When I’m With You (Home to Hearts Bend #1)

Chapter 1

Hearts Bend, TN

All her life, she’d believed that if she worked hard enough, she’d achieve her dream. That’s what they said. And in so many ways, they were right. Except they forgot to mention life’s curveballs. Situations beyond one’s control.

Yet Elizabeth Dorsey refused to go down without swinging.

This spring, she’d finally knocked one of her curveballs out of the park and graduated from MIT with honors.

Then another strange pitch—maybe a knuckleball this time—sent her back to the dugout.

Her dream of attending the Wharton School for her MBA was wait-listed.

Not to worry. She’d learned a lot in the past five years.

Parking her car along the curb of Lilac Street off River Road and under the shading maple near her grandparents’ home—a mid-century modern meets two-story rambler—in Hearts Bend, Tennessee, she grabbed her backpack and headed up the walk.

She’d been here a month, but some days it felt like forever.

Even worse, this might be her forever. When she walked across MIT’s stage wearing honors regalia for her Bachelor of Science in Management degree, she believed one thousand percent that her next move was an MBA from the Wharton School.

Not working in the financial office of the family-owned Dorsey Furniture.

“Beth?” Granny peered out the kitchen door as Elizabeth hung her backpack in the mudroom. “Dinner’s on the table.”

“No time. Tina called. Asked if I could come in at six.” She set her lunch containers in the sink. Granny’s cooking made for fab leftovers. “I’ll wash those later.”

“You know I love Tina, but I hope you told her six nights in a row was too much.” Tina Danner was a dear friend and owner of the town’s beloved Ella’s Diner.

“Of course not. I like working.” Her experience would aid her coursework once she made it into Wharton. Elizabeth grabbed a chicken leg from the table as she headed for the stairs. “The night manager no-showed, and Tina has to be at a grandkid’s birthday bash.”

If she wasn’t working, what was Elizabeth going to do—sit at home and watch TV with Granny and Pops? She couldn’t put that on her résumé.

Working at Ella’s Diner felt like home away from home. She’d waitressed at the Hearts Bend diner during her high school summers. Tina had once told Granny no one had ever worked as hard as Elizabeth. So naturally, even at twenty-five, she had a reputation to uphold.

“Fine,” Granny called up after her. “But do you have time to sit down and eat? One chicken leg won’t do.”

“Good news, Granny, Ella’s serves food.” Elizabeth changed from the slacks and blouse she’d worn to Dorsey Furniture into her diner uniform—an Ella’s T-shirt, jeans, apron, and a pair of Hokas.

“Yes, but is it your granny’s food?”

“Nothing is my granny’s food.” She tucked in her T-shirt and tied her sneakers.

Down the hall, she washed her face, braided her hair, and gave herself a pep talk via the mirror. “Forget your messy room. Focus on your task. Outperform your expectations. Show the world you’re ready for the next level.”

Granny met her by the back door with a baggie of carrots. “Here. Munch on these. I have to know you’re getting something healthy.”

“I had leftover salad and grilled salmon for lunch, and four cups of coffee. Isn’t that healthy?

” She had Granny with the coffee remark.

She and Pops were coffee freaks. Three or four mornings a week, they drove to town for a walk in Gardenia Park before heading over to Java Jane’s for a cup—or two or three—of joe.

“Three is fine, but four is over the line.” She shimmied the baggie. “Eat these on your way, and have Tina’s great chicken soup on your break. And come home early if you can. I hate how much you’re working. Are you sure you’re not wearing yourself out? You know the doctor—”

“I know what the doctor said. I’m being careful.” Elizabeth snatched the baggie and headed for the kitchen door. “Granny, everything seems easy after MIT.”

Through the mudroom, she picked up her backpack and headed out. After the high of MIT, earning her degree with expectations of Wharton, the hardest part of moving to Hearts Bend wasn’t the long hours. It was feeling like a failure.

When her application to Wharton was wait-listed—wait-listed!—she’d accepted a job at a Boston marketing company, only to learn two days before her start date that they were cutting staff. Drastically.

That’s when Dad casually tossed out the idea of working in the family business to gain experience. He’d worked there for a year after graduating from Ohio State. Then he got the job in Boston and never looked back.

While she hated any further delay to her plans—most of her friends were already in grad school, launching amazing careers, even getting married or having kids—the whisper in her soul told her she needed this break. And the experience would be good.

