Faith, Love, and Fried Chicken: Seasons Boxed Set Bundle 1-4 Read online

  Faith, Love, and Fried Chicken

  Serial Novel

  Seasons, Volumes 1-4

  By Laura J. Marshall

  Text Copyright © 2014 Laura J. Marshall

  All Rights Reserved

  This story is a work of fiction. Characters, events, and places are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

  SUMMER

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Life is too short not to own a convertible.”

  Those words would haunt Jaycee, as far as she could tell, near on all summer now. It was the second time she had found herself broken down on the long windy back road leading from the little store to their house to grab her momma’s pop.

  She heard the distinctive purr of the truck before she saw him. Dash Matheson. His truck was his baby and that was common knowledge where the townsfolk of Twain, Georgia were concerned. He would have to see her stranded … again. He cut the engine and exited the restored 1950 GMC pickup.

  “I told ya, Jaycee,” he said in his southern drawl, pulling her name out like a yard of fresh taffy from the Culver County Fair.

  She was as hot and sticky as taffy too, with the car overheating and the humidity frizzing her short blonde hair. Her feet ached in her new sandals. Bright red ones with cork heels that matched her toenail polish. Her white shorts showed off tan legs and she had thrown on a plaid cotton shirt of her daddy’s over her black tank top.

  She turned to face him and tapped her foot.

  “Don’t you be givin’ me a hard time, Dash! I didn’t need yer help pickin’ her out and I don’t need it now.”

  His slow smile spread up to his eyes. “Now, seein’ I own the only mechanic’s shop in town, yer gonna have to bring her to me sometime.”

  Jaycee stamped her foot before she thought better of it, his amusement apparent as he raised his eyebrows fully and leaned against his truck.

  He was making it worse. He always did! The heat and her temper caused her to sling her purse to the ground and unbutton the long-sleeve shirt. Removing it with relish, she tied it to her waist. As she straightened, she noticed his smile had been erased and replaced with that dumb look men got at the first sign of female flesh.

  “Put them eyes back in yer head and gimme a lift home.”

  He laughed as she grabbed Momma’s pop from the passenger seat and locked the red Chrysler LeBaron convertible’s doors. Dash had already slid into his truck and sat tapping his steering wheel.

  Jaycee was quiet for a few minutes upon entering the truck cab, anticipating getting home to the AC. She let out long breath. “Gol’durn it, Dash. How can you take this hot truck with no air?”

  “What, like your car? Makin’ it overheat…and you usin’ it with the top down.” He laughed.

  “Best of both worlds, minus the overheatin’ issue.”

  He waggled his eyebrows her way, flashing a grin meant to charm. “I’ll tow her to the shop an’ fix her for you.”

  She considered his offer. He’d been the biggest flirt in high school, girls hanging on both arms. He’d been caught kissing under the bleachers so often they gave him the nick name Hot Flash Dash. She wanted to chuckle at that one, but hid her smile by leaning forward to unstick the back of her shoulders from the hot leather seat. I need my air conditioning.

  “Don’t you be makin’ things worse. You’ve been trying to corner me since tenth grade.”

  “Julia Cozetta Hamilton, that’s near on ten years ago. Just ‘cuz I didn’t catch you doesn’t mean I’m still chasin.”

  “Fine. Just fix her. Text me when she’s done.”

  “Will do,” he said. He pulled up to the squat ranch house set on the 30 acre farm her family owned. “You workin’ tonight?”

  “Yes, you know my schedule. Land sakes, it’s been the same one since graduation.”

  “Right. See you at supper then.”

  Jaycee rolled her eyes, “You need to learn how to cook. Spendin’ all yer hard-earned money on Karl’s greasy food.”

  “Better’n what I’d make.”

  “Truer words,” she declared over her shoulder as she exited the truck, slamming the heavy door behind her and tossing her car keys back onto the seat. She sauntered up the walkway, balancing the pop and her purse, trying to appear confident and not twist an ankle.

