“You just getting into town?” James asks, pulling Sophie’s legs over his under the table. She leans back and relaxes, letting her stomach pooch out a bit.
Even in the two weeks I’ve been gone, I can tell her baby bump has grown beneath her shirt. Speaking of the next generation, she’s got a Bennett growing in her belly. Never would’ve thought it’d be the youngest Bennett to hit that milestone first, but James has never done anything in small measures. It’s in for an ounce, in for a kilometric fuckton with that guy since he was a kid.
Hell, Mark’s probably not far behind. I get the feeling he’d have his new wife, Katelyn, knocked up 24/7 if he could. Their relationship was a bit of shock to everyone since Mark had all but declared himself a perpetual bachelor in the town square, but Katelyn hadn’t taken no for an answer. And now they’re living their happy ever after to everyone’s surprise.
I can’t help but think that if even grumpy, grunting Mark can find someone, surely I can too.
But not many women want a man that’s here and gone constantly. I’ve got roots, and they run deep, but I’ve got dreams that take me far and wide too. And that’s a lot to ask of a woman.
But I’m here now.
“Yeah, drove back from Montana,” I answer, knowing he probably didn’t keep up with where I disappeared to this time. “But things went well.”
“You get that filly knocked up?” Sophie asks, knowing she sounds more frat bro than nice girl. I think that’s one of the reasons why James likes her. She can keep up with our brotherhood of boy shit, though we might’ve corrupted her a little bit. “She’s young, right? Three?”
And that’s one of the reasons I like Sophie. Other than she keeps my brother on his toes while somehow loving him, she can talk horses with me, cows with Mark, and bulls with James. She can carry on a conversation about ranch maximization, check your pigs’ health, get dirty in the mud without a second thought, and then get gussied up in heels and a dress. James is a lucky man. We’re a lucky family to have her as a sister.
“Almost four,” I correct her. “So if it takes, she’ll be just shy of five for delivery. Should be good.”
The waitress sits my plate down and I basically hoover it into my mouth. I’ve got manners, and even use them occasionally, but right now, I just need food in my belly. Lunch was a few hundred miles ago.
I tell Sophie and James about the ranch I visited, their horse stock and how we’d decided on this stud for their filly, hopefully soon-to-be mare. They return the favor, telling me about what I’ve missed at home on our ranch.
“What brought you two lovebirds out tonight? Planning on some dancing?” I ask as we wrap up our ranch business update.
Sophie grins, “Shayanne got the soap deal at the resort. She put everything out today so we’re celebrating.”
I nod, pushing my empty plate forward a few inches. “Good for her,” I say.
I know Shayanne more in name than in person these days. When we were kids, she was the annoying squirt that followed us boys around, demanding that we include her in our rough-housing play.
Later, the families drifted apart, even though we’re technically neighbors. But lots of acres and well-tended fences mean that neighborly distance is pretty far, and the Hatfield-McCoy vibe our families have keep us even further apart.
I hadn’t seen Shayanne for years until she was a bridesmaid at Sophie’s wedding this past summer. Then my impression had been that she’d grown into a stunning firecracker of a woman. With curls and curves and bright eyes that dare a cowboy to fall under her sway.
But she’s young and a Tannen, so I mostly just hear about her from Sophie since they’re best friends.
Until . . . speak of the devil and she will appear.
Shayanne herself plops down beside me, her tanned and toned bare thigh pressing up against mine as she leans in, breathlessly proclaiming, “Whew, that last one near did me in. I need a water stat before round two starts.”
I can see a thin bead of sweat running from her collarbone down to her cleavage, and thankfully her attention is on Sophie as I watch its winding trail. My mouth waters to chase it, track it like a hunter, and lick it up as I devour her lush tits.
I inhale sharply. Where did that come from?
But I can smell her. A sweet combination of sweat and sunshine, dirt and perfume. I want to breathe her in, explore her every nook and cranny to see where her uniquely personal perfume originates.
