Home for Good: Three Creeks, Montana

By Merri Maywether

He's the hometown hero. She's the small-town sweetheart he left behind.

When Katie's high school sweetheart, Brock, severed ties with her, she thought it was the end of the world. They were supposed to marry and live happily ever after. With some help from her friends and family, she healed, grew up, and moved on. There were some bumps along the way, but Katie reached the point where she could say she was happy with her life. Then Brock moved back to Three Creeks and turned her world upside down.

Retired Army Colonel Brock Buchanan knows how to go into a battle. He's served on numerous tours and helped rebuild communities under the enemy's nose. They say love is a battlefield, so he should have the upper hand when he returns to Three Creeks to claim what he foolishly left behind all those years ago.

When Brock and Katie reconnect at a high school reunion, they take a trip to the past. Brock sees a new future for them. Katie has 20/20 hindsight of everything that went wrong. Everyone in Three Creeks is asking the same question. Does Brock have enough love to rekindle the romance he left behind?

Read this heartwarming, small town, clean romance and find out why Brock wants to return home for good.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Merri Maywether
• Release date: Jun 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393880424

Merri Maywether

Twenty years ago, Merri Maywether went on a date with a very sweet man from Montana. Three weeks later they were engaged and they have lived happily ever after. This is Merri taking over the biography section...When I write my romance novels, the characters are the people that I see on a day to day basis. Up here in what I like to call the far, far north, people work hard, live fiercely, and love knowing that they have a community of people behind them. We support each other through the hardships and celebrate the victories. The best part...similar to the characters in my stories, at the end of a long day or a rough week we have stories to share for the years to come.

Book preview

1

The Business Whisperer

Katie had barely walked in the door of Wendy’s Café when the eternally young owner greeted her. Did you hear that Brock Buchanan’s coming home? Katie read Wendy’s face to determine how to respond. Was that expectation or warning in her friend’s voice?

Brock was a sore subject with Katie, and everybody knew it. Close to twenty-five years ago, she was head over heels in love with him. From the outside looking in, people could have said the same thing about him. It took everyone by surprise when he broke up with her his last semester of college.

At the time, they said, He’ll come to his senses. But he didn’t. He did the opposite. Brock cut off all communication with her. There were no calls, or letters, or surprise visits when he came home to visit his parents. When they broke up, Katie had to take what he said at face value. She didn’t fit in with his lifestyle.

Wendy peered cautiously over her horn-rimmed glasses. Her coffee-brown eyes hid the information Katie wanted to know. Katie fiddled with her messy blond braid. Her perfectly groomed eyebrows wrinkled in her attempt to find some hidden nugget of information in Wendy’s expression. They stood there in a mini stare-off.

Wendy pulled away and chuckled. Ha! You’re just as bad as me. She set an empty coffee cup on the counter in front of where she waited for Katie to join her.

Katie loved stopping by Wendy’s Café after work. The desserts pleased the palate. It was Wendy’s personality that warmed everyone’s hearts and had them stopping in for that home-away-from-home feeling. Wendy owned the diner-style restaurant but acted like every person who walked through the doors had stepped into her living room to stop by for a chat. Sometimes, she passed on the news of births, deaths, and weddings. Other times, she’d argue with the newspaper. Why are you telling me what I don’t want to hear?

Katie’s chestnut brown eyes scanned the cafe that seated roughly fifty people. Going with the spirit of the upcoming all-school reunion, Wendy had redecorated the café. Tables were decorated with either red gingham or plain red tablecloths. Mini vases held sprays of silk flower blossoms. A variety of pictures of the current sports teams and extracurricular groups lined the walls. Some were filled with students in the typical group photo pose. Others had them in the middle of a play or performing. Katie’s favorite picture was taken by someone who caught the line of trumpet players in a perfect row. Wendy’s Café felt more like being in mom’s kitchen than a restaurant.

At first, Katie couldn’t believe her eyes. She was the only patron. The emptiness bothered Katie. She couldn’t be the only person in town who tried to sneak away from their desk for a piece of pie. Was she the only one tempted by the aroma of cinnamon and vanilla mixed in with the after-effect of fried hamburger?

