Kentucky Home

by Sarah Title

  “Thanks,” she said, thinking about poop. “You want me to do all of these?” The barn seemed to reach to West Virginia, millions of stalls with millions of gallons of excrement needing mucking. Really, she thought as she quickly counted, there were only twenty.

  “No, we’ve only got six horses at the moment. Just do the ones with straw in them.”

  “Why do you have such a big barn if you’ve only got six horses?”

  “Well, I guess because people prefer to board their horses with the fancy new outfit up the road and don’t want to deal with a socially inept old man who won’t go out and drum up new business. And because that same old man won’t invest in new horses for breeding or for training and won’t try any new damn thing, so we have a big old barn with six horses. But that’s fewer stalls for you to muck, so don’t worry about it.”

  If this was how Keith was talkative, she wasn’t sure she didn’t like him better silent.

  “Well, thanks for the rant. I’m going to go shovel some poop now.” She turned to the first stall.

  “Sorry, that wasn’t—”

  She turned back, eyebrows raised expectantly. He just sort of stared at her, mouth gaping, lost for words, then adjusted his hat and turned.

  “Yell if you need a hand,” he called over his shoulder, not looking back.

  Like she would voluntarily spend more time with him, she thought as she maneuvered the first forkful of dirty straw into the wheelbarrow. The man had the social skills of a barrel. Well, until he started talking. Then he was more like . . . she paused, leaning on her pitchfork. He was a little like Michael. Taking his beef with other people out on her. That made her mad. So she took it out on the horse poop.

  Mal shook the straw out over the last stall, making sure it was fluffy and even. She had long since stopped trying not to step on the straw in her dirty boots. Beyond being impossible, it also didn’t make much sense, since as soon as she cleaned out the first stall, its resident, the ancient mare she, uh, fed that morning, came in with muddy hooves. “All of my hard work,” she said to her, patting her nose. The horse snuffed on her coat in response.

  Now she was glad Keith had found her one of those plaid quilty jackets. It looked machine washable. Her jeans had gotten very dirty, especially after she knelt on the floor trying to clean up the contents of the wheelbarrow that had tipped over when she tried to move it. Still, the stalls were mucked and the manure was piled. She felt very farmy and very tired. She imagined this was what Cal and Luke and Libby and Katie went to bed feeling like every night, tired and satisfied with a job well done. And smelling like poop.

  “You had her muck out all of the stalls on her own?”

  To her credit, Miss Libby did not precisely hit him with the dish towel, although she looked like she would have hit him with a pot, given half the chance. She just sort of flapped it generally in his direction, albeit with menace and disapproval.

  “She wanted something to do,” Keith said lamely. He was just trying to be brotherly to his future sister-in-law. Of course, brotherly was not a feeling he had toward her when she bent over to pull on Luke’s old boots. But she’d looked about ready to burst when he’d run into her outside the barn. He knew that feeling—that feeling you get when you want to run around and scream and pull up trees, but people expect you to just sit there nicely and relax. Keith was not good at relaxing. He liked to work.

  Mal said she needed to work. So what if she ran to Miss Libby when she was done, complaining about him being a slave driver; so what if he was wrong about her. At least the stalls were clean. She did a pretty good job, too. He was kind of looking forward to turning over that chore.

  “Keith Carson, I swear. When we have a guest in this house, you do not put them to work, no matter what they say. She came into the house smelling like—” Libby paused, waving the towel.

  “Like horse shit?”

  “I was trying to find a more ladylike word.”

  “Good thing I don’t have to worry about that.”

  “You should still watch your mouth. We don’t want Mal thinking we’re a bunch of backward rednecks who can’t speak properly.”

  Keith reflected briefly on Mal’s generous use of language, especially when she tried to maneuver the too-full wheelbarrow for the first time. He was just coming into the barn to get a brush when he heard a string of the foulest curses he’d ever heard in his life—and he had grown up with cowboys.

