Fleeting (Nash Brothers Book 1) Read online

  FLEETING

  THE NASH BROTHERS, BOOK ONE

  CARRIE AARONS

  Copyright © 2019 by Carrie Aarons

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Editing done by Proofing Style.

  Cover designed by Okay Creations.

  CONTENTS

  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

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek of Nash Brothers, Book Two

  About the Author

  Also by Carrie Aarons

  1

  Presley

  “This is probably the most embarrassing doctor’s visit I’ve ever had. And it’s not even for me.”

  Looking down at my grandmother’s four-year-old dog, Chance, I try to give him my best stink-eye. It’s a well-trained expression of mine, and it must work, because his big brown eyes, at least, hold some guilt as he drags his butt on the ground.

  I have to physically pull him up the brick steps by his leash and onto the porch of the veterinarian’s office, which doesn’t look like an office at all. The building that houses the pet doctor is a Victorian home, with maroon shutters and dark blue whimsical trim that makes it look more like an old-school carousel than a place to treat sick animals.

  The bell over the door jingles as I turn the antique brass knob to the front door, and I’m greeted by the smell of fresh cotton and lingering dog hair.

  A pretty, older woman with gray hair in floral scrubs sits behind a white-washed desk, her hands flying over a keyboard as she talks to someone on the other end of the phone.

  “Dr. Nash has a surgery tomorrow, but he can come up and see the horse on Thursday. Just keep at it with a lot of water, and if you don’t see improvement, you know the after-hours number. All right, you too, Martha. Okay, thanks, see you then.”

  She looks up at me after finishing the note on her screen and smiles. A genuine, pearly-white grin … to me, a complete stranger. It’s something I haven’t gotten used to in the three weeks I’ve been living in Fawn Hill, Pennsylvania. The rural niceness of this community is so foreign to my New York City mindset. You can’t pull a girl out of six years of living among urbanites who are rude on arrival and expect her to take genuine caring at face value.

  “Hi, there, how can I help you?” She looks down at Chance, the boxer practically frowning at her. “Oh, Chance, dear, we meet again. You must be Presley, Hattie McDaniel’s granddaughter. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Her steamrolling of the conversation catches me off guard. That’s the other thing about living in a small town, everyone knows who you are and who you’re related to, even if they’ve never seen your face.

  “Uh, hi. Yes, Chance here … he ate something he shouldn’t have, and I think it’s … stuck. I called about twenty minutes ago.” My face heats even though I don’t mention exactly what he swallowed.

  “Oh, yes, dear, I forgot! We’ve had such a busy morning. A horse is sick up at the Dennis’ barn, and just this morning Dr. Nash has seen two cats with incontinence issues, and a rabbit with a broken tooth. It sure is a funny farm around here!”

  I’m not sure what to say to this, and Chance whimpers where he sits next to me. “So, can the doctor see him?”

  The receptionist stands from her desk, still smiling. “Of course, Chance is a frequent flyer. It’ll be another minute or two. I’m Dierdra, by the way. Gosh, I’m sure glad you came to town to help your grandmother. With her sight, it’s a wonder she’s been able to keep the shop going.”

  I get the feeling that Dierdra is a bit of a gossip, but a well-meaning one. “Thank you, yes, I’m glad I could move here to help her.”

  “Have you eaten at Kip’s Diner, yet? Best pie in this part of the state although it’s a bit of a hidden gem. The whole of Fawn Hill is, really.”

  She laughs jovially, and I feel myself warming to her. She might be a bit chatty, but her kindness puts me at ease. And she’s right, because since I’ve been here, I realized I needed a bit of Fawn Hill medicine.

  Not that we’d visited a lot growing up, because Dad moved away from his hometown right after high school and didn’t look back. But the two times we’d made the trip from Albany to Grandma’s house for Christmas, I’d marveled at the storybook community she lived in. Fawn Hill was the quintessential small town, a gem of farmhouses and Victorian homes situated on either side of Main Street. The backdrop of the Welsh Mountains dotted the skyline, and the children here still walked to the singular elementary, middle, and high schools the town boasted.

  It was picturesque, quiet living, and it wasn’t a mystery what my grandmother loved so much about it. Even if I missed the bustle of the city, I could appreciate Fawn Hill for its charm.

  “I haven’t yet, but now I’m going to wrangle my grandma into buying me a slice of apple.” I nod at her.

  Chance excites when another owner walks through the door with a small, tan dog. I have to brace myself as he almost pulls my arm out of its socket and barking ensues.

  Behind me, a door clicks shut, and Dierdra is talking to someone as I try to rein in Chance.

  “Presley, Dr. Nash will see Chance now.”

  A lock of my hair is caught in my mouth as I finally turn, breathing hard with the leash looped seven times around my wrist so I can keep my grandmother’s mongrel from friendly attacking the other patients.

  “Come on in.”

