One Summer With Autumn

by Julie Reece

  “You aren’t supposed to be in here, Silas.” That’s what Autumn would say, if Autumn were here right now. Which she isn’t. But she’d be right.

  I came to her cottage this morning with the intention of taking her to the bee hives but found her gone. That’s when I discovered that I might make a good spy, or cop, or stalker. An obsessed stalker. Wait, is there any other kind? Whatever. I’m a stalker none-the-less, because I’ve invaded her space. Prowling around the shack, as she calls it, looking at all her crap tossed everywhere and wondering why she’s late. Again.

  The girl messes with my head. She wandered in there days ago, and no matter how I try, I can’t shake the thought of her. The more I work to create a safe distance, the harder it is to maintain. The way she fit inside my arms that night in the boat. The scent of her hair, warm skin under my fingers, amber eyes flashing in the setting sun.

  Sunlit, amber eyes? What the hell, am I writing for Hallmark now? Freaking pansy-ass.

  Maybe Jesse’s right. I’m taking this internship situation too seriously. Acting overprotective because I’m trying to prove to everyone how okay I am. Prove it to myself. Is my agreement with Autumn’s father driving me? Because it’s not about payback anymore. I’m feeling less like revenge and more like … like what?

  Problem: she’s my intern. My intern, hello? Nothing spells failure quite like lusting after the girl you’re supposed to be turning into a model employee. And that’s all it is, right? I have a physical attraction for an attractive girl who is somewhat sympathetic—when not acting like a vampire warrioress from Underworld Awakening.

  So, all I need to do is hose myself off and remember who’s in charge. Me.

  Another glance through the window confirms she’s nowhere in sight. I glance at the stack of papers on the end table and recognize the one on top. Autumn’s letter from her father. Unabashedly, unashamedly reading her mail is just another sign I’m sinking to new levels of depravity.

  His first email to me contained all the paternal warmth of those Nordic rats that eat their young.

  Dear Mr. Behr,

  Greetings.

  In addition to the parameters set for Autumn’s internship, I feel it prudent to limit my contact with her for the duration of her stay.

  It is my fervent hope that personal experience with the often uncomfortable and monotonous tasks associated with manual labor will motivate her toward college courses in the fall. I trust you will conduct her in the education of your company using whatever pressure necessary for the desired results. In short, no job is too dirty or demeaning. Your family may influence her far better than I, at present. As her father, she resists my advice and counsel as many of today’s teens will. You see what I mean, of course. I would however, appreciate a weekly email relaying her activities and progress.

  Please call in case of emergency. Otherwise, I will await your updates via this email address.

  Yours,

  William Oskar Teslow

  Late last night, I came up here, stuffed the envelope under her door, and left. Because before agreeing to Autumn’s internship, Mr. Teslow set three nonnegotiable conditions: that I remain anonymous as long as possible, teach her responsibility using the harsh realities of the blue collar working world, and then send her home.

  That first day at the job fair, I won’t deny I overreacted. She’d kicked my pride in the nuts, and immaturity fueled every idea as I laid out my plan for Autumn’s wilderness boot camp adventure—a.k.a. torture. I warned her father, was brutally honest that it would be difficult, physically and mentally challenging.

  At the time, I was so pissed off, all I thought about was a few weeks of wilderness payback for her calling me dumb, and hairy—among other things. The more I talked, the more her father seemed to like the idea. In fact, he was ecstatic. I used his encouragement to justify my actions. If her own father supported my plan, it couldn’t be so bad, right?

  Now I feel ill.

  When I think how her chin trembled in the hallway after she and her father argued. How her face might have crumbled the same way when she got this letter … her family pawned her off on us, me. The girl has a right to be angry. And I’m a part of it. Hell, in a third-grade style temper tantrum, I instigated the whole thing.

  There’s no way to tell her, though. I’m in too deep now. Besides, it’s not my job to save anybody. I’ve got my own problems. A few more weeks and we’re home free, anyway. With my mother happy and Autumn’s scholarship intact, we will go our separate ways. No worse for wear. Great.

  Only it doesn’t feel great.

  Jesse’s nagging me daily to tell Autumn who I am. And yeah, in hindsight, maybe lying wasn’t the best plan, but I needed her off balance. Knowing I was the guy she bested in the gym gave her an advantage. Not telling her I’m the boss’s son keeps us on even ground.

