by Zoe York
“Not as pretty, but still pretty.” Sliding his arm around her waist, he pulled her close and asked, “Want me to carry you?”
“To town?” she murmured.
“To the car.”
“You'd throw your back out.”
He nuzzled her ear. She shivered, and the tremor raised goose bumps on his skin. “I have a strong back.”
Lynne chuckled. “I know. I felt you up earlier.” She flashed a teasing smile over her shoulder. Lacing her fingers through his, she tugged him in her wake, skirting the rear of the house.
Those legs must be four feet long. He hung back, eyeing the long expanse of denim. Maybe four and a half. His fingers clenched, gripping hers tight. I have a tape measure, he thought, casting a longing glance over his shoulder and wishing for his tool belt.
She gave his hand an impatient tug. “What are you doing?”
The sun picked threads of gold from her hair when she tipped her head back. The thick waves cascaded past her shoulder blades. He itched to gather them in his hands. “Appreciating a beautiful view.”
“It is lovely, isn't it?” she asked. She stopped and inhaled deeply. “I love spring. Especially after a rain. Everything smells so clean.”
His free hand came to rest on her hip. Lynne leaned back, and he buried his nose in those luxurious waves. “Lovely.”
“Uh-uh,” she said, dancing out of his hold. “You have a porch to finish, and I have a dinner to prepare.”
He sighed and dug the keys from his pocket, leading her to the passenger side door. “I don't have to drive, if you'd rather.”
She gave an indelicate snort. “I think you probably do.” She smiled up at him as she climbed into the soft leather seat. “It's okay. This will give me a chance to play with all the buttons.”
Bram settled into the driver's seat and reached for the seat controls. “Is it new?”
“New? Oh, no. I got it a while ago.”
“And you don't know what the buttons do?” A cacophony of bells and chimes nearly drowned out the purr of the engine.
“I'm always driving,” she answered with a shrug.
He flung one arm over the seat and craned his neck to back onto the graveled drive. Lynne cleared her throat and tapped the screen on the dash with her fingernail. He spared it one glance, brow furrowing as he stared at the rearview camera.
“Now, how is that not distracting?” Undeterred, he wrapped his hand around the headrest and peered through the back window while he gave the car some gas. A disembodied female voice told him to turn left.
“I know where I'm going,” he grumbled at the dash. Lynne tittered, and he began to fiddle with the window controls. “This thing got air? It's warm in here.”
An enigmatic smile curved her lips. “Passenger temperature seventy-two,” she ordered, enunciating each word. The vents on her side sprang to life.
He shot her a dark glare. “Show off.”
She grinned, leaned across the console, and planted a firm kiss on his lips. “Temperature seventy-two,” she amended, settling back into her seat when air started to gush from his vents too.
Gravel crunched as he pulled onto the paved county road. “Now I see why you bought it. Will the car be cooking supper too?”
She shook her head. “Nah, I can handle the cooking.” She stared out at the freshly turned earth. “Is this your land?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Nope. It's yours.”
“It is?”
“All the way up to the crossroads.”
“Huh.”
Bram glanced over at her, seizing the opportunity she offered up on a platter. “You know Dad and I hold the lease on your acreage, right?”
Her head swiveled. “You do?”
“Yeah. Since your grandparents passed.”
She frowned. “I guess I did know that. I didn't connect it all.”
“We lease the land from you. The Wilsons do most of the planting and harvesting. Like a co-op.”
“The who?”
He grinned. “There are about six branches of the Wilson family around here. They do the farming, and we get a split of the profits and pay the lease. They handle most of our land too.”
“Really?”
“Well, Dad can't keep up like he used to, and I never really had the itch to farm, so we worked it all out.”
“I had no idea.”
“Listen, Lynne, about the farm—”
The ring of her cell phone blared from the stereo's speakers. He jumped, and she shot him an apologetic smile. She tapped the screen on the dash to disable the speakers.
“Hold that thought. It's Justin.” She dug the phone from her purse and pressed a button, but her smile powered the call. “Hello, sweetheart.”
