The Last Second Chance: A Small Town Love Story (Blue Moon Book 3) (21 page)
Read The Last Second Chance: A Small Town Love Story (Blue Moon Book 3) Online
Authors: Lucy Score
“What’s this? Hey, that’s Lolly and Romeo!” Joey said, sitting up and peering at the screen in delight. “How did you do that?”
“I set up a couple of WIFI-enabled cameras around the stable and the barn. This way we can keep an eye on everything from the safety and warmth of your couch.”
“You’re a freaking genius.”
“Trust me. It was purely selfish. I knew you’d be dragging me up there in the dead of night and I thought this would be easier and warmer.”
“Look! You got the cows and Clementine in the barn.”
Clementine’s yellow eyes glowed on camera as she stared eerily at the camera.
“Does she ever blink?” Jax asked. “I mean seriously, even on camera she looks like a demon.”
“Leave poor Clementine alone,” Joey teased.
“Poor Clementine? Did I tell you how she tried to attack me through the door of her stall today? Waffles had to rescue me.”
“Poor baby,” Joey crooned.
“That goat has it in for me,” Jax muttered.
“Did you see how much weight those Jerseys have put on this week? Dr. Ames is going to be thrilled when she sees them next week.”
“If we dig out by then,” Jax teased.
“I wouldn’t say no to being snowed in for a few days. It’s nice to not have so many people around all the time,” Joey sighed.
“My pretty little introvert.”
“I thought I was just grumpy.”
“Maybe a little of that, too,” he said, tugging her ponytail.
Satisfied that her animals were safe and cozy despite the active blizzard, Joey turned her attention back to her hardback and Jax took out the folder of his father’s essays. With limited free time recently, he’d only read a handful of the stories so far, but tonight seemed like the perfect time to catch up.
Code Word: Livestock Auction by John Pierce
T
he title caught
his eye as Jax fondly remembered that every summer for years, he and his brothers would be shipped off to Aunt Rose and Uncle Melvin’s home in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania for a long weekend when their parents traveled to the Tri-State Livestock Auction. When they were younger, they clamored to go along with their parents. When they were older, they clamored to be left home by themselves. But the answer was always no.
Every year, like clockwork, his parents packed up and off they went, sale papers and stock stats in hand. His parents never told them much about the auction, and they never seemed to buy anything, but they had always come home happier and more relaxed than when they left. He was curious what kind of experience his father would have that made him want to document the memory.
Even a man so firmly planted in the earth as a family farmer can experience the wistful beckon of wanderlust. It is particularly poignant when everyone around you prepares for beach vacations or lake getaways while you protect your harvest from Mother Nature morning ‘til night.
For Phoebe it was often worse. Managing our books and house, lending me a hand a dozen times a day, all while running herd on one, two, and then three boys meant just about every hour of every day was spoken for.
It happened by accident, our desire to do right by the land, by the boys, by each other, that we forgot about what we might need.
One particularly steamy July night, I came home to chaos.
Carter, in his five-year-old glory, had attempted to glue Beckett’s head to the table—thankfully he had gone with Elmer’s and not any of the heavy duty adhesives I had, until that point, left in plain sight throughout the barn and garage. The dog had rolled in something that smelled like a garbage dump full of dead bodies and apparently had eaten a good portion of it, because he threw it up in front of the stove where Phoebe was making dinner.
It had been a long day for me, as well, sweating and bleeding over equipment too old to see it through one more season and fields that were hell bent on being destroyed by drought and those Goddamn spider mites.
I walked into the house and saw the woman I love, the woman my heart beats for, one second away from a justified meltdown. I saw her take a breath, a shallow shaky one, pull it all back in, order the boys upstairs to the bath and the dog outside so she could clean up the mess for no other reason than to be prepared for the next disaster. Our suitcase was by the front door, packed and ready for the Tristate Livestock Auction the next day, and dinner was burning on the stovetop.
I did what I’d learned to do living with a fiery, mule-headed woman who would stubbornly stay the course despite the rocks ahead. I walked into the kitchen, turned off the stove, and poured Phoebe the biggest glass—this time a mason jar—of wine I could find. Then I turned my attention to cleaning up whatever carcass Pancake had retched up.
