Baby, I'm Yours

Baby, I’m Yours

Stephanie Bond

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Emory Maxwell has come home to the small town of Sweetness, Georgia, with one goal in mind—to get his childhood sweetheart Shelby Moon to marry him. They’ve been in love with the second grade, but Shelby’s father is determined to keep his daughter in Sweetness, not moving around the country as a soldier’s wife. No matter what she chooses, Shelby knows she’ll hurt one of the men she loves.

But when a tornado rips through town, will she and Emory lose their chance to be together forever?

Get ready to fall in love with the town of Sweetness, Georgia, in this prequel to Stephanie Bond’s Southern Roads trilogy.

Stephanie Bond grew up on a tobacco farm in eastern Kentucky, where books were her main form of entertainment. “There were no book stores in my small hometown, and no public library. My school had a small library, which I exhausted fairly quickly. But I was lucky to have an aunt who lived out of state and who shared my love for books. When she visited every year, she would bring me bags full of Harlequin romance novels and gothic romances by Phyllis Whitney and Victoria Holt. I was in heaven.”

Years later, Stephanie was seven years deep into a systems engineering career and pursuing an MBA at night when an instructor remarked she had a flair for writing and suggested that she submit to academic journals. But Stephanie was interested only in writing fiction—more specifically, romantic fiction. Upon completing her master’s degree and with no formal training in writing, she wrote a romance novel in her spare time. Two years later, in 1995, she sold her first manuscript, a romantic comedy, to Harlequin Books. In 1997, with ten sales under her belt, Stephanie left her corporate job to write fiction full-time. “In hindsight,” reflects Stephanie, “those early years of devouring a book a day instilled in me the rhythm of storytelling.”

Today, Stephanie has more than fifty published romance and mystery novels to her name, including the Body Movers humorous mystery series, which was recently optioned by Sony Pictures Television for TV series development, and the Southern Roads romance trilogy. Read more about Stephanie Bond and her books at her website, www.stephaniebond.com.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter One

Ten years ago

Emory Maxwell tightened his grip on the steering wheel of his SUV, looked over at his longtime friend and fellow soldier, Porter Armstrong, and took a deep breath. “Will you marry me?”

Porter considered his words, then scoffed, “Man, you can’t just blurt it out like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not romantic, that’s why. You have to say ‘I love you’ and ‘I can’t live without you’ and ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you’,” crap like that. Try it again.”

Emory frowned. “Well, you don’t have to be such a jackass about it.”

Porter sighed and pushed back the U.S. Army cap that matched his fatigues. “You want Shelby to say yes, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, you idget. That’s why we’re going to Sweetness.”

“That’s why you’re going to Sweetness,” Porter corrected. “You’re the one who’s jonesing to get married. Me, I’m never settling down. I just want as much home cooking as my mother can make in the few days I’m home on leave.” Then Porter looked apologetic. “Sorry, man, I know you miss your mom. You and Dr. Maxwell can come over and eat with us any time.”

Emory felt a pang for his mother’s absence, something he knew Porter could understand. “And I know you miss your dad. Thanks for the invitation. Will Marcus and Kendall be there?”

“No. Marcus is in Pakistan, something about a terrorist group the U.S. is worried about. And Kendall is in El Salvador overseeing reconstruction after the earthquake earlier this year. I don’t know when I’ll see them again.” Then he frowned. “Hey, don’t change the subject. You’re going to have to say something good to convince Shelby to wake up to your ugly mug for the rest of her life.”

Emory puffed out his cheeks in an exhale. “I’m more worried about what her pop is going to say.”

Porter made a rueful noise. “You should be. I heard Mr. Moon is a pretty good shot.”

“That man has never liked me.”

“What do you expect? He wants to keep Shelby in her calico bedroom for the rest of her life, and you’ve got other bedroom plans for his little girl. She’s all he’s got—of course he hates you. I feel sorry for Shelby being in the middle of you two mules.”

Emory hardened his jaw. Sooner or later, Shelby was going to have to choose between him and her daddy.

Porter glanced at his watch. “What time is she expecting you?”

“I didn’t tell her I was coming.”

Porter guffawed. “You’ve been arguing on the phone for months. Now you’re going to just show up with a ring and propose?”

“That’s the plan,” Emory muttered.

Porter pulled down his cap and slumped in the seat in preparation for a nap. “Wake me up before the fireworks begin.”

Emory frowned in the direction of the man who’d been his best friend since Little League, then pulled his hand across his mouth and turned his attention back to the interstate. Porter was right. He was taking a big chance by not telling Shelby he was coming, especially considering the last time they’d talked, she’d hung up on him. Her father had been yelling for her in the background, which had angered Emory, which in turn had angered Shelby.

One way or another, things would come to a head today.

Emory leaned down to study the leaden sky. They were driving into a storm, or the makings of one. But it was summer in the north Georgia mountains—thunderstorms were as commonplace as mosquitoes and lemonade. After so much sand in the Gulf desert, he wouldn’t mind a little rain, as long as it didn’t slow their progress too much.

