Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Hattie Lynn
The dirt road stretched out in front of us was exactly like I remembered—rutted in spots from years of being driven on, and lined with big old oak trees full of Spanish moss. It was like something out of a movie. And it led to the only place that had ever felt like home.
“Holy shit,” Sondra breathed. My eyes flicked to her riding shotgun in the passenger seat.
When our plane landed in Panama, we were sort of stranded.
I didn’t want to call my label and have them send a private car.
That was a sure fire way for someone to leak my whereabouts, and I didn’t want that.
I needed a few days to wrap my head around what my next move was without the press bombarding me.
Thankfully, Sondra had her credit card on her and we were able to rent a car. I glanced down at the steering wheel of the big ass SUV I was driving.
“This is where you grew up?” she asked.
My chest tightened as the old white farmhouse came into view.
The property sat on the prettiest twenty-four acres of the most beautiful land in all of Odin.
The house had a big wraparound porch that was still painted a soft blue that my Granny insisted kept the bugs away, and her favorite rocking chairs were still angled just right to catch the breeze that blew in off the ocean a few blocks away. It was perfect.
“Yeah.” I couldn’t help but smile at the awe in her voice. "This is home.”
She turned to look at me, her brows pulled together in confusion. “But I thought you grew up in Murfreesboro?”
I laughed, shaking my head as I put the SUV in park.
“Nope. That was just a story my record label made up. They thought the image of me being raised by an outlaw biker might not go over so well.” I shrugged.
Back then I hadn’t thought much about it, but now I was ashamed of myself for bending the knee to their will.
“How did I not know that?” She sounded almost offended that she’d missed such a huge detail about my life.
I shrugged, suddenly feeling guilty for not being more open about who Hattie Lynn Jackson really was. “I don’t really talk about home much, I guess.”
That was putting it mildly. The truth was, I’d been so busy running from my past and everything I’d lost eight years ago that I barely acknowledged it existed. Even to the people closest to me.
Before Sondra could ask any more questions the front door of the house burst open, and my heart damn near exploded with happiness.
“Hattie Lynn Jackson!” my Granny Jean called out, wiping her hands on her apron that was no doubt covered in flour. “You get your behind up here right this instant!”
Like my ass was on fire, I threw open the door and sprinted up those rickety porch steps until I was standing right in front of her with my heart in my throat.
“Hi,” I whispered, my voice cracking as tears welled up in my eyes.
My grandmother didn’t miss a beat. Her arms opened and like I’d done a million times before, I sank into the safety they offered. “Oh, baby girl,” she whispered against the top of my head, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you something fierce.”
“I’ve missed you too, Granny,” I managed around the lump in my throat. “So, so much.”
The creaking of the screen door being opened had me lifting my head. And there he was. The best man I’d ever known. My papaw Pete was standing in the doorway, and even at 78, he was still larger than life. Six foot three, and built like a tank. His long gray beard was still perfectly braided.
“Hi, Papaw,” I whispered, meeting his bright blue eyes that were swimming with unshed tears as he looked at me.
“There’s my girl,” he croaked.
Without fear that he wouldn’t catch me, I launched myself at him next, breathing in the scent of cigarette smoke and motor oil that was all him.
“Damn, baby girl. You’re nothing but skin and bones,” he said, holding me at arm’s length to get a good look at me. “Jean, we need to fatten this one up.”
My granny laughed. “If I’d known she was coming, I’d have put the dog on.”
I laughed. It’d been so long since I’d heard someone use that expression. “You never have to go all out for me. Gran.”
She waved my comment off. “I’ll whip us up some bacon and eggs, and some of that sausage gravy you used to love.”
That sounded perfect.
That was when the car doors slammed behind me.
“Who’s your friend, lil’ bit?”
I glanced over my shoulder at Sondra trying to take everything in as she struggled with our bags. She probably felt like she was in the twilight zone. We were definitely not in the big city anymore.
“Granny, Papaw,” I said, turning in my papaw’s arms. “This is my assistant, Sondra. Sondra, meet the two most important people in my world.”
Abandoning our luggage, Sondra climbed the steps and stuck her tattooed hand out to my grandmother. “It’s so good to meet you.”
