Starting Over in Maple Bay by Brittney Joy
CHAPTER ONE
If Hazel had known the rooster was going to chase her, she would’ve stayed in her car. Instead, she unclicked her seatbelt and turned to her ten-year-old daughter, Grace.
“Stay here. This won’t take long.” Hazel opened her door, but Grace protested.
“Can’t I come with?” Grace’s sweet eyes were a mix of curiosity and impatience.
“Just stay here until I find Mr. Church.” Hazel swept her eyes across the country property, looking for the man that sent her a letter a week ago. She didn’t see a soul. The front porch of the big sunshine-yellow farmhouse was empty but for a few rocking chairs. No one milled around the red barn behind the home. The only sign of life was a few horses who lingered lazily in green pastures. “Stay put while I take care of this. Okay, sweetie?”
Grace sighed, but Hazel knew her daughter would stay put. Grace was a rule-follower like her mother. Thankfully, she didn’t inherit her father’s impulsive streak.
Hazel walked up the gravel driveway, an array of questions bombarding her mind. She was looking at Rose Lovell’s house—her biological mother’s home, and a house which Hazel had never seen before today. In all her thirty-seven years, Hazel never met her biological mother, and had spent more than half her life wondering what Rose Lovell was like. Did Hazel get her auburn-red hair from her mom? Her freckles? Her laugh? Did they have the same mannerisms? The same favorite foods? If they met would there be an instant connection? Or would Rose feel like a stranger?
Now Hazel would never know.
Last week, as Hazel begrudgingly sifted through a stack of mail—mostly bills she couldn’t pay—she plucked an envelope from the pile and opened it only because the return address boasted the name of a law firm. She assumed the letter had something to do with her ex-husband, but when Hazel opened the envelope and set her eyes on the letter, her heart stopped. It didn’t have a thing to do with her ex. Instead, in two short paragraphs, Hazel learned that her biological mother had passed away a few months ago. Suddenly, an entire lifetime of wondering was brought to a screeching halt by typed words on a fancy sheet of legal paper. And the very last sentence nearly swiped her off her feet. Hazel’s presence was requested in the small northern Minnesota town of Maple Bay . . . at Rose’s home, where Hazel could claim her inheritance.
Now, as Hazel stood in front of a foreign house, she wondered why Rose—someone related to her only by blood—would leave Hazel an inheritance when she didn’t even give Hazel the respect of a phone call while she was still alive. If it hadn’t been for her real mother’s persistence, Hazel might not have even taken the time to travel to Maple Bay for the reading of the will. Sandy, Hazel’s adopted mother and the only mother she’d ever known, was the first person Hazel called after reading the letter. It was Sandy that convinced Hazel to take a day, drive the four hours north from Minneapolis, and see what the lawyer had to say.
Sandy insisted that Hazel do this for herself, that she needed closure. And Sandy was persistent enough that Hazel ultimately gave in and made the trip.
Just hear the lawyer out and then you can get back on the road, Hazel thought, and strode toward the porch steps. She intended to knock on the front door, but slowed her stride when a hefty rooster appeared on the porch. Hazel wasn’t sure how she’d missed the chicken. He was the size of a small child and the color of blood. His beady little eyes zoned in on her like she was most definitely an intruder.
“What are you . . . a guard bird?” Hazel asked under her breath, not wanting to offend the rooster who had now puffed himself up and was beating his wings.
She looked over her shoulder, checking to make sure Grace was still in the car. Through the windshield, Hazel could see that her daughter’s head was tipped down, probably reading her book, but there still wasn’t another person in sight. Come on, Mr. Church. Where are you? Hazel was only fifteen minutes early for their noon appointment. Hoping she was at the right place, Hazel double-checked the house number, which was painted in scrolling numbers next to the front door.
877 Maple Bay Drive. This is it.
“Could you skootch over just a bit?” Hazel asked sweetly, and shooed the rooster with her hands, thinking the chicken would respect her request and move to the side so she could safely approach the door. Her gesture instigated the opposite reaction. Instead of shuffling off, the rooster tipped its beak to the summer sky and crowed louder than a police siren. When it finished yelling, the rooster soared down the stairs and ran at Hazel like a deranged T-Rex.
Hazel screamed, startled by the chicken’s sudden aggression, but she wasn’t about to stick around to find out what else the feathered monster was capable of. Hazel turned and ran, cursing her choice of footwear. Her gold sandals were a good choice for an early June road trip, but they were not appropriate for dashing across gravel to get to your car before being mauled by a crazy farm animal.
“Mom, run!” Grace yelled, now hanging out the car window, wide-eyed.
Hazel thought about reiterating that she was already doing that. Instead she yelled back, “Stay in the car!” The last thing Hazel needed was the crazy rooster finding a new target in her daughter.
Glancing behind her, Hazel yelped as she realized the red-feathered monster was at her heels. The bird was half the size of her leg and she was still a few long strides from her car. It was really going to hurt when this thing pecked her bare legs with his sharp beak. Hazel cursed the white Bermuda shorts she’d chosen to wear this morning.
Knowing there was no way she was going to make it inside her car without getting mauled, Hazel leapt for the hood. Her decision to jump to safety seemed like a better option than getting lacerated by a chicken, but when she landed, Hazel managed to slam both knees and one elbow against the hard metal of the hood. As she shrieked in pain and flailed about, one gold sandal flew through the air like a frisbee and landed somewhere off in the distance. Regardless, Hazel scrambled up to the windshield and looked back, certain the rooster was going to fly up onto the car with her. Grabbing the only weapon she could think of, Hazel snatched the other sandal off her foot and raised it like a bat. She was not above beating a bird with her shoe.
