her and leaned over her, pointing in the direction of the river. She could feel his knee behind hers and knew he was standing way too close to her to be friendly. His other hand settled on her lower back, cradling her waist in a way that erased any questions about his intentions. And then it trekked lower.
Rosie felt indignation burst like a geyser within her. How dare he make a pass at her, minutes after telling her how sweet his Tammy was? She felt her skin prickle and her brow furrow, wishing she had a mousetrap in her back pocket to reward him for his insolence!
A snap! echoed off the nearby trees, and Terry jumped away from her with a yelp.
“Ow! Shit!”
She turned, shocked, but not half as much as he was. He was holding his hand in front of him and then shook it out, staring at her wide-eyed but trying desperately not to look afraid.
“You shocked me,” he said.
“Makes two of us,” she said with a lifted chin, with much more confidence than she felt at that moment. She didn't know what had happened, but she was glad it had.
She turned away from the handsy woodsman, but then she froze. Her heart and shoulders sank as she recognized Tammy on her lawn, holding a foil-covered dish in front of her, just as frozen in place as Rosie was. Terry must have seen her then, too, because his voice carried to her.
“Tammy!”
Tammy dropped the dish she was carrying and turned to hurry away at a light jog, but Terry, more athletic, caught up with her. They had an emphatic but quiet conversation while Rosie tried to look anywhere but at them. Terry glanced at her, and, not knowing what else to do, she retreated to the house.
She shifted the curtains in the front window to watch Terry hand Tammy into his pickup truck and then heard the truck start. She let the curtain fall back into place.
Poor Tammy.
Chapter 4
Rosie’s third day of work started with her sleeping through her alarm. The mad rush to get Maggie ready to join her for her shift had her heart pumping. When they reached the Go-Go-Mart, Rosie knew she’d be fit in no time, what with all the walking she was doing each day.
Ben greeted her with a raised brow when they rushed in. They were five minutes early, but Rosie looked as guilty as someone who was fifteen minutes late. She’d promised him she was reliable, and she meant to keep her word.
“Hi,” she said, dropping her bag under the counter. She undid her ponytail, shaking out her wild curls. The stiff morning breeze had whipped them up into a frenzy. She smoothed them back against her head to tame them.
“Hey,” Ben said, glancing up from restocking the magazine rack. “Nice quiet morning? Hi there, Maggie.”
Maggie smiled and waved, holding her well-read copy of Black Beauty. Rosie smiled, finished tying her ponytail, and pulled the hair at the top to tighten the elastic. “Super relaxing,” she quipped.
Ben nodded. “You’re on the register today—think you can handle it?”
“Sure!” Rosie glanced at the cash register, as though they were already old friends. She’d worked a part-time job in retail when she’d first moved in with Randy, but that had been years ago. “It’s like riding a bike,” she said, trying to convince herself as she ran her fingertips across the keys.
“Okay,” Ben said, raising a brow. “I’m gonna be stocking shelves—we’re expecting a delivery today. You can sit in my office if you like, Maggie.”
“Thanks!” Maggie said, thrilled not to be sitting up at the counter with her mom.
Ben grinned, holding out a hand to show Maggie where the door was before turning back to Rosie. “If you need me,” he said, walking back towards the aisles, “just holler.”
“Will do,” Rosie agreed, switching on the old-timey radio that sat on a shelf behind the counter. Ben smiled and vanished into the depths of the store.
The store was quiet. Real quiet. She hadn’t expected Mosswood to be a thriving metropolis, but she had expected more than one customer. An older gentleman had wandered in and bought a copy of the local newspaper. After paying for it without speaking, he had snatched it off the counter and left. Rosie, shocked, was still wondering about him as she carried on with her duties. Were all the folks in town going to be so welcoming?
She hummed while she cleaned the counter, turning her attention to the shelves beside it. As she restocked chocolate bars and cough lozenges, Rosie couldn't help but feel as though the old man's reaction had been personal somehow. She finished adding gum to the display and stood, hearing the doors slide open behind her.
Great—fresh meat.
“Hi there, how’s your—” Rosie trailed off when she turned and saw who had walked in. “—day?” she finished.
Prissy smirked, patting her hair into place.
“Why, Rosie.” Prissy lifted her eyebrows and pressed her lips together in a thin line of clear disapproval. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Hi Prissy,” Rosemary said, hyper-aware that she needed to be professional. “How are you?”
“Good, good...” Prissy looked around the store as though seeing it for the first time and not being sure she wanted to stay. “Need some staples, is all.”
“Sure thing,” Rosie said. “Plenty of staples to be had in here, that’s for sure. Help yourself.”
Prissy pulled a face before grabbing a wire shopping basket and heading into the first aisle. While Rosie hadn’t expected genuine kindness or friendship from Prissy, the coldness in the other woman was off-putting. Rosie continued to tidy up the front counter area, but she could feel Prissy’s eyes on her as she worked. Eventually, the other woman came up to the counter to finish her purchases. Rosie waited for her to place her items on the conveyer belt so that she could bag and check.
Prissy cleared her throat.
“Did you need something else, Priscilla?” Rosie glanced at the items in the basket. “We have cough lozenges over there by the mints.”
Prissy raised an over-plucked brow. “Actually,” she said with a predatory purr, “I’d like Ben to serve me if you don’t mind.”
What? Rosie blinked but recovered quickly.
“Ben’s in back—we’re expecting a delivery.” She forced a smile. “I can help you, and then you won’t need to wait.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Prissy sighed as though dealing with moronic people was her daily cross to bear. “I want Ben to serve me because I don’t want help from a classless home-wre
cker.”
At first, the words didn’t register. Rosie stared as they sunk in, and then the incident with Terry came rushing to the forefront of her mind.
“Excuse me?” she asked, her voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.
“All the excuses in the world won’t help a filthy harlot like you.” Prissy smiled sweetly, but her words had the edge of a razor.
Rosie blinked. “Terry—”
“Tammy’s husband,” Prissy snapped, but Rosie ignored her.
“—came to my house yesterday afternoon under the pretense of helping me with yard work.”
“He came over as a good Christian and a neighbor, and you couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Prissy hissed. “He was shaking when he got home last night, the poor thing! And Tammy was beside herself! We had to hold an emergency prayer circle—”
“He what?” Rosie couldn’t stop her voice from rising. “Is that the story he told y’all? He helped me shift a garden bench, and then he came onto me! Does that sound like being a good Christian or a good neighbor – or a decent husband—to you?”
Prissy rolled her eyes. “Do you really expect anyone to believe the words of a lying harlot over a trusted and respected member of this community?” She leaned forward then, her eyes glinting. “You made the biggest mistake of your life yesterday. I hope you can get out of your lease with Mrs. Wallace because you’re done in this town.”
Prissy straightened and smiled as though she hadn’t just threatened Rosie’s very existence in Mosswood. “On second thought, I’ll take my business elsewhere. Have a nice day.” She set her basket on the counter and flounced out of the store.