On His Turf

by Jennifer Watts

  “That’s Ace and the other one is Beau,” he introduces them.

  “He’s beautiful,” I say, laughing when Ace’s rough tongue darts out to lick my cheek.

  “He’s a flirt; just ignore him.”

  Shane holds his hand out and I take a deep breath before accepting it. I’ve gotten myself all riled up thanks to Leigh so I’m a little surprised when no one swarms us at the door. He leads me into the foyer which is all high ceilings and exposed wood beams and through to the country kitchen and open living area at the back of the house. I suck in an awed breath as I take in the panoramic view. It’s just after six and the sun is casting a rosy glow off the lake that makes the water seem to almost sparkle.

  “What do you think?” he smiles.

  “There aren’t even words,” I say truthfully. “I can’t believe you grew up here.”

  He motions for me to follow him out back to the sprawling deck that has a large patio table on it. He pulls out a chair and as I sit down I take in the rectangular in-ground pool and outdoor fireplace, and beyond that a stretch of sandy white beach.

  “This really is waterfront,” I say as my eyes follow a path of unlit lanterns to the shoreline.

  “Nine hundred feet of it to be exact,” he laughs. “But the sands not original - dad brought that in.”

  “Where is your family?” I ask.

  “Hovering probably,” he says smirking. “I told them to hide out so I could show you around first. Do you want to sit here and wait for them or do you want the grand tour?”

  “Grand tour!” I say nervously as I jump to my feet and he laughs.

  “I’ve never seen you this flustered before,” he grins. “It’s kind of cute.”

  I glare at him over my shoulder as I walk back toward the home. He shows me the rest of the five bedroom, six bathroom four thousand square foot house. We linger for a while in his bedroom as I take my time studying the soccer trophies, sports pennants and bikini posters. When I sit down on his bed he grins so widely that I think his face is going to split in two.

  “What?” I say, glancing around suspiciously.

  “Nothing. It’s just been a long time since I’ve had a girl in my room and never one this hot before.” His eyes darken takes a step toward the bed and I crawl backwards on my hands toward the pillows.

  “Not happening, Shane. Your parents are somewhere downstairs.”

  He takes another step closer as his eyes travel greedily over my body but I’m quick enough that I’m able to duck under his arm and head for the door.

  “Like I said - not happening,” I protest.

  He tickles my ribs and I giggle as he leads me to the stairs but a door at the end of the hall catches my attention. It’s closed and it’s not somewhere we stopped on the tour.

  “Whose room is that?” I say curiously and his eyebrows slam down.

  “No one’s,” he answers and I’m taken aback by the change in his tone. As he tugs me away I quickly scan the family photos that line the walls. There are school photos of his brothers along team sports photos of Shane, one that looks like his parent’s wedding photo and a family shot with a teenage-looking Shane and three other boys - one close to his age and the other two babies.

  Before I have time to really process what I’m seeing he’s leading me back downstairs to the kitchen to where a woman is hard at work kneading dough. When she sees us she comes around the counter and pulls me into a hug, though she’s careful not to touch me with her floury hands. She pulls back and wipes them on her apron as she beams at me.

  “You must be Carmelina. It’s so nice to finally meet the girl my son can’t stop talking about!”

  “Mom!” Shane yells but she just shushes him.

  “Well aren’t you just as cute as a possum!” she adds and he groans. I personally don’t know what, if anything, is cute about a possum but I’m willing to go with it for her sake. “Now don’t have a hissy fit Shane Patrick Mitchell, I won’t break the baby albums out just yet,” she teases and I laugh.

  “Can I help with anything?” I ask, breaking up the banter and she claps in delight.

  “That’d be wonderful, dear. Shane mentioned that you love to cook.”

  “He did now?” I say, raising an eyebrow at him and he shrugs. It makes me wonder how much he’s actually shared with them about me considering I know almost nothing about them. I join Mrs. Mitchell, who insists that I call her Brenda, back at the island and she hands me a wad of cold dough.

