Amazing Grayson (#MyNewLife Book 3)

by M. E. Carter

  Sure enough, when I make my way back outside, a tall blonde is standing with her back to me, taking in the scenery. It’s no wonder. The wildflowers are blooming; it’s a sea of purple out in the fields. I really should make a point to stop and enjoy the view more often. It’s easy to get used to seeing the terrain so you don’t notice the beauty.

  “You must be Oli’s mom,” I call out, hoping I don’t startle her.

  Instead, she surprises me when instead of introducing herself, she immediately begins the interrogation. “Has he calmed down yet?”

  I chuckle, liking that she gets right to the point. She’s not rude or dismissive. Just clearly a mom who knows her son well.

  “It took him a while,” I admit, “but I finally found what distracts him.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh yeah? It wasn’t something electronic, was it?”

  “Nope. Cows.”

  “Cows?” Her eyebrows furrow in confusion.

  “We were just as surprised as you are. My farm manager and I were talking about one of our sick Bessies while Oli sat on the floor. Apparently, meeting her was more important than waiting us out.”

  “Oh yeah.” She walks toward me, a smile on her face. “There’s nothing Oli hates more than a sick or injured animal. Keep that in your back pocket for next time.”

  “Trust me. I’ve already made a note.” I tap my temple with my finger and smile at her. She’s not dressed for a farm—yoga pants and a white T-shirt. Neither of which would stay clean or be without holes if she worked here. But her no-nonsense attitude is refreshing. We never know what kind of parent we’re going to get when a child is raising holy hell. I can already tell I’m going to like working with this one. “He’s over in the milking parlor right now, getting to meet her. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to see the vet do an assessment of her before we put her back with the herd.”

  “Oh no. Is she really sick?”

  “Nah.” We begin walking the same path Pedro and her son took a few minutes ago, albeit at a slower pace. “Just standard safeguard procedures. I’m Grayson Whitman. My friends call me Ace.”

  I reach out my hand and she takes it, her grip not too tight, but not that girly shit where you only shake with your fingers. I like it. I also like the way her palm feels against mine, which is a very strange thing to notice in the moment, but there it is.

  “Greer Declan. Nice to meet you, Ace. And I’m sorry about Oli. He’s been having a rough go of it lately, and I have a bad feeling he’s testing you.”

  “Funny you say that. I got the exact same vibe from him. I think he’ll be good here, though. Especially now that we know his weakness.”

  She laughs, and the warm sound goes straight to my core. She’s clearly a woman who knows her son well, but refuses to be brought down by his struggles. “You’ve figured it out faster than most. I can’t tell you how appreciative I am of that.”

  “It’s what we do here,” I say with a shrug. “Working with the animals really helps kiddos with special needs. And Oli has a lot of potential. If we can get that stubborn streak under control, he could make a decent farmhand. He’s strong, and he’s not afraid of any of the animals. Those are two huge hurdles he doesn’t have to tackle.”

  Her face seems to relax, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. “Thank you for saying that,” she says quietly as we meander the final yards to meet up with the others. “Not everyone recognizes his potential. I see it. But I know it’s going to be hard to get there. Knowing someone else sees it too, means a lot.”

  Contemplating her, I take in how this must feel from her perspective. Oli is the new kid in town. New house. New school. New program. I’m sure it has to be hard on her as a mother, knowing there is going to be fallout and hoping the new people around her are equipped to handle it. Suddenly, I’m intrigued in a way I wasn’t before, so I go out on a limb and ask what is possibly the most inappropriate question ever.

  “How does his dad see it?”

  She stops and studies me, assessing me for what, I don’t know. Maybe a clue as to why I’m asking. Maybe to see if she can trust me with the truth. Either way, it takes her a few seconds before she answers.

  “His dad doesn’t see it at all. He’s not around to know one way or the other what kind of potential Oli has.”

  I press my lips together, not sure if I’ve been put in my place or given a warning. But clearly, I’ve been given a big piece of Oli’s puzzle. One that isn’t shared freely, although I do sense there is more to the story.

