Fleeting (Nash Brothers Book 1) Read online

  And there it was. The reason why I felt so … off every time I arrived for Friday night dinner. My mother still insisted on the tradition, but I always expected to walk in and hear his booming laugh. Who knew that a healthy, recently retired man could die of a heart attack on a Sunday in July?

  Certainly none of us. My family hadn’t been the same since, though we all put on the front that things were all hunky-dory.

  The pain, that sharp, poisonous stab of agony, is still fresh in all of my internal organs as I walk through the house. My heart, my gut, my mind and everything in between sours as my shoes tread the same carpet that my father did. He was my hero, my role model, and I don’t say those things lightly. The man had integrity and knowledge; he gave love and affection freely to his boys even if it wasn’t the most manly of things.

  Perhaps his passing spurred this need to be alone in me. He’d done everything right, had been the picture of a family man. And the world took that away from him, way too early. What would it do to me?

  “Oh, Keaton, sweetheart, you’re here!” My mom was stirring a pot on the stove, and I went over to kiss her cheek as she stuck it out for me to greet her.

  “The golden child graces us with his presence.” Forrest rolls his eyes as he sets plates out on the table we’ve been eating at since I was five.

  Forrest and Fletcher are twins, and six years younger than I am. Forrest is older by a minute, something he never lets our brother forget, and they both still make just as much trouble as they did when they were ten.

  Although, they do it in different ways. Forrest just received his fourth warning from the state police department to stop hacking into things he shouldn’t, except they’ve also extended two job positions so he doesn’t take the warnings seriously. He’s the county’s only forensic detective, and the kid is a goddamn genius, not that I’d tell him that. It would only go further to his head.

  Fletcher walks in, cradling a beer, and by the gait in his step, I know it’s not his first. My baby brother could be just as successful as his twin, but of all of us, he has the biggest weakness. Alcohol is his crutch, his weapon, his medicine, and his addiction. I’ve tried twice to get him sober, and they’ve both ended in him not speaking to me for months. I’m afraid of what is going to happen if we don’t all intervene soon.

  “Sorry, I run my own office.” Opening the fridge, I grab a beer and use an opener to flip the top off, taking a long pull.

  “Always rubbing the business owner card in our face. Ever think that some of us are happier as worker bees?” Fletcher laughs.

  He’s currently on his fifth job, and second auto body shop, since graduating high school six years ago.

  “Boys, stop it. Can we just have one nice Friday night dinner with no teasing?” Mom scolds us, and we all shut up.

  My mother is petite, more than a foot shorter than all of her boys, with dark hair and darker eyes. She’s a third Native American and her looks prove it. We’re all a mix of our parents, except for me, the only one with Mom’s eyes. Their dark brown hair mixed with translucent blue eyes, courtesy of our father, don’t quite match my dark eyes and dirty blond hair.

  “Listen to your mother.”

  A deep, annoyed voice sharply snaps from the doorway.

  Bowen, the middle child, walks in, still in his boots and apron.

  “Hybrid, much, Bowie?” Forrest chuckles.

  “Shut up, Jungle.” Bowen flips him the bird and sits down next to me.

  The nicknames never stop when you grow up among four immature boys.

  “Did you have a call today?” I take in the boots dirtying Mom’s floor under the table.

  He nods, stealing my beer. “A small electrical fire a couple miles from town, before you reach the highway. Had to close up shop to respond.”

  By day, Bowen owned the barber shop in Fawn Hill. And by other day, and some nights, he was one of the only four volunteer firefighters we had.

  “Everything go okay?” I scowl at my pilfered drink.

  He nods. “Yep.”

  Bowen is a man of few words, but we were closer with each other than we were with the twins. We were only two years apart, we’d grown up in tandem, and no one would ever have the bond Forrest and Fletcher did.

  “All right, come help bring the food to the table,” Mom hollers and we all jump up.

  “Thanks for cooking, Mom.” Bowen kisses our mother as he picks up a bowl of mashed potatoes, and she pats his arm.

