Desire and a Bottle of Merlot: (Like Sisters Series Book 5) Chick Lit: A Romantic Comedy

by Bria Marche

  “Did you yell at the guy?” Vic asked hopefully. Tina knew full well what Vic would have done.

  “Well, no. He was already heading to the counter, and I was busy tipping over outside. I don’t even know who he is.”

  “Tell me he was at least good-looking. A jerk like that has to have some reason to exist, doesn’t he?” Vic smirked as she popped three French fries into her mouth.

  “Let me think about that for a second.” Tina frowned, trying to bring the image of the rude guy back into her mind.

  “Does that really work? Your frown lines are going to be more pronounced if you do that too much, you know.”

  “Shit, you’re right. Okay, I’m thinking… um… uh-oh.”

  “What the hell does uh-oh mean?”

  “I remember now. Maybe the bump was my fault. I’m pretty sure I was gawking at him through the doors when he rushed up the steps. I just stood there, staring at this hot hunk of manflesh coming toward me, and now thinking back, I’m positive I was blocking the entrance. No wonder he slammed into me, plus he was texting someone.”

  “So, let me get this straight: you caused the Cokes to spill because your feet were frozen to the ground and he couldn’t get past you?”

  “Yeah… I think that’s how it actually happened. That’s telling me this guy was as good-looking as Max. Damn it. Who the hell was he?”

  “Maybe he was someone passing through town or visiting a relative. I mean, if he lived here, you would have recognized him, right?”

  “Definitely. He had black curly hair that just skimmed his shoulders, and he looked to be over six feet tall. He seemed muscular… you know… fit. He wore tight jeans and had on a denim work jacket.” Tina frowned even harder as she tried to recall more.

  “Stop frowning, and that’s pretty detailed information from someone who saw this guy for two seconds.”

  “Actually I had about ten seconds if you count the time it took him to come up the steps. I’m sure I’ll never see him again anyway. Good, the washer’s done.” Tina threw her clothes into the dryer as they continued eating. “Oh yeah, Karen called me when I was walking to Amelia’s. She wanted to know if I was remembering to feed Claire every day. Come to think of it…” Tina laughed. “I’m just kidding. Anyway, she said they would be at her cousin’s farm soon, and so far, the road trip was going fine. She said she would call you tomorrow.”

  Lisa Newman pushed through the front doors of Hair Brained and strolled in as though she owned the place.

  “Crap,” Vic said. “There’s Ms. Pain in My Ass all-friggin’-ready. Why does she show up fifteen minutes before her scheduled appointment every stinkin’ time?”

  “Let Jennifer deal with Miss Hotsie-Totsie for now,” Tina said with a mouthful of fries. “Finish your lunch.”

  “Yeah, I know, but she’s a good tipper. I have to act like I give a shit.” Vic jammed what was left of the cheeseburger into her mouth and washed it down with water from the sink. “Lisa, good to see you,” she said, forcing a smile, as she walked back out into the main room.

  Chapter Three

  Karen glanced at the time illuminated in green on the dash panel of the SUV. She checked the navigation on her cell phone and directed Mario to exit the interstate at Oakley and head south. She wanted him to see Dodge City, the famous frontier town of the Old West. The points of interest she wanted to show him included Front Street, part of the Boot Hill Museum. Front Street was a partial reconstruction of Dodge City as it had looked in 1876. There was enough time to walk through the Boot Hill Cemetery and have a drink at the Long Branch Saloon. They stepped up to the plank boardwalk and entered through the wooden swinging saloon doors. A long, ornate oak bar was to their left. They walked across squeaky wide plank floors. The copper-painted tin ceiling glistened in the light of the period chandeliers. They sat at the bar, listening to the piano player tap at the keys. The bartender wore a handlebar mustache, waxed and twisted at the ends. He dressed in a starched-white shirt, bow tie, and a vest. Suspenders held up his wool pants. Karen ordered two cold mugs of the Long Branch’s famous sarsaparilla. The timing was perfect, giving them the opportunity to watch a reenactment of two gunslingers’ shooting it out on Front Street before they had to continue on, heading toward Yoder.