After a few healthy sips, Phoebe went upstairs to check on the boys, and I started to think. When was the last time we’d had a vacation, just the two of us? The livestock auction certainly didn’t count and every other road trip or winter vacation happened with three boys in tow.
Maybe it was time for a change?
The next morning, we packed up the car and drove the kids to Phoebe’s sister and brother-in-law’s place in the Poconos. And then instead of driving to the auction, I took my wife to the Jersey shore. Her face lit up when I pulled up in front of the shabby bed and breakfast I’d desperately booked the night before. And it made me feel equal parts hero and fool, wishing I had done this years ago.
We spent the next three days lazing on the beach, eating in restaurants that would have horrified our PB and J kids, and pretending we had all the time in the world to do the things we wanted.
We never went back to the auction. Every year after that, the Livestock Auction was code for freedom. It became a tradition that I booked the trip and surprised Phoebe with the destination. We counted down the days to our next adventure together, not as parents or farmers or even adults. But as partners in crime. And crime it became.
This year, with an iffy harvest on the horizon, we stayed close to home to explore the Finger Lakes. The summer was hotter than ever and despite the ice-cold air conditioning in our hotel room and the crystal blue waters of its pool, something crazy took hold of us.
Maybe it was the oysters we shared at dinner. Maybe it was the heady feeling of freedom on our first night away from home. Whatever it was, we found ourselves jumping off a dock on Cayuga Lake at midnight. Naked.
It was as if, between the moonlight and the lake waters, all sense of responsibility and propriety was washed away. We were two souls, enjoying the romance of the moment unhindered by societal and familial roles. Splashing, playing, teasing.
I’d learned long ago that actions spoke louder than words with my Phoebe. A man could say “I love you” ‘til he was blue in the face, but send her out on the porch with fresh lemonade while I do the dishes or surprise her with a ridiculous and completely sappy bouquet of flowers picked in the fields and she heard me loud and clear.
This particular night the only thing we heard loud and clear was “Come out of the water, now,” as spoken by the annoyed state trooper over the loudspeaker of her car.
In our midnight fun, we’d somehow missed her arrival. She stood on the dock, sweating in full uniform, between the discarded piles of our clothes. A consummate professional, we couldn’t tell if she was surprised that she was rousting two forty-year-olds from the cool lake waters.
She handed us our clothes without a hint of a smile, and while I tried to shimmy my way into my underwear, Phoebe babbled on about escaping our three children and our lives at home.
The trooper nodded silently, taking notes in her notebook. She took our licenses back to the patrol car and we dressed quickly, vacillating between laughter and embarrassment. Would our first arrest be for public nudity? In Blue Moon Bend it was a perfectly respectable thing to be arrested for. The community had hosted a clothing-optional Summer Solstice party until the late seventies.
The trooper returned, licenses in hand. She turned them over to us and we waited for the punishment to be meted out.
“I have two kids under the age of two at home,” she said.
And with that, she turned and got back in her car and drove off. No ticket, no citation, no order to appear in front of a judge.
Phoebe and I laughed ourselves silly the whole way back to the hotel where we had to perform a soggy walk of shame past the front desk. It was worth it, every single second, to share that with my wife.
Even now, years later, I can say the words “Cayuga Lake” to Phoebe and we’ll both be transported back to that night, that taste of freedom, that brush with the law. The excitement of a single spontaneous moment.
It’s made us better partners and better parents. As we can easily remember the lure of the moment, the siren song of adventure, and the sting of reprimand. Now, when the boys get caught doing something so stupid you have to wonder if they’ve had a head trauma, I remember Cayuga Lake and the Livestock Auction and I know what it’s like to want to jump head first into freedom.
J
ax cleared his throat
, trying to dislodge the emotion that clogged it. He’d never be able to put into words what it meant to him to have access to his father like this. Unfiltered by a father-son relationship, just his true words on paper painting a picture of his parents that he’d never had before.
“Everything okay?” Joey asked, over her open book.
