Breakup In A Small Town

This isn’t the man she married...

Jenny Buchanan never considered what “for better or for worse” meant when she married Adam Buchanan at nineteen. Six years and two little boys later, “for worse” arrives in the form of a tornado that ravages Slippery Rock and injures Adam. Now he’s a stranger to his family...and love won’t be enough to bring him back.

Only when Jenny asks him to move out does Adam become the husband she needs...but Adam isn’t the only one who’s changed. As their attraction sparks back to life, Jenny and Adam must learn what it is to grow up—and grow together—before this small-town breakup lasts forever.

“You’re wrong, you know...”

“But you can still build this business. We had plans, and we’ll have to adjust, but—” Jenny stopped talking. She couldn’t make Adam want this any more than she could make him want her, want life in general. He had to want those things himself.

He watched her for a long moment. “We?”

Her gaze met his, and it didn’t matter that she’d asked him to move out. That their marriage might be over. What mattered was the look in his eyes. The green darkened to nearly emerald, and seemed to cut right through the confusion she felt at what she wanted, professionally and personally. All that mattered was that for this moment, the two of them were together.

He’d come out of the shell she had begged him to exit.

Adam was back.

Jenny swallowed. “I have the draft of the contracts in my office. All you have to do is sign.”

“I’ll sign anything you want me to sign.”

She was in so much trouble.

Dear Reader,

Some books don’t want to be written, but they just won’t let you go. Breakup in a Small Town is one of those books. I first met Adam and Jenny in Famous in a Small Town—they were fun and silly and seemed to have life perfectly in place. So much so that I had to just roll my eyes at them. A lot. I fully expected to kill Adam off in the tornado that devastated Slippery Rock, but Jenny refused to let Adam die...and I’m so glad. Because falling in love? Easy. Staying in love, especially when love seems to have left us behind? That is truly special.

Helping Adam and Jenny not only fall back in love, but build a deeper love than they found the first time around has been the best writing experience in my life.

Someone told me once that there is no such thing as an ending, only a new beginning. I like to believe that’s true. I hope you enjoy your trip back to Slippery Rock with Adam and Jenny!

I love hearing from readers. You can catch up with me through my website and newsletter at www.kristinaknightauthor.com or on Facebook at www.Facebook.com/kristinaknightromanceauthor, and if you’re a visual reader like me, follow my books on my Pinterest boards—you’ll get some behind-the-scenes information and lots of yummy pictures.

Happy reading!

Kristina

Breakup in a Small Town

Kristina Knight

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KRISTINA KNIGHT decided she wanted to be a writer like her favorite soap-opera heroine, Felicia Gallant, one cold day when she was home sick from school. She took a detour into radio and television journalism but never forgot her first love of romance novels, or her favorite character from her favorite soap. In 2012 she got The Call from an editor who wanted to buy her book. Kristina lives in Ohio with her handsome husband, incredibly cute daughter and two dogs.

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For everyone who has found a bright beginning after a dark ending.

For Kyle, who always brings me to the light.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Extract

Copyright

PROLOGUE

Three months ago

THE TORNADO SIRENS began blaring through the downtown area of Slippery Rock as Adam Buchanan raced around the corner of Franklin and Mariner. He glanced behind to see a waterspout out over the lake, visible just over the roof of the Buchanan Cabinetry warehouse. The spout seemed stuck, and he prayed it would stay stuck. Just stay in the lake, away from town, away from people. The wind could still damage property, but strong winds were better than a full-blown tornado any day of the week. A block down Mariner, he rounded the corner to Main Street, and could see the old church, now renovated and housing the day care where his kids spent most summer afternoons.

At the courthouse square, Sheriff Calhoun was urging people into the police station, out of harm’s way. A few residents got into their trucks or cars and sped away from the area.

Adam glanced back again as the wind seemed to increase around him. It was as if time stopped for everything except the waterspout.

The spout moved, becoming bigger as he watched, and the wind roared even louder in his ears. Move, Adam, he ordered himself.

He couldn’t run; the wind was too strong. Sheriff Calhoun motioned at him, yelling something, but the tornado flung the words into the sky. Adam put one arm up to shield his face and continued on. Just another half block and he’d be at the day care center. He would get the kids over to the police station and into the storm shelter in the basement of the building. They would be fine. Just fifteen more steps.

A piece of roof or siding sheared past him and Adam spun a little to the left, reflexively trying to avoid the debris. A gust of wind rattled the awning of another downtown business, and hail began pummeling the tarp above him.

He looked across the street at the old church’s stained glass windows, at the steeple swaying from side to side. No basement. Nowhere for the kids to go to escape all the glass that could explode from the air pressure at any minute.

