A (sorta) Southern Serenade (A Romance(ish) Novella Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Epilogue

  Krista

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  To my all-the-way Southern hunky husband.

  I love you!

  Copyright © 2016 by Krista Phillips

  One Woman's Dream Publishing

  www.kristaphillips.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form or by any means—digital, electronic, scanning, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles.

  The persons and events portrayed in this work of fiction are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Prologue

  What was that sound?

  Oh yes. The deafening crash of her dreams shattering into a million pieces.

  Kendra Meyers propped her fists on her hips, the blue sequins of her gown scratching against her knuckles. Only moments before, she’d come to tell the theater owner that showtime was in fifteen minutes—when she’d overheard him on the phone.

  She couldn’t have heard him right. “You’re—closing the theater?”

  The balding man jerked his head up and turned every shade of red as he caught sight of her in the doorway. He mumbled something into the receiver then hung up the phone and motioning toward the tattered, cloth-covered chair opposite his desk. “I’m sorry you had to hear this way.”

  Confusion fled as anger sprouted. “How could you do this? It’s the middle of the summer season. We—”

  “Kendra, we barely turn a profit. With low ticket sales so far this summer—I just can’t afford to keep it open. I’ve been toying with retirement anyway, so I put out a few feelers to see if anyone wanted to buy the place—”

  Her ears perked up, a glimmer of hope beaming like the small ray of sun shining through the office’s single, dingy window. “You’re looking for a buyer?” She rarely touched her trust fund. But maybe she could—

  “I already found one.”

  Okay. She didn’t really want to own a theater anyway. Just perform in one. It had been her dream since she’d been a little girl, despite being bred for a much different life. “Well, then the buyer will—”

  He shook his head. “Tear it down. They bought the lot next to us too and plan to build a new hotel.”

  The glimmer fizzled into a sad cloud of regret. “There has to be something we can do.”

  “I’m sorry, Kendra. You’re a talented singer and actress. There are other theaters in town. I’ll give you a glowing reference.”

  But the other theaters weren’t this one.

  Here they did Broadway-style musicals. She wouldn’t fit into the honky-tonk dinner theaters that prevailed in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. And she’d already spent years living in Los Angeles trying her hand at acting. The few small parts she’d gotten had never satisfied her.

  She wanted, no needed, something more.

  In truth, neither had her job here. But it was close. Very, very close.

  She pressed a finger to the corners of her eyes, trying to hold in the tears. She already had her makeup on, and mascara running was not what she needed less than ten minutes before the show. “When—are you closing?”

  Gerald focused everywhere in the room but on her. “I—um, tonight is our last show. I was going to tell everyone afterward. I don’t want anyone quitting before the last performance or customers seeing a bunch of weepy actors on stage. I’ve arranged to pay everyone a severance for one month out of the proceeds of the sale.”

  Kendra looked at the puny little man in front of her that she’d never had a ton of respect for. His wife, Sally Ann, had run the theater for years, and according to a few of the long-time veterans of the show, Gerald just stood in the background pretending to lead them. But when Sally Ann passed away just a few months after Kendra was hired, everything changed. He’d pinched every dime for the two years she’d worked there. From rigging electrical work himself instead of hiring a professional —that, go figure, caused a fire—to cheap costumes and zero maintenance on the building, it was no wonder their ticket sales were down.

  But it was her dream. To sing. To perform. To make people laugh and cry all in the same performance. There was something exhilarating about the stage. Even if it was just for an hour or two, she got to step into someone else’s shoes and sing, dance, pretend—

  Blinking away a rebellious tear, she stood and straightened her dress. She’d always complained about the itchy fabric of the cheaply made costume gown, but now, she’d never wear it again. “I presume you want me to keep your little secret?”

  “I’ll give you an extra week’s pay if you do.” Which was a pittance to her, but he didn’t need to know that. No one knew just how much she didn’t need a job, and she’d like to keep it that way. Still, how was she supposed to go out there and perform now?

  A memory of her mother echoed in her ears. Kendra, we Meyers girls are strong. Sometimes you just have to square your shoulders and get in and do what needs to be done, even if it isn’t pleasant.

  At eight, she’d had no clue what her mother was talking about—only that it probably had something to do with the meeting her mother was going to for Vander Investments—the family investment firm Kendra’s grandparents had started.

  But the principle still applied today.

  She was Kendra Meyers.

  She would go out there and give the best performance of her life.

  Because it very well might be her last.

  One

  Three Months Later - Nashville, TN

  “Kendra, why is there a dangerously handsome man standing on your lawn?”

  Few things could drag her away from the kitchen in the middle of cooking, but curiosity trumped chicken. Following her sister-in-law’s voice, Kendra met her at the front window in the formal dining room. “Where is this man you speak of?”

  Sadie nodded toward the front yard. “See?”