  “Kind of fun, right?” Karen asked after they left.

  “It was great, especially the Long Branch Saloon and the gunfight. Thanks for suggesting it. I had no idea we were that close.”

  “Yeah… I remember going there as a teenager with five of my boy cousins on my dad’s side. I was sixteen and driving my dad’s car with all the cousins piled in with me. It’s funny how it seemed like such a long distance, but it was only an hour and a half from Hoisington. Some things just stick in your mind so clearly. I remember driving past miles of stockyards and the awful smell, and buying fake bullet-hole decals that we put on the windshield of my aunt’s car.” Karen laughed. “She thought those bullet holes were real for about ten seconds. Back then, Dodge City wasn’t quite as touristy as it is now, but it was fun seeing it again. It looks like we’ll arrive at Elton and Irene’s just after they sit down for lunch. I guess I should explain the proper etiquette and rules to follow around the Amish.”

  “I have to follow rules? That sucks.” Mario turned the radio down and chuckled. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “I’m actually serious right now.”

  “Really?” Mario checked the rearview mirror and sped around a tractor riding the shoulder of the road. “Sorry… okay give it to me.”

  “You wish, smart-ass. Anyway, don’t touch the women.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” he asked with a head jerk in her direction.

  “It means don’t shake their hand or hug them. Just politely say hello, or whatever, when I introduce you. You can shake hands with the men, though. That’s okay. I can hug the women, but not the men. It’s their way, and we have to respect it. Also, don’t swear! Just be nice, polite, and courteous, and everyone will get along fine.”

  “Have you ever slipped with the swearing?”

  “No… weird, huh? I guess I never swore until I met Jack. He can cause anyone to curse.” Road signs appeared. “We’re getting close. We only have about nine miles to go.” They turned south on State Highway 96. “Okay, turn left on Mayfield Road.”

  Mario slowed down and made a left-hand turn onto a dirt road that probably wasn’t even wide enough for two cars to pass each other. “Wow, we’re actually out in the middle of nowhere, right?”

  “Not as much as you think. Hutchinson is only ten minutes away, and it’s a decent-sized city. Yoder is tiny, but they have the essentials. Okay, slow down. Their farm is the next one on the right, where the bottoms of the trees are painted white.” Karen grinned, reminiscing about the time she’d commented to Elton about the white paint on each large locust tree at the front of the farm’s property line. He explained that he painted the trees not to show off but because they were hosting a wedding at the farm and he wanted things to look nice. What he didn’t understand was how Karen knew about the trees without being there herself. She explained how she’d typed the farm’s address into Google Earth on her computer and had zoomed in on the farm, showing close-up detail. The white paint on the trees had been clearly visible.

  Elton had sat with his mouth agape, trying to grasp that type of modern technology. His only words had been, “Well, I’ll be.”

  Mario pulled into the driveway and parked. “I don’t see any cars. They must be gone.”

  “Seriously, dork… they drive horse and buggies. C’mon. Let’s bang on the door.”

  Mario followed Karen around to the back of the small house. A much larger, two-story farmhouse stood right next to it. The squeaky sound of a hinge signaled the screen door was opening. A woman grinning from ear to ear stood in the entryway. She wore a simple light-blue dress that fell to midcalf, thick black stockings, and Croc clogs. The white apron tied around her waist showed traces of food that had b
een wiped on it and had deep pockets stitched into the sides. The white head-covering she wore was starched and pleated with the ties hanging straight down and covered every inch of her hair. She was slight in frame and probably in her mid-forties but looked older. She stood, holding a tiny barking dog, waiting for them to reach the door.

  “Welcome, Karen! How did we get so lucky to see you this soon again? Come on in… Elton, Karen’s here.”

  “Well, I’ll be. Good to see you, and you’re just in time for dinner.” He pulled himself out of the simple brown stuffed chair and adjusted his suspenders.

