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  Call It Fate

  A Sterling Mill Novel

  M.E. Montgomery

  Contents

  Call it Fate

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Epilogue

  The Sterling Mill Series

  Acknowledgments

  A FEW WORDS ABOUT M.E. MONTGOMERY’S BOOKS

  Other Books By M.E. Montgomery:

  About the Author

  Call it Fate

  A Sterling Mill Novel

  by M.E. Montgomery

  CALL IT FATE

  A STERLING MILL NOVEL

  M.E. MONTGOMERY

  Copyright © 2021 by M.E. MONTGOMERY

  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect are appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  * * *

  Cover Design: Kari March Designs

  Editing: Shannon M. Jones

  The Ryter’s Proof

  * * *

  Published by: Lady Boss Press, Inc.

  To Monna, the very first to encourage this path. I love you.

  Chapter 1

  Emalee

  * * *

  Slam!

  Thunk.

  From my spot near the grand staircase, I could easily envision Iain rushing into the kitchen and dropping his backpack on the table while he grabbed the lunch box I’d already put together for him. Seconds later, there was the scrape of a chair dragging across the floor, followed by an “ouch.”

  I shook my head. No matter how many times I reminded him to slow down, it went in one ear and out the other.

  “There’s nothing quiet about that child.” Mama grinned, not really perturbed. She adored her grandson, energy and all.

  A short time later, my little man stomped to a halt at the reception desk where my mom and I were going over the week’s schedule. He dropped his backpack and looked at me with troubled green eyes. I already knew what was coming. It was Monday, after all.

  “I don’t wanna go to school,” he grumbled.

  “What’s the reason this time?”

  “Cause Tommy Lee is a liar. He said we were going to have snow today, and I wanted to go snowbilling with Uncle Chase, but there’s no snow, and Mrs. Grimbly said if it’s too cold, we can’t go outside, and we were supposed to have a kickball game, and you know I’m good at it.”

  He finally paused for a breath, then took a step and swung his leg like he was kicking a ball.

  “You do look like you have a powerful kick. But,” I crossed my arms and waited until he looked at me, his expression dismal as if he expected I was going to announce the cancellation of Christmas, “it’s not supposed to snow until tonight, so maybe you’ll get lucky and be able to go snow-mo-biling with Chase tomorrow. So, that means school for you, and Mrs. Grimbly is a good teacher, but you can’t blame her for not wanting to just stand outside in these temps while you guys run around. I know that’s disappointing, but spring will be here soon.”

  He crossed his arms and glared at his backpack as if it were the reason for his current woes. “I hate winter,” he muttered under his breath.

  I ignored him, knowing it wasn’t true. I grabbed his coat and gloves that I already had waiting for him and held them out so he could shove his arms into the sleeves. Squatting, I zipped him up and tapped him on the nose with my finger. “Sorry, mister. I know you’re disappointed.”

  “School stinks.”

  “Wow. The day just started, and you’re at two negatives. You owe me a positive.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Come on. You know the rule.”

  “Fine.” Somehow, he made it sound like I had tortured an answer out of him. “Uncle Chase said next time it snowed he’d take me snow-mo-biling.”

  “That seems like cheating since you mentioned it earlier, but I’ll let it go this time. Now, my turn. How do you fix a pumpkin?”

  Iain shrugged, doing his best to look disinterested in my little game, but I knew he wouldn’t walk away without the answer.

  “With a pumpkin patch!” He rolled his eyes again, but at least it wasn’t nearly as exaggerated, and his lips lifted a bit at the corners.

  My job was done. He’d turned his attitude around and would hopefully have a good day. Iain was a naturally happy boy most of the time, but he loved to be outside. Our weather had taken a nosedive into the frigid temps just after we’d thawed out the week before.

  I knew it was impossible for him to never have a bad day, but after everything I’d been through, I wanted my son to always at least try to find something to be grateful for because small blessings were abundant if you looked for them.

  Whenever one of us had a bad day, we could pout or fret for a short time, then we had to tell the other something good that happened, no matter how small. Then I always tried to lighten the mood with a joke. Usually, it happened closer to homework time. I hoped this meant he’d gotten it out of his system early, but I had a feeling I should go find another riddle just in case.

  I held my arms out for a hug. “I love you, kiddo.”

  “Love you, too, Mama.”

  He hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders while my mother put on her coat to take him to school. It was part of the pattern we’d fallen into—she helped me with Iain while I took on the more physical aspects of upgrading and taking care of The Dogtrot. She moved slower than she used to, and stairs were much harder for her. But she could still drive, and most importantly, there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for her grandson or for me. We were alike in that. There had been a lot of darkness six years ago, but Iain was the bright light that pulled us all through it.

