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    Twice Removed From Yesterday: The Men of Marionville, #12
    Twice Removed From Yesterday: The Men of Marionville, #12
    Twice Removed From Yesterday: The Men of Marionville, #12
    Ebook132 pages1 hour

    Twice Removed From Yesterday: The Men of Marionville, #12

    By KC Kendricks

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    About this ebook

    Chandler Beck is at a crossroads. To move forward, he has to take a trip back to the biggest regret in his life. He discovers a man happily settled down with a partner, both of whom are ready to call him a friend. When they offer him a place to rest, Chandler ends up in their guest room and with a job at the best restaurant in town.

    Once a rising star on the pro golf circuit, a back injury forced August Howard to give up the game. Swallowing his pride, he accepted a job waiting tables and worked his way up to the manager of The Wharf, the area's premier restaurant. He's not happy when the owner does a favor for a friend and hires the seemingly inexperienced Chandler Beck as a bartender.

    It doesn't take Chandler long to win over the prickly August, but August is a man with secrets. Their friendship heats up and when August's past comes calling, Chandler pays the price. The only option open is for August to confess all and hope those around him, especially Chandler, will accept he's a different man from who he was in his yesterdays. 

    _*_*_

    I grasped his wrist. "What can I do to help?"

    August raised his head. Our gazes locked. "First off, don't presume you know anything about me beyond what I tell you. Secondly, I need a glass of water, too."

    "Coming right up."

    I drew a glass of carbonated water from the soda tap and set it in front of him. He drew a small tin from his pocket. "You didn't see this."

    What I saw was him select a white pill from the tin, neatly crack it in half, and swallow one of the pieces. Did he have a drug problem? Since he'd taken the pill in front of me, I didn't consider it as being nosey to ask what it was.

    "Okay. What sort of medication did I not see you take?"

    "I messed up my back so bad ten years ago I was forced to quit the tour. Whenever I'm on my feet for hours on end, it becomes painful. Even with acetaminophen, I won't take more than I absolutely need to take the edge off."

    Tour? The pro golf tour. I gawked at him as the bits and pieces came together in my mind. "Oh, my God. You're August Howard. I saw you play at Augusta in the Open. You were really good and then you vanished."

    He grimaced. "Two weeks after Augusta, I unloaded on a tee shot and hit the ground. Herniated disc. Pinched nerves. Two surgeries. No…more…golf." He pushed the empty water glass in my direction and reached for his coffee. "I can't even play a par three course now."

    The grief in his voice was palpable. I thought I understood. The guy had had the world by the ass. Money, fame, recognition - and it vanished in a second. Not only had the talent he'd been given been rendered useless, he now lived with physical pain. What did one say in the face of his loss?

    "I'm so sorry, man."

    His angry gaze locked with mine. We stared at each other. I refused to blink. To my surprise, his features softened and he took a deep breath as he searched my face.

    "I think you mean that, don't you?" he asked, his voice pitched low to almost a whisper.

    "Yeah, August. I do. I can't imagine losing a dream like that."

    He almost smiled. "Who said golf was my dream?"

    I did smile. "You know what they say. Don't kid a kidder."

    He rapped his knuckles on the bar and slid off the barstool. "We have work to do, kidder. We should get to it so everyone can get out of here and go home for the night."

    I grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Hey. Did we just have a moment?"

    August grinned and walked away.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWhite Deer Enterprises/White Deer Books
    Release dateJan 20, 2018
    ISBN9781386821267
    Twice Removed From Yesterday: The Men of Marionville, #12
    Author

    KC Kendricks

    KC Kendricks calls herself an accidental writer. After completing her first novel writing as Rayne Forrest, she was urged to submit it to a publisher, and everything snowballed from there. Today, the author has had over seventy books published. In July of 2021, she tried to retire but her employer offered her a deal to work at home. She accepted. Now she balances work, writing, and hearth and home in a controlled chaos. A native of scenic western Maryland, the author enjoys most activities that don’t include snow. In warm weather she might be found walking the dog, biking on the C&O Canal towpath, planting delicacies in her garden for the deer to munch on at night, playing in the creek, or lazing on the patio with her Kindle reader or laptop. She recently began to research her family history and can't drive past a cemetery without stopping to search for family sites. Her mission is to photograph old tombstones before the elements erode the stones and the names are lost to time. For more about KC Kendricks and Rayne Forrest’s writing life, please visit the Between the Keys blog at http:kckendricks.blogspot.com . If you’d like to know more about the author’s country lifestyle and her daily activities full of simple country pleasures (and a lot of work), please visit the Holly Tree Manor blog at http://hollytreemanor.blogspot.com . KC can be reached through her blog, Between the Keys. All comments are strictly moderated by the author and personal messages are treated as such. Follow the author on Twitter for up-to-date announcements at Twitter.com/KCKendricks.