His heart beat faster at the thought of seeing Shelby soon. He imagined her sweet face lighting up when he walked into her father’s grocery where she worked, her immediate tears, the many kisses…the private reunion as soon as they could get alone. His body tightened involuntarily. He realized the reason they argued on the phone was because they were both frustrated by their separation. But his overseas deployment was due to end in a month, so he’d be stationed Stateside soon. And he wanted to be with Shelby. For the rest of their lives.

His fellow soldiers laughed when he told them he and Shelby had been together since grade school, but it was true. They’d met on the playground in second grade. Bobby Taylor had been teasing Shelby, pulling her blond pigtails. Emory had pushed the bigger boy down, which had earned him a suspension from school and Shelby’s adoration.

The suspension had been worth it.

Their relationship had gone through the ups and downs of chicken pox, Shelby’s crush on the new boy in sixth grade, and his own preoccupation with a dark-haired cheerleader their freshman year. But when he and Shelby had been ready to relinquish their virginity at seventeen, neither one would have chosen anybody else for the occasion. Their consummated physical chemistry had cemented their childhood love and they’d never looked in another direction.

It was, he realized, one of the reasons her pop was opposed to their relationship. Mr. Moon said they couldn’t know they loved each other because they’d never spent time with anyone else. But Emory didn’t want someone else. When he lay awake in his bunk on the other side of the world, the only thing, besides his conviction of service, that gave him comfort was the knowledge that Shelby Moon was lying awake in her corner bedroom in Sweetness, Georgia thinking about him, too.

They’d shared sad times, too. They’d both lost their mothers to illness while in high school. Going through something so traumatic together created a special bond that outsiders couldn’t understand. But as he drove, Emory mostly replayed in his head the sweeter memories they’d made together—going to football games, swinging out over the swimming hole at Timber Creek, shooting off fireworks in the parking lot of her father’s store—and before he knew it, he was putting on his turn signal to exit the interstate to the climbing state road that would meander and twist and eventually dead end into Sweetness.

At the change in speed, Porter roused from his nap and stretched his arms high in a yawn. “Are we there yet?”

“It won’t be long.” Emory gestured to the sky, where the clouds had taken on a greenish hue. “What do you make of that?”

Porter squinted. “I don’t know—something in the atmosphere…pollen maybe? Looks like we’re in for a good old-fashioned thunderstorm.”

“It’s eerie. Do you think it’s a bad omen?”

“What do you mean?”

Emory shifted in his seat. “Like, maybe today isn’t such a good day to propose?”

“Man, no day is a good day to propose.”

Emory laughed. “Mark my words, Porter. You’re going to meet a woman someday who will bring you to your knees.”

“Never,” Porter said, shaking his head emphatically.

The men parried back and forth with the familiar ease of boys who’d grown up side by side. As the SUV climbed higher and higher, the landscape became more recognizable—and rugged. Here in the mountains, the trees were taller and sturdier, and black soil gave way to rocky red clay. But a hardy environment produced a hardy crop of people.

They passed a Christmas tree farm and the picturesque covered bridge over Trimble Creek, then at the top of a rise that leveled into a long road ahead of them, a sign announced “Sweetness, Georgia, population 952.”

“Guess the Haywoods had twins,” Porter said with a laugh.

It was a joke because, in truth, the town’s population had been declining for the last couple of decades as new generations had turned away from farming and left to seek careers in outlying areas, especially Atlanta. Every time Emory came back to his hometown, it seemed as if another business or plant had closed its doors and more homes and farms were for sale.

All the more reason to get Shelby out of Sweetness, no matter how much they both loved growing up here. After his overseas stint ended, he planned to start college classes part-time. Even if he opted not to make the military a career, he didn’t foresee being able to make a living in Sweetness…unless he wanted to work for Shelby’s father at the grocery.

Emory shuddered.

“You okay, man?”

“It’s just coming back here, you know? Mixed feelings.”

“Yeah, I know. I couldn’t wait to get away from this place, but something always pulls me back.”

Emory nodded. He understood completely.

Watching over the town was a tall white water tower in the shape of a vertical capsule, with the greeting, Welcome to Sweetness. Someone had spray painted “I love Pam” in large red letters. Emory smiled—he’d graffitied his own sentiments about Shelby a time or two, as had many boys in town about the object of their affection if they were reckless enough to make that climb. Once a year, the mayor would send up painters to restore the surface to white and reletter the town’s name. And the process would start all over again.

If they continued driving straight, the road would take them into the center of town, but Emory veered off onto a more narrow road to higher ground, to Clover Ridge where they’d grown up. The ridge was mostly farmland, with an occasional home business here and there—Dottie’s Hair Salon and Mike’s Car Repair. Here the lay of the land was as familiar as his hand…he knew every pothole, every broken fence board, every barking dog.

A few minutes later, he pulled to a stop in front of the Armstrong home, and Porter jumped out. After grabbing his duffel from the back seat, Porter grinned through the open window.

“So, let me hear what you came up with for the proposal.”

Emory frowned. “I got nothin’.”

Porter laughed. “Well, hopefully you’ll think of something when the time comes.” He extended his hand and they shook. “Thanks for the ride, man. Good luck.”