  He had poked his head around the doorway to see Mal struggling to right the wheelbarrow, then kneeling down in front of the spilled and very dirty straw. She sat there for a minute and Keith saw the tense set of her shoulders and thought maybe she was going to cry. He was about to go over and tell her she could go back into the house and clean up—anything to get her not to cry.

  Then her shoulders rose and fell on a sigh and she leaned forward, scooping up armfuls of dirty straw and throwing it into the wheelbarrow. She was muttering to herself while she worked, and Keith couldn’t hear it all, but he could definitely make out “Why don’t you go shopping? We don’t have any pigs here. I’m grumpy because my farm is going out of business and I don’t have enough people to boss around and I’m an adult but I still live with my dad and I inhaled too much horse shit as a child so I’m incapable of decent human conversation.” She started to kick the wheelbarrow, but apparently thought better of it because she paused midkick, then turned and kicked a stall door, letting out another string of curses.

  No, they definitely didn’t need to worry about Mal’s virgin ears.

  “Like I said, Lib, she wanted to help, so I let her.”

  “But mucking out the stalls. Didn’t you have a more dignified chore for her?”

  “There are no dignified chores. That’s why they’re called chores. Besides, don’t you think she should get used to farm life if she’s going to be marrying into this family?” That last part felt a little bitter on his tongue. Keith tried not to think about it.

  Libby sighed. “I hope that Luke decides to settle down here with her. We still have those little cottages just sitting there like overgrown bushes. And you did such a nice job fixing up that little bunkhouse—who wouldn’t want to live in a cute little place like that?”

  “Lib, I don’t think you should get your hopes up about Luke sticking around. He didn’t even last twenty-four hours this time.”

  “Well, Mal certainly won’t make a case for it if you keep asking her to do the dirty work. What’s next? You gonna have her fixing fences?”

  “No, Dad and Chase are doing that.”

  “Chase is here? Where is that boy? He didn’t come in to get anything to eat before he went out.”

  “He didn’t look like he was in a mood to talk to anyone.”

  “So naturally he jumped at the chance to go out with your father. Reach up and grab me that pot.”

  Keith did as he was told, then leaned back against the sink.

  “You sure take after your daddy, strong and silent.” Libby shook the colander full of potatoes. “But that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, young man. Mal is a guest here, not free labor.”

  “I’m sorry if I made her mad; I really thought—”

  Libby sighed as she dumped the potatoes into the pot on the stove. “No, she wasn’t mad. She came in smelling to high heaven and smiling like a loon.”

  “So if she’s not mad, why are you mad?”

  “It’s just not right, Keith, that’s why.”

  “Miss Libby, it’s all right.” Mal stood in the kitchen doorway, wearing that floral skirt and socks, holding her dirty jeans. “I threatened him with bodily harm if he didn’t give me something to do.”

  Her hair was still tied back in that messy ponytail, and she wore one of Luke’s old sweatshirts with the sleeves rolled up at her wrists. She looked dead tired, and Keith had the sudden urge to go over to her, kiss those dark smudges from under her eyes.

  Libby patting his arm broke his reverie. “All right, I’ll forgive him. He
always was a good boy.” She crossed the kitchen, grabbing Mal’s jeans, as she said, “to throw them in the wash presently.”

  To say an awkward silence descended on the kitchen would be an understatement. But Mal forged on, determined to—she wasn’t sure what, exactly, but it seemed very important that Keith like her. Even though she wasn’t entirely sure that she liked him. “So,” she said, rocking back on her heels with forced casualness, “did the mucking pass muster?” She winced.

  Keith rubbed the back of his neck, rocking back on his heels to mirror Mal. “Yeah, for a first-timer.”

  “Was there something wrong with my mucking? Should I go out and—”

  Keith grabbed her arm as she headed out the door. To the barn. To re-muck. In her socks.

  “It was great. Mal.”

