“Wow,” he said when he closed the car door behind him.
“Welcome to Open Sky.” Luke said, clapping Tucker on the back. “You two go on in. I’ll run your luggage around to my place.”
“Wait, you don’t actually live here?” Tucker quirked an eyebrow.
“I do. There are more houses on our land, though, and one of them is mine.” Luke grinned.
Tucker’s eyes grew wide. He had more than one house himself, but they weren’t all on the same tract of land. Tucker had a house in Malibu, a condo in downtown LA, his Hampton’s cottage, and the yacht. “How big is this place?”
“If I tell you, it’ll sound like I’m quoting The Lion King,” Luke snickered.
“I love that movie,” said Tucker.
“All my fears have been assuaged. You two are going to get on marvelously.” Birdie said, waving her arm to emphasize her already overly dramatic expression.
“Careful, I might invite your boyfriend out for a beer, love,” said Luke.
“I’d love to go out with you for a beer.” Tucker gave Luke a coy smile.
“Oh goody, I was going to go out and have a drink anyway.” Birdie wound her arms around both Luke and Tucker, pulling them into a three-way embrace.
“Fine, but you better go say hello to Mamma and have supper first.” Luke was the first to pull away from the circle.
Tucker followed Birdie into the house and was greeted with a cold, wet, dog nose in his crotch. The scramble of canines jumped and yipped with excitement. There were seven of them; a German shepherd, a black lab, a collie, three mutts that looked like a mix of the other three breeds, and the tiny by comparison fluff ball of a Pomeranian.
“I’m home.” Birdie called out, disappearing in the tumble of fur and wagging tails.
Every move Tucker made to get away from the German shepherd’s prying nose was futile. The animal followed, sniffing intensely.
“Libby, Jesus, at least buy the man dinner before you go exploring the goods,” said a woman as she entered the foyer. She snapped her fingers twice and whistled sharply. The pack of dogs jerked to attention and disband, except for the Pomeranian that was spinning excited circles at Birdie’s feet. “Welcome back,” the woman said, stooping to pick up the small dog. She drew Birdie into a hug. “Who’s this good-looking man, honey?” The lady asked, gesturing to Tucker.
“Helen, this is my boyfriend Tucker. Tucker, Helen Johnson,” said Birdie.
Tucker arched an eyebrow in slight confusion. Did Helen know that Birdie and Luke were poly? Tucker’s parents didn’t know and he’d kept that facet of his life hush hush because he knew damned well any hint of a scandal involving him could be detrimental to his family.
“We’re probably the most liberal family you’ll find in this red state, Tucker, but we don’t make that public knowledge outside of the ranch. Pleasure to meet you,” said Helen, extending her hand.
They shook.
“Was I being that obvious?” asked Tucker with a polite smile.
“Read you like a book,” said Helen. Her gaze drifted to Birdie. “He isn’t a thing like Luke. Come on, grab a drink. Roy just fired up the grill. Birdie told me you were a vegetarian, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tucker said following the two women through the house’s chef grade kitchen and out onto a screened in porch.
“I hope you like the veggie burgers. I found the recipe on Pinterest, but just in case I fixed up a tossed salad,” Helen said as they walked.
“I’m sure they’ll be delicious,” said Tucker.
“If Roy doesn’t turn them into charcoal briskets.” Helen let out a light laugh, put the Pomeranian down on the porch, and reached into an outdoor refrigerator, retrieving two Coors Lights. She popped the tops off and handed one to Birdie and Tucker.
“Come on, I want you to meet everyone.” Birdie took Tucker’s hand and lead him down the steps and onto the back deck. The deck butted up against a patio that surrounded an in-ground swimming pool. A chain-link fence enclosed the large yard, but about a hundred yards beyond, four smaller versions of the big ranch house lay spaced evenly apart. The fence served as a way to close off the pool from the other plots of land. The soft slope of the yard gave Tucker a view of the pastures and barns to the west.
Tucker spotted Luke, long strides swiftly closing the gap between the easternmost house and the fence. Luke vaulted over the top, smoother than an Olympic gymnast and Tucker, enamored, almost choked on his beer. He coughed and sputtered.
