Pick Your Moment: Chapter One
Spur Of The Moment
Wyatt
Wyatt Foisy loved Vermont’s crisp fall air. He’d grown up in San Antonio, but he’d never loved the extreme heat. In fact, he’d often thought Texas weather was out to kill him.
In the military, he’d been sent to one hotspot after another. Hotspot because of the terrorists and insurgents harming people, sure, but also hotspot as in hot as Hades with temperatures climbing to lava levels.
Wyatt wondered if the worst people he’d encountered had turned out that way in part because of the heat. Which was obviously wrong, as most of the best people he’d known had also lived in the heat. His folks had loved it, but he hadn’t inherited that gene. Their love of plants and playing with new combinations, yep, he had that. The only time he loved the heat was when he was in a greenhouse. Splicing plants and watching new variations grow gave the heat a purpose other than frying his ass.
He also couldn’t blame the heat for Genn banging his former buddy Rob behind his back.
Wyatt shut down that line of thinking. He was being a jerk, and he knew it. His mom would have insisted he apologize to Mother Nature, as Lucia insisted nature knew best. All she needed was a helping hand, which they could provide.
His parents had loved helping nature mutate species to make a plant stronger, more weather-resistant, or able to grow more quickly. They’d spent years in botany labs and in their yard working with plants, helping them survive in an increasingly polluted world.
Wyatt knew they hadn’t planned on having a kid, especially in their mid-forties, but they’d been great parents anyway. He’d grown up in greenhouses and had learned to love the plants, even though working in botany labs hadn’t been his thing. After the action and physicality of the military, working in the quiet labs his parents had enjoyed sucked.
His dad had died while Wyatt was deployed. They hadn’t told him his dad’s cancer had advanced, and he regretted missing that time with him. He’d refused to do that with his mom.
When his tour finished, he’d taken an honorable discharge and worked in the lab with her, helping in every way he could.
Her death from cancer a few months before left him reeling. He’d quit his lab job in short order, left the state and its heat behind.
Now he was in Vermont, breathing air that hinted of autumn—no three-digit temperatures in sight.
Wyatt grinned as he drove his Ioniq onto the apple farm where he’d be spending the next few months or longer, depending on how things went.
Friends from the military owned the farm, and more military buddies lived here with them and in the nearby town of Phail.
The town’s name made him shake his head. Troy “Epic” Phail should hate his surname. Instead, he had fun with it, making jokes before anyone else could. Now, he was using the ridiculous name to promote the town built by his ancestors.
Even the apple farm’s inn used the name. The No Phailed Apples Inn was a happy yellow building that exuded warmth from the exterior.
Following instructions, Wyatt drove past it and into the parking lot in front of a red Texas-sized barn.
A farmhouse sat across the road from it, while gorgeous gardens separated the inn and the farmhouse. Gardens full of blooms, trees, and bushes. His buddy, Gray Santoro, had worked some serious magic to create this from what had once been an abandoned field of weeds.
Instead of heading to the farmhouse to announce his arrival, Wyatt headed to the garden that had to be close to a couple of acres.
He followed a pathway, enjoying the mix of flowers, succulents, and bushes. Blooms everywhere, but plenty of shades of green, too.
He ran his hands over the various textures, assuming Gray had intended the space to be a sensory extravaganza. He’d succeeded.
“Slinger, is that you?”
Wyatt turned at his callsign. Well, one of them, anyway. With his name being Wyatt, he tended to get a variety of names, all based around Wyatt Earp. High Noon, Earp, and Gunslinger were the most common. The final one was shortened to Slinger a lot. Weird, but those were military callsigns for you.
“Claus. Great to see you, man.”
And then he was engulfed in a back-slapping hug. Gray Santoro, a proud Italian, was never shy about showing emotion or affection.
“Couldn’t resist the plants, could you?”
Wyatt laughed. “Not a chance. This is incredible. You’ve touched all the senses.”
Gray nodded. “In honor of my sister.”
Wyatt knew Gray’s sister had lived with cerebral palsy, and she’d loved watching Gray and his mamma work in the yard with plants. She’d loved the textures, scents, colors, and shapes. The girl had passed in her teens, but Gray kept her memory alive. “Great job. She would love it.”
Gray nodded with a soft smile. “She would. It’s easy to imagine her enjoying hours out here. Mamma, too.”
Wyatt sighed. “My folks, too.”
Gray hugged him again. “So sorry to hear about your mom. I’m glad you were able to spend the last few years with her. I know she loved having you there to help her after your dad passed.”
Wyatt swallowed the lump in his throat with a nod.
Gray slapped his back. “Come and meet my Amber and Boomer. Then we’ll head to the farmhouse and get you a room. We’re all glad you’re here.”
