by James, Marie
Chapter 9
Zeke
She’s talked and talked and talked.
And talked.
For hours Frankie has rambled on about anything and everything. At first, I wondered if she’d hit her head, but when she started reciting a recipe for homemade hummus, I knew she was only doing it to mess with me.
I wish I could say I’m capable of tuning her out, but I’m not. If anything, I kind of enjoy the soft lilt of her voice and the way she grins when I sigh in pretend frustration.
Even though she’s chattered incessantly all damn day, I still hate the sight of her grandmother’s farmhouse as we draw near. I need space from her, but at the same time, I don’t want her to walk inside without me. I don’t want our day to end, and like always that pisses me off. It’s almost like I need her, and there’s nothing I can do to eliminate that desire to be around her. I don’t need anyone. I don’t need to be entertained. Yet, here we are, sitting in the truck, staring at her nan’s front door like it’s the gates of hell. Well, I am, at least. I don’t know about her. She hasn’t paused to take a breath.
I squeeze my eyes shut as she babbles on about never having a pet because her parents didn’t want to deal with the responsibility.
“It’s hard enough taking care of a daughter,” she says, lowering her voice to no doubt sound like her father.
“City Girl?” I huff.
She doesn’t stop talking about her willingness to have cared for a dog on her own until she’s damned good and ready.
“Frankie,” I snap, doing my best to keep my lip from twitching when she turns her head to look at me.
“What?”
I don’t answer her with words, instead I do what I’ve been wanting to do all damn day.
I shut her up with my mouth, pressing my lips to hers as my hand grips the back of her neck.
I expect her to shove me away, to push against my chest and wipe her mouth off with the back of her hand as she glares at me. I wouldn’t put it past her to spit to get the taste of me out of her mouth.
She doesn’t do any of that.
She squeaks, surprised at my actions and clamps her lips shut. She rejects my kiss like it’s instinctual, refusing to grant me entrance, but I’m not deterred.
Angling my head to the right, I press harder, teasing the seam of her lips with the tip of my tongue, and I can feel it in my bones when she makes up her mind to kiss me back. Her body relaxes, the tension in her muscles floating away as her tiny hand grips the sleeve of my shirt. She isn’t pushing or pulling but anchoring herself to me, and I’m suddenly enthralled with this pretty girl.
The first brush of my tongue over hers when she finally opens for me is a like a cattle prod to my spine, a jolt of electricity so strong it takes everything in me not to pull her onto my lap and take things further than I know she’s willing to go.
My fingers tremble as I tease the back of her neck, my thumb skating over her jawline like she’s the most precious thing I’ve ever put my hands on, and if I’m being honest, she probably is.
“Zeke,” she pants against my lips when I pull back to suck in a sharp breath, blown away with just how perfect her mouth is.
Licking my lips, I revel in the sweet taste of Dr. Pepper still on her tongue from our quick stop earlier, but when I look down at her, finding her staring up at me with stars twinkling in her eyes, I realize I’ve made a mistake.
Kissing her to shut her up didn’t make things better. Hell, no. It only made them a million times worse. Now all I want to do is press my mouth to every available inch of her skin, and all the inches hidden by her clothing. The need I felt earlier is now as heavy as the weight of the world, trying to drag me down a path I know I can’t take with this girl.
Even if she’s looking up at me like she’s willing to give me anything I ask for.
Even if every cell in my body is begging me to take things further.
Even if in the end, giving into my urges means I’m doing exactly what both our families want.
She’s not just some girl wanting another kiss.
She’s a way to control my destiny. She’s a girl meant to trap me, hold me down, and alter the trajectory of my life, but even when I’m low, I still haven’t given up on the possibility of having more for my life than what my parents are offering me. I want more than working cows. I want more than settling down like Joseph and Rebecca, popping out a new kid every year. I want more than backbreaking labor and calloused hands.
“Look at you,” I purr as I trace her cheek with the tip of my index finger.
She’s got the softest skin, porcelain tinted with pink cheeks. She blinks up at me as if she can’t believe I’m real, her stormy gray eyes filled with just as much lust for me as I feel for her.
I almost change my mind when the tip of her sweet, pink tongue roams over her bottom lip. My body definitely is going to hate me.
“Did you like my kiss?” My voice is low and husky, betraying my need for her, but my mind is made up, and I can’t back down now.
“Yes,” she pants, her gaze falling to my mouth like she’s impatiently waiting for me to press it to hers once again.
“You’re half in love with me already.”
She blinks, slow at first, but then her lashes flutter repeatedly against her cheeks, and it makes me wonder if she’s already trying to fight back tears. I don’t really want her to cry. Yet, if she does, I know I’ll want to lick the salt from her skin.
“What?” Her throat works on a swallow as I watch her brain begin to shift gears. Her brow pinches in confusion as her lust for me fades away.
I hate what I’m about to do, but at the same time, I love the power she so readily hands over to me time and time again. She’s something I can control, and that’s everything right now when my world seems to be dominated by the will of others.
“I want to fuck you.” No truer words have ever left my lips.