Birdie patted him on the back. “Impressive sight, huh?” She swept a hand across the expanse of green land.
“Yeah, impressive.” Tucker wasn’t talking about the ranch.
Luke tipped his hat as he passed them and headed for the fridge.
“Auntie,” squealed two small children and wrapped themselves around Birdie’s legs. “Are we too big for walks?” The one with braided pigtails asked.
Birdie grunted and moved one leg with a girl on it and then the other. “Yep. You’re so grown up.” She patted their heads.
“Yes,” cried the other girl, unfurling herself from Birdie’s limb. “We haven’t out grown Uncle Luke, though.” Two blond heads bobbed and darted off in Luke’s direction.
“The one with braids is Emily and the one without is Maggie. They’re Lauren’s girls.” Birdie said, pointing in the direction of the two women across the yard talking. “It’s probably better if I wait to introduce you when we’re all sitting down to dinner. You got something to take notes?” she asked and winked at him.
A few moments later, Helen rang a bell attached to a post by the porch—the dinner bell. Everyone took a seat at the long picnic table, Helen sitting at the head of the table and one of her daughters—the one Tucker had mentally labeled the pregnant one at the other end. Plates and bowls of food were passed back and forth. The air smelled of grill smoke, citronella candles, and sweet green grass.
Tucker piled salad on his plate and one of the many veggie burgers that Helen had made. This woman cooks for an army. After everyone had food on their plates, the serving platters were still teaming with it. The only thing that looked remotely empty was the package of hamburger buns with one lonely bun left, but it sat on top of three unopened packages.
“You gonna introduce us to your new beau, Birdie-girl?” Someone asked.
Birdie’s cheeks flushed. Tucker hadn’t seen her blush in a while. She’s gorgeous. “Yes, sir.” She leaned forward in her seat between Tucker and Luke to get a better view of the faces around the table. “This is Tucker. Tucker you know Luke and Helen.” She started with the man on Helen’s left. “Helen’s husband, Roy. Their daughter, Lauren, and Lauren’s daughters, Emily and Maggie. Cody. He’s married to Samantha, Luke’s other sister. Cody Jr. is still cooking, we won’t officially meet him until April, right?”
Samantha nodded with a smile. She’s rubbed the round top of her pregnant belly.
Birdie took a breath. “Frank is married to Casey and Casey is Lauren’s partner. And Andrew. He’s Lauren’s husband.”
“There will be a test later,” quipped Andrew.
Tucker needed a Venn diagram. His head kind of swirled. “And you all live here on the ranch?”
Heads nodded all around, except for the twins who were busy pushing unwanted greenery away from their cheeseburgers.
“Wow,” said Tucker.
“Welcome to the family, Tucker,” said Helen, raising her glass of tea. Everyone else followed suit.
Tucker grinned. “Thank you,” he said. He’d never been so easily accepted anywhere, all his life he’d walked with the pervasive feeling that he had to adhere to some sort of decorum. This was relaxing.
“Can I start showing you and Birdie’s baby pictures to him now, son?” Helen asked mirthfully, her forkful of salad hovering midair.
“Please don’t, Mamma,” Luke pleaded.
“Did Birdie tell you her grandpa helped build this house?” Roy asked.
Tucker swallowed
his beer. “No, she didn’t.”
“John Bird was the best damned carpenter I knew. He built this picnic table and four out of our five barns.”
“He made a lot of our furniture, too.” Lauren added.
“Made the crib that I used for every single one of my children,” said Helen with a smile. “Birdie used that crib too. Her gramma, Dora, was my best friend.” Helen waxed wistful for a moment. She cleared her throat and swiped at the corner of her eye.
Everyone stayed silent for a bit, the only sound the flickering of the candles and the crickets chirping in the night breeze.
The little girl with braids, Emily or Maggie?, spoke up, “Can we get in the pool nana?”
“Not tonight,” their mother answered before Helen could.
