by
Scott D. Parker
I'd like to share the cover of the new book as well as Chapter 2. The ebook goes on sale Tuesday, 5 November, and you can preorder today.
Here's the cover!
Like I have on prior books, I worked with designers via 99Designs.com. The final design, created by Joy at practiqaldiseno.com, was spot on with what I had in mind.
Chapter 2 - Liquid Encouragement
The town of Vargas, Texas, was a typical town in the southern Hill Country, an area west of Austin and San Antonio about ninety miles. Few of the buildings in and around the town square were larger than two stories, the grain silos next to the old railroad station being the exception. The buildings came in one of two major structurals varieties: post-Civil War Victorian or pre-Depression. The Twentieth Century buildings were almost all a dull brown brick, giving the city a general look of a town in the Rust Belt.
“Well, doesn’t this look quaint,” Alex said as he slowed his car to match the posted speed limit just on the city’s outskirts.
“That’s one word for it.” Lauren realized she was breathing through her mouth and closed it. Her lips formed a thin line. “Glad you’re going the speed limit. Not a lot of local income around here so the sheriff is active on speed traps. We get a lot of tourists who pass through here and if they don’t obey the speed limits, he’ll ticket them.”
“Sounds typically small town.”
“Austin is a small town considering you grew up in Dallas,” Lauren chided.
“Hey, I’m a big city boy. What can I say?” He stopped the car at a red light. “And Austin’s way bigger than when my dad went to school there. He’s from Houston and he thought he was going to a small town when he attended UT in the late Eighties. He went back last year after almost twenty years away. Barely recognized anything.” He pointed out the windshield. “Speaking of which, anything here you recognize?”
“Everything.”
“Well, then, how about a verbal tour.” The light changed and Alex eased the car forward. “How about that? It’s not every day you see a fountain in a city park.”
As the car passed a small bridge, off to the left was a large open space. The river flowed south through it, meandering in a gentle arc. Immediately below the bridge, the city had erected short cement walls along the banks. The bricks of the bridge and the fieldhouse on the far side all matched the brown of the Depression. In the middle of the river was a fountain, shooting water straight up forty feet into the air. The breeze caught the water and rained it back onto the surface of the river.
“Hang on a minute,” Alex said, slowing down, “what in the world is that?”
“That,” Lauren said, “is the site of our town’s Christmas party.”
On the east side of the river, garish red-and-green ornaments hung from the street lamps. Some of the light poles also featured oversized Christmas ornaments. Red, green, and silver streamers dangled from the branches of a large Christmas tree. The tree sat halfway between the bridge and the field house. Large boxes made to resemble presents were expertly situated at the base of the tree and next to a small wooden stage. On top of the stage was a red canopy and a lectern was ready for someone to speak. Behind the lecturn, empty chairs and music stands sat idle waiting for the musicians.
On the west side, a large temporary structure was built. It resembled a manger scene from the Bible, complete with a wooden roof and support structures that looked like any strong wind might knock it down. The area was surrounded by a wooden fence. Light-brown hay was scattered inside the fenced-in area with a pathway marked for people.
“I’ve seen live manger scenes all over the place. Hell, I’ve even been in a few when I was growing up. Just like Sherman in the Peanuts cartoon, I was always a shepherd. Even had to wrangle a goat one year. But this,” he extended his hand Vanna White style in the direction of the park, “this is something else.”
“Yeah, well, thank my mom for that.”
Alex turned back his attention to the road. “Seriously? Your mom did that?”
Lauren screwed up her face. “Well, she didn’t start it, but she made it bigger than it ever was.” She took another sip from her water bottle. “Mom’s not from here. She’s from San Antonio, but when she and dad moved out west and started their company, she chafed at all the small town stuff. She hated Midland, where they started, and pretty much hated most of the small towns we lived in while the oil business boomed and busted. Finally, they decided to settle here, in Vargas, dad’s hometown.”
“Why?”
“Wine. My mom loves wine and she used part of the income to establish the Cross Vineyard. She figured if she was going to be stuck in small towns for the rest of her life, she might as well do something she really loves. And mom loves wine. The Hill Country’s good for that, so, here we set down roots.” She sat silent for a few moments. “Dad had the oil company and golf. Mom had the winery. Michael and Sophie and Ethan all went into the family business.”