  “You know, there is nothing I like better than sitting down to a meal with my boys.” The sadness in her eyes for the person missing from this dinner table is unmistakable.

  “Mom, did you get to the library this week?” I try to distract her.

  She nods, as the serving dishes are set on the table, and we begin to dig in. “I did, helped Lily put away the new shipment of children’s books. They are just so darling, all of those little cardboard-bound stories. If only I had a grandchild to read them to.”

  Her sigh echoes around the table, and none of us are touching that with a six-foot pole. She’s been dropping the line for a year now, telling us that the family is lonely and needs some happiness and why doesn’t just one of us settle down already.

  Fletch is shoveling meatloaf into his mouth while Forrest sneaks looks at his cell phone in his lap. Bowen is being typical Bowen, looking angrily off into space as if the whole world has offended him.

  “I had to retrieve a pair of pink underwear from a dog’s butt today,” I say, hoping to break the tension.

  Almost everyone at the table lets out a laugh, and I launch into the story, welcoming the hilarious distraction.

  The only thing I leave out is the saucy redhead who won’t seem to leave my thoughts.

  4

  Presley

  “Girl, how do you even have a high school diploma?”

  Grandma chides me as she rips the packaging envelope from my hands, shaking her head so that the white-gray curls cut close to her scalp bounce.

  “I’m just getting used to the machine, that’s all,” I grumble, chastising myself on top of her insult.

  Working a postage machine shouldn’t be this hard, but I’ve never used one and Grandma’s teaching about any process is usually one clipped sentence that makes no sense. Thus, I’m left to figure almost everything out on my own, which ends in mistakes and her criticism.

  This won’t work for long since the whole reason I moved to Fawn Hill was to take a majority of the responsibility at McDaniel’s Books & Post. Grandma had started the shop with my grandfather when they were newly married at the age of eighteen, back when you couldn’t buy books on the Internet or print out your own packing slips. The store doubled as both a place to buy novels and a center for all shipping, mailing, copying and any other business needs. Honestly, the concept was kind of genius, and McDaniel’s was the only post office in a twenty-five-mile radius, so Grandma did well for herself.

  Until this fall when the doctor diagnosed her with debilitating glaucoma. She’d had an operation, after which my dad, her son, had come to town to care for her. But the surgery hadn’t worked like they’d hoped it would, and she was essentially losing more of her vision daily. She needed someone to help her out at home and in the shop. I don’t know what made me volunteer one random afternoon when Dad had called to ask how my, multiple, jobs were going, but I had.

  Maybe I’d needed an out from my crappy life in New York. Maybe I needed to prove something to my family … that they could count on me. Maybe I wanted to spend more time with the grandmother who’d been so much of a mystery to me growing up.

  Either way, here I was. With said grandmother bossing me around as I messed up time after time in her store.

  The bell over the door jingled, and a petite woman with dark hair, almond-shaped eyes, and a kind smile walked to the counter holding a small package.

  “Hello, how can I help you?” I asked her.

  Grandma came bustling out of the back supply room, her sturdy,
thin body hustling around. “Oh, Eliza, hello!”

  The woman who had just walked in, Eliza I guess, smiled wider. “Hattie! Good to see you, how are you feeling?”

  “Well, those damn doctors keep trying to off me, but here I am. And if this one would learn quicker, I’d be able to retire.” Grandma rolled her eyes at me.

  My blood pressure shot up. No one said anything about her retiring since my stay here wasn’t permanent. But hell … what did I think? I couldn’t just help for a while and think her blindness was going to reverse itself. Yet, I hadn’t thought about it until this very moment.

  Was I really going to stay and live my life in Fawn Hill?

  “This must be your granddaughter. I’d heard she was in town but haven’t had the pleasure yet. Hi, I’m Eliza Nash, it’s so nice to meet you.”

  Nash, huh? I studied her as she set her package down on the counter between us. Yes, she did look like him. The eyes mostly, but the man I’d met almost a week ago must be her son.

  “Presley McDaniel, it’s nice to meet you.” I smiled back.

