Things We Never Got Over (Knockemout Book 1)

Unsure how I felt leaving Waylay in a room with two grown men who had been grappling in the road mere minutes earlier, I reluctantly followed Liza into a dark dining room.

The wallpaper was a deep green in a pattern I couldn’t quite make out.

The furniture was heavy and rustic. The wide plank table stretched on for nearly twelve feet and was buried under boxes and stacks of papers. Instead of chafing dishes or family photos, the walnut buffet was stacked high with bottles of wine and liquor. Bar glasses were crammed into a nearby hutch so full the doors didn’t close.

I itched to dig into the mess.

The only light in the room came from the far wall where an arched opening led into what looked like a sun porch with floor-to-ceiling glass that needed a good scrubbing.

“You have a beautiful home,” I ventured, gently shifting a half-dozen china plates stacked precariously on the corner of the table. From what I’d seen so far, the house had buckets of potential. It was just buried under dusty drapes and piles of stuff.

Liza straightened from the buffet, a bottle of wine in each hand. She was short and soft on the outside, like anyone’s favorite grandma. But Liza greeted her grandsons with chores and gruffness.

I was curious what was said about the Morgans that family relationships didn’t make it into introductions. If anyone had a right to avoid claiming their family in this town, it was me.

“Used to run it as a small lodge,” she began, setting the bottles on top of the buffet. “Don’t anymore. Guess you’ll be wanting to stay for a while.”

Okay, not big on small talk. Got it.

I nodded. “It’s a lovely cottage. But I understand if it’s an inconvenience.

I’m sure I could come up with an alternative soon.” That wasn’t exactly a truth so much as a hope. The woman before me was my best chance of creating a little stability in the short term for my niece.

Liza swiped a cloth napkin over the dust on the wine label. “Don’t bother.

It was just sittin’ there, goin’ unused.”

Her accent ventured a little farther south than the Mid-Atlantic tone of Northern Virginia.

I prayed that there was a dash of Southern hospitality mixed in there somewhere.

“That’s very kind of you. If you don’t mind, I’d like to discuss the rent and security deposit.”

She shoved the first bottle at me. “Opener’s in the drawer.”

I opened the top drawer of the buffet and found a tangle of napkin rings, coasters, candlesticks, matches, and finally a corkscrew.

I went to work on the cork. “As I was saying, money’s a little bit tight.”

“That’s what happens when you got yourself a sister who steals from you and a new mouth to feed,” Liza said, arms crossed.

Knox or Nash had a very big mouth.

I said nothing and popped the cork free.

“Guessin’ you’ll need work too,” she predicted. “Unless you work from home or something.”

“I recently left my job,” I said carefully.

And my home. My fiancé. And everything else in that life.

“How recently?”

People in Knockemout were not shy about sticking their noses into other people’s business.

“Yesterday.”

“Heard my grandson drove you out here with a wedding dress flying like a flag out the window. You a runaway bride?” She set two glasses next to the open bottle and nodded.

I poured. “I guess I am.” After a full year of planning. Of choosing everything from the cocktail hour appetizers to the color of the table runner on the charcuterie table, it was all over. Wasted. All that time. All that effort.

All that planning. All that money.

She picked up a glass and held it aloft. “Good. Heed my words. Don’t ever let a man you don’t like make decisions for you.”

It was odd advice coming from a stranger that I was trying to impress.

But considering the day I’d had, I raised my glass to hers.

“You’ll do okay here. Knockemout will take care of you and that little girl,” she predicted.

“Well, then. About the cottage,” I pressed. “I have some savings I can access.” Technically it was my retirement account, and I’d have to borrow against it.

“You and the girl can stay rent-free,” Liza J decided.

My mouth opened wider than the fish mounted on the wall above us.

“You’ll pay the utilities on the cottage,” she continued. “The rest you can trade by helping around this place. I’m not the neatest housekeeper and I need some help getting things cleaned up.”

My squeals were internal. Liza was my fairy godmother in gardening clogs.

“That’s very generous of you,” I began, attempting to process what was happening. But after the past twenty-four hours, my brain was on hiatus.

