Georgia Pine (Southern Promises Book 3) Read online

  Georgia Pine

  Southern Promises – Book Three

  KG FLETCHER

  Copyright © 2018 Kelly Genelle Fletcher

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13:978-1-7320240-2-1

  Printed in the United States of America.

  **FAIR WARNING: This book contains scenes of detailed intimacy and liberal use of profanity. It is intended for readers 18+**

  Georgia Pine

  Southern Promises – Book Three

  Georgia Pine is part of the

  ~Southern Promises~ collection.

  Each book in the series is STANDALONE

  * Georgia Clay

  * Georgia On My Mind

  * Georgia Pine

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Please visit my website at www.kgfletcherauthor.com

  Edited by Vicky Burkholder

  Cover art by Eva Talia Designs

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Dedication

  For the boys in my frat house. Your love for the game is admirable. Your love for me, indelible.

  Chapter One

  The summer sun felt like a red-hot flame searing Tim’s neck with such intensity, he knew his skin would more-than-likely be burned by the end of the day. The term “red-neck” was clearly àpropos in his line of work. Pulling his dirty gloves on over his slick hands was another challenge. He rubbed his bearded face with the back of his wrist and squinted, focused on the leaning crepe myrtle branch that hung over the small backyard pool. Taking his gardening shears, he lopped off the flowery limb that was dropping bright fuchsia flowers into the water every time the wind blew. A chest high child-protection fence surrounded the entire pool, and he had to maneuver his large body through the tiny opening. Vaguely aware several children lived here, he remembered to close it when he was finished. Walking along the edge of the inviting body of water, he swiped his glove across his sweaty brow and sighed. Once upon a time, he had enjoyed the luxury of his own pool, often swimming laps as part of his rigorous work-outs. His former life was nothing but a distant memory, his current situation one of serving the upper-class communities in northeast Atlanta. He was their gardener, tending to their perfect yards that were often only outward displays of wealth and not enjoyed.

  Throwing the branch back over the fence, he looked across the expansive manicured golf course beyond the property line. There wasn’t a soul in sight. No one in their right mind would be playing golf in this heat today. He slowly eased his six foot-five-frame to his knees and pulled off his gloves. Using his hands to scoop up the bright flowers floating in the water, he relished the coolness on his skin. Giving the property a second glance, he leaned toward the pool and splashed some water on his face, the relief instant. He sighed, adjusting the Atlanta Falcons ball cap over his hair that was tied up in a man-bun. His hairy face and head were intentional; a disguise of sorts to remain incognito in the suburban Southern landscape.

  The chlorine-scented water dripped from his long whiskers as he hoisted himself back up, ready to move on to the next home in the gated neighborhood. Clicking the child-safety latch behind him, he was about to grab the wayward branch when an outdoor patio speaker suddenly came on, startling him in his tracks. The music was loud; the volume jacked up to the max. Licking his parched lips, Tim focused on the sliding back doors of the home, assuming someone would come out. After several seconds, he scowled and walked toward the door. Peering in through the tinted floor-to-ceiling windows, he could barely make out several little girls playing and jumping off the over-stuffed furniture inside. He stood there with his hands on his hips and watched them as the cranked up overture of a familiar Disney movie made him want to cover his ears.

  Walk away.

  His subconscious warned him not to get involved. He never got involved. Gardening was a lone sport for him, and he never intentionally tried to get to know any of his clients. They were polite, for the most part. But the narrowed eyes and judgmental comments never went unnoticed when they approached as if trying to figure him out in a millisecond. So what—he was a gardener. His contentment was now found putting in a full day of real, back-breaking, good old-fashioned hard work. Lines were drawn in the prominent Southern communities a long time ago. No one messed with the blue-collar workers in the fields. There was common respect between the two classes, one he was now more than well aware of. Also, because he was so large, no one ever messed with him, the occasional condescending remarks regarding his lot in life something he shrugged off with indifference. If they only knew.

  He rapped his knuckles on the glass and waited. A few seconds later, the door slid open, and a tiny blonde-headed girl peeked her head out and looked up at him with wide blue eyes. Tim crouched to her level and offered a sincere, non-menacing smile. “Did you know the music is on really loud outside?”

  The little girl’s cheeks flushed, and she rolled her eyes. “I can’t find the button to turn the sound on inside. We’re trying to watch Beauty and the Beast.”

  He was astonished at how well-composed the child was, not a hint of fear in her eyes while she spoke with an adorable Southern accent to a long-haired, bearded, sweaty stranger. This perplexed him. “Well, where’s your mommy? Can you ask her to help you find the right button?”

  She sighed. “Mama’s in a time-out and said we could watch the movie. Can you help?” She stood on one leg, using her opposite foot to scratch at her bare calf, her confident innocence beguiling. Two other blonde heads peeked from around the little girl.

  Tim swallowed hard, not sure how to navigate the situation. He was treading on dangerous ground. If he entered the home filled with little girls without their mother’s consent, he could get into some serious trouble. “Can you ask your mommy if it’s okay if I help with the button?” he asked calmly.

