Hometown Girl: The Chesapeake Diaries Read online

  JESSE STOOD near the back of the crowd of well-wishers and listened as first Beck made a toast, followed by one given by Dallas, then another by Grant. His mind began drifting back to that moment earlier when he’d crossed Cherry Street at the top of the block just as Brooke began to park the car. He’d just made it to Vanessa’s driveway when Brooke stumbled and fell forward and the tower of white boxes began to shift. If he’d been two steps sooner, he’d have been able to prevent the top boxes from toppling.

  The look on Brooke’s face had been sheer panic and total devastation when those three boxes hit the ground. He understood what it meant to need to make a great first impression, how sometimes the direction of your life could depend on it. He was glad that he had been the one there to lend a hand and to help put a smile back on her face.

  It was a beautiful smile, and a heart-stoppingly beautiful face. Hadn’t his own heart all but stopped when she’d walked up to him and called his name a few minutes ago? Through the crowd he could see her, and he was finding it hard to look away.

  Hometown Girl is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Ballantine Books Mass Market Original

  Copyright © 2011 by Marti Robb

  Excerpt from Home Again copyright © 2010 by Marti Robb

  Excerpt from Almost Home copyright © 2011 by Marti Robb

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  BALLANTINE and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  eISBN: 978-0-345-53146-9

  www.ballantinebooks.com

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Excerpt from Home Again

  Excerpt from Almost Home

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books by This Author

  Diary ∼

  Is there anything quite like a brisk morning in late October? The blood moves a bit quicker, the heart beats a little faster, and the step is just a little livelier than in summer when the heat and humidity bear down mercilessly. But I do have to confess that I do not like this daylight savings time moving into early fall the way it has these past few years. It’s bad enough that the days are starting to grow shorter on their own, without imposing an earlier “fall behind” on us all!

  There. Rant over!

  I love all the merriness of the season as much now as I did when I was a child—the scarecrows that suddenly appear on the front porches and lawns, their straw-filled flannel shirts and old jeans held up by corn shocks or lampposts that seem to be everywhere. And the pumpkins! Oh my, the pumpkins, with faces like grinning demons, lit from within, or painted to look like clowns. Oh, and the ever-popular cat silhouettes, their tails straight up in the air as they shriek silently at some passing fright—ah, I have to admit, I love it all! I have always loved Halloween—especially here in St. Dennis, where we do the holiday justice.

  Just last month, I sat in on the planning committee for this year’s Halloween Parade, and I have to say it’s going to be glorious fun! We’re going to close down Charles Street and have the children parade right through the center of town to the marina, where we’ll give out prizes for the best costumes and award all the participants with ice cream made especially for the occasion by Steffie at Scoop and apples from Madison’s Orchards. All the merchants in town have contributed something to the festivities—mostly in the form of prizes—and I love that the entire community is involved. We have selected our Halloween queen, as we do every year, but of course, my lips are sealed, as it’s a huge no-no to reveal her identity until the day of the parade. As far as I know, no one has ever let that cat out of the bag prematurely. It would simply take away the fun of it all. But I will say that this year’s selection is especially fitting, and will be met with universal approval, I believe. Then, later, there’s the traditional trick or treat for the children, and later still, a bonfire on the square.

  It seems like only yesterday I was dressing my children in their costumes and shepherding them into town for the parade. Dan would take the three of them—Daniel, Lucy, and Ford—trick or treating among the friends and neighbors and family in town, and bring them home hours later, exhausted and dragging pillowcases stuffed with enough treats to last for weeks. No thoughts of razor blades or poisoned candy bars back then, although one year someone did slip a couple of dog biscuits into Ford’s bag, much to his dismay.

  Those were indeed good old days. My Dan was still alive and we were all together, all five of us, under the same roof every night. When I closed my eyes to fall asleep, I knew where all three of my precious children were. That’s a claim I haven’t been able to make in many years, much to my sorrow. Ah, well—perhaps someday …

  ∼ Grace ∼

  Chapter 1

  AT the moment the moon began its descent and the sun started to rise, the back door of the old farmhouse opened and a petite woman with a long strawberry-blond ponytail stepped out onto the porch. Brooke Madison Bowers hesitated for a moment before walking on bare feet through the cool dew-covered grass that was a week overdue for a mowing. When she reached the small fence-enclosed garden, she pushed aside the squeaky gate and headed for the stone bench, where she sat alone in the soft shadows and the hush of the new day until the dawn began to break in earnest.

  The backs of her thighs drew the chill from the damp stone despite the sweatpants she wore, and she shifted uncomfortably. She pulled up her legs and wrapped her arms around them and wished she’d grabbed a jacket on her way through the kitchen. Shoes would have been nice, too. Goose bumps rose on her arms under her sweatshirt, and she thought it would be especially nice if the sun, just now nudging over the smallest of the three barns, would move just a little faster.

