Within a couple of minutes, he follows instruction and I’m able to get the straps snug enough that I’ll be secure. Once I’m mounted, I wave to Jeet and offer, “I’ll be back in a few hours,” then I let my mount show me where he feels like going. I don’t know the area well, so I decide to let Thunder Foot be my tour guide.
It’s been a few months since I’ve been on horseback. The last time was when a client took me out for the day to show me her property in the Hamptons. This is vastly different from that, wilder and more carefree.
Thunder Foot starts out slowly, but quickly sets a steady pace. He definitely knows where he wants to go and while I have no idea where that is, I also know he’ll head back to the stables on his own when he’s had enough. The trick will be not to let him get away from me if I get off his back for any reason.
We trot up a makeshift road that starts out going through the woods, but quickly weaves out of them again, opening into a field of wildflowers. At this point, the stallion breaks loose and gallops like he’s trying to pick up enough steam to fly. It’s a wonderful feeling that cracks the nut of tension that’s been building since I arrived in Oregon.
We gradually start to climb until we reach a ridge that overlooks the valley below. Chills prickle my veins. I feel like I’ve ridden back in time to an Oregon that was here before the settlers came. It’s untamed and beautiful and so lush that it’s hard to believe it’s real.
Thunder Foot whinnies and taps his foot, like he is saying, “You see why I brought you up here?”
“Wow.” It’s the only word I can think of. I can see why people are so drawn to this land. I feel like a sorceress looking down on creation below. I fancy that I’ve had some sort of mystical transformation. Of course, I’m not going to broadcast this metamorphosis to anyone. Brogan would no doubt rub my nose in it until the end of time.
Chapter Fifty
The Mothers
Ruby: I’m going to invite the kids up to the lodge tomorrow night and see if they can play nice.
Libby: Oh, to be a fly on the wall …
Ruby: You could have been here if you didn’t chicken out and leave.
Libby: I promise Addie would already be gone if I had stayed and she probably wouldn’t be talking to me. I’d be number one on her list.
Ruby: Brogan has that honor, now.
Libby: Not for long, I hope.
Ruby: I predict dinner tomorrow night is going to be a real humdinger!
Libby: What exactly is a humdinger? I’ve never been sure.
Ruby: Let’s call it a catalyst. I have a few tricks up my sleeve, that if needed, will ensure a chemical reaction not unlike a spark over a gasoline leak.
Brogan
I am literally shoveling cow poop. “Aren’t you supposed to age this crap before spreading it?” I ask while trying to hold my breath as much as possible. The stench is about to overwhelm me.
“You can,” James says, “but I figure, why bother? By putting it directly into the field, it can compost there just as easily as somewhere else. It saves me a step this way.”
“The smell is noxious.” A wave of nausea nearly overpowers me.
“You’re a wuss, you know that?” my brother taunts. “Stop holding your nose for ten minutes and then you won’t even be able to smell it anymore.”
I try to do as he suggests but it’s hard. After filling the back of James’s pick-up with manure, we drive out into the field and unload it into several piles about a hundred feet apart. When we’re done, my brother hands me a rake and says, “Just get in there and start spreading it.”
“Aren’t there kids you can hire to do this?” I ask. If I were him, I’d work the farm stand and let my employees have this job.
“I’d love to, but kids are soft these days. All they want to do is drive the combine or pick peaches. They’d charge me an arm and a leg for any job that had anything to do with poop. Plus, this way I get to make sure it’s spread evenly.”
“Isn’t there a machine that can do this?” I ask, appalled that James has to perform such a task.
“Sure, but they cost money, too. I was going to buy one before my hay baler bit the dust. Now, I need to hire someone to bale my hay and buy a new baler. Needs must, my brother.”
I bust my butt for over two hours and wind up smelling like the very thing I’m spreading. If this were my farm, I’d pay people whatever they asked.