  “Sure.” She turned to the youngest child and shouted over the music. “Go ask Mama if he can turn off the button.” The child eagerly nodded and scampered off. Within seconds, she was back, nodding her head vigorously.

  “Mama said ‘okay.’”

  With a quick nod, Tim pulled off his work boots before he entered the home, the air-conditioning a welcome relief. The older girl handed him a remote, and it took him no time to get the sound under control. He gave the remote back to her.

  “It’s the middle button there. Keep it on zone one, and you shouldn’t have that problem again.” He watched as the two smaller girls snuggled on the couch next to each other, intent on watching the movie, oblivious to the strange man in their home. The middle girl put her thumb into her mouth, mesmerized at the giant screen in front of her.

  “What’s your name?” he asked the older girl who was distracted trying to watch the movie.

  “I’m Jennifer Kaufman.”

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jennifer. I’m Tim.” He paused, acutely aware of the cluttered great room. Toys were scattered everywhere. Next to an ottoman, a giant la
undry basket was filled with an assortment of clothing and towels as if waiting to be folded. The kitchen counters overflowed with stacks of dirty dishes and fast-food bags that needed to be thrown away. Tim frowned. “Can you tell me where your mama is?”

  Jennifer was engrossed in the movie and quickly pointed to a door in the kitchen. “She’s in there.”

  “Thanks.” With the girls preoccupied by Disney’s Belle singing about her poor provincial town, he strolled toward the door and knocked twice. “Hello? Mrs. Kaufman? It’s Tim McGill, your yard guy. Is everything all right?”

  His question was met with silence. He knocked again. “Mrs. Kaufman? I’d like to speak with you please.” More silence. A pang of worry shot to his heart as he glanced over his shoulder at the quiet little girls engrossed in the movie. “Mrs. Kaufman? I’m coming in.”

  Without hesitation, he turned the knob and swung the door open, confusion making him waver. This wasn’t a room in the house—it was the pantry. And Mrs. Kaufman was sitting on the floor with a package of Oreo cookies in her lap, tears streaming down her face. Tim was taken aback. She looked incredibly young dressed in running shorts and a tank top that accentuated her ample bosom. Her blonde hair was thrown up into a messy bun, and there wasn’t a stitch of makeup on her tanned face. He couldn’t help but notice her toenails matched the hot-pink tank. She was not your typical upper-class woman living in the swanky neighborhood, and there was no way she was the mother of all those little girls.

  “I’m just fine,” she managed to utter in-between her hiccup-sobbing. “I needed a moment to contain myself. Thank you very much for helping the girls with the sound button.” In a way, her Southern drawl was comforting as her blue eyes glistened with big, fat tears.

  Without really thinking it through, Tim closed the door and carefully eased his giant body to the wooden floor. It was awkward in the small space chock full of canned and boxed goods, various sizes of colorful jars and large warehouse stockpiles of paper products. Among the sundries, Mrs. Kaufman looked small and pitiful, her upper lip traced with black cookie crumbs. He bit his lip to stifle a small smile.

  “You’re welcome. May I ask why you’re in a time out?” He gazed at her vivid blue eyes pooled with tears and waited for a response.

  She swiped at her face with the back of her hand and shook her head. “I…can’t…talk about it yet.” The forlorn look she gave him made him scowl.

  “Hmmm.” He nodded, trying to figure out how to console the woman. The sound of a baby wailing came through a monitor he hadn’t noticed sitting on one of the shelves. He watched the woman slump and close her eyes tightly, causing the tears to trickle down her cheeks. Whatever she was going through, she apparently needed help.

  “How many kids do you have Mrs. Kaufman?”

  She grimaced. “Please, call me Jessica.”

  He smiled. “Okay, Jessica. I’m Tim.” He shoved his large hand toward her, trying to divert her attention from her angst. When she placed her limp hand in his, it was minuscule in comparison.

  “Very nice to meet you. And to answer your question, I have four daughters.” Her lower lip quivered before she erupted in another bout of tears, joining the chorus of her crying baby on the monitor.

  Tim stood, shocked by all the crying and was suddenly embarrassed by the ripe smell coming from his sweaty body taking over the small space. He glanced at the monitor and made up his mind. “Where’s the baby’s room? Let me help. And before you ask, yes, I know how to change a diaper.”

  Jessica looked up at him with wide eyes and didn’t hesitate. “Upstairs, first door on the right.”

  Chapter Two

  Jessica knew who the lumber-jack-of-a-man Tim McGill was. She had seen him on and off their property for well over a year, tending the ridiculous landscaping her husband insisted on. Stephen Kaufman was all about keeping up with the Jones’s, often forking out loads of cash to keep the curb appeal of their sprawling home immaculate. But outward appearances were deceiving.

  With swollen eyes, she picked up the manila envelope and scanned the address label for the umpteenth time—knowing what was inside. Stephen Kaufman was officially her ex now, her copies of the signed divorce papers delivered via courier an hour ago.

