Baby, I’m Yours

Baby, I’m Yours

Stephanie Bond

Emory Maxwel has come home to the smal town of Sweetness, Georgia, with one goal in mind—to get his childhood sweetheart Shelby Moon to marry him. They’ve been in love with the second grade, but Shelby’s father is determined to keep his daughter in Sweetness, not moving around the country as a soldier’s wife. No matter what she chooses, Shelby knows she’l hurt one of the men she loves.

But when a tornado rips through town, wil she and Emory lose their chance to be together forever?

Get ready to fall in love with the town of Sweetness, Georgia, in this prequel to Stephanie Bond’s Southern Roads trilogy.

Stephanie Bond
grew up on a tobacco farm in eastern Kentucky, where books were her main form of entertainment. “There were no book stores in my smal hometown, and no public library. My school had a smal library, which I exhausted fairly quickly. But I was lucky to have an aunt who lived out of state and who shared my love for books. When she visited every year, she would bring me bags ful of Harlequin romance novels and gothic romances by Phyl is Whitney and Victoria Holt. I was in heaven.”

Years later, Stephanie was seven years deep into a systems engineering career and pursuing an MBA at night when an instructor remarked she had a flair for writing and suggested that she submit to academic journals. But Stephanie was interested only in writing fiction—more specifical y, romantic fiction. Upon completing her master’s degree and with no formal training in writing, she wrote a romance novel in her spare time. Two years later, in 1995, she sold her first manuscript, a romantic comedy, to Harlequin Books. In 1997, with ten sales under her belt, Stephanie left her corporate job to write fiction ful -time. “In hindsight,” reflects Stephanie, “those early years of devouring a book a day instil ed in me the rhythm of storytel ing.”

Today, Stephanie has more than fifty published romance and mystery novels to her name, including the Body Movers humorous mystery series, which was recently optioned by Sony Pictures Television for TV series development, and the Southern Roads romance trilogy. Read more about Stephanie Bond and her books at her website, www.stephaniebond.com.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Emory Maxwel tightened his grip on the steering wheel of his SUV, looked over at his longtime friend and fel ow soldier, Porter Armstrong, and took a deep breath. “Wil you marry me?”

Porter considered his words, then scoffed, “Man, you can’t just blurt it out like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not romantic, that’s why. You have to say ‘I love you’ and ‘I can’t live without you’ and ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you’,” crap like that. Try it again.”

Emory frowned. “Wel , you don’t have to be such a jackass about it.”

Porter sighed and pushed back the U.S. Army cap that matched his fatigues. “You want Shelby to say yes, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, you idget. That’s why we’re going to Sweetness.”

“That’s why you’re going to Sweetness,” Porter corrected. “You’re the one who’s jonesing to get married. Me, I’m never settling down. I just want as much home cooking as my mother can make in the few days I’m home on leave.” Then Porter looked apologetic. “Sorry, man, I know you miss your mom. You and Dr. Maxwel can come over and eat with us any time.”

Emory felt a pang for his mother’s absence, something he knew Porter could understand. “And I know you miss your dad. Thanks for the invitation. Wil Marcus and Kendal be there?”

“No. Marcus is in Pakistan, something about a terrorist group the U.S. is worried about. And Kendal is in El Salvador overseeing reconstruction after the earthquake earlier this year. I don’t know when I’l see them again.” Then he frowned. “Hey, don’t change the subject. You’re going to have to say something good to convince Shelby to wake up to your ugly mug for the rest of her life.”

Emory puffed out his cheeks in an exhale. “I’m more worried about what her pop is going to say.”

Porter made a rueful noise. “You should be. I heard Mr. Moon is a pretty good shot.”

“That man has never liked me.”

“What do you expect? He wants to keep Shelby in her calico bedroom for the rest of her life, and you’ve got other bedroom plans for his little girl. She’s al he’s got—of course he hates you. I feel sorry for Shelby being in the middle of you two mules.”

Emory hardened his jaw. Sooner or later, Shelby was going to have to choose between him and her daddy.

Porter glanced at his watch. “What time is she expecting you?”

“I didn’t tel her I was coming.”

Porter guffawed. “You’ve been arguing on the phone for months. Now you’re going to just show up with a ring and propose?”

“That’s the plan,” Emory muttered.

Porter pul ed down his cap and slumped in the seat in preparation for a nap. “Wake me up before the fireworks begin.”

Emory frowned in the direction of the man who’d been his best friend since Little League, then pul ed his hand across his mouth and turned his attention back to the interstate.

Porter was right. He was taking a big chance by not tel ing Shelby he was coming, especial y considering the last time they’d talked, she’d hung up on him. Her father had been yel ing for her in the background, which had angered Emory, which in turn had angered Shelby.

One way or another, things would come to a head today.