  The kitchen is welcoming and cozy in the way that country kitchens usually are complete with its distressed wood cabinets painted antique ivory and the large stone hearth that’s built over the range. The same wide plank floors from the front hallway are continued in here and from the homey touches like the braided rug, frayed rooster potholders and black bottomed copper pots hanging from the ceiling rack it’s clear that this is a well-loved room. Natural light streams in from the overhead skylight and the mingled smells of cinnamon and fresh-baked bread fill my nose. Brenda hands me a circular cookie cutter and I follow her lead in shaping out the buttermilk biscuits. Shane leans back against the counter and watches us with interest as I pound out the chilled dough.

  “Do you cook much at home?” Brenda asks while concentrating on her task and I look up at her. Her honey blond hair is pulled back into a chignon but a few wisps have escaped around her tanned face. She has dark blue eyes that crinkle slightly at the corners but an otherwise youthful face. She’s shorter than me and a little plump but her rounded curves suit her frame perfectly.

  “Whenever I can though it’s sometimes hard to justify for just one person. To be honest some nights I end up having cereal or popcorn for dinner,” I admit embarrassedly.

  “I remember those days well,” she sighs. “Though I wasn’t too long out of college when I met Shane’s father.” She tells me that she went to culinary school to be a pastry chef and worked for a short while at a high-end hotel in Austin. “We got married after only a month of dating and next thing you know Shane was coming along.”

  “That’s so romantic,” I say.

  “More like impulsive,” she giggles. “But now I get to use my pastry skills for all the handsome men in my life,” she says, spinning on her heel to retrieve an apple pie from the oven. When she rests it on the counter my mouth literally starts to water.

  “Good thing I didn’t grow up here - I’d be huge!” I say on a sigh and she titters.

  “Hush now, look at you. You couldn’t be fat. I would’ve killed for a body like that at your age.”

  “It is a nice body,” Shane agrees, clearing his throat and I give him a look over my shoulder at the same time one of the double ovens on the wall starts to beep.

  “That’ll be ready for my biscuits,” she chimes so I hand over my completed tray. She pops the tray in then pulls two wine glasses out of the cupboard.

  “Can I offer you a glass?” she offers and I nod.

  “Sure, I’d love one.”

  “White or red?”

  “Whatever you’re having,” I answer and she fills our glasses generously with a bottle of chardonnay she unearths from the refrigerator. She hands one to me and clinks my glass before taking a big sip.

  “What about me?” Shane protests.

  “Beers in the fridge, son,” she winks conspiratorially at me as she takes another long pull of the wine.

  “Shane also tells me that you’re a journalist?” she asks politely and I shake my head.

  “No, but I would like to be. I’m just an Assistant at the Observer at present.”

  “Never say just, darlin’,” a loud voice booms and I look over to see a man wiping his cowboy boots on the side-door mat.

  “Pardon me?” I say, swallowing down my mouthful of wine.

  “Never say ‘just’. It’s diminishing,” he repeats, placing his hands on his lean, narrow hips. He’s wearing wranglers and an untucked plaid shirt and his silver hair is all mussed up. At first glance I find his appearance i
s at odds with the world renowned neonatal surgeon I was expecting but his clear, sharp eyes tell me a lot more about him than his outfit does.

  “You must be Carmelina.” He steps forward and I hold my hand out to shake but instead he grabs my cheeks and lays a kiss on my lips with a loud smack.

  “Dad!” Shane shouts at the same time Brenda swats him with a tea towel and says, “you ole cuss!” She frowns in mock disapproval and he holds his hands up in surrender.

  “Sorry, son, but I couldn’t help myself,” he answers as Shane sidles up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. It’s an intimate and claiming gesture and I blush in response, unprepared for a display of affection in front of his parents.

  “You are going to scare her off.”

  His father gives me a wink before turning his eyes to his son. “I’d hold on to this beauty if I were you.” This time he does extend his hand and I shake it. “I’m Mike Mitchell and thank you for joining us this evening.” Mike is slender and even taller than Shane’s six foot one, and looking between both his mom and dad it’s easy to see where he got his good looks from.

