Any Man of Mine (Holmes Crossing Book 5) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Foreword

  Other connections

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Afterword

  Coming Soon!

  Be the first - get free books

  Read a sample of The Only Best Place

  Read a Sample of All In One Place

  Read a Sample of This Place

  About the Author

  Any Man of Mine

  A Holmes Crossing book

  Carolyne Aarsen

  Contents

  Foreword

  Other connections

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Afterword

  Coming Soon!

  Be the first - get free books

  Read a sample of The Only Best Place

  Read a Sample of All In One Place

  Read a Sample of This Place

  About the Author

  Foreword

  Is the Significant Male in your life (hereinafter referred to as SM) a man or guy?

  Take this quiz and find out.

  1. If your SM loses the remote control for the television does he:

  a. Shrug his shoulders and say philosophically, “I can always get up and use the hands God gave me?

  b. Start scrambling through the couch cushions, driving behind the bookcases and, after missing two innings of baseball, a portion of the stock-car race and the fix-it-channel, all of which he had been watching simultaneously, finally contents himself with holding a calculator and pointing at the single channel he’s watching?

  2. If your car breaks down your SM will:

  a. check the tires, the oil, the fan belt-and when he can see nothing can be done, call roadside assistance.

  b. Kick the tires, pop the hood, and immediately start dismantling the engine, all the while complaining that he used to know how to fix this before they staring using all those imported computer parts.

  3. If you were to ask your SM what he’s thinking about he will:

  a. Give you a fond look and reply, “You, of course.”

  b. Blink his eyes, frown and mutter, “ - say what?”

  If most of your answers contain more than one ‘b’ response, congratulations. You’ve got yourself a guy.

  I’d like to dedicate this book to all the working guys in the world; the guys who pack a lunch every day, try to get the grit out from under their nails every night and keep this world going with their ordinary work, all the while trying to figure out what a woman really wants.

  Other connections

  Follow me on Book Bub to find out about any new releases coming up:

  https://www.bookbub.com/authors/carolyne-aarsen

  Or my Amazon Author Page here:

  https://www.amazon.com/author/carolyneaarsen

  1

  "If I have to drop a quarter off one more set of abs," I hefted two four-litre jugs of milk onto the conveyor belt of the grocery store with a grunt "--punch one more stomach--," I followed it with two jumbo sized boxes of breakfast cereal “--trip…over...one...more...saddle--." I punctuated each word with the toss of a bag of chips, peanuts and sunflower seeds. "--I am throwing an old-fashioned, fully feminine hissy fit." I glared at Tracy, who stood behind me in the line at the cash register, daring her to deny me my well-earned pique.

  "Just stay away from the high C on the scream," was all Tracy said. "You're more of an alto than a soprano."

  As my best friend, Tracy would feign sympathy with my rants against my brothers, but I knew she was never fully on my side. From the first day she stayed overnight at my parents’ ranch and had been bombarded with my brothers’ spitballs as she came into the kitchen, my dad's booming voice yelling at her to come on in and join us for dinner and my mom's yelling at my dad to stop yelling, Tracy had fallen head over heels in love with my family.

  "I still can't figure out why each of my 33, 32 and 29-year-old brothers still want to live at home," I continued.

  "You're really venting this morning," Tracy commented with a wry tone.

  "Just getting started," I returned. It was Tuesday, the second day in a week that had begun badly, the first day was yesterday. Today wasn't looking so good, either.

  The flat tire I'd had on the way to work didn't help, nor did the fact that I'd had to change it wearing high heels and a narrow skirt on the side of a quiet gravel road.

  "You still live at home and you're 27," Tracy pointed out.

  "At least I, at one time, had plans to move out." I allowed a flicker of self-pity to creep into my voice. "Then Dad had his heart attack."

  "How is your dad doing?"

  "It will still be a few weeks before he's back to normal. The doctor also said often people suffer deep depression after a heart attack. So I'm still hoping and praying he'll perk up and get more involved in the ranch."

  Four weeks ago, my dad, Arnold Hemstead, had collapsed at the auction mart and had been rushed to emergency. He was diagnosed with a cardiac infarction, spent ten days in the hospital and came home to three anxious sons. And me.

  Neil, Chip and Carter hovered, helped and catered to my dad for a thoughtful 36 minutes then they went back to their welding, fixing and farming, knowing I'd take over.

  "I caught a glimmer of my old dad the other day," I continued. "He's getting more interested in what's happening. He asked me if I was unloading bales for Carter next week."

  "Are you?"

  I dismissed her comment with an exasperated eye-roll. I learned long ago to keep my nose in my business and in the house, away from anything to do with machinery, tractors and animals. The few times I offered my help and didn't understand what needed to be done, my brothers' method of informing me of my mistakes was to repeat the instructions verbatim and increase the decibels.