Emory leaned down to study the leaden sky. There were driving into a storm, or the makings of one. But it was summer in the north Georgia mountains—thunderstorms were as commonplace as mosquitoes and lemonade. After so much sand in the Gulf desert, he wouldn’t mind a little rain, as long as it didn’t slow their progress too much.

His heart beat faster at the thought of seeing Shelby soon. He imagined her sweet face lighting up when he walked into her father’s grocery where she worked, her immediate tears, the many kisses…the private reunion as soon as they could get alone. His body tightened involuntarily. He realized the reason they argued on the phone was because they were both frustrated by their separation. But his overseas deployment was due to end in a month, so he’d be stationed Stateside soon. And he wanted to be with Shelby. For the rest of their lives.

His fel ow soldiers laughed when he told them he and Shelby had been together since grade school, but it was true. They’d met on the playground in second grade. Bobby Taylor had been teasing Shelby, pul ing her blond pigtails. Emory had pushed the bigger boy down, which had earned him a suspension from school and Shelby’s adoration.

The suspension had been worth it.

Their relationship had gone through the ups and downs of chicken pox, Shelby’s crush on the new boy in sixth grade, and his own preoccupation with a dark-haired cheerleader their freshman year. But when he and Shelby had been ready to relinquish their virginity at seventeen, neither one would have chosen anybody else for the occasion. Their consummated physical chemistry had cemented their childhood love and they’d never looked in another direction.

It was, he realized, one of the reasons her pop was opposed to their relationship. Mr. Moon said they couldn’t know they loved each other because they’d never spent time with anyone else. But Emory didn’t want someone else. When he lay awake in his bunk on the other side of the world, the only thing, besides his conviction of service, that gave him comfort was the knowledge that Shelby Moon was lying awake in her corner bedroom in Sweetness, Georgia thinking about him, too.

They’d shared sad times, too. They’d both lost their mothers to il ness while in high school. Going through something so traumatic together created a special bond that outsiders couldn’t understand. But as he drove, Emory mostly replayed in his head the sweeter memories they’d made together—going to footbal games, swinging out over the swimming hole at Timber Creek, shooting off fireworks in the parking lot of her father’s store—and before he knew it, he was putting on his turn signal to exit the interstate to the climbing state road that would meander and twist and eventual y dead end into Sweetness.

At the change in speed, Porter roused from his nap and stretched his arms high in a yawn. “Are we there yet?”

“It won’t be long.” Emory gestured to the sky, where the clouds had taken on a greenish hue. “What do you make of that?”

Porter squinted. “I don’t know—something in the atmosphere…pol en maybe? Looks like we’re in for a good old-fashioned thunderstorm.”

“It’s eerie. Do you think it’s a bad omen?”

“What do you mean?”

Emory shifted in his seat. “Like, maybe today isn’t such a good day to propose?”

“Man, no day is a good day to propose.”

Emory laughed. “Mark my words, Porter. You’re going to meet a woman someday who wil bring you to your knees.”

“Never,” Porter said, shaking his head emphatical y.

The men parried back and forth with the familiar ease of boys who’d grown up side by side. As the SUV climbed higher and higher, the landscape became more recognizable

—and rugged. Here in the mountains, the trees were tal er and sturdier, and black soil gave way to rocky red clay. But a hardy environment produced a hardy crop of people.

They passed a Christmas tree farm and the picturesque covered bridge over Trimble Creek, then at the top of a rise that leveled into a long road ahead of them, a sign announced “Sweetness, Georgia, population 952.”

“Guess the Haywoods had twins,” Porter said with a laugh.

It was a joke because, in truth, the town’s population had been declining for the last couple of decades as new generations had turned away from farming and left to seek careers in outlying areas, especial y Atlanta. Every time Emory came back to his hometown, it seemed as if another business or plant had closed its doors and more homes and farms were for sale.

Al the more reason to get Shelby out of Sweetness, no matter how much they both loved growing up here. After his overseas stint ended, he planned to start col ege classes part-time. Even if he opted not to make the military a career, he didn’t foresee being able to make a living in Sweetness…unless he wanted to work for Shelby’s father at the grocery.

Emory shuddered.

“You okay, man?”

“It’s just coming back here, you know? Mixed feelings.”

“Yeah, I know. I couldn’t wait to get away from this place, but something always pul s me back.”

Emory nodded. He understood completely.

Watching over the town was a tal white water tower in the shape of a vertical capsule, with the greeting, Welcome to Sweetness. Someone had spray painted “I love Pam” in large red letters. Emory smiled—he’d graffitied his own sentiments about Shelby a time or two, as had many boys in town about the object of their affection if they were reckless enough to make that climb. Once a year, the mayor would send up painters to restore the surface to white and reletter the town’s name. And the process would start al over again.