  Still, I feel the need to reassure her that Oli’s mental, emotional, and physical well-being are safe with me.

  “Well then, I guess Pedro and I will have to work extra hard to make sure Oli knows we believe in him.”

  A huge smile crosses her face and my breath catches. She’s remarkable. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. Even in her not-at-all-farm-appropriate attire and hair tied up on top of her head, I can tell she’s going to be fun to get to know.

  “Well, this is our milking parlor,” I say, breaking the moment. “Let’s head inside and find your boy, shall we?”

  I pause as she turns to the entrance, so I can get my bearings straight and try to shake off my secret hopes that Oli has another meltdown soon, to give her a reason to come out here again. Having a crush on one of my kids’ moms is not what was supposed to happen today. But it appears I’m out of luck. And those yoga pants hugging that very fine ass are not helping.

  It also looks like I might have a date with Rosie Palm and her five sisters tonight. Dammit.

  “I wasn’t supposed to see him, Greer!” Adeline sounds panicked in my ear. “I was never supposed to see him. Why is the universe conspiring against me?”

  I can’t help but laugh at her ridiculousness. Not that I don’t understand it.

  In a weird twist of fate, Adeline’s muse, Spencer Garrison, showed up at her book signing event last night. Apparently, his sister is a huge fan of Adeline Snow books. None of us knew that until Spencer showed up with her. Hence, Adeline’s panic.

  “It’ll be fine,” I say in the calmest voice I can muster. “He was nice, right?”

  “Yes, he was nice. He was awesome. He was beautiful. He was… good lord, that man is attractive.” She’s rambling at a rapid pace, and I’m trying not to giggle in her ear. Not because I’m laughing at her. But because she’s so damn cute.

  I get it, though. As much as I’m trying to encourage her and calm her down, I get it. No one wants to meet their idol. What if they’re not as wonderful as you’ve built them up to be in your brain? I, personally, think Diana Galbaldon is a beautiful literary writer. But I never want to meet her because if she’s a terrible person, I will never get over it. I’ve heard she’s nice, but that’s subjective. Instead, I pretend she and I would be BFFs and never bother finding out where she’s touring.

  Adeline no longer has that luxury.

  “It’s fine, Adi. He was everything your muse has always been, and you’ll probably never see him again.”

  “What if he comes to my next signing? What if his sister comes?” Clearly, I’m doing a terrible job of quelling the hysterics.

  “Calm down. If his sister comes, you smile politely, you let her smile politely, and you move about your day. But seriously, what are the chances you’ll ever see him again?”

  “Really not much,” she admits with a somewhat relaxed sigh. I guess I’m finally getting through to her. “You’re right. I saw him up close. He was everything I imagined he’d be. And god, he smelled good.”

  “Really. What did he smell like?”

  “He smelled like Converse and wood shavings and the tears of Avril Lavigne’s haters.” I can’t help but bark out a laugh as she continues with, “And maybe a little bit of WD-40 from working on the wheels of his board.”

  “I really hope you wrote that down because that is a fantastic description. Also, I need to find my old Sk8ter Boi CD now,” I mutter. “And you need to take your camera, go explore the city and s
ee if you can get your story going.”

  “I’m trying, Greer. But how am I supposed to get motivated to write a surfing story in Chicago?”

  I shrug and swivel my chair back and forth. “Go check out Lake Michigan. I’m sure you’ll find some random people who think those are real waves out there.”

  “I suppose. I feel like it would be a whole lot easier if I had a real-life love interest. You know, like drawing from my experiences.”

  “I don’t know. Drawing from your fantasies seems to be working so far.”

  “I guess. Speaking of. When are you going to have some real-life stories to tell me? That could be some good inspiration for me. I could move into the over-forty genre.”

  “You bite your tongue,” I quip. “I am not forty yet. Close, but we won’t even speak of that.”

  “Okay, okay. But seriously Greer, you’re in a new town. You need to go out an explore. Meet some people.”

