Page 2 of Saved By A Small Town Country Boy

I pulled down into the driveway and stopped behind a black Bronco.

Opening my driver’s door, I grabbed Prada and released her.

She took off running across the yard. It’s been a while since we stopped for her to use the bathroom.

By the time I looked up, I saw Aunt Reese walking in my direction with a shotgun in her hand.

Bringing her left hand up to her brows, she shielded her deep-brown eyes and squinted to see who I was.

Aunt Reese was only a couple years older than me.

We’d grown up together. People used to be so confused when we got to school and I’d tell them that she was my aunt.

We basically started calling each other cousins just to keep everything simple.

Reese was beautiful. A timeless beauty. She’s slender—barely any breasts for anyone to grab on. She has long, chestnut-brown hair that stops just above her ass. All of it is hers. She used to tell people when we were growing up that she was part Cherokee. The sun kissed her tan skin.

“It’s me, Aunt Reese, Remedi,” I spoke, not wanting to alarm her where she’d send one of those bullets into my windshield.

“I know you lying!” She ran over to the steps, hair flapping in the wind, and zoomed down to my truck.

My red bottoms touched the asphalt, and I shut the driver’s door just as she made it around to my side.

Her arm craned my neck, and she pulled me in for an embrace.

“What are you doing here? You didn’t tell me that you were coming,” she asked when she pulled back. “Where’s ya mama?”

Pursing my lips, I scratched my scalp and replied, “I want to say that she’s at home. I didn’t tell anyone that I was coming. I just packed up a few things and left. I thought it was time for a change in scenery.”

“You… left the city?” Her perfectly arched brow lifted to her tiny baby hairs.

“Yeah, I needed to get away for a while. Whitney got killed.”

“Awww, I’m so sorry. You know that you’re more than welcome to stay for as long as you want.”

“Thanks.”

“Why don’t you come on inside and I’ll fix you some lemonade.” She ushered me toward the stairs, and I whistled. She winced, pressing her right ear shut.

Prada ran back around the house, and I scooped her up into my arms. “That’s a cute lil dog you got there,” she spoke as we strolled toward the stairs.

“Thanks. Her name is Prada.”

Reese took one look at me and snickered.

“It’s fitting.” She didn’t even have to say what was on her mind.

We all know that I’m considered high maintenance.

At least that’s what I’ve always been called by men.

I just looked at it as that I was able to afford my lavish lifestyle, so if they wanted to come in and disrupt my peace, they were going to have to be able to afford it as well.

If I didn’t learn anything in my twenty-six years of living, I came to the conclusion that I can never date down because men who make less than me will find any reason in the world to try and humble me.

I liked nice things, and I wasn’t about to be shamed for doing so.

I carried Prada into the house. The door we entered took us to the kitchen.

Reese rested the shotgun on the counter and went over to the refrigerator.

Her kitchen was modern. Everything in there was stainless steel.

It’s not surprising that Reese has a nice house.

Even though she was leaving the city, I just knew that she’d be living good here.

Reese was a lawyer before she left Atlanta.

I’m not sure if she’s still practicing now though, but she made good ass money.

“Are you still practicing?” I turned and asked her. She picked up a glass and handed it over to me. I took a sip from it and damn near choked. “This isn’t lemonade.”

“I know.” She winked and rounded the island. “It’s my form of lemonade.” I followed her into the next room, which was the living room. “Yes, I’m still practicing. I may not make as much money here as I did back in Atlanta, but I make a decent living.”

“It doesn’t seem like this place would have much crime,” I told her and took a seat on the burnt-orange couch.

“It… has its moments.” She took a sip from her drink and placed it on the end table.

“How’s that clinic of yours doing? Ma talks about it all the time whenever she calls.”

“Great.” I released Prada onto the floor and swirled the contents in my glass. That’s one thing I will miss—my clinic.

“I know that you said Whitney died, but other than that, are you okay?” Her head tilted, and all her hair cascaded to the left side as she stared at me.

“I’m fine.” I beamed a forced smile at her and turned my attention to the huge open window in front of us. “It’s really beautiful out here.”

“Tell me about it. You know, it’s a good thing you turned up when you did. Our vet is terminally ill. They might have a place for you down there at the clinic while you’re here.”

“I don’t know about all that.”

“Remedi, please. We both know that you aren’t going to be able to survive without taking care of something.” Both of us giggled. She was right about that.

My phone rang, and I slipped it from my pocket. Seeing Ma’s name on the screen, I placed my cup on the end table and stepped out onto the porch. Swiping the screen, I put the phone to my ear.

“Hey, Ma.”

“Don’t ‘hey, Ma’ me. Remedi, you got some explaining to do. Get to talking.”