Autumn Renewal

By M.A. Jewell

Devastated by her cheating fiance, operating room nurse Poochie Thibodeaux returns to her not-so-well-loved hometown and runs headlong into her high school flame. Guarding her soul against new wounds, she resists his seductive charm--with limited success. 

 

Horse trainer Jack Holland wagers all--his business and his heart--for a second chance with Poochie, the woman he never got over. Just when he hopes for their future, a friend's treachery costs him his livelihood and worse, makes him a prime suspect in a criminal investigation.

 

Only faith in each other will overcome loss and betrayal. Will it be enough?

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.A. Jewell
• Release date: May 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9780999202128

M.A. Jewell

M.A. Jewell started adulting as an operating room nurse. An avid romance reader for many years, she traded in her reading addiction for a pen to write in her favorite genre, romance. Now, she can’t stop. Recently transplanted to Dallas, Texas, she enjoys her own happily ever after with her biggest fan and supporter, her husband, Jim. Their two sons have fledged and married lovely, competent women. And if you have an extra twenty minutes, go ahead and ask about her four perfect grandchildren. To get early details on releases, sign up for her Precious Gems newsletter at www.majewell.com     Connect with M.A. Jewell on social media: Facebook         Bookbub        Instagram        Goodreads       Twitter

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Acknowledgements

Thank you to Ann Pullum for her professional eye. She definitely improved this novella. Another thank you to Lauralynn Elliott for a superb proofread. A special shout out to Lizzie Starr, owner of Cat and Doxie Author Services, for her excellent assistance getting this story formatted and out into the world.

Additional gratitude to Curtis McCullough, farrier, and horseman extraordinaire, and wife Susan J. McCullough, MSN, RN, for their valuable advice on thoroughbred racing, and to Krista M. Eckhoff J.D. for her legal expertise, and I can’t forget Darin Crisman, Account Manager at Haas & Wilkerson Insurance Inc. for his insights into equine insurance fraud.

Despite the generosity of these fine folks, I still may have screwed up. Any errors belong to me!

Chapter 1

With angry tears blurring her vision, Poochie Thibodeau kept a white-knuckled grip on a BMW key, carving deep gouges into her convertible’s pearlescent hood. His BMW. The discordant metal-on-metal shrieks gave a cathartic voice to her pain. She twisted a dot onto an exclamation point.

Fine, scintillating paint chips surrounded the few letters. For an instant, the simple beauty of the glitter hypnotized her. Just as her life’s plans had disappeared in one horrified gasp, the next mindless breeze would carry the lustrous flakes away. She pressed a thumb and forefinger to her swollen eyes, trying to clear the polluted vision stuck in her head. I’ve been such a fool.

With the top down, the car’s creamy interior glowed under the parking lot’s faux gas lamp, and as inspiration struck, Poochie dried her fingers on her nubby green sweater. Dusting the alabaster leather seat in the lustrous sprinkles gave her a perverse satisfaction, and she indulged a moment, imagining the scene when Dr. Rafe Sharp discovered her message.

Behind her, a familiar, long-suffering sigh broke the silence of the wee hours. Poochie scrubbed at her face, suddenly embarrassed over her hysterical lapse. Just a couple more minutes, Mama.

It’s cold, sugar. And late. Her mother toted another box to her small sedan, which already burst with Poochie’s few must-have belongings.

For the first time, Poochie noticed her mother’s quiet sneakers. Mama must have witnessed her childish act of vandalism without saying a word. She had gone through her own share of drama with Daddy. More than most, she likely understood Poochie’s mental state.

Sliding the key fob into her pocket, Poochie hesitated. It would be a shame to waste all that leftover glitter. She extracted the key blade from the remote and scooped the remaining ground chips into the empty slot. Mama, warm up the car? I’ll make a final pass through the condo and be down in a minute.

Mama tested the trunk against the boxes. Bring something to tie down the latch so this thing doesn’t bounce all the way to Monroe Falls, will you?

Sure, Poochie tossed over her shoulder.

The autumn chill seemed to come out of nowhere, and she quickened her pace. Rather than wait for the elevator, she took the stairs to the spacious Burlington, Vermont condominium she had shared with Rafe for the last two years. Scanning an off-white sectional and marble-topped occasional tables, and finding nothing worth taking, Poochie did the same in the master suite and bathroom.

As it had while she had packed up, a mahogany jewelry armoire in the closet’s dressing area drew her eye. She had no desire to look inside. The velvet-lined drawers held premier pieces from their world travels—and supposedly special moments together. Each gift held a memory she no longer cared to relive. Her modest, pre-Rafe accessories filled a shoebox on Mama’s back seat.