  Holy crap. Why didn’t anyone warn me that Fawn Hill also had the hottest veterinarian I’ve ever seen? Talk about a hidden gem.

  A tall drink of water with dirty blond hair, eyes the color of my favorite dark chocolate swirled with caramel, muscled thighs that couldn’t possibly belong to a doctor and a smile that could charm the pants off of Simon Cowell.

  Okay, I’d been watching too much America’s Got Talent.

  “You’re Dr. Nash?” My voice held a tone of skeptical rudeness, and I cringed at myself. “You just … look so … young.”

  What I’d meant to say was hot … you’re way too hot to be a vet. This guy had sex hair, the kind you grabbed onto while he slowly stoked your fire. He looked straitlaced, a little too good-boy for my taste, but with those chiseled cheekbones and cleft chin, a girl would be blind not to feel that familiar tingle
south of the border when he turned those mocha eyes on her.

  But instead of the word sexy, I’d said the word young instead, and now he was giving me an amused raised eyebrow.

  And then I remembered why I was here.

  Oh my God. This gorgeous specimen is going to be responsible for pulling my hot pink lace underwear out of this damn dog’s butt.

  2

  Keaton

  She was clearly uncomfortable.

  “Chance, my man, we have to stop meeting like this.” I pat the dog’s head as he sits on my exam room floor, his tongue lolling as I scratch behind his ear.

  “This dog is a menace.” The woman sneers.

  I look up at her and can’t stop myself from staring for the hundredth time since we came into this room. It’s just … she’s stunning.

  Red hair the color of crushed cherries, a lithe frame with long, toned legs encased in black yoga pants, and cleavage that keeps peeking out from her white tank top. With hair like that, you’d expect freckles, but I have a feeling nothing about this woman is usual. No, her skin is a rose-petal blush melted with vanilla ice cream, smooth and completely blemish free.

  And those eyes. Emerald green and hypnotic, even when they’re rolling at the menace panting in my face.

  “He’s just a little overexcited. Nothing a little training wouldn’t fix up, or so I keep telling Hattie. I’m Keaton, by the way.” I extend my hand, hoping she’ll give me her name.

  “I thought it was Dr. Nash.” She gives me an unreadable expression, cautiously extending her hand but not giving me her name.

  I chuckle. “I’m a vet in small-town Pennsylvania. If I walked around here asking everyone to call me Dr. Nash, they’d think I was a stuck-up prick.”

  This wins me a laugh, and when she smiles, something inside of my chest pulls. Like a muscle that hasn’t been used in a while, the soreness hurts but is also satisfying.

  “Down-to-earth doctor … I don’t hate it. I’ve met many who wouldn’t allow anyone in a town like this to even shine their shoes.” Nameless minx smiles.

  “Fawn Hill may be small, but its people have heart. It’s a loyal, wonderful town.” I defend the place I’ve lived my entire life.

  She holds up her hands. “Oh no, please don’t mistake that for criticism on your town. On the contrary, it’s a slight at doctors. I used to work in a restaurant close to a hospital. Those assholes don’t tip nearly as well as they’re getting paid to cut into people.”

  I tilt my head, wondering where this restaurant was. But I settle with my earlier question. “Well, I know you’re Hattie’s granddaughter. But I still don’t know your name.”

  She finally relents, sighing as if she’s lost a battle. “I’m Presley, thanks for fitting us in on such short notice.”

  My attention focuses back on Chance, who is whining and dragging his butt on the ground. “No problem, as I said, I’m familiar with his case. Now, let’s see if you can’t hold him still in a hug while I see what he’s eaten this time.”

  Presley’s sharp cheekbones pink, and I notice the flush move down her neck. My eyes stray, and I wonder idly if her skin is this creamy everywhere.

  Get it together, doc.

  I shake my head, instructing her how to hold Chance so he doesn’t wiggle. All the while, she clamps her lips shut, and I’m confused. With gloves secured, I move to the dog’s back end, lifting his tail to inspect the damage he’s done.

  The evidence of a bowel movement is there, but by the way he’s whimpering and moving, I can tell that whatever he ate is wrapped in there good.

  “Do you have any idea what it might be? Just don’t want to reach in there if it may be sharp. I could hurt him, and myself.” I look at Presley across Chance’s back.

  She’s kneeling on the floor holding him, and how she makes it look so elegant, I have no idea. “Um, well, it must have been a few days ago, because he’s been having a hard time this morning …”

  It probably wasn’t anything dangerous to the dog if he’d gone a few days with it in his system. This was part of my job I, obviously, did not enjoy, but somebody had to stick their hand up an animal’s butt to help the poor guys out.

  I try to make light of it as my hand moves. “Didn’t think you’d be in for such excitement when you moved to Fawn Hill, huh?”

  Presley’s full peach lips tug up in a small smile, but she’s still wearing that look of worry. Maybe she’s concerned about Chance?

  It takes a few minutes of gentle tugging, but I finally help the dog out, and go to the garbage and sink to clean off.