He looked at her and smiled. Everything was great. And maybe he’d take a page out of his father’s book and surprise Joey with something besides whispered words of love tomorrow.
But first, he’d text his mother.
Cayuga Lake.
H
er response was succinct
.
Smart ass.
D
ig out began promptly
at six the next morning despite the fact that the snow was still briskly falling. Twenty-eight inches of white, fluffy flakes coated the pre-dawn world of Blue Moon.
Joey’s priority—after having Jax dig out a dog-friendly potty break area in the yard—was to clear a path with the Jeep to the stables so she could start the morning feeding.
Colby texted to say he and his little brother were on their way to the farm on snowmobiles. They’d start the dig out there with the ATVs. Jax would split his time between the two sights and they’d all meet back at Joey’s for breakfast at ten.
She climbed into the freezing cold passenger seat of Carter’s Jeep and hit the button on the garage door opener. The door rolled up to reveal a monstrous drift blocking their path.
“Ready?” Jax asked with a grin.
Joey gripped the handle on the dash. “Oh, yeah. Punch it.”
The Jeep lurched forward, sending plumes of snow over the hood as they charged out of the garage.
Joey hooted her approval while Jax expertly plowed a path down the hill toward the stables.
They pulled up to the front of the barn and eyed the five-foot drift that glistened in the headlights in front of the door. “Next time we’re putting up a snow fence,” Joey grumbled. She grabbed the shovel out of the backseat. “I’ll start on the drift,” she told Jax.
“I’ll clear in front of the building and come help with feeding,” he told her.
“Enjoy your nice warm vehicle,” Joey sighed and slipped out the passenger door. She’d dressed in layers, knowing how quickly shoveling got her temperature up. Plus, the furnace in the barn would keep the temperature close to fifty degrees so she’d be able to shuck the heavy Carhartt jacket in no time.
She tackled the drift efficiently, working to clear the snow away from the door and mounding it to prevent more drifts. Her body felt primed and ready for a challenge. Last night’s sexual acrobatics and the deepest sleep she could remember in recent history left her feeling energetic, almost cheerful.
Just as dawn began to break behind her, the shovel finally met the base of the door and she scooped the last foot out of the way.
The barn door swung open and, with the flip of a light switch, Joey was relieved to see the normalcy inside. The furnace had survived the night, which meant the pipes shouldn’t be frozen and her morning had just gotten a whole lot easier.
A couple of barn cats meandered out of their hidey-holes to greet her. She refilled their food dishes and checked their water before moving down the aisle to greet her horses.
Everyone was awake and ready for breakfast. She stopped in the office to shed her jacket and start the coffee. Water buckets were first. Joey started at the back of the stables and worked her way forward, emptying the heated buckets, cleaning them, and refilling them with warm water. Each bucket hung flat against the stall wall near a recessed outlet. The power kept the water at a warm enough temperature to prevent freezing, enticing the horses to drink.
Jax came in, stomping snow off his boots and sending the barn cats scurrying for cover. He sniffed the air and went straight for the coffee in the office. He reappeared and handed her his mug. She took a deep pull, wrinkling her nose at the sugarless brew.
“I’ll start haying at the back while you finish the water,” he said, taking his mug back.
“Sounds good,” Joey nodded, and watched him saunter toward the feed room. His jeans were worn and hung low on his hips. There were holes in the knee and one in the ass that offered a glimpse of dark purple underwear. One of the sleeves of his blue and white checked flannel jacket was torn and the gray Henley beneath it was cut tight over his chest. Two days of stubble at his jaw and bed-tousled hair given to curl at the ends gave him the look of a sleepy-eyed fallen angel.
What she wouldn’t give to get him back in her bed right now.
She shook herself, rolled her eyes at her schoolgirl fantasies. They had work to do. Livestock didn’t wait patiently for her to roll out of bed and skip down the aisle with feed. There was a schedule to be followed, order to be upheld. And maybe later she could sink her hands into Jax’s lightly curling hair and do all those unspeakable things she wanted to do.
She made quick work of the rest of the water buckets and took over the haying duties from Jax. With a parting kiss and another coffee refill, he headed out to blaze a trail between stables and farm.