As I inadvertently step in a pile of dung, I slide like the bases are loaded and I’m gunning for home plate. After three failed attempts to stand, I finally throw my hands into the air and declare, “I’m done.”
“Go on up to the house and take a shower,” James tells me.
Before I go, I say, “I’m not cooking for you anymore. I’m going to take you out to dinner. We both deserve to have someone else serve us after a day like this.”
“Nice, there’s a new restaurant in town I’ve been wanting to try.”
“What kind of cooking?” I ask. “I’m not in the mood for diner food.”
“Good, old-fashioned, home cooking. Beth Anne Forester finally opened a place like she’s always talked about.”
I didn’t know Beth Anne in school because she was four years younger than me, but I knew her older brother Burt. “Sounds great. You want to meet me there or should I pick you up?”
“I’ll meet you there. I have some shopping to do in town and I might as well get it done before dinner. It’ll save me a trip tomorrow.”
I have more respect for my little brother than I ever have before. The man works like a dog and no task is beneath him. No matter who wins the bet, I’m going to buy him that hay baler, even if I have to have it delivered and then claim total ignorance of how it got there.
James’s house looks like it probably has for at least the last sixty years. The kitchen appliances are ancient, and if that isn’t bad enough, they’re mint green. The bathrooms are so old the toilets are rusting, and the tiles are chipped and battered.
I’m sure my brother doesn’t even see that stuff though. As long as he has a roof over his head, he puts all profits back into the farm.
I scrub myself for a good half hour before I’m certain I no longer smell like the business end of a heifer. Then I go through James’s drawers and put on some fresh clothes. I toy with the idea of laying down on his bed and taking a nap, but I don’t want to risk him finding me like that. My pride couldn’t handle it.
I decide to head back to the lodge and drive up to Cheater’s Ridge. I want to visualize my future home. I might even lie down on the grass and have a snooze there.
When I get back to the main building, I give Chris the keys to my Mercedes and ask if I can trade her for one of the Jeeps. She rolls her eyes at me and explains, “The reason we have Jeeps is because they’re four-wheel drive, so we can off road them and haul stuff. How in the world could we do that in your little two-seater sports car?”
“Put the top down,” I tell her with a smile on my face. Then I add, “Seriously, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t haul anything in it. But can I still borrow a Jeep?”
She shakes her greying head at me. “Just have it back before six. We’re taking a group up to the fire pit for a pig roasting tonight and we’ll need all our wheels for that.”
“I’ll be back in plenty of time,” I tell her as I grab the keys. “I’m meeting James in town at six for supper.”
“So, you won’t be home until when?” she asks. That’s a strange question. Why would Chris care what time I got home?
James wants to be in bed by eight so I’m sure I’ll be back by then. Before I can ask her why she wants to know, she picks up the phone to take a reservation.
Chapter Fifty-One
The Mothers
Libby: Bob and I had white cake with marzipan mousse and Italian buttercream for our wedding.
Ruby: I just drooled. That was one fabulous cake. Tom and I had a chocolate cake with hazelnut ganache and a swiss meringue.
Libby: I don
’t think I ever had hazelnuts before going to college out there, but I’ve been a huge fan ever since.
Ruby: They’re just one of the many things that make our state so special.
Libby: Where do you think the kids’ wedding should be? New York or Oregon?
Ruby: We should probably leave that up to them, but if they decide on New York then we’ll still have a big party at the lodge to celebrate afterwards.
Libby: Rubes, I don’t want to jinx anything, but I’m really starting to get excited about this little plan of ours.
Addison
I gingerly dismount Thunder Foot before tying his reins to a nearby tree. While he gets busy chewing grass, I walk closer to the ledge and look out. I’m robbed of breath as I stare out onto the mesmerizing vista in front of me—craggy rock formations, heavily wooded stretches, and the majesty of a distant waterfall. I try to envision what Lewis and Clark made of this state when they first laid eyes on it and I’m surprised they were ever able to leave it.