  “What is … this?” I ask as the water runs over the material in my hands.

  “Oh God …” Presley’s plea is a whisper, and when I turn, I see one hand over her eyes.

  And if I’m not mistaken, that raspy voice is full of embarrassment.

  Turning back to my hand in the sink, the object becomes clear.

  It’s a pair of hot pink lace underwear, cut thong style.

  “Oh … I … well …” I stutter, completely unprofessionally.

  I just had my hand up her dog’s butt, and I’m blushing over a pair of sexy underwear. Real great bedside manner, Keaton.

  “Who knew that Chance and I had the same taste in thongs?” Presley laughs sheepishly.

  I swear, my balls tingle when she says the word thong. What the hell is wrong with me?

  “One time, I had a goat that ate its owner’s vibrator.”

  The minute I say it, I know I’m in deep shit, literally, when it comes to this woman. I never lose control or get struck by word vomit. I’m Mr. Dependable, the amiable, boring one … according to my brothers.

  Presley’s eyes go wide, and then she keels over, laughing hysterically until her breath comes out in gasps. She laughs as if the very act is going out of style, and I can’t help the smile that splits my face watching her.

  “How did the goat even get a vibrator? I can’t even imagine, and I think I’m embarrassed!”

  I grin. “They keep it in the house as a pet. Don’t go spreading that around, I’m supposed to keep that whole doctor-patient confidentiality thing.”

  “Oh, I doubt the goat will find out.” She winks.

  And my heart beats twice, rapidly enough that I have to clutch a hand onto the collared polo at my neck. I haven’t felt it do this in … two whole years. An instant flash of pain follows the beats because that’s what the organ is trained to do.

  My smile fades and I snap off my gloves, bending down to pat Chance on the head again.

  “He’s all set. Welcome to town, Presley. I hope you can learn to see the beauty in Fawn Hill.” I keep it professional.

  Flirting with a woman who loosens all of my control so quickly, without much more than her name and her preference of pink thongs to go on, is dangerous. I don’t need that kind of complication in my life, especially with everything that is already on my plate.

  She frowns, I’m sure at my split-second change in mood. “Thanks. How much do I owe you?”

  I turn to scribble in Chance’s chart, avoiding eye contact. “It’s on the house. Just tell Hattie to get him into training.”

  3

  Keaton

  Pull out of my office driveway onto Main Street, take a right on Horsham Road, a left on Woodfield Avenue and continue driving until the pavement becomes gravel.

  About half a mile after that, you’ll reach Nash Trail, aptly named by my father when he built the house he would later raise a family in.

  The big yellow farmhouse wasn’t actually on a farm although my parents’ acreage was nothing to laugh at. They’d settled in Fawn Hill over thirty years ago, before my brothers and I were even born, and Mom had loved this style of home so much that my dad built her dream for her. Two floors, brick and shiplap exterior, with white columns studding the wraparound porch.

  With four boys, they needed the six acres their property sat on. My brothers and I almost burned the house down three times, crashed six cars between us, bro
ke bones left and right, and were regularly menaces.

  The word reminds me of Presley McDaniel, and I have to pause as I turn the engine off. Her face, all of that thick, red hair … it had plagued my mind for the rest of the week. On my daily outings for lunch, I’d purposely avoided anything left of my office, knowing I could probably see her through the window of her grandmother’s bookstore that doubled as the town post office.

  I shake my head, focusing on walking into my parents’ house, the American flag my father hung years ago waving over the detached garage.

  The house I grew up in was picturesque, as was my childhood. And when I was old enough, I took over my father’s veterinary practice. My grandparent’s only had enough money to send Dad for his vet tech certification as a teenager … college just wasn’t a thing they could afford. He helped out in Fawn Hill’s existing practice and put himself through night and weekend veterinary school until I was about eight years old, when he became a full-fledged doctor. I remember his graduation; how proud he looked, how Mom cried, and how cool it was to see my last name plastered on the sign outside the vet’s office.

  I inherited his love for animals, and when the time came, my parents helped put me through college. The unspoken agreement, as his oldest son, was that I would follow in his footsteps and take over his practice. Good thing I never wanted to do anything else, although from time to time, I wondered if my life would be completely different if I hadn’t toed the line.

  Sighing, I get out of the car, knowing that instead of the quiet beer on my couch I crave, I’ll be walking into noise and nagging.

  As soon as I push through the red front door, which only reminds me of a certain stranger’s hair, I’m bombarded.

  “Woah, dude, way to be late. At least it’s not me. Hey, Ma, I’m not the last one here!” Fletcher, my youngest brother, calls out as he pops a piece of cheese in his mouth.

  He walks away, not even bothering to say hi or ask how my day was. Here we go.

  I didn’t mean to be cranky; I loved my brothers, but since my father’s sudden passing two years ago, I felt more like a parent than a peer a lot of the time.