The Stable Boy

The Stable Boy

Harmony Stalter

Copyright © 2014 Harmony Stalter

All rights reserved.

ISBN:

ISBN-13:

DEDICATION

This is for all the women who are searching for a love like no other.

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank Erin Bisanti of ENBPhotography and Graphic Design for creating the magnificent cover, my parents for always being there and supporting me, my friends for always encouraging me to chase my dreams, and you, the reader, for allowing me to pour my heart and soul onto the page and giving a relatively unknown author a chance.

A special thank you to my beta readers, Suleika Santana of All About Books, Stephenie Sheperd Philipsen of Sandwich Making Book Bitches, and Diana Colon Barral for volunteering to be my beta readers. You ladies have helped make this book what it is. A thank you to all the bloggers that helped share my teasers throughout the writing process, Jen Mitchell of Two Sassy Chicks, Angie and Jo of TwinsieTalk Book Reviews,  and Jen of Can’t Beat a Good Book. A thank you to all the lovely ladies above for sharing my cover as well as Tiffany Marie of Everything Marie, Janett Gomez of The Pleasure of Reading Today (thank you for the teasers), Amy BarBagallo of I Heart Romance Books, Angelle LeBlanc of Cajun Book Lovers, Riva Williams of the Stone Angel Reviews, Philomena Callan of 2 Friends Read Along with Us,  and Leigh Parker of Writer Leigh Parker.

Last but not least, my mom. She is always my first beta reader no matter what kind of book I write.

Josh
Evans was born in New York City. His parents had met in college. They were killed in a car wreck. Josh was sent to live with his grandparents in Arkansas City when he was 8. His grandparents were both gone by the time he was 20. He learned everything he knows about farming from his grandfather. He has no home to go to. He sleeps in his truck or in the barns of the farms he works on. He feels lost in the world. He is 28. His ice blue eyes show his pain. His muscular body shows off the years of farm work. He just needs one thing to bring him back to a world of happiness – her.

Josh Evans was one of the smallest kids in his class when he moved to Arkansas. His mother’s parents took him in. It took him a while to get used to the quiet of the farm, but he was learning. His grandfather, Jeremiah Jones, would sell homemade pickles at the local market. Jones was his mother’s maiden name. His grandparents would teach Josh everything he needed to survive throughout the 16 years they were alive. His grandmother, Ellie Jones, taught him how to cook for himself and how to treat a lady. His grandfather instilled in him the value of hard work. When Josh was 16, he sat his grandparents down for an important conversation.

“Grandma and Pop pop, I need to speak with you both.”

“What is it, sweetie?” asked Ellie.

“I want to change my last name.”

“What do you mean? Are you not proud of who you are, son?” inquired Jeremiah.

“I am, which is why I want to change it. I would like it to be your last name.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, you have been my parents for the last eight years. I think it is about time.”

“Well, alright son, if that is what you really want.”

“I do.”

“I could not be happier,” said Ellie with tears in her eyes.

“Now Ellie, no shedding tears.”

“It is okay, grandma. You shed all the tears you want. Pop pop, can we go to the court house on Monday and get this done?”

“Sure, son. I’ll take you down there first thing and then I will drop you off at school.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

His grandparents have been gone for six long years, but he is finally beginning to feel like he belongs in this world again thanks to some incredible people in his life. He just needs one more thing to become complete – her.

****

Claire
Mackenzie grew up in Florence, Montana. She met her husband John Phillips when they were in junior high school. They began dating when Claire was 13. They married when Claire turned 18 and moved to Arkansas City, Arkansas where she and her husband purchased a farm. When her husband was 40, he lost his life in a tragic accident, leaving Claire to run the farm. She had farm hands, but one by one they all left. It is two years after her husband’s untimely death. She is all alone and still grieving for her husband. She does not look her age. She has long brown hair and hazel eyes that show her grief. She feels lost in the world around her. She has a best friend named Alison that she turns to.

The day John passed away, I was in the kitchen making lunch. It had rained all night the night before. John had discovered that the barn roof was leaking.

“Hey, hon, I am going to get on that roof and see if I can fix it.”

“John, please don’t. Just call someone to do it. It rained last night and you don’t have the proper equipment to keep you safe.”

“I’ll be fine. I am sure the roof is dry by now. I see you in a bit.”