  “Dad-blamed shoes,” she barked out as she entered the house. She kicked the red heels off with a vengeance as she walked past her brother Marcus lying on the couch. She’d bought them online. Good deal too, except they bit into her heels mercilessly. Cow-poke town, not even big enough for a good shoe store to set up shop.

  “You better watch yer language. Daddy’s not in a coddlin’ mood,” Marcus said, without looking up from his video game.

  “And yer gonna go blind with that thing.”

  He looked up and caught her eye, crossing his own and laughing. “Too late.”

  Jaycee continued to the kitchen, dropping her purse along the way. The cool air dried her damp skin as she walked. She plopped the two-liter bottle onto the counter next to her mother, who was busy taking cookies out of the oven. The heat hit Jaycee and she retreated to one of the kitchen chairs at the large farmhouse table. She eyed the fresh cookies as her mother slid them onto the cooling rack.

  “Lemonade cookies?”

  “You know it. Had to triple the batch, gotta have a few to bring to the picnic tomorrow. Can you make some Kool-Aid while I clean up?”

  “Momma,” Jaycee complained. “Yes, I’ll do it.” She sighed, exasperated, and remembering the convertible on the side of the road. “Car overheated, back down on Rickett Lane.”

  “You walk home?” Her mother looked at her from beneath her long blonde bangs as they fell forward across her forehead.

  “No. Dash just happened by in that showpiece of his.”

  “Mighty nice of him. He takin’ a look at her for you?”

  “Sure enough. Just the trap he’s been wantin’.”

  “Now, Jaycee. You know his aunt Katie is one of my best friends. We’ve discussed this at length.”

  “I do not want to be the subject of town gossip, Momma!”

  “Well, yer not. And neither is he, just two mother hens passin’ the time.”

  Jaycee made a noncommittal sound and got out the glass pitcher and wooden spoon dyed red from years of Kool-Aid making. She stirred absently after adding the sugar and water, thinking of the cost of the car repair, calculating the expense.

  She put the pitcher next to the cookies, grabbing one on the way to her room. How many more years would she bide her time here? She plopped onto her unmade bed and reached absently for a fashion magazine.

  Pausing, she contemplated the familiar light yellow walls and floral curtains. A grown woman living at home, stuck in a one diner town. She had plenty tucked away, been waiting on the where to and the why. It hadn’t appeared, but Jaycee could feel it blowing across the field in the evening when she sat on the back porch. A change was coming.

  Dash tossed the damp towel into the hamper, having just showered off the hot, humid day. He’d installed the small shower stall in the back of the shop not long after buying the place off of Old Doug Turner. The pipes generally ran cold, but for him most times this was preferred. Fixing cars was in his blood, but it was hard dirty work.

  Wishing he had a piece of land and a family, well that was something he was saving for. And he had his eye on the prize. Julia Cozetta Hamilton … Jaycee. He couldn’t get her out of his mind … or heart. Sure he said otherwise, but he knew that to reveal it might push her further away. Maybe it’s time
to reveal my intentions; go all in for once.

  Decidedly, he nodded to himself in the mirror, determining to win her affection if it took every heartfelt trick in the book. Good thing it was small town and he knew her routine. Her schedule was as predictable as Mrs. Owen’s cat’s birthing schedule, filling the small town with orange tabbies for seven years now. One in every farm house and store front. Speaking of which, Casper jumped up and into the sink as Dash finished shaving.

  “Gotta go woo yer momma,” he whispered conspiringly to the round, purring beast.

  He arrived at the diner not long after his regular time and sat at the counter. Marlene brought him a cold Coke poured over lots of crushed ice. He took a sip and looked over the specials board.

  “What’s good tonight?”

  “The usuals; meatloaf and mashed or pork chops an’ the fixins’.”

  “I’ll have the meatloaf. Thanks,” he said and closed the menu. He looked around for Jaycee, spotting her in the lime green Karl’s shirt across the room. Even wearing Shrek colors, she caused his heart to stutter.