  Jessica didn’t know how she would feel when it was finally over. The past year had been horrendous. Stephen had blatantly cheated on her with a girl from work named Traci; twenty-four-year-old Traci with an “i”. When Jessica came back early from a weekend away with the girls and walked in on them in her master suite, fucking like horny teenagers, she knew it was the beginning of the end. The man was a bad husband—and a bad father, audaciously vocal to her attorney about not wanting so many kids; that the divorce was all her fault because he was surrounded by what he called “chaos.” And he was adamant he wanted a son, something Jessica obviously couldn’t give him.

  Half of their marriage, she had spent pregnant, desperate to provide Stephen an heir. Now she was a single mother of four daughters under the age of six. Poor baby Joanne, “Jo-Jo” as she was affectionately called, was nearing her one-year birthday, having never really been around her father for more than an hour or two at a time.

  Jessica had gone into the marriage with her parents’ exuberant blessing because the Stephen they knew was handsome, educated, and had money. He was also a shrewd businessman and a workaholic. Having witnessed what her own mother had endured while married to her success-driven father, she had a vague idea of what she was getting herself into marrying Stephen. He was a successful real estate mogul—a prominent figure in the Atlanta business world. Looking back on their years together, she realized raising this man’s children by herself were some of the loneliest years of her life. Without genuine companionship from the man she was betrothed to, she lived without a partner, for the most part.

  In the beginning of their relationship, it was different. It was new and exciting. Stephen wanted her to be the quintessential country-club housewife, joining the various clubs and tennis teams, getting her hair and nails done weekly while hosting elaborate glamorous parties in their million-dollar home. They seemed happy at first, Stephen showing off his blonde bride proudly at the public galas and business dinners his company hosted. But after she had their first daughter, she devoted all her time to her newborn, which left Stephen in a jealous wake. With each subsequent pregnancy, they became more and more estranged; Jessica’s focus primarily on her precious daughters. Stephen openly complained about all the pink and spent more and more time at the office or away on business, blatantly ignoring his growing family. Having four babies definitely took a toll on her body, which only exacerbated the situation. After going through the excruciating steps to divorce during the past year, Jessica felt like she was one-hundred years old.

  Leaning back against the giant economy pack of paper-towels on the floor in the pantry, the sound of Tim’s voice distracted her, the low timbre soothing as he spoke calmly to baby Jo-Jo over the monitor. She watched the video screen, captivated by his behavior. This was a man who had obviously been around children.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up, Little-Bit. You sure are a cutie.”

  Jo-Jo looked like a tiny baby doll in Tim’s massive hands. She giggled and cooed, having her own gibberish conversation with him, which made Jessica smile. Her children were bright and energetic, always ready for the next adventure. Baby Jo-Jo never met a person she didn’t like. The eleven-month-old, her snuggliest child, brought joy to her cloudy world. Whether Stephen Kaufman wanted them or not, these children were meant to be.

  Glancing at the envelope again, she sighed. At least she got to keep the house and was granted full custody of the girls. Her lawyer fought for a substantial settlement because of Stephen’s infidelity. Even though she had signed a prenup, she won, much to Stephen’s disappointment, his hurtful indiscretions biting him where it hurt the most—his wallet. She and her daughters would never have to worry about money again. For that, she was grateful.

  Exhaustio
n permeated her bones, and she closed her eyes, knowing she had a million things to do around the house and dinner to prepare. Her mother often chastised her for not hiring a full-time nanny to help with the overload four little ones brought on. But Jessica didn’t want someone else to raise her children. She had a sweet housekeeper who came in once a week and had occasionally done some babysitting while she was out with her girlfriends or attending beautification committee meetings at the club. She preferred to be a hands-on mom and loved the monotony of a long day at home stretched out before her, wondering what kind of adventure she and the girls could get into. She was lucky she didn’t have to work full time, allowing her to focus on her children. Sure, she could afford the luxury of having full-time help, and sometimes she did hire a sitter other than her housekeeper. But playing and taking care of her kids on a daily basis was a dream-come-true, and she never took it for granted. With the divorce finalized, she could finally get on with her life.

  Jessica must have nodded off because she woke with a start and anxiously looked around the pantry, trying to come to her senses. She stood on wobbly legs and opened the door, shocked to see her daughters lined up along the marble-top bar happily eating.

  “Mama!” her third daughter, Jilly cheerfully shouted. “Tim made us mac-a-groni!” The two-year-old’s face was covered in cheese sauce, her smile radiant beneath the mess.

  She scanned the room and her eyes locked in on the man who tended her rhododendrons. He was sitting on the ottoman folding the last of the towels she had pulled out of the dryer earlier. Gone was the dirty baseball cap, his long hair falling dramatically over his shoulders. He had cleaned himself up and had changed out of his landscape uniform into a black t-shirt and camouflage pants. His large feet were bare and his biceps bulged. It was a striking contrast to the smelly, sweaty man in uniform who’d entered the pantry earlier. The toys were all picked up and placed in bins neatly stacked under the window near the sliding glass doors. The fast food trash was gone as well as the pile of dirty dishes she had been meaning to get to.