A Fine Line Read online

  A Fine Line

  Emma Leigh Reed

  Contents

  Cover Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Acknowledgments

  Also Available:

  About the Author

  A FINE LINE

  * * *

  By Emma Leigh Reed

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, alive or dead, events or locales is strictly coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2015 by Emma Leigh Reed

  Cover art design by Gemini Judson

  All rights reserved. Published by Tiny House Publishing, LLC in the United States.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  Visit us online at www.tinyhousepublishing.com

  ISBN (paperback) 978-0-9967270-8-2

  ISBN (eBook) 978-0-9967270-9-9

  The text of this book is set in 12-point Times New Roman font.

  Formatting done by Colleen McCready

  Edited by Sara Cremeno

  Printed in the United States of America

  * * *

  First Edition

  To Todd

  An amazing friend, who helped make this book what it is today. Thank you so much with the inspiration of Xander’s poem.

  Chapter 1

  Grace McAllister glanced around the crowded room. She knew she looked the perfect grieving daughter dressed in a conservative black dress and black pumps. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a sleek bun. She was grieving, but this wasn’t the way she wanted to be doing it. Her mother, Abigail McAllister, had been very popular in this small town. She had run many committees and her hand had been involved in all that had gone on, from making sure the downtrodden had food on their pantry shelves to helping people perfect their resumes in looking for a job.

  Abigail had been the epitome of what a small town should be—people helping others and taking care of their own. Although Grace had agreed with everything Abigail had stood for, she couldn’t help but shake her head that there was more to life than this. She wanted more.

  Grace sat straight backed, hands folded in her lap, her eyes downcast as the minister droned on and on about her mother’s attributes. Grace felt grateful for the life she had known growing up. They hadn’t lacked anything, and Grace had opportunities that most kids just didn’t get unless they were of the wealthy class. She cringed. She hated that people still associated her with wealth. She had wanted to do more and had insisted that Abigail not give her anything else but allow her to live on her own. Grace had completed her degree in elementary education and loved her job as a second grade teacher. She made a decent living and loved her one bedroom apartment, which paled in comparison to her childhood home.

  The last song started and Grace stood with the rest of the congregation paying their respects. She pasted on her smile saved for these occasions and greeted the townspeople coming through saying condolences. She nodded and smiled. Her cheeks ached and Grace wished more than anything she could head home and slip into a hot bath. Her feet were killing her. She wanted to kick off the dreaded shoes and go barefoot. Abigail would understand; she knew Grace’s preference for bare feet that had followed her through childhood into her adult life

  She hesitated a brief moment as a man standing a few people back made eye contact with her. He wore a leather jacket and jeans. His dark chocolate eyes pulled her attention to him. She cleared her throat and glanced back at her mom’s elderly neighbor, trying to focus on what she was saying.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Smythe, for coming. I know you will miss Mom.”

  Grace smiled and nodded through one more person before the handsome man in leather stood before her. His grip on her hand warmed her to the core, heat flooded her face.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” His deep voice, kept low just for her ears, flamed the fire starting within her.

  “How did you know my mother?” Grace tried to slide her hand out of his, but he kept his grip.

  “I, personally, haven’t seen her in years. But I’m here out of respect for my parents, who knew her.” He smiled and squeezed her hand before letting go.

  “Wait.” Grace reached out, laying her hand on his arm. “Who are your parents?”

  He patted her hand. “I’m not sure you would know them.” Before she could respond, he had moved out towards the door. Grace inwardly groaned in frustration. She didn’t know who he was or who his parents were.

  She continued, nodding, making the appropriate comments as the line moved on. She sat down as everyone left the church and headed next door to the fellowship hall for some food. The town’s Women’s Auxiliary had prepared a feast in honor of Abigail, who would have normally been the one in charge of these types of deals. Grace sighed. She just wanted to go home and put this all behind her.

  “Are you hanging in there, Gracie?”

  Grace glanced up and saw Reverend Sawyer. “Yes, sir. Thank you. You did a beautiful job today. Mom would have been so pleased.”

  “Everyone loved her and will miss her greatly.” Reverend Sawyer held out his hand to her. “Don’t you think you should go next door and mingle with those who are here for you?”

  “Of course.” Grace stood and smoothed her wrinkleless dress into place. “Thank you again.”

  Grace screamed internally. She still was made to feel two years old, being told what to do. My God, she was a grown woman of twenty-five! Couldn’t she decide if she wanted to mingle with people or just go home? She could hear her Mom now. Gracie, shoulders back. Never let people see you’re upset. Be strong and do the right thing. She was so tired of doing the right thing.

