Life After Wife : Small Town Romance (Balsam Ridge Book 1)

by Amber Kelly

  Her eyes come to me. “Are you sure?” she asks.

  “Positive.”

  Needless to say, Mom was not the one reading Gene and me bedtime stories at night. Daddy handled that job.

  “I like my version better,” she says before looking back down at Caleb. “Go grab your things, and I’ll show you to your room. Dinner is almost ready.”

  Caleb hands her his tablet and trots back down the steps to the SUV. I click the button on the key fob, and the back hatch releases, so he can start unloading his bags.

  “Thanks for letting us stay the summer, Mom,” I say as we both watch him.

  “Of course.” She waves me off.

  “It’ll be temporary. I just need to get my head together and figure out our next move before the school year starts,” I promise.

  “Don’t rush yourself, kiddo. This is your home too. Take as long as you need. Besides, I’m looking forward to having my grandson for an entire summer,” she assures me.

  I shake my head.

  This hasn’t been my home in a very long time. Truth be told, I’m not sure where home is anymore, but I have to find it. For Caleb’s sake.

  “Well, I’ll get my things,” I say before descending the steps.

  There is so much to say, but neither of us has ever been good at communicating. Daddy was always the buffer between the two of us, and now that he is gone, us living under the same roof should be interesting. Hopefully, we won’t want to kill each other.

  Thank goodness for Caleb.

  “Here you are. This used to be your uncle Gene’s room,” Mom says as she leads us into the spare bedroom.

  Caleb tosses his suitcase on the bed and looks around the space.

  My brother lived here with my parents and helped run the old farm until our father died. He upped and took off to New Orleans with an older woman two days after we laid Daddy to rest. Although you’d never guess he left from the looks of this room. His dusty boots are still sitting beside the desk in the far corner. His coat is hanging on the back of the closet door. There is still a pile of junk and coins on the bedside table, as if he had just emptied his pockets the night before.

  “I cleaned you out a spot in the closet to hang some things, and you have the top two drawers in the chest. If you need more room, just shove your uncle’s stuff aside. The computer is old, but it works fine if you need it.” Mom chatters away.

  “It’s fine, Granna. I didn’t bring much,” Caleb assures her.

  “Do you remember where the bathroom is?” she asks.

  He nods. “At the end of the hallway.”

  “Why don’t you run and wash up for dinner while I get your mom settled?”

  We follow him out, and Mom opens the door on the other side of the hall that leads to my old bedroom.

  “I had a friend help me bring the twin bed from the attic down for you,” she says as I walk inside.

  The room is much smaller than I remember. It still has the same lilac walls and beige carpet that it did when I moved out to attend UT, but my bed is gone, as is the rest of my furniture. It was replaced with Mom’s sewing table and craft armoire, which has been moved against the far wall to make room for the tiny bed.

  She walks over to the closet and opens the door. She shoves the dress mannequins to the side.

  “There you go. Plenty of space. We’ll fetch a chest of drawers down from storage for you as well.”

  I take a seat on the end of the bed.

  “This is good, Mom. I’m just here to catch my breath. There is no need to drag furniture around.”

  She joins me on the bed.

  “You don’t know how to be still. You never have. Always running a hundred miles an hour since the day you took your first step.”

  She places her hand on top of mine. “I know you’re lost right now, kiddo, but you’ll find your way. I promise. And home is always a good place to start.”

  There is a knock at the door downstairs, and Caleb yells that he’ll get it as he emerges from the bathroom.

  Mom and I follow him and make it down the stairs just as he opens the door and is greeted by a deep voice.

  “Hi there.”

  “Hi. Who are you?” Caleb asks.

  “I’m Graham. And you are?”

  “I’m Caleb Lowder.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Caleb.”

  Mom joins them in the foyer.

  “Graham, come in. I’d like you to meet my daughter,” Mom says.

  He steps through the threshold, and I have to grab hold of the railing to keep myself from fleeing up the steps.

  Graham Tuttle. What is he doing here?