Bram slowed at the crossroads, eavesdropping on the few vague answers she gave her son. He could only assume it had something to do with her visit to Heartsfield. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel while he tried to work out the meaning of her non-committal replies.
Anna Albertson's pink boat of a car sailed into the intersection, the engine roaring as she shot across the road. He lifted his fingers from the wheel in his customary wave, and her bleached-blonde head swiveled in a near three-sixty turn.
Now that was a Linda Blair moment.
He took off toward town listening with half an ear as Lynne chattered, describing the town, the shops, and the farm to her son. The barely concealed enthusiasm in her voice rang true. She turned a sunshine smile in his direction, humming an affirmative answer to what he assumed was another of her lawyer-son's inquiries. He relaxed his grip, sank into the buttery leather seat, and punched the gas, trying to ignore the worry gnawing at his gut.
“I'll probably be a bit,” Bram said as he opened her door.
She shoved the phone into her purse. “Sorry I talked the whole time. It's just so hard to catch him these days.”
“I understand.”
She peered up at him, puzzled by his troubled expression. “Something wrong?”
“No.” He answered too quickly, and she raised her eyebrows. “I just.... You didn't mention anything to him,” he said in a low voice, waving one hand between them.
“Should I?”
“I don't know, should you?” When she stared back at him, he shifted his weight, burying his hands in his pockets. “I thought maybe he'd wanna know if his mama was keeping company with some strange man.”
“Keeping company? My, you are a strange man,” she teased.
His jaw tightened. “Never mind.”
“Bram—”
“I may be a bit,” he repeated, backing away from her. “Tell Marcie to hang onto your bags.”
“I can manage.”
“I'll swing by and pick you up.”
“Bram, the whole town is three blocks long. I can handle the groceries.”
“My mama will skin me alive if someone sees you hauling your shoppin' to the car.”
“You use that whole 'my mama' thing quite effectively, Mr. Hatchett.”
A wicked smile lit his face, chasing the shadows from his eyes. He took another step back, rising up onto the curb with the confidence of a man who'd never placed a wrong foot in his life, and shrugged. “The tourists seem to like it.”
Lynne chuckled as she watched him stroll toward the hatchery, his back straight, his head held high. Taking him at his word, she decided to browse the mercantile for something pretty for the table before hitting the market. As she passed, she noticed the two rockers beside the door were empty.
She pushed through the door to find the same woman who'd been visiting with Willene before leaning against the counter and picking through a bowl of fudge.
“I swear we turned that whole office upside-down lookin' for them. Why he insists on keepin' all them keys on one ring....” She trailed off, following Willene's gaze to the door.
Lynne flashed a friendly smile. “Hello.”
“Ms. Prescott,” Willene answered, inclining her head in a slight nod.
“I was just.... Do you carry placemats or napkins, anything like that?”
The younger woman's lips quirked into a ghost of her father's sardonic smile. “Notions,” she said, gesturing to the correct aisle.
“Thank you.”
The store's entire selection was comprised of a stack of plastic reinforced placemats decorated with garish roosters and a pile of matching poly-blend napkins. Stifling a chuckle, Lynne grabbed four of each and started for the counter. “These should work.”
Willene cast a dubious gaze on her choices. “Only four? Don't you want a set of twelve?”
She laughed off the girl's jab. “I think four will do.”
As Willene wrote up the sale, Lynne offered the blonde hanging on the counter a tentative smile. The young woman responded with a nod and offered the bowl of fudge. She declined with a wave of her hand and Bram's daughter took her credit card without a word. The awkward silence pressed on her last nerve.
“Listen, your father is coming over for dinner tonight. I'd love to have you and, uh, Bobby, and Abe and his family, if you aren't busy,” she said in a rush.
Willene didn't bother to mask her surprise when she glanced up. “Tonight?”
“If you're free.”
The young woman fixed her with a long, appraising stare. “I believe we have plans.”