  Besides, Autumn will figure it out soon anyway, and when she does, I’ll smooth it over. I’ll have to, because we still need each other. She’ll see that, right? Autumn is many things, but stupid isn’t one of them.

  Turn your feelings off, Caden. Keep your pants on, your mind sharp, and your mouth shut. Maybe you’ll get out of this without getting bit.

  The sound of dogs barking lets me know something’s happening up at the house. My pace is quick up the side drive and around the corner. I stutter step as Dex and Autumn emerge from the tree line. Perfect. When did Loki get here? Guessing Dex has already blown my cover, I’m surprised my first thought is how the news is affecting Autumn, the second is calculating the work I have ahead of me in damage control.

  Dex casually throws his arm around her shoulders, and my bad mood nosedives. He’s shirtless. He’s touching her shirtless! I’m confounded that she allows the contact without putting him in a guillotine chokehold.

  Jesse is on the porch. She’s setting the big, white platter—that we only use for important company—down in the middle of the table. Usually my favorite, today the heavy smell of bacon sours my stomach. More plates and bowls surround the first, covered in eggs, fruit, cheese, and bagels.

  Quinn steals a piece of bacon, but not without a scolding from Jess. When she sees me she leans over the rail. “Dex is here,” she says. “Looks like he’s already met our guest.”

  Now she’s a guest?

  My brother peers around his wife’s waist. His lips purse. “He’s not limping, so I guess he didn’t ask about her nationality.”

  Jesse smacks his shoulder. “Stop.”

  Autumn’s laughter filters to us from across the field. She laughs so seldom, I’m irritated it’s my brother who inspires the sound and not me. I’m losing my shit over this girl. Remember the bet, Caden, get it together.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Over my shoulder, Quinn is snapping his fingers. “You look like someone just pissed on your shoe.”

  “Nothing.” Though I can’t even name what I’m feeling, I think punching something might help. “We have a lot to do, and we’re getting a late start is all.”

  Quinn shakes his head. “Dude, relax. Since when did you become a clock puncher?”

  My breath blows out short and hot. “You don’t get it. There’s about a month until the Mighty Moo Festival. Mom’s riding me to have Autumn present to the pageant winners at the dance.”

  Jesse frowns, but Quinn spews his O.J. She pats his back as he chokes a laugh. He stops long enough to say, “Hoo boy, this I gotta see.”

  “Shut up.” I’m glaring, but it doesn’t make a dent in my brother’s hilarity.

  Jesse leans over Quinn’s shoulder. “She’ll be fine, Caden. Autumn can handle it. Have a little faith.”

  I’m sure Jesse will agree to help us. Autumn will have to dress up for the awards, and spit out her gum long enough to make a speech. I gaze across the lawn as Autumn and Dex close the gap. My stupid brother grins like a fox. “Look what I found in the woods.”

  In running shorts and sports bra, the girl’s only half dressed. Her skin glistens with sweat, and she
’s sneezing like a commercial for Benadryl. I’m trying to picture her without her thick Cleopatra eyeliner, in formal attire, and her hair actually brushed. Unlike now, where she’s wearing it up, but crazy pieces stick out or fall down around her face like hay straw.

  She rubs her fingers back and forth under her nose. Don’t worry, Jesse says. Autumn can handle the dance, pageant scholarship … Sure.

  “Guess I need to run early more often. Didn’t know our lake had water nymphs.” Dex winks at me, and I want to slug him.

  Unaware or uncaring, Autumn ignores our conversation. She hawks a loogie, spitting it five yards like a Panther linebacker. Never have I seen a girl spit like that. She’s a disturbing mix of pride and beauty with the manners of a Viking. Her hands find her hips. “What’s up?”

  When Dex laughs, Quinn smiles at him from the porch. Autumn snorts up whatever’s left in her sinus cavity, and my brothers laugh again.

  I’m in so much trouble.

  “Breakfast!” Jesse calls. “Come and eat, you guys.”

  Dexter tackles me for a hug and rolls me into a headlock. “Hey, man. How you been?”

