City girl Eve Whitting has given up on love. Years spent living the roller coaster life has left her feeling lost and fed up with men. But escaping the city for her small hometown wasn't supposed to bring her face-to-face with sexy neighbor Joel Powell-a man quite possibly sent from the gods-or her mother wielding a book on Relationships and How to Have One. If Eve thought she had challenges before, she hasn't seen anything yet... Charming cowboy Joel Powell has given up on peace and quiet. His life is already filled to the brim with complications from his divorce and the alluring, feisty Eve Whitting has plunked herself right in the middle of it. With one failed marriage under his belt, Joel's warning bells are clanging, but there's something about Eve he just can't resist. While fighting for custody of his three-year-old son, Joel tries to temper his feelings for this woman who is fast becoming lodged in his heart. Faced with a burgeoning relationship that neither bargained for nor wanted, Eve and Joel must navigate through a minefield of broken dreams and broken hearts to find what true love-and true commitment-really mean.

Chasing Normal

A NovelBy Tara Fuselli

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2009 Tara Fuselli
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-7743-9

Chapter One

Eve

I will never look at the color yellow with the same eyes. I think it was the taffeta bridesmaid dress part of it that changed me and unfortunately for Yellow, my mind is predisposed hereafter to want to scream at the sight of it.

My mother picked out the dress which explains a lot-it's neither my color nor style. Honestly, who can make an enormous bell-shaped gown look flattering aside from Scarlet O'Hara?

I wonder, too, if the dressmaker plays practical jokes in her spare time, adding bits of straw to the hem of her dresses; it's been itching my thighs all afternoon. Though I am mere steps away from parading down the aisle in front of the congregation and risk someone seeing my underpants, I can't resist the urge to lift the layers of frills and scratch.

Things could be worse, couldn't they? I mean, it could be polka dots. No, on second thought, I think taffeta truly is the worst of the worst and considering recent events in my life, yellow taffeta is just the icing on the enormous cake of my existence. Minus the plastic groom on top.

I eye the aisle from around the corner. The pews of the small church are filled with townspeople, watching from either side as the organist begins the music.

My cue.

My sister, Maggie, nudges me to step forward. I groan again at the taffeta and take a step, nearly tripping over the fringed hem.

Yep. I am, once again, not the bride but the bridesmaid at someone else's wedding. This time it's my sister's day of wedded bliss. I can see my mother watching me with an eye roll that says, "Get that unmarried behind of yours moving, Eve. You're holding up the ceremony."

Let the music begin ...

Okay. So I've fallen in love more times than I'd like to count-with a playboy, a gay guy and a juvenile man attached to a beer keg. At least life can be adventurous that way. My name is Eve Whitting. Yes, like of the Adam and Eve, and yes, my mother tells me that I live up to the name quite well, though I'm never quite sure how to take that. I know it has something to do with the sinning part. And probably the temptation.

While my mother's ideals differ from mine at the best of times, my family has never hesitated sharing their opinions. Whether a help or hindrance, they make it their life's work to meddle and fix and advise-experts that they are.

... "Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Maggie smiles wide and Brock answers, a tear clinging to his eye as he swallows it back with an, "I do."

The guests in the audience let out a collective, "Awe."

I just groan and return to my inner dialogue ...

From my perspective, my life has been more or less simple of late. It's had its ups and downs and roller coaster turns, I'll admit; even this recent plunge into monotony is like one of those long, deep falls before the next rise. But I've found myself at a crossroad. Stuck. In need of something or someone to say, Wake up, Eve! This is where you belong! before the next turn of adventure hits.

... "I now pronounce you, husband and wife. Brock, you may kiss your bride."

More collective noises of applause, sighs and blowing into tissues.

I'm sweating and wonder to myself, how noticeable are sweat stains on yellow taffeta? ...

I am feeling stuck and I don't want to be forever staring at a NEXT STOP: MONOTONY! road sign with my flashers on, but it seems that temporarily trading in my roller coaster life in the city for my average and normal hometown is the best option just now. Just for a pause. The funny thing is I've spent years running from Normal. And where did that get me? A long stint on those hectic fairgrounds for one.

I recently returned to this land of Normal; a town where young girls marry their high school sweethearts and families still gather for annual pig roasts. Where women flock to weekly gossip groups, the men to trade secrets about ranching and farming and everything agriculture.

I returned and now stand in the churchyard. The ceremony was long, the church was hot and I've scratched a raw patch on my thigh. If not for my sister's wedding, I wouldn't have come back to this old town. I took Maggie's hand in mine with a squeeze, our last few moments alone before the guests descend on the new bride.

"So. Jackson didn't come with you to my wedding," she said. The simple statement came with a deep prodding yet subliminal question of "what's really going on here, Eve?"

"No. He didn't come to the wedding."

Maggie linked her arm through mine and we walked, her wedding dress swaying at her feet, swishing around my ankles. In the moment, this seemed the closest I would ever get to marriage so I enjoyed the swishing like a little girl watching her first bride walk down the aisle, her impish face full of awe and jealousy and utter happiness all rolled into one. Even for a tomboy like me.

"I ended things with Jackson," I finally said. "Two months ago."

"You broke up with Jackson and never told me?"

"You were planning your wedding. Of course I didn't tell you."

"What happened?" she asked, in that careful, concerned tone.

I kept our slow pace, arm in arm, down the long, gravel driveway and shrugged. "My heart didn't exactly skip a beat around Jackson anymore. I didn't lay awake thinking about him every minute of every day. I liked him. He made me smile. But honestly, Maggie, we didn't love each other. I think we did at first. But while you are here doing it for real, I only played house with Jackson, pretending we were happy."

"So what next?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I thought I'd just live your life for a while in the Land of Normal." I sighed with the thought. I would be moving into Maggie's house for four months and while it might be the answer to finding my place in life, it also meant moving back home, a place I ran from the first chance I had out of high school.

Her eyes glimmered for a moment.

"You are my sister, Mags, and my best friend. I love you to death. But before you get any ideas, remember you don't get the privilege of picking apart my love life."

"You're right. The picking apart is Mom's job." She had to bite her lip to avoid any "advice" flowing out of it.

"Speaking of Mom, you didn't tell her I was staying at your place, did you?"

"It might have slipped out in conversation." She winced an apology.

"Ugh."

"She also might be coming by with a green bean casserole Tuesday evening around four thirty."

Huge sigh.

"I've gotta run," she said and knocked her forehead on mine. "Brock is waiting for his bride. Are you sure you don't mind staying this long to watch my place? It might be the whole four months, you know."

"Which should have been no problem except now Mom knows where to find me."

"She'd have found you sooner or later. And don't be so hard on yourself. Mom'll be there soon enough to do that for you."

"You are a joy, Maggie, you really are. Have a great trip." I squeezed her tightly in my arms, the vulnerable part of me still wanting to cry on her shoulder over Jackson, and watched her glide toward the vintage Chevy.

I watched the wedding car pull away from the church. The strident sound of the tin cans clanging against the dirt road made me certain I...