Big Man's Bride (A Small Town Romance) Read online

  Big Man’s Bride

  Penny Wylder

  Copyright © 2020 Penny Wylder

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is completely coincidental.

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  Contents

  More Books by Penny Wylder

  1. Ally

  2. Caleb

  3. Ally

  4. Caleb

  5. Ally

  6. Caleb

  7. Ally

  8. Caleb

  9. Ally

  10. Caleb

  11. Ally

  12. Caleb

  Epilogue

  More Books by Penny Wylder

  More Books by Penny Wylder

  Click here to read more of my sure-to-please romance books!

  1

  Ally

  I stare at my bank account, the smile on my face nearly painful it’s so wide. I did it. It’s all there.

  It’s a huge fucking relief, too. Frankly, it’s more money than there’s ever been in my account, and I’m about to spend it all at once to get my house back. Or rather, my family’s house.

  My entire childhood, my grandfather spent his time restoring an old manor house along the Cumberland River just outside of Nashville, and it was my favorite place. I took my first steps in between the huge evergreen trees, and I’d collect rocks from the banks of the river, filling my bedroom shelves with Mason jars filled with multicolored pebbles. As I got older, I would beg my mom to let me spend weekends there, helping mend fences or weeding Grandpa’s garden. In the summer, when it was unbearably hot, I would spend hours on the bank reading, and then plunge into the water for relief. I learned to swim in that river, and spent hours floating in tubes with my mom, just staring at the big blue sky and talking about anything that was on our minds.

  But that was all before. Before Mom got sick. Before everything spun out of control. Before my dreams for my future came to a screeching halt. In just a matter of days, those carefree days floating down the river with Mom seemed like a different life altogether. Instead of the sounds of the glorious rushing water of the Cumberland river, I fell asleep at night listening to Mom beg and haggle on the phone with hospitals and the insurance company. She tried to be so strong and keep on a happy face for me, but there was no hiding how sick she was. And after going through her savings and suffering through treatment, none of it mattered anymore because she was gone. Her chance of survival was slim, and she just couldn’t hold on. At fifteen, I held my mother’s hand as she died, telling her I’d be okay and that I loved her. I’d never felt more alone in my life.

  But I wasn’t ever really alone. When I left my mom’s hospital room for the final time, it was Grandpa’s arms I fell into, I cried into his well-worn cardigan and clung to him for dear life. He drove me home that night and moved in the next day. He sold the Cumberland River house and never looked back. For two years of high school we lived together. Both of us grieving and trying our best to find a new normal. He hadn’t expected to be raising a teenager at his age, and I was shellshocked realizing that I’d have to make my way in life without my mom. I owe him so much. He made sure I had a roof over my head, food, and enough money to get me through college.

  Even though I understand why Grandpa let go of the house, it’s still hurt for all this time. It felt like a piece of my heart had been sold off to strangers. Even worse, I felt like I’d stolen something from Grandpa. If it weren’t for me, he would have continued to live in his home and fulfilled his dream of bringing it back to its original glory. Now, though, I’m getting that house back. We are going to finish restoring it together. After everything he’s done for me, I want to see him sipping lemonade on the wraparound porch and puttering around his garden like he used to love to do. The man who bought it from Grandpa all those years ago never really took a shine to it, so it’s been sitting empty for years now. There hasn’t been much interest from any new buyer. It’s out of town, so inconvenient for anyone who works in the city, and it still needs a lot of work. It’s also a lot of house for someone who doesn’t have an emotional attachment to it. It’s much more of a project than just a home. Still, it’s as beautiful as ever. I’ve been driving by it every week just to make sure. And to make sure the For Sale sign was still hanging out front. Every couple of weeks I’d call the realtor to see if the asking price was the same. It hasn’t dropped a penny.

  My hands are shaking and I can barely dial the number that I’ve memorized over the last few years. It’s been about a month since I’ve checked in with the broker, Janet. God, I have so much adrenaline I feel like I could run a marathon. Maybe I should run a couple of laps around the block. Burn off some of this nervous energy before I pull the trigger.

  I don’t press dial yet, because I’m too … I don’t know. I’m ready to burst. For a moment, I have a little dance party in my living room. This has been my dream for so long. I can’t believe that it’s actually happening. I even go as far as to pinch myself to make sure that I’m actually awake.

  Okay, get yourself together, Ally. Make the damn phone call and get on with this part of your life already.

  Janet picks up on the third ring. “Hillshire Realty. This is Janet.”

  “Hey, Janet,” I say, trying and failing to keep my voice steady. “This is Allison Hollis. How are you?”

  “Oh,” she says, “I’m fine.”

  Usually when I call she laughs when she here’s my voice and automatically tells me that the price is still the same as the last time I called. She’s come to expect my calls and the same inquiry every time. That’s been the routine for years, and the fact that she doesn’t do that immediately sends fear down my spine.