  Such cozy bonding time that was, working with the guys.

  "Okay, I'm guessing that's no." Tracy picked up one of the magazines lined up by the counter. "Sounds like you should take this quiz--‘Is the male in your life a man or a guy?’"

  "Guy, guy, guy and absolutely guy." The only not-guy in my life had been a few assorted boyfriends, the last one being Anthony.

  However, I broke up with him in the fall and had found no one who appealed to me since.

  And Wyatt? Where did he fit?

  In the past, I told myself. Even after all this time memories of him could still create a twist in my heart.

  "Okay, I sense we're not done with the sisterly pique yet." Tracy straightened the magazine and tilted me a grin. "Are you going to tell me which one of the guys in your life triggered this latest outburst?"

  I pulled from the painful past into the annoying present. "Chip. Hands down or in his case up in the air so he can flex his lateral deltoids." I sighed. "And don't I sound like I know too much about that."

  "So what did Chip do to earn this attack?"

  Where to start, where to start?

  "Let me set the
stage," I said, watching the cashier bag the trans fat-loaded food. "It's Monday at 6:30, and Monday usually means a cranky supervisor, cranky foster parents and cranky foster kids who've had two more days worth of complaints to pile on me. One deranged biological father threatening me with a lawsuit if I didn't return his children to him the minute he steps out of jail, two runaways over the weekend and another case worker who won't return my calls. I come home tired and ready for a cup of tea and a smidgen of sympathy. I step onto the porch and stumble over Chip's roping saddle parked square in front of the door. As I try to gain my balance, I end up tangled up in a set of reins and fall in a most ungraceful heap on Chip's greasy coveralls. End result--a cleaning bill, bruised hip and a broken heel on the new boots you and I spent an hour and a half looking for in West Edmonton Mall. So you have a stake in my misery, considering all the grumbling you did on the two-hour drive back from said mall."

  I could see from the faint twitch of Tracy's lips that, while as a friend and fellow woman she felt sorry for me, as a normal human being with a dose of guy genes herself she could picture my ungainly fall and see the humour in it.

  Growing up with three brothers who revelled in their "guyness" had provided me with me lots of ranting fodder, but Tracy often took their side. Other than a frequently absent mother, Tracy had grown up on her own. The noise and busyness in our house was a welcome change for her and she enjoyed it.

  And she enjoyed Holmes Crossing. So when she graduated from her vet tech course she had returned to Holmes Crossing out of choice. I came back because it was one of the few places I could get a job in my chosen field of social work. There had been government cutbacks, and while I would have preferred to work in Edmonton, Calgary, Red Deer or any of the larger Albertan cities, Holmes Crosssing had been a temporary option. Besides, I could live at home cheaply, which helped me pay off my student loans and get a decent savings account, AKA "escape" account, started.

  And then I met Wyatt.

  I sucked in a deep breath. Seriously. Why was I going back to that? Four years now and I still felt like he was hovering on the edges of my mind. Unwelcome hovering, but showing up none-the-less. Maybe it was because of Anthony. Breaking up with him had been necessary, but hard. He was a nice person. Just not my person.

  I handed the cashier my debit card and gave the groceries a once-over, making sure I didn't miss any vital items such as chocolate-covered peanuts, pop or something equally nutritious.

  "So...moving on to the more mundane things in your life. What are you doing the rest of this afternoon?" Tracy asked as she put her own groceries on the conveyor belt. I glanced at the fresh lettuce, cucumbers, green peppers and fruit, and suffered a moment of grocery envy. Tracy's husband, a "man" in my estimation, didn't think eating salad would diminish his manhood and gladly ate the occasional meatless meal without thinking he would faint when he left the table.

  "After bringing you to the clinic, picking up my dry cleaning, getting my shoe repaired and dropping my flat tire off at my brother's mechanic shop?" I asked, trying for one last bid of sympathy.

  "Yeah." She seemed distracted so no joy there.

  "I have to head back to the office to give the other 'guy' in my life, my beloved supervisor, Casey Braeshears, a few moments of my time." I gathered up the Super-Size-Me groceries and swung the last bag into the cart, taking my frustrations out on Neil's nacho chips.

  "Forget to paper clip your invoices again?" Tracy asked, in mock horror.

  "I'm thinking it's something worse, like letting that teenager I had to drag home from a party borrow a government-issued pen without making him return it." I gave her a resigned look. "The budget, you know, doesn't cover these major, unforeseen expenses."

  "He still talk about leaving?" Tracy asked.

  "Unfortunately, no." It was the tantalizing thought of my annoying boss quitting like he had promised for the past six months that had kept me parked at my current job. Thinking I could take over from him. That and the fact I still had a boyfriend.

  But I broke up with Anthony, Casey back-pedalled on the quitting thing and just as I was making plans to go, my father had his heart attack. "Life is what happens when you are making other plans,” the old saying goes.

