Bittersweet Creek Read Online Free Page A

with.”
    â€œI’m not suing anyone.”
    â€œHell, son, did you know that each year over a thousand pedestrians get hit by cars in the state of Tennessee alone? I learned that from the TV the other day. And your uncle Charlie’s a right fine ambulance chaser. We could make a pretty penny and put that Satterfield bastard out of business. Little bitch deserves it after she sneaked off in the middle—”
    Suddenly, I had my father by the collar, his swollen drunken face just inches from mine. I didn’t remember laying a hand on him, but it was a good reminder that hot McElroy blood flowed through my veins, too. “I’m not suing anyone. And you don’t talk that way about Romy.”
    For a second I saw a flicker of fear pass through his squinting eyes. Good. I pushed him into a chair. He laughed. “This one’s still sweet on the girl next door. Even after she left him cold. Debbie, what do you make of that?”
    â€œShe’s not worth his time. Too big for her britches,” my normally timid mother spat. This was the one safe topic for her, where she could air her opinions without worrying about making my father mad. “You don’t leave someone you’re about to marry. That ain’t right.”
    Mama would’ve exploded if she’d known Romy left after we got married.
    Curtis pulled her into his lap and planted a wet one on her. Apparently, he’d progressed through remorse and headed straight into lovey-dovey drunk. I sure as hell didn’t want to see that. “Don’t mind me. I’ll see myself out.”
    I slipped out the back door, ticked off they both had to spew their vinegar on Romy.
    She wasn’t the one to blame—I was.

Romy
    T he next day, I got up entirely too late thanks to a full school year of burning the candle at both ends. Daddy only had instant coffee, and the sun was already high above me by the time my mental fog lifted enough for me to tromp to the garden to pick the green beans he’d asked me to get.
    Good thing I’d ordered a Keurig coffeemaker last night. Paid an arm, a leg, and two toes to get it next day, too. It might not be as fancy as whatever contraption Richard had, but it was better than stirring coffee crystals into hot water.
    I’d grown up working in the garden, often picking up potatoes in the heat of July, but my city years had made me soft. I picked only halfway down one row before the world started spinning. I couldn’t catch my breath in the humidity, and something about the plants caused my hands to itch like the dickens. To top it all off, my fancy nails kept me from deftly picking the green beans as I must have done at least a thousand times in the past.
    â€œI’m going to have to try this again tomorrow,” I told no one in particular as I grabbed a half-full bucket and went to the shade of the barn. At least I’d been smart enough to bring a bottle of water with me. And to think, if I’d stayed in Nashville, I would’ve been lounging by the pool at Richard’s subdivision and reading the fluffiest book I could find.
    Instead of reading poolside I needed to check on the cows. Cussing under my breath, I walked beyond the garden to where the main pasture began. When I found a low spot in the fence, I straddled the ancient outer barbed-wire, then gingerly lifted my leg over the newer inner strand of electric wire. And promptly snagged my other leg on the electric one.
    Jolting out of reality and back, I tasted metal and inspected the snag in my favorite jeans in a daze. Only I would get caught in the electric fence. Damned metallic taste stayed with me, too, as I picked my way around briars and cow patties until I found Daddy’s small herd huddled under the shade tree by the pond.
    I counted one bull, nine cows, and all six calves. Every last one of them was a full-blooded Angus, solid black. Fuzzy ears facing forward and tails relentlessly