  “Taeli, this is Graham. He’s my friend Sara-Beth’s boy. He and his brothers help me around here from time to time. He brought the bed down for you,” Mom introduces us.

  He smiles up at me.

  “I know you,” I blurt out.

  “You do?” he asks. His brow furrows as he tries to place me.

  I gather my wits and walk the few steps down and extend my hand. “Sort of. I went to school with your brothers.”

  He takes my offered hand into his. “Which ones?” he asks.

  “Garrett and Corbin and Weston was a grade behind me. I knew all of them, except for you and Langford. I knew of you of course, but you guys were older,” I babble, as if he doesn’t know how old he is.

  Every girl in the county carried a crush on one or more of the Tuttle brothers.

  He grins, and his jade eyes dance with amusement.

  Great.

  Mom clears her throat.

  “I was just about to serve dinner. Would you like to join us?” she asks.

  He turns to her. My hand is still in his.

  “I wish I could, but I have to get back to the office. I was just delivering the concrete pad for your new generator. The boys will be by in the morning to set it up and do all the wiring for you. You’re going to like this one. It has a remote, so all you have to do is push a button. No more going out to the breaker box in the middle of a storm.”

  She claps her hands. “Oh, thank you, Jesus.” She looks at me. “Graham here is making me a modern woman. He even installed a tankless hot water heater and an irrigation system that works on a timer. I don’t have to go out with a hose and water the garden anymore.”

  He turns his attention back to me. “The last big downpour we had, she slipped in the mud and sprained her ankle trying to get the generator started. She sat out there in the pouring rain for an hour before she was able to get up to the porch,” he informs me.

  “What?”

  “Oh, it wasn’t as bad as it sounds,” Mom insists.

  “It could have been worse,” Graham points out.

  “You’re just a worrywart,” Mom teases.

  “And you’re a stubborn woman,” he tosses back at her.

  She laughs.

  Graham realizes he still has ahold of my hand, and he releases me.

  “I’d best be going. It was nice to meet you, Taeli, and you too, Caleb. Leona, I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon to check on the work and make sure everything is up and running for you,” he says.

  He kisses my mother on her cheek, and then he walks out the door.

  I watch as he makes his way to a black truck with the words Tuttle Contracting on the side panel.

  Mom comes up beside me. “That boy is a godsend,” she mutters.

  “Is he?” I ask.

  “Oh, yes, he helps me a lot around here. He’s a handsome devil too. I just can’t understand why some woman hasn’t snatched him up yet,” she says and then turns to Caleb. “Who’s hungry?”

  “Me!” Caleb exclaims.

  “Come along, then. Let’s set the table.”

  They trot off in the direction of the kitchen. I walk out on the porch and watch the truck disappear down the drive.

  Graham Tuttle is one of the infamous sons of the Tuttle family dynasty. Okay, maybe that’s a little too dramatic, but the Tuttles are considered Balsam Ri
dge royalty. His parents, Hilton and Sara-Beth, inherited a lion’s share of property and businesses in town. His great-grandfather outright owned two of the surrounding mountains and the valley itself in the late 1800s long before it became the tourist destination it now is.

  In the 1930s, sometime after the Great Depression, his great-grandfather and his grandfather formed Tuttle and Son Realty, and they began to section off and sell acreage on the mountain. My grandparents purchased twenty acres from them and started the farm that my mother still lives on today.

  When Graham’s father, Hilton, came along, they started Tuttle Contracting, and that’s when the valley itself came to be.

  The valley runs alongside the Coyote River bank, which made it the perfect place to start catering to visitors in the summer. Motels and inns popped up every quarter of a mile, as did several churches. Mom-and-pop restaurants and independent boutiques lined Market Square, along with ice cream shops, coffee shops, and watering holes. Then, the gem mines, campgrounds, mini-golf, arcades, souvenir shops, festival grounds, crafters, potters, woodworkers, furniture makers, and fishing supply shops came next. However, you’ll never find a franchise in the town limits. If you want a Big Mac, Starbucks latte, Walmart, or a mall, you’ll have to drive at least forty minutes toward Knoxville to find them.