The conversation picked back up, Tucker was enthralled by the shop talk about the ranch as much as he was hearing stories about Birdie in her younger days. After dinner, they sat around a fire pit, drank strong black coffee, and ate toasted marshmallows. Eventually the families drifted back to their separate houses. Luke, Birdie, and Tucker walked hand in hand to Luke’s house.
“I feel like I’m camping,” said Tucker into the darkness.
“You mean glamping?” Birdie gave him a nudge.
Luke laughed. “You ever been camping?”
“Nope,” Tucker said.
“Maybe we should do that one of these days,” said Luke.
“You know Tucker is the heir to the throne made up of five star hotels, right?” Birdie snickered.
“Makes no difference to me. Stay here long enough and I’ll have him riding a horse and covered in sweat and dirt.” Luke pushed his front door open.
“I don’t think he’s all that interested in riding a horse, are you, babe?” Birdie flopped on the couch and propped her feet up on the coffee table. “I think I had one too many beers. Nobody in Hollywood drinks beer anymore. They all suck on those fruity martinis and shit.”
“Wanna go get more? It’s only nine o’clock. Rigley’s is open till three A.M.” Luke said.
“Is that a club?” Tucker ran his hands through his curly hair, giving it a quick tousle.
“Not really,” Luke said.
Birdie was up off the couch and headed for the door again. “In this small town, yes. It’s a club. Grab the keys, let’s go.”
* * * *
Rigley’s smelled the same; cigarette smoke, worn out leather, and the cologne samples they kept in the men’s restroom. The pool tables in the corner had a bit more wear and tear, except for the one in the back most corner. It was brand new. Birdie wished Bret, the owner of Rigley’s hadn’t replaced it. She had fond memories of that pool table; sitting on the edge of it, Luke kissing her, his lips traveling around to her ear and him whispering those magic words. “Wanna go have sex in the truck?” She smiled at the memory.
There were other memories with that pool table too, most of them hazy wisps of whiskey fueled antics.
“Remember when you danced on the table?” Luke pointed over his shoulder and grinned.
“Vaguely,” said Birdie, nursing her Jim Beam.
Tucker looked at her, an expression of astonishment. “You danced on a table?”
“Coyote Ugly style. Until Sheriff Cranford wrestled her down and kicked us out.” Luke smirked.
“It was your twenty-first birthday, dingbat.” Birdie stuck her tongue out at him. “I was still nineteen, so the sheriff hauled me outside and made me take a sobriety test in the parking lot.”
“Drunk as a skunk and she does a straight line better than a circus tightrope walker.” Luke raised his shot glass to Birdie before slugging it.
“Shit. To this day I’m still kind of surprised that Cranford didn’t throw my ass in jail for underage drinking.” Birdie glanced around the bar. The place was packed with people, more than usual, but probably because there was a live band playing covers of every Lynyrd Skynyrd song ever. Occasionally they would bust out some Journey. Over the din, some drunk asshole was yelling, “Freebird.”
“Probably had something to do with Brody puking on the sheriff’s boots.” Luke signaled for another couple of shots.
“This sounds like a story I should hear,” Tucker said.
“Not really. Brody is the sheriff’s kid. He might as well have been a preacher’s kid as wild as he was.” Luke said.
The large busted waitress came over and set two more shots in front of Luke.
“That’s a gross over simplification,” said Tucker stealing one of the new shots and throwing it back. He coughed softly, not prepared for the burn of bourbon.
“Your parents don’t have to be straight laced to be a wild child,” Birdie said and finished her drink. “So, what’s up with Greyson these days?” She tried to change the subject. “I haven’t seen him since we were in New York.”
“He calls once a week from wherever in the desert he is. I’m not entirely sure. Last week he was at a hotel in Israel.” Luke said.
“Huh,” muttered Birdie. Tucker and Luke started talking about Tucker’s family and the Winthrop hotels. Luke had never stayed in one, but he didn’t travel much. Tucker said something about the ski lodge in Colorado.