“Zeke.” She drops her gaze, looking at my chin rather than being able to face the heat in my eyes. “I can’t do—”
I hook my finger under her chin and tilt her face back up to mine. “Don’t mistake me, City Girl. I can control my urges. Even though sliding balls deep into that no doubt virgin pussy of yours would feel amazing, the last thing I need is an obsessed girl following me around.”
My mother would slap my face for talking to anyone the way I just did her. I cuss as much as the next teenage boy does, but I was raised to respect women. I don’t swim in the guilt very long, however. I need to hurry this along so I can get out of here before my words and what my body does contradict each other.
“I’m not,” she argues.
“You are. You’re looking up at me like I hold your world in the palm of my hand. You have little hearts in your eyes. Like I said, you’re practically in love with me already.”
My hand trembles on my thigh when she scoots away from me, itching to reach out to her and pull her against my chest.
“I’m not,” she repeats, this time with a little more steel in her voice.
My lip twitches with pride, but I manage to keep the smile off my face.
“So, you’re willing to just be fuck buddies? I can arrang—”
“In your dreams,” she snaps. “There isn’t any situation where I’d ever let you touch me again.”
I blink at her as she glares at me, cocking a disbelieving eyebrow, and it serves to piss her off even more.
“I’ve known bullies my entire life, and you’re no different. Stay away from me Zeke Benson. I don’t want anything to do with you.”
Who has the power now? It certainly doesn’t seem like I still have the upper hand.
I sigh as she climbs out of my truck, slamming the door so hard behind her that the reverberation causes me to jolt. I don’t climb out and help her pull the groceries out of the bed, and I don’t offer to carry them inside for her. I’ll have to explain myself somehow to Mrs. Jacobson tomorrow, but it isn’t something I can manage tonight.
Guilt swims in my gut as my eyes follow her all the way into the house, burdened by the weight of the grocery bags in her hands. Before I end up going after her and apologizing, I crank my truck and haul ass back home.
On autopilot, I enter our small house, and sigh when I see Dad already sitting at the table waiting for his meal.
“How was your day, dear?” Mom asks when I step up to the kitchen sink to wash my hands.
“Fine,” I grunt, hating the world and everything in it. I’m too young to be filled with such animosity for the world, yet here I am right in the middle of loathing everything about my damn life.
“That’s nice,” she says, the distance in her voice making it clear she really isn’t concerned about my day. “Get to the table. It’s suppertime.”
I do as I’m told, in no mood to eat but unwilling to argue with her over it. Dad sits at the head of the table looking weaker than I’ve ever seen him. He seems smaller than I remember, almost as if he’s shrinking in on himself, like his spine can no longer carry the weight of his own body.
It’s exactly what I don’t want. There’s pride in working hard your entire life, but when it leaves you ragged and broken long before your time, I can’t help but wonder if it’s worth it. From where I’m sitting right now, watching Dad wince as he places a napkin in his lap, I’d have to say no. I don’t want this life, not even if we still had our own land and cattle. I don’t want to be utterly exhausted at the end of every day. I don’t want to grow wearier than I am now.
“How’s Mrs. Jacobson?” Dad asks, his voice barely above a whisper as Mom carries a casserole dish to the table.
“She’s fine.”
“And Frances?” Mom smiles down at me as she shovels food onto Dad’s plate.
He holds his hand up to stop her from placing another scoop down, and she frowns. His appetite hasn’t been the same for a while now either.
“Your momma asked you a question, Son.” Dad watches me rather than lifting his fork to eat.
I hate being the focus of his attention. As a child, I lived for having his undivided attention, but his eyes aren’t filled with pride right now like they were when I was a child. Right now, he’s glaring at me like I’m purposely disrespecting him and my mother. The focus rubs me the wrong way. Knowing what I said to Frankie and how I treated her earlier is already like needles to my nerves. I don’t need to continue talking about her to my parents, but I open my mouth with the truth, anyway.
“Frances Young is a child. She has absolutely no responsibilities. She’s an entitled little girl who—”
“That’s enough,” Dad snaps, but there’s no fire behind his words. He doesn’t have the strength for it.
I’m hit with a new wave of guilt. His hands tremble as he rests them beside his plate.
“She’s perfect for you,” Mom says as she takes her seat across from me on Dad’s other side.
“Like how Benjamin Scott was perfect for you?” Mom gasps, and I hear Dad take in a ragged breath. “If I refuse to marry Frances, are you going to kick me out and disinherit me like your folks did when you rejected Benjamin?”
I almost chuckle at the disinherited part. There’s nothing they have for me to inherit but shame and failure.
Benjamin Scott was who her parents picked for her. He was the man that fit the perfect image of the husband they wanted for their daughter. He came from money and was active in the church. My mother fell in love with my dad instead. A poor farmer who spent too many hours in the fields during the week to worry about what God was doing on Sundays.
“That’s enough!” Dad slams his palms down on the table, rattling the dishes.
“Look, I’m sor—” My words stop when I look over at my dad. He’s white as a ghost, but before I can ask if he’s okay, he topples to the side, taking his uneaten plate of food to the floor with him.
