Am babbling, chided her inner voice, and oh, fuck it. Brash was all she had. “I didn’t know your wife, but I know she was loved. I know she’s missed. She’s part of your family, so I thought she belonged here. With all of you.”
“Ah,” he said, after the longest minute of Scarlett’s life. “Looks like you have a mighty fine heart to go with that eye of yours.”
Relief sailed through her, swift and sweet. “You like the photographs?”
“They are . . .” Tobias paused, so long that Scarlett began to wonder whether he would finish the sentence at all. But then he said, “Well, they’re somethin’ special, just like the gal who took ’em. Rosemary would have loved every last one of these. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Scarlett said.
As she moved forward to meet his fatherly embrace, she didn’t feel like a product of everywhere and nowhere all at once, and she didn’t feel like a stranger.
In that moment, Scarlett felt like she belonged at Cross Creek.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Eli stood at the entrance to Willow Park and pondered the merits of getting drunk off his rocker. But even though it was technically after five o’clock, he still had a whole lot of evening in front of him, including an annual harvest celebration after which he had to tell his family he was leaving the country and a $5,000 bet he had a decent chance of losing in front of the entire town.
On second thought, getting drunk sounded like an outstanding fucking plan.
“Dude.” Hunter looked at him through the waning daylight filtering down through the trees, his arms crossed over the front of his crisply ironed button-down shirt. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like someone just took a serious piss in your Post Toasties.”
Owen nodded his agreement from the spot where he stood on Eli’s other side, and Eli laughed, but only because right now, it was either that or cry. Or, apparently, get sauced.
“Seriously, Hunt? There cannot possibly be a right way to take that. You dick,” he tacked on, because hello, pride.
“Hunter has a valid point,” Owen said, lifting a hand before Eli could call him a dick, too. “Albeit maybe not the smoothest way of making it.”
“Okay, okay,” Hunter allowed, turning to shift his gaze from Owen back to Eli. “Still. It’s Fall Fling. The harvest is officially over. We had an incredible month at the farm, and you’re keepin’ company with a pretty girl who, for some reason beyond my understanding, seems to like putting up with you.”
“Funny.” He put his thoughts of exactly where he’d be spending time with Scarlett aside, choosing to go with the lesser of two thorny topics. “Aren’t either of you the least bit worried I might lose this bet?”
His brothers answered in unison. “No.”
“Huh?” Considering the high volume of what-the-fuck running amok in his veins, the single syllable was the best Eli could deliver. But he’d handed every last one of their financial records for the month over to Loretta Masterson, CPA, not even five hours ago. And since the woman was currently standing by the grassy area where Harley Martin was fixin’ to serve up some of the best pork barbecue on the entire Eastern Seaboard, Eli was bound to be faced with the repercussions of having shot his mouth off in very short order. “You’re not worried at all?”
Hunter answered first. “Don’t get us wrong. Losing this bet won’t mean anything good for Cross Creek. But either way, you busted your ass for the farm, Eli, and a lot of good came out of that.”
“If we lose—which for the record, I don’t think we will,” Owen added. “Then it won’t be for lack of trying. No matter what, you did all you could, E. We all did. And we did it together.”
Eli let out a breath and rocked back on the heels of his boots. “I guess you’re right.”
“I want that shit in writing.” Owen’s grin flashed, fast and wide. “Now can we please stop standing here like patience on a monument and grab some lemonade?”
Eli started to snort until he realized his brother was heart-attack serious. “Since when do you drink lemonade over beer at Fall Fling?”
“Since Cate McAllister started pouring it,” Hunter interjected with an exaggerated waggle of his brows that turned Eli’s snort into laughter and Owen’s grin to a scowl, lickety-split.
“I thought I’d show some support for Clementine’s Diner, that’s all. My wanting lemonade doesn’t have anything to do with who’s serving it up,” Owen protested, crossing his arms and looking anywhere other than the lemonade stand set up by the park’s entrance, where the pretty brunette was indeed pouring drinks right alongside Clementine Parker.
