The First One Read online

  The First One

  Copyright © 2015 by Tawdra Kandle

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover by L.P. Hidalgo of BookFabulous Designs

  Proofreading by Kelly Baker

  Formatting by Champagne Formats

  Table of Contents

  Other Books

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Note from the author

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Playlist for The First One

  Other books by the author:

  Fearless

  Breathless

  Restless

  Endless

  The King Series Boxset

  Undeniable

  Unquenchable

  The Posse

  The Last One

  The First One

  Best Served Cold

  Just Desserts

  I Choose You

  Death Fricassee

  Stardust on the Sea

  MY EYES WERE BLEARY and dry as I sped along the two-lane road between newly plowed fields. I’d been back to Georgia twice over the past eight years, but never to this part of the state; I’d stuck to the high-rise buildings and traffic-clogged streets of Atlanta. It was safer that way.

  But now here I was, hurtling straight back into the center of the town I’d run like hell to get away from. Straight back toward the girl I’d fought to erase from my mind and my heart.

  I could almost feel her now, like there was some odd supernatural connection between us. I wasn’t far from her family’s farm. If I made a left at the next intersection, I could be pulling down the long driveway that led to the Reynolds’ home within ten minutes.

  No way was that going to happen. My plan for the next few days was simple: get in, do what I had to do and get out. I had a commitment in a week in Los Angeles, and I was going to be there.

  But first I had to bury my father.

  My hands tightened on the steering wheel. The shock was still there, along with a sharp, keening pain. His death had been so sudden that I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around the finality. Part of me still expected to see him sitting on the porch when I drove up to the house, pipe in his hand. Mom never let him smoke it inside, so the porch was their compromise.

  “That’s what good marriage is built on, boy.” He’d said it to me so often that I could hear his voice. “Compromise. It’s about give and take, and often you think you’re giving more than you take. But it all evens out.”

  If he were on the porch today when I climbed out of the car, he’d lift the pipe from his mouth, grin at me and call out, “Well, and if isn’t Flynnigan Evans, come home at last.”

  He always called me that in playful moments, despite the fact that it wasn’t my name. In fact, he’d used it so often during my early childhood that I’d given that as my real name to the kindergarten teacher, embarrassing my poor mother. Pop only chuckled and winked at me.

  I couldn’t quite believe he wouldn’t be there today. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’d expected that I’d come home at some point. It’d never been a clear plan, but I figured eventually, one day, I’d stop caring about Alison Reynolds and I’d feel comfortable returning to Burton. And when I thought about that vague day, Pop was always waiting on the porch.

  I slowed and pulled the car to the narrow gravel shoulder of the road. Just ahead, a small green sign welcomed me to Burton, Georgia, population 2147. It’d been there, in its current incarnation, since my freshman year of high school. I remembered that because I’d been the back-up photographer for the school newspaper. Kyle Durham, who was a senior and the paper’s main photographer, usually covered every event, but he’d just been diagnosed with mono—coincidentally, at the same time his best friend’s girlfriend had come down with it, too. To say Kyle had his hands full at the moment was an understatement. But apparently his screwed-up life was about to become my opportunity. The newspaper advisor, Mr. Wilder, grabbed me in the hallway after school and told me to meet Rachel Thomas out front, because we had a story to cover.

  I knew Rachel because she was a friend of my sister Maureen; she’d been the one to suggest I join the paper. But when I spotted the tall junior leaning against one of the thick cement columns, she wasn’t alone. I recognized the pretty girl standing with her from my own class, but I couldn’t quite remember her name. She’d gone to junior high out at regional, as did most of the kids who lived on farms surrounding Burton. When we’d started ninth grade, the small class I’d been part of since kindergarten had swelled to twice its size. I still hadn’t learned most of the new names. This girl, though, was in chemistry and English with me, and I was pretty sure her name was Alice or Alicia. Something that began with an A, anyway.

  She’d turned toward me, and for the first time, I looked at her. Really looked. Huge, gorgeous brown eyes gazed back at me, and I was gone.

  “Hey, Flynn.” Rachel pushed off the concrete. “We gotta cover the dedication of the new town sign. Try not to pass out from excitement.” She glanced at the other girl. “Do you know Ali? Alison Reynolds, Flynn Evans. She’s going to write the story. I’m just the wheels for this one.”

  Alison’s perfect lips curved into a slight smile. “Yeah, Flynn and I have a couple of classes together.”

  They both looked at me as though they expected me to say something, but I could only manage a nod and a shrug as I followed them to Rachel’s old Toyota.

  The ride out to the edge of town was pretty uneventful, I thought, but I couldn’t swear to it. I sat in the backseat, riveted to every move Ali made. Her light brown hair fell in silken curtains around her shoulders, and she frequently tucked it behind her ears. She never turned around to look at me, but when she faced Rachel, I was pretty sure she was glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. It made me feel funny each time I saw her in profile; my heart sped up, and my stomach clenched, like it did on the roller coaster at Six Flags. By the time we got to the spot where a couple of cars were pulled off to the shoulder next to the sign, I wasn’t sure my hands would be steady enough to take the pictures.