Where were the women who stopped by for a pre-dinner cup of tea to go with Wendy’s contest-winning pie?

Wendy knew Katie well enough to answer the question before she spoke it. I’m blaming the reunion coming up next week. People are busy getting ready for the return of long-lost friends or family.

That’s exactly why Katie was there. She had to get away from the double, triple, and quadruple verifications. If Katie had to hear about strategic port-a-potty placement one more time, she’d tell someone what they could do with the toilet paper inventory.

Because there wasn’t anybody to rush her, Katie lingered over the menu that had been updated since the last time she visited. Wendy created a border with pictures she had taken of the cafe and the people who worked there over the years.

Generations of high school students worked part-time at Wendy’s Cafe after school. Katie found the picture of herself at the bottom of the dessert page. Her head bobbed to the left, and she held out an empty tray with a flourish that would make Vanna White say, ooh. She smiled at the reflection. Her eye caught a dish Wendy had added to the menu. Fried pickles? When did you start making those?

Ross had them when he visited the Flathead. He liked them so much; we thought we’d make them here and see if people would try them. Wendy pointed toward the bottom of the dessert section of the menu. We also added mini funnel cakes to give it a state fair joined the comfort food feel. What do you think?"

The back of the menu had a picture of a carousel and a list of state fair foods. It was cute, but something was missing. Wendy probably took Katie’s silence as permission to continue talking because she said, We can slice the caramel apples on a plate, so people can share if they’d like. And kids love corn dogs.

Katie took a deep breath. I’m getting heartburn just looking at the menu.

Do you think it’s too much? The pride in Wendy’s voice turned to worry.

She looked over the top of the menu. People will love it. Good for you for changing things up.

Nobody’s ordered anything from that side of the menu yet.

Did they look at the menu?

What do you mean? Wendy tilted her head and regarded the menu as though the change in perspective would help her understand what Katie had said.

Everybody has your menu memorized. I honestly believe they don’t read it. Katie explained. I bet if you posted the items on the last page as the special, they’d be more inclined to read it.

It’s that simple.

Watch. Katie picked up a fluorescent dry-erase marker from the cup beside the register. She used it to change the wording on the menu board. In dotted letters, she wrote: Ten percent discount off anything ordered from the last page, and drew a Ferris wheel and some stick people on the bottom border of the sign.

She turned the sign for Wendy to see. This should make a difference.

Wendy shrugged. Sure. The worse that could happen is Ross gets to make more funnel cakes.

Katie returned the sign back in its place in front of the door. She returned to her seat. Tell Ross to get those pickles ready for frying.

Ten minutes later, two people came through the door. Ross peeked through the open area between the kitchen and serving area. Now we’ll see if Katie is the business whisperer.

Wendy waved him away. Good to see you, Randy. Do you want your usual? Randy stood in front of the sign. His head bounced as his eyes moved from word to word. They knew he had finished reading the sign when his head remained still. Nah, I think I might look at the menu and try something from the back page.

Ross and Wendy exchanged open-mouthed smiles of awe. Katie’s eyes beamed with pride. She knew people. Or at least she knew what motivated them. Before Ross disappeared into the kitchen, he said, Your dinner is on the house tonight.

The satisfaction of being right made Katie’s tea taste sweeter.

2

Homecoming

As soon as he opened the front door of his family’s town house, Brock Buchanan sensed his mother’s presence.

It smelled of lavender and vanilla. He smiled at the familiar fragrance.

He was home.

His mahogany colored eyes searched for the source and found it within seconds.

In the corner, beneath a window, his mother had plugged in a white, ceramic oil diffuser. Brock half expected to see her come around the corner while wiping her damp hands on a dish towel.

Of course, she wasn’t there. She was with his father at the farmhouse.

Brock set his keys on the table by the door and explored the house. After living in warmer climates for so long, the cool air felt odd against his closely cut hair. Until he got used to the change, he’d be better off wearing a baseball cap.

The couch was the same one that was there when he left twenty-five years ago. He bet the right back leg still wobbled. A smile came with the remembrance. Brock and his older brother Garth broke it when they were in elementary school. Their mother ran to the store for something. Alone to do whatever they wanted, the boys played football in the house. Brock threw the perfect spiral, and Garth tumbled into the back of the couch hard enough to make it topple. The leg broke, and they formed an alliance that lasted until they were in high school.

