Batter of Wits
Donner Bakery Book #5
Karla Sorensen
www.smartypantsromance.com
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
SNEAK PEEK: Carpentry and Cocktails, Book #5 in the Green Valley Library Series by Nora Everly
Other Books by Karla Sorensen
Other Books by Smartypants Romance
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, rants, facts, contrivances, and incidents are either the product of the author’s questionable imagination or are used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or undead, events, locales is entirely coincidental if not somewhat disturbing/concerning.
Copyright © 2020 by Smartypants Romance; All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, photographed, instagrammed, tweeted, twittered, twatted, tumbled, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without explicit written permission from the author.
Made in the United States of America
eBook Edition
Dedication
To Eli and Isaac, for existing, and cheering me on during this book like only a six- and seven-year-old can.
Prologue
Grace
The night before I moved to Green Valley, I had a conversation with my dad that I’d reflect on often as time went on. Sometimes I’d think about the things he said, the things I’d said in return, try to remember exactly the way we phrased things the day before my recently fired ass moved across the country, following the lead of my twin brother as we sojourned from LA to the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee.
He and I talked about the family curse like it was a joke, because, at the time, that’s what I thought it was.
As best I could remember, the conversation went a little something like this:
"Curses aren't real."
The voice on the other end of the line harrumphed mightily. "’Course they're not. Look and me and your mother. Would anyone accuse us of true everlasting love?"
Any day of the week, I'd give that a hell no, and I'd do it twice on Sundays. If there was a competition for the least compatible human beings, my parents would be neck and neck with some of the best reality TV couples you'd ever seen.
"So why are you bringing it up again?" I asked my dad.
He sighed. "Well, if you and your brother are really moving here, you best get used to hearing about it."
"Of course, we’re really moving there. My car is packed. It's Green Valley or bust come sunrise."
"They all claim it's true, Gracey B."
Even though my dad couldn't see me, I rolled my eyes at the nickname. A shortened version of my name—Grace Bailey Buchanan—had always been Gracey B to him. "I know they believe it, Dad, that doesn't mean it's true."
"Just sayin’ is all." Through the phone, I heard the telltale creak of his recliner, the one he refused to replace, even though it was older than me. It was uglier than sin, and the most comfortable chair in the world. He and my mom fought tooth and nail over that damn chair in the divorce, she'd told me, but in the end, she decided she wanted the dog, not the chair.
The dog only lived two years after she moved herself, me, and my twin brother, Grady, out to California. The chair though, that would never, ever die.
In the middle of my own apartment was one sad-looking lawn chair, since all my other belongings were packed in my car, or had already been sold or donated. That creaky recliner sounded pretty good right then. Still, the lawn chair held my weight just fine as I sat carefully.
"Pops, if the Buchanan love curse was real, how do they explain you and Mom?"
"I don't ask how they explain it," he said firmly. So firmly, it made me smile.
He wouldn't.
My aunt and uncle, his only family in Green Valley, firmly believed that when a Buchanan falls in love, it happens once, and it happens at first sight. According to them, when a Buchanan finds The One, they'll never love anyone else. Uncle Robert and Aunt Fran met at fifteen, and had been married forever, one of those sickeningly sweet couples you couldn't hate even if you wanted to. Two of my cousins—their sons—had the exact same thing happen to them, thereby cementing the truth that had supposedly been in the family for five generations.
"Maybe I'll avoid it anyway," I said. "Even if it was true."
"Why's that?"
"Aren't I the first Buchanan woman born in five generations?"
He chuckled. "Sure are, Gracey B. Aunt Fran said it was only allowed because you came out with a brother."
I sank my head back and smiled. "I'm excited to see Aunt Fran."
"And they're excited to have you." He must have shifted, because the creak sounded again. "Wish I had more space at my place for you and your brother."
There was enough embarrassment in his voice that I pulled the phone away from my ear to collect myself. I didn't begrudge my father's humble life. Just the opposite. I'd take his work ethic every time over the billionaire playboys I crossed paths with in LA.
"We'll be just down the road. We'll see you all the time," I promised. "Uncle Robert is just giving us a place to stay until we get our feet under us."
"My kids moving to Green Valley," he said with a smile clear in his tone.
"Some crazy shit right there, ain't it?" I asked, deliberately curling my voice around a twangy southern accent.
He laughed, just like I hoped he would. "When are you getting in again?"
"Should take me three days."
Dad whistled. "You sure you want to make that trip by yourself?"