  The dedication was hardly world news. The mayor and a few members of the town council stood on the side of the road, while a police car diverted traffic, its light spinning in a silent whirl. I stood with Ali and Rachel as the mayor droned on, snapping pictures the old 35 millimeter camera Mr. Wilder insisted I had to use.

  I didn’t speak a word to either of the girls until we got back to the school, when Ali turned to me as I climbed out of the
car.

  “Do you want to work on the article together? You know, make sure it goes with the pictures you took?”

  I managed to locate my voice. “Uh, yeah. Sure. I gotta develop them first, so maybe, uh, like Friday afternoon?” I knew I’d have to stay after school the next day to work in the darkroom, and I was still learning how to do that. It hadn’t bothered me before that our advisor was making me learn how to use an old camera and film system, but now, I was cursing the fact that I didn’t have the digital, where I’d be able to upload the pictures right away.

  “That works for me. See you tomorrow.” She flipped her hair back and shot me a brilliant smile. I managed not to trip over my own feet as I climbed out of the car.

  Rachel leaned out her window. “Flynn, I’m dropping Ali off at her house. I can give you a ride, too, if you want. I didn’t even think of it until now.”

  I shook my head. “Thanks, but it’s not far. I’ll walk. See you later.” I stood back as they pulled out. Once the car was out of sight, I hoisted my backpack over one shoulder and hit the sidewalk.

  I’d made it part way home before a familiar blue Ford pulled up alongside me. “There you are, son. Thought I’d missed you.”

  I went around to the passenger side and climbed into the front seat. “Sorry, Pop. I told Reenie I had to stay after for newspaper.”

  “She told me, and so did Mr. Wilder, but I thought I’d come back and look for you. Save you a walk.”

  Since we lived in town, my sisters and I’d never ridden the bus. We either walked or, more often, caught rides with my dad. The drawbacks of having a parent teach at the same high school we attended were legion, but there were a few perks. This was one of them.

  As we drove home, I slouched in my seat and stared straight ahead. From the corner of my eye, I caught my father watching me.

  “So you had your first photojournalism job today, huh? How was it? Exciting as you thought?”

  I rolled my eyes. “They dedicated the town’s new welcome sign, Pop. It wasn’t exactly dodging bullets on a battlefield.”

  “And may it never come to that.” He shook his head. “But still, good for you. Get some decent shots?” My father was an amateur photographer who’d been the one to buy me my first camera and teach me the basics.

  “I think so, but I won’t know ’til I get them developed. I don’t know why Mr. Wilder won’t just let me use the digital. Or my own camera, at least, instead of that dinosaur.”

  “It’s good for you to know how to handle film and learn the old-fashioned way. That way you’re prepared for anything.”

  I grunted, neither agreeing nor outright disagreeing. I kept seeing those brown eyes and the slow smile. Alison Reynolds. I said her name in my head, trying it out.

  “Hey, Pop?” We were nearly home by the time I spoke again. “Do you remember when you met Mom?”

  He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “Of course I do. Happiest day of my life. We were in college, and at a party. I was acting up, being wild, trying to get her attention because she’d caught my eye.” He laughed. “I was not many years over here in this country at that point, you know, and not quite the confident man you see before you now. I tried to pull her into my foolishness, and she told me in no uncertain terms that she was having none of it. Said she wasn’t interested in stupid little boys. I spent the next three months proving to her I could be more.”

  “Three months?” At the age of fourteen, that sounded like a lifetime.

  “Yes, indeed. I got serious. Spent hours studying with her at the library, because that was the only place she’d agree to see me. No parties, no drinking . . . and finally, finally she agreed to go out with me. She made me work for it, your mother did.” He grinned. “Still does.”

  “Why’d you do it? Why’d you go to all that trouble over a girl?” We’d turned into the driveway alongside our house, but neither of us made a move to get out, even after Pop turned off the car.

  “Because I knew she was it for me. I didn’t know if I’d be good enough for her, or if it would work out, but I knew I’d found the woman who was everything I’d ever wanted. She was worth the wait. Worth the work.” He cocked his head at me. “This is an odd conversation for a Wednesday afternoon. Do you have your eye on a girl? Not Rachel Thomas, surely?”

  I shook my head, trying not to grimace. Rachel was my sister’s friend, which made her off-limits, even if I were interested. “No.”

  “Hmmm.” Pop shifted in the driver’s seat. “Not going to tell me?”

  “Not yet. Maybe it’s nothing.”

  “All right then. I’m here when you need to talk.” He opened the door and began to get out before pausing to look at me over his shoulder. “Keep in mind, you’d do well to find a girl like your mother. They don’t come better than her.”