  It felt sort of weird and intimate to hear her name coming from his mouth. He said it like it was a secret, just for the two of them. She turned, his hand still on her arm, but gentle.

  “You did a great job,” he repeated.

  Then she was flush against him, her hips against his. Her nose against his teeth.

  They looked at each other, stunned, for about half a second. Then Keith pulled her behind him and shouted, “No, Peanut! Out!” By the time Mal registered that she was still wearing the stupid stunned expression, that she was now pressed against Keith’s back, and that the dog of which she was terrified was trying to lick her toes, Peanut was out the door, corralled by a stranger in a used-to-be white cowboy hat.

  Inappropriate sexual tension was a great cure for fear of dogs.

  Keith turned and cupped Mal’s face in his hands.

  “Mal? Mal, can you hear me? Are you going to throw up?”

  She fluttered her hands in front of her face, brushing him away. “I’m OK,” she said, keeping her eye nervously on the door.

  “It’s OK, Chase took Peanut out.”

  “Who?”

  “Peanut. The dog. Do you remember?” He looked at her with concern, as if he thought she’d hit her head or something.

  “I know Peanut. I mean, I am aware of Peanut.”

  “He makes sure of that.”

  “Who is Chase?”

  “Oh. He works here.”

  No other information seemed to be forthcoming.

  “He took Peanut out?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is Libby mad?”

  “She doesn’t know yet.”

  “Well, I’ll say one thing for you. You have a loyal and affectionate dog.”

  “He’s just excited because he hasn’t seen me all day. Usually he’s running around with me—”

  Mal looked up at Keith, who suddenly had a guilty look on his face. Oh, she thought. Oh. “Did you keep Peanut out of the stables today because you knew I would be working there?”

  Keith blushed. He blushed! It started in his neck and worked its way up and around to his ears. Very cute.

  He looked at her, his eyes warm and green and questioning, and for a second she thought he was going to lean down and kiss her. She sort of hoped he would.

  Abruptly, he stood up straight, turned on his heel, and went out the door.

  Chapter 7

  There were a lot of things Mal knew she shouldn’t be doing. She shouldn’t be lying to a perfectly nice family in Kentucky while her practically ex-husband pined away for her in his own maniacal way. She shouldn’t be letting Miss Libby do her laundry or cook her meals without pitching in, although she was not entirely sure that one could be prevented.

  The main thing she definitely should not be doing, though, was lusting after her fake fiancé’s surly older brother.

  He was rude and practically mute and really seemed to think she was an idiot.

  But then he kept the dog out of sight because he knew she was afraid.

  And he had really big hands.

  Dammit.

  Well, she thought as she shoved her feet into her shoes and followed Keith out the door, the least I can do is make myself the smallest burden possible.

  She walked down the two steps from the kitchen door out into the yard. Libby’s vegetable garden was to her right; maybe she could help weed later. First things first, though, she thought, walking toward the stables.

  Keith was nowhere to be seen. But she did see the guy in the dirty hat who’d taken Peanut out. Peanut was also nowhere to be seen.

  “Chase?” she asked, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun.

  He looked up at her curiously, then his face broke out into a million-dollar grin. He was tall and lanky, maybe even taller than Keith, with high cheekbones, a sharp jaw, and bright blue eyes that lit up when he smiled.

  Was every man in Kentucky handsome? Did other women know about this?

  “You must be Mal, Luke’s girl.”

  She stopped in her tracks. “Well, I don’t know if I’m his girl, per se.”

  “Sorry, Luke’s woman?” He had a slightly bemused smile on his well-defined face. He was laughing at her. Or with her? She wasn’t really laughing, but somehow, this guy made her feel like she was in on the joke.

  “I like to think I’m my own woman.”

  “Oh, that’s right, you’re a Yankee. Sorry, let me put on my Yankee manners.” He shook her hand firmly. “It’s nice to meet you, as equals.”

  “You don’t think Kentucky women are equals?”

  “Sure I do, but I’m not going to tell them that.”