"Car won't drive itself." I picked at a loose thread on my jean shorts. "It'll be fine. I've got some audiobooks loaded up, and a new EP to listen to. I’ll have three days to ponder what I want to do with my life, since I find myself without anything to do all day."
“We make jokes about being fired now?”
“No,” I drawled. “But if I don’t joke about it, I’ll feel hopeless and frustrated and like I can’t do anything right.”
“That is something I’d like to avoid too. We’ll all suffer if that’s the case.”
The laugh burst out of me helplessly, because I couldn’t even deny the truth of it. My moods had a tendency to … well … spill over from the inside out. Anything I felt showed on my face, and once it showed on my face, the words were coming out of my mouth.
“Imagining me crying in the car for three days straight, are you?” I asked.
When he didn't answer, I sighed.
"It'll be fine. Besides, what could possibly go wrong, when I'm on my way to Tennessee to fall madly in love w
ith the man of my dreams, who will fall prostrate in front of me, because we're destined to be together?"
He laughed. "All right, all right, I'll stop fussin'. Just … drive careful, okay? I've only got one daughter."
I grinned. "Pops, when I get there, Tennessee won't know what hit it."
"That's my girl," he said proudly.
That family love curse bullshit could kiss my ass.
Months later, I could recall having that thought as clear as if it happened yesterday.
Of course, what I couldn’t have possibly known then was that I wouldn’t have any choice in how the Buchanan curse affected me. How differently things would turn out for me than they did for the rest of my family. They got heart eyes and love at first sight, a soul-deep recognition of their heart’s perfect match.
Not me, though.
Oh no, the family love curse kicked my ass, and there was nothing I could’ve done about it.
Chapter 1
Grace
“Motherfucking son of a bitch deserted ass backwoods southern roads," I yelled skyward. For good measure, I smacked the hood of my stupid useless car.
Not that I believed in them, but this was not a good sign. And of course, this happened to me. Not Grady, who'd know what was wrong with his car. Me.
I couldn't tell a socket wrench from a tube sock.
The move to Tennessee was about a fresh start, and this bullshit was not what I had in mind.
Trees everywhere.
Mosquitoes everywhere, I thought grimly, right after I smacked a monster one off my arm.
Poorly marked roads everywhere.
The one thing that was not everywhere was a strong cell signal. I would've smacked my now useless cell phone against the hood of the car too, but I couldn't risk it breaking, as it was my one connection to any sort of civilization.
If I closed my eyes and harnessed my very active imagination, I could pretend like I was in a really good session of hot yoga. Channel my breathing, turn my focus inward, and allow the stress of the moment to fall away.
The frustrated burn of tears along the bridge of my nose is what broke that little fantasy.
I didn't know where I was.
I didn't know what was wrong with my car, loaded down with every earthly possession I owned.
I didn't know how far away I was from Green Valley, so it's not like I could start walking.
And now, I was waiting for a serial killer to pop out of the woods and chop me up into little pieces. Sliding my hand into the front pocket of my frayed jean shorts, I stroked the edge of my pepper spray.
I might've been stranded in the middle of nowhere, but I was no idiot, okay?
I blew out another slow breath and held my cell phone up in the air, desperately wishing for one teeny tiny bar of service to appear so I could call Aunt Fran. It's not like my brother would be much help. Grady was one day behind me, after some weird techie blah blah emergency at work held up his departure.
No big deal, I'd said. I can drive by myself, I'd said. Who needs to caravan in the day and age of Waze? I'd said.
An exhausted laugh burst out of me, and I tipped my head back, let the sun beat down on my face and shoulders. At least I had the sun. If it was gloomy, or raining, or (shudder) snowing, I'd be curled up in my car wiping snot off my face from all the helpless tears.
Something my mom taught me and Grady was that in every situation, every single one that life could throw at you, there was something to be thankful for. Even if you felt beaten down, lift your chin, open your eyes and find that one thing.
And for me, right now, I was thankful for the sun.
Maybe the humidity should have shoved me right into irrepressible anger, but it didn't. The damp air, heavy and hot and strangely comforting, felt like one of those trendy weighted blanket things. I was a California girl, so heat didn't scare me. And on top of that, I had an unruly mop of hair that refused to be tamed, so I didn't care if it added a bit of curl to the waves that were already there.
Still, I slid my hands into it and lifted it off my neck while I soaked up some Vitamin D.
A bead of sweat slipped down my back and I sighed.