  Light silently fanned out across fields she’d played in once upon a time. The memory of chasing their dogs through the rows of corn was so fresh, so real, she had to stop and mentally tally just how many years it had been since she’d been a child.

  That many? Really?

  The dogs were long gone, and her life had taken many an unexpected road since they’d romped together. It was hard to believe that the onetime Miss Blue Claw and Miss Eastern Shore—the golden girl, the beauty queen, the girl most likely to succeed—was once again living on her family farm, sleeping under the familiar red roof with her mother down the hall to the left in the room she’d shared with Brooke’s father for forty-two years, and her brother two doors down to the right. Déjà vu all over again. Except that it wasn’t.

  For one thing, her father had passed away two years ago. For another, the room next to Brooke now belonged to her son. The biggest change of all was that the once happy-go-lucky girl was now a not-so-merry widow.

  “Brooke? You out there?” her brother called to he
r as he crossed the yard. She’d been so lost in thought she’d heard neither the back door nor his footsteps.

  “Here, Clay. In the herb garden.”

  He pushed through the gate, telling her, “I’ve got coffee.”

  “You’re a good brother.”

  “The best.” He handed her a mug of coffee and took a seat next to her on the bench.

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure.” Clay stretched his long legs out in front of him and took a deep breath. “Everything okay? How are your finances holding up?”

  “Fine. Between Eric’s benefits and the life insurance and some investments, I’m fine.”

  “You know if you needed anything …”

  “I do know. And I thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Beautiful sunrise,” she observed, mostly to change the subject.

  “Nothing like early morning. Watching the light spread across the orchard like that … I never get tired of it.” He raised his mug in a sort of salute in the direction of the apple trees that formed the property line beyond the garden.

  “Old Clay Madison had a farm,” she sang under her breath. “Do I have to add the ‘E-I, E-I-O’?”

  Clay laughed. “Hey, it’s all old Clay Madison ever really wanted.” After a pause, he asked, “What about you, Brooke? What do you want?”

  “Today?” She sighed. “I just want to get through today without going off the deep end. I keep going back and forth between feeling just plain sad and just plain pissed off.”

  “Please accept my apologies in advance for being an insensitive ass, but what’s today? Other than Logan’s birthday.”

  “That’s it. Logan’s eight years old today.”

  “And that makes you sad and angry?”

  “Because Eric isn’t here for it, and he’ll never be here for any of Logan’s birthdays.” She paused. “Actually, Eric hasn’t been around for any of his birthdays. He was in Iraq for the first four, and these past few years, he’s been gone.”

  “Damn,” he said softly. “Has it been three years?”

  “Two and a half since my husband was blown up in Iraq and my life blew up in my face.” She cleared her throat and tried to keep her voice from quivering.

  She glanced at her brother and could tell he was struggling to find something—the right something—to say.

  “It’s okay,” she assured him. “I mean, what do you say? ‘I’m sorry Eric didn’t live to see his son grow up and I’m still sorry that he died’?”

  “I am still sorry that Eric died. He was a hell of a guy.”

  She turned her back on him and rested against his shoulder.

  “Did I say the wrong thing?”

  “No, you said exactly the right thing. I just want to lean,” she said. “ ’Member when we were kids and we sat out here at night and tried to count the stars?”

  “Yeah. I think the most I ever counted was a hundred and fifty-three before I gave up.” He turned and faced the opposite direction so that she could rest her back squarely against his. “Better?”

  “Much. Thanks.”

  They sat in silence and drank their coffee while the day unfolded around them.

  “I guess I should go in and see if Logan—”

  “Brooke, I know how hard the past few years have been for you. I know it’s still hard. But …” Clay hesitated, as if not sure he wanted to continue.

  “But …?” She waited.

  “But maybe … well, maybe it might be time to try to start to rebuild your life.”

  “I am rebuilding my life. By December, I’ll have my degree and I’m starting my own business. I’d call that rebuilding.”

  He nodded. “It is. You are. Of course you are. And I’m really proud of you for doing all those things. A lot of people wouldn’t have bothered to take those last courses for their B.S., and I know you’ve put a lot of time into starting up this business of yours, but …”

  “But …?” She swung her legs around and plunked her bare feet on the ground. Her toes curled up against the cold.

  “But maybe it’s time for you to, you know, get out a little more.”

  “I get out. I get out plenty. Last night I went with Dallas to look for her wedding dress. Tomorrow night I’m going over to Vanessa’s to help get things ready for the engagement party she’s hosting this weekend for Steffie and Wade.”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant. I meant, like, with a guy.”

