Kentucky Home

Book 1: Southern Comfort

by Sarah Title

Genres: Small Town & Rural; Southern; Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Saddle up for a “wild, witty, and wonderful” ride with the Carson family in the first novel of the Southern Comfort series (Jo Goodman, New York Times bestselling author). In this warm and witty new series, author Sarah Title introduces readers to the down home Kentucky hospitality of the Carson family and their Wild Rose Farm and Stables. It’s a place where love is always possible—and sweeter than ever the second time around . . . Mallory Thompson and Keith Carson are far from impressed with each other when she arrives at his family’s horse farm, fleeing an abusive marriage. Mallory sees nothing but a gruff man who’s as patronizing as her soon-to-be ex-husband, and Keith has no time for a city girl who’s afraid of dogs. But the struggling Wild Rose is too small to allow anyone to keep their distance. As one by one, Mallory wins the hearts of his family, from his cranky father to his headstrong younger sister and three-legged dog, Keith finds himself more than a little attracted to her stubborn charm. And the longer Mallory stays, the more she realizes Keith is nothing like the overbearing bully she married—and the more she fantasizes about being in his strong, loving arms. Maybe some folks get a second chance to make a first impression after all . . . Praise for Sarah Title’s Southern Comfort Romance series “Quite a sexy book.”—USAToday.com “A really cute and fun story . . . It’s sexy and made me laugh!”— Smexy Books “A fast-paced read that provided just as many smiles from the humor as it did sizzles from the romance.”— The Book Diva’s Reads

Release date: April 1, 2013

Publisher: eOriginals

Print pages: 204

Sample

“It turns out staring at the screen won’t make the figures add up.”

Keith turned in his seat and smiled wearily at Miss Libby as she stuck her head in his doorway, followed by a waft of that sweet rose perfume she wore. He should have seen her walking across the yard to the farm hands’ bunk he had converted into a small—very small—one-bedroom home with a living room/office of sorts. But his eyes were crossing just trying to focus on the spreadsheets; he didn’t think he could focus anywhere else even if he wanted to.

As Libby entered his office, the smell of coffee overpowered the roses, and he gratefully reached out his hands for the mug she handed him. She bent down to give Peanut a scratch behind the ears. Peanut responded by raising his head half off the floor, then flopping over onto his back, his three legs in the air. Miss Libby obliged him with a belly rub.

“How long have you been at it?”

“Feels like just about a month. But I guess since breakfast.” A corner of Keith’s mouth lifted. Miss Libby came and stood behind him, resting her hand on his shoulder as she looked at the computer screen.

“How’d we do this month?” She blinked mildly at the computer screen. She was just about as good with numbers as any of the Carsons were, which was not at all. “Never mind. How about a break? I know you must be hungry by now . . .”

“I just want to try to sort this out before—”

“Before, before, before. Keith, sweetheart, come to the house and eat dinner.”

“I’ll get a plate later.”

“Who says there will be any left?”

Keith smiled up at her. “You gonna let me go hungry, Libby?” “I won’t, but your brother might. Luke’s back.”

Great, thought Keith. What is it this time? What deal did he find that he just could not pass up? “Must’ve been nice for you to see him.”

“Said he just got homesick for my cooking. But I know he’s worried about this place. And you.”

“There’s nothing to worry about! I’m—”

“I know, I know, you’re fine. It’s been three years since you lost Vanessa and you’ve been fine every day since then. Anyway, don’t worry about Luke’s questions tonight. He’s in a state because he hit traffic on the way in. Lives out of town for a few years and the case of road rage on that boy is unbelievable.”

Keith gave her a questioning look. “Traff ic?” They had traffic in Hollow Bend?

“The Harvest Festival? Happens every fall, although I can see how you might have missed the leaves changing. I don’t think you’ve set foot off the farm since the summer.”

Keith looked guiltily toward the barn that held the official office next to the tack room. There was a window, he was pretty sure, but now the low table in front of the window was piled so high with boxes and papers (mostly bills, he thought miserably) that he could only see out if he stood up. Just as well, since the trees on the rolling hills beyond the house were changing from that sweet mixture of yellow and orange to the brutal red that meant fall was well and truly on its way out. He loved that view. He didn’t need the distraction. Still, he should get a file cabinet. Add that to the list of things to make time to do to help him get ahead. Where was that list?