Oh, it was too good to pass up. “Sell stupid someplace else, brother. You like that woman.”
But whatever retort Owen made—hell, the rest of the park, the state of Virginia, and the whole freaking universe—disappeared when Eli caught sight of Scarlett.
She was standing with Emerson and Daisy beside a cluster of picnic tables, a frosty beer bottle in one hand and a smile on her lips. The hem of her flowy white dress swished just above her knees, the low, loose neckline showing off a string of bright-turquoise beads along with her smooth skin and the inky edges of her tattoo. A handful of tiny, white wildflowers peeked out from the strands of her platinum hair, and when she pressed up to the toes of her brown ankle boots to hug Owen’s friend Lane hello, the deep-down, genuine happiness on her face made Eli’s heart swell and stop all at once.
Then Scarlett’s eyes found his across the softly lit park, her smile becoming something else altogether, and what his heart did no longer mattered, because the damned thing didn’t belong to him anymore.
“Whoa.” Owen’s voice brought Eli partway back to Willow Park, and the clap Hunter placed on his shoulder finished the job. “Looks like maybe you’ve got a lesson to learn about the pot and the kettle, little brother.”
Hunter laughed in agreement. “You’ve got it so bad for that woman, ribbing you wouldn’t even be enjoyable, E. And believe me, that is saying something.”
Old, ingrained instinct warned Eli to cover up his feelings. Lord knew he was chock full of ’em right now, and anyhow, giving his brothers emotional ammo wasn’t really on his list of sure, why not. But with this bet and his decision to leave Millhaven and everything else cycloning through him, the only thing he knew for sure was how he felt right now. In this moment. About this woman.
He was impulsively, impossibly, head-over-boot-heels crazy about her.
And he didn’t care who saw it.
“Yeah. I really do,” Eli said, giving each of his brothers a quick nod before kicking his feet into motion. He kept his eyes on Scarlett, feeling every inch of her gaze in return as he crossed the grass. Murmuring something to whomever was standing beside her and passing off her beer, she broke away from the group, walking toward him until they met beneath the low-hanging branches of a weeping willow tree.
“Hey! I was wondering when you’d get here.” She slipped her arms around his shoulders, and hell if it didn’t feel as if they were exactly where they belonged. “I had a lot of fun taking pictures of the last-minute preparations while the daylight was still good, but I missed you.”
“I missed you, too. You look . . .” Eli quickly realized that despite his more-than-decent command of the English language, he wasn’t going to turn up a word for how beautiful she looked, so he let the rest of the sentence hang.
Although he’d have thought it impossible, the smile Scarlett gave up made her look even prettier than she had a moment ago. “Thanks. So do you.”
He looked down at his plain old T-shirt and jeans with a laugh. “I look like I always look.”
“Yeah, but don’t you know by now? I like you just as you are.”
Eli tightened his grip on her waist, the soft cotton of her dress sliding under his fingers and hinting at the warm skin beneath. The paper lanterns and tiny white lights that had been strung through the tree branches around them cast a golden glow over Scarlett’s face, but so
mething deeper lit her up from the inside out. She looked so flawlessly at home, so undeniably happy right there with her hands bracketing his shoulders and that tenacious smile promising sin and salvation on her lips, that letting go of her wasn’t an option. In a move that was pure Scarlett, she started swaying in his arms to some imaginary song, and Eli pressed his forehead to hers, swaying right back.
“Hey, you two,” came Owen’s voice from a few feet away. “Smile.”
His cell phone was already up, not giving them much choice in the matter, and Scarlett turned toward Owen and laughed.
“I’ve got to admit, I’m not really used to being on this side of the camera,” she said, posing for the picture anyway.
“Ah, you’re a natural,” Owen said, glancing down at the photo he’d just snapped. “And definitely the prettier of the two of you.”
Eli grinned without loosening his hold on Scarlett’s waist. “No one likes a hater.”
“Yeah? How about a loser?”