  Breathing his underarm fumes isn’t improving my attitude. I’m already annoyed at him for just being Dex, and then he waltzes up with my missing intern. It isn’t reasonable to think he caused Autumn’s disappearance this morning, but I’ve decided not to be reasonable today.

  Dexter dominates the conversation during breakfast with tales of rock climbing in Chattanooga and sky diving in Sedona. I’m bored and antsy listening to him brag, but the typically quiet Autumn asks a dozen questions. After waiting what I deem is a polite amount of time, I whisk Autumn down the stairs toward the bee hives, our first stop on our agenda for the day. I’m giving a quick tutorial on collecting honey, when my brothers intercept.

  “Wait up, you guys,” Dex pants. “I’ve got a great idea.”

  “He does,” Quinn says, with a big gin. “He’s calling Game Day.”

  Game Day was my dad’s idea. In part, he created the game to teach his three stubborn boys the value of teamwork, submission, and leadership. The rules are simple. Each member of the family owns a day annually, where he (or she) becomes the boss or Pilot of that day. Wherever you are, no matter what plans you have or what you’re doing, members must abandon their schedule and commit to a full day devoted to any and all outdoor activities the evoker cares to name. You can’t even eat without permission.

  Panic builds in my gut, because I don’t have time for his interference today. “Yeah,” I say, palming my neck, “that’s cool. I wish I could, but can we do it after Moo? Autumn and I still have a lot of products to test. Besides,” I add, thinking I’ve got a foolproof out. “Your mom’s not even in the state. I’d hate for her to miss Game Day.”

  “She won’t mind. As Pilot, I can excuse for illness or extenuating circumstances. I’m allowing Autumn to take her place and you can stand in for Caden as honorary Behrs.”

  I gulp my relief that Dex remembered to include his brother, because I clearly forgot.

  “Really?” Autumn asks. “It sounds fun. I think. I don’t really know what you’re talking about.”

  Dex smiles. “We’ll explain everything. And use as many product trial options as we can, so the day counts for both of us, and Silas can untwist his panties.

  Once Quinn takes his side, I’m doomed.

  We move from biking and disc golf to ATV races. Dex allows us lunch, after which we water ski and play some volleyball. We’ve been at it for hours and the late afternoon sun beats on our shoulders. Every one of us is dog tired when Dex plunks a small brown box on the ground, announcing our last game of the day—Stretch.

  Jesse calls him a sadist and drops to the grass. Even Quinn groans, but there’s no quitting or questioning the Pilot on Game Day.

  “What’s Stretch?” Autumn asks.

  “It’s basically Mumblety Peg,” says Quinn.

  “Never heard of either,” she says.

  “I’m not surprised,” Jesse complains. “I hate this game. It’s dangerous.”

  “Aw, come on. We use little blades,” Dexter says, with a grin. “Everyone chooses a knife from the box, and pairs off. To play, you throw the knife at the ground outside your opponent’s shoe. If the knife sticks in the ground, your opponent moves one foot to the spot while keeping the other foot in place. We go until we fall over or can’t make the stretch. Winners of each pairing continue playing each other until the last one standing wins.”

  “Ooh,” Autumn smiles. “I think I like this game.”

  “Everyone says that until they lose a toe,” Jesse grumbles.

  “Did that happen?”

  “To someone.”

  “Never mind, her, Dex says, dragging Autumn toward the box. “I’ve got my starting partner.”

  Forty-five minutes later, the last two standing are Autumn and me.

  Quinn snaps a picture with his cell phone. “Your imminent humiliation is now on Instagram, sucka. Beaten by a girl.”

  “I haven’t even lost yet!”

  “You will.”

  “So you’re saying it’s more humiliating to be beaten by a girl?” Jesse crosses her arms. “Because girls are what, Quinn, less skilled in general?”

  His smile droops. “Can I plead temporary insanity? You know I didn’t mean it. I’m your slave.” She squeals as Quinn scoops her into his arms, spinning her around.

  I bank an eye roll and discreetly cover my boys with my arm in case of a bad throw. My ass is six inches from the ground. Then again, Autumn’s isn’t far behind. She looks at me, a slow, confident smile creeping over her face. It’s like she’s daring me, but to what? Win? Knock her over, something else? Her stare is purposeful, sexy, unnerving. Damn it. I swear she knows it, too. Maybe that’s the idea, to throw me off. She hates losing as much as I do.