  “No, thank you. I’m going to pass on that.”

  “Why? You have so much to offer. You’re smart and creative and beautiful and loving…”

  “And come with a handful of baggage by the name of Oliver and Julie?”

  “I wouldn’t call them baggage. I’d call them bonus gifts.”

  I giggle again. Leave it to a romance writer to ignore teenagers are all pretty much the spawn of Satan and twist the situation into something worth loving. “Well, I’m not saying never. I’m saying give me some time to get settled,” I lie.

  “Okay.” She knows I’m blowing smoke, but she’s also had a rough day and enjoys when I humor her. “But there is no harm in jumping on an online dating site. I’ll even pay for it if it gives you some good stories that inspire me to write again.”

  “Tell you what, if I decide to go that route, I’ll let you know and will give you the exclusive. I’m sure you can twist my life failings into some really great storylines.”

  “That a girl! And then I’ll deduct your membership fee from my taxes and call it research,” she says playfully and then takes a deep breath. “Well. Now that I’m calm and not having a mini panic attack, I’m going to head out and see if I can do a brain reset and fix this writer’s block. My deadlines are looming, and I’d hate for my editor to yell at me.”

  “I don’t yell,” I argue. “I discuss loudly.”

  She snorts. “Same difference. Anyway, thanks Greer, for calming me down.”

  “Anytime, babe. You know you’re my favorite client. Let me know how the rest of the tour goes.”

  We say our goodbyes and hang up, but I’m still thinking about what she said. It’s been years since I divorced Neil. I haven’t gone out on one date yet. I wonder if it’s time. I’ve been hyper focused on getting the kids through Neil’s trial and protecting them from the fallout, building my business, and then dealing with Oli through puberty—I guess I didn’t feel like I had time to date. But maybe it’s time.

  Typing “Online dating website” into my search engine, I’m shocked by how many options there are. There’s Match and OKCupid and even Christian Mingle. How do you know which ones are the good ones?

  As I scroll and search, I realize they all have similar reviews. Each of them has at least one testimony that says, “I met my spouse on blahblahblah.com”.

  Well that’s great, but that means one less eligible bachelor to choose from.

  As I keep scrolling, one in particular catches my eye—ranchersonly.com.

  My thoughts stray back to Ace, the man in charge of the farm Oli has been working at through the school. At first glance, there was nothing terribly remarkable about him. He was tall, dark hair peeking out from underneath a ball cap, an old ratty T-shirt stretched across his chest and some tight jeans, finished off by a pair of worn out work boots. I didn’t stop to really inspect him at the time, too busy worrying about my son and whether or not he was going to get kicked out of the program practically before he began. But the more I talked to Ace, the more I liked him.

  He had this manly vibe to him—all callouses and muscles and hard work. Add onto it, his compassion for kids with disabilities and his obvious ability to handle a meltdown or two, and he grew on me quickly. I was honestly surprised he had figured Oli out as quickly as he had. Normally, it takes someone several months, if they ever do at all. For Ace to figure it out this easily, I admit, it made him intriguing.

  My finger hovers over the hyperlinked website. Should I click on it? Do I even dare? What would I find if I clicked on a website like ranchersonly.com? Would I find more gentlemen like Ace? Or would I find people who are trying to find someone who will move in and help them run a farm. Because I can live on land. But I’m not helping. My dainty, suburbian self wouldn’t know the first thing about helping out.

  Before I can make a decision, my email pings. Glancing down, I see it’s from the school. I guess my decision is made for now.

  Clicking on the preview box, the email opens.

  Dear Mrs. Declan,

  “Ms,” I grumble under my breath, wondering when people are going to finally catch on that I’m not married. For goodness sake. Julie wasn’t even in double digits when we moved out.

  This is a notice to remind of you the ARD committee meeting for your son, Oliver, tomorrow morning at 9am. We will be discussing his placement in our program. If you cannot attend, please let us know at your earliest possible convenience so we can reschedule and/or schedule you to participate by phone.

