I look over to where our only inside dog is lying on a braided rug by the front door, watching for Brutal to come home. Murphy might be a family pet in theory, but we all know his heart belongs to my brother.
For a guy nicknamed Brutal, and rarely called by his given name of Bruce, he’s a pushover for that pooch. And only that dog.
I drop my voice to my adopted dog-ish gravelly sound, “You sure that’s a good idea, Miss Shayanne?” Murphy is old-school, calls me Miss like I’m a proper lady. He’s the only one that does that. I laugh at my own weirdness.
“Yes, Murph. I’m sure and don’t you go telling on me neither or there will be exactly zero pumpkin puree in your dog food this week and we both know how much you like a little fall flavor. You’re almost a basic Starbucks girl fangirling for her PSL.”
Okay, that’s pushing it, and he lifts his head at the insult, huffing before his chin returns to his paws. I take that as a sign of his agreeable silence.
I grab my notebook - part diary, part recipe book, part scrapbook, and my near-constant companion. I scratch Murphy’s head as one last bribe and hit the barn to saddle up.
My favorite horse is a chestnut mare named Embers for her brownish red tint that’s capped with black mane and tail. She whinnies as I come closer, as ready for a ride as I am.
“Hey there, girl. You wanna get outta here?”
She has a voice too, but considering my imaginary conversation with Murphy, I hold back from speaking for Embers too. I lay a blanket on her back, saddle her up, and climb aboard.
The afternoon sun beats down on me, but the fall wind blows through my bones, refreshing and cool. The land stretches out before me, flat and wide to the horizon in the distance. It’s beautiful, it’s home, but at the same time, it’s a cage.
A pretty one of course, with family and friends. But sometimes I think it would’ve been nice to be one of those city kids with a Mom and Dad that told them they could be anything they wanted. An astronaut or a firefighter, a ballerina or a businesswoman.
Well, I am that last one now, a businesswoman in my own right. If I wasn’t sitting astride Ember, I’d do a happy dance at that thought, but I restrain myself, just barely, so I don’t fall off the horse like a newb.
But I’ve also never been off this plot of land, never considered that I’d be anything other than exactly what I am. The stand-in for Mom, a replacement after she died.
I hope I’ve done her proud, taking care of the family the way she would’ve been happy to do. I’m happy to do it too, truth be told. It just would’ve been nice to get to choose it myself, which seems like a small but important distinction.
Ahead, I see my destination. Far away from the house, over a hill and to the slight valley below, sits a big shade tree. It’s my refuge, my hideout where none of the boys ever look, mostly because it’s right on the line of our property and the Bennett ranch next door.
I can already feel the long day of work drifting off my shoulders, my load lightening, and with a few faster steps, Ember stops beneath the canopy of leaves. They’re still mostly green, but the tips are turning a yellowy color that’ll darken to orange before they fall to the ground, leaving my sanctuary bare for the winter season.
I let Ember roam freely, trusting that she won’t go too far and will answer my whistle when I’m ready to leave. I approach the tree like an old friend, placing a palm to the rough bark of the trunk.
“Hey there, I’ve missed you,” I tell the tree.
I slip my boots off, reach up and grab a branch, hoisting myself into the canopy to find my favorite spot. It’s like the tree grew a chair just for me, a spot to lean back against the trunk, but with a wide enough limb that I can sit comfortably. And hidden by the leaves, I can’t see out or be seen.
I pull out my notebook, flipping through the pages of my own penmanship as I dream. Of far-away places, of new scent combinations of soap, of Daddy getting his shit straight and being a stand-up guy.
You know, the basics.
Time passes slowly here in the cocoon of my tree, until I hear hoofbeats coming. Then time somehow both stretches and speeds up at the same time as excuses and justifications begin running through my mind. Depending on which brother, or God forbid my dad, has found me, I’ll have to adjust on the fly.
I slowly move a leafy branch, peeking out but I can’t see anyone. I can hear a horse snorting though.
And then a deep voice rumbles, “What the fuck?”
That’s not one of the Tannen boys, not one of my brothers and not my father. Which means only one thing. A Bennett.