  I swallowed hard now, hearing his words echo. The sign still stood there, worn and weathered twelve years later. And here I sat, parked alongside the road, seeing ghosts of people who didn’t exist anymore.

  I gritted my teeth and took a deep breath. A few miles away, my mother and sisters were waiting for me. I had to pull my shit together.

  It was time to go home.

  WHEN I WAS A little girl, bored was a bad word in our family. If I ever dared to claim I had nothing to do, better believe my mother or my grandma found something for me, and it was never anything fun. I learned fast to occupy myself or suffer the consequences, usually in form of weeding a garden, shelling peas, peeling potatoes or putting labels on the jars of jam Grandma made.

  Bored was not something I remembered being in the last decade or so. Having an eight-year old daughter, helping my brother run our family farm and the adjoining roadside produce stand . . . yeah, I was usually tired, overwhelmed, maybe anxious, but never bored.

  At the moment, though, I was dangerously close.

  We kept our farm stand, The Colonel’s Last Stand—named for our several-times over great grandfather, Colonel Pierce Reynolds—open all year around, though we opened later and closed earlier in the winter. Now it was early spring, and none of our own crops were ready yet. We had some oranges and grapefruit up from Florida, but that wasn’t exactly bringing in the crowds of shoppers. Business would begin picking up in another month, but for now, I had time to kill in the long gaps between customers.

  This was new. Usually, I had my daughter Bridget hanging out with me at the stand, but she was spending this weekend at her best friend Katie’s sleepover. I missed her happy chatter and smiling face. I’d already re-organized our shelves of non-perishables, dusted the tables, tidied up the cashier area . . . I sighed and wondered if I could justify closing up an hour early and heading home. My brother was more than likely out in the fields, and I might end up with the whole house to myself. The image of a frothy bubble bath popped into my mind, and I smiled. How long had it been since I’d had time for that? I couldn’t even remember.

  I’d just about talked myself into shutting down when I heard the familiar crunch of car tires on our gravel parking area. Stifling a groan—and watching my luxurious bath float away on one those shiny bubbles—I pasted a smile on my face and leaned out to see who’d stopped by.

  My smile turned genuine when I recognized the sleek black Porsche. “Alex!” I darted out to meet him halfway across the small lot. “What’re you doing here?”

  His dark blond hair was perfectly styled, and his pale blue eyes twinkled at me. “Well, I just thought I’d stop at the best stand in Georgia and see what goodies you might have for me today. Plus get a hug from my best friend. What’s doing, chick?”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, closing my eyes and breathing in his scent. “You always smell so expensive, Alex.”

  He laughed. “Darling girl, I am expensive.” He tweaked my nose. “And you are adorable. Look at you, still rocking the pigtails.”

  I stuck out my tongue. “Did you come all the way from Atlanta just to make fun of me?”

  “No, actually. I
have some business in Savannah on Monday, and I thought I’d spend the weekend here with the folks before I go. I’m on my way to the farm now.”

  I tilted my head up at him, my eyes narrowing. “You’ve been spending an awful lot of time in Savannah in the last year. Something going on you want to share with the class?”

  He flushed and looked over my shoulder. “Maybe.”

  “Oooooh, someone’s got a boyfriend!” I sang the words.

  Alex shook his head, but his mouth curved into a smile, almost as though he couldn’t help himself. “Not quite. Not yet. But . . . maybe. Someday.”

  “I want to hear all the dirt.” I took his hand and pulled him into the enclosed part of the stand. “Sit there.”

  Alex dropped into the folding chair we kept next to the register, and I hoisted myself onto the citrus display table, pushing a few bags of oranges out of the way first.

  “There’s not so much to tell. Not yet. I met him last year, when I came over for meetings. He’s an art dealer with one of the galleries there. We hit it off, but he wasn’t looking for a relationship. We were just friends. But we started chatting on line, and texting, and whenever someone had to take a meeting in Savannah, I volunteered.” He shrugged. “Things are heating up a little, but we’re both being . . . cautious. He got out of a long-term relationship a year ago, and it didn’t end well.”

  “Awww . . .” I hugged my arms around my middle. “Romantic! What’s his name?”

  “Ah-ah-ah.” Alex wagged his finger at me. “That falls under the category of me to know, you to find out. Maybe.”

  “Oh, come on. I won’t tell anyone. I pinky swear.” I held up my little finger.

  “Nope. I don’t want to jinx it. But if anything gets more certain, you’ll be the first person I call, okay?”

  “Hmmm.” I pouted. “Fine. And I want to meet him, too.”

  “So you can tell him all my deep, dark secrets? I don’t think so.”

  “You’re no fun at all.”

  “That’s not what he says.” Alex wiggled his eyebrows at me until I giggled. “So enough about boring old me. What’s happening in the exciting metropolis that is Burton, Georgia?”