I clear my throat. Fuck, this trip must’ve hit me harder than I thought. I need to get laid. And not by the Tannen woman sitting next to me.
Her cheeks are pink with exertion, her smile wide and dazzling. She looks pleased with herself, though I’m not sure if that’s from her achievement today with the soap or her spins on the floor. Maybe both.
“Here, you can have my water,” I tell her, pushing the glass I haven’t touched her way. I purposefully pick up my beer and take a good pull on it, so I don’t watch her throat work the cool liquid down. Instead, I scan the area behind her, wondering who she was dancing with.
I see a guy in a dusty, curled ballcap eyeing our table like he’s trying to figure out the relations between us all. With Shayanne sitting by my side, I’m sure he’s hoping we’re kin so he’s not cockblocked for the night. I give him a glare over my beer bottle and he spins in place, walking away.
That’s right, buddy. Hands off the girl.
I’m not sure why I care, she’s certainly entitled to dance with anyone she damn well pleases, but I feel a bit protective of her for some reason. Not that she needs any sheltering, everyone knows her Daddy and brothers keep her on a short leash. Hell, she rarely even comes into town unless it’s to hang out with Sophie and that’s usually for girls’ night in.
But something about her makes me want to throw my arm over her shoulders, pull her to my side, and keep her safe. Like in realizing that she’s all grown up, I see that other guys are checking her out and it doesn’t seem right. She’s not innocent, but maybe unjaded? I don’t want anyone taking advantage.
Maybe except me, I think selfishly.
I don’t know what it is tonight, but something about Shayanne, the girl I’ve known distantly for years, seems different and that’s a problem. A growing one in my jeans, which is uncomfortable as fuck.
She swallows greedily, gulping and then sighing in satisfaction. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” I say, hoping speaking the words will make them true. Because I’m not looking to get in a fight tonight over her honor, especially considering that for all I know, she’s hoping Ballcap Boy is on his way over for round two on the floor. “I hear congrats are in order? Happy for you, Shay.”
The nickname falls off my tongue unbidden. I don’t know this girl well enough to run around shortening her name, but I did it anyways. She doesn’t seem to mind, or even notice, too excited to tell me about her soaps being in the resort gift shop. And though Sophie basically just told me the same thing, I listen to the story again, happy to hear her share her excitement and wanting to hear it from her lips.
She seems to catch her breath because I can feel her booted foot tapping beneath the table and when the next song starts, her eyes dart to the floor.
“Alright, I’m up again. Love this song!”
Like a flash, I can read the future for just a split second and know I’m fucked as fucked can be. She’s going to eyeball me for a dance, and I’m going to do it. Mama raised a gentleman and if a lady asks you to dance, you’d best get off your hiney and cut a rug.
But this is a bad idea. A really bad idea.
For one, Ballcap Boy is still stalking around on the other side of the room last I checked, which was just a second ago. And two, her last name is Tannen and my last name is Bennett and everyone knows that’s like playing with dynamite and fire, and hoping shit doesn’t blow up.
Hell, half the folks in here have probably already texted her brothers that we’re sitting together, even with James and Sophie on the other side of the table.<
br />
But most importantly, and most dangerous, I’m finding that I quite like the idea of pulling her curvy body against mine and sharing space for a little longer.
Before I can make an excuse to get the hell outta dodge, she turns those eyes on me. They’re hazel, not quite blue or green or brown, but some amalgamation of them all and I’m struck with an urge to map each fleck of color.
“Come on, Luke. Scoot me around the floor,” she orders. And though she’s asking me, it feels casual, like if I say no, she’ll just hop over to the next cowboy. Like nothing ever gets her down. Like she’s not remotely affected by me the way I am by her.
And for just a minute, I want to hold her sunshine in my arms and let it chase through me, lift me up with her exuberance. And test my limits, and maybe hers too.
“Alright, Shay,” I say, knowing it’s simultaneously the most-polite and most-stupid thing I can do. For me, for her, for our families.