Satisfied she had all she wanted from the apartment, she paced to the kitchen in search of twine. The junk bin in the center island held a roll of sturdy wire. She pushed the drawer closed in a thoughtful motion.

She carefully removed the BMW fob from her pocket and tipped it upside down, tapping the side. The pearlescent glitter spilled onto the polished jet countertop. A circle of white fairy dust. Poochie twisted off her engagement ring and set the too-large diamond solitaire in the middle of the shiny sprinkles.

Perfect.

Monroe Falls, Vermont

Seated at the end of the bar, an early-forties hopeful wearing a down vest and baseball cap cast another expectant glance in Poochie’s direction. A server bore his offering down the aisle. Only a few days post-Rafe, she was not up for contact with the male gender. And a guy who thought buying her a drink bought permission to invade her privacy was not likely to change her mind.

Ten years ago, Wild Jack’s, the only tavern in Monroe Falls, would have been empty on a Wednesday afternoon. However, today, at the far end of the taproom, a grayer and plumper Sheriff Dogwood sat next to the younger, unfamiliar man who promised to be annoying.

Mr. Hopeful seemed captivated by the broad-antlered moose etched into the bar’s scenic mirror. He found Poochie’s distorted reflection and grinned. Even in her carefully selected booth near the front door, she had failed to find solitude.

Poochie returned a weak smile.

She considered packing up so that his delivery landed on an empty table, but she needed the bar’s Wi-Fi. The server declined payment for the pint and beat a hasty retreat to the service bar, disappearing through the swinging kitchen door. Irritated she would have to repel Mr. Hopeful’s assault, Poochie gave up and sipped icy light beer from her frosted mug.

He slid from his perch and strode toward her, his expensive-looking loafers crunching peanut shells against the hardwood floor. With a beaming smile, he halted next to her booth and extended a hand. Blair Masterson. Can I join you?

She returned the shake with a half-hearted squeeze, surprised by his calloused fingers. A diamond horseshoe glinted from his pinky. The working-man’s hands likely came from reins. Wealthy, with horses for toys. No wonder their age difference hadn’t discouraged him.

Poochie, hi. Thanks for the drink. She motioned to the laptop in front of her. But I just stopped in for the internet. I’ve got work that can’t wait.

Like find a place to live—and a new job.

After a breakup, most people called their best friend for a place to crash—those who still had a best friend, anyway. Unfortunately, Monica had found a new use for their surgery department’s sling stirrups—with Poochie’s ex-fiancé.

Poochie. Cute name. No worries, consider it Monroe Falls hospitality. Blair removed his baseball cap, exposing more skin than mouse-brown hair. You can’t be a local with that darlin’ southern-belle accent of your’n.

Poochie narrowed her eyes. Her irritation must have thickened the drawl she’d worked so hard to banish as a girl. Today, any man could trigger her ire, but here in her childhood town, comments about her speech plucked a tender nerve.

Undeterred, he slid into the opposite side of the booth.

Exasperation straightened Poochie’s spine, and she readjusted the laptop’s screen to send her point home. Really, I don’t have time—

Here for the big weekend? The man pressed on like a bulldozer and possessed as much sense.

Just her luck, in her panic to leave Burlington, she had sprinted headlong into the Monroe Falls harvest festival and her ten-year class reunion. Neither had been on her calendar. Poochie readied herself to blast the idiot from his seat, but approaching heavy footsteps preempted her tirade. Blair, glad you stopped in. I need to—

Her savior’s familiar voice wrenched her attention, and her mouth fell open. Blair’s response faded into the background.

Jack—the one she had left behind— wearing his signature cowboy hat and boots, swiveled a double take in her direction. A glaring white chef’s apron subdued his country western look. Poochie?

Jonathan Holland’s rich baritone rumbled just as it had ten years ago. With his velvety voice and smooth-talking personality, he should be in radio or politics by now. She had no doubt he had intentionally come to her rescue, but his astonishment at seeing her appeared genuine. And was nothing compared to her own.

Hey, Jack. Her tone sounded an octave off. At two years her senior, he would be thirty now. Maturity had filled in his tall frame with broader shoulders and heavier biceps, and gold flecks warmed his light brown eyes over his widening smile.

A flush of comfort warmed her insides, like the endorphin rush after a much-needed hug. The sensation made her smile. He had always made her feel too comfortable.

In an old habit, he adjusted his black leather Stetson. The hat appeared identical to the one he had worn in high school, and wayward tufts of dark hair curved out from under the band. As then, it was possibly the only cowboy hat within fifty miles.

His gaze didn’t leave her, and he placed a hand on the booth’s divider. The short hair looks good.

Poochie’s cheeks warmed with his unexpected compliment or, more