  Small-town niceness was slowly working its way into my blood.

  “Eliza here has four boys; all live in town. You met her oldest, the vet, Dr. Nash, when Chance ate your underwear the other day.” Grandma pats me on the back.

  Eliza lets out a laugh. “That was Chance? I should have suspected, the troublemaker. Keaton told us about that over Friday night dinner.”

  A vision of what her family table must look like on a Friday night popped into my head, and before I could stop the thought, I wondered if the handsome doctor had a wife. Did they hold hands as he told his mother the unfortunate poop problems of my grandmother’s dog?

  “Keaton is a good egg, that one. Shame he hasn’t been snatched up, yet.” Grandma eyes me, a devilish twinkle in our matching green pools.

  The woman has a sixth freaking sense; I swear.

  His mother sighs. “You have no idea how much I long for a daughter-in-law. If just one of them would settle down and give me a handful of grandbabies, I’d be complete. The house has just been so lonely since Jack passed.”

  Her sadness is palpable, and my heart hurts for her. I don’t even know her, but I can tell from the droop of her eyes that she lost someone very close to her.

  Grandma walks around the counter and squeezes a supportive arm around her shoulders. “I know how you feel. Since Lester went to heaven, it hasn’t been the same. But we’re still here, and we have to try to carry on.”

  This woman must have lost her husband, I realize, because she wears the same look of grief as my grandmother, who lost her husband five years ago.

  Eliza sniffles and nods then perks up. “Gosh, excuse me. I didn’t come in here to break down. I came to mail this package to my sister in Connecticut.”

  “Well, good thing you did, because Presley here just started to fly solo and she can help you with whatever you need.” Grandma gives me an encouraging look, which fills me with confidence.

  Even though she teases me, and can be rough around the edges, my grandmother has shown more pride in me than my parents have in my entire life. Not that I had anything resembling a tough childhood, and I love my parents, but as the middle child, I’ve never been doted on per se. I’ve never had the drive or talent like my older sister or younger brother, and the members of my family usually count on me to screw up.

  Grandma is giving me a chance, and my chest fills with determination to prove her right.

  “I certainly can. Would you like to send this via USPS, Fed Ex or UPS?” I start with my questions, trying to follow the steps my grandmother walked me through.

  Eliza asks me how much it will be for each, so she can weigh her options. Using the computer behind the counter, I let her know, and once she picks the postal service, I put in her details and print the label, sticking it on her package. Then I ring her up, make the sale, and smile once she’s told me she doesn’t require anything further.

  “I think you have the perfect new owner, Hattie.” Eliza grins at me.

  Is it strange that I’m so proud of myself for correctly preparing a package for shipping? Who am I?

  “We’ll see.” Grandma’s brows draw together, but I see the smirk she’s trying to conceal.

  “Presley, it was very nice to meet you. I hope we see you soon, maybe at the Summer Kickoff Carnival next weekend? My boys and I always run the caramel corn booth.”

  How very quaint and adorable that sounded. And I had to bite my own tongue to keep from drooling when I thought about hot Dr. Nash and caramel in the same sentence.

  “Sure, it’s not like I’ve got other plans in Fawn Hill.” I shrug.

  She leaves after a brief conversation with Grandma, which I can’t hear since they’re by the door.

  “Come on, chicken legs, let’s go get some dinner,” Grandma says, walking behind the counter to close the till and shut down the computers.

  “Where do you want to go?” Picking up some scattered boxes and packaging materials, I help her clean and straighten so that we leave the shop pristine.

  “Not even a question, we’re going to Kip’s. Can’t get a better slice of pie anywhere within a hundred miles. Plus, if you know who to ask, they have fresh-baked Amish bread behind the counter. Get ready for some carbs, my dear.”

  Sounded like a great night to me.