  By the time I started school, Hilton Tuttle had married Sara-Beth, and they had six boys of their own. He changed the name to Tuttle and Sons Realty, and together, he and his wife began to build cabins and cottages all along the river and up on the mountainside and opened Rocky Pass Vacation Rentals. They also contributed a substantial amount of money to open the Balsam Ridge Golf and Country Club.

  Today, the valley thrives with tens of thousands of hikers, campers, tubers, fishermen, and other nature enthusiasts visiting every spring and summer. Fall vacationers come to see the autumn foliage when the mountains turn a vivid rainbow of yellow, orange, and red, and now, with the imminent opening of the Balsam Ridge Ski Area and Coyote Mountain Snow Tubing, the town is going to be a year-round place of adventure. All of which was made possible by the Tuttle family.

  However, you’d never be able to pick them out of a crowd. With the exception of Garrett Tuttle, who is a talented musician who ran off to Nashville after he graduated, the family is as down-to-earth as any other resident of Balsam Ridge. They work with their hands, and they participate in the community. Sara-Beth was my Sunday school teacher, and Hilton coached my middle school volleyball team. They didn’t parade around in fancy cars, wearing fur coats and pearls, and wave to the townsfolk like we were their minions or the dirt beneath their feet. When we were children, we never would have guessed that Langford, Graham, Garrett, Corbin, Weston, or Morris was any better off than the rest of us. They were just those Tuttle boys.

  Tuttle men now.

  Graham

  I walk into my parents’ house and find Mom at the stove, preparing scrambled eggs. I kiss her cheek and take a seat at the island.

  “Good morning, sweetheart. What brings you out this way?” she asks.

  “I’m looking for Pop. I have a little time before I need to be out at Leona’s and thought we could ride out to the campground and take a look at the pool.”

  She finishes and turns off the burner. She reaches into the cupboard above the microwave and retrieves three plates and sets them on the island.

  “I can’t believe it’s leaking again already. You guys just replaced the liner last spring,” she says as she scoops the eggs on the plate.

  “I know. It’s the weather. It’s been stormier than usual, and with all the trees out there, every time the wind blows, limbs end up in the pool. I think that’s how it keeps getting punctured.”

  She loads the plates with bacon she had resting in the microwave and biscuits from the oven. Then, she pushes one of them in front of me.

  That’s Mom. She had no idea I was coming over this morning, but after raising six sons, she knows to always make extra. I don’t think the woman could cook for just the two of them if she tried.

  “What’s the solution, then? I hate to remove trees. They give good shade, and I think the campers like the feeling of being in the woods,” she asks.

  I agree. The last thing I’d ever want to do is cut down trees if there is another way.

  “I have a few ideas. I’m sure we can save the trees.”

  “Thank goodness. Your father was ready to take a chainsaw to them yesterday,” she tells me.

  “Are you talking about me again?” Pop asks as he comes into the kitchen and heads to the coffeemaker, pouring himself a mug.

  She smiles up at him. “I sure am.”

  He kisses her on the lips and smacks her behind, causing her to jump before he joins me at the bar to eat his breakfast.

  “So, what are you thinking, son?” he asks as he salts and peppers his eggs.

  “I think it’s time to consider converting it to concrete,” I suggest.

  We’ve had this conversation before. Dad has always been opposed because of the time and cost it’d take to do the conversion. He doesn’t want to inconvenience his longtime renters with the construction mess, nor does he like the idea of having the pool unusable for several months because it is one of the amenities his guests look forward to enjoying.

  The campground is an eighteen-acre resort that offers two hundred and fifty full-hookup gravel and grass sites for RVs, fifteen tiny chalets along the creek for weekly rental, a bathhouse, laundry, motorcycle shelters, fenced dog park, pool, and community pavilion with gas grills, a firepit, and a playground.