The voice pitches softer, higher. “Come here, girl. What are you doing out here?”
Shit. He sees Ember, fully saddled so it’s obvious there’s someone out here. I debate keeping quiet but when I hear him cooing worriedly, asking the horse where her rider is, my conscious takes over.
“She’s fine. I’m here,” I say from the treetop.
I can’t see him, but I can hear his boots scuff quickly on the grass. “Fuck!” I get the impression that I just scared the shit out of him and made him jump, which makes me giggle.
I hop down from my hidey-hole to the soft grass and turn around.
“Luke?” I say, not surprised to see him since I’m right up by his property line, but also somehow shocked too. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of this guy in years besides the few minutes here and there in the crowd of people at Sophie’s wedding, so running into him twice in one week seems weird.
“Shayanne? You almost gave me a heart attack.” He holds his chest dramatically, which draws my attention to the broad width there.
I’d noticed it when we danced too, how he’d dwarfed me but held me softly, like a gentle giant. And when I’d been kidding and slapped his pec right over his heart, it’d been like touching a brick wall. I’d had to hold myself back from asking if that was real and patting him again just to double check for myself.
“Sorry, just hanging out. Had to escape the hot kitchen for a bit.”
“To our property?” he asks, his eyes narrowed but he seems more curious than angry.
Usually, folks are pretty kind out here in the country. Welcoming and hospitable even. But not so with the Tannens and Bennetts.
A while back, Mr. Bennett passed and Daddy tried to buy their land. It was in poor taste and he was a bit heavy-handed with Mrs. Bennett and the boys, thinking he could take advantage in their time of need. Not that things between the families were good before that. It just reignited tensions a bit.
We hadn’t known about Daddy’s tactics at first, had only heard him ranting and raving about ‘those snot-nosed Bennett boys that think they’re better’n everyone else.’
In the long run, Mark Bennett had been the better man and after accidentally stirring up some trouble with his questions around town, he’d told us about Daddy’s secret gambling habit.
It’d been a turning point for our family. The time ‘before’ and the time ‘after’, when our image of our father had been, not just tarnished, but shattered.
I’d always been a bit of a Daddy’s girl, but now, I can see that he’s slick and opportunistic. Within twenty-four hours of that newsflash, Brody had taken over the family reins with me at his side. Daddy is a part of this family of course, but it’s mostly in name only, though his word still carries some sway. Too many years of listening to him makes it hard to completely dismiss him. Especially when he gets loud.
And so the feud continues. I think mostly because no one wants to rock the boat. Or piss off Daddy since he’s moved on to threatening to kick Brody out in some ‘who’s the boss’ battle. As if this place could run without Brody, I think with an internal eye roll.
But years of being the youngest and being the only girl mean I can’t help but argue. “I’m not on your land. This tree is Tannen property.” I pat the trunk like an old friend.
Luke’s eyes darken, but I can see a smile hinting at the corners of his full lips. I think he likes this verbal spar
ring. “The trunk maybe, but that branch you were lollygagging in, definitely over the property line.”
He might be right. Hell, the whole tree might be on Bennett property. I never really thought about it and there’s no fence in this area to delineate the property line because it’s not a pasture that’s used for the cattle.
So I hedge my bets because Mama didn’t raise no fool and my Daddy’s a gambler. “Well, unless you’re here to tear it down, I don’t reckon it matters one bit. So are ya?”
“Here to tear it down?” Luke asks, his blue eyes swirling with confusion like he’s not following my train of thought. I’m not surprised, most folks don’t. “Of course not.”
I nod once, “Glad we got that settled. Second matter, you never saw me here. I’ve been in the kitchen all day. You got that?” I point a blunt-nailed finger his way. “Capiche?” I sound like a Hollywood version of a mobster, but with a twang instead of an Italian accent.
But he gets me instantly this time. “Never saw you. Understood, loud and clear, ma’am.” He stands straight, clicks his boots together once, and throws a half-assed salute my way. A shitty impersonation of a soldier, but then he relaxes back into his usual cowboy stance. He’s laid back and mellow, but has little biting surprises, like vanilla ice cream with pop rocks in it. It’s a thing, I had it once on the Fourth of July.