Miss Libby patted his shoulder sympathetically. “You work too much, sweetheart.”

“I have to.”

Miss Libby stroked the back of his head maternally. “I don’t want to argue with you, not when there’s a celebration goin’ on inside.”

“What celebration? I thought Luke was home and cranky. Seems like that happens enough for it to pass unremarked.”

“Luke’s got himself engaged.”

Mal patted the front of her skirt self-consciously. She had decided to leave with just one suitcase—this was just a short trip, a temporary stop to get her head together, so she didn’t need her whole wardrobe. Still, this skirt was not right at all. Oh, sure, the cotton floral print hit right below the knee and the flare of the A-line was the most flattering cut for her curvy shape, or so she had read. But a fall nip was in the air and her legs were freezing, and every time the wind blew, it seemed determined to feel her up. She pulled at the hem of her green T-shirt, then pulled her pink cardigan tight across her chest. She felt like a watermelon. A flowery, freezing watermelon.

“Don’t worry, darlin’, you look fine.” Luke put his arm around her waist and pecked her cheek. He might not be her type, but he sure was warm. She looked up at him, his green eyes shining with laughter.

Mal hated meeting new people. Not that she didn’t like people, most people, anyway, but the first meetings were always the worst. Since she was a child she had been told that she did not give a good first impression. When she got nervous, she either ran her mouth off, sounding like an idiot or offending someone’s deep-held personal beliefs, or she froze and came across as a stuck-up bitch. That was how Michael described their first meeting. “Never could unfreeze you,” he used to say.

Well, she was definitely still freezing.

She had never been to Kentucky before, and she was totally unprepared for how beautiful it was. Luke insisted that Hollow Bend was a nothing town in the middle of nowhere; and in Kentucky, that’s twice as nowhere as anywhere else in the country. It took them almost ten hours to drive from DC. As they got closer to the Kentucky border, Mal began to think that they would pull off the interstate into a trailer park where she would be greeted by his cousin and his cousin’s wife, also his cousin. The interstate was beautiful—well, the interstate was pretty normal-looking asphalt, but it was surrounded by rolling green hills and those iconic white horse fences that she thought people just made up to put in scenic calendars.

Luke was right, though. Hollow Bend was in the middle of nowhere. When they pulled off the interstate, they drove about half an hour on a road that went from four lanes to two, then down to one across a bridge over a river that actually babbled. She knew they were in town, not just because of the line of shabby storefronts, but because there were other cars on the road. Luke kept punching the steering wheel, complaining about heavy traffic. Having lived in the DC suburbs for years, Mal didn’t think she would ever refer to a dozen pickup trucks as heavy traffic, but Luke did, so she thought she’d do her best to fit in. Damn country drivers, don’t know how to read a stop sign.

The Carsons lived twenty minutes out of town (on the outskirts of the middle of nowhere, maybe), down a bumpy road that didn’t have a name and that Luke assured her was easier to drive when it was dirt rather than mud. She saw the barn first, a long red one surrounded by those white fences. Horses grazed the fields closer to the road.

“You have horses?”

“This is Kentucky. Everyone has horses. Anyway, most of these aren’t ours, we just board them. We have one of those romantic failing family horse farms. It’s called Tara.”

“It’s called what?”

“Tara. The house from Gone with the Wind ? You really are a Yankee, aren’t you?”

“Even I know that’s Georgia.”

“Hmm. Pretty smart for a Yankee.”

They drove past a small sign attached to the fence: WILD ROSE FARM AND STABLES.

“Wild Rose?”

“For my mom,” Luke said. He had mentioned that she’d died from breast cancer when he was pretty young. “My dad bought it for her when they got married.”

“He bought her a horse farm? Wow.”

“Well, he bought the land. They built the house. Is that just a Kentucky thing? Having land is a big deal.”

When Mal got married, they moved into a big shiny new house in a gated community. There was a yard, but she had never worked in it. Maybe the land was a Kentucky thing, after all.

“Don’t get all dreamy, Mal. It’s not as romantic as all that, at least not anymore. It’s crumbling and nearly bankrupt.”