  “You mean dating?” She frowned. “I’ve gone on dates. I’ve gone on lots of dates.”

  “You’ve gone on lots of first dates.”

  “What’s your point?” Brooke loved her brother but knew where he was heading and she didn’t really want to go there.

  “My point is that sooner or later you’re going to run out of guys to have first dates with.” His voice was gentle, and she gave him points for the effort. “I’m just a little concerned that you never seem to give anyone a real chance.”

  She stared at him.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that you flirt with a guy, you go out with him, then … nothing. I mean, every guy on the Eastern Shore can’t be a dud. There are a lot of nice guys in town.”

  “I know.” Mentally she took back the points she’d just given him. “I’ve gone out with several nice guys.”

  “Once. You go out with them once, then find a reason to never go out with the same guy again.”

  “No chemistry.”

  “I think the truth is that you don’t want there to be any chemistry. You like the company, you like the attention, and I know you well enough to know that you like getting dressed up and looking gorgeous and going out. But the bottom line? You don’t really want a relationship with anyone.” He took her hand. “You’re too young to give up, toots. You’re beautiful and fun and you deserve to have a beautiful, fun life with someone who adores you.”

  “I had that.” She pulled her hand away. “Now I don’t. End of story.”

  “Doesn’t mean that it’s the end of your story.”

  “Yes, it does. You get one soul mate, Clay. I had mine.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I loved Eric so much. We had the best plans for the best life you could possibly imagine. We were going to have more kids, he was going to go back into the business he started with his brother, we were …” She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “We were going to grow old together. Raise our kids and spoil our grandkids. Buy a boat and travel the Intercoastal Waterway, then retire on a beach somewhere. Then bam! Gone.”

  “Brooke, the human heart …” Clay struggled to voice his thoughts, as if speaking them aloud for the first time. “There aren’t limits on how many people we can love.”

  “Oh, I know that. But I could never replace him.”

  “It’s not about replacing. Of course you can’t. You’re always going to love him, and you should. But that doesn’t mean you can’t find someone else to love, too.” Before she could protest, he added, “Loving someone else doesn’t mean you’re replacing Eric, honey. It’s not a betrayal. And sooner or later, you’re going to have to move on.”

  “Why?” She knew she sounded pathetic but didn’t really care.

  “Because the last thing Eric would have wanted would be for you to not live—really live—the rest of your life. You’re really young, you know. There’s someone else for you to love somewhere.”

  “You know, there was a time, after Eric died, I wanted to die, too, so I could be with him. But there was Logan, and I couldn’t leave our son alone like that.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to love anyone like that ever again. I’ll never risk that kind of pain again.” She looked up at Clay. “I appreciate that you care, I really do. But I have no interest in falling in love or anything that complicates my life. Thus the occasional first date suits me just fine.”

  Clay nodded, his way of conceding the argument.

  “Would it be rude of me to mention that I don’t recall th
e last time you were involved with anyone for any length of time?” She thought she’d throw that out there. Tit for tat, as it were.

  “I haven’t found the right girl.” He looked away. “The difference between you and me is that I’m looking. You’re not looking.”

  “You’re right. I’m not.”

  “Brooke. Life goes on. It has to.”

  Because she didn’t know how to reply to that, she stood and drained the last drops of coffee from her mug. “You coming in?” she asked, signaling that the discussion was over.

  “I’ll be along. I want to do a little watering out here first. Won’t be too much longer before we get frost. I want to keep the herbs going for as long as I can.”

  “I’ll see you inside.” Brooke pushed the gate open, but before she stepped through it, she turned back. “Clay, I do appreciate that you’re concerned. I know that you care. It means a lot to me that you do.”

  He nodded and handed her his mug to take back to the house. “You’re the only sister I’ve got. I want you to be happy.”

  “I’m happy,” she assured him. “Just not in the way I used to be.”

  Halfway to the house she called back to him. “You need to cut the grass, bucko.”

  “It’s on the list,” he called back.

  Brooke tiptoed on cold feet into the quiet farmhouse. The ticking of the ancient grandfather clock in the front hall was the only sound. She made a brief stop in the kitchen to refill her mug before going upstairs to wake her son for school.

  Logan had been a baby when Eric first deployed. Brooke could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times father and son had been together. She knew that Logan had no real memories of his father, and that in itself was enough to break her heart. Eric had been thrilled when Logan was born and had looked forward to watching him grow. Brooke took every opportunity to talk about Eric, to make him a real person to Logan, but she couldn’t help but wonder how her son really felt.

  She pushed open his bedroom door and found him already up and looking out the window.

  “Whatcha doing?” She tried to force a light tone to her voice.