Ducking into her classic ’73 Volkswagen Super Beetle—a graduation present from her parents—with its candy-apple red paint glistening in June’s early evening light, Elizabeth fired up the engine, stared out the windshield, and uttered her mantra.

“Don’t let another setback define you. Just keep going.”

Heading down River Road with the restored car’s new A/C system blasting, Elizabeth let Blake Shelton sing away her cares. Try to remember the good things, Beth.

Living with Granny and Pops was always fun. Getting reacquainted with her boisterous, nosy, loving extended family was half annoying and half a blast. Working in the finance office of Dorsey plus nights and weekends as a manager at Ella’s was more energizing than she thought.

But any day, any day now, she’d hear from the Wharton School’s admissions office.

No flies on that girl. We made a mistake wait-listing her.

At the stop sign, Elizabeth shifted into first with a sigh. The heat waves rising off the road felt like her own weariness. Blake’s song ended as she let off the clutch and turned right onto First Avenue. Miranda Lambert came on, encouraging her to kick butt and take names.

“I’m trying, Miranda.”

She could deal with being tired. She’d excelled at pushing through tired. First, when she was sick for so long, interrupting her college career, then with her MIT course load. Colleges should hand out “Survived Tired” medals along with the diplomas.

A bang resonated from under the car, and the Beetle Bug swerved hard to the right. Elizabeth gripped the steering wheel and, with one foot on the brake and the other on the clutch, eased to the road’s shoulder.

A flat. Of all things. Walking around to the front, she knelt to inspect the damage, then popped the trunk. No spare. Dad told her to get one, but she forgot. She closed the lid, her exhaustion creeping higher.

Now what? She could call Pops or one of her cousins. But calling a Dorsey meant the whole family would get involved in this very minor incident. Dad and Mom would hear up in Boston, and Aunt Raelynn down in Jacksonville. Dad would text, “You didn’t get a spare?”

Peering down the road, she retrieved her backpack, locked the doors, and started jogging toward town. She’d been meaning to take up running.

On the way, she called Tina. “Hey, had a bit of car trouble—No, I’m fine. Flat tire.” She refused to admit she was hoofing it. Tina would send the fire department. “I’ll be there in a few.”

Hanging up, she picked up her pace. Calling for help had been a way of life for two long years. So for now, if it was okay with the rest of the world, she’d like to take care of herself.

It was good to be back home. Ryder Donovan raised his binoculars to scan a local camping area from the top of a dilapidated Cheatham Wildlife Management Area fire tower.

The weathered boards were twenty-seven years old and starting to rot. He had to skip every other step to rise to the top, but this was one of his favorite places in the whole reserve.

Yeah, sure, aerial surveillance did most of the fire-watching these days, but Ryder still preferred to climb the tower. Something about its ancient purpose connected him to all the rangers and officers who’d gone before him, watching over and protecting American soil.

From his perch, he had a good view of Cheatham Lock and Dam, the surrounding summer trees, and the picnic area where folks liked to spend a lazy afternoon stretched out in the shade.

Moving to his right, Ryder spotted a family packing up their campsite in the Right Bank Recreation Area.

He zoomed in on the black coals of a firepit just as one of the male campers came around with a bucket of water.

Good. Good. They’d seen the fire warnings posted throughout the reserve.

It’d been what, five weeks since Middle Tennessee had a decent rain?

Another week or two and they’d issue a fire ban.

The landscape of Middle Tennessee was nothing like the majestic Rocky Mountains, but the scent in the breeze, the miles and miles of lush green within Cheatham grounded Ryder to who he’d been. And maybe who he wanted to be.

He was climbing down the tower when his radio squawked. “Ryder?” It was Rick Haridopolos, his buddy, working the lake today, checking fishing licenses. “Go to five.”

Ryder switched the channel. “What’s up?”

“Just came from the office. Travis, man, you know he’s been on the warpath. Today he came in ranting and raving about the loggers hired to clean up after the storm. They cut down about fifty grand worth of white oak. Some of the oldest on the grounds.”

“What?” One tree was guessed to be at least a hundred and twenty-five years old. “How’d that happen?”

“Travis swears up and down you hired the guys. Without a contract.”

Ryder laughed, waiting for Rick to admit he was kidding. “Wait, you’re serious? I don’t contract workers.”

“Also, Travis claims you purchased some cherrywood from Dorsey? And some chicken baskets from Ella’s Diner for the kids’ fire-safety hour.”

“The chicken baskets, yes, but cherrywood? What would I do with cherry?”