Lynne swallowed her disappointment and plastered on another smile. “Well, maybe another night. I might be able to convince your father to haul his charcoal incinerator over to my place and I could invite you all over for a cookout.”
Willene shoved the placemats and napkins into a brown paper bag and thrust it at Lynne. “Or, Daddy can leave his grill where it is, and we all could invite you over to the house for a visit.”
Touché. Lynne fought to keep her smile from slipping. “That would be nice. I'll speak to your father.”
She turned and hurried for the door, pretending she didn't hear Willene mutter, “Yeah, you do that,” behind her back.
“Whoa. That was better than one of those Ultimate Fighting grudge matches Joe makes me watch,” the other girl hissed as she pulled the door closed behind her.
Lynne ducked her head and rushed for the market, determined to wait in the relative warmth of the frozen foods section until Bram came to get her.
“Are you sure you're okay?” Bram asked for the third time.
“I'm fine.”
Tires hummed on pavement. The occasional bits of scattered gravel shot from the wheel wells. Outside birds chirped and tractors sputtered, but inside their hermetically sealed little world silence reigned.
“I'm sorry I asked about Justin,” he blurted, taking a stab at what might be eating at her. “It's just that...I don't even know how long you plan to stay.”
He trailed off when she shifted in her seat, prying her gaze from the bland stretch and pinning him with it. “What do your kids think about this?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off with a bitter laugh. “This.... There is no this,” she muttered. “We had dinner. We kissed a couple of times. I'm cooking you another dinner because you're fixing my porch. Forget I said anything. God, what was I thinking?”
“Whoa, whoa, wait. Hang on a minute,” he said, pressing the brake as they approached the lane leading to her house. “What do you mean there's no this?”
“I mean, this isn't.... We're just keeping company.”
“As far as I'm concerned, there's a this,” he said adamantly. “Keeping company.... Do you even know what that means?”
“You made it up. Why don't you tell me?” she snapped.
The car jerked to a stop on the narrow lane. “It means there's a this goin' on,” he said stubbornly. “And this is not about overcooked steak and undercooked potatoes.”
“Bram, I don't know what you want from me,” she said, her earnest blue gaze meeting his.
“I don't know either. Kissed a couple of times,” he muttered. “Hell, Lynne, apart from my mother and daughter, I've kissed two women since Susan died. One is you and the other.... Well, I had to drive a hundred miles and get fairly drunk just to work up the nerve. Trust me, it wasn't particularly good for either of us.”
“Well, you're one up on me.”
He stared at her for a moment, trying to reign in the doubt and uncertainty threatening to make him blow. He failed. “No, I haven't asked my kids what they think. Why should I? They're grown with lives of their own. I'm almost fifty years old and don't have to ask permission.”
“Well, I've got four years on you, buddy, so I shouldn't have to ask permission, either.”
Bram reared back, his jaw dropping in disbelief. “You do? You're fifty-three? Fifty-four?”
She gaped at him. “That's the part you're latching onto?”
“You don't look older than me.” A slow smile fought its way through his confusion. “You sure as hell don't look like any fifty-year-old woman I've ever known.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Is that supposed to be a compliment? Because, if it is, it sucked.”
He shook his head with a chuckle. “You're a cradle robber.”
“Bram.”
Lynne slapped his arm and he convulsed with laughter. “A dirty old lady.”
Her eyes grew round as saucers. “Oh. My. God.” She buried her face in her hands.
He lunged across the seat, wrapping his fingers around her wrists to pull her hands from her pink cheeks. “Good lord, who knew older women could be so sexy when they're all hot and bothered?”
“Let me hit you again.”
Another laugh bubbled up. “Yes, please, ma'am.”
She bared her perfect teeth at him. “I hate you.”
He let his foot slide from the brake, and the car crept forward. His fingers slid over the smooth leather covering the wheel. He pressed them into the molded grips to keep from reaching for her. Trusting that her fancy ride must have some kind of autopilot feature, he held her gaze.