I’m so captivated I don’t realize that I’m not alone until I hear someone say, “I see you’ve found Cheater’s Ridge.”
Startled, I turn around to find Brogan standing next to me. “I didn’t hear you arrive.”
“This land has a way of hypnotizing a person,” he says while his eyes roam the magnificence before us.
We stand companionably silent for several moments before I feel the tension start to build. I finally ask, “This is where you want to build your house, isn’t it?”
He nods his head. “It’s been my favorite spot since I was a little boy.”
“I can see why.”
After a few beats, he asks, “You want a bottle of cold water? I’ve got a couple in the Jeep.”
“I’d love one, thanks.” I walk next to him to retrieve it.
He spots my mount and asks, “You brought Thunder Foot up here? My god, woman, do you have a death wish?”
“He’s a real sweetie. It was his idea.”
He stares at me like I’ve just grown a second head. “Thunder Foot is not sweet. He’s a grumpy old fart who’s never liked anybody but my dad.”
I veer off our trajectory toward the horse and say, “I like him.” Then I scratch behind the stallion’s ears while he lowers his head and taps his back hoof in contentment.
Brogan shakes his head before joining us. “Well, I’ll be. I’ve never seen him act like that with anyone but Dad.” He reaches out to scratch the horse’s other ear, but Thunder Foot takes immediate offense and tries to bite him.
“They say animals are great judges of character,” I tease.
Brogan laughs easily like our tense scene earlier this morning never happened. “Thunder hated Emma,” he says. “I only took him out once with her, but he spent the entire ride nipping at her.”
“You’ve made my point,” I tell him with one eyebrow arched in an I-told-you-so kind of way.
“That was some scene last night. I’m sorry you had to witness it.” The intensity of his gaze causes my feet to feel like they’re rooted to the ground. I couldn’t move if I wanted to. Good thing I don’t want to.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” I tell him sincerely. “I’ve never pepper sprayed anyone before.”
“That’s hard to believe,” he says while stepping closer to me. “Your aim was so good, I imagined you went around New York zapping people like a Wild West gunslinger.”
The humor in his voice is unmistakable but I’m too busy reminding myself to breathe to laugh. “Brogan …” I start to say, but he interrupts.
“Addie, I’m not going to play any tricks on you. If you feel the need to keep pranking me, I won’t retaliate.”
“I’m only responsible for the clam juice,” I hurry to tell him. “And the honey on your toilet seat,” I add as an afterthought.
His eyes open widely. “No wonder the bugs bit me up so badly.”
I cringe slightly as a feeling of guilt creeps in. In an attempt to regain my righteous anger, I say, “I assume you nicknamed me Honey Bucket after putting the honey into my shampoo?”
He looks chagrined. “I was a real jackass as a kid.” He takes another step in my direction.
“Far be it from me to contradict you.” I pick up my foot to get some space, but it feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. Stumbling backward, I narrowly escape tripping over a small boulder.
“I was going to kiss you last night before you left the table.” He lets the statement linger in the air as though waiting to see how I’ll respond.
Hearing his intention stated so clearly makes me hot and bothered in a way that has nothing to do with the current weather conditions. “You were?” I croak.
“I was.” Another step. “I got the feeling you would have been okay with that, too.” If he moves any closer he’ll be standing on top of me.
I can’t seem to find any words, so I just stare up at him slowly drowning in the midnight blue pools of his scrutiny. “I’m sorry about the clam juice and honey,” I finally manage.
Brogan reaches his arms out and slowly puts his hands behind my waist. “I’m thinking about kissing you now.”
I lean toward him ever so slightly which he correctly translates to mean that I’m game. Totally, one hundred percent on board with being kissed by Brogan Cavanaugh. Right now.
His mouth descends so slowly I have a million chances to pull back, but I don’t. Instead, I meet him halfway as the soft pillows of his lips press against mine. He groans low in his throat as he deepens the connection. Holy. Hell. I’m kissing the boy that used to make my life miserable, and it’s the most wonderful sensation I’ve ever experienced.