Adam pushed off the brick wall, running as hard as he could through the gusting wind, until he burst through the front door.

“Frankie, Garrett, it’s Daddy. Where are you?” The wind seemed to lessen once he was inside the old building, but he could still hear the windows rattling, and something crashed outside, not far away.

No one answered his calls. Adam tried the old sanctuary first, because it was an interior room without a lot of windows. No kids lined those walls. The converted classrooms were empty, too. He whirled, running through the layout of the place in his mind. When he was a kid, before they’d converted the church, local kids had played endless hours of hide-and-seek or tag-in-the-dark here. No basement, but there were offices on the back side and—

“Kids!” he yelled again, heading for the baptismal area. It was a six-foot by six-foot sunken area that the church elders would fill with water for baptisms several times each year. No windows, and enough space for the kids and adults to wait out a normal storm.

But there was nothing normal about waterspouts, and the radar on his phone had showed a solid blob of red over the entirety of Slippery Rock and the lake area. This was no normal storm. He had to get them out of there and into the shelter at the police station.

“Kids!” Adam called. The door to the baptismal area was lodged shut and he battered his shoulder against it. A long howl of wind seemed to shudder through the church and then the old door gave way. Adam stumbled into the empty room. No kids. And he had no idea where to look next.

Another loud wail of wind shrieked by, rattling the glass in the windows and seeming to make the entire building shake. A loud crack sounded, louder than the wind. The building shook again, and Adam flattened his back against the wall as part of the roof was ripped away.

He could see a green-gray sky where there had once been dark beams of cedar. Other bits of debris sailed past—tree limbs and what appeared to be hubcaps, and—Adam caught his breath. That looked like a telephone pole! And far, far above that, the steeple twisted and turned in the wind, swaying left and then right and then seeming to bend over the gaping hole where the roof used to be.

Pressing his back against the wall, Adam made his six-foot-two-inch body as flat and small as he could. There was nowhere else to go, and at least the kids weren’t here. Wherever they were, they were safer than he was now. The steeple bent back, and he watched more debris from the tornado whizz past through the sky above. The steeple surged forward and another loud crack sounded over the noise of the storm. When it bent back again, he’d go. He could make it to the police station, see if the workers got the kids over there before the storm began. If not, he’d figure out where they’d taken them and he’d make sure they were safe.

One. The steeple began twisting again, this time pushing toward the rear of the building.

Two. Just a little more. Just get out of his line of sight, he thought, give him enough space to escape from the baptismal font and slip out of the church.

Three. The steeple disappeared from view and Adam pushed off the wall, running through the old church. Hail pelted him through the ruined roof. He hit the front door with his shoulder, pushing as hard as he could against the winds holding it closed. Stained glass shattered, hitting his legs, back and shoulders in hot little explosions of pain, and still he pushed. The door opened a few inches and he pushed harder.

Another crack sounded and Adam looked up. The steeple bent forward at a weird angle, teetered precariously, then twisted left and began to fall.

Another gust of wind pushed Adam back through the door, slamming the thick oak panel against his knees as the steeple came crashing through what was left of the roof.

And then the world went black.

CHAPTER ONE

ADAM SAT IN his wheelchair, watching life happen outside the picture window of his house. Old Mrs. Thompson carried her gardening basket to her mailbox, talking to Mr. Rhodes as she plucked a few errant weeds from the butterfly bushes lining her walk.

Adam’s wife, Jenny, had left the windows open today, so he could hear kids chattering as they walked home from school, and the sound of a passing car up on the main road. And here he was, stuck in the wheelchair that had become his main mode of transportation since he’d woken up in the hospital nearly a week after the F4 tornado tore downtown Slippery Rock to shreds. Not because the crashing steeple had paralyzed him, but because it had messed up his brain. While the doctors adjusted medications to control the epilepsy he hated, Adam was stuck in the chair. Watching the world go by.

God, he hated watching. He wanted to be doing. Working with his tools in the workshop at Buchanan Cabinetry, playing with his kids in the yard or taking a walk with his wife. The woman who’d been stopping his brain from functioning properly much longer than the epilepsy.

The woman who now looked at him only with pity in her eyes.

He hated the pity more than he hated the chair.

Adam had no idea how to deal with either one, so he sat, and he watched, and he wondered if they would all be better off without him. Better off without worrying about when the next seizure would hit, better off because then an able-bodied someone could take his place.