In an instant, Eli’s grin vanished, his jaw clenching so hard he was half-sure his molars would surrender. “Greyson.” He made sure his tone painted the word interchangeably with “asshole” before turning to look at the spot where the guy had just slunk from the growing shadows. “I’d say it’s nice to see you, but that’d be more fiction than fact.”
“Good, because the feeling’s mutual, and I ain’t here for a social call. Miz Masterson said she’s ready to announce who won the bet whenever you and I are.”
He rocked back on the heels of his work-battered boots, a smirk growing beneath the three days’ worth of dark stubble he wore on a permanent basis, but for as much of a ruckus as Eli’s heart was making against his rib cage, he’d take now over never.
“Fine by me, as long as you’re up for it.”
Greyson snorted. But instead of answering, he surprised Eli by turning toward Owen. “You comin’ to watch your brother lose five grand on behalf of your precious farm?”
“No.”
The word, so definitive, sent a soft gasp past Scarlett’s lips and Eli’s gut into a free fall.
“Figures,” Greyson said, although there was no denying the lightning-fast pop of surprise that had sent his chin a few inches higher at Owen’s answer. “See, Cross? Not even your brothers think you’ve got a snowball’s chance of winning this thing.”
Before Eli could tell Greyson to just get on with it, Owen shocked the shit out of him by stepping forward rather than back.
“There you go putting words in my mouth. I guess that probably shouldn’t surprise me, seein’ as how you’re so full of piss and wind, but let’s set the record straight, shall we?” Owen paused, his stare steely and unyielding as Hunter appeared beside him. “The reason I said I wouldn’t come watch Eli lose five grand is because I don’t think it’s gonna happen. But even if it does, that’s fine. I stand by my brother just like I stand by our farm. Win or lose.”
Shock sandbagged Eli to the spot, his pulse ramping up even faster as Hunter nodded with just as much certainty as Owen had.
“Me, too.”
“I stand by Eli, too,” Scarlett said, her spine unfolding to its full height to punctuate the affirmation.
Greyson blinked, just once, before lifting one shoulder in a haphazard shrug. “So you have a cheering section. How cute. I’m still fixin’ to beat you, so what do you say we skip the rest of the pep rally and get on with it?”
“Fine by me,” Eli said. Wrapping his fingers around the hand Scarlett offered and falling into step beside her and his brothers and Emerson, he followed Greyson farther into Willow Park. A not-small crowd had amassed over by the temporary stage set up for the evening’s festivities—good Christ, Billy Masterson’s mouth needed a good, old-fashioned duct-taping—but it was far past time to face the results of this bet, good or bad.
Amber Cassidy pulled out her phone, looking for all the world like she was getting ready to live-tweet every last detail, line by line, and please God, let them be good.
“Eli. Greyson.” Miz Masterson looked at them both over the thin wire rims of her glasses, and Eli (begrudgingly) gave Greyson a lick of credit for tugging the baseball cap from his head and giving up a “ma’am” to match his own. “I s’pose you boys are wanting to know who won this bet that’s had the town in a twist all month.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Eli nodded. A hush rippled over the crowd, making it that much easier for him to hear the thunder pounding in place of his heartbeat. The staccato thump cranked even faster as he caught sight of his old man on the outskirts of the throng of folks gathered on the grass, but still, he said, “We’re ready.”
Billy’s mother lifted her brows. “Well, I don’t mind telling y’all that for the first week or two, you were darn near neck and neck. But in the end, one farm did come out on top.” She split her gaze between Eli and Greyson, finally smiling in Eli’s direction, and holy shit. “Congratulations, Eli. Cross Creek won. You pulled in more revenue than Whittaker Hollow.”
Everything around him stood suspended for just a fraction of a second before the words—and exactly what they meant—cut a path past the adrenaline in his veins. But then Greyson’s eyes closed as he bit out a swear that lacked volume but not intensity, and Scarlett was squeezing Eli’s fingers into next week while his brothers let out simultaneous victory cries, and “holy shit” became the biggest understatement that had ever taken a tour through his gray matter.
They’d won the bet.