“And Lauren?” Alex asked. “Why isn’t Lauren working for the family business?”
She sniffed. “Because when I moved away, I realized I didn’t want to go back.”
He indicated a local bar-be-que restaurant. “Is that the only BBQ joint in town?”
Lauren didn’t have to look to know which eatery he meant. “No, that’s Joe’s bar-be-que. He’s not the only one, but he’s the best. Well, actually, second best, if you go by the contest we have every year on Memorial Day. Angel Gomez beat him a couple of years ago and has not let anyone forget it. Joe hasn’t forgotten it either. If you meet him, the over and under for him bringing up that contest is about three minutes.”
Alex chuckled. “Sounds kinda nice.”
“What does?”
“The small town life. You know, like the Mellencamp song. Or the Cheers theme song. Where everybody knows your name.”
Lauren shook her head. Bittersweet memories came to her, the good times, the bad times, and those in between. “It has its moments, I’ll grant you. There are some great things about a small town. But I’m really glad not to be living here.” She chuckled. “Back in the Eighties when that song came out, my brother would ask mom about it, her thoughts about being something like an LA doll who moved to the small town. Know what her response was? She never truly became a small town girl like Mellencamp’s lady in the song.”
Alex shrugged. “Well, I’m not sure I could be a small town boy either.”
The memory of her brother relating that story flashed in front of her eyes. Michael told Lauren the story one of the times he came back for Christmas after he had moved away and married. Lauren still lived at home, was still in high school. Michael’s face was wistful, partly from memory and partly from the beer he had consumed that day. He held back what he really wanted to say, she could tell. But he had said enough. It explained why their parents fought from time to time. It wasn’t the only reason, but it was always just under the surface.
“Hey,” Lauren said, “pull over at the next intersection.”
“We don’t need gas,” Alex said.
“Not that. The liquor store just past the station.”
Alex cantered his head, turned on his signal, and eased into the parking lot. The liquor store sat on its own. Through the glass storefront, black iron bars peeked out. Neon beer signs were turned off during the day, but all could easily be read. The major brands were accounted for as was Texas’s own Shiner Brewery.
Lauren unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door after Alex parked. She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “I know mom’s got her bar fully stocked, but this is for me. I don’t want her or my sister or my sister-in-law to comment on how much I might need to drink to get through this.”
Alex reached over and touched her shoulder. “Is it really going to be that bad?”
Indicating the liquor store, she smirked. “Not if I have a little liquid encouragement.” She got out and he quickly followed. As she gripped the door handle, she said an inner prayer and hoped Buzz wasn’t working the day shift.
Inside, the store looked like every other liquor store. Rows of wine took up half the shelf space. Beer was stocked in the closed coolers lining the walls. The hard stuff took up the rest. The wall that wasn’t glass or a cooler was wood paneled and as old as the store. There was a mirror with Miller Lite’s logo on the bottom center of the wooden frame. Other neon beer logos hung unlit on the walls. The rest of the wallspace was taken up by framed photos and plaques. Dozens of them. It was to them Alex meandered.
“Don’t look at those,” Lauren said.
“Why?”
“Because if Buzz didn’t phase out old ones, then I’m probably in a few.”
“And now I’m really going to look at them,” Alex said, making a beeline for the photos.
Lauren walked up to the counter. Plastic lotto ticket dispensers took up one half of the counter space. It was from behind it a man’s voice came.
“He hasn’t changed a photo for twenty years.” The creak of a stool and the voice’s owner appeared. The African American stood just shy of six feet. His hair was cut close and merged with his beard and mustache to create one continuous range of hair, most of it sprinkled with gray. The eyes were bright and the smile was broad. He winked at Lauren, then spoke to Alex. “Third row, second from the right. That’s the one you want.”
“Don’t,” Lauren said through her own broad grin.
“I already did,” came his response.
Alex meandered over to the picture in question. He leaned in, squinting his eyes, and then his own broad grin broke out over his face.
“Oh my God, you’re so young,” he said, pointing to the picture. “What are you, a senior?”