  Karen and Mario entered the house through the enclosed back porch.

  “Dinner?” Mario asked in a whisper.

  “That means lunch in the Midwest.”

  ***

  They entered the kitchen, and Karen made the introductions, explaining that Mario was a dear friend. A lunchtime bounty filled the table. Irene had already set two more place settings as the men discussed the weather. Mario looked around, surprised to see the house appeared the same as anyone else’s other than the walls being void of family portraits. He followed the pipes with his eyes, seeing how they led to lighting fixtures and the appliances.

  Irene noticed him looking. “It’s propane gas lines. We have some creature comforts too. Elton, go fetch Rose. She’ll be so excited to see Karen again.”

  Elton’s pants, full of patches, were dirty from the morning chores. He slapped at the ground-in soil, laughed at his own disarray, and disappeared out the screen door.

  “Sit, sit. There’s plenty of food. Help yourselves.”

  The lunch menu consisted of fried chicken, a macaroni casserole, carrots, and potato salad. A loaf of white bread and a stick of butter sat in the center of the table. Mario noticed two fruit pies cooling on the countertop.

  “Ice water, anyone?”

  “Sure. Thanks, Irene,” Karen said.

  Elton returned with Rose—his daughter—and three children under seven. Rose and her family lived in the large farmhouse with peeling white paint next door. A lively conversation continued throughout lunch until the screen door swung open and Jacob and David walked in. More introductions were made. David was Irene and Elton’s middle son, and Jacob was Rose’s husband. Today was the day they planned to castrate the six new calves, born just two weeks ago.

  Mario listened intently. “If you don’t mind me asking, how and why do you do that?”

  The boisterous laughter coming from the three men intimidated Mario for a second. He wondered if he’d spoken out of turn. David explained how the young bulls needed to be castrated to keep them calm, plus they were meant to be sold to a slaughterhouse before they reached a year old.

  “So, how’s it done?”

  Jacob responded for everyone. “Well, it’s called banding. The younger they are when it’s done, the faster they recover and the less pain they go through.”

  “What does banding mean? Sorry—I lived in New York most of my life, in the city. This is actually the first farm I’ve ever been to.”

  A wide grin spreading across his face gave away what David was thinking. He pulled off his straw hat, rubbed his forehead, and asked, “How long are you staying?”

  Karen said, “We can stay for a while. I can see by the glimmer in your eyes that your wheels are turning. I’m afraid to hear what you’re going to say.” She started to perspire and gave Mario a worried look.

  Another round of laughter filled the room as Irene and Rose sliced pie, serving each piece on old china plates with age cracks across the surfaces. They poured coffee for everyone in mismatched cups.

  David grinned. “I think we just found a volunteer to help with the calves.”

  Mario was surprised but wasn’t about to wimp out on what seemed like a dare. These men were large, tough, and ready to go. “Me? Okay… I guess I can help, but how big are the calves?”

  More belly roars erupted from the men. “Right now… what do you think, Pop—a little over a hundred pounds each?”

  “Yep, that sounds just about right. Finish your pie and coffee, boys. We have calves to castrate.”

  Chapter Four

  Mario reluctantly followed the three men outside and across the gravel driveway to the rickety calf barn. It was a small extension of the larger milking barn that was now used only for storing hay. Elton hadn’t had a dairy farm for twelve years, choosing to grow crops and raise Angus cattle for slaughtering instead.

  They entered the darkened area, where Mario caught a quick glimpse of a small pen holding six black calves at the far end of the barn. His eyes needed a minute to adjust to the blackness again once the doors were closed. Because this was an Amish farm, none of the outbuildings had lighting. David walked in front of the rest in the darkened barn, knowing the area well enough to head directly to the large double doors leading to the corral. With the doors pushed open, natural sunlight streamed in, illuminating the barn. Just beyond, to the right of the corral, stood a lean-to connected to an outdoor pen holding a huge Angus bull that David told him was named Sampson.