“You’ll still need a paycheck,” she continued, unaware of my mental predicament.

I still needed a lot of things. Bike helmets. A car. Some therapy appointments… “Oh, I had a job offer today. Someone named Sherry Fiasco said I could take a shift at a place called the Honky Tonk tomorrow night.

But I need to find someone to watch Waylay.”

We heard the scrabble of paws, and in seconds, Waylon trotted into the room and looked at us expectantly.

“Way lay, not Way lon,” Liza said to the dog.

He sniffed around, making sure we weren’t dropping food on the floor, and then headed back into the kitchen.

“You didn’t by chance mention to Knox about that job offer, did you?”

Liza asked.

“We don’t have that kind of relationship. We just met,” I said diplomatically. I didn’t want to come out and tell my new landlord that I thought her grandson was a brutish oaf with the manners of a pillaging Norseman.

She studied me through her glasses, and the corner of her mouth turned up. “Oh, I can tell. Word of advice, maybe don’t tell him about the new job.

He might have opinions and if he does, he’d definitely share them.”

If Knox Morgan thought I was interested in his opinions on my life, I could add narcissistic tendencies to his long list of flaws.

“My business is my business,” I said primly. “Besides, I don’t think I’m going to be able to find someone I’m comfortable leaving Waylay with in such a short time.”

“Already did. Though the girl probably don’t need it. Probably been making her own dinners since she was six. She can stay with me. Hell, maybe she can make me dinner. Bring her by on your way to work tomorrow.”

Keep an entire human being alive and safe went into the Major Imposition column on my internal spreadsheet of Things to Avoid at All Costs. Asking my fairy godmother landlord to please babysit my niece until who knew when while I worked a late shift in a bar rose to the top of that list, edging out helping me move and chauffeuring me to or from surgery.

Major Impositions were only put upon responsible family members and close friends. Liza was neither of those.

“Oh, but I don’t know what time I’ll get off,” I hedged. “It could be very late.”

She shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. I’ll keep her here with me and the dogs, then bring her back to the cottage after dinner. Don’t mind waiting around there. Always liked that place.”

She headed toward the doorway, leaving me with my feet glued to the rug and my mouth still gaping. “I’ll pay you,” I called after her, finally rediscovering the ability to move and speak.

“We’ll discuss it,” Liza said over her shoulder. “I know you think you’re getting the good end of the deal, but you got no idea what a mess you’re getting involved in.”

We found everyone, including the dogs, alive and unharmed in the kitchen in an oddly homey scene. Waylay was perched at the island, judging every ingredient Nash added to the salad as she added mixed seasoning and condiments in a bowl. Knox was drinking a beer and stabbing at the meat in the pan while reading out ingredients to Waylay.

There appeared to be no new bloodshed. Both men had cleaned up their wounds, leaving behind only bloodstains and bruises. Nash looked like a hero who had taken a few hits for a damsel in distress. Knox, on the other hand, looked like a villain who’d gone a few rounds with the good guy and come out victorious.

It was definitely my recent mistake with the good guy—on paper at least

—that had me overcorrecting and finding Knox and his villainous attitude attractive. At least, that’s what I told myself when Knox’s gaze landed on me and I felt like hot bacon grease had just been poured directly into my spinal column.

I ignored him and his sexy standing-at-the-stove-ness, choosing to focus on the rest of the room instead.

Liza’s kitchen had an astronomical amount of counter space that had my fantasies shifting gears and thinking about the Christmas cookie baking potential. The refrigerator was ancient. The stove practically an antique. The countertops were battered butcher block. The cupboards were painted a lovely loden green. And, judging from the contents visible inside the glass-fronted ones, they were all close to overflowing.

I’d start the clean-out in here, I decided. The kitchen was the heart of the home, after all. Though Liza didn’t seem like she was the sentimental type.

More like the frozen-in-time type. It happened. Life threw someone an unexpected curve, and things like household maintenance went right out the window. Sometimes permanently.

When it was ready, we took the food and wine into the sunroom, where a smaller table looked out over the backyard. The view was all woods and creek, dappled in gold as the sun sank lower in the summer sky.

