Batter of Wits (Green Valley Chronicles #22) - Smartypants Romance
Prologue
Grace
The night before I moved to Green Valley, I had a conversation with my dad that I’d reflect on often as time went on. Sometimes I’d think about the things he said, the things I’d said in return, try to remember exactly the way we phrased things the day before my recently fired ass moved across the country, following the lead of my twin brother as we sojourned from LA to the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee.
He and I talked about the family curse like it was a joke, because, at the time, that’s what I thought it was.
As best I could remember, the conversation went a little something like this:
"Curses aren't real."
The voice on the other end of the line harrumphed mightily. "’Course they're not. Look and me and your mother. Would anyone accuse us of true everlasting love?"
Any day of the week, I'd give that a hell no, and I'd do it twice on Sundays. If there was a competition for the least compatible human beings, my parents would be neck and neck with some of the best reality TV couples you'd ever seen.
"So why are you bringing it up again?" I asked my dad.
He sighed. "Well, if you and your brother are really moving here, you best get used to hearing about it."
"Of course, we’re really moving there. My car is packed. It's Green Valley or bust come sunrise."
"They all claim it's true, Gracey B."
Even though my dad couldn't see me, I rolled my eyes at the nickname. A shortened version of my name—Grace Bailey Buchanan—had always been Gracey B to him. "I know they believe it, Dad, that doesn't mean it's true."
"Just sayin’ is all." Through the phone, I heard the telltale creak of his recliner, the one he refused to replace, even though it was older than me. It was uglier than sin, and the most comfortable chair in the world. He and my mom fought tooth and nail over that damn chair in the divorce, she'd told me, but in the end, she decided she wanted the dog, not the chair.
The dog only lived two years after she moved herself, me, and my twin brother, Grady, out to California. The chair though, that would never, ever die.
In the middle of my own apartment was one sad-looking lawn chair, since all my other belongings were packed in my car, or had already been sold or donated. That creaky recliner sounded pretty good right then. Still, the lawn chair held my weight just fine as I sat carefully.
"Pops, if the Buchanan love curse was real, how do they explain you and Mom?"
"I don't ask how they explain it," he said firmly. So firmly, it made me smile.
He wouldn't.
My aunt and uncle, his only family in Green Valley, firmly believed that when a Buchanan falls in love, it happens once, and it happens at first sight. According to them, when a Buchanan finds The One, they'll never love anyone else. Uncle Robert and Aunt Fran met at fifteen, and had been married forever, one of those sickeningly sweet couples you couldn't hate even if you wanted to. Two of my cousins—their sons—had the exact same thing happen to them, thereby cementing the truth that had supposedly been in the family for five generations.
"Maybe I'll avoid it anyway," I said. "Even if it was true."
"Why's that?"
"Aren't I the first Buchanan woman born in five generations?"
He chuckled. "Sure are, Gracey B. Aunt Fran said it was only allowed because you came out with a brother."
I sank my head back and smiled. "I'm excited to see Aunt Fran."
"And they're excited to have you." He must have shifted, because the creak sounded again. "Wish I had more space at my place for you and your brother."
There was enough embarrassment in his voice that I pulled the phone away from my ear to collect myself. I didn't begrudge my father's humble life. Just the opposite. I'd take his work ethic every time over the billionaire playboys I crossed paths with in LA.
"We'll be just down the road. We'll see you all the time," I promised. "Uncle Robert is just giving us a place to stay until we get our feet under us."
"My kids moving to Green Valley," he said with a smile clear in his tone.
"Some crazy shit right there, ain't it?" I asked, deliberately curling my voice around a twangy southern accent.
He laughed, just like I hoped he would. "When are you getting in again?"