  Dex moves to stand behind Autumn, his hands cupping her elbows. “You got this, Teslow.”

  My eyes narrow.

  “What? I’m moral support.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He leans in with a grin. “You gonna stop me?”

  Something nasty and unfamiliar heats my insides. “Let her go.” I sound like an ass, but I can’t seem to stop.

  “No cheating.” Jesse’s gaze snaps from him to me. Her eyes harden with a message: Dex is always messing around.

  True, but she’s missing the point. I don’t care if Autumn beats me. I care where my brother’s hands are.

  Dex whistles low, and backs away. “You people need to drink a beer and lighten up.”

  Quinn plays a drum roll on his thigh as Autumn aims. She focuses, and throws. A solid stick, but the knife imbeds in the dirt near my toe. I won’t have to move. “Oooh,” Quinn howls. “Man, I thought she was gonna take a toe. Yours now, buddy.”

  I give him the finger.

  “Silas could miss,” Jesse says.

  “I won’t miss.” My leg muscles cramp. My gaze locks with my opponent’s. I can’t keep from grinning. “You’re mine,” I say. The words release a chill over my skin in ninety-degree heat.

  My knife flies from my hand. A silver blur whipping through the air. The blade sticks a good ten inches from her right foot. There’s a beat of silence, then she lifts her chin and slides into a full split. I won’t deny it. That was impressive.

  Quinn whoops, Jesse cheers, and Dex whistles. Grabbing me from behind, he shoves my head under his sweaty armpit. Two headlocks in one day is two too many. I stomp his foot. He yells and lets go as Quinn jumps us both. Tackled to the ground, Quinn’s pounding our backs, insisting I got lucky.

  I sit up and shake the dust from my hair. When I glance up, Autumn’s brushing grass from her legs. I don’t mean to stare, but can’t look away.

  I’m waiting for the sulking and cursing to start when she says, “Good game.” She bends, rubbing a thigh with her palm. “I might have pulled a muscle with that stupid stunt, though.”

  “Is that right?” I duck down
, capturing her gaze.

  “Maybe. Don’t worry, I’ll send you the bill.” Her smile is uncertain. Thick lash shutters her eyes from me. I get the feeling she’s holding back, or joking to mask what she’d really like to say.

  “I need a nap,” Dex groans. “I hereby declare Game Day officially over.” He waves absently over his head as he trudges toward the house.

  “What about you?” Quinn’s arms wrap Jesse’s waist, and he buries his face in her neck. “You want to nap with me, gorgeous?”

  Seriously?

  Jesse’s face turns bright pink. “Uh, maybe later. We need to run to town for a few things before the stores close.”

  Quinn’s face falls. “Oh okay, anyone else need anything while we’re out?”

  “Yes!” Dexter spins around. “Double chocolate fudge cookies, Moose Tracks ice cream, and a Swedish massage, but you’re not Swedish.”

  “Or a woman!” Quinn argues.

  “That one’s debatable.”

  “Come over here and say that!”

  The air cools with the sinking sun. Strips of sky darken in pinks and blues, colors repeated below in the still lake water. When my siblings take their conversation inside, I face Autumn. “Sorry about that. I can’t control them Not even with shock collars, I’ve tried.”

  “That’s okay. They grow on a person.”

  “I suppose they do.” I cross my arms. “So, how bad did it hurt?”

  “What?” Her chest lifts with a deep breath.

  “Losing. To me. Did it sting?”

  “Eh, less than I thought,” she says. Her curvy mouth tips up on one side. It’s the sort of smile that conveys ten distinct meanings without her opening her mouth. Things like: I like your family, we had a good day, I’m enjoying flirting with you … Her eyes flash. “So, what happens now?”

  I rub my neatly shaven jaw. Pretend I’m not thinking that I wish her lips weren’t so full and pouty when she says the word so … I wonder how long I can keep up the charade before she finds out who I am? When I’ll grow my beard back? How long before I lose my mind, forget the stupid bet, and kiss her? “In Stretch, the loser gets on all fours and pulls the knife out of the ground with their teeth. All while the winner watches, of course.”