When I moved to take a seat next to Waylay, Liza shook her head. “Uh-uh. These two sit next to each other, they’ll be wrestling on the floor before cookies.”

“I’m sure they can behave themselves for one meal,” I insisted.

She snorted. “No, they can’t.”

“No, we can’t,” Knox said at the same time.

“Of course we can,” Nash insisted.

Liza jerked her head at Waylay, who scampered to the opposite side of the table with her plate. The dogs filed in and trotted up to claim their sentry positions around the table. Two of them had judged Waylay to be the one most likely to drop food and stationed themselves next to her.

Waylon plopped down behind Liza at the head of the table.

Both men moved to take the chair next to mine, Knox winning it by throwing an elbow that nearly had Nash dropping his plate.

“See?” their grandmother said with a triumphant jab of her fork.

I took my seat and tried to ignore my acute awareness of Knox as he sat down. The task became downright impossible when his denim-clad thigh brushed against my arm as he sat down. I yanked my arm back and nearly put my plate in my lap.

“Why are you so jumpy?” Waylay asked.

“I’m not jumpy,” I insisted, bobbling my wine glass when I reached for it.

“So, what were you fightin’ over this time?” Liza asked her grandsons, magnanimously changing the subject.

“Nothin’,” Knox and Nash said in unison. The glare that passed between them made me think they didn’t like being on the same page about anything.

“Aunt Naomi broke ’em up,” Waylay reported, studying a slice of tomato with suspicion.

“Eat your salad,” I told her.

“Who was winnin’?” Liza asked.

“Me,” the brothers announced together.

The pronouncement was followed by another chilly silence.

“Rough and tumble as they come, these two,” Liza reminisced. “’Course, they used to make up after a fight and be back to bein’ thick as thieves in no time. Guess y’all outgrew that part.”

“He started it,” Nash complained.

Knox snorted. “Just ’cause you’re the good one doesn’t mean you’re always innocent.”

I understood the dynamics of the good sibling versus the bad one all too well.

“You two with Lucy thrown in the mix?” Liza shook her head. “Whole town knew trouble was coming when you three got together.”

“Lucy?” I asked before I could help myself.

“Lucian Rollins,” Nash said as he used his bun to scoop up the ground beef that escaped to his plate. “An old friend.”

Knox grunted. His elbow brushed mine, and I felt my skin catch fire again. I withdrew as far as I dared without ending up in Liza’s lap.

“What’s Lucy up to these days?” she asked. “Last I heard he was some big-wig mogul in a suit.”

“That’s about the truth,” Nash said.

“Kid was a hustler,” Liza explained. “Always knew he was meant for bigger and better things than a trailer and hand-me-downs.”

Waylay’s gaze slid to Liza.

“Lots of people come from humble beginnings,” I said.

Knox looked at me and shook his head in what might have been amusement.

“What?”

“Nothing. Eat your dinner.”

“What?” I demanded again.

He shrugged. “Chivalry. Humble beginnings. You talk like you read the dictionary for fun.”

“I’m so glad you find humor in my vocabulary. It just makes my day.”

“Don’t mind Knox,” Nash cut in. “He’s intimidated by women with brains.”

“You want my fist up your nose again?” Knox offered gamely.

I kicked him under the table. It was purely on reflex.

“Ow! Fuck,” he muttered, leaning down to rub his shin.

All eyes came to me, and I realized what I’d done. “Great,” I said, throwing down my fork in mortification. “A few minutes here and there with you, and it’s contagious. Next thing you know, I’ll be putting strangers in headlocks on the street.”

“I’d pay to see that,” Waylay mused.

“Me too,” Knox and Nash said together.

The corner of Liza’s mouth lifted. “I think you’ll fit in just fine around here,” she predicted. “Even if you do talk like a dictionary.”

“I take it that means you’re lettin’ them stay,” Knox prodded.

“I am,” Liza confirmed.

I didn’t miss the quick flash of relief that played over Waylay’s face before her mask returned.

One less thing to worry about. A nice, safe place to stay.

“You boys know our Naomi here’s a runaway bride?”