  “Let’s go, monkey,” Mama said to Iain, who started to stomp off again until I cleared my throat. His head rolled on his shoulders, but he adjusted his steps.

  “Enjoy your morning off, sweetheart,” she called to me. She opened the outer door, and a blast of cold air blew in with a bite, making me wish I could just hibernate inside all day, but I had a list of things to accomplish, and not getting all my color-coded boxes checked off would put me behind. Mentally, I made a plan of attack and went to town on my list—literally.

  From a distance, I saw the platinum-blonde, old-fashioned beehive hairdo making a beeline straight for me.

  Crap!
I only have two more things to do! Why didn’t I go to the hardware store first?

  I turned and headed in the opposite direction down the sidewalk, but before I could duck behind anyone or bolt into a store to escape, I heard, “Yoo-hoo! Emalee Dawson. Don’t you go anywhere.”

  A couple of passersby offered me a sympathetic look but scurried off like a mountain lion was stalking them. In a sense, they were right. Everyone knew when the Sterling Mill Project Chairperson singled you out, either run and hide for the next month or understand you were about to be volun-told to work on an event. There was a reason her name had been turned into a verb.

  I will not be Beverly-ed. This time, I will be strong. This time, I will say no.

  I took a deep breath, plastered on what I hoped passed as a genuine smile, and spun on my heels. “Good morning, Mrs. Seymour.”

  “Oh, goodness, young lady,” she chortled. “How many times do I need to tell you to call me Beverly?”

  I tipped my head. “Beverly. What has you out and about so early?” Like I didn’t already know.

  She leaned in as if she was going to tell me a secret. “Well, as you recall, Harriet Bergenstock planned last year’s Derby Day. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but it was a disaster. I guess that’s what you can expect, however, from a thief.”

  The quarrel between Beverly Seymour and Harriet Bergenstock was notorious in our town. It had been going on ever since Harriet moved to Sterling Mill almost eleven years ago. Beverly had been all too happy to welcome the newcomer to town by recruiting her to help with Derby Day, our big annual springtime festival.

  It had seemed all was going well—until each of them showed up with the same broccoli casserole. Other folks might have let it slide, but not Beverly. She accused Harriet of stealing the recipe from her notebook. Harriet swore it was a family recipe that had been passed down for years. But she was so mad at the accusation that she published “her” recipe in the local newspaper. People had been thrilled to finally get the secret recipe and nominated her to run the Derby Day celebration every year since. Worse, most folks thought Harriet did a better job than Beverly.

  Until last year.

  It hadn’t been Harriet’s fault, but people were still talking about it. No one quite knew how, but it was believed a raccoon had gotten into an unattended bowl of mint julep and become drunk. Somehow, it climbed the temporary outdoor stage platform where the “best hat” awards had just finished being passed out. The rascal then ran under the chairs of the guest of honor and the judges, including the mayor’s wife, who jumped to her feet, lost her balance, and fell face-first into the lap of Pastor Olsen.

  The startled animal then leaped from the stage to the food-laden tables, where it paused when it passed a silver bowl full of ambrosia salad and reached for the matching shiny spoon. From there, a couple of dogs, who’d been part of the parade earlier, saw the bandit and took up the chase.

  Then, in a domino effect Rube Goldberg would have been proud of, the Great Dane plowed into a guest near the banquet, who fell into his wife, who fell into the ambrosia on the table in front of her. The King Charles Spaniel used her as a ramp to lead a pack of other small dogs onto the tables, knocking over several plates and bowls of food as they raced after the raccoon.

  By the time it was over, dozens of people were wiping Jell-O salad and custard pies from their hair and clothing, the raccoon had escaped, and the dogs were feasting on the barbecued pork.

  Locals had been horrified, and outsiders couldn’t stop laughing. It even made the news as far away as Nashville.

  Harriet had immediately pointed the finger at Matilda Espey, better known as Crazy Tilly, who had an unofficial pet raccoon. Tilly, in turn, claimed she’d seen Hans Zimmerman spike the punchbowl with moonshine and claimed it must have been a stray raccoon because Rocky would never do such a thing.

  It was a well-established rumor Hans had at least one moonshine still hidden in the woods, but to date, no one had found them, so nothing could be done about it. Not that anyone seemed all that keen on trying, anyway. There seemed to be a secret society of those “in the know,” however, because most citizens knew someone, who knew someone else, who could get their hands on the hooch. I’d gotten some a few times from my cousin, Chase, but I never asked where he got it. And, if I had to guess, the sheriff himself had enjoyed the taste more than once.