“Okay,” I said. I watched him place the ladder on the barn. Watching him walk up, gave me a chill. He was walking around the roof with a hammer in his hand, inspecting it. His foot slipped, but he caught himself. My heart skipped a beat as I gasped. He regained his balance and continued to walk the roof. I put some food on the stove. Turning around to look out the window, I saw him slip again.

This time he could not catch himself. I watched him fall from the roof head first. He bounced off the ground. I ran through the door. I do not remember screaming his name, but David told me I screamed for him. All I remember is hitting the top step on the porch and stopping. I could not move any further. David grabbed me around the waist and drug me back in the house, calling 911. The ambulance arrived and took John away. I did not see him again until the day of his funeral. I never had a chance to say a proper goodbye to my husband. I miss him more with every single day that passes. Most days I just lock myself in my room and cry. I do not know what to do. I am lost without him. Caring for this farm was never a part of who I was. John took care of everything.

What am I going to do? Thank God for the farmhands who know what needs to be done. David has taken over everything. He has been a big help the last few months. He was John’s right hand man. He knows this farm as well as John did. My family wants me to move back to Montana to be near them. The more days that pass the more I think about it. I cannot bring myself to leave, though. It is the only place that John and I have ever called home. If I leave here, I will be leaving him behind. I am not ready to do that.

For 20 years, we were married. Losing him is losing a part of myself. I am not ready to let go. I know I should, but I just cannot bring myself to do it. This was his baby and I will remain here to keep it going. I need to become stronger, to get my head into the farming game. I need to keep this place going. If I cannot, then I will be forced to sell and move back to Montana. I do not want to do that.

John’s things are still all over the house. I cannot store them away, not yet. He is still very much a part of my life. All the farmhands have left, except for David. But I fear he, too, will soon leave as he has found a lovely young woman. They are about to be married. When he goes, I will be here all alone on this big farm and in this empty house. Left to my thoughts and memories of the love John and I shared. We never had any kids. I could not. John was okay with it. If only I was able to, then I would still have something to live for.

I stopped answering my phone. The constant questions from friends and family were starting to get to me. I need the time to think about what I am going to do. The farm is beginning to fail not matter what David does. I am about to loose everything John and I built together. I cannot let that happen. I need more help, but I barely have any money and do not know where to look. I wish John was here. He would know where to find help.

1
Two years later

He came walking across the field in his tight blue jeans, dark brown boots, beige plaid shirt, and dark brown cowboy hat. He was walking my unruly colt by a lead rope with ease. The colt had broken the fence and ran off. He found him. How he got the horse calmed down was a mystery to me. I could not get that horse
to walk on a lead rope. He reached my door. I stepped out from behind the screen door. 

"Ma'am, I believe he is yours," he said with a slight southern drawl.

"Yes, he is. Thank you for bringing him back," I said, taking all of him in. He had ice blue eyes, a five o'clock shadow, and broad shoulders. His tight shirt showed off his muscular arms and tight torso. "How did you know he was mine?"

"I pass by your house sometimes in morning on the way to the Everett farm," he said. "I work there when they need an extra hand."
 

"Thank you for bringing him back. Can you please put him in the paddock with the other horses?"

"Sure can," he replied. "Do you need help fixing the fence?" 

"Thank you, I would really appreciate it."

"Be happy to help. If you don't mind, I'd like to take a look around the farm and help you out in anyway I can. It does not seem that you have much help around here," he said, as he looked me up and down. 

I was wearing my blue jeans and white t-shirt.
 My long, chestnut brown hair was pulled back into a pony tail.

"Unfortunately, I do not. I had a farm hand, but he got married recently and they moved out west. I don't have enough money to hire someone else."
 

"That is a real shame. This is a nice farm. I will work for you for the price of a home cooked meal."

"I think I can oblige you. Thank you. After you put him in the paddock, why don't you come in for some sweet tea? It is quite hot out there."

"Thank you, I appreciate the offer, but I would prefer to get started on fixing that fence."

"Okay, but let me ask you how you got him to walk with you on that lead rope? He will not take to me doing it."

"I have a way with horses. They seem to like me. C'mon boy, let's go this way," he said as he turned to walk away. That is when I got a real good look at just how tight his jeans really were.
 A shudder ran down my spine.