“She left some guy standing in a church and stole his car!” Waylay announced with pride.

I picked up the bottle of wine and topped off Liza’s glass and then my own. “You know, where I’m from, we mind our own business.”

“Better not be expecting that in a place like Knockemout,” Liza advised.

“What did he do?” Nash asked. But he wasn’t asking me, he was asking Waylay.

She shrugged. “Dunno. She won’t say. But I bet it was something bad.

’Cause that was a real nice dress she ran out in. It would take something pretty damn bad to make me run away instead of showing it off to everyone.”

I felt the heat of Knox’s gaze on me and shriveled like a raisin. Waylon must have sensed my desperation because he lay down on my feet under the table. “How about we talk about something else. Anything else. Religion?

Politics? Blood-thirsty sports rivalries?”

“Sure nice havin’ you boys at the table at the same time,” Liza said. “This mean I don’t have to do Thanksgiving in two shifts this year?”

“We’ll see,” Nash said, eyeing his brother.

I could feel the tension between them.

Not wanting to have dinner end in a wrestling match, I desperately changed the subject. “You know, I didn’t actually steal the car.”

“That’s what Knox said when Mrs. Wheelan down at the Pop ’N Stop caught him with a pocket full of candy,” Nash said.

“Not all of us were born with Dudley Do-Right shoved up our ass.”

“For God’s sake, Knox. Language.” I elbowed him in the arm and pointed at Waylay.

She flashed him a toothy grin. “I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do.”

FIREFLIES WINKED in and out of existence in the dusk as Knox and Waylay pitched pebbles into the creek. All three dogs took turns dashing into the creek, then turning around to shake themselves dry on the bank.

Waylay’s giggle and Knox’s low murmur echoed off the water made me feel like maybe today wasn’t the worst day ever.

I had a belly full of sloppy joes and a cozy house to return to.

“Doin’ okay?” Nash came up next to me on the grass. He had a nice, calming presence. I didn’t feel the exasperation around him that I did with Knox.

“I think so.” I turned to look at him. “Thank you. For everything. It’s been a stressful day. You and Liza and I guess even your brother made it better for Waylay and me.”

“Way’s a good kid,” he said. “She’s smart. Independent. A lot of us in town know that.”

I thought about the scene in the grocery store. “I hope you’re right. And I hope I can do right by her until we get things figured out.”

“That reminds me. I brought this for you,” he said, handing over a brochure that it was too dark to read. “It’s about kinship custody arrangements.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Basically, you’re looking at an application process with a few legal hoops to jump through. If all that goes well, you’ll have six months to decide if you want to make it permanent.”

Permanent? The word sent me reeling.

I stared unseeing as Waylay and Knox took turns throwing a soggy tennis ball for the dogs.

“I asked around about Tina,” Nash continued. “Rumor has it she got herself a new man a few weeks back, and there were whispers about some big score.”

A new man and a big score were both painfully on brand for my sister.

“Do you really think she might not come back?”

Nash edged into my line of sight and dipped down until I looked him in the eye. “That’s the thing, Naomi. She does come back, she’s in a lot of trouble. No court’s gonna be thrilled with the idea of letting her retain custody.”

“And if it’s not me, it’s foster care,” I said, filling in the unspoken blanks.

“That’s the long and the short of it,” he said. “I know it’s a big decision and I’m not askin’ you to make it right this second. Get to know her. Get to know the town. Think on it. I’ve got a friend who does casework. She can help you get started with the application process.”

He was asking me to put the next six months of my life on hold for a little girl I’d just met. Yep. It was safe to say my bruised and battered life plan had officially disintegrated.

I blew out a sigh and decided tomorrow was as good a day as any for panicking over the future.

“Waylay! It’s time to go,” I called.

Waylon galloped to me, ears flying. He spit the tennis ball out at my feet.

“Not you, buddy,” I said, leaning down to pet him.

“Do we have to?” Waylay whined, dragging her feet as if they were encased in concrete.

I shared similar sentiments.

Knox put his hand on the top of her head and guided her in my direction.

“Get used to it, kid. Sometimes we all gotta do things we don’t want to.”