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March 30 - April 1, 2025
she had to get inside the cute, two-story house at 126 Dogwood Lane. The home was all hers, purchased with the insurance payout, and she was meeting the handyman to discuss the changes she needed done.
Back to her current life. Back to her dream job as head chef. Or at least what used to be her dream job. Then she could get back to Yearly, Texas, for what came next.
Rebecca jogged down the steps, back to her car, and opened the passenger door. “You okay in there, Mister Rogers?” Her black-and-white-tuxedoed cat peered through the grate of the carrier and meowed at her. He’d been inside it for a long while, and his captivity needed to be remedied.
Her “November of New Beginnings” wasn’t getting off to the simplest of starts. Tomorrow was the first day of November, and she didn’t have time for errors. Her stockpile of vacation time would be over sooner rather than later. Rebecca had the map back to her happiness, and everybody needed to get with the program.
Her sister, Leah, was going to live in the house until Rebecca could more back to Yearly, and Leah promised to keep one of the bedrooms ready for when Rebecca came back for the monthly meetings. Now that Rebecca owned the Dogwood house, it made renting a hotel room a waste of money. It had all been worked out on paper. Even though Leah planned to rent the house from Rebecca, Rebecca planned to stay in the house until the updates to their restaurant were well underway and the Reverie was nearly open for business.
Rebecca was providing the seed money for their new business. Leah would manage the day-to-day operation of the restaurant while Rebecca worked in Fort Worth. If things went well, their widowed mother would have the assurance that she would never have to leave the home she'd shared with their father. It was a big plan, and a risk that could end in disaster, but it was the only way Rebecca knew how to make a living.
Yearly, Texas was much quieter than Fort Worth. The small town had its own pace, and it had probably been unchanged since the fifties. As a girl, she never noticed it. But during every Thanksgiving visit she’d made throughout her twenties, it bothered her that the town didn’t have a 24-hour anything.
It had been over ten years since she’d left her home, and her boyfriend, for an out-of-area culinary school, college, and a business management degree. Running a restaurant had always been one of the dreams she and Leah shared, and now it was going to be a reality.
It had taken a catastrophe that no one could have planned for—her father’s death—to bring her to the brink of coming back. When the will and the life insurance policy had been settled, she’d suddenly had the means to change everything about Leah’s life.
Rebecca’s mother would need the long-term income a successful restaurant could provide, and as the oldest, it was up to Rebecca to make it happen. Until the restaurant was making enough for three salaries, Rebecca would stay employed in Fort Worth. Taking care of her mother and the restaurant might eat away at her savings, but the benefits outweighed the risks. And, this way, her mom would never have to leave Yearly.
Rebecca intended to use the same contractor on the restaurant, too. Cash Repairs had come highly recommended by pretty much everyone she'd asked.
The owner of Cash Repairs was supposed to meet her in twenty minutes to go over her laundry list of honey-do’s that needed to be done before Leah could move in.
Death by Belt Loop. That was exactly what her tombstone would say.
Rebecca’s head throbbed, and her voice was already hoarse from yelling. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been stranded there or even how much longer she’d be conscious. Maybe she shouldn’t have tried to break into her own house. If only the realtor had left the spare key under the floor mat like she’d promised she would. Maybe the realtor would say a few words at the funeral.
If only her boss had given her a chance, she wouldn’t have had to come back to Yearly, Texas, to try her hand at running her own restaurant. She wouldn’t be about to die, strung up like a… like a… She didn’t know what.
Dead or alive, Rebecca Martin was going to be front-page news.
Women’s feet weren’t really on Cash William’s list of things he noticed often, but when a pair of them were kicking in an alleyway beside a house, he figured a reasonable person tended to pay attention.
Seated in the passenger seat, Braveheart, the redbone hound, whined in response and stuck his head out the half-opened truck window to look. He ducked back inside and turned brown eyes toward Cash, asking without words.
He knew most of the town, and he still didn’t recognize her voice. The old Fisher house had been for sale and sitting empty for several months. Even if she didn’t have nefarious purposes, it wouldn’t hurt to get a name. “I’m Rebecca Martin. I own this place, and I think… I think… I’m about to pass out.” “Oh.” He couldn’t make out the first half, but he’d caught Martin. That made her the homeowner he was supposed to meet.
No time to waste. He tugged on her legs, trying to ignore the sensation of her soft skin against his callused palms. He hadn’t been this close to a woman since the night before Abigail… He pushed the thought of her from his mind. He certainly hadn’t ever met a prospective employer in this way before.
He darted forward and took her elbow to help her up. Once she was on her feet, she turned toward him. The autumn light fell through the maple leaves and danced across her features. High cheekbones, full lips. She was gorgeous… and completely different from Abigail. Grief punched him in the heart and derailed the musing. Guilt for noticing an attractive woman that wasn’t Abigail followed close behind, but he ignored it. Life went on. He couldn’t stop it. No matter how much he wanted to sometimes. Miss Martin could be good for him. She might like coffee.