Mal gazed out the window as they bumped past the horses, coats shining, looking up at the noise of the car and shaking their manes. “I’ve never been on a horse,” she whispered.

Luke’s father’s house did look like a romantic, crumbling farm house. The black shutters were a little dull, and the yard was more mud than grass. But it was a beautiful house, small but sturdy, with a big wraparound porch that had a weather-beaten wooden rocker and a porch swing. There were lace curtains in all the windows and flowering bushes on either side of the walkway—wild roses, perhaps. From the porch, she could see a smaller, plain house behind the barn, and just as red. The air smelled like there was a fireplace roaring somewhere inside. The whole thing looked like a postcard, cozy and welcoming and warm.

It was not, unfortunately, warm. Miss Libby—call her Libby, she said—met them at the door, bustling and blinking back tears, hustling them inside before they caught their death. Then she bustled off to the kitchen, chasing after a dinging timer and admonishing Luke to make Mal feel at home. Libby was really fast for such a tiny, wide woman.

Mal wished she had listened to Luke and kept her jeans on as she tried to back closer to the fireplace without losing her grip on Luke’s arm. She fingered the cheap metal ring she wore. It definitely wasn’t gold, although this one wasn’t turning her finger green like the one they got out of the vending machine. Still, there was no way anyone would think it was real.

“I don’t know about this. I don’t want to impose on your family. I don’t know them, I can’t—”

“Hush. I told you it’d be fine. They would do anything for the woman I love.”

“Can’t we just say I’m a friend who needs a place to stay?”

“Now what fun would the truth be? Anyway, this will make it easier for them to get to know you, and once they do, they’ll love you and do anything for you purely on your own merits and not because you tried to tame the wild beast that is Luke Carson.”

As he said the last, he puffed out his chest and squeezed her tighter. She laughed up into his green eyes. Luke had always been able to do that, ever since he tried to pick her up at that fund-raiser in Bethesda almost a year ago. He teased her, but that laugh in his eyes always made her feel, well, comfortable. Good thing she had had her fill of charming, handsome men. Otherwise, she would be in big trouble.

Suddenly a fiery blond streak came charging through the living room and launched itself into his arms. Mal was almost knocked over by the force, but then she found herself clutched into the embrace as well.

“Whoa! Mal, meet my little sister, Katie.”

“Luke, you jerk! What is this about you bringing home a fiancée?” The blonde turned to Mal. “Hi there. I don’t know how you put up with an animal like my brother, but I love you for it. And if you hurt him, I’ll break your legs.”

Kate—Katie—was as tall as Luke, maybe an inch taller, and she was long and lean. Mal was pretty sure she was heavier than Katie, but she decided that when the time came for the real story to come out, she was going to be far away from this one. Preferably in a different state. “Hi, I’m Mal.” She shook Katie’s outstretched hand.

“A firm handshake, I like it. OK, enough nicey-nice, let’s eat.”

Katie led them into the dining room, which was much more formal than Mal was expecting from the country-comforting interior she saw, not to mention the downright rundown state of the outside of the house. The table sat six, and over a gleaming dark wood tabletop was a brocade table runner in fall hues of red, orange, and green.

Apparently Mal was not the only one impressed. Luke let out a whistle. “Miss Libby went all out. What are those, napkin rings?”

Luke reached for her hand and guided her to a seat next to his. She was grateful for the comfort and she didn’t let it go, not even when he tried to pull the chair out for her. “Sorry,” she murmured when she realized what she was doing.

“You’re OK, baby,” he said, and pecked her on the cheek. Mal blushed, not sure how such public displays of affection would go over in this formal setting. Well, formal except for the fact that Mal was the only one not wearing jeans.

She looked up as a chair scraped across the hardwood floor. A tall, imposing man stood and nodded at her. She could definitely see him in Luke—the slope of the nose, the high cheekbones, the green of the eyes. But where Luke had laughter in his eyes, this man revealed nothing but weariness, and maybe a little boredom, like this was nothing he had not seen before. How many women had Luke brought home?

“Dad, this is Mallory, my fiancée. Mal, this is my father, Cal.”