Birdie’s skin tingled and the feeling she was being watched crept up the back of her neck, raising the little hairs. She scanned the groups of people sitting at tables and at the bar. No one had any cameras pointed at her. Her gaze landed on a booth in the corner. The empty glass in Birdie’s hand shook, the ice clinking against the side. “Fuck. Selena is here.”
Both men turned their heads.
“No. Don’t look,” Birdie hissed. Her mind whirred on overdrive. Should she leave? Should she just ignore the woman in the corner booth or should she confront her? There were a million scenarios running through her brain and none of them would result in a happy ending.
“What do you want us to do?” Luke asked.
Tucker’s expression was soft, waiting for Birdie to decide. “If you want we can just leave.”
Birdie shook her head. “No. I’m here to see my family and she’s not part of it. Screw her.” She scooped a chunk of ice out of her glass and crunched on it loudly, emphasizing her point.
Tucker and Luke tried to resume their conversation, but the palpable tension surrounding them made every word sound either carefully chosen or completely awkward. Every so often Birdie’s gaze would drift back to the corner booth and Selena sitting there, the table in front of her laden with empty shot glasses.
“Excuse me.”
Birdie turned toward the waitress, a pretty girl with her blond hair pulled up into a fluffy pony tail, full lips, and pillowy breasts held aloft by a black bra that centered her cleavage at the V-neck of her thin white Rigley’s T-shirt. The waitress probably dressed like that for tips.
“This is for you. From the corner booth. She says she’s a fan.” The waitress slid a bottle of Coors Light in front of Birdie.
Birdie stared, entranced by the droplets of condensation rolling over the silver label.
“Thank you, Jenny,” Luke said to the waitress when Birdie failed to say anything.
“I should go talk to her,” said Birdie, wrapping her fingers around the cold bottle, her thumb nail picking at the edge of the sticker on the brown glass. She pushed back in her chair.
“Want us to go with you?” Tucker asked.
“No. I’ll handle this myself. Just be ready to call the sheriff. She looks drunk.”
Luke nodded and pulled his cellphone out of his pocket.
You’re a queen, act like one. Birdie took a deep breath and slipped into her character as easily as slipping on a pair of gloves. In Golden Swords, Queen Arihlia was a bad ass army commanding, sword-wielding bitch; strong, independent, vengeful, and everything she did, she did for the love of her King and children. She was solid as stone, nothing hurt her. Arihlia was everything Birdie wished she could be. Birdie pushed her chair back, squared her shoulders, and walked like a queen, weaving through the tables and cro
ssing the room in a few swift steps.
“Selena,” said Birdie as she slid into the booth opposite her mother.
“Hello.”
The skin around Selena’s eyes was puffy and dark. She looked tired, nothing like Birdie imagined. “Thank you for the beer.” Birdie refrained from uttering the word peasant. In character, Birdie could muster enough detachment to stop herself from screaming.
“It’s good to finally talk to you.” Selena slurred her words and Birdie counted the empty shot glasses on the table, giving up after six.
“Did you finally drink enough to work up the courage?” Birdie narrowed her eyes on her mother.
“Liquid courage.” Selena spun the empty glass closest to her with her fingertips. Her nails were ratty, dirt crusted underneath, separating the crescent of the yellowed tips from the pink nail beds. The cuticle on her middle finger was torn to the quick, the hangnail dangling at a sickening ninety degree angle.
“What do you want?” Birdie asked.
“To talk to my daughter,” said Selena.
Birdie wrinkled her nose. “You’ve had twenty-four years to talk to me, why now?”
“I’ve tried to talk to you, but they wouldn’t let me.” Selena waved the waitress over, but when she appeared at the edge of the table, Birdie gave the girl a look that sent her scurrying away.
“You’re already drunk. Nobody stopped you from talking to me. You’re the one who left.”
“No, they wouldn’t let me,” Selena sighed heavily.
“Bullshit,” said Birdie.
“I tried to talk to you, but that bitch, Helen, wouldn’t let me.”
“She’s done more for me than you ever have. You didn’t even show up for Gramma’s funeral.” Birdie tasted the acid of rage at the back of her throat. Maintaining her composure was proving difficult.
Open Sky Page 3