“Brogan,” his name escapes my mouth like a plea, a prayer.
He lifts his head long enough to say, “I’m going to kiss you again …”
I shut him up by practically jumping into his arms and instigating the next round. Seconds, minutes, hours pass. Time loses all meaning as our breath becomes one and our bodies meld together in a way that I don’t know where I begin or end. I’ve kissed a few men in my life, but never has it felt quite like this. Like I’m coming home.
When we finally pull apart, Brogan takes a hold of my hand and leads me back toward the ledge. He sits down on a big rock and gently pulls me onto his lap. “So, what do you think of Cheater’s Ridge?”
“I think it’s the most beautiful spot I’ve ever laid eyes on.” Except I’m staring at him, not the scenery.
“I’m taking James out for dinner tonight,” he says as he tightens his hold on me. “Is there any chance I can persuade you to join us?”
“I’d love to,” I tell him. I don’t even have to think about it. I feel like we’ve just turned a corner where childish games have no place. Revenge is the last thing on my mind. Somewhere in the haze of my thoughts, I realize that I want something more with Brogan. But how can that be with us living on opposite sides of the country?
Chapter Fifty-Two
The Mothers
Ruby: Neither one of the kids are in their cabins.
Libby: Maybe they’re together.
Ruby: Maybe, but I doubt it. I think I’ll take advantage and prank them both to speed along their big fight .
Libby: How do you know they haven’t already had it?
Ruby: I just saw them both this morning and neither of them said anything. If we’re going to succeed here we need to push them over the hump so they can get their mad out and get on with falling in love.
Brogan
I’m surprised when I look at my watch and discover it’s already four o’clock. Addie and I have completely lost track of time. We covered a variety of topics including the reason I hate clams and why I became a writer instead of an astrophysicist.
I discover that not only is she a proficient horsewoman, but she also won a badminton medal in high school. I’m hard-pressed not to laugh out loud when she tells me that one. Addison Cooper is an enigma. I thought I had her all figured out, but the more I find out about her, the mo
re I discover the error of my assumptions.
I walk her over to Thunder Foot who wakes up with a jolt as we approach. “I’ll meet you at the stable after I return the Jeep to Chris. We can walk back to our cabins together.”
One or six intensely hot kisses later and I’m on my way.
Addie agilely hops onto Thunder Foot’s back and he doesn’t give her any of the trouble he usually gives me. On the contrary, he tips his head to the side and accepts a good scratch behind the ears like it’s his due before he trots off carrying the woman who has not only captured my attention, but is precariously close to capturing my heart.
I’m not one of those people who believe in insta-love or even love at first sight, but I’ve known Addie her whole life. Looking back, I wonder if some of my pranking wasn’t my adolescent way of letting her know that I liked her. After all, aren’t pulling braids and shooting spit wads classic signs of early courtship? Maybe it’s the same for practical jokes.
Back at the lodge, Chris hands my car keys over when I turn in the Jeep. She says, “I didn’t haul anything in that fancy pants car of yours, but I spent a half hour driving around town waving at people.”
I release a spontaneous laugh. “Did you have a good time?
“I felt like Miss America sitting on a toilet paper float in a parade. Just so you know, I plan on doing that every time you come down here looking for a Jeep.”
“You can do it before then if you want. Just let me know and I’ll give you my keys.” I wink at her and she cringes almost like there’s something she wants to tell me but is afraid to. “What?” I ask her.
After a moment, she shakes her head and practically forces a smile. “Nothing. You’re a good kid, you know that?”
“You sound like you’re just realizing that.”
“I’ve always known. I guess having Addie here is reminding us all of what a rotten stink you used to be though.” She reaches across the front desk and pats my hand adding, “I’m proud of the way you turned out.”
Love is a Battlefield (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Book 1) Page 22