Baby, Drive South. Stephanie Bond

       www.mirabooks.co.uk

      This book is dedicated to every person

       who has ever lived in “the country”…

      and to those who long to.

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Stephanie Bond was raised on a farm in Eastern Kentucky where books—mostly romance novels—were her number one form of entertainment, which she credits with instilling in her “the rhythm of storytelling.” Years later, she answered the call back to books to create her own stories. She sold her first manuscript in 1995 and soon left her corporate programming job to write fiction full-time. Today, Stephanie has over fifty titles to her name, and lives in midtown Atlanta. Visit www.stephaniebond.com for more information about the author and her books.

      Contents

      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

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Chapter Twenty-Two

      Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

      Chapter Twenty-Five

      Chapter Twenty-Six

      Chapter Twenty-Seven

      Chapter Twenty-Eight

      Chapter Twenty-Nine

      Chapter Thirty

      Chapter Thirty-One

      Chapter Thirty-Two

      Chapter Thirty-Three

      Chapter Thirty-Four

      Chapter Thirty-Five

      Prologue

      Marcus Armstrong gaped at his two younger brothers sitting on the other side of his desk, unable to believe his ears. “Is this a joke? The last thing we need in this town is women!”

      Middle brother, Kendall, averted his gaze and wiped his hand over his mouth. But their younger brother, Porter, always the hothead, leaped from his chair.

      “This isn’t a joke, Marcus, and you’re being an idiot!”

      Marcus planted his hands on his desk, then pushed to his feet. “Watch your mouth, little brother. I can still pin your ears back if I have a mind to.”

      Porter’s chin went up. “I’d like to see you try that.”

      Kendall stood and positioned himself between them, hands up. “That’s enough, you two. Let’s sit down and discuss this like businessmen—and brothers.”

      At Kendall’s calming tone, some of Marcus’s anger defused, replaced by a twinge of guilt. Kendall had been playing referee all of their lives. Marcus conceded it was the only way the three of them had gotten as far as they had rebuilding their hometown of Sweetness, Georgia, which had been leveled by an F-5 tornado ten years ago.

      By the grace of God, no lives had been lost. But with the infrastructure of the dying, remote mountain town obliterated, residents had abandoned their property and fled to safer and more prosperous ground. Of the three of them, only Porter had been around when the tornado had struck. After seeing their widowed mother settled in with her sister near Atlanta, he’d returned to the Armed Forces, like his older brothers. Scattered to far ends of the world, they each had fulfilled stints of active duty in different branches, then, fortuitously, their tours had ended within a few months of each other and they’d returned to civilian life.

      While working in the Air Force on reconstruction projects after natural disasters, Kendall had learned of the U.S. government’s interest in “green-town” experiments. He proposed they apply to the program to rebuild the town of Sweetness on the burgeoning industries of alternative energy and recycling. The recycling had made sense because there was a ton of debris to clear before they could lay out roads and set the boundaries of the new town. They were given a grant and a two-year window to meet minimum requirements—otherwise the land designated as the city limits of Sweetness would revert to the government. Three months into the enormous undertaking, they were making progress and Marcus was pleased by the fact he and his brothers were seeing eye to eye on the reconstruction efforts…except, apparently, on one critical topic.

      “Kendall,” Marcus said, “surely you don’t support Porter’s cockamamie idea of bringing women here.”

      Kendall looked pained, then lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “The men are getting restless, Marcus. They’re young and…”

      “Horny,” Porter supplied.

      “Right.” Kendall sighed. “They want some female companionship, or at least some feminine scenery.”

      “There’s Molly at the dining hall,” Marcus said.

      “Molly is a fine woman,” Kendall replied, “but she’s old enough to be a grandmother to most of these men.”

      “Except she was a colonel,” Porter added drily. “So she’s not exactly the warm and fuzzy grandmotherly type. The other day she clocked me with a wooden spoon because I couldn’t finish that gruel she calls oatmeal.”

      “We’re lucky to have her here,” Marcus said. “How else would we feed the men?”

      “Marcus, she runs that place like a mess hall. And the food is terrible.”

      “It’s…edible,” Marcus said in her defense. “And it’s good that she keeps the men in line.”

      “Molly is a blessing,”