  Sure enough, right there on her grass was a scene straight out of an Abercrombie commercial. Tall, tan, muscles, sweat—okay, so the sweat was kinda gross when she thought about it, but at this distance, the glistening muscles bulging out below the sleeves of his white t-shirt completed the manly picture. Their hotter-than-normal fall looked good on him—hot being a very appropriate term. “Well, he’s certainly not homely. And given the truck at the curb that says J’s Landscaping, I’d guess he’s a worker from the landscaping company I hired. But—” She elbowed her best-friend-turned-sister-in-law in the stomach. “What are you doing checking out guys? Don’t make me tell Nate.”

  Sadie crossed her arms. “Nate knows I’ve been checking out guys lately—with the express purpose of finding eligible bachelor material for his little sister. He doesn’t care as long as it means you stay put.”

  “My big brother needs to mind his own business. Plus, I bought a house, didn’t I? That screams staying a while
.”

  She still couldn’t believe she’d purchased a house.

  But Nate had gone on and on about how renting was throwing away money and real estate was a good investment. And she’d fallen in love with the house. The 1970s brick ranch was old enough to have a little character but refinished with all the modern efficiencies. It was also big enough to house a small army—but she loved to cook and entertain.

  The kitchen—oh goodness. The kitchen had made her swoon at first sight more than any man had ever done. Quartz countertops that went on and on, a gas cooktop that begged to be cooked on, and cabinet space like she’d never seen. It was a chef’s dream. And while she was no professional, cooking had saved her a lot of money in therapy over the years.

  The only drawback to the house that she hadn’t taken into consideration was the large, almost acre lot and the extreme amount of work taking care of that much yard would involve. Thus—hiring the landscaping company her new neighbor had recommended after she’d received her first slap on the wrist from the HOA.

  “Regardless, you have to admit. That guy out there is easy on the eyes.”

  The cliché was so understated it wasn’t even funny.

  But who was she kidding? The dude mowed lawns for a living. He was probably working his way through college or something, and she was hitting the big three-oh next year. “He’s probably twenty years old if that. I’m not a cradle-robber.”

  “He looks older than that to me. You should go out there.”

  And completely humiliate herself? “No way.”

  “Don’t you need to like, I don’t know. Pay them? Supervise them?”

  “I already gave them a deposit, and I don’t think they need a supervisor. But—” She sighed as she untied her apron. It couldn’t hurt, right? Just to say hi? And she did still need to get the final estimate for the landscape overhaul she wanted. “I guess I could introduce myself really quick. Will you keep an eye on the chicken in the oven? It’s almost done.”

  “Of course. You can count on me. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

  Kendra glanced back as she opened the front door. “Stop it. It’s not like I’d go for a guy who mows lawns for a living anyway. I’m not that desperate.”

  “Ms. Meyers?”

  The deep rumbling voice twirled her around. Standing right on her doorstep was the man in question, even more mouthwatering up front—except for the deep scowl on his face.

  Oh no.

  Had he heard her?

  Surely not. “I’m—her. I mean, Kendra. I’m Kendra Meyers.” She dumbly stuck out her hand to try and cover for her lack of coherent speech.

  He grasped it, his rough skin a sharp contrast to her own ultra-soft. His grip threatened to crush hers, but she gripped back, strong and steady, just like her mom had taught her. Limp handshakes are like a dead fish. Lifeless, weak, and ready to be devoured. NEVER show weakness, Kendra. Ever.

  Well, the man in front of her was no limp fish, that was for sure.

  She was almost sad to see his hand go when he took it back.

  “Ms. Meyers, I’m—” He tapped his pen on the clipboard he held while he stared at her.

  Kendra tried not to squirm under his hard perusal, but she couldn’t help but shift her weight.

  Finally, he clicked the pen closed and poked it behind his ear. “You know what? Let me run out to the truck and grab my checkbook.”

  His—checkbook? She glanced back at Sadie who stood wide-eyed beside her and looked as clueless as Kendra was. “I don’t understand.”

  He started back to his truck, but after a few steps, turned those steely gray eyes back to her. “Let’s just say, I’m not that desperate for your business, either.”

  Ms. Meyers was the precise reason Josh Damen remained single.

  Well, women like her anyway.

  Grabbing his personal checkbook from the center console of his truck, warning bells rang in his head. He was going overboard, and he knew it.

  He’d spent his life catering to women just like Ms. Meyers who thought they were better than the people who mowed their lawn or cleaned their houses. Most days he smiled and let it slide off his back in the name of customer service.

  Today was not most days.

  Sure, she had no idea who he was. He looked like one of his employees, an honest guy doing an honest day’s work. But what Miss Priss didn’t know is that he’d built J’s Landscaping with his own sweat and, more than a few times, blood and tears. The latter of which occurred behind closed doors, of course.

