Home Again
By: Shawna Lynn Brooks
Copyright 2018 by Shawna Lynn Brooks
Cover design by Angela Haddon
Sign up for my newsletter and get my first book, Stormsurge, for free—plus updates on my new releases and other exclusive content. More information can be found at the end of Home Again. Meanwhile, happy reading!
Maren Campbell swung the ax with all the force she could muster, grunting as the metal edge bit into the wood with a satisfying thud. She yanked it out of the pole and stooped over to examine the small cut. The blade needed sharpening, and she hadn’t handled an ax in more than a decade. At this rate, she’d be lucky to pull the sign down before dark.
She glanced up at the sky and shoved aside a surge of utter helplessness. The July sun beat down on her in unrelenting waves. Her blonde hair framed her face in damp ringlets, and the sleeves of her cream-colored blouse stuck to her like a second skin. Her jeans felt thick and heavy on her legs. The heat would be unbearable if she did nothing but stand here. Swinging an ax only made it worse.
She grimaced, pulled back, and swung again. The chip she made on the first swing flew from the pole, exposing clean, bright wood.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Not the best idea she’d ever had, but why did it matter? Taking down the sign in the yard gave her something to focus on other than the chaos she had made of her life. Afterwards, she could drag the sign to the fire pit and drink iced tea while she rested and watched it burn. She needed a goal, even if it was a small one.
She drew the ax back over her shoulder and began to swing in a choppy rhythm. She ignored the heat and the tingle in her arms from the impact of the blade against the wood. She had driven twenty-five hundred miles in the last four days. Her back ached. She had slept little and worried much. She was home now, though, and wasn’t that where everything got better?
Apparently not.
The first of the two signs she had found when she pulled into the long dirt driveway had come down with no more than a stout kick from her tennis shoe. Between the two, that sign, which now lay on the grass next to her, upset her the most.
“The public is hereby notified that the Board of Aldermen of Marquette County will hold a public hearing . . .” The announcement continued in a jumble of ordinary legal jargon, but even now, her brain lingered on the last sentence. The one that sent a chill of dread down her spine. “The Board of Aldermen will vote to determine whether it is in the public interest to take possession of this property by power of eminent domain.”
Take possession. Of her farm.
She couldn’t let that happen.
The cut in the base of the pole grew. While the first sign had been a punch in the gut, the second had added insult to injury. “Welcome to the future home of the Shepherdsville Industrial Complex. Mid-South Industries. Making communities stronger.” The bright red text hurt her eyes and her heart.
Maren had retreated to her family home to find peace. Instead, she had found this. She had stared up at the sign, her mind whirling. All that long, dismal drive, she had wanted nothing more than to breathe in the smell of home, curl up on the couch, and sleep. No such luck. Chaos had followed her here. She couldn’t escape it.
Her grandfather, a kind, loving old man with a cane and a ready smile, had loved her to a distraction. She missed him terribly, even more so over the past two weeks. As sweet and wonderful as Grandpa had been, he’d had a stubborn streak a mile wide. He would not have stood for this. What would he have done if he had been around to see those signs in his yard?
While nothing else in her life was simple right now, the answer to that question was. He would have taken them right back down again. He would want her to do the same. She had reached down deep, found her backbone, and dug the ax out of the tool shed.
Maren tried to shut everything out except the sound of the blade hitting the wood and the sight of the growing dent. No more worries about what had happened in Seattle. No concern about the imminent threat to her grandparents’ farm. She would concentrate on the task and let go of the rest for now.
At least, she would try.
“Do you need help?”
She jerked, so intent on her job that she hadn’t heard the man approach. She couldn’t stop the ax’s momentum, but her aim suffered from the sudden jolt. The top of the wooden shaft connected with the pole just under the ax’s head. The force jarred her arms so hard that she almost dropped it.
A fierce epithet escaped her, and she instantly regretted her outburst. Grandma had been gone for more than five years, but Maren could feel her disapproval like a burn on the back of her neck.
Maren turned, holding the ax in one hand and waving her other in a feeble attempt to restore some feeling to her upper arm. She should apologize for her language. It was inexcusable, really, but considering the circumstances, who could blame her?
She looked up and the words lodged in her throat. Deep green eyes stared at her from under the thick mass of coal black hair sticking out from his battered work hat. The familiar set of his jaw had matured, his skin had tanned, and the sprinkling of hair that peeked out from the open neckline of his white T-shirt had grown thicker and darker.
More mature or not, she knew exactly who was standing in front of her, his arms folded and feet planted apart.
Crap.
She had a sudden, insane urge to fling herself at him. Oh, heck, no. Not happening.
Instead, she gripped the ax hard enough to make her fingers ache and willed her feet to remain in place.
“Jack?”
# # #
Jack Mason squinted his eyes and stared back at what must be a figment of his imagination. Heat like this causes mirages, doesn’t it?
True, but the ax in her hands seemed real enough. So did the butchered remains of the fence post she seemed set on bludgeoning to death.
