New Hope, Old Grudges Read Online Anne Malcom

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Tags Authors: Anne Malcom Advertisement

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Mom was the free spirit who had been backpacking across the country when she found herself in New Hope, found my dad. And the rest, as they say, is history.

The Weird Watsons. That’s what they called our family. Stupid and unoriginal name for sure. But kids came up with it. Kids were fucking stupid. More importantly, they were cruel. Especially to those who were even a little different from them. And we were a lot different. My mother read fortunes for a living, ran the town’s only ‘occult’ store, Trix—Occult to the small but vocal religious zealots in town. She sold crystals, candles, books and anything ‘spiritual’ you could think of. This was before it was trendy and didn’t exactly do a booming business, though enough to keep the lights on, apparently.

My father turned his hobby of blacksmithing into a real business. People all around town used them for their farms, their animals, their tools. He had artisan boutiques commissioning him for all sorts of stuff. If he’d wanted to, he could’ve taken it further and charged outrageous prices. But that wasn’t my father.

We’d never been rich growing up, but I’d never wanted for anything—except normalcy, maybe.

Cold brew is in the fridge if you’re on the iced coffee thing you millennials are into.

Otherwise, make yourself a nice warm mug, curl up by the window then grab one of the steamy paperbacks I’ve set beside the mug. Reading is an escape that helps heal all wounds. Especially if it’s got some hot sex in it.

Oh, and there are chocolate chip muffins, freshly baked this morning. Sex, chocolate and coffee, it’s impossible to be sad with that combination.

Love you eternally. Into this life and the next.

Fern (Mom) xxx.

The note in my mother’s signature looping script sat on top of her espresso machine. Beside it was a mug shaped like a turkey and a stack of romance books.

I didn’t want to smile. There was really nothing for me to smile about. But I did. Because my mother hadn’t changed in all these years. She still left notes. Long ones. She still signed them with her first name then Mom in brackets. She was still her, despite the heartbreak I know she endured losing my father, her best friend.

Feeling numb and without anything else to do, I followed my mother’s instructions. I made coffee. I ate a muffin. I went to the window nook with the plan of losing myself in a romance novel. But then I made the mistake of looking out the window.

Our house was at the base of the mountain that New Hope was scattered around. We were surrounded by woods on all sides, more mountains in the background. There were other homes dotted around, but you only saw their lights at night. Otherwise, we had complete privacy. My mother’s garden was winterized, but there were plenty of sculptures sitting on the outdoor furniture. Fairies, sundials, crystals. Whatever deity she was worshiping.

And amongst it all was something else. Something that stabbed me in the gut.

I stared at the structure out back. It was the same as it always was, hedges neatly trimmed on either side, flower boxes empty because the flowers were long dead. But the paint on the exterior showed no signs of chipping, the windows were gleaming, and I half expected to see the amber glow of the forge.

But I didn’t.

I wouldn’t.

I tossed the paperback aside.

There was no escape.

Not from this reality with the dead father I never got to say goodbye to, to apologize to. Not from the life that had gone down in flames. And not from being stuck in the town I hated with my high school bully serving as the local sheriff.

Chapter Three

BRODY

It was Friday night.

Friday night meant beers at Kelly’s Bar where they had a live band. The band was usually a shitshow because we didn’t have a whole lot of musical talent here in New Hope, and we were too out of the way for any of the decent bands who toured the country.

Half decent was usually the best we could hope for.

Tonight there was a young, blonde country singer.

And she was more than decent. She had some damn good pipes, and I wondered what the fuck she was doing here and not in Nashville being signed by some record exec.

She was pretty too. Very pretty. Too young and too skinny for my liking, though.

I liked my women to have some meat on their bones. And to be uncomplicated. The young blonde country singer was definitely trouble. Ten years in the Marines and three as the sheriff told me that.

Plus, my mind was on a redhead.

One who was definitely fucking trouble.

And one who happened to hate me for reasons I couldn’t quite gather.

“Wouldn’t kick her outta bed,” Sam said from behind me.

I turned to my old high school buddy where he was perched on his barstool. It all but had his ass print molded to it for how often he was planted in it. I came to Kelly’s every Friday because I liked routine, and it was part of the gig to show my face around town. I preferred my own beer, own back porch and my own company, though.

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