I had not had that happen since my late husband. John and I got married when
I was18 years old and he was 20. We loved each other. We dated all through junior high and high school. We knew we were meant to be together for the rest of our lives. What we did not count on was an accident taking his life two days before his 40
th
birthday.  We purchased this farm when he was 25 years old. He worked it while I cooked for him and the farmhands he hired meals. We would make enough money during the harvesting season to get us through the winters. These last two years had been rough as I knew nothing about farming. John always said that farming was men’s work. I had no place out there sweating with the men. David, my last farmhand to stick around as long as he could, has recently left the farm. He found himself a nice girl.

They got married and headed to California. She wanted to be an actress and a model. Being love struck, David followed her out there. He was a great worker. What he was going to do in California is beyond me. He has
only ever worked on a farm. I wished him well and sent him on his way. I cried like I was losing a son. John and I never had children as I was unable to. John did not care. He loved me for me, always did. The crunch of the dead leaves under his boots brought me back from my memories. I knew that I needed the help on the farm, but did I want his help? I was unsure.

I went inside, closing the door behind me. Tears were streaming down my face. I missed John. I went to the kitchen and watched as the stranger put the horse back in the paddock out of the small window above the sink. He was good with him. Maybe he could break him into a decent riding horse. I saw him walk over to the broken section of the fence. He shook his head. He was coming back toward the house. He knocked on the screen door. I went to it.

“Ma’am, do you have any spare wood?” he asked. “He did a lot of damage and I am going to need to replace that entire section.”

“Yes,” I said. “I believe that there is some in the barn. Let’s go find out.” He pulled open the screen door for me to come through. My husband always said that these young kids should be taught manners, such as opening doors and when you found one that did, it meant that his parents brought him up right. I smiled at the memory.

“What is your name?” I asked as we headed toward the barn.

“Joshua Jones,” he said.

“It is nice to meet you, Joshua,” I said. “My name is Claire Phillips.”

“It is nice to meet you, too, Ms. Phillips.”

“It was Mrs. Phillips,” I said. “Please, just call me Claire.”

“Okay, ma’am,” he said. “I will try to do that.”

We entered the barn where my husband had kept anything he thought he could use again. There were three barns on the property. One held the farming equipment. One held all the feed and hay for the animals. The third held all the items my husband would reuse. We opened the double doors of the red and white barn. There were piles of wood planks, engine parts, and tools all over the first floor of the barn. There was a loft with a ladder that led up to it. We could see there were wood posts stacked in it. How he was able to get those heavy posts up there was a question I did not think I wanted the answer to.

“Do you need one of those posts?” I said as we both stared at the loft.

“Yes, I actually need two of them,” he responded. “The question is how to get them down from there.”

“I do not even know how he even got them up there,” I said with a slight chuckle, picturing the scene in my head.

“Do you have farm equipment, maybe something with a cherry picker on it?”

“I believe my husband has a truck with one. I believe it is in the barn next door. Come on; let’s go see what is in there.”

“Lead the way,” he said.

We left the barn and went to the next one. Opening the doors, we saw the amount of equipment my husband had. Back in the corner was the new truck he had purchased before his untimely death. The keys were on the front seat. John never believed in locking anything up. He said we lived in the middle of nowhere. If a person was going to come this far to steal something, then they could just take it. There was no sense of causing unneeded damage. The truck was a hunter green color 4 X 4 with a cherry picker attached to the back. It was what Joshua needed to get the posts down from the loft.

“This is perfect,” he said. “It looks brand new. Has it ever been driven?”

“Yes,” I said as fresh tears stung my eyes. “My husband purchased it a couple days before his passing. He did drive it before he was taken. The farmhands would not drive it. They thought it would just be wrong to do so.
”

“I am sorry you lost your husband,” he said. “I can find another piece of equipment to get the posts down.”

“No, it is okay,” I said. “This is just what you need to get it done. It is probably what he used to put them up there to begin with.”

He got in the drivers seat. I climbed in the passenger’s seat. The starting of the engine made my heart skip a beat. We drove back to the other barn in silence. He backed the truck into the barn. He pushed the button that rose the cherry picker bucket to the loft space.

“I am going to need you to bring the bucket down with me and the posts in it when I say so,” he said.

“What do I need to push?
” I said. “I have never used any of this equipment.”