“You look familiar, Miss Martin. Have we met before?” Her mouth twisted. “Oh, I’m sure. My mother is Cynthia Martin.” That can’t be right. He should have recognized her right away. Three full seconds ticked by before he choked out, “Rebecca?” “Do I know you?” Her gaze narrowed, and she tilted her head, appraising him. He turned away. He should have known. She didn’t recognize him, and he hadn’t recognized her name when she’d made the estimate appointment. Never in a million years had he expected his Rebecca Martin to show back up in town. The truth of it cut, but he shrugged away the pain.
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He wouldn’t take the job. The Crandalls’ project would be more than enough to start Michael’s college fund. He just had to finish the quote. He could make his excuses without making her feel at fault. After all, he was a professional. “We went through school together,” he said finally. She had been so much more to him than a classmate. Yet she didn’t recognize him. That much was certain.
Of course, she had to come back. She’d lost her father, and her mother needed her. That was what family did in Yearly, Texas. Family pulled together. Even so, for an instant, she had the look of a woman barely hanging on. Cash made a mental note to look in on Cynthia in the coming weeks. There were always honey-do tasks to do when men weren’t around. Surely, he could take care of one or two and ease the burden on Rebecca.
He hadn’t counted on his response to her nearness. She was in his personal space, close enough to touch. They had history. Too much. She didn’t want him then, and there was no reason to imagine that had ever changed.
She clasped her hands in front of her. “You did it. You broke into my house.” She stepped over the threshold. “Mister Rogers!” It had been a long time since an attractive young woman looked at him like he was a hero. His chest swelled in response, and he couldn’t help the grin. He missed being someone’s hero.
Except for that random yelling. He stepped in after her. “Who are you calling for? Exactly?” “Oh. You wouldn’t know Mister Rogers, would you?” Her eyes widened, and she spun toward the stairwell. “I hear you up there.” She peered up the stairs. “Mister Rogers is my cat.” “Your cat?” Cash lifted his cap and scratched his head. There was a growl and a scramble of feet, and then a black-and-white cat appeared at the top of the stairs, glaring with big green eyes. “Did you make a mess up there?” Rebecca glowered at the feline and then pointed to the floor next to her. “Get down here right now.” To
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Cash scrambled outside just in time to see Braveheart leap from the passenger window and chase Mister Rogers up the nearest tree. He bayed again from the bottom of the tree, announcing to the whole world that he had treed the creature.
“Well, that’s some kind of morning,” Cash said. “You ready to have a look around?” She looked like she wanted to argue, standing on the porch with her arms crossed, but the corner of his mouth started twitching. He never could take her seriously when she was angry. Cash didn’t say anything, meeting her gaze in an old-fashioned staring contest. He waited until she dropped her arms and moved to enter the house instead. At least he’d won that round. It would be the last one before he figured out a less-than-obvious reason he couldn’t work for her, and she made her way back to the big city.
“Marsha forgot the keys again, Mark. She went out of town to meet her new niece.” Cash pointed to Rebecca. “This is Rebecca Martin, Cynthia’s daughter. She bought the Fisher house and wants me to update it.” Officer Mark’s eyes widened slightly and then he held up both hands. “Say no more, Cash. I’ll get out of your hair. I’m sure the two of you have a lot to catch up on.” Out of the corner of his eye, Cash caught Rebecca’s frown. She still didn’t recognize him, but she had to wonder about what Mark had said.
He would find her another thorough contractor and make something up later. He never lied. “You aren’t busy?” “My next big job doesn’t start for a week, and it’ll take a week or two to get going on that,” he said, tapping the end of his pencil on his chin. What if he couldn’t find someone? His foreman, Beau, could do Rebecca’s house all by himself. Maybe that would put enough space between them. If Beau did the work, Cash would never have to be there. That could be the backup plan. Cash sighed. He was already taking responsibility when he should give her a simple no.
“Do you ever do any commercial work?” “Why do you ask?” “I have something else I need you to do.” “Oh?” “I’m opening a restaurant downtown. It’ll be called the Reverie.” He froze as memories of the diner game in the woods behind his house flooded his mind. Rebecca wouldn’t even remember playing it.
The silence stretched. She touched his shoulder. “Johnny?” He hadn’t heard her say his name for years, and it sent a little thrill through him, a burst of undeniable warmth. Old habits died hard, but his thoughts jumped to Abigail. How she would have laughed at his discomfort. He faced Rebecca and offered a sheepish grin. “Guilty.” “I had no idea…” Her gaze moved over him as shock tinted her expression. “You look so different.” “I grew up after you left.” He said the words softly.
Rebecca left Yearly to pursue a college degree and a life more exciting than their hometown could offer. Cash had never wanted anything else, and Rebecca’s departure had sent him into a kind of madness that had taken years and a girl named Abigail to tame.