He had never expected her to come back, regardless of what the aldermen decided. Maren had promised years ago that she was finished with Shepherdsville. And him, for that matter. His eyes flicked down to her thin blouse, transparent in spots from the moisture of her skin. His gut twisted into a loose knot.
Knock it off, Mason. He had been over her for a long time. He would chalk his reaction up to surprise. Considering how determined she had been to put the town behind her, who could blame him? “If you don’t mind, would you drop that ax? I’m not standing anywhere near you while you’ve got a sharp object in your hands.” He tried not to smile as he rubbed the small scar that still stood out on his right forearm. That lesson had cost him ten stitches.
She followed the movement of his fingers over the scar, and the corner of her mouth twitched. “What are you doing here?”
Where should I start? He didn’t want an argument, but what had possessed her to leave the farm in the care of Hank Davis? Jack’s temper flared at the thought. Hank had been a loyal friend of Maren’s grandfather. Too loyal, in Jack’s opinion. Hank had a heart condition and desperately needed a new knee, but he wouldn’t have turned his back on Morris Campbell’s granddaughter if his life depended on it. Whether she deserved it or not. He let out an impatient sigh. “Maintenance.”
She frowned back at him. “Okay. Why?”
He could either come clean now, or he could dodge the question and, hopefully, delay the fight that would follow. His jaw tightened at the thought. Why bother putting her off? He had nothing to hide.
He glanced down at the ax. On the other hand, maybe he shouldn’t come clean when she was armed.
Chicken.
“To check on the pear trees,” he said after a moment. “There ar
e enough pears back there to feed you for a month.”
“Good. I like pears.” Maren gave him a blank stare. She hadn’t come to the farm in years. Did she even remember the trees in the back field?
He wanted to scold her about Hank. He wanted to leave so he didn’t have to deal with her. Unfortunately, that churning warmth in his gut meant he also wanted to take the ax out of her hands and pull her into his arms. He pushed that thought away. He hadn’t seen her in ten years. That had to be the reason his senses were rebelling. He had faced the reality of his relationship with Maren a long time ago. He had wanted her, and she hadn’t cared.
Never mind that. He refused to start the old argument. Especially when there were new arguments on the horizon. He let out a sigh. He needed to know what she meant to do. His plans depended on it. “Considering how many are back there, you better like them a lot. Now why are you attacking a perfectly innocent sign?”
She blinked. “You have to ask?”
Of course he did. Nothing about this made sense. Why had she come back? Why did she care? And what would taking an ax to that post accomplish? “Yeah, afraid so.”
She gestured up at the sign. “This is my grandparents’ farm, Jack.” Maren shouldered the ax. He took a step back. Just in case. “No one is putting anything here.”
She swung the ax, and it landed in a spot about six inches below her previous cut.
Again, his lips pulled into a reluctant smile. “And so you decided to mangle that pole?”
She shot him a sideways glare, then returned her attention to the task. “I’ll manage. It’s been a while, but it’s like falling off a bike, right?” She choked out her words in a choppy staccato as the ax landed.
“Not quite.” She had chopped her share of firewood as a teenager. When they were dating, he had chopped a lot of it for her. He suspected there hadn’t been much wood chopping since she moved out west. She was clearly out of practice. “Not much call for this at the office, is there counselor?”
Maren missed another swing, stopped, and turned to him with surprised blue eyes. She had never expressed an interest in law, and yet she had ended up as a lawyer. In a town as small as Shepherdsville, she ought to have known he would find out. Still, he wished he hadn’t mentioned it.
“I…No,” she said. “That doesn’t mean I don’t remember how. I spent too much time doing my chores to forget. I’m tired. I’ve been on the road for days.”
She drove? Why in the world would she do that? He turned his head towards the little car with the Washington license plate. Not a rental. “You didn’t fly?”
Her mouth formed its familiar stubborn line. “No. I needed my car.”
Jack turned back to the car, a small black convertible that wouldn’t last two weeks running over the potholes in the dirt road that crossed in front of the driveway. He didn’t get it. She could have sold the house over the phone. Instead, she had driven down here to maul that sign to the ground.
She spoke from behind him before he could reply. “Not much of a farm car, I guess, but it’s what I have.”
He turned back to her. The same question rolled over and over in his mind. Why had she come back?
And, more to the point, what was he going to do about it?
“What?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I like my car.”
Huh? He retraced his steps until he figured out where he had derailed. Her car. Not much of a farm car. He couldn’t help but smile. She wasn’t wrong. “Right. But when you get ready to clean out the tool shed and need something a little more practical…”
“I don’t plan to clean out anything. I’m not giving up the farm.” She gestured at the splintered post. “Once I figure out what’s happening here, I’m going to put a stop to it.”
Jack’s mouth tightened. She planned to fight the County. Not good. “So you’re attacking a sign in hundred-degree heat because you’re upset about the hearing?”
“Something like that.” Maren stared up at the sign, and pain flashed in her eyes. “I can’t let them take Grandma and Grandpa’s farm. I just can’t.” Her voice broke on the last word. She grimaced, cleared her throat, then straightened and raised the ax again.