  Marlene caught Dash eyeing Jaycee. Wiping the spot next to him, she slid a fresh paper placemat and napkin-wrapped silverware in front of the empty stool.

  “Never gonna happen.”

  He smiled confidently, a plan forming in his head. Turning to face the counter, he gave her a winning smile, “It’s only a matter of fried chicken.”

  Marlene smiled at his answer, then raised an eyebrow.

  “What’s only a matter of fried chicken?” Jaycee repeated. She came to stand near Dash with her hand on her hip.

  He took a long pull on the pop and braced his two hands against the counter, turning and leaning over in his stool so his eyes were level with Jaycee’s.

  “You and me,” he said slowly, letting his lips roll over the words as they carried to her on a breath and sank against the softness of her cheeks. Her beautiful light-green eyes narrowed and her full lashes fell in quick succession, blinking rapidly.

  “Y-you and me? And fried chicken?”

  “That’s right, darlin’.”

  “Don’t you darlin’ me, Dash. I know what comes after your ‘darlin’. Sure enough, I’m in your sights, but I’m leaving this town, not stayin’ and settin’ up a Mom and Pop with you.”

  Marlene had wandered away once she saw Jaycee’s temper flare. Jaycee was but three inches from his face. His gaze lazed on her lips and then swiftly found her eyes again.

  “Don’t let the future overwhelm the moment,” he whispered quietly. He reached for her hand, just running his thumb across the top of it and then let it go.

  She stood there speechless. He saw her find her feet again when Eileen Casey yelled over the supper din for Jaycee to run for some napkins, since little Kenny spilled his milk across the table. He gazed at her retreating back and sat up straighter on the stool. Silence being an uncommon response, it gave him a glimmer of hope.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was going on nine o’clock when Jaycee walked out the front door of the diner. She sat on the lower step, sliding her feet out of the worn tennis shoes and yanking off her socks. The cool concrete soothed her tired, aching feet. Across the empty parking lot, Dash leaned against the driver’s door of her convertible. She met his gaze and he smiled, dangling her keys from one finger.

  “Took ya’ long enough,” she yelled, trying to sound more confident and carefree than she felt. Truth was, he had gotten to her earlier; his intense gaze and his lips so close to her own. She didn’t know what to think of him and this persistence of his. She was beginning to feel flattered and just a bit curious. Oh, Jaycee … you know what happened to the cat.

  She walked towards him slowly, moving from the concrete sidewalk and into the gravel lot. Forgetting her bare feet, she winced unexpectedly. Dash cut the distance between them in three long strides and without so much as a “by your leave” swept her into his arms.

  He stood there for a moment, silently looking down at her in the moonlight. She was struck dumb by the feel of his hard muscles around her and the scent of his cologne … and a distinctly Dash scent. The scent of a man.

  “What do ya’ think yer doin?”

  “Rescuin’ my lady.”

  He grinned down at her and mock-staggered back to the car, feigning a burden. He opened the car door with the hand beneath her and slid her in behind the steering wheel. Leaning across her, he fit the key into the ignition.

  “Your chariot.”

  “H-how much do I owe you?”

  “Let’s just say, you eat with me tomorrow … at the church picnic.”

  She considered him in the still night with nary a car passing by and with only the tree frogs for music.

  “Dash …”

  He put his finger to her lips, still bent to her level. “Tomorrow. We’ll talk tomorrow. Promise me you’ll come?”

  Her mind had blanked at his touch, so she whispered, “I-I’ll be there.”

  He eased out a slow smile, lighting up the space around him, and shut the driver’s door. He motioned for her to fasten her seatbelt and she obeyed without a word, wondering at her own timidity. Flipping on the lights, she eased the car out of the space and then saw an image that would consume her until she fell into a restless sleep later that night: Dash reflected in her rearview mirror, red from her taillights, looking heartbreakingly romantic.

  Jaycee rolled over and with bleary eyes looked at the clock. The blue numbers glowed back at her, 7:30. She groaned, grabbing her phone from the nightstand to see who was texting her this early. Kitty. Again waking her up at the crack of dawn; well, Jaycee’s dawn.