Joey opened her music app on the computer in the office and piped soothing classical songs into the barn. The horses responded well to classical—and country—and she hoped to keep them mellow for as long as possible while confined to their stalls. The next two hours passed quickly while she mucked and hit the feed bins with a second breakfast of grain.
She swept the stable alley clean of straw and nodded her satisfaction at a job well done. Usually Colby and another part-time helper handled the morning feeding, and she’d forgotten how productive she felt with thirty mounts all happily fed and stalls cleaned.
It was time to head back to the house to check in on the dogs and get a breakfast of champions started. Her stomach growled in agreement. She closed up the stable door and hustled through the three inches of new snowfall back to the house.
Peering through the window, Joey found all three dogs curled up on the couch happily snoozing the morning away. The turning of the handle brought them all to the door barking and shedding and skittering for purchase.
“Okay, okay. Everybody outside before you get too excited and pee.” She looked sternly at Meatball. Waffles, understanding everything she said, scampered to the back door. She ushered them out and went into the kitchen to start breakfast. Bacon and cheddar waffles with a side of sausage links was what a morning like this called for. And coffee. Gallons of coffee.
She enjoyed it, the meal preparation for more than just herself. Cooking for others had always held a secret kind of pleasure for her. And just because this was a mid-morning break from hard labor didn’t mean she shouldn’t fuss a little.
--------
J
ax drove
Colby and his younger brother Brody up to Joey’s house, stopping at the skinny shovel-cleared path to the front door. Three semi-frozen men looking for a hot meal and a reason to take off their boots poured out of the Jeep and up the porch steps.
He opened the front door to twelve dancing feet as the dogs swarmed them.
Joey waved a greeting with a spatula from the kitchen. “Grab some coffee, guys. Breakfast’ll be ready in a minute.”
They shucked off snowy layers and hung them on the drying rack Joey had thoughtfully set up inside the door.
“How’s the farm?” Joey asked from the stove.
“Under an avalanche, but I think we got a good bit cleared,” Colby answered, making a beeline for the coffee.
“Creamer’s in the fridge if you want any,” Jax said, remembering the bottle Joey had him buy yesterday.
He made a move to drop a kiss on Joey’s cheek and she dodged him. He bit back a sigh at her shyness. An audience shouldn’t matter, and the fact that she was still acting like this was a casual fling was going to start pissing him off.
He took in the spread she’d laid out on the island. A stack of piping hot waffles with—dear lord, was that bacon?—sat next to the tray that she was dumping perfectly browned sausage links onto. A jar of homemade strawberry jam was open next to the toaster and a loaf of bread. Creamy grits topped with cheese and hot sauce warmed on the stove.
This was love. This was how Joey showed her heart. Baking and cooking. Feeding the ones she cared about. For years, she’d squirreled away little bags of cookies for him. Every dessert she’d ever brought to family get-togethers, it was all her heart she was serving up. He wondered if she knew it. If she realized that with every waffle, every sausage link, every perfect cup of coffee, she was saying “I love you.”
His father’s words ran through his head.
I’d learned long ago that actions spoke louder than words…
Maybe it was time for him to find a better way to tell her he loved her.
Brody poured himself a glass of orange juice from the pitcher and pulled out a barstool to sit. His straw colored hair stuck up at all angles after swiping off the orange knit cap.
“This looks awesome, Jo,” he told her.
“Thanks, Bro,” she winked.
The tops of his hormonal, teenage ears pinked up.
Jax rolled his eyes at Colby. He remembered what it was like to be eighteen and knew the thoughts that were rolling around in there, especially where Joey Greer was concerned.
His phone vibrated in the back pocket of his jeans. It was a text from Carter with screenshots of Blue Moon’s Facebook group, all snowy scenes from downtown.
Your pants are on fire.
J
ax smirked
. He fired back a response.
That’s the only thing keeping my balls from freezing while I dig your farm out from under eight feet of snow.
C
arter’s reply came quickly
.
Not sure whether to say fuck you or thank you.