He flexed his fingers against the armrests. The thought of Jenny being with another man, of another guy teaching Frankie how to hit a curve ball or push Garrett higher on the swing set had the pretty blue sky outside the window turning red. He didn’t want another man taking over any tiny, little piece of the life he’d loved before the tornado. Adam sighed. Did it really matter what he wanted? Letting Jenny and the kids move on with their lives, since his was stuck in the wheelchair, was the adult thing to do.

Jenny wouldn’t tell him to leave. If he wanted his family to have a better life, he would have to be the one to leave. Pressure in his chest built up, making it hard to breathe. It was the best option, one that would allow them to heal in a way that his presence never would. Jenny would keep crying herself to sleep. Frankie would still be afraid to so much as hold Adam’s hand, and Garrett... God, Garrett would keep looking at him through green eyes filled with terror.

Adam didn’t want his kids to be afraid of him. He didn’t want his wife to pity him. He just wanted things to go back to normal. To a time when he and Jenny would walk the four blocks to Buchanan Cabinetry together in the mornings. To a time when he’d play with the boys in the backyard before dinner, and wrestle with them before bedtime.

To a time when his touch could soothe whatever troubles made Jenny cry, instead of making those troubles so much worse. He’d been lucky that she fell in love with him before; now it was time to admit that she deserved better. More.

Pushing his hands against the hated wheels, Adam turned the chair from the window and propelled himself to the kitchen. At the step between the kitchen and the living area, he got up, feeling the sharp pain in his knee as he stood. He smiled at the feeling. Pain he could deal with. Pain he could use. He limped across the room, got a glass from the cabinet and poured a beer into it, not caring that he wasn’t supposed to mix alcohol with the medications. He held the glass up, closing his eyes as he let the smell of barley and yeast and hops wash over him.

God, he loved a cold beer.

The back door slammed and Adam dumped the full glass down the sink as his kids rushed through the mudroom, chattering about the Panama Canal and the best way to mix paints in art class. The conversation didn’t make any sense, but then, his kids’ conversations rarely made sense. Frankie, three years older, talked over Garrett, who chattered on whether anyone was listening or not.

Their noise stopped abruptly and Adam turned. His sons stared at him with eyes as wide as quarters.

“Daddy, you’re not s’posed to be out of the chair,” Garrett said, taking a step into the kitchen. He dropped his little backpack onto the tile.

“I was just getting a drink,” he said, rinsing the glass in the sink as he surreptitiously pushed the empty beer bottle into the recycling bin. He limped back to the chair, his injured knee screaming in pain as he went.

“Can I have a snack?” Garrett asked, putting his empty lunch box on Adam’s lap, looking at him expectantly. “I ate all my lunch, even the crusts off my PBJ.”

“Sure. How about a cookie?”

“Mom doesn’t let us have cookies after school, Dad,” Frankie said, rolling his eyes as he spoke in that husky voice that made him sound so much older than seven. “Healthy snacks first. Sweets for dessert.” He motioned to his younger brother. “How about an apple?”

“With caramel?” Garrett asked, rocking up to his tiptoes and clasping his hands together.

“Sure.”

“Cut up, no peel,” he said.

Frankie sighed. “You know I’m not allowed to use the knives.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Adam said.

Frankie sighed again, and this time shook his head. “You’re not allowed, either, Dad. No sharps because of the seizures.”

“Cutting up an apple for your brother isn’t going to give me a seizure.” And he could damn well do one normal thing today.

Frankie pressed his back to the cabinet drawer holding the knives. “It’s against the rules.”

Adam gritted his teeth. “I can cut up an apple for a snack,” he said, putting steel into his voice and hating himself for it. He’d never raised his voice to the kids, not once, before the tornado. Now, it was as if he couldn’t make it through a single conversation without getting angry. He clenched his hands around the arms of the wheelchair and stood up again.

Adam limped across the kitchen, picked up his son and set him aside, then drew a small paring knife from the drawer. He put the apple on the cutting board and set the knife, but before he could make the first cut, the back door opened and his kids were off like shots through the kitchen.

“Mom, Dad’s using a knife!”

“It’s against the rules,” Garrett hollered. “I don’t want Daddy to sheeshur because of the knife, Mama.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Jenny’s soothing voice washed over him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t pick you guys up at school today. How was the bus?”

No answer from either of the kids. Adam sliced the knife through the apple and was rewarded with a perfectly halved green Granny Smith.

“Well? How was the bus?” Jenny asked, and he could hear her heels on the hardwood floor. He continued slicing until he had eight even pieces and then began peeling.

“We missed the bus,” Garrett finally said, his voice quiet.

“It’s okay, though. I walked us home. It wasn’t that far,” Frankie said, the words coming in a rush.