She has a sort of pass to be friends with Sophie, and by extension James, but even then, they keep the family business chatter non-existent to respect the tension between our families. Tension they planted, watered, and helped foster.
I’ve often wondered if the Hatfields were just as confused about their family feud as us Bennetts have been. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to publicly thumb my nose at whatever this fight is by dancing with Paul Tannen’s youngest and only daughter.
Yet, here I am with her in my arms as a slow country waltz plays. Luke Combs’ Beautiful Crazy plays from the jukebox, and while some couples are getting mighty cozy, I hold Shayanne a mostly respectable distance away. Not quite the hard-armed frame Mama taught us, not quite the bumping uglies grinding some other folks are doing to the sweet song, but somewhere in between.
I can read that she’s about to say something, and right now, we’re not fighting like our families tend to do, so I spin her, doing a complicated switching of hands that has her grinning in surprise. Then I dip her, sweeping both of her feet off the ground for a moment.
To her credit, she’s a great follower and goes right along as I lead her like we’ve been dancing together forever.
When I set her back right, whatever she was going to say is wiped from her mind, and she’s laughing and breathing hard.
“That was awesome. Luke Bennett, you can dance!” Her declaration is one of pure delight.
I shrug, though I know I’m on the other side of the bell curve as far as dance partners go. I’ve spent more than my fair share of nights alone in country towns, and bar dancing is one way to make friends. I might’ve even taken a bar-session class or two after a beer, not that I’d admit to that.
The song ends and the next one starts, a fast one, thank fuck. After a quick eyebrow lift to ask if she’s still in, we dance several more rounds, working around the floor as I show her off.
But her hand in mine feels nice, the curve of her lower back as I lead her is completely proper but feels naughty, and the heat from her skin singes me to the core.
From the table, I see James lift his hand and I pause. “Looks like James is flagging me. You want a break?”
She pauses, her bottom lip disappearing behind her teeth but she’s smiling like the world is her oyster. “Nah, I’ve got a couple more in these boots. But will you order me another water?”
I nod, stuck somewhere between disappointed and relieved, and then spin her loose.
Finally free of whatever spell she was weaving, I run my fingers through my hair. What the hell was that?
I’ve never looked at Shayanne like that, never wanted her that way, but tonight, all I can think about is her curvy body sinking onto my cock as she rides me like a cowgirl. I don’t know what changed, but I need to stay far away from her and her witchy magic that makes me think with my dick and not my head. Because she is danger with a capital ‘chop off your D’. Her dad and brothers would happily feed my cock to their goats and leave me ball-less for daring to even fantasize about their baby girl.
But damn, their baby girl grew up. She grew up good. And somehow I missed it even though I was right next door.
Before I’ve taken two steps away, Ballcap Boy is catching her hand and she flows into dancing with him like it was choreographed that way.
Oddly, I feel torn. Like I’m leaving her to the wolves, but it’s only a dance and I have no right to tell that guy to step off. He just rubs me the wrong way, a bit too predatory for a sweet girl like Shayanne.
I’m still watching over my shoulder as I sit down with James and Sophie. “You didn’t have to sit out for us. I was just giving you a five-minute warning that we’re almost out. That’s what the parenting books say you’re supposed to do so the kid doesn’t throw a tantrum.”
If glares were daggers, he’d be bleeding out right here at Hank’s. “You calling me a kid? And trying to use your kid tricks on me? Shithead.”
There’s a beat of tension and then we both laugh. “You really reading parenting books?”
James nods and I’m honestly not surprised. He’s full throttle - with Sophie, with their wedding, and he’ll be the same with their baby.
“Yeah, I figure I had pretty good examples with Pops and Mama, but now that it’s my turn, that’s a lot of pressure to live up to. I mean, how am I gonna compete with Pops, you know?”
Our father was the best . . . rancher, husband, dad. He was the best man I’ve ever known and we all miss him dearly. Hard to believe it’s been over a year since he died under the tree in the front yard, right where he proposed to Mama so many years ago.