  She wasn’t sure if that was sexist or charming. A little of both, probably. “Listen, I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

  “Sure, little lady.” Now he was definitely teasing her.

  “Knock it off, cowboy.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She smiled. Ma’am. Nothing can make you feel old or disheveled like someone your own age calling you “ma’am.”

  “Chase, are you familiar with Peanut? The dog?”

  “If you’re talking about the three-legged mutt who tried to help me dig fence posts all morning while I tried to keep him from tripping up my horse, then, yes, I am familiar with Peanut.”

  “See, that’s what I’m talking about. You don’t usually take Peanut to, uh, work with you, do you?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said, starting to sound a little skeptical.

  “Did Keith ask you to do that today?”

  He was definitely skeptical now, if his charming face was any indication. “Yes.”

  “Do you know why?”

  She swore she could see the gears turning in his head as he pondered whether or not he should admit that he knew about her fear of dogs, and potentially sell out his employer, or play dumb. He didn’t look like he was very good at playing dumb. Apparently he wasn’t.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said slowly, narrowing his eyes at her a little.

  “That’s why I need your help. I mean, if you have time. I can’t let Keith disrupt his, I don’t know, workflow, because I’m afraid of his dog. I mean, I appreciate it a lot. But he has to stop.”

  “So . . . do you want me to talk to him?”

  “I think we both know that won’t do any good.” Chase nodded. “The only way he’s going to stop accommodating my fear of dogs is if I’m not afraid of dogs anymore.”

  Chase blinked at her. She was smiling brightly, as if she was just suggesting something obvious, like the best way to get rid of your thirst was to have a drink. She could tell he didn’t like where she was going. She had to talk fast.

  “So I was thinking, since you’re a farm guy and stuff, and you’re pretty good with animals. Do you think you could, like, introduce me to Peanut? Just a little. I think if I get comfortable with him, it will be OK. Or at least Keith won’t have to worry about me.”

  “I don’t really think it’s my place to—”

  “Chase, I’m begging you. Everyone around here is treating me with kid gloves, like I’m, I don’t know, a delicate flower or something. I’m not.” She sighed. “But I am afraid of dogs. So if I could just
get comfortable with this one dog—”

  “Well, I don’t really have time, Mal. I have a lot of other things to get done today.”

  Her face fell. “Oh, of course. I didn’t think about that. Sorry, that was selfish. You’re right, I’ll just, ah, OK. Sorry.”

  Chase watched her walk back to the house. No wonder Luke was marrying her; if this was what saying no to her was like, he didn’t think any man would ever be able to deny her anything.

  He headed back into the barn to tell Keith that Luke’s fiancée was starting to get ideas.

  Mal did not go back into the kitchen. There was nothing for her in the kitchen, not since she could see Miss Libby working at the sink. Mal wouldn’t even be allowed to dry a dish. There was definitely nothing for her in the stables, not unless she wanted to be scowled at. She wished she knew how to ride. This would be the perfect time to saddle up and ride ’em out. Or was that only for after you’ve robbed a bank?

  She sighed and started to walk, not entirely sure where her legs would take her, but needing, well, distraction. Keith was just as high-handed and manipulative as Michael was. Maybe not as smooth about it, or maybe he was smoother. If she’d never discovered that he’d put Peanut out, then he would have that to hold over her. When really, it wasn’t a good deed. She was afraid of dogs, so he should keep dogs away. Common decency. You don’t have to be grateful for common decency.

  That was a favorite saying of Michael’s. He had used that one ever since she’d met him. The first time was in the dorm, in college. They had ordered pizza for an American History study session (it wasn’t really a study session, what with the late night and the proximity to her tiny twin bed). When they were done eating, she cleared up the paper plates, taking the pizza box out to the big trash can in the hall. When she came back, Michael was leaning against her bed, taking notes from her notebook. She was a much better note-taker than he was. Especially since he went to only about a third of the lectures.