“All you have to do is push this red button. It will lower the bucket.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

“Great, I will let you know when,” he said as he opened the door. I watched him climb to the top of the ladder. He pulled himself up into the loft. Wrapping his arms around one of the posts, he lifted it into the bucket. He turned and grabbed a second one. Climbing into the bucket, he steadied himself. He was nervous. I saw that he was afraid of heights. The first time I saw vulnerability in a man in quite some time. John’s vulnerability came to the forefront when he heard a child cry.

“Okay,” he said in a shaky voice. “Bring me down.”

“Okay,” I said and pushed the button. I watched as the bucket descended. When it stopped, he hopped out. He placed the posts in the bed of the gator one at a time.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I am just not a fan of heights.”

“I figured as much. I will get someone to move the posts down to this level, just in case these are needed again.”

“That will not be necessary,” he said. “I can handle it. It is just that first time makes me nervous.”

“Okay, but I must warn you that John always kept the hay in the loft of the feed barn. I had David bring me some down when he left, but there is still quite a bit up there.”

“That is no problem. I can handle it,” he said as he loaded some of the wooden planks to fix the fence into the back of the gator.
He grabbed the tools he needed from wall and tool chest. I got in the passenger seat of the gator. He drove me back to the house, and then he headed off to fix the fence.  

I sat on the porch step and watched him for a few minutes. He reminded me of John in so many ways. His walk, his confidence, and his ability to want to get this farm running were just like John at his age. I smiled. I got up and brushed off my backside. I went into the house and began preparing dinner. I made buttermilk fried chicken with mashed potatoes, biscuits, fresh corn on the cob, and homemade gravy. The chicken was frying, the biscuits were in the oven, and the potatoes were boiling when he was done. He knocked on the screen door.

“Come on in, Joshua,” I said. He was covered in dirt. “If you want to wash up before dinner, there is a bathroom with a shower at the end of the hallway. It is the door on the left. I believe I have some men’s clothing still around. Let me get you something.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said.

“Please stop calling me ma’am. I asked you to call me Claire. I know it is your manners and I appreciate the great up bringing you have had, but if you are going to work for me and share meals with me, then we need to be on friendlier terms.”

“Okay.”

I went to the hall closet. He followed close behind. I could smell the dirt mixed in with his sweat. It was a smell I was all too familiar with. I missed it. I pulled out one of John’s old shirts and a pair of jeans. I never got rid of his stuff. I could not bring myself to do it.

“There are towels in the closet in the
bathroom. There should be soap and shampoo in the shower already.”

“Thank you, again. I will be out in a few minutes.”

“Okay, dinner should be done by the time you are out.”

“Great,” he said.

“What would you like to drink with your dinner?”

“That sweet tea you offered early sounds mighty good.”

“I will make sure there is a big glass waiting for you.”

I handed him the clothes and squeezed past him in the tight hallway, rubbing his upper arm as I went. He turned to watch me walk back into the kitchen. I could feel his eyes burning a hole in my back. He went to take a shower while I checked on dinner. I had to take a couple of deep breaths to keep from following him in the bathroom. This was going to be trouble. I could not have this taking place. I was going to have to tell him over dinner that I was not going to need his services. He came out of the shower just as I was putting dinner on the table.

“This smells and looks delicious,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said. “It is the one thing I have always been good at. I love to co
ok, especially for someone who will enjoy it.”

“I am sure this will be as good as it looks,” he said as he pulled out my chair for me.

“Thank you,” I replied, sitting down.

“You’re welcome.”

We ate in silence. Staring at his blue eyes threw me for a loop. I did not want to let him leave, but I could not bare the thought of feeling like I was cheating on my deceased husband. He was the first to speak when he had finished eating.

“It was just as delicious as it looked,” he said with one of the nicest smiles I had ever seen.

“Thank you,” I replied, blushing. “I have homemade apple pie, if you have enough room for dessert.”

“That sounds great,” he said.

“A la mode or plain?” I asked.

“A la mode,” he replied.

“Do you want me to warm it up? I also have coffee or tea to go with it, or another glass of sweet tea.”

“I will take it cold with a cup of coffee.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said.

“Can I ask you something?” he inquired.

“Sure,” I said.

“What happened to your husband?”

I cringed at the question. It must have been a visible cringe.

“I don’t mean to pry and you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but you are so young to have lost your husband already.”