The words settled somewhere deep inside Wyatt. He’d spoken with the Malssum men before deciding to head north. The three men and their two sisters, one being Gray’s Amber, had inherited the farm from a great-uncle they hadn’t known existed.
For the past year, they’d implemented regenerative farming practices to rejuvenate the earth and the apple trees that filled the landscape. He couldn’t wait to explore the entire orchard and check out their improvements, figure out how to add some of his own.
A woman and a large German shepherd waited for them on the pathway, the dog alert, his eyes and attention trained on Wyatt.
Gray’s smile was automatic, and Wyatt could almost see the love radiating from him. When they reached the pair, Gray leaned down to kiss Amber softly. He whispered something in her ear that made her cheeks flush as she smiled.
Then Claus looped his arm around her. “Amber, I’d like you to meet Wyatt Foisy, aka Slinger. Wyatt, this is Amber, and our friend Boomer.” He patted a barely visible baby bump. “And this is our Sprout.”
Amber smiled but looked at her dog first. “Boomer. Friend. Wyatt is a friend.”
Then she shook his hand as the dog relaxed its stance. A protection dog? The command and tone were similar to those he’d heard with K-9 officers overseas. He knew there’d been an incident at a hotel where Amber had worked, and then the thugs had followed her here to Vermont.
The dog was probably related to those incidents. Wyatt offered his hand for the dog to sniff. If he were right, the dog would put Wyatt’s scent into his memory bank. Most dogs were smart about sensing motives, but he figured Boomer was better than most.
After the dog checked him out, Amber confirmed his suspicions when she told the shepherd he was free. Another command that proved he was more than a pet. Wyatt would have to hear the rest of the story one day.
As they headed to the farmhouse, Wyatt got a better view of the front section of the orchard. Instead of following his buddy up the porch, he detoured to the closest apple tree. He ran his hand over the bark and checked out the lower branches. Happy and healthy.
Gray’s voice held a smile. “The apples are ready if you want to taste them. We’ve got some of last year’s crop in the kitchen, too.”
That had him turning. “Almost a year old. How are they?”
Gray grinned. “The cold room at the back of the apple barn keeps them in incredible shape. Come and see for yourself.”
Wyatt followed his friend into the house. In the mudroom, an entire wall was covered in shelves filled with shoes, boots, and moccasins. Name tags indicated each person’s slot. It slammed into his heart when he saw his own name there.
A long bench covered another wall. Amber sat and pointed at a basket. “Those are for visitors and new arrivals. I hope you can find a pair that fits, and then you can leave them on your shelf so no one else uses them. We prefer to leave the mud outside, and these keep our feet warm and the floors clean.”
Grinning, he sorted through the basket, learning they were handmade by Nimii, a local friend. He chose a charcoal-gray pair, put his boots in his slot, and felt like part of the family.
His heart ached for the loss of his parents. They’d loved each other, but their family had been a quiet one. Not demonstrative with words or actions.
This would be a new type of family for him, and he was looking forward to finding out if it was a good fit.
He hoped like hell it was.
Esme
Esme Garcia studied the map posted beside the rest stop building, looking for the next town to visit. She was done with big cities and the high-paced, high-pressure life that went with them. She’d left the runways and designer clothes behind her.
Her Nans would be breathing a sigh of relief for her. Nans had allowed her to take a modeling contract back in high school as a way to help Esme support herself in case the cancer Nans battled took her quickly. She’d always looked for ways to take care of Esme in the present and the future.
Nans had become Esme’s entire world after her mother, if that term even applied, had dumped her at her grandmother’s cottage in the middle of the night when Esme had been about seven. The cottage had been on the outskirts of a town named Giblet in California. Esme had never seen so much dark or so many trees. It had appeared wild and scary.
Ramona told Esme to get out of the car. As soon as Esme had closed the door, her mother had shrieked, “Freedom!” and driven her rattletrap rust-mobile down the bumpy lane and away from the cottage. High as a kite, and thrilled to be minus a daughter.
That was the last time Esme had seen her. A few years back she’d done an online search and found her mother’s death notification with no mention of Esme or Nans. As far as the obituary was concerned, Ramona was a single woman who had friends but no family.
Despite the obit saying Ramona had been a terrific friend and the life of the party, Esme hadn’t been able to feel much sorrow.
Not that she would have said that aloud to Nans. Nancy Garcia insisted Esme’s mother deserved at least a modicum of politeness because she’d birthed Esme. That had to count for something.
Ramona brought Esme to Nans, who’d taken wonderful care of her. She’d even loved her, a new feeling for Esme. One she hadn’t trusted for years because she hadn’t felt worthy.