Grady thought I was crazy for it, but I felt more comfortable in the heat than any other kind of weather. That's why I almost always wore my trusty black combat boots, even if it was ninety degrees out.
My blood ran hotter than most people's, my memaw liked to say.
Instead of cursing up at the sky again, I dug a hair tie out of my back pocket and piled my hair on top of my head, then marched to the front of my car and yanked the hood open.
The ticking engine and other shit I couldn't name stared back at me while I braced my hands on the car and stared right back.
My stomach rumbled ominously, and I cursed the fact that a couple of hours earlier, I'd eaten my last apple, not worried in the slightest that I was out of food, because I'd be just fine until I pulled in at Aunt Fran and Uncle Robert's.
So, to top everything off on the shit sandwich, I was officially hangry.
I could feel it inching up my body, from my hollow, aching stomach, along my spine and into my head in the form of a pounding headache.
"What the hell am I going to do now?" I muttered, glancing over my shoulder at the empty stretch of tree-lined road.
Honestly, even if my only option for help was some un-bathed redneck in a rusted-out pickup truck, I'd probably greet him with open arms and a big fat kiss at this point.
Another thirty minutes or so, and my stomach would probably start ingesting my spleen just to keep me alive.
"Everything is fine," I whispered. "You will be fine, Grace Bailey Buchanan."
Everything would be fine, because damn it, I was going to will it that way.
It was not my destiny to die along the side of the road before I could cross the city lines. Or maybe I had. I glanced behind me, and just over the crest of the hill, I could see the back of a road sign.
Great. I made it past the city limits of Green Valley, and the universe decided to dump me.
Right as I was about to pass out from starvation.
The sound of a rumbling engine had my head snapping up and a weary sigh of relief blowing through my lips. Over the slight rise in the road, I saw the dark-colored truck appear slowly, a veritable mirage in the backwoods wilderness.
In that moment, my entire body slumped in relief before I stepped out from behind the hood of the car.
"Please don't be a murderer, please don't be a murderer," I whispered. "If you are friendly and helpful and know about cars, I just might kiss you."
I propped my hands on my hips and attempted a smile that screamed, please help me because I might have a mental breakdown if you don't and also, I'm very sane and well-adjusted.
With the shadows from the trees dappling the road, I couldn't see the driver through the windshield until they slowed almost to a stop just in front of me.
The window rolled down, and the first thing I thought was Hallelujah, Captain America just appeared in front of me. The sexy, bearded version of Captain America too, complete with massive shoulders and mirrored aviators.
There were no thoughts of curses, no butterflies fluttering through my belly at the sight of his cheekbones and facial hair.
I almost had a real, true smile on my face, when he opened his mouth.
"Well now, you're not having a very good day, are you? Couldn't've picked a prettier spot though."
Folks, if I could properly explain what happened to my body the moment his voice hit my eardrums, I would do it. Any descriptions, any clever analogies would fall woefully short to the skin-shriveling, heart-pinching, pursed-lip, narrow-eyed hatred that I felt when that deep, slow voice tickled the insides of my ears.
I'll tell you this much, not once in my twenty-six years on this beautiful earth had I experienced the phenomenon of hate at first sight. I didn't even know it existed until that moment.
Not until him.
And because it
was so strong, so real, so tangible, I felt insane. Like that voice reached into my head and flipped the off-switch to my sanity.
Most days, I was a nice person. I smiled at strangers, I held doors open for the people behind me, and on occasion, I’d helped little old ladies in the grocery store.
So this—whatever took over my body at the sound of his voice—was not normal.
My eyes narrowed dangerously, even as I couldn’t fully understand why. "Excuse me?" I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him the full weight of my glare. "My car broke down and I don't have any cell service, and you're talking about how pretty it is?"
The glare was wasted on him, because a wide, white-toothed smile spread over his face. "No need to get up in arms, miss, just meant that it's an awfully pretty place to be broken down, isn't it? I've always loved this stretch of road."
Had I been hot before?
Scratch that.
An icy tidal wave of hatred cooled my blood posthaste, and I cocked a hip out to the side. "It's simply divine. Now could I please use your phone to call my aunt? I want off this awfully pretty road, if you don't mind."
The words, acidic and rude, poured out of my mouth so quickly, I couldn't even stop to analyze how terrible I sounded. This wasn't me! I was nice to strangers! one part of my brain screamed, but the overwhelming vitriol I felt toward him and his handsome face muted that shit pretty fast.
Batter of Wits: An Enemies to Lovers Small Town Romance (Donner Bakery Book 5) Page 1