He scratches at the sexy scruff of blonde along his jaw, his brows pulled together over eyes the color of cloudless summer skies. “So why are you hiding out here? Everything okay?”
He sounds like he cares. I remember how kind he just was with Ember, who can be skittish around new people. But she walked right up when he called her, and is currently nibbling at his heels, hoping for scratches behind her ears.
Horses are a good barometer of a person. If they like you, you’re probably alright. If they don’t, chances are, you’re a bad egg. It’s not a perfect test, but I trust Ember’s instincts.
“All good in the hood,” I say for some reason. I think I heard it on a television show once or twice. I try to play it off, laughing at myself before Luke laughs at me. “I mean, just been a busy morning getting ready for canning tomorrow and the kitchen was so hot, I had to escape for a little. The next few days are going to be doozies with Triple P on the agenda.”
My words are rushed, each one falling on the one before it like it’s a train coming in to the station too fast. Surprisingly, Luke follows until the end.
“Triple P?” he asks, his teeth flashing white. But he seems interested, not like he’s laughing at me, which is a good thing because I’m thinking I like that smile. Like he’s trying to figure me out, but I’m the simplest of simple. What you see is what you get with me.
“Pears, peaches, and pumpkin. Bobby and Bruce are doing all the harvesting, I’ve got all the recipes ready, and the jars are cooling on the counter, ready to be filled. Today’s my last day of freedom before I get chained to the stove.”
I’m joking of course, but Luke looks a little horrified as he looks down at my bare feet, or maybe it’s my ankle he’s checking out?
Either way, I clarify. “Not literally, like ball and chain,” I drag my pink-tipped toes through the grass like I’m lame. “But because of the cans. I’ve seen your mom’s jellies. You know what I’m talking about.”
Recognition dawns on his face. “Yeah, but she usually just does a batch or two. How many you doing?”
I know he doesn’t give one single shit about my canning plans, but what else am I gonna talk about? Goat soap? The way he looks at me with those blue eyes that make me want to melt into the floor? Or how it felt when he’d catch me solidly against his muscled chest after a spin that reset my world’s axis?
No, definitely not that last one, and I’d best stick to the safe topic at hand and not ruffle any feathers. Especially mine, which are itching to do a bit of a sway his way.
“I’ve got two different pear recipes, cinnamon spicy for cobbler and a sweet jelly. Peaches? Three I think, including a new bourbon one I’m excited to play with. And more pumpkin recipes than humanly possible, but since it’s a once a year thing, I do it up big.”
I flip through my notebook, showing him the recipes, but flash it too fast to reveal my secret ingredients. “My favorite is this smashed pumpkin though. I’ve got almost a hundred orders for the special pie filling I make and twenty more Thanksgiving orders already. Lots to do, lots to dooo . . .”
My voice trails off awkwardly. But Luke is steady as can be, just watching me ramble and taking me in like I’m a show he wants to watch on repeat.
He even seems impressed, whistling lowly. “Damn, you are busy. All that and soaps too?”
I shrug, “Well, Brody wouldn’t dream of letting me near his animals and Daddy won’t let a girl help with the harvest.” I drop my voice low, mimicking my dad’s. “Get in the house, young lady. Let those boys take care of the fields.”
My eyes roll unbidden and Luke laughs, a deep chuckle that vibrates in my belly too.
“So up to my eyeballs in pumpkin pie it is.” I hold my hand flat, just below my eyes to highlight my point.
“I get it. I’m playing catch up too. Mark and James play favorites and only ride their horses most of the time, so while I’m gone, the rest of my babies get a little too lazy. I’m letting Duster stretch his legs a bit.” He looks at the horse fondly. “But I didn’t think my ride was gonna lead to me catching a trespasser in our tree. Even if she’s a cute one.”
Oh, we’re not back to this are we? Wait, did he just say I’m cute? But then he winks, big and cute with his mouth open, before smirking. Is he teasing about the tree or about me being cute? I’m not sure.