  "But he's sticking around until he retires," I continued. "Which means I need to cast my professional eye further afield."

  "Not for a while, though, right?" Tracy asked, a concerned frown on her face as she waited for her groceries to get bagged.

  "I don't know how much longer I can last with Casey," I said, slowly edging toward a conversation I knew she wouldn't like. "And I think the boys are getting better at managing on their own." While not exactly a nose-growing whopper, it wasn't exactly true. But I figured I was just enabling them by staying as long as I had.

  "I can't believe you would do that. Besides me, what is in the big city that isn't in Holmes Crossing?" Tracy asked pretending innocence.

  "Men?"

  "C'mon. I think you could find a few 'men' scattered through Holmes Crossing if you looked hard enough."

  My eye was drawn to the neon yellow of a reflector strip glinting back at me from a hard hat worn by a man behind Tracy.

  His grease-stained plaid jacket, torn blue jeans and work boots showed that this was a working man. He wore sunglasses that hid his eyes, and in spite of his full beard and moustache, I caught the smirk on his mouth, the arrogant tilt of his head that showed he was also a full-fledged guy.

  That and the rolled up motorcycle magazine he tapped against his thigh.

  Then he lowered his sunglasses enough so I could glimpse his bloodshot eyes, and then, incredibly, he gave me a slow wink.

  I gave him my best so-not-interested look, then turned my attention back to Tracy. My case was rested.

  "Holmes Crossing is guy-haven,” I grumbled, raising my voice for the benefit of the guy dropping his magazine in front of the cashier. "There's not a decent single man to be found anywhere in this town. I've lost faith in the whole 'seek and ye shall find' concept," I said as Tracy loaded her groceries into my cart.

  "You haven't had much of a chance to exercise that faith with the hours you've been working the past year," Tracy protested as she pushed the cart toward the exit.

  In spite of my momentary pique with the guy now at the till, I couldn't help a glance his way, surprised to see him looking directly at me. Or so it seemed from the direction of his sunglasses.

  What was worse, he was smirking, as if he had expected me to give him a second look.

  Which I stupidly had.

  I turned away, flustered, then angry at myself.

  The electric doors of the supermarket swooshed open ahead of us. "When was the last time you were on a date?" Tracy was asking.

  I pulled my attention back to her. "Does sitting beside Dr. Harvey in church count?"

  Tracy ran her fingers through her dark hair and angled me an exasperated look. "Danielle, the man is 60."

  "He's widowed and he's a gentleman," I offered. "Of course, I don't know why I'm fussing about not having a man in my life. I wouldn't have the time for the proper care and maintenance of a relationship if I did."

  "You need to let Casey know you're not a machine," Tracy continued, ignoring my feeble attempt at humour. "That you can't keep working these obscene hours. None of the other social workers in the department do."

  "It's not just Casey. My dad and brothers seem to think supper appears out of thin air every day. The boys are even childish enough to believe in the laundry fairy, who comes and does their clothes every day."

  "You should get them to help more."

  "I should also try to bring about world peace and reconcile every broken home."

  "You are working on the last part."

  "I might have a better chance at a city job if I can show how invaluable I am here." I grabbed the handle of the cart and traversed the parking lot.

  "Why not tell Casey to hire another social worker?"

  "Like that's happe
ning. He's got to submit his budget for the next fiscal year and he's squeezing water out of coins to maintain his cheapskate status. I wonder if he gets frequent flier miles for every penny he saves the department." We rattled our way to my waiting car, the sun shining benevolently down on us. It was spring in the country and usually the lengthening days and the increasing warmth brought out joy and happiness in me. But work had kept me too busy to take time to appreciate the freshness of the air and the unfurling of new green leaves.

  Tracy's car was getting an oil change and she had needed a ride from work to the grocery store, so I had quit work a half hour early to help her out. Casey must have received wind of my defection, and this little meeting was his way of wringing out every possible minute of work from me.

  But now I paused, wondering when and how I should tell her.

  Like pulling a bandaid off, I told myself. Make it painful but quick.

  "You may as well know I'm already looking at another job." I rattled out the words faster than the wobble on my grocery cart. "It's regular hours, and I'll be reporting to a normal boss."

  "Good for you. It's about time. Who is this for?"

  "It's for a private adoption agency." I waited a moment, gathering my strength to drop the next bomb. "It's in the city. In Edmonton."

  I didn't want to see Tracy's face. So I pushed on, keeping my eyes on my trusty Honda Civic, fifteen years old and still going strong, thanks to Chip's mechanical abilities and body filler, courtesy of Neil. My brothers had their good points.

  "But that's a two-hour drive away," she wailed

  "Depends on who's driving," I offered. "Chip's done it in one hour ten minutes."