Brock made a note to himself. The couch would be the first thing to go when he got settled. The flowers and ruffles did not match his style. He preferred the minimalist style of a leather sofa with a matching chair.

Photos of the family farm at different seasons lined the walls of the three-bedroom, two-bath house. Brock opened the master bedroom. It was where he was supposed to sleep. The house was his. He didn’t feel right sleeping in what had been his parents’ bed for all his life. That would be replaced with his sleep number bed, which was in storage for the time being.

Brock inventoried the house. Everything would have to go. Of course, he’d do it one piece at a time. Otherwise, he’d hurt his mother’s feelings. His brother, Garth, probably convinced her too that Brock moved away because he thought he could do better than his parents. It wasn’t that at all. The farm wasn’t big enough for both of the Buchanan boys. So, Brock took his knowledge and used it to help those who needed it.

His stomach grumbled. Brock looked down at his G-Shock watch. It had been a while since he needed something that sturdy. Now he wore it because the weight was natural to him. He focused to reduce the tremor in his hands. The shaking was stronger when his blood sugar dropped.

It was 7:00. Brock almost forgot the summer sky in Montana couldn’t be used to read the time. The sky would be bright until 9:00.

Even though he knew his mother loved to cook, Brock didn’t want to greet his mother like a teenager coming home from school and asking for something to eat. He’d visit one of the two places he saw on his drive into town. From there, he’d stop by the farm and tell his parents he had arrived.

Brock walked the three blocks to Wendy’s Cafe on the edge of Main Street.

On his way there, he noticed not much had changed since he left after high school. The houses on the tree-lined street were always well-maintained. Flowers dotted the edges of the houses with color.

He couldn’t be too sure, but Brock thought he saw Katie in the window of one of the homes. The curtain moved as though someone had been there seconds prior.

Brock craned his neck for a better look. He would have sworn he felt Katie’s eyes on him. Hoping he’d get another chance to see her, he waited a second.

The view of the window remained the same.

He sighed.

His time to reconnect with her would come. When it did, he’d embrace it. Until then, it was better that he resumed his course and got some dinner.

He felt prickles on the back of his neck. It was like someone was watching him. Brock stopped at the corner for one last glance back at the house. The window was the same as he had seen it when he was in front of it.

With the distance between them, Brock allowed himself to wonder. Did Katie still think about him?

The ache in his chest urged him to go back to the house. He let a good woman slip through his fingers. Everything in him wanted to rush and correct his mistakes.

When Brock left for college, he sided with foresight.

Everyone warned him that he’d lose the woman he loved when he went overseas. So, he ended things with his high school sweetheart, promising himself he’d never look back.

Now he was back home with the uncomfortable awareness that regret punched harder than hubris.

Youthful arrogance shaded Brock's vision for the future. His head told him he needed time to lay the foundation for the future.

Experience taught him it was possible to repair a burned bridge. He had done it with a crew in Afghanistan. It took a team, time, and tenacity.

Committed to his purpose, Brock continued his course onto Main Street. It still looked like the small towns in the magazines. Several businesses took over the bottom level of the old hotel. The storefronts were updated but matched the architecture of the historic building.

His mind reeled at the contradiction between what he remembered and what was in front of him. His parents told Brock things had changed. He assumed it got more touristy. Somehow, the community of Three Creeks stayed true to its roots while moving forward in time.

He popped into the cafe across the street from City Hall. The menu board placed in front of the door advised him to take a seat. Beside it, a chalk sign offered a discount for the food served on the last page. Several people seated at tables with red and white checkered tablecloths threw surreptitious glances in his direction. Brock ignored them and took a seat at the counter. Out of habit, he removed his baseball cap, set it at the edge of his place setting, and turned his sunglasses around so the lenses were on the back of his head.

Familiar with the new guy-in-town routine, Brock endured their silent questions. They’d know who he was soon enough.

Wendy Pearson placed a glass of water in front of him. "I’ll be.