  Now he was CEO and spent most of his days in the office. His company employed over twenty crews, and he valued every single employee because he’d been there. Once a month, he ditched the office and spent a day or two out in the field, working beside them, to make sure he never took for granted the hard work of his employees.

  And while he’d definitely witnessed uppity women before, never had he heard someone so blatantly talk down to one of his guys, and as much as the customer was always right, he wasn’t going to subject his workers to attitudes like that.

  Checking her paperwork, he scrawled out the amount of her deposit and ripped the check, a personal one, out of the book. “I don’t keep a business checkbook on me, so here you go, Miss Meyers.” He handed her the slip of paper.

  Instead of taking the check, the woman folded her arms over her fitted white t-shirt. Her gaze went from his face to the check, then back to his face. “I don’t understand. Are you saying you’re firing me as a customer?”

  He tightened his jaw. Be strong, Josh. He had to admit, although grudgingly, that she was gorgeous, even in her yoga pants that met trim calves and the furrowed brow that looked confused as all get out. Which made sense, since she still thought him a lowly guy who mows lawns. “That’s right.”

  She jutted out her chin. “Well, I’m not accepting that. Give me the name of your supervisor.”

  This would be fun. “Not a problem. I have his business card right here.” He slipped his card out of his pocket and handed it to her along with her refund.

  She ignored the check and snatched the card from him, turned around, and stomped back to the house, her ponytail full of brown curls bobbing behind her. He crossed his arms and waited.

  Sure enough, thirty seconds later, she emerged from the house, punching in numbers on her cell phone.

  After a moment, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He smiled as he answered it. “J’s Landscaping.”

  “Yes, my name is—” Kendra looked from her phone to his and ended the call. “Wait a second. You’re—”

  “Josh Damen. The J in J’s Landscaping.”

  She shook her head and looked back down at the card. “But I thought—”

  “That I was a lowly peon who mowed yards for a living?”

  Her previously pale face blazed pink. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Why are you—”

  “I like to get out of my office a few days a month and work with the guys. Keeps me in touch with what really matters, you know?”

  She cocked her head to the side and studied him for a minute. “That’s—impressive. I don’t know many CEOs who would do that.”

  “Well, we’ll be getting out of your hair. Here’s your deposit back.” He held out the check once again.

  She shook her head. “Wait. You’re really not going to finish the job?”

  “If we’d already started, I would finish it. But I think it’s best we part ways now, Ms. Meyers.”

  Her forehead did that whole adorable wrinkle thing again. He averted his eyes. Adorable and Kendra Meyers did not need to be in the same thought.

  “But—”

  Grabbing her hand, he put the check in it and folded her fingers over it. “Have a nice day, ma’am.”

  Before he could change his mind, he motioned Ronny to the truck and climbed up into the driver’s seat.

  He might have lost a client and was guaranteed to get some not-so-great word of mouth from it, but he had principles, and that’s what mattered.


  Ronny glanced over at him once they were on the road. “Never seen you quit a client before.”

  He headed the truck north toward Nashville and their home office. “Never needed to before.”

  The older man grunted. “Remember Naomi Ritchie?”

  Josh gripped the steering wheel tighter. “How could I forget? I swear she took a ruler to her grass, and if it was even a centimeter over 2.5 inches, she made us come back. I think I’ve had to give her over half-dozen free months for her trouble if you can call it that.”

  “Yup. But the customer is always right, that’s what you said every time. Even went and did the mow yourself a few times, if I remember correctly. Remember William Laughery?”

  “The old nut who demanded to see the immigration papers of every crew member because he was afraid we hired illegals? I still can’t get over him believing Roberto.” The memory was horrible and hysterical at the same time. Josh hadn’t been there, had only heard about it later. But Roberto, one of the two Hispanics on the crew that handled Mr. Laughery’s lawn and one of Josh’s good buddies as well, actually convinced the old guy that they were both just very tan white guys. It had become an often-told joke amongst the crew.

  They’d mowed Mr. Laughery’s lawn until last year when he’d passed away. Despite his controversial opinions and obvious issues with his eyesight, he’d been a good client. Paid on time and tipped the guys extra good at Christmas. Josh always wondered if he’d realized his error and felt guilty about his comments, so was trying to make up for it in his own way.

  Ronny tapped a finger against Kendra Meyers’ paperwork as they pulled into the parking lot of the office. “I don’t know what happened when you talked to her, but insulting a customer isn’t like you.”

  Josh stared at his hands on the wheel as Ronny let himself out of the truck.

  The older man was right. His behavior today wasn’t normal at all.

  And Ronny’s examples hit home. Josh wished he could say he’d done it to protect his employees. To be the good boss who wouldn’t accept work from people who wouldn’t respect his employees.