  She rolled onto her back, flipping through the consecutive texts.

  I’m still waitin.

  Let me know.

  Can’t wait 2 cu.

  She grinned and tapped a reply back. Soon. Mayb nxt wk. Let u know 2mrrw.

  She hit send and got a reply a moment later.

  Kk. Happy 4th!

  The 4th of July! Jaycee had forgotten. The church picnic was that afternoon … and Dash. She’d promised to eat with him.

  Having lost sleep the night before, she buried her head beneath the pillow, reveling in its coolness. On the cusp of a light sleep, she heard her phone beep. Kitty, no doubt.

  She reached a hand from beneath her covers, fumbling for the phone and knocking a magazine to the floor. She finally clasped the cool plastic, letting out a triumphant sound. Kitty Ames. Her best friend since Junior High. Inseparable. That is, until she left for New York not long after graduating. She worked for Acclaim Magazine now, copyediting. Had herself set up in a nice apartment with a male roommate and a chic lifestyle. She basically hounded Jaycee daily to move there. It was about time she planned it.

  A week’s visit; a trial run. She missed Kitty, who didn’t come home near as often as Kitty’s mom would like since she and her dad had divorced.

  Jaycee glanced down at the phone. The screen flashed Dash’s name and a short text.

  Need ur help.

  That was different. She texted back with deft fingers. Me?

  Yes! Flashed back and a moment later, Can u come?

  Her breath released in a hiss. Now?

  At the picnic, you mean?

  No. I need ur help. My house.

  She texted back before she thought better of it. Kk.

  Tossing the phone onto the bed, she headed for the bathroom, flipping on the shower water to hot and coming back to rummage through her bureau.

  Too many morning people in my life.

  Dash was glad Jaycee responded. He’d been up since six o’clock, digging through the boxed-up contents of his parent’s house which had been deposited into the spare room of his rental house several years ago. He hadn’t had the heart to go through everything.

  He finally found what he’d been looking for; his mother’s wicker picnic basket. A red-checkered tablecloth had been stuffed inside. It smelled of mold so he threw that into the trash can and hosed out the b
asket. It presently sat upended in the middle of his front lawn airing out.

  After that task, he swilled down a good amount of black coffee with Casper eyeing him suspiciously over the early morning ruckus. Pulling two chickens from the fridge, he read the sticker in the early morning light. Fryer. He was almost sure he’d gotten the right thing. He cut the plastic packaging away and put the scrawny, slippery birds on a plate.

  Washing his hands, he went to the kitchen table and flipped open his laptop, searching through a few dozen recipes and, deciding on the three best candidates, printed them off. I have no clue. None whatsoever. What was I thinking? Those stories, the ones grandma used to tell me about when she and grandpa fell in love, that’s what.

  And so he’d texted her. As dumb as he felt doing it, she was going to be eating too and he didn’t know how to wrangle those slimy bones with skin hanging off into any semblance of chicken parts he recognized.

  He heard a knock and there she stood; fresh from a shower and as flustered as a dog chasing its tail for too long. She pushed her way past him when he opened the door, her perfume floating past him on the air.

  “What’s yer emergency?”

  Before he could answer, she was in the kitchen. Women’s intuition. He followed behind, his head hanging low. Seeing Casper slinking behind him as if expecting a show, Dash rolled his eyes at the cat before facing Jaycee.

  She stood there in her pink terrycloth shorts and Twain high school T-shirt, tapping her pink Converse-covered toe. He glanced at her face, the overhead light catching the shimmer of her lip gloss, those lips shining just for him. He stared, mesmerized and began speaking.

  “Chicken,” he said, nodding towards the island countertop.

  “Is this about that crazy idea of yours yesterday … you and me and fried chicken? What’re you tryin’ to pull?” Wariness laced her voice.

  “Now, I just had the idea of makin’ a nice picnic meal and then realized, I don’t know what to do with them.” His chin lifted. “The birds.”