  It’s okay. Nothing’s happened yet. Maybe she’s just having a bad day. Maybe she wasn’t expecting to hear from me again. After all, it has been a while.

  “I’m actually calling with good news,” I say. “I’ve put together the money for the down payment on the Cumberland River house. My pre-approval went through and I had it sent to your office, so we can now move forward with the purchase. I know it’s been a long time coming,” I laugh, “but at least you won’t be getting weekly phone calls from me anymore.”

  There’s a long pause, and the silence between us is one of the loudest sounds that I’ve ever heard in my life. What’s going on? Janet has actually been in my corner for a lot of this process, encouraging me that it was possible and being super gracious about my pestering. I kind of thought that she would be celebrating with me right now.

  Then she sighs. “I’m really sorry, Ally. The house sold a week ago. It was an offer well above market, and all cash. I know you wanted it, but I couldn’t hold the property for you since I had no idea when you’d have the money.”

  My heart drops through the floor and keeps going. It falls through the center of the fucking earth. “What?”

  “I’m sorry. I know you dreamed about buying it back one day. If I’d known how close you were to having the money. . .” she trails off. “I mean, Ally, it’s been so long. I had no idea you were so serious.”

  She had to have known, right? I’d been calling her every month. But our conversations hadn’t revolved around my progress. They’d revolved around the price of the house and the fact that it was still available. From her perspective, this was all
just a pipe dream for me.

  Oh my God.

  “Who bought it?” My voice is hollow. I can hear how devastated I sound even if I don’t think the news has fully hit me yet.

  “I can’t give you his details and contact information, obviously, but he’s from New York. It’s a developer interested in the property.”

  I swear out loud even though it isn’t professional. In the years since I started saving, I’ve become really knowledgeable about the Tennessee real estate market, and big developers from places like New York and even China are buying up more and more of the beautiful properties here. Mostly with the intent to turn them into luxury condos or modern vacation homes that no one would be able to afford.

  It had made me sick to think about, but I never thought that it would directly affect me. How naïve. Grandpa’s old property is massive. Of course a developer went ahead and bought it.

  I can’t give up. Maybe there is something I can still do. This has been my dream for so long. I’m not giving up on it simply because some asshole from a big city saw a shiny penny and a chance to make a quick buck. Grandpa deserves to spend his final years in the Cumberland River house, and no one is going to stop me. “When does he take possession of the property?”

  “He landed in Tennessee the other day, Ally. He’s already there. Again, I’m sorry.”

  That’s all I need to know. “Thanks, Janet.”

  “Allison, I—”

  I hang up the phone before I can hear her urging me not to go out there and talk to him. She’d be wasting her breath because I’ve already made that decision, and it’s better for her if she doesn’t know that I’m actually planning on going.

  Not that I plan on committing a crime. Or do I?

  I honestly don’t know what I’m planning. All I’m certain of is that I’m driving out to the house right this fucking second to see this man and ask him why the hell he feels he has the right to swoop in and steal something from someone else’s history.

  As I grab my things and get in my car, I’m well aware that the thoughts I’m having aren’t entirely rational. But I also know that if I give in to my real thoughts, I’ll be a sobbing mess on the floor, and I don’t want that.

  This man—whoever he is—didn’t actually steal the house from me. It was for sale. It’s been for sale for years. But I’ve worked so hard. I’ve sacrificed everything for so many years. Lived as bare bones as I could. Ramen noodle dinners seven nights a week. I haven’t seen a movie in a theater in a year. Cut the cable. Used the Wi-Fi at the library. I put every extra penny I had into making this dream possible. It has been my sole focus for so long, my north star. Without it, I just don’t know what I’ll do. It can’t happen like this.

  Is the universe just so completely fucked up that it would do this to me?

  I blink back the tears in my eyes as I start to drive. When my mom died, and Grandpa sold the house to take care of me, I understood why he did it. But imagining getting the house back was what got me through that grief. I became an accountant—a field that I don’t love but that makes decent money—just to buy this house. There were weeks I took on so much work that I’d fall asleep at night with columns of numbers floating behind my eyes.

  I’ll be damned if someone is going to take this dream from me.

  The ride out to the house passes in a blur. The route is so familiar to me that I honestly think that I could make the drive blindfolded, stop lights and all. I just have to get there. If I get there, it will be all right, I tell myself. It will be fine. The buyer will understand. He’ll sell me the house, even if I have to sell him my soul. This can be fixed.

  When the façade of the house comes into view, I have to stifle a sob. Every time I see it there’s a flood of memories and emotion. This is where I belong. It’s my dream house. Where so much should have happened, if only Mom hadn’t died. This is my home. My apartment is peppered with family photos taken in every corner of the house and gardens. My favorite picture of me and my mom was taken on the back porch, the two of us looking out over the river.