Eli exhaled in a hard breath of relief as a wave of chatter burst through the crowd, snapping him back to real time. “Thank you, Miz Masterson.” He shook the woman’s hand, pausing to exchange a pair of swift glances with his brothers and an ear-to-ear grin with Scarlett before turning toward Greyson.
“Listen,” Eli said. “About the money—”
“Guess you’re gonna want that check tonight,” Greyson interrupted quietly. But for all the bad blood between the two of them (and fuck, there had been a lot), Eli knew there was only one answer he could give up.
“Actually, no.” His voice dropped a register, turning the conversation nearly private in the din of the crowd that had begun to disperse around them, and he took a few steps from his brothers and Scarlett to ensure no one would overhear what he was about to say. “I don’t want the check tonight.”
Greyson’s shoulders hitched, clearly signaling that he hadn’t expected the reply. “Real kind of you to wait till Monday.”
“I don’t want to wait until Monday, either.”
“Not sure I follow.”
Greyson looked at Eli as if surely his brain had dimmed to half power, and hell, maybe it had. But that didn’t stop Eli from coming out with the truth.
“Look, you and I got into a pretty serious pissing contest the day we made this bet, and that probably wasn’t the brightest idea either of us ever tilled up. But we did it because we both believe in our farms, and there’s no harm in that. Cross Creek may have made more money than Whittaker Hollow, but as far as I’m concerned, you and I are square.”
He extended his hand. For a long, drawn out beat, Greyson just looked at him, and dammit. Dammit. Making a production out of this so wasn’t on Eli’s agenda. Especially since he knew better than to think that Billy and Amber and a good chunk of the Twitterverse were that far away.
“No,” Greyson finally said, his expression unreadable. “Fair’s fair. I owe you the five thousand, so the five thousand is what you’ll get.”
Eli stared at him through the waning daylight, dropping his voice another register even though everyone in the park seemed to be giving them a wide berth. “Look, you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to tell anyone we didn’t actually exchange the money.”
“I know you’re not, because I’m giving you every dime before this party’s over.”
“I don’t want it,” Eli replied, but Greyson simply shook his head.
“Then you’re a bigger fool than you look.”
Eli’s molars met wit
h a clack. It figured the guy would play jump rope with his last happy nerve while they got this hashed out. “I was a fool to take the bet in the first place.”
“Just like I’d be a fool not to make good on a wager I knew I could lose,” Greyson said, pride flickering through his stare. “You’ll have the money tonight.”
With that, he shook Eli’s hand and walked away.
“Everything cool?” Hunter asked, appearing at Eli’s side a second later with Owen on his heels. “We figured y’all were settling up and didn’t want to intrude, but . . .”
Eli waved off the rest with a headshake. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” Or at least it would be when he tore up the check Greyson had probably gone off to write. “Wait. Where’s Scarlett?” he asked, swiveling his gaze around the park and coming up empty.
Owen laughed. “She said to tell you she’d catch you after our broment”—he lifted his hands, quickly adding—“her word, not mine. She went to go take some pictures of Harley’s barbecue and Miss Clem’s apple cobbler. But Emerson and Daisy went with her, so don’t worry.”
Funny how she’d realized he’d want a minute with his brothers even when he hadn’t realized it himself. But someone was still missing, and had been from the get.
Eli swallowed, his throat suddenly tighter than was comfortable. “And, ah. How about Dad?”
“I’m here.”
The old man’s gravelly voice hit him like a gut punch, and Eli turned to see his father standing a few feet away on the grass. “I guess you heard we won the bet.”
“I did,” his father agreed. “I’m proud of you, son.”
“You shouldn’t be,” Eli said, and meant it. “I never should have taken that bet in the first place.”
A small smile moved over his old man’s face. “A lesson I reckon you’ve learned. Which is why I’m proud of you.”
Eli looked from his brothers to their father, his chest tugging in a thousand directions. Scarlett had been right. His family did know him, and they knew exactly who he was, regardless of all the things he’d kept from them in the past.
Crossing the Line (The Cross Creek Series Book 2) Page 27