But it was too much to explain to her that he had woken up one morning, furious about everything, and he didn’t want to be Johnny anymore. Since she would never say his name again, he didn’t want to hear anybody else use it either. Using his middle name seemed the best solution. He didn’t have to work with her. He had enough work around. With the upcoming project with the Crandalls, he didn’t need Rebecca Martin anymore.
“Has life been good to you?” She sounded hushed, reverent almost. She closed the door behind them, keeping her back to him. Her voice echoed in the foyer. “Good enough.” He was lying again, but she didn’t need to know that. His parents had passed away in his early twenties, and his fiancée had passed away two years ago. But none of it had a place in the conversation. They were both professionals. She had a job for him to do, a job he was about to turn down.
Fireworks came with warning labels. If their reintroduction was any indication, Rebecca was going to be as much of a firecracker in his life as she’d been since kindergarten. And, God help him, he had to be careful or his heart might get blown sky-high.
Johnny had been a playmate extraordinaire for her tomboy childhood. Rebecca frowned. So trouble still lived in this town. He had been one of the reasons she’d left. She couldn’t decide if that was a strike for or against the man. It used to bother her that he never wanted to be anywhere else. She had planned on running a restaurant. He had expected her to change her plans and stay in a town that didn’t need another place to eat. When she refused, he ended their relationship. From then on, she stayed committed to the path she mapped out. Deviating from the plan always broke her heart.
As kids, she’d had some good times with Johnny. A peal of laughter bubbled up. Knocking his kid brother into Methuselah’s Pond or picking strawberries at Heritage Acres. They’d had the kind of times that got talked about for ages.
Then they’d grown up a little, and something different shone in his eyes. She had blossomed in the awkward period between girlhood and womanhood, and the dimple in Johnny’s cheek had suddenly gotten a whole lot cuter. After high school, he hadn’t wanted a long-distance relationship, and she didn’t want to be married yet. Things fell apart between them, and their relationship hadn’t ended on a happy note. It fizzled away in that way that happened when two people left things in stand-off status.
Hot tears threatened to spill. It could have been anybody else on the planet, but it was Johnny that had saved her. The guy that had broken her heart, and somehow managed to get even more drop-dead gorgeous after she’d left Yearly. She sighed. That beard did something amazing to his face. Johnny Cash Williams had just dragged her out of her compromising situation. By her ankles. She hadn’t been in Yearly for much more than a day, and she had embarrassed herself.
She was going to have to find a way out of using him to work on her house. That was the only solution. She couldn’t work with him now. Too much water under that particular bridge.
“Well, honey, everybody knows that Cash is like money in the bank. He did some work in the city to bankroll his business, and he’s made good decisions ever since. Abigail was right to get that man to propose to her.” Rebecca opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Little Johnny Cash Williams was married. Beard or not, it wasn’t what she expected to hear, and she didn’t know how to respond to it.
He glanced at the picture of himself, Abigail, and a ten-year-old Michael. The grainy shot was from a roller coaster ride at Six Flags. Cash had paid twenty times what the picture cost to make, but it had been the moment Cash had decided to marry Abigail and become the dad Michael had never had. Cash had never met Michael’s deadbeat dad; he lived in another state, but Cash fell in love with the idea of being Michael’s dad almost as much as he’d fallen in love with Abigail. His vision blurred. When Abigail passed, Michael had gone to live with his grandmother, and Cash’s life was turned upside
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Rebecca had messed him up once already. He hadn’t known what to do when she left. He’d enrolled in Vo-Tech and started calling himself Cash. He apprenticed with the local craftsmen. Years went by. When he met Abigail, it had been hard for him to believe she would stay around Yearly. Michael had been five.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Cash pulled it out and a boy’s twelve-year-old face grinned up at him. Michael looked so much like Abigail. He tapped the screen to view the text message.
The boy missed his mom. Cash still missed his fiancée. The best people always left large voids behind. The empty spot would never fill in, and they were both still learning to live around the void she had left behind.
“Do you ever go out on dates?” Michael kept his face to the window. “You know, when I’m not around.” “Not really.” That much was true. He’d only been out on one official date since the last one he’d taken Abigail on. The experience had been a dismal failure. Lightning couldn’t strike him again. He’d had two chances at lifelong fireworks and neither had panned out. He’d used up his allotment for his lifetime. That was his guess.
“Listen, I loved your mom. She was supposed to be my happily ever after.” She was the one Cash had expected to turn into forever.
Her only option—if she wanted to be open as soon as possible—was Cash Repairs. She mulled on the situation. At least Johnny was married. That would remove some of the awkwardness of being around him more often. Their romance had ended so poorly. Johnny wanted one thing, and she’d wanted time to live a little. The relationship had ended without a defined end point, without the clarity. It had always been like an unfinished song. But Cash wasn’t Johnny. Cash was more… Just more of everything… attractive… broad… and… Manly.