As she prepared to defend herself with the cute sandal she’d splurged on at Target, a savior came to her rescue. A shaggy black-and-white dog darted in and intercepted the rooster’s attack. The dog ran at the rooster, and the big bird retreated without so much as a squabble. The dog continued to tail the rooster, pushing him toward the barn with a silent threat, and only broke his focus when a sharp whistle came from the horse pasture.
Hazel followed the whistle and discovered a tall man walking her way. He looked like he’d just strolled straight out of a country music video. The man wore a dusty ballcap, t-shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. A rope was slung over his shoulder. Coal-black hair peeked out from under his ballcap. A rough stubble adorned his jaw.
A gate clanged shut behind him.
“Pen ‘em up,” the man instructed, and pointed toward the barn. The dog stalked the rooster again, forcing it away with salty stares. And that dang bird-monster listened. The red devil zigzagged and hightailed it across the lawn toward the barn.
Hazel blew out a breath and lowered her sandal-filled hand.
“Mom, you okay?” Grace asked, still hanging out the window. She pushed her rainbow-colored sunglasses to the top of her head.
Hazel took stock of her body parts. Other than the bruises that were certain to grow on her knees and elbow, she was fine. “I’m okay.” She took another breath and forced a smile, so Grace wouldn’t know her heart still beat in her throat.
The dog-whistle-guy approached the car. Hazel expected him to apologize for his attack-bird.
Instead, he said, “The next time you encounter a rooster, I highly suggest not staring it down. They take that as a sign of aggression. And running away only fuels their fire.”
What? Hazel was completely offended. She was trying to recover from being chased by a crazy farm animal, and this man decided to school her on rooster interactions?
“Excuse me?” Hazel pulled her limbs closer to her body, retracting from her sprawled-across-the-car-hood look. “I wasn’t trying to fight with your bird. I was just trying to get to the front door.”
Who was this guy? He certainly couldn’t be Mr. Church. A lawyer wouldn’t show up to a professional meeting in jeans, boots, and a ballcap. Not even a small-town lawyer.
“Are you looking for Frankie?” The cowboy’s question was curt, as though Hazel had interrupted his afternoon and he needed to get back to whatever he was doing.
“I was looking for Mr. Church. Daniel Church. I have an appointment with him, and he gave me this address.” Who was Frankie?
The man raised an eyebrow and gave her a once-over, judging her for something other than her lack of rooster-knowledge.
Just then the farmhouse’s front door opened, and three little boys spilled out in a blaze of shouts and wrestling. The cowboy whistled and grabbed their attention, just like he had with the dog.
“Jesse!” the boys called as they ran across the lawn, like the man had offered them candy.
“Who was in charge of getting the eggs today?” the cowboy—apparently, Jesse—asked the three little kids.
There was a flurry of pointing fingers, before the oldest boy spoke. He looked to be about Grace’s age. “Noah got the eggs, I fed the chickens, and Wyatt cleaned the coop.”
“Then we played tag in the pen,” the littlest boy, who was maybe five or six years old, added like he was excited to tell Jesse about their game. The two older children gave him a glare.
Jesse tipped his head at the boys. “Well, did anyone manage to shut the door to the coop when you were done playing tag?”
The boys looked like they were trying to remember.
“Nope!” the littlest boy replied.
Jesse gestured toward Hazel. “Well, you let the rooster out and he chased this lady. What do you have to say for yourselves?”
The boys all looked at Hazel, surprised. “Sorry, Ma’am,” they said in unison. Hazel closed her mouth, not able to scowl at the children.
Before she had a chance to say anything in return, the littlest boy asked, “Is that why you’re sitting on your car?”
The oldest added, “Oh, Mother Clucker is the worst!” He made a face like he felt sorry for Hazel. “He chased me through the barn last week and I had to climb up into the hay loft to get away.”
“Which is why we always remember to close the coop, right boys?” Jesse interjected. The boys agreed with vigorous head shaking.
“The rooster’s name is Mother Clucker?” Hazel asked, a little dumbfounded.
“Yep,” the littlest boy replied just as a woman and a man exited the house. The boy jerked a thumb at them as they walked across the lawn to join the debacle. “Momma named him. He chases her too.”
The woman gave Hazel a concerned looked as she neared. “Oh no, did that Mother Clucker chase you?”
Hazel was stunned, but it wasn’t due to the horribly named rooster. As the woman neared, Hazel was flooded with a strange sense of déjà vu. The woman looked familiar. Her warm strawberry-blonde hair, the band of freckles that speckled her nose, and her high cheekbones reminded Hazel of someone. She just couldn’t place who.
“Are you Hazel?” the woman asked.
Hazel nodded and tried to gracefully remove herself from the hood of her car. Instead, she scooted along like a toddler on a plastic slide. How embarrassing.
“Let me help you, Hazel.” The clean-cut man who’d arrived with the woman offered his hand to assist Hazel off her car. “I’m Daniel Church. We talked on the phone. I’m so glad you were able to make it here today.”
The lawyer. Hazel took Daniel’s hand and set her bare feet on the ground. She didn’t even have a chance to stand up before the woman reached out and introduced herself, sending Hazel’s world completely off balance.
“And I’m Frankie Barnes. Your sister.”