That break in her voice caught his attention. She sounded desperate—like she needed something to hang on to. He watched her work for a long moment. He didn’t want to get tangled up with her again, but if she meant to stay on the farm....
Well, dang.
Wait a minute. He knew her better than that. Whatever had driven her here wouldn’t be enough to make her stay. Nothing would. He’d learned that lesson the hard way, too.
She slammed the ax against the pole once more. As determined as she now appeared to be, once she got herself together, Maren would be gone again. Jack hoped it would be soon. Before she could cause too much trouble.
He made a silent vow to do whatever he could to speed up the process.
And to make sure that, this time, she didn’t take his soul with her when she left.
# # #
Maren swung one last time, grunting when the ax cracked through the last splinters of the first pole. “Hm.” Jack stared at the butchered end that now hung suspended at a crooked angle in the air. “If it had to come down, and I’m not sure I understand how that helps, wouldn’t it have been easier to hook it to your grandfather’s tractor and pull it out of the ground?”
She opened her mouth but couldn’t think of a good reply. The thought had never crossed her mind. “The tractor?”
His eyes sparked with amusement. “Do you want me to bring it around for you?”
She shook her head. Why am I doing this? Hurt and shock had driven her to take down the sign at all cost. With Jack’s steady gaze fixed on her every move, her conviction had dissolved. She hadn’t accomplished anything and going to the trouble to jumpstart the tractor would only add more effort to a pointless task.
“No, there’s no need. I’m done here. I was just trying to make myself feel better.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Not giving up, are you?”
She lowered the ax head to the ground and glared back at him. “Really? That’s how you’re going to play this?”
His eyes lit with amusement. “Here.” He stepped forward and took the ax from her hands. Maren gritted her teeth. After ten years apart, having him only inches away made her senses reel. The scent of warm skin and faint aftershave drifted through her nose and set off a ripple of sensation that flipped her heart over in her chest.
He brushed past her, and she let out a quiet breath. Holy Moses. Coming home might not have been such a great idea.
Jack positioned himself on the other side of the sign. “You might want to stand back.”
Definitely. If her blood was going to boil like that every time he came within arm’s reach, she needed to stand in the next county. She took three steps back. He planted his feet, raised the ax, and quickly picked up a steady rhythm. Maren watched the muscles flex in his forearms with more than a little appreciation.
What is wrong with you? After everything that had happened between them—after everything that had happened to her in the last few weeks—how could she stand here and gape like she couldn’t take her eyes off him?
Easy. Because she couldn’t.
She clenched her fingers into fists. Apparently, the poor judgment that had landed her in so much trouble wasn’t done with her yet.
A final, loud crack broke the air and the wood splintered. The sign fell face down on the grass next to the smaller one she had kicked down earlier.
He rested the ax on his shoulder and turned back to her. Sweat slid from his temple and ran down his jawline, and his breath came in heavy rasps. Why did I let him do that? She’d been so caught up in the shock of having him close that she hadn’t thought to stop him. She didn’t want his help. She couldn’t let herself owe him anything.
Too late now. He’d swung that ax in suffocating h
eat, probably to prove she couldn’t manage the farm anymore. She straightened her shoulders. Fine. She’d show him he had underestimated her.
But I don’t care what he thinks.
“Did it work?” he asked.
She tore her gaze from the thick, damp cords of his neck. “What?”
“Do you feel better?” Jack wiped his forehead on his sleeve.
Did she? She’d gotten her way, but he’d sucked all the satisfaction out of it. The impulse to take down the sign had been ridiculous, and she had let him get one up on her. She didn’t have to tell him that, though.
Maren nodded. “Yes. At least I won’t have to look at it.”
“All right.” He gave her a quick nod. “I’ll get going, then.” He took a step away from her, then stopped and fixed her with the same intense green eyes that had dismantled her in high school. “You didn’t know about all this.”
She flinched at the edge in his voice. He had drawn a conclusion and, whatever it was, it clearly hadn’t improved his opinion of her.
I don’t care.
Welcome back to the great state of denial.
“No, I didn’t.”
His jaw tightened. “Then why did you come back?”
No way. Not in a million years. Like she would confide in him. She returned his sharp gaze with a dismissive shrug and a stiff pull of her lips. “R and R.”
Jack studied her for a long moment, his eyes flat and harsh. “If you say so.” He settled the ax on his shoulder and started past her. “Enjoy your vacation”
She bit down on a reply before it could escape. After the disaster the last two weeks had been, she needed peace and time to think, not another fight.
She closed her eyes as the smell of him drifted into her nose. So many years had passed since the last time she’d been in his arms. She wanted to take him by the wrist, turn him toward her and….
Jeez, what is wrong with you? She stopped short of calling for him to wait. There were reasons she’d stayed away from Shepherdsville for so long. Jack had been the main one. What she’d shared with him had died an ugly death a long time ago. Better to let it stay buried.
Home Again (The Shepherdsville Series Book 2) Page 1