  “It’s my pleasure,” I say shyly and Shane’s arms tighten around me.

  Two teenage boys come bounding into the kitchen but they both stop when they see me and the one closest to me whistles.

  “Colby,” Shane says and there’s a warning tone to his voice.

  “What? She’s hot, bro.”

  “Yeah, too hot for you,” the other one snickers and Brenda gives them a chastising look.

  “Is that how I raised you to speak to a lady?” Shane’s father bellows and both boys bow their heads and mutter a round of ‘sorries’.

  The one closest to me steps forward and introduces himself as Colby and his brother as Caleb. On the way in Shane reminded me that they were twins and I can see now that they are identical in every sense of the word. Their hair is a darker blond than Shane’s and they both wear it long enough for the ends to stick out of the bottoms of their backwards baseball caps. Their eyes are a golden hazel color and like Shane they are tall, but they still have some of the lankiness that comes with youth. I also know from Shane that they are on their first summer break from college. After the initial awkwardness passes Shane rushes over and pulls them both into a firm embrace that’s followed by a lot of back slapping. From the look in Shane’s eyes it’s clear how much he adores his brothers and watching how playful they are makes me wish I had siblings of my own to torment.

  “How’s school?” Shane asks and they talk about their classes for a bit.

  “Either of you punks have girlfriends yet?” Shane snorts and they both fall silent. I notice that Caleb looks away with a grimace and I figure there must be a story there.

  “Nah, no girlfriends. Lots of girls though if you know what I mean.”

  “Colby James Mitchell you watch your mouth!” Brenda shouts. “Now all of you get on over to the table!”

  Mike ushers me into the adjacent dining room that holds a large harvest table that is surrounded by eight wooden chairs. The table flanks a wall of bright, airy windows and a ceiling fan churns above it. The walls are decorated with more rooster folk art and a weathered antique china cabinet sits in the corner. I take the chair next to Shane and inhale the delicious scents of fried chicken, fresh biscuits and sautéed green beans.

  “Hats, boys,” Brenda says authoritatively and the twins scramble to remove their caps. We dig into the food as the conversation flows easily and it’s obvious that the bond this family shares is so beyond anything in my realm of experience. There are no cell phones or TV dinners on the sofa or tense interruptions - just playful banter from two parents who are clearly still head-over-heels in love with each other. From the way Mike reaches over to brush the back of Brenda’s hand every few minutes it is plain to see and watching them together, engaged in the silent conversation that’s shared in their eyes, I feel the prick of tears at the back of my throat. And it’s not so much in longing for the things I didn’t have but in gratefulness for the things Shane did.

  “Did you grow up in Austin, Carmelina?” Mike asks, bringing me back to the present.

  “I did, over in East Riverside,” I say quietly and I notice that Colby’s eyes widen a little. It’s not the best neighborhood but it’s not the worst either, though I definitely didn’t grow up with a pool or my own beach I think to myself while struggling to suppress the flare of defensiveness I feel.

  “And your parents still live in the area?” Brenda asks.

  “My mother lives here but she’s been unable to work for the last ten years so she doesn’t get out much,” I say as neutrally as possible. In my mind the only disability my mother has is her personality but I don’t share that.

  “And your father?” Brenda presses, passing the plate of chicken in my direction. I take another drumstick and place it on my plate. Usually one would be more than enough for me but her food is so good that I can’t seem to stop eating.

  “He left when I was a baby,” I say, casting my eyes to the table. It is Caleb who eventually saves me by changing the subject.

  “Have you seen my bro play yet?” he interjects and I smile at him gratefully.

  “That’s actually where we met,” Shane explains. “She came along on an interview for the paper. She’s not a soccer fan though.”

  “No?” Mike says curiously.

  “I don’t necessarily dislike it,” I hedge and Colby laughs.