“Yup,” the man said. “Homecoming queen.” He gestured at Lauren who only shrugged. “As if there was any doubt that year. Prettiest girl in school, which made her the prettiest girl in town. Miss Lauren Cross.”
Taken up by the moment, Lauren mimicked a courtesy. “How are you doing, Mr. Washington?”
“How many times have I asked you to call me Darrel?”
“Doesn’t matter how old I get, you’ll always be Mr. Washington to me.”
Darrel inclined his head to her. “Fair enough. You in town for the city’s Christmas festival?”
Lauren rolled her eyes. “Yeah. And mom’s party tonight. She was quite insistent and you know how she gets when she gets insistent.”
“I do indeed.” He tapped the counter with his finger. “Did you know your old friend, Kelsey, is in charge of the decorations down at the park and the banners on the square?”
Lauren thought back. A year younger than Lauren, Kelsey Ritter ended up staying in town and marrying Jack Ritter, a guy from Lauren’s grade. She had seen Kelsey back in July at the Independence Day town party, but only briefly.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes, indeed. She’s doing great work, too. Getting lots of people involved. Even got my wife off her rehab chair and working on those banners for the downtown street lamps.”
Lauren frowned. “What happened to Miss Vivian?”
“Twisted her knee going down stairs of our front porch. It was wet, her shoes were slippery, and she just crashed down. I saw it happen but couldn’t do a damn thing except call 9-1-1. Was in rehab all September and October. Only got clearance around Thanksgiving. Didn’t matter if she got clearance or not, she was gonna host the big dinner no matter what.”
Grinning at what she knew of Vivian Washington, Lauren said, “I bet it was one hell of a great dinner.”
“The best ever. All the kids came home, brought their spouses and grandkids. Great day. A great day.” He tapped the counter again and lowered his voice. “So who’s that young man?”
Lauren’s grin broadened. “His name is Alex Morgan. We’ve been dating for about a month.”
“A month and he’s already coming home to meet the family.” Darrel made a show of standing back as if he had just seen something remarkable. “That’s pretty good. Fast, but good.”
“I know,” Lauren said, lowering her voice, “but I really needed someone who would have my back this weekend.” She lowered her voice even further. “I don’t really want to go home and see all of them.”
Darrel nodded sagely. “I know why you say that, Miss Lauren, but family is family. Even when you don’t like ‘em, you still gotta love ‘em. And it can be hard. Damn hard. But you’ll get through it. I’m certain.” He cocked his head behind his shoulder to the smaller bottles on the shelves. “Which one of these do you want to help smooth out the rough patches?”
“Mom’ll have more than enough gin for dozens of martinis, so let’s go with Dewer’s.”
Darrel pulled the thin bottle of scotch from the shelf and slid it over to Lauren.
“How much?”
“On the house.”
“Mr. Washington, I can’t do that. You know.”
Darrel beamed at her and rang up the purchase on the register. “I know. You’re made like that. Honest.” He told her the amount and she passed him her credit card. He scanned it and returned it to her. He wrapped the scotch in a brown wrapper and handed it to her as Alex sidled up.
“Young man,” Darrel said, his voice taking on a somber yet light tone, “you do right by Miss Lauren and she’ll do right by you.” He pointed at the bottle. “And make sure you have her back this weekend so she won’t have to drink all that.” He winked.
“I will, sir.” He hooked his thumb back to the wall of photos. “And thanks for pointing out the right one. Pretty funny to see her so many years ago.”
Darrel’s brows furrowed. “Wait a second. Isn’t your birthday around Christmas?”
Another eye roll from Lauren. “Christmas Eve. The birthday no one remembers.”
Darrel jerked his thumbs at his chest. “I remembered. Mr. Morgan here remembers. As long as someone remembers, ain’t that enough?”
“I guess. But I’ll be back in Austin by then and my friends are planning something big.” She grinned. “It’s good to have friends.”
“And family,” Darrel said. “Family is important, too.”
“Yeah, sure.” She held up the bottle. “And it’ll be easier with this.”
“And me,” Alex said, playfully sounding hurt.
Lauren bumped his shoulder with hers. “And you, too. We’ll just see which one I turn to most.”
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