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      Book preview

      Twice Removed From Yesterday - KC Kendricks

      Twice Removed from Yesterday

      by

      KC Kendricks

      This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, media, brands, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to anyone, living or dead, and actual events and locales, is coincidental.

      ––––––––

      Copyright © 2017, 2021 KC Kendricks

      Cover art © 2017 KC Kendricks

      All Rights Reserved

      ––––––––

      Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, regardless of whether any type of currency is exchanged or not, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of the book. Law strictly prohibits reproduction of this digital e-book for file sharing or selling, other than what the author grants in writing. Piracy is a crime.

      Praise for the writing of KC Kendricks

      KC Kendricks never disappoints!"—Fallen Angel Reviews

      ..beautifully moving in all the right places...KC Kendricks gives us a well-crafted tale- The Romance Studio

      Good to the last word....- Sensual Reads

      ...Seriously entertaining and totally engaging...- Joyfully Reviewed

      ...solidly written contemporary romance...-Jessewave

      The Men of Marionville Series

      A Hard Habit to Break

      Open Roads

      What You Don’t Confess

      Your Whisper in the Dark

      A Cat Named Hercules

      Leather Jackets

      Station to Station

      Dreams to Sell

      The Right Brew

      Where There’s Smoke

      Bourbon & Blues

      Twice Removed from Yesterday

      Table of Contents

      Twice Removed from Yesterday

      Praise for the writing of KC Kendricks

      The Men of Marionville Series

      Table of Contents

      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

      Epilogue

      Books by KC Kendricks

      About the Author

      A bonus read from What You Don’t Confess

      Chapter 1

      Marionville. I’d promised myself I’d never come to this town. Not because the town doesn’t buzz the way New York and Chicago do, but because I knew in my heart there was nothing for me in Marionville. Yet, here I was cruising past the city limit sign on an inward trajectory.

      The college years are halcyon days for a lot of people, myself included. Those are the days when a young man practices his personality to figure out who he wants to be and what kind of life he wants to lead. I did it in reverse. I learned who I didn’t want to be.

      Words often quoted say something like pride goeth before the fall. It’s a bit of a misquote, the actual phrase being more ominous, that being pride goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall. Either way, I took the warning to heart and tried my damnedest to keep my pride in check. After all, pride had cost me someone very precious and it was sheer dumb luck there wasn’t any destruction beyond the breaking of my heart when it happened.

      All of which today brought me to the lovely town of Marionville, population fifty thousand, seat of Marion County, population two hundred thousand and growing. According to the Internet, it was historically an agricultural community now well on its way to also becoming the industrial and technical hub of the state. As I drove into town I noted what the computer had not. Nestled between two mountains and bordered by a river, Marionville was postcard pretty.

      The Internet had given me something else - an address. I wasn’t ready to go there, not yet. The stupidity of looking backward had finally gotten my attention even if it was four hundred miles too late.

      I was here. There was no reason to not look up my college roommate and at least say hello to him. I’d get a decent dinner, find a good hotel, and knock on his door tomorrow.

      Dealing tomorrow with the life issues of today worked for Scarlett O’Hara, and it would work for me.

      I ran a search on my smartphone for restaurants and waited for the list to populate. When it did, the only five-star eatery in town was The Wharf. I wasn’t in the mood for seafood but it turned out the place was only a block away from where I’d pulled over. Maybe it was a sign. I put the car in gear, went to the traffic light, and made a left.

      The Wharf surprised me. Tucked away on a mostly residential street, the building was set back from the road and shielded by well-tended ornamental plantings. Mature, neatly manicured shrubs ringed the parking lot. The dark bricks and black shingled roof lent an air of elegance to the outside. More importantly to me, the marquee indicated it was also a steakhouse.