  Many of the campers keep their RVs there year-round and have rented their sites for generations. They spend most weekends through the summer and a majority of their holidays in our valley. Mom and Pop consider them family. They have watched their kids grow up and have kids of their own.

  Pop sighs. “I know you’re right. I was hoping this latest liner would last through the end of the summer. I hate for the children not to have the pool to play in.”

  “That’s why I dropped by. Let’s go take a look at the tear. If it’s in a place where it can be patched, I’ll get one of my guys out there to drain it tonight and get it repaired. That way, it’ll be down two days, tops, to dry and then refill. We can have it open by the weekend. If we’re lucky, it will hold at least a couple of months. Then, we can close it for the season and start the construction. It will give us plenty of time to convert over the winter.”

  He slides his eyes to me. He knows as well as I do that the winter months here in Balsam Ridge are unpredictable. We could be covered in snow from December to March, making construction projects complicated.

  “That will make the pavilion area a construction zone, and people won’t be able to have bonfires or enjoy roasting hot dogs or making s’mores by the firepit,” he grumbles.

  “He means, he won’t get to enjoy the s’mores and hot dogs everyone makes,” Mom teases.

  “We can put up temporary walls and tents around the area. I think we can block off the firepit area and just sacrifice the pool and the stage. I know it sucks, but they will love the new pool. My guys can put in a tanning ledge for the moms to sunbathe on while their kids splash around. I’ll do a pebble finish, so it’s not rough on their feet, and if a pup jumps in, their claws won’t do any damage.”

  Dogs are not allowed in the pool. They have their own splash pads in the dog park, but an occasional pet goes rogue and ends up taking a swim, and of course, we have our friendly neighborhood critters to contend with.

  “All right, let’s see if it can be patched, and we’ll close it a tad earlier this year, so you can start in September. That way, you can beat the bad weather.” He gives in.

  “Great. Let’s go,” I say as I stand.

  “Can I finish my breakfast first?” he asks.

  I look at my watch. “If you hurry. I have a crew at Leona’s, installing a generator, and I promised her I’d be by at lunch to inspect the work and teach her how it works.”<
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  Mom takes my plate to the sink and refills my coffee cup.

  “You know, Leona’s daughter and grandson are in town,” she says.

  “Yeah, I met them yesterday,” I tell her.

  She leans over the island. “Isn’t Taeli lovely? Leona shows me pictures of her and Caleb all the time. It’s just awful, what she’s been through. Leona is tickled that she finally left that no-good husband of hers.”

  I shrug. “I guess. I only saw them for a minute.”

  “Maybe when you’re out there this afternoon, you can chat. You know, make her feel welcome. I’m sure it’s hard, coming home after all these years,” she suggests.

  I give her a stern look. “Mom,” I say.

  “I’m just saying, she could use a friend.”

  Pop chuckles, and she snaps her eyes to him.

  “You’re as subtle as a brick through a window,” he states.

  She tosses a potholder at his head. Then, her attention comes back to me.

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to be nice to her,” she declares.

  “I’m nice to everyone, Mom. I’ll be nice to Taeli and her kid too.”

  “That’s all I’m asking.”

  Pop’s eyes slide to me. We both know that she is infamous for meddling. As a mother to six rebellious and rambunctious sons, she has a knack for orchestrating meet-cutes with women she deems worthy of her boys. In fact, she is the one who introduced me to my wife.

  Heather was the daughter of one of the ladies in Mom’s prayer group at church. Mom hired her to run the front desk at the campground the same summer she hired me to be the on-site manager. She knew if she just put the two of us in the same orbit, we’d fall madly in love and live happily ever after. And she was right. Before the summer was over, I was one hundred percent smitten with the shy beauty. The next summer, I put a ring on her finger.

  We were blissfully happy for four glorious years before a diagnosis blew our bubble apart. Stage four breast cancer. Then, we had two terrifying and painful years before I laid her to rest up on the mountain beside my grandmother and grandfather.

  That was eleven years ago this past May.