  After closing up shop, we walk the two blocks to Kip’s Diner, which is bustling even on a Tuesday night. When I walk in behind Grandma, almost every table turns to say hello, and there are a number of people who shout “Hattie!” across the restaurant. Families with little children, older couples, and throngs of teenagers fill the booths. Motown music puts a jovial tune in the atmosphere, and I’m instantly charmed. Plus, whatever that smell is coming from the kitchen, it’s making my mouth water.

  We sit in a corner booth in the back, and I get the feeling that they keep this open just for my grandmother. Our waitress, a bright-eyed brunette teenager, greets her and asks if she wants the regular.

  “Yes, dear. My regular cheeseburger with Colby-jack, extra pickles, onion rings on the side and a nice, cold glass of iced tea. And bring some of that Amish bread out before our meal, I want my granddaughter to try it.”

  The girl nods and looks to me. “I’ll have the same.”

  Whatever Grandma orders must be good, so I just go with it.

  I look out the window as she collects the menus and walks away, watching the late May sun descend over the buildings on Main Street. It really is a cute little town, with its pretty storefronts and brick buildings positioned between rolling green hills and mountains.

  “See something you like?” Grandma interrupts my thoughts.

  I smile, shaking my head. “Just looking.”

  “See anyone you like?” She winks, waving a hand over the diner.

  I can’t help turning my head, looking around the diner to see if a certain pet doctor was there. “Subtle, Grandma. But no, I don’t have time for that.”

  “A young, beautiful fox like you doesn’t have time for passion or love? Then I must have one foot in the grave if I see some faces I’d like to get to know.”

  Rolling my eyes, I can’t help the laugh that bursts forth. “You’re shameless. But my life is all over the place, it would be unfair to invite someone into this chaos.”

  Our waitress sets delicious-smelling bread down in front of us, and I drool at the steam coming off of it.

  “Hmm, seems to me you might be able to find some roots here,” Grandma says this quietly, almost willing my thoughts to consider making this move permanent.

  “Stop messing with me, you old coot.” I shoot her a perfectly practiced stink eye.

  She chuckles and breaks off a piece of bread. “It’s fun having you around, kid. Makes me feel young again. Makes me feel like I might get you into some trouble.”

  I had a feeling she might be right about that second part, and I was a little scared and a little excited to find out what sa
id trouble was.

  5

  Keaton

  Living in a small town has its advantages.

  Everyone knows your name. People are friendly. It’s not hard to find anything. The taxes are cheaper. There is a sense of inclusiveness.

  But with everything, there are disadvantages.

  Everyone knows your name and your occupation. Which leads to many people thinking you’ll give them a discount because you went to high school together, or because their mother donated to your brother’s marathon fundraiser, or some other thing.

  People are friendly, which leads to nosiness, which often means every single person in town will ask why you aren’t married yet. I won’t even tell you how many times I’ve been asked why I don’t just find a nice girl.

  And that sense of inclusiveness? Sometimes, you just want to be alone. A nameless face in a sea of thousands.

  I don’t mean to be a downer, because I truly love Fawn Hill and my friends and family, but it’s just been one of those days. I had a dog die on my table this morning and then got a call from a local farmer that his horse lost the foal she was carrying. To top it off, Dierdra forgot to make confirmation calls to today’s patients, so three out of my four wellness visits didn’t show up, and I spilled coffee in my car.

  Which is why I did a stupid thing.

  Generally, I am as in-the-lines as they come. I go to work; I pay my taxes early; I call my grandparents weekly and always use the crosswalk. I don’t color outsides the lines; I don’t break rules or promises, to myself or others. I’m predictable and boring, as I’ve been told a thousand times by Fletcher, and I like it that way.

  I’d been good for two weeks about not allowing myself to go into McDaniel’s Books & Post. I already had a crush on Presley McDaniel, one that I’d been denying since she came into my practice. There was no good that could come from crushing harder on her. She was a nomad, and there was no way a woman like that was settling in Fawn Hill.

  Except, as I was walking back from getting a mid-afternoon coffee at Fawn Hill Java, my mind went haywire and threw my carefully constructed rule book out the window. Before I knew what was happening, the bell over the door was tinkling as I crossed the threshold, and then there she was.