Chapter 10
Frankie
It took all the focus I could muster to make it through helping Nan put away the groceries without confessing the kind of man Zeke Benson actually is. My hands trembled the entire time as my mind raced with a million brilliant, insulting things I could’ve said earlier in his truck. Of course when I was in the situation, I couldn’t do much of anything but stare at him like I was hearing him wrong.
“I am not obsessed with him, and I’m certainly not in love with his arrogant ass,” I mutter as I tug down the hem of my cutoff shorts. “He’s delusional.”
But then again, maybe he does have a point. I know how I was feeling when he pulled his mouth from mine. Just remembering our first kiss—my first kiss—makes my cheeks burn with the heat of a thousand suns.
Those first few seconds were beyond awkward, but after my brain caught up and realized what was happening, it was perfect.
I trace my tongue over my lips in memory, but as much as I want to focus on the good things that happened in his truck, his harsh words manage to filter in and take over like they always do.
He’s horrible, just vile and mean for no other reason than he must like to watch my face contort in agony. And every dang time I fall for it. Each time he treats me with kindness or shows me a side of him I think I could like, he blows it all away in the blink of an eye. The manipulation is weighing on me, and I’m only out here to build the courage to tell Nan I don’t want anything to do with him going forward. If she asks questions, I’ll tell her the truth. I can’t keep going on like this. It keeps me awake at night. My appetite is nonexistent because of the way he treats me. He’s ruining my life one insult at a time, and I’ve had enough.
Taking a deep breath, I bend forward, propping my chin on my hands and looking out over the land. The peaceful silence is interrupted by the wail of sirens. I’m not a stranger to the sound of police cars and ambulances. I hear them all the time back home, but it’s out of place out here. Not once in the weeks I’ve been here have I heard them.
I watch in fascination at the flashing red lights, wondering where they’re headed as an ambulance soars past the end of Nan’s driveway. My gut clenches when it slows, taking the driveway to Zeke’s place. I learned shortly after arriving that Zeke and his family live on Jacobson land in the smaller house on the property.
Red lights swirl, still able to be seen from the front porch, but the house is too far in the distance to see much else. Darkness has fallen over the ranch in the last twenty minutes, but that doesn’t keep me from jumping off the porch and heading in that direction.
I imagine it’s just a cut, or someone has fallen, so I walk toward Zeke’s house, but as my mind works through about a million different scenarios, I realize that no one would call for an ambulance for minor things out here. The men in Utah are forged in steel and wrapped in masculinity. If they hurt themselves, they’d drive themselves to the hospital, and it would have to be a pretty serious injury even then.
My feet pick up the pace with the realization, and by the time I make it to the end of their driveway, I’ve sprinted halfway here. I’m panting and out of breath, sucking in ragged gulps of air. I’m small-framed, never having to worry about my weight, but I’m definitely out of shape. My breaths escape in huffs by the time I walk around the end of the ambulance to find two EMTs rolling a stretcher off the front porch.
They’re talking in medical terms to each other as they situate Mr. Benson in the back of the ambulance.
“Ma’am?” one of the EMTs prods as Mrs. Benson stands to the side with her hands clamped over her mouth. Tears streak her pretty face, and she looks seconds away from losing her mind.
“You can ride with him,” the EMT urges, crooking his fingers to try to help move her along, and Mrs. Benson finally moves to climb inside.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
The back of the ambulance closes up and drives away a second later, but I don’t pull my eyes away from the flashing lights until it’s cleared the driveway and headed back toward town.
“Go home, Frankie.”
Zeke pushes past me
as he heads to his own truck.
“What happened?” I ask, but he’s already climbing inside and reversing out of the driveway.
I can’t get the image of the distraught look on Mrs. Benson’s face out of my mind, but I head down the driveway, just like Zeke instructed. We aren’t friends. He doesn’t need me to console him or get involved in his family issues. He’s made it very clear he doesn’t want anything to do with me other than use me as his verbal punching bag.
I look back at his house one last time before I make it to the road back to Nan’s, but the sight of the front door standing wide open stops me in my tracks. I should go home and not worry about it. I don’t owe him a thing. If anything, he owes me a million apologies for the way he’s treated me these last couple of weeks, but I’m not that person. I can’t just walk away when someone needs help, when there’s something I can do to make things easier for others.
So I tell myself that I’m helping Mr. and Mrs. Benson, not Zeke, as I walk back down the drive to close the front door. It’s all I was planning to do—climb the stairs and shut the door. Yet, as I near the door, I can’t help the curiosity that is begging me to take a peek. I have no business looking in the Benson’s house, but when I stick my head inside, making sure that no other part of my body crosses the threshold, I take in the mess on the floor.
A broken plate and food along with packages from the EMTs’ medical supplies litter the floor around the dining room table. Was it a fight? A heart attack?
I have no clue, but I don’t feel right making this family come back to the home in such disarray after dealing with a medical emergency.
Praying they don’t press criminal charges against me for invading their private space, I step inside and get to work, starting with sealing up the food on the table and putting it in the fridge. Next, I focus on the debris on the floor, not taking a break until the trash and food are gone, and the floor sparkles from being mopped.