  Thanks for your cooperation.

  Sandra Marshall

  Special Education Educator

  Sending a quick reply confirming I will be in attendance, I go back and close out my search engine. There is no use in paying money for an account on any of these sites.

  This is my life. I need to get used to it.

  Once a year we like to open the farm to the parents of the kids in the co-op. It’s a fun and more relaxing day than we normally have around here. The parents all come wearing jeans and boots and are ready to work right alongside their child. Well, it’s not more relaxing for them. But it is for us.

  What we find is the more the parents know what the students are doing and seeing them in that environment, the more they appreciate the program and encourage their kids to be part of it.

  Simultaneously, when the kids see their parents putting in hard work, it gives them a boost of motivation.

  It’s my favorite day of the year, and today is that day.

  All eight of our current kids are already here, waiting for their parents to arrive. They arrived about an hour ago, so we could prep them for what to expect and they could put up a few decorations, including some great snapshots Mrs. Johnson took of them hard at work. They really get into making it a party.

  It gets really hot when you’re leading a herd of cattle from one pen to another, so we always have plenty of drinks. At the end of the day, we have a picnic dinner, and I have no doubt Brittany outdid herself. She loves this event almost as much as I do.

  Donnie, one of our oldest kids, is the first one to see his parents arrive.

  “Mom! Dad!” he yells and takes off across the yard like his britches are on fire. He and Pedro were heading over to fix part of the south fence, but now poor Pedro is left alone to finish loading tools and supplies in the back of his truck. Looks like we may need another day before getting that task done.

  Wrapping his mother up in a big hug, Donnie almost knocks her over.

  “Oh! Careful, Donnie,” she calls out, hugging him back. “I know you’re excited, but you forget you’re bigger than me.”

  His dad just chuckles, learning his forearms against the top of the car.

  “Come see what I’m doing. I’m helping Pedro.” Donnie grabs her by the hand, but never makes eye contact.

  “I’d love to see,” she says gently, as she tries to slow him down. “But let’s not be rude. Let’s say hello to Mr. Ace first.”

  “Oh yeah. Mr. Ace, my mom’s here. My dad’s here.”

  I laugh and reach my
hand out to shake theirs. “I see that. It’s nice to see you again Mr. and Mrs. McMillan.”

  “Same here. I love what you’ve done with the place,” she says politely. “Did you get the main house repainted?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Did it right after Christmas last year. I figured my mama was probably rolling over in her grave with as much as I let the place go, so I brightened things up a bit.”

  “Well, it looks great. And the herd seems even bigger this year than last year. Is that right?”

  “Maybe by a little. We had a dozen or so calves born over the last few months. But also, part of our south fence got knocked over, so we had to combine everybody today. That’s probably what you’re seeing since we usually keep the herd split for their different milking times

  “Oh, maybe that’s what it is.”

  “Mom,” Donnie interrupts, unimpressed with idle chit chat. “You don’t need to keep talking to Mr. Ace. You need to come see what I’m doing.”

  “Okay, okay, Donnie. Let’s go talk to Pedro. Nice seeing you again, Mr. Ace.”

  “You too, Mrs. McMillan,” I say with a smile.

  Mr. McMillan watches them go, his own smile crossing his face as Donnie drags his mother through a mud puddle, not even noticing he got them both filthy. Mr. McMillan is not a man of many words so when he stays behind, I know he’s got something important to say.

  However, he could probably stand in silence all day, so I decide to start the conversation myself. The McMillans are great people, but there’s still tons to do around here. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine, fine. We’re immensely pleased with Donnie’s progress since he’s been in this program.”

  “Yeah, he’s done amazingly well. Making more eye contact with people, getting some tasks done. And I swear he’s built some muscle since he’s been here.”

  Mr. McMillan chuckles again. “He’s definitely lost some weight. We were having a hard time keeping him out of the junk food when we first put him in the program. Now he’s all about eating meat and potatoes.”