  Entering the fellowship hall, she found fewer people had stayed than she feared. Finding a clear path to the coffee, she made her way there. It was slow progress, as people stopped her, sharing stories of her mother. Finally, reaching the coffee, she reached for a cup. Her hand stilled when she heard the voices. “She’ll be just fine. She’s a good girl. Never was in a bit of trouble.”

  Grace poured her coffee and held it as she closed her eyes. Always the good girl. God, she hated that phrase.

  “Going to sleep?” The familiar deep voice brought her eyes open wide as she turned towards him.

  “No. But it would be nice if I knew who you were.”

  “My apologies. I guess I forgot to introduce myself. Xander.”

  “Xander…?” Grace waited.

  “Just Xander.”


  Keeping her face neutral, Grace glanced up and down, taking in his appearance. “I’m glad you came. Although it might have been a bit more appropriate to dress in something other than a leather jacket and jeans.” Grace bit her bottom lip. Her mother would have killed her for sounding like such a snob.

  Xander’s deep laughter brought a smile to her lips. “It probably would have and I apologize for my appearance. See, I just got into town this morning, just moments before the service started. It was either go change and be late for the service, or show up on time like this. I felt this was the lesser of the two inappropriate behaviors.”

  “A man who is on time. That is definitely a positive attribute to have.”

  Xander placed his hand under her elbow and led her to a quiet corner. “I have a feeling you would rather be somewhere else.”

  Grace looked around the room. This was her hometown, her family in every sense. These people had watched her grow up, had supported her through tough teenage times—like when her dad died—or shared her victories, like when she graduated high school and college. How could she resent being here? She turned towards Xander. “What makes you say that?”

  Xander sipped his coffee, keeping eye contact. “A hunch. I think the ‘good girl’ may not want to play that part right now.”

  “Play a part? What are you talking about?” Grace pondered his words. He was right. She wanted to do something spontaneous and forget who she really was—whoever that may be.

  “I can see it in your eyes, beautiful eyes by the way. You want to shrink away from these people and be anywhere but here. Can’t say I blame you. Funerals give me the creeps. I would prefer to pay my respects to someone I love in a way that they know would be unique for only me.”

  “Kind of hard to do that when you’re held to a higher expectation by everyone around you.”

  Xander nodded. “Screw expectations. They always fall short, anyway.”

  She tried to stop it, but the giggling bubbled up inside of her and escaped. Grace covered her mouth with her hand. Gaining control, she glanced at Xander. Amusement radiated across his face, his eyes twinkling.

  “Now that’s a beautiful sound, Grace.”

  She shook her head. “It’s inappropriate to be laughing like that at my mother’s funeral.”

  “Why? Did Abigail never hear you laugh?” He scowled. “I bet she loved hearing that sound from you, and would love it on a day like today, of all days. You laughing, remembering your mom for the woman you knew her as, not the one that everyone else saw.”

  Grace smiled. “Mom was a different person at home. You know, she used to dance around the kitchen and sing. Of course, she couldn’t carry a tune if her life depended on it, but how she loved to sing.” Grace stared into her coffee cup, snared by the image of her mom dancing with her dad in front of her. Grace had loved seeing the love shine from both of them. It was like she wasn’t even there when they were in each other’s arms. Her mom had always told her Never pass up a chance to dance with the man of your dreams, Gracie. It’s like heaven on earth.

  “See? Remember her for what she was to you, Grace. Not to everyone else.” Xander took her empty cup. She stood there watching him walk to the trash can to throw them out. His jeans fit snugly and the muscles rippled beneath them. She wished he had removed his jacket so she could see the rest of him.

  “You ready to get out of here?”

  “I can’t go, Xander. I need to stay while people are here.” She shook her head slowly.

  “Wait right here.” Xander wandered off. Grace watched him corner Mrs. Smythe and speak to her. She nodded her head and waved goodbye to Grace.

  “Let’s go. You have permission from Mrs. Smythe.”

  “What did you say to her?” Grace quizzed him.

  “Just that you were tired and I was going to make sure you got home.” Xander again placed his hand gently under her elbow and led her from the room. Once outside, Grace stopped and took in a deep breath.

  “Thank you. I don’t know how you did it, but thank you.”

  “I did nothing. You want a ride home?”

  Grace glanced around and the only unknown vehicle in the parking lot was a motorcycle. “On that?”

  “Yeah.” Xander smiled. “I have an extra helmet.”

  “Ummm, no. I’ll walk. It was nice to meet you though, Xander.” Grace hesitated. “Who are your parents again?”

  “I don’t believe I said.” Xander smiled and turned towards the motorcycle. “You sure you don’t want a ride?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “You’ve never ridden one before, have you?”

  Grace felt her face flush. “No.”