J
ax laughed
and passed his phone to Joey so she could read the texts while he loaded up a plate of heavenly breakfast. He’d show her in kind. And, in doing so, would give a nod to his father’s insights on how to love a stubborn woman.
-------
W
ith the bulk
of the snow cleared from the essential access points of the farm by early afternoon, Jax sent Colby and Brody home and set about cleaning up the fresh snowfall. Carter had texted him so many times that Jax finally left his phone in the Jeep and enjoyed the blissful solitude.
The snow was finally starting to taper off, and with it the work. With breakfast far behind them, lunch was sounding like a better and better idea. And it would be the perfect opportunity to drag Joey away from work to surprise her with a little slice of fun.
What would be more romantic than a blizzard picnic?
He surveyed the barn, looking for the ideal spot. He settled on the small storage room off the main door. It had a handful of small windows that looked out on the snow and it was far enough away from Clementine’s stall that she wouldn’t ruin the moment.
In the farmhouse he pulled the quilt off of his bed and gathered some floor pillows from the great room. He tweaked the set up on the barn floor, angling the quilt this way and that for effect until he was satisfied. Then it was back to the house to forage for a lunch that didn’t look thrown together.
It wasn’t easy in a household of vegetarians. But Jax raided his own lunchmeat stash and built a pair of sandwiches that would make a deli proud. He wrapped up dill pickles and stole two of the single serve bags of chips that Summer rationed for herself. Dessert was difficult. There was no ice cream in the freezer and if he wanted baked goods, he’d have to sneak into Joey’s cookie jar. Finally, he spotted Oreos in the back of the pantry and filled a sandwich bag with them.
He found a bottle of champagne that Carter had tucked away after Beckett and Gia’s wedding in the wine cooler. Jax grabbed two champagne flutes and threw everything into a cardboard box he found upstairs and headed back across the yard to the barn. The mound of snow next to the door made a convenient champagne ice bucket so he screwed the bottle into the drift up to its neck and left the glasses sitting on the window’s ledge.
Back inside, he unloaded his haul and neatly laid sandwiches on plates and accessorized with chips, pickles, and Oreos.
He folded the paper towels he’d brought as napkins and tucked them under each plate. The whole scene looked cozy and romantic. Even Joey wouldn’t be able to resist, he thought with a satisfied nod.
He took the Jeep over to the stables and found Joey picking the hooves of a freshly groomed pony on the crossties in the stable aisle. Jax loved watching her when she worked. Every move was competent, efficient. No energy was wasted. She moved with a precision and a purpose that made horses and people fall in line to keep up. It was obvious that her heart was here, too.
She never skimped on the care of her horses, never let anyone else give a sub-par effort there either. It was one of the reasons her riding lesson program had grown so quickly. She had a way of impressing the importance of care and discipline, while still preserving the wonder of what it felt like to ride and be in tune with a mount.
“Good boy, Roscoe,” she said, patting the pony’s neck. “Everything healed up nicely.”
“Thrush?” Jax asked.
Surprised by his presence, Joey glanced up. “Nope. A sole bruise. But everything looks good now.”
“Good. Are you hungry?”
Joey frowned. “What time is it?”
“Almost three. I thought we could break for a late lunch.”
“Sounds good. I’ve got chili leftovers at the house,” she offered.
He shook his head. “I took the liberty of arranging lunch for us.”
Joey raised her eyebrows. “Well, aren’t you thoughtful? Let me put Roscoe here back in his stall and I’ll be ready. Where are we eating?”
“I thought we’d do a little farm to table in the barn.”
“That sounds…odd.”
Jax grinned at his practical girl.
They bumped along the snowy drive from stables to farm, pausing briefly to note that the plows hadn’t yet come through on the road.
“We could be snowed in for days,” Joey said, sliding out of the passenger seat.
Jax led the way to the barn door. “I wouldn’t mind.
“The only downside is Carter and Summer can’t come back and pick up the slack. Summer already texted me four times asking me to go into her office just to check this and check that.”
“She’s probably driven the guest editor insane by now and that’s why she’s coming to you,” Jax predicted, he pulled the bottle of champagne out of the snow.