  “Well I guess we know she’s not after your money,” he jokes and all of the color drains from my face as the table goes quiet. The last thing I want these good people thinking is that I’m with Shane opportunistically. If they only knew what our actual shag-and-see-how-it-goes arrangement was we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.

  Colby looks around the table then glances back at me. “What? I was only kidding,” he says, seeming to catch up with the mood in the room before he addresses me. “Aww…no I didn’t mean it like that. There are just always so many airheads hanging off him…”

  “Colby!” Shane barks. “Shut up, now.”

  Colby immediately shuts up and I give Shane a shaky smile trying to communicate to him not to worry about it. I pick up my fork feeling guilty that I’ve basically ruined every possible ‘safe’ dinner conversation from my family, to my job, to my upbringing. We eat the rest of the meal in a strained silence and when Brenda starts to collect plates I jump up to help her.

  “Sit down, dear, you’re our guest,” she says gently but I shake my head.

  “I want to help.”

  “Thank you, Carmelina. If you don’t mind bringing in the pie that would be wonderful,” she relents.

  Mike hops to his feet and switches on the stereo. “When did it get so heavy in here? I think we need to lighten this mood. Blues time.” He says and all of the boys groan. Ray Charles’ ‘I Got a Woman’ starts playing and he grabs his wife around the waist and spins her around. I watch them for a minute before disappearing into the kitchen to retrieve the still-warm pie from the counter. I carry it to the table and the twins dig in immediately as Shane passes over dessert plates from the china cabinet.

  I take a step back from the table and slip out into the living room. The sliding glass doors are open to let in the evening breeze and the sun has set over the lake, leaving a rich cobalt blue in its wake. I step out on to the covered patio and wrap my arms around myself to stave off the chill that’s in the air.

  “It even smells like happiness here,” I say out loud and a voice behind me startles me.

  “We are very blessed.” Shane’s father is leaning against the door frame watching me. “I apologize for Colby putting his foot in his mouth. It would seem that all of the Mitchell men get twisted up in the presence of a beautiful lady.”

  “You’re too generous,” I say hoarsely and he chuckles.

  “If you truly believe that they it’s no wonder he’s half gone already.”

  “Half gone?” I say, confused but he c
hanges the subject.

  “Do you like it here?”

  “It’s perfect,” I exhale. “This is what I always dreamed of. Backyard barbecues, sunsets, freshly mowed lawns and the sound of crickets.” As I start listing everything off my voice catches.

  “It’s never perfect darlin’, best remember that. Shane’s been through a lot, frankly we all have, but somehow God willing we survived it together,” his voice wavers on the last part and I know that it must have something to do with the closed door upstairs and the pictures of the unknown boy on the wall but I have no right to press and I’ll let Shane tell me on his own terms. God knows that I’m hardly an open book.

  “There you are!” Shane’s voice interrupts as he joins us on the deck. “Come on, I want to show you the barn,” he says, linking his fingers through mine.

  “But what about helping your mom clean up?” I protest and Mike speaks up.

  “Go on, she won’t let you help anyhow, darlin’.”

  “Dad’s already broken out the oldies and it’s going to get mushier from here on out so the sooner we leave, the better,” Shane snorts.

  “Afraid that she’ll get a taste of how a real man dances, son?” Mike teases and Shane shakes his head.

  “Keep telling yourself that, old man.”

  I wave goodbye to Mike over my shoulder as Shane leads me passed the pool and through the garden. We loop around the side of the house and make our way through a small field filled with wildflowers. We reach the barn just as the sun disappears beneath the horizon and he wraps a strong arm around my shoulders as he leads me inside. Once we are in he pulls on a long string and a single light bulb switches on, filling the barn with a warm glow. I follow along as he introduces me to his three horses, finally leading me into the mare’s stall so he can show me how to brush her. She’s beautiful with her light brown coat, blond mane and the white stripe that runs all the way down her nose.

  “This is Lucy. We’ve had her since she was a foal. She’s the gentlest horse I’ve ever ridden.”

  “You ride?” I say skeptically.