I tell him earnestly, “You do what you can, and when you fuck up, Mama and Sophie will tell you. Just listen to them, say ‘yes ma’am’, and get your shit straight.”
He knocks my knee under the table and I grin, knowing that I’m right. But more importantly, he knows I’m right too.
Shayanne reappears at the table, grabbing her fresh water and chugging it like it’s a beer guzzling contest before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“James and Sophie are out for the evening. I probably should head home too. I’ve been on the road all day.”
Shayanne smiles, “Oh, me too then. This was fun. Thanks!”
We get up and the girls hug and make promises to talk tomorrow. James gives me a handshake, handing out advice like he’s the boss of me.
“Head on home now, Luke. Drive safe.”
I flip him off and he grins like he never had a doubt in my ability to make appropriate decisions. Like he’s such a responsible adult now that he’s married with a baby on the way.
Sophie hugs me too, and I swear her eyes are ticking from me to Shayanne with hope. I can almost see the heart emojis jumping out like a cartoon.
I warn her with a deep growl just between us, “Best you toss those thoughts out the way you should’ve my brother before he put a baby in you. Tannen, Bennett.”
The two words, just our names, are a reminder to us both, one I definitely need. They’re also enough to dampen Sophie’s scheming. Her whisper is resigned, “Can’t blame a girl for hoping for her best friend and her brother. But yeah, I kinda like you, so probably not a good idea to get yourself killed by dipping the wick so close to home.”
Sophie. The one girl who can be as prissy as a princess one minute and as crass as a ranch-raised cowboy the next.
In the parking lot outside, I tell Shayanne. “Hey, I’m not a creeper following you, but we’re going the same way, so I’ll be on your ass the whole way home, you know?”
She laughs like that half-assed joke was actually funny, playfully slapping my chest. I imagine for one second that she’s feeling my muscles because she actually wants to touch me, not because she’s clowning around.
“I know, neighbor.”
The whole way home I follow those red, glowing taillights, knowing they should be telling me ‘stop, stop, stop’ but when I reach our ranch gate, it takes all I have to turn in and not see her the rest of the way home.
I might be cru
de, more dirty cowboy than most, but I’m still a gentleman with manners.
Sometimes.
I just want to make sure she gets there safe and sound. That’s all, I tell myself.
I see her lights brighten and then darken twice, a salute good night, and then she’s gone, red orbs getting further away from me.
Shayanne
This kitchen is hot as balls. I’d love to get out of here for a little bit, cool down and cool off.
My lips screw up as I look around, and then check the clock, wondering if I have time for a short break. It’s not like farm life is a clock in-clock out, scheduled break type of job, but it’s important to get everything done in a timely manner. Our lives and livelihood depend on it.
Today is canning day. Well, it’s canning prep day which is half the battle.
I’ve got dozens of jars boiled and ready for me to start the real work tomorrow. I glance down at the list of recipes I’m planning, some tried and true, some new for this year. I might not have gone to a fancy culinary institute, but any country woman worth her salt has a repertoire that’ll please the hungry masses.
And this month’s farmer’s market sales will be instrumental in getting us through the lean months of winter. Farming is feast or famine, and when times are good, you’d best put some away for a rainy day.
Well, except that we like rain because then the fields green right up and the crops grow, but the metaphor still works.
“Fuck it, I’m out for a bit,” I tell the empty room.
I tend to have a foul mouth at times too. Three brothers and all.
And yeah, I talk to myself.
I talk to everything – people, animals, and inanimate objects.
Mama used to say it’s because I have so many words in my head, a constant cacophony of chatter that needs an outlet.
In hindsight, I think she was just happy for me to share the wealth with any and everything around me so that she didn’t have to listen to me wax poetic about every thought that ran through my mind. But she never made me feel like I was annoying her in any way, she happily listened to me. She was a good mother, and I miss her.
Baby Fever Page 66