  It had been an amazing day. The perfect Fourth of July with sparklers and fireflies. The house had been restored enough by then that we could actually host a party. Mom and I baked cherry pies and chased Grandpa out of the kitchen. He played cards with some of his friends out back and Mom brought them heaping plates of ribs and macaroni salad. Shortly after the sun set, a barge in the river set off the most magnificent fireworks display, and Mom and I watched from the bank of the river. I can still remember her face lit up by the red and white bursts in the sky.

  It was only the next week that we found out she was sick. A routine blood exam led to some other tests which led to even more tests and finally a diagnosis. Little did we know, it was already too late to save her. I’ll always remember that Fourth of July as the last really good day with her.

  I shake my head to clear the fog of reverie and too many memories, and I pause to take in the front of the house one more time before I brace myself for this battle.

  Oh my God, what did he do?

  The front of the house has a massive wrap-around porch with a gorgeous, ornate railing, original to the house. Or rather, it had. The railing is completely gone, and the wood steps and floor sit in a heap in the front yard. I’m just … staring at the house in utter shock. Who would remove such a beautiful feature?

  I get out of the car, and I realize as the sound hits my ears that it hasn’t been torn down, past tense. It’s being removed currently. Just around the corner of the house, I can see a man swinging a sledgehammer against the wood, splintering it and making the next piece fall down. What the hell is wrong with him? How fucked up in the head do you have to be to tear down something as warm and lovely as this? Is he planning to tear down the whole house?

  There’s a lot that I will do to keep that from happening. This man doesn’t know what’s coming. He’s never met Allison Hollis, and he doesn’t know that once I set my mind to something, I get it done.

  I’m running across the large gravel drive toward him before I even register the fact that I’m doing it. “Hey, stop!”

  He doesn’t react or even acknowledge that I’ve spoken. As he lifts the sledgehammer to swing it again, part of me notes the fact that he’s attractive. Not just attractive, but mind-blowingly, lust-inducingly hot. The way his muscles move under his shirt as he wields the hammer would be enough to send me into a fog of drooling need on any other day.

  But not today. Today I’m determined. And just because my enemy happens to look like one of those Instagram models you’d follow to look at him with his shirt off, doesn’t mean that I won’t kick his ass to save my house.

  “Hey asshole,” I shout as I skid to a stop behind him. “Stop.”

  Again, nothing. Is he deaf as well as hot? Is he in some meditative trance as he destroys the house? He raises the hammer again, and I throw myself in front of him and raise my arms. “STOP!”

  He shouts in surprise, trying to redirect the swing of the hammer so it doesn’t hit me. His grip on the tool falters and he loses his balance. The sledge hammer, avoiding landing on my head, ends up hitting him right in the calf. A groan of pain comes from him as he crumples to the ground holding his leg, and as he grimaces, one of the headphones in his ears falls to the ground.

  Oh. So that explains that.

  2

  Caleb

  Blinding, white pain. That’s all there is right now. Holy fuck, I’d always wondered what it would be like to get hit with a sledgehammer full force—not. Fucking hell this is an experience I could have lived without.

  My whole mind is nothing but expletives. Ones that I’d like to scream at the woman who inexplicably jumped in front of my sledgehammer. Why would someone do that to someone doing demolition? Does she have a fucking death wish?

  Okay. Breathe. The crest of pain is fading a bit, and as it goes down, I take note that my leg isn’t broken. At least I don’t think that it is. That’s encouraging. Some ice and
rest for a couple of days and I will be fine. But I’d much rather not have a swelling lump on my shin the size of a goose egg because a stranger decided to meddle in my house repairs. On my own property.

  Slowly I stretch out from the curled up position the pain had forced me into, and sit up. Music is still blaring in my ears. Aggressive rock that helps me keep going with tasks like breaking apart a fucking wraparound porch made of rotted wood. I pull out the one earphone and pick up the one that fell out, and I look at the woman in front of me.

  “Are you fucking crazy?”

  “Am I crazy?” she shouts. “I’m not the one knocking down a hundred-year-old house with no thought for its history or who it’s going to affect. If you think that I’m going to let you do this, then you have another thing coming. Who the fuck do you think you are, just coming in here from New York and thinking you can take over everything? I know people like you. You disgust me.”

  She keeps talking, but at that moment I choose to tune her out. The pain is subsiding to a more manageable level but fuck, it is swelling quickly. Slowly I stand even though she is still ranting about the house and what I was going to do it.

  Up until now, I’ve managed to live a life free of crime, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to strangle this woman if she doesn’t stop yelling at me. “Would you shut up? Please. For just one fucking minute while I try to figure out what the fuck just happened.”

  She glares at me. “This is my family home, and you have no right to tear it down. I’m not going to fucking let you.”