Seven Books for Seven Lovers

by Molly Harper, Stephanie Haefner, Liora Blake, Gabra Zackman, Andrea Laurence, Colette Auclair

  “Hey, Sugar Ray. Over here.” I motion for him to follow me to the coop, where I grab a bag of chicken feed from a shed. “You can feed the chickens. Just take some and spread it around on the ground. Sprinkle it in this general area.” I wave my hands around me in a semicircle. He tracks my gesture and trains his eyes on the area I’ve specified.

  “Got it. I can totally handle that.” Grabbing the bag from me with the kind of self-assured bravado of a man who rarely makes a fool of himself, Trevor swaggers over and starts to work.

  I walk away and start to gather eggs, knowing what will happen in the next few minutes. There are few things as comical as watching an outsider try to act like a rural native. Without fail, they will make a spectacle of themselves. It’s wrong to laugh at them, I know, but we do enjoy the show. I’m sure there are things that city folk love to watch us bumble through, like deciphering the difference between sushi and sashimi. In the end, it’s all bait to us.

  Sure enough, it only takes a couple of minutes before the full lot of chickens are out, digging into the feed. After only a few minutes, I heard a faltering voice over the din of the greedy chickens.

  “Katie? Should they be out here while I’m trying to do this? All of them?”

  I hear him jumping around, dirt kicking into the air while he tries to find a safe spot to stand. Calling out to him, I try not to laugh. “They won’t hurt you. They’re just hungry.”

  I crane my head out around the coop, watching him jump away like a little kid, and let him wallow in it for a few more minutes while I finish gathering another batch of eggs. Once I have my fill, I give him a reprieve and tell him to put the feed away. Relieved, Trevor starts to walk toward the shed, looking back over his shoulder at the chickens, like the mob is tailing him. When he ambles back out, a safe distance from those pesky chickens, I’m loading bales of hay into the back of the truck.

  Trevor watches me put a second bale into the truck bed. “How in the hell can you carry that? It probably weighs as much as you do.”

  I shrug my shoulders and continue loading bales. “You get used to it, I guess. The bales are more awkward than anything.” Heaving another in, I jump into the bed to move them back to make room for the rest. “Are you going to help me or just stand there looking cute? I gave you those gloves for a reason. Not just to protect your manicure, either.” I pull my hands to my hips and grin.

  “Don’t tempt me to come up there and shut that smart mouth of yours. You may look like a tough, sexy ranch hand right now, but I can still catch you whenever I want.”

  Trevor grabs a bale and then another and another, all in quick succession without breaking even a bit of a sweat. If I didn’t enjoying watching it so much, I would have boxed him on the ears for being such a show-off.

  Once the bales are set in the bed properly, I jump out over the side and whistle for Toby, who promptly leaps in the bed and perches himself on top of a hay bale. I start the truck, wait for Trevor to get in, then drive slowly over a furrowed two-track that runs along the east side of the ranch. Surveying the land out the passenger window, Trevor lets out a small, fascinated exhale.

  “It’s so empty out here. I mean, you can’t see a single freaking building from here.”

  “Is it too much? Some people get kind of overwhelmed by the vastness of it.”

  “It’s nice, I guess. I just didn’t think this kind of stuff existed anymore. I wouldn’t be surprised if John fucking Wayne came riding up on a horse.”

  “Imagine how I feel in the city. You can’t see anything beyond the buildings in front of you. That’s weird if you ask me.”

  “So I couldn’t convince you to move to LA with me?”

  Trevor turns away from the landscape to face me, grinning, with one arm propped out the open window and his fingers dancing in the breeze. The sun is framing him in the finest way. I refrain from asking if he’s serious, even though I want to. Instead, I just roll my eyes and let a smile creep across my face.

  “That would take a whole lot of convincing. And cronuts.”

  The two-track starts to become indistinguishable from the thick prairie grasses covering the gentle hillside as I follow a vague path of Tom’s up a small rise. When we roll over the top, two hundred head of cattle stand before us in a small valley covered with swaying grasses.

  Trevor lets out a breath. “Holy shit. That’s a lot of cows.” His mouth hangs open. “They didn’t have that many at the petting zoo.”

  No matter how many times I’ve crested this hill, it always makes me stop and gape. The sloped prairie where the cattle graze in the summer is beyond beautiful, bracketed by the Bitterroot Mountains in the background. Like a wish you were here postcard for everything pristine, untouched, and raw, this valley inevitably makes my throat clench and my heart feel like it’s grown three sizes.

  I move forward slowly and a spot place to drop the first bale, edging around the cows carefully. Before I can fully stop the truck, Toby leaps out and starts running like he is rabid. Trevor helps me drop the rest, spreading them out amongst the herd.

  After we set out the last bale, I grab some water from the truck and sit down on the tailgate for a quick break. Trevor is standing at the front of the truck, his hands propped behind his head, gazing at the pasture. If he weren’t in the middle of nowhere, I would have thought he was being arrested, based on how he’s standing. Alas, he looks a little too familiar with the stance.

  Slowly, he wanders around the truck, grazing his gloved hand across the top of the bed, and takes a seat next to me. After he wipes sweat from his face with the bottom of his shirt, I hand him the water and lean back on my palms, enjoying a very slight breeze that has come along. The only thing to break the silence is Toby, bolting out from the far side of the herd and leaping into the back of the truck with his nails skittering across the bed. He flops down behind me and I run my hand over the top of his head, rubbing his warm ears and ruffling his coat.

  Eventually we leave the pasture and head back to the main house, still relishing the tranquility of a hot afternoon. When I pull the truck to a stop, Toby bails out and crawls under the front porch of the house where it is cool and damp. As we amble back to the barn, from the way his gait has slowed, it’s clear I’ve finally gotten Trevor a bit worn-out. I grab his hand and lead him back to the truck, taking his work gloves and dropping them behind the seat.

  “Are we done?” Trevor slumps into the passenger side of the bench seat and throws his arm over the back of it, letting his head lean against the back glass.

  “Yes, princess. We’re done.”

  “You better be careful, calling me names like that. I wouldn’t hesitate to drag you out and bend you over that tailgate, just to prove a point.”

  “I’m sure I could handle it.”

  He opens his eyes a sliver to look at me. All the fatigue fades from his expression and he leans forward a bit.

  “I’d love to see you try.”

  I am just about to turn the key in the ignition, but when he turns those glittering hazel eyes on me, full of urging provocation, I suddenly imagine having everything with him. Not just this part, where he’s making me feel unbelievably sexy despite the dirt and sweat covering me, but the rest of it, too. When he’s wearing work gloves, letting chickens scare the hell out of him, and trying to make a place in my world. When he’s doing something as mundane as pushing our grocery cart through the A&P parking lot, while still holding my hand. My chest hurts at the idea of it, a twisting ache that feels like I’m making room for him. Even if that means I might have to let the sadness that resides in the heavy shadows of my heart finally fall away.

  We grill steaks for dinner, and I show Trevor how to start a fire in the outdoor pit using the age-old Girl Scout teepee setup with firewood and kindling. Shocker, he was apparently never a Cub Scout. I picture him as a little kid for a second, imagining the kind of boy who might like setting things on fire a bit too much.

  After dinner, I rummage up marshmallows, gr
aham crackers, and chocolate. Trevor has never eaten a s’more, and I insist it will be my version of a cronut experience. OK, maybe it isn’t quite that