Nans had given her everything.
It had been twelve years since Nans had succumbed to the cancer she’d battled for a decade. Cheerful and optimistic until the end, making Esme promise she’d live a good life and find her joy.
For a while, that joy had been modeling. The runways and shoots for clothing and skincare companies had been a whirlwind of people being nice to her.
It had taken too long for Esme to realize that their kindness was often a cover for greed and selfishness. Still, she’d been luckier than many. Her agent was genuine, ensuring her contracts didn’t have hidden clauses or require her to do anything Nans wouldn’t have approved.
Nans had a way of extracting promises you’d do anything in your power not to break. Claudia promised to take care of Esme, to ensure she didn’t fall in with bad crowds or take jobs that were anything less than safe and honorable. Claudia had been a good agent and partner in her career, but she was gone too.
Along with Esme’s career. As Esme ran her fingers over the scar that ran from temple to jaw, she couldn’t find it within herself to care.
Modeling had been lucrative, and Esme’s healthy bank accounts meant she didn’t need to find an immediate job. Her accountant assured her that if she were careful, she probably wouldn’t have to work ever again.
Which was weird. She’d been working since she’d signed that contract at sixteen. Modeling looked glamorous from the outside, but it was mostly hard work.
Fifteen-hour days hadn’t been uncommon, with photographers demanding perfection before letting the models finish for the day.
Shaking off the past, Esme returned her attention to the map. She’d stayed the night in Albany on her way to explore Vermont and New Hampshire.
She hoped to stay in the area long enough to see the autumn leaves people raved about. Most were still green, but surely there were enough quirky towns to keep her interested for a few weeks. Maybe she’d even find one she liked enough to stay.
She hadn’t stayed anywhere since she’d left Giblet after Nans’ death. The flurry of jobs and travel took her to different parts of the world, which sounded fancier than it was. Mostly, she’d seen airports, hotels, and shooting locations.
A far cry from a small town named in honor of the turkey ranches surrounding it. She’d loved growing up in Giblet. Being in school had been a luxury she’d never known. Thankfully, she’d somehow picked up reading and basic number concepts along the way, but it had been a struggle to catch up with kids who’d been in school for years while she’d spent most of her life in seedy apartments and seedier hotel rooms.
In Giblet, she was able to be clean, sleep in a bed, eat three times a day, and go to school. Esme had fallen into paradise with her Nans.
A name on the map caught her attention. She laughed and pulled out her phone. A quick peek showed no one near her so she wouldn’t bother anyone.
She activated the video with it facing the map. “Hi, everyone. This is Esme, and I’m in search of another small town to explore. Not just any small town, but another one with a quirky name or attitude. As some of you know, I spent the best years of my life in a town named Giblet. Now I’m hoping to showcase places that are filled with the same kind of love and fun.”
She panned the camera slowly over the map. “I’m just outside Albany, New York, and this is a map of the local area. Can you spot the town I’m checking out next? I’m sure there are dozens of great towns in this area, and I’m sure I’ll visit a few, but I wonder if you can spot where I’m heading first?”
She laughed. “Comment below to tell me your guess. Take care of yourselves and each other. I’ll talk to you soon from the next small town.”
She clicked off the camera and shoved it back into her pocket.
It surprised Esme that her small-town posts had become popular on social media. It was a far cry from modeling clothes or skincare, and unlike anything she’d done before. She was having fun and seeing the country.
Being behind the camera removed the pressure and kept the fun. The money she earned from her social media sponsors went into a separate bank account. Whatever she earned, she sent as donations to each town she visited. All of them had worthwhile ventures in need of funding. New schools or clinics, traffic lights, sidewalk repairs, and libraries.
She never used her surname on social media and hadn’t expected anyone to link her modeling identity to social accounts showcasing small towns, but the paparazzi were everywhere. More than a year after she’d left the business, some still followed her. The only advantage to people connecting her to her modeling career was the money she earned from sponsors. She hated the spotlight but appreciated being able to give away so much money.
Another peek showed no one at the rest stop paid her any attention. Time to get in her car before that changed. She’d bought a new SUV, white to match so many other SUVs on the road. The paparazzi still found her, even when she didn’t go live on her socials. She delayed them until she was away from the town, hoping to stay under the radar.
Esme grinned at the map one more time before heading to her Escape. She’d chosen it mostly for the name, as this part of her life was supposed to be her escape from the limelight.
Inside, she patted the steering wheel. “Okay, Houdini, we’re off on our next adventure. Time to head to Phail.”
She laughed as she turned toward the highway. “I wonder if they realize how terrible that sounds?”