      Inside, the spacious foyer and simple, tasteful décor would impress even the most hardcore critic. A hostess asked if I wanted to be seated in the dining room or the lounge. I opted for the latter. I wanted food, to eat the aforementioned food, and then I wanted to leave.

      I wanted quiet, too, but I didn’t get it. As I was being seated at a corner table, the bartender was having a little rant at a guy in a suit I surmised was the manager. The very sexy-looking manager. He was on the tall side, had a close-groomed beard, and wore his dark hair styled short and spiky with blond highlights.

      And he looked familiar but I knew I’d never met him.

      I didn’t particularly want to eavesdrop on the conversation between the two men, but the decibel level left no choice.

      The bartender seemed to think he was the boss. It’s stupid. I am not going to stop and make coffee one cup at a time. Now take that thing away, he said.

      It makes no sense at all to pour pot after pot of coffee down the drain. Mr. Donaghy approved it. You can use it or you can quit. And frankly, I’d like that. You’re a leader here, but unfortunately, Johnny, you’re also a negative voice. You don’t respect me so no one else does. My life would be a lot easier if you’d just move on.

      Donaghy? That name tickled my memory. My college roommate had known a Dylan Donaghy, back in the day. He’d called the man a mentor but the relationship was more than that and I knew it. Could it be the same person? I perused the menu and continued to listen as the argument suddenly escalated and ended.

      The bartender sneered. Maybe I fucking will. His palm slapped the counter with a resounding crack.

      I stopped all pretense of disinterest to watch him stalk from behind the bar and storm out of the room. The man in the suit watched him go, never making a sound.

      After a few seconds, the hostess came in. Did he really quit?

      The manager-guy nodded. He did. Will you pass the word that drink orders need to come to me, please? I’ll mix them. He motioned in my direction. I know it’s not your job, but can you get the gentleman’s order while I go tell Mr. Donaghy what just happened. Comp his order.

      Of course. No problem. She touched his jacket sleeve. We’ll get through it.

      Thanks, Amy.

      The show was over and the friendly Amy approached my table.

      I’m so sorry you had to witness that, sir. Your meal will be on the house.

      I thank you, but it’s really not necessary. I’m not offended in any way. I handed the menu to her and gave her my order.

      She nodded. Will you allow me to at least comp your drink?

      I smiled and gave in gracefully. If you insist, and thank you. I’d like a double shot of Maker’s Mark, over ice.

      She smiled at me. I’ll place your order and your drink will be right up.

      It wasn’t too many minutes before the manager reappeared and slipped behind the bar. I watched him pour my drink before sitting it neatly on a coaster in front of me.

      Your drink is on the house, sir. Refills, too, if you want them.

      I looked up into a pair of seafoam green eyes and smiled. Thanks, but one is all I need. Can you suggest a really good motel here in town?

      He didn’t miss a beat before he replied. The Marionville Inn. I’ll see you get one of their flyers. It’s not part of a chain so you get a lot of bang for your buck.

      I like that idea! Thank you.

      He nodded and went on his way. It felt a bit as though he’d dismissed me, but I gave him the pass based on what I’d heard earlier. Well, that and the fact his departure gave me a chance to ogle his very nice little butt. He was barely out the door before Amy brought my salad and the flyer.

      The inn looked to be just what I needed for the night. I made a quick call to reserve a room and settled down to eat my solitary dinner. I got a slice of pecan pie to go, paid for the meal, and made my way to the motel.

      I had a date with Stupidity tomorrow, so to speak.

      *     *     *

      The Marionville Inn was comfortable and quiet. I slept for ten hours, something I rarely did. It was mid-morning before I checked out and headed toward my destination. 

      I parked my red Camaro in front of a large Queen Anne Victorian and stared at the black Camaro in the driveway. I knew it belonged to Travis. We both held the nameplate in high esteem. I’d been fortunate enough to own a nineteen-seventy-four model in college. It was that car that first brought Travis and me together. I spotted the discreet bronze plaque placed to the left at the base of the porch steps. Templeton Architectural Design.

      All I had to do was get up the nerve to go knock on the door, and therein lay the rub.

      Dropping

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