My grandmother’s eyes dropped to Sondra’s outstretched hand. Then her brow went up in that ‘aren’t you just the cutest thing’ way she always did, and I couldn’t hold back the giggle.
“You’re in the real south, sweetheart.” Then my granny wrapped Sondra up in a big hug that no doubt squeezed all the air out of her lungs.
Sondra’s eyes shot to mine over Granny’s shoulders as she awkwardly patted my granny’s back.
“Get used to it.” I mouthed.
If it were possible, her eyes got even bigger.
See. Adorable.
When Granny finally released Sondra it was Papaw’s turn to step forward, and that’s when I thought her eyes might pop out of her head.
Not that I could blame her. My papaw was a force of nature.
He didn’t look anything like your typical grandfather.
See, he was big. As in REAL big, and he wore a leather Kings of Anarchy cut over his broad shoulders.
Then there were all the colorful tattoos decorating almost every inch of his body.
He had this don’t-fuck-with-me aura about him that tended to make folks keep a wide berth.
“Uh. Hi!” she squeaked.
Granny and I both looked at each other and burst out laughing. “He’s a big old teddy bear,” I confessed. At least he was with those of us who were lucky enough to have his love.
Sondra looked at me like she thought I was crazy. But then papaw smiled at her, and his whole face transformed. “Welcome to our home, darlin’,” he said, taking her bag from her. “Hope you’re hungry.”
“Uh... always,” Sondra stuttered out.
“Come on,” Granny said, holding open the screen door.
Feeling at home for the first time in years, I wrapped my arm around Sondra’s shoulders and followed my Granny inside the house.
Jesus. When did I become someone who lived a lie?
“I’m calling Tacoma,” Papaw announced, pulling out his phone as we walked into the living room. “We’re throwing you a proper welcome-home party at the clubhouse.”
My stomach dropped. “Papaw, no. I really don’t want—”
“Baby girl,” he interrupted, his tone making it clear this wasn’t up for negotiation. “My only granddaughter comes home after eight years, and you think we’re not gonna celebrate? The prodigal granddaughter has returned, and by God, we’re gonna party.”
Oh boy.
“Pete Jackson, you put that phone down this instant,” Granny scolded from the kitchen. “Can’t you see the girl is tired? She needs food and rest, not a bunch of rowdy bikers whooping and hollering all night.”
“Jean, darlin’, with all due respect, this is happening,” Papaw said, already dialing. “The whole club’s been waiting for this day.”
The whole club. That meant...
No.
I wasn’t going to think about him, or wonder if he’d be there, or what he’d look like after all these years, or if he’d even want to see me. I was over all that. I had been for a long time.
“Besides,” Papaw continued, “these girls need some meat on their bones. Look at ‘em, Jean. They’re wasting away.”
Granny poked her head out of the kitchen, flour still dusting her hands. “I can fix that. Y’all just sit yourselves down and let me take care of you.”
“Actually,” I said, grabbing Sondra’s hand. “I’m going to show Sondra to the guest room, and then I desperately need a shower. I feel disgusting.”
“Of course, baby,” Granny said warmly. “You know where everything is. Clean towels are in the linen closet.”
I led Sondra up the narrow staircase, the old wooden steps creaking under our feet just like they did when I was a kid. The guest room was at the end of the hall, bright and airy with yellow eyelet curtains and a pink and yellow patchwork quilt that Granny had made by hand.
“This is really nice,” Sondra said, setting her bag on the bed and looking around with genuine appreciation.
“Thanks,” I said, feeling my cheeks heat up for some reason.
Sondra nodded, still taking it all in. “It all makes sense now,” she added softly.
“What does?”
“You. The way you always want to take care of everyone. Your traditional values. How you never curse in front of older people.” She smiled. “I can see it now.”
That put a warm feeling in my chest that spread all the way down to my toes. Taking care of people was my love language—it always had been. Even when I was little, I was the kid who brought home stray cats and wounded birds.
“Get some rest,” I told her. “Granny’s going to stuff us full of food whether we like it or not.”
“I like it already,” Sondra said with a grin.
I made my way down the hallway to my old room, pausing with my hand on the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, I pushed it open and stepped inside.
Everything was exactly how I’d left it. The walls were still covered with posters of Faith Hill, Shania Twain, and the Dixie Chicks.