  Not to stand idly by while he was accused, Hans claimed Tilly harbored an entire menagerie of raccoons she sent into people’s houses to steal things. While no one really believed there was an army of four-legged bandits, quite a few people reported shiny objects that mysteriously went missing from their yards, porches, and sheds at night, only to see them turn up later in the yearly community yard sale.

  Over the ensuing months, a rivalry between the two had built up until everyone was wary when either of them came into town. People took sides, some believing Tilly’s raccoon was a thief, or they blamed Hans for spiking the punch that set off the chain of events that became known as the Derby Day Debacle.

  Unfortunately, Beverly held Harriet ultimately responsible for the fiasco.

  “So, this year, we need to make it the best ever,” Beverly continued. “And that’s where you come in, Emalee.”

  “Oh, I can’t—”

  “You do such an amazing job at The Dogtrot. Everyone just raves over your baking and organization skills. And since you live and work right across from the park where it’s held, it will be easy for you to be available to any vendors we have.”

  “Vendors? But that’s—”

  “And I just know that adorable little boy of yours loves Derby Day. All the kids do. That’s what this is really about, don’t you think? Bringing community together.”

  She would have to bring up Iain. As long as I lived in Sterling Mill, I’d probably feel the need to pay back the community that had rallied around me during an extremely difficult time.

  “You will be sure to bake something, too, won’t you? Everyone will be so disappointed if you don’t.”

  “I’m afraid I’m too—”

  She held up a hand and shook her head in a way that proved she’d had a lot more practice at this “negotiation” than I had. “Now, don’t you worry. You won’t have to do this all by yourself. We have an entire committee assigned to help you. Your first meeting should be within two weeks. Since you have such a beautiful space, we thought we’d meet there. I already told the group I was sure you wouldn’t mind. You don’t, do you, dear? I’ll email you all their information so you can confirm with them.”

  “I guess the rest of you—”

  “Excellent. I’ll inform all the others. I just know you’re going to do a wonderful job this year.” Her brow furrowed into deep lines as she leaned close. “Maybe you can figure out a way to ban Tilly and Hans. At the very least, we’ll have to assign a guard to the drinks.”

  She straightened back up. “And make sure you have a tentative agenda for the meeting. We only have two and a half months until Derby Day. Now, I must get going. I have to find Harriet and give her the good news that’s she’s off the hook. Tootles!” She waved her fingers at me as she left me standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

  Damn it! I closed my eyes and blew out a frustrated sigh. I guess organizing Derby Day was now added to my long list that never seemed to grow shorter, no matter how many things I checked off it. Hopefully, the committee she put together involved people who would actually be capable of helping so all I had to do was organize them. Yeah. I could do that, couldn’t I?

  “Is it safe, yet?”

  I turned toward the amused voice as one of my best friends stepped out from behind an alcove.

  I propped my hands on my hips. “Reid Braxton. Were you actually hiding? You’re a deputy. You’re supposed to shield the rest of us.”

  He grinned. “Sorry,” he said in a tone that implied he really wasn’t. His knowing gaze searched my face. “What did she steamroll you into doing?”

  I r
olled my eyes. “Looks like I’m planning Derby Day this year.”

  “Well, shit. Have fun with that.”

  “Speaking of, what are you doing in—”

  Reid took a step backward. “I’ve got a meeting I need to get to. I’ll catch you later.”

  “No, wait. I need you—”

  He waved as he turned his back and practically jogged the other way.

  “Ugh!” Why couldn’t I do that?

  Hoping no one else stopped me on my only morning off during the week, I continued my walk and pulled my coat closer against the brisk breeze that had picked up as gray clouds pushed out the puffy, white ones. Maybe Iain will get his wish for snow after all.

  Deciding to treat myself to something to fend off the cold, I stopped in at Brew’s Clues.

  “Hey, Emalee! You want your usual?” The owner of the coffee shop greeted me with his usual, pleasant smile.

  “You know it.”

  John went to work making the caramel latte that was the treat I gave myself on my days off, hot in the winter, iced in the summer.

  I set my bags down at a table to wait when none other than Hans Zimmerman walked in. I didn’t know him well since he didn’t participate in many town events, but his identity was hard to miss. He was tall and lean—like a beanpole, as my grandmother would say. He wore a suede coat over a button-up, blue denim shirt and scuffed cowboy boots with a tan cowboy hat. When John greeted him, he asked for a pound of John’s special roasted blend.