Emory watched his friend bound up the front steps of his home and smiled to himself. Porter was a good man, as were his brothers. He was lucky to have grown up next to them. He didn’t have siblings, so he’d spent as much time at the Armstrongs’ place as his own.

When he approached the home he’d grown up in, he slowed for a fond look. His dad had painted the siding and planted a new fruit tree next to the gate. Emory would stop at the older Maxwell’s office in town later to say hello, after a little detour.

He drove further out on the ridge and pulled off onto the side of the road next to the Clover Ridge cemetery. He reached into the backseat for a bouquet of flowers he’d bought when he stopped to get gas, then walked through the arched gate. Emory made his way through the well-tended graveyard to the Maxwell family plot. His mother’s tombstone read Belinda Maxwell, Beloved Wife and Mother. So true.

He removed his hat and placed the bouquet of flowers on her grave, remembering her sweet face. He’d often come here to talk to her when he still lived in Sweetness. “I’m home, Mom. Just for a few days, but it’s nice to have a break.” He smiled. “The house looks good, Dad is keeping it up. You’d like the color he painted the shutters.” He twisted the hat in his hands. “I came home to ask Shelby to marry me, Mom. Wish me luck. I love you.” He patted her headstone, then put his hat on and walked back to his SUV.

The wind had picked up, was tossing leaves and twigs across the cemetery. Emory held on to his cap and glanced up at the sky, which still looked ominous.

A foreboding sense of trouble settled over Emory, the same feeling he’d gotten once on a field assignment just before an ambush. But he dismissed it as nerves and turned his vehicle toward town. And toward Shelby.

One way or another, he’d have his answer soon.

Chapter Two

“Shelby to the produce department, Shelby to produce.”

At the summons over the PA system, Shelby Moon paused a split second from checking out Mrs. Cafferty’s groceries to consider what calamity awaited her in the fruits and vegetables aisle. An unripe cantaloupe? Bruised tomatoes?

She smiled at Mrs. Cafferty. “That’ll be thirty-one dollars and twenty-two cents.”

Mrs. Cafferty, dressed in a voluminous flowered dress that hung on her frail frame, squinted and put a hand behind her ear. “What did you say, dear?”

Shelby leaned forward to enunciate more loudly. “Your total is thirty-one dollars and twenty-two cents.”

The elderly woman frowned. “Did you deduct my coupons?”

“Do you have coupons?”

“What did you say, dear?”

“Do you have coupons?”

“Oh, yes, didn’t I give them to you?”

Shelby smiled and shook her head, then waited while the woman opened her old-lady purse and proceeded to remove every item—Bible, packet of tissues, powder compact, mini photo album—in her search for the coupons.

“I have a new picture of my great-granddaughter,” Mrs. Cafferty said, opening the photo album to show the toddler’s photo to Shelby and to the people in line behind her.

“She’s a doll,” Shelby confirmed, trying to tamp down her impatience.

Mrs. Cafferty’s eyes twinkled. “How’s that good-looking soldier of yours, dear?”

Just the mention of Emory made Shelby’s chest tighten. She missed him so much at times, she thought she’d never bear it. “He’s fine, ma’am. Still in Afghanistan.”

Today especially, he was weighing on her mind, as well as their last conversation, which had ended in an argument. Nothing new there—he believed her father depended on her too much. And her father felt as if Emory wanted her to turn her back on her only family. She’d woken up this morning feeling blue, but conceded that some of it could be the weather. The sky was as heavy as her heart.

“Shelby,” said Thelma from the next checkout aisle, “my register is acting up.”

“I’ll be right there,” Shelby said, still waiting for Mrs. Cafferty to find her coupons.

“Shelby to produce, Shelby to produce…quickly.”

She took a deep breath and counted to five. It wasn’t everyone else’s fault she was in a bad mood today.

Betsy, one of their best part-time employees, parked a row of baskarts and walked over. “I got this,” she offered with a wink, gesturing to Mrs. Cafferty’s order.

Shelby gave her a grateful look. “Thank you.”

She said goodbye to Mrs. Cafferty, then stepped over to inspect Thelma’s register, which didn’t want to open at the end of the sale. The registers, like everything else in the grocery, needed to be replaced or updated.

“It’s a trick,” she said, then smacked the old machine on the side with her hand. The register drawer popped open and Shelby couldn’t help but notice its scant contents.

Revenues were sliding more every month, but she couldn’t get her father to accept the fact that the business he’d built and worked from the ground up was stumbling. Since her mother’s passing, the market had become his life and, consequently, her life. He expected her to stay in Sweetness and help with the business that would pass to her someday. If she broached the subject of the financials, he became agitated and asked her to think about what would happen if they closed the grocery—where would people buy food? Not everyone had the ability or could afford to leave the mountain to shop in other towns.

The fact that her father considered his business a service to the community showed just how big his heart was. She knew for a fact that he sold some staples for exactly what he paid for them to keep from passing rising cost on to his customers. And countless times she’d seen him load up a store van with food baskets and deliver them to needy families. He expected her to carry on the family tradition. She loved him so much, she couldn’t bear to disappoint him.

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