My old guitar was propped in the corner, gathering dust. The pink chenille bedspread I’d begged Granny for when I turned sixteen was still stretched across my twin bed.
It was like stepping back in time.
I flopped down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling where I’d stuck glow-in-the-dark stars when I was thirteen. How many nights had I laid there, dreaming about becoming a famous singer? How many times had I practiced acceptance speeches in this mirror, clutching my hairbrush like a Grammy?
And how many nights had I second guessed it all because all I wanted in life was Weston Basham?
Sighing, I pushed myself up off the bed and headed for the bathroom. A hot shower was exactly what I needed to wash off the grime and clear my head.
Twenty minutes later, I felt human again. I’d scrubbed off all the leftover stage makeup and airplane funk. My hair was clean and smelled like the sunflower shampoo I’d used back in high school—apparently Granny still kept it stocked.
Feeling new again, I threw on a pair of old jeans and a soft cotton t-shirt that I found in the bureau drawer then padded downstairs barefoot, following the incredible smell of pot roast and cornbread.
“There she is,” Granny said as I walked into the kitchen. “Feel better?”
“So much better,” I said, dropping into my old chair at the kitchen table. “It smells incredible in here.”
“Another few minutes and it’ll be ready,” she said over her shoulder. “Your papaw went out to the barn to tinker with something, and your friend is taking a nap.”
I was about to respond when I noticed a piece of paper sitting on the table in front of me. It looked official.
“What’s this?” I asked, reaching for it.
“Oh, that’s nothing, baby,” Granny said quickly, trying to snatch it out of my hands. “Just some junk mail.”
But I was faster, pulling it back and scanning the contents. My blood ran cold as I read.
Final Notice: Property Acquisition Offer Coastal-Bridge Development Corporation.
The language was barely this side of threatening, talking about “fair market value” and “eminent domain proceedings” and “final opportunity to sell.”
“Granny,” I said slowly, “what the hell is this?”
“It's nothing,” she lied, but I could see the worry lines around her eyes.
“It doesn’t look like nothing.”
“Some company that owns the property on both sides of us,” Papaw’s voice came from the back door as he walked in, wiping his hands on a rag. “They want to buy us out.”
My brows snapped together. This was my great-great-great-grandfather’s property. It’d been in the family for generations. “Please tell me you're not considering this?” I waved the paper in the air.
“Hell no,” Papaw said firmly. “This land has been in our family for generations. They can go to hell.”
“Pete!” Granny gasped. “Don't cuss in the house!”
Despite everything, I had to smile. Some things never changed.
But the smile faded when I saw the worry Granny was trying to hide behind her scolding. This was serious. Someone was trying to pressure my grandparents into selling their home.
Well, they’d picked the wrong family to mess with.
Pulling out my phone, I fired off a quick text to my banker in Nashville.
Me: I need you to acquire the two properties on either side of my grandparents in Odin, Florida, immediately. It’s owned by Coastal-Bridge Development Corporation. I don’t care what kind of favors have to be called in to make it happen. Do whatever it takes. Call me when it’s done.
My phone vibrated almost immediately.
Stewart: Consider it done
“What are you doing, baby girl?” Papaw asked, eyeing my phone.
“Taking care of my family,” I said simply.
“Hattie–” he started, and I knew what he was about to say. Pete Jackson was a proud man. He’d never ask for help. He was the kind of man who figured stuff out on his own.
Well. Not today. I had the means to fix it and I did.
I held up my hand, tears building behind my eyes. “No, Papaw. I know what you’re going to say, but I don’t care. What’s the point in having all that I have, if I can’t take care of the people who took care of me when I needed it most?”
He let out a deep sigh as his eyes closed. “You’re a good one, kiddo. The heart of a lion.”
He might think that, but I did what anyone would do when someone threatened the people they loved.
When his eyes finally opened, I could see he had a handle on his emotions. Like I said, he was a proud man.
“C’mere, girl.”
With a watery smile, I climbed out of my chair and let my grandfather wrap me up in the safety of his arms. This was home. This was my safe space. Nothing and nobody could hurt me here.
Well, except for that one time.
And just like that, despite my best efforts not to think about him, my mind drifted to Weston.