“Well, now, that's too bad, 'cause I think I might be plum crazy about you, Miss Lynne.” She glared at him, and he raised a challenging eyebrow before punching the gas. The car lurched forward, spraying a plume of mud and gravel. “Ma'am,” he added, shooting down the lane like a bullet.
He jerked to a stop behind his pick-up, laughing as she flung her hair back from her face with a dramatic flip. She grinned when he killed the motor.
“You are a bad boy.”
“Oh, you don't know the half of it,” he murmured, pressing the button to release her seatbelt. “You got an AARP card, sugar? Can you get me ten percent off things? The thought of it gets me hot,” he whispered, leaning over to crowd her.
Hell, who was he kidding? Being near her got him hot. He kissed her hard. The console dug into his ribs, but her lips were warm, sweet, and pliant under his. He melted into her, his body hardening as his kisses grew slower, softer, and deeper. Greedy, he wrapped his arms around her and nearly hauled her into his lap.
Lynne splayed one hand over his chest and his knee jerked, connecting with the steering wheel and jarring his entire body. She snickered, pressing her soft mouth to the pulse pounding in his throat. A low groan rumbled from his chest. “I think we both might be too old for this,” he muttered.
“Speak for yourself,” she purred against his ear. “I'm just fine.”
She kissed her way down the side of his neck. Shivers raced up his spine when her teeth scraped against stubble. Her hot tongue traced a lazy pattern along the underside of his jaw. “My truck would be better for neckin'. I hate bucket seats.”
“I bet my house can top your truck.”
“You're trying to drive me crazy, aren't you?”
“Working?”
He pushed her firmly back into her seat. “And to think I thought you were an angel.”
“You keep pushing me away,” she pointed out.
“Oh, but I sure don't want to.” Before she could retort, he yanked the handle and bailed from the car. He skirted the bac
k bumper and pulled on the door handle. When she turned, he reached into the car and hauled her out, holding her tight against his chest. His fingers threaded through her hair. “You know that, right?”
She nodded, a coy smile teasing her lips as she glanced at the house. “There's a porch to fix, and I have supper...What the hell?”
“Wha...Aw, crap,” he growled when he spotted the mud-trampled linens stamped into the ground. He crossed the yard, picked up a filthy pillow sham, and brushed at a mud-caked footprint ineffectually. “Stupid kids.”
“Kids? What kids?”
“There are all kinds of kids around here,” he muttered as he stooped to gather her soiled laundry. “They think it's fun to ride their four-wheelers through the fields after they're plowed.”
“The kids or the fields?”
“The fields. Hopefully not the kids.”
Lynne sighed and reached for the bundle of spoiled laundry. “I better let these soak.”
He bobbed his head. “Run them through the wash and I'll take 'em home to dry tonight.”
A glimmer of a smile lit her eyes. She stretched onto her toes and kissed his cheek. “You're sweet.”
Heat warmed his cheeks. “I'll bring the shopping in. You go on.”
She disappeared into the house, and he scowled at the muddy ground beneath the clothesline. Sunlight caught a glimmer of something shiny. He stooped to peer into the trampled grass and spotted a gold earring with dangling pink beads. His scowl deepened as he picked it up and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans.
Minutes later, he bumbled through the back door with two armloads of grocery sacks. She looked up as she poured liquid detergent into the old washing machine. She wore sparkling diamond studs in her ears. Recognition slowed his steps.
She glanced up with a radiant smile. “Got the shoppin'?”
Her smile could have made him forget his own name. It certainly chased all thoughts of missing earrings from his brain. She reached out, trailing her fingers over his bicep as he lumbered past. “Stop making fun. It's not seemly for a woman your age.”
Chapter 12
A golden pound cake cooled in a loaf pan on the counter. She smiled her satisfaction as her gaze skipped over it. Thank goodness it looked okay. She knew she was a good cook, but she'd never been much of a baker. There wasn't much need since she always lived within a mile or two of some of the best German and Italian bakeries on the north shore.