  Xander stepped close to her. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Let your hair down and hold on to me if you’re scared.”

  Grace met his eyes. “I’m not scared.”

  “I’m thinking you are, but you probably aren’t ‘dressed appropriately’ anyway.”

  Grace’s eyes widened. Xander’s mouth twitched as he tried to hold in the laughter. Her laughter mixed with his as she punched him in the shoulder. “Go, wise guy.”

  She turned towards home and started walking away, thoughts running through her mind of Xander and his motorcycle. She would love to ride with him, her arms wrapped around his waist, head against his back. She sighed. It would never happen. Nice girls didn’t ride motorcycles. She made a mental note to ask Mrs. Smythe if she knew his family. Xander was a mystery, one she hoped was just passing through town. She couldn’t afford to be sidetracked from all she had to do now that Mom was gone.

  Ever the perfectionist, Abigail had made Grace a list of exactly what needed to be done. First, she had a meeting with the lawyer, and then of course, Mom had insisted that Grace move back into her childhood home. Grace shuddered at the thought. She loved her one bedroom apartment and had no desire to move back into the mansion that lay on 72 acres of sprawling farm land. Her mom had always wanted horses, but before making that decision, the cancer diagnosis had come through and everything changed. Mom’s focus suddenly became on fighting the cancer and putting her affairs in order. One of the things she had made Grace promise her was that she would fill the barns with horses. Grace had no desire to have horses and wondered how much Abigail would haunt her if she reneged on that promise.

  Grace let herself into her apartment, leaning against the closed door. The darkness filled the room. At that moment, Grace couldn’t find any positive elements in today or what the next few months, let alone years, might hold for her.

  Chapter 2

  Xander rode his motorcycle through the quiet town. Today he had done the unimaginable and showed up at Abigail McAllister’s funeral. His parents would be horrified when they found out. He was headed there now. He slowed the bike as he turned into the winding driveway that ran a mile into the property before the Stevens’ house appeared.

  For as long as he could remember, Gracie McAllister had been the socialite of this small town. Abigail had given her the best of everything. He had secretly wished Abigail had been his mother growing up. He knew how she treated everyone in town, and she was always very kind to him when their paths crossed, even when she knew who he was. As a teenager and in his wild days, he had been in quite a bit of trouble. Abigail had met with him quietly one day, instructing him to get his life together and she would do what she could to help him on that front—as long as he never told his parents.

  Xander had known only pieces of the feud that had gone on forever between the Stevens family and the McAllisters. He had seriously been crushing on Grace in school and seeing her today only brought back a flood of emotions. She still was just as beautiful as he remembered and he had to remember to breath when he was close to her. He only knew that he was never supposed to talk to Grace in school and his father went as far as sending him away to prep school to ensure they stayed apart. Xander had kept tabs on Abigail and Grace over the years. He hadn’t made it back from college in time for Mr. McAllister’s fu
neral, but had sent Abigail a letter with his condolences and his gratitude for the kindness she had always shown him. She had sent him cards every now and then, remembering special occasions for him – graduation from prep school, college, and even his birthday every year.

  Xander never knew why Abigail took such an interest in him, but he was grateful for her actions. His own mother could never remember his birthday and felt it was a sign of weakness to acknowledge things like graduation except with some sort of status symbol. He had received new cars for each one of his graduations. Cars that he had sold and never driven. He preferred the motorcycle. The feel of the road beneath him, the curves allowing his body to be one with the bike.

  Xander parked his motorcycle and hesitated at the bottom of the front stairs. The house was cold, never exuded warmth, even when he was young. He dreaded this reunion. He was twenty-seven years old and still felt like a child when he came home. He sighed and climbed the five stairs to the front door. He rang the doorbell and wondered if Grace had to ring Abigail’s door bell to visit. No, he could guarantee that Abigail would have gone around back and slipped right into the kitchen, probably finding Abigail there making cookies or something.

  The door swung up and Gerard, his father’s butler, stood there. “Greetings, Sebastian, sir.”

  “Hi, Gerry.”

  Gerard stepped back a step and gestured him inside. “Please, sir, don’t call me Gerry.”

  Xander smirked. “Please, sir, don’t call me Sebastian. You know I prefer Xander.”

  Gerard nodded. “Your father is in the study.”

  Xander smiled and shook his head It would always be the same. “Thanks, Gerard.”

  “Sir.” Xander didn’t know how he did it, but Gerard disappeared without a sound, leaving Xander in the foyer of the house. God, he hated this house and all its grandiosity. It was all for show. This house was no more a home than a beehive for a puppy. . He wandered down the hall to the study and knocked quietly on the door. He almost prayed his father wouldn’t answer.