  ***

  Karen knew that her cousins had a good sense of humor and adventurous natures, and she wondered what role they would make Mario play. She desperately wanted to go outside and watch the yearly ritual, but the women left that type of chore in the men’s capable hands. Womenfolk were in charge of the three Cs—cooking, canning, and cleaning.

  Irene and Rose wanted to hear more about this new man in Karen’s life. The year before, when she’d visited, Karen hadn’t mentioned anyone special.

  “Let’s just say we’re getting better acquainted. I mean, I’ve known Mario for eight months, but he’s my boss. This was a business trip to Colorado with a few sightseeing stops along the way. He’s really a nice man, and maybe it will lead to more. Time will tell.”

  Catching up with an occasional guest was what these women enjoyed most. They leaned in with anticipation to hear what Karen had to say and to share a bit of their own personal gossip too. They didn’t talk on the phone often—it was used mostly for urgent matters. Texts and emails were out of the question since they didn’t have access to worldly devices for sending electronic communications. The best conversation was done face to face, in the moment. Letters took forever, and by the time several letters had been mailed back and forth, they forgot what the important topic was about anyway. As they giggled with stories, the women promised everything discussed would stay between them at the table. The coffee was hot, and the conversation was, too.

  The latest news they were sharing was suddenly interrupted with yelling and commotion coming from outdoors. The women jumped from the table and ran to the window. Karen had no idea what was going on, but by Irene and Rose’s screaming in their native Pennsylvania Dutch tongue, it couldn’t be anything good, especially when Rose grabbed two pots off the counter and ran out the back door with Irene right on her heels.

  “What the—” Karen had to hold her tongue. The only words she could think of were swear words in that split second, while she stood, her feet frozen to the porch floor as if they were stuck in quicksand. Oh my friggin’ God. This can’t be happening!

  Rose and Irene ran toward the corral, yelling and waving their arms while Mario stood dead center in the dusty pen. A skittish calf cowered ten feet to his left against the steel rungs of the fence. Glaring at Mario with black bulging eyes was a ton of angry, snorting muscle, wearing two large horns, and only thirty feet away.

  ***

  It all happened so fast. The calf, being young and quick, had squirmed out of Mario’s grip when he’d attempted to band it and had run into the corral. Mario chased the calf, knowing the only way to save face in front of these laughing men was to get the job done.

  “C’mon little dude, make this easy on me,” Mario joked as he tried to chase the calf back to the barn. The fast movements and noise the two of them were making in the corral must have startled Sampson. Like black lightning, the enormous bull had let out a shrill snor
t and charged through the wooden pen he was in, shredding the gate into pieces the size of firewood.

  Dust flew, and steaming snot shot out of Sampson’s nose. He was loose and in charge. Standing his ground, the black, angry Angus stomped and pawed at the dirt, his dark, beady eyes sizing Mario up.

  The shocked men grabbed shovels and rakes to bang against the corral, trying to create a noisy distraction for the bull. The women came out of the house, looking desperate, and Irene ripped off her apron as she ran. She climbed up two rungs of the corral gate, swinging her apron like a white surrender flag to get the bull’s attention. Rose was holding two kitchen pans, which she clanked together.

  “What should I do?” Mario yelled out, needing some quick, sound advice.

  “How fast can you run? You have to get over the fence before Sampson gets to you. Bulls are stupid but quick. He has to think this over before he charges.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “No, but the second he takes his eyes off of you, run like you’ve never run before.”

  Mario sized up the height of the fence along with the distance to get to safety. He had five steel rungs to jump over and twenty-five feet to run. He’d never witnessed an animal this ferocious in his entire life, not even the mother black bear he’d come across while hiking two years ago. Luckily, she and the cub had been on the opposite side of a rushing river during the snowmelt. Still, Mario had gotten out of the area as fast as he could.

  He yelled to the men and women, who were doing their best to confuse Sampson. “All right, do whatever you can to distract him. The second he looks away, I’m running like hell.”

  Karen grimaced at Mario’s accidental swearing but knew God and every Amish person on earth would understand.