“You...” Jenny was quiet for a moment and Adam pictured her running her hands through her hair as she gathered her thoughts. “Okay, well, in the future, don’t walk if you miss the bus. Just call Buchanan’s and I’ll come get you.”

“I don’t like the bus,” Garrett said. “Those big kids are mean.”

“It isn’t a far walk, Mom. And I’m practically eight now.”

And until the tornado had sidelined Adam from work, Jenny had picked up the kids every day at school. Things were different now, he reminded himself. Just one more reason to let them get on with their lives. Without him.

“You won’t be eight until next summer. That’s more than six months away. And your age isn’t the point, kiddo. The point is you’re supposed to ride the bus. Was this ‘miss’ intentional?”

Though his back was to his family, Adam could picture Jenny with her arms crossed over her chest, looking from Frankie to Garrett with her pretty blue eyes narrowed and calculating. She’d hone in on Garrett as the weak link.

The kids didn’t answer. Adam turned from the counter to her, back to him, just as he’d imagined. Garrett looked to Frankie, who stared right back at him. Neither said a word, but that look said everything. Yeah, an intentional miss.

Jenny watched them a moment longer, but when it became apparent neither would answer the question, she shook her head slowly, then knelt before them. “What did we talk about when school started? I have to stay at the warehouse now until three thirty. That means a bus ride home. Teamwork, right? You guys ride the bus, I meet you here.”

Frankie scuffed the toe of his untied shoe against the tile. “It isn’t fair.”

Jenny looked at Garrett, who scooted a little closer to his older brother. “We don’t like the bus,” he told her.

“The bus is the best option we have until Uncle Aiden gets into town in a few days. Papaw is busy with the guys in the workshop, and Mamaw is dealing with the phones and office stuff while I deal with the warehouse shipments. It’s just for a little while longer. Okay?”

Frankie shrugged, and Garrett looked at the floor. “Guys?” she asked.

Frankie nodded, and Garrett followed suit.

Adam held the plate out. The kids took it to the table and began to eat.

“Uncle Aiden will be here at the end of the week, and maybe once he’s settled, we’ll figure out a new schedule. Until then, it’s the bus after school.” The kids nodded, but kept their attention focused on the table. “I mean it, boys.”

Jenny pushed past Adam and began to clean the apple peels off the counter. She rinsed the cutting board and small knife. She didn’t even look at Adam. “You shouldn’t be standing on that knee. You know what the doctor said.”

Of course he knew what the doctor said. The words that damned man said circled around in Adam’s mind all day long. Don’t put undue pressure on the knee. Even the smallest twist or turn could set back his recovery, especially since they couldn’t perform the needed surgery on his leg until the epilepsy was under control.

“Cutting an apple isn’t putting my knee under any stress.”

“Walking on tile and hardwood is.” Jenny kept her voice even, but shot him a sharp look then motioned to the living room. She held the handles of the wheelchair expectantly, but Adam was damned if he was going to sit back in that thing and be talked to like he was a seven-year-old. He turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen, gritting his teeth against the pain in his knee as he moved. When they were out of earshot of the kids, she said, “And what if you’d had another episode? With a knife in your hand? And the boys in the house?”

“It’s a paring knife, Jen. It’s not going to kill me.” And nothing had happened, so what was the big deal?

“It’s a sharp blade, and it will cut no matter how little it is.”

“Whatever.”

“Stop giving me that answer, Adam. You know your limitations—”

“Peeling an apple for my kids isn’t going to kill me, Jenny.” He threw his arms to the side. “Neither is walking around in my own home instead of wheeling myself in that damned chair.” He pivoted, and pain wrenched through his leg when his Nike caught on the hardwood. His knee gave out, and as he fell to the floor, he saw horror flit over Jenny’s face as she rushed across the room. She cradled his body against hers the way she might hold one of their kids, and that annoyed him more than the pain in his knee hurt. He wasn’t a damned child. He didn’t need a damned babysitter.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said, her voice soothing as she ran her hands over his denim-clad leg. Once upon a time, a touch like that from her would have him hard and ready to take things into their bedroom. He pushed away the heat that flashed through him at her touch. Neither of them needed him acting like a horny teenager right now. “I don’t feel anything out of position. Let’s get you up.” She helped him to the chair.

“Stop, just stop,” he said, when she started running her hands over his leg again. He didn’t think he could keep pushing away his physical reaction to her, not when she was this close to him. Not when he could hear her breathing take on that ragged edge. Part of him wanted her reaction to him. The other part, the smart part, knew physical attraction wouldn’t do either of them any good. Not when his body was out of his control. He grabbed her wrists and pushed her away. “I don’t need a nursemaid. I twisted the knee—it’s not a big deal.”