He nodded, then nodded at her seat, indicating she should sit. Luke leaned to her ear and said, “What did I tell you, nothing to it.”

Mal smiled meekly at Cal, then studiously admired the details on the napkin ring.

Just as she was about to make an insightful comment on making crafts by hand versus machine, which she was sure the horse farmer and the charming bartender would be really interested in, the door to the kitchen swung open and Libby’s ample bottom came through.

“Oh, Mallory! Mal, right? OK, let me put down this ridiculous platter and give you another hug.” Cal stood to take the plate from her and placed it in front of himself, at the head of the table. Before Mal could say anything, before she could really even stand properly, she was enveloped in strong, soft arms, her back rubbed in that maternal way that brought tears to the eyes of people who didn’t get enough mothering. She blinked hard.

“Hi,” she said into the shoulder, inhaling some old-lady rose perfume that went completely against the vivaciousness of the woman holding her. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Miss Libby pulled back, blushing, and cupped Mal’s cheeks in her hands. “Well, don’t believe a word of it. We’re thrilled to have you here. You must be one special gal to have tamed this wild one.” She reached over one hand and patted Luke’s cheek. One hand on each of their cheeks, she looked at Mal, then at Luke, then back again. “Aren’t you two just the sweetest—” Libby’s eyes misted over. Mal looked to Luke for help, which was not forthcoming. “Luke, if your mother could see you . . .”

“That’s enough,” Cal practically barked from his place at the head of the table. “Let’s eat.”

“All right, all right. Katie, come help me bring out the rest of the food.”

“Can I help with anything?” Mal asked.

Katie laughed. “No, dearie,” she said in a pretty good imitation of Miss Libby’s voice, “you’re the guest of honor and you won’t lift a finger. Whereas Katie could use a few lessons in being a proper lady so she’ll bow and scrape and serve the men like all good women of the twenty-first century ought to.”

Katie let out a very unladylike snort, but followed Libby through the swinging doors. Mal meticulously unrolled her napkin from the ring and spread it over her lap.

“So, Mr. Carson, I saw that you have horses here?”

Cal looked up at her, then at Luke, his eyes narrowing a little. “Call me Cal,” he said to her.

When he didn’t offer anything else, Mal continued, “I was telling Luke that this is my first time in Kentucky, and I can’t believe how beautiful it is. This house is amazing. How old is it? It looks like it’s at least a hundred years old, but Luke said you built it? I love old houses, I feel like there are so many stories inside . . .” She trailed off when she realized Cal was staring at her.

“Your girl sure talks a lot,” he said to Luke. Great first impression, Mal.

She turned her head and said meekly to Luke, “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, baby, ol’ Cal here must’ve just left his manners in the barn.”

“Buried under the shit you should be helping me muck out.”

Well. That was something, a nice pre-dinner guilt trip. Mal was about to cut the tension with several comments about how little she knew about horses, when the kitchen door swung open again, but it wasn’t Katie or Libby. It was all Mal could do to stifle a gasp. He was a big guy, a real-man kind of man. The kind who split wood for fun, or whatever people in the country do to show how strong they are. His strength radiated from under his plaid flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal powerful forearms. His jeans were well worn, distressed from use, not from the factory. His brown hair was darker than Luke’s, and shaggier, like he needed a haircut. It suited him. Mal blinked, shocked by his careless, unconscious manliness.

Of course, nothing was manlier than the set of floral potholder mitts he was using to carry a steaming bowl of potatoes.

He put the bowl down on an empty trivet and nodded to Luke. Was Luke the only man in this family who spoke?

“Keith, this is my fiancée, Mal. Mal, my older brother, Keith.”

Huh. Luke hadn’t mentioned having a brother. But there was no mistaking the family resemblance. The lines around his bright green eyes matched Luke’s, from too much sun or too much laughter. No, Mal thought, not too much laughter. His eyes were like Cal’s, a little tired and a little sad.

“Hi.” She stood up and reached out a hand to him. He extended his hand to her, then retracted it fast, pulling the oven mitt off. His gaze locked on hers, searching, maybe a little suspicious. She broke the handshake first, pulling her hand away a little fast, and swinging wide to indicate . . .