Both of us busy as beavers building a dam before winter, but neither of us making a move from beneath the shade of my tree.
Interesting. Exciting.
That’s what I’m thinking Luke is, and I really do wonder what he thinks of me. I know I’m not the usual type of girl that guys go for. I’m a little too rough, a little too odd. But I’m looking at Luke like I’m sure women all over the continental US have, like I could eat him up with a spoon for supper.
I let my eyes trace over him, from his mop of overgrown blonde hair that’s starting to have the barest hint of curl, to his blue eyes squinting against the sun, to his full lips and chiseled jaw. Broad shoulders as we established at Hank’s, tapered to a slim waist where his t-shirt is tucked in behind his belt, and long thick legs encased in worn denim.
Yep, a girl could definitely work with that, I think.
Thankfully, the thought manages to stay in my head and not pass my lips, but judging by the cocky smirk on Luke’s face, he’s reading my mind loud and clear. The air between us thickens, our eyes meeting and all humor falling away as it registers that we’re both thinking the same thing.
Well, I’m thinking Luke Bennett is walking sex on a stick. Hopefully, he’s thinking some sexier, sweeter version of that, because in my mind, he’s smoother than I am.
But then his look darkens, like he just remembered something, and when his eyes drift off to the distance, towards our homestead, I know what it is . . . my last name.
“Shay,” he says, his voice soft and quiet, but it might as well be a siren, warning me off.
My gut drops, a sour feeling taking over. “Yeah, you’re right. I’d better get back to the house before anyone misses me. I’ll see ya around.”
I toss him a careless wave, grabbing my boots but not bothering to put them on as I whistle for Ember.
She scurries over to me, thankfully sensing my need to get out of here. I climb up, and though I want to slouch in retreat, my training kicks in and my spine straightens.
Out of the fiery kitchen, and into the fire itself. Because I think Luke could burn me to ashes, with no poetic phoenix rising in rebirth. I’d be just plain toast in his wake. And while he’d be a helluva way to go, based on his obvious rebuff in the silent but heated moment, I don’t think he’s interested in the girl next d
oor.
“Hey Shayanne!” he calls out, and for a heartbeat I consider pretending not to hear him, imagining that it was just the wind or my own wishful thinking. But I know it was his voice.
I glance back, jaw hard. “Yeah?”
“Think you could save a jar of smashed pumpkin for me?”
An olive branch.
Daring. Stupid. Sweet. All thoughts that rush through my mind, but in the end, I smile and give in because a little bit of something good is better than none of it. And Luke is good, even if he’s not good for me.
“Of course. But I don’t do delivery service.” That’s a lie, I deliver stuff all over town with the boys’ help. But I can’t exactly roll up to the Bennett house in my truck because I’d get busted for sure.
Luke tilts his head towards the tree. “Meet you here?” He looks uncertain still, like even though I agreed, he thinks I’m going to bolt like a jumpy foal.
I blink, telling my heart to slow the hell down because it’s beating in my chest like a racehorse’s hooves. Not a date, not a date I repeat, trying to get the thuds to match my mental pace.
“Okay, gimmee three days to get the first batches done, so . . . Thursday? Around three?”
I choose the day and time knowing my brother’s and Daddy’s schedule. They might think they’re the boss, but I’m the one that keeps the whole train chugging with everything running smoothly. And by Thursday afternoon, Daddy’ll be gone for his weekend of gambling up north, and my brothers will busy with chores of their own. I should be able to sneak away without problems and get back before dinner. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.
He nods, giving me a full smile like he’s happy I agreed. “See you then,” he says, confirming the peace treaty.
The trip back to the house is faster than I want it to be, my mind ping-ponging and replaying the expressions that chased across Luke’s face.
He could’ve just let me go after he caught me blatantly giving him the once over. It would’ve hurt, but it’d be like ripping a band-aid off.
But he’d called me back, made plans to see me again. And I can’t decide if he’s just trying to pull the sticky bandage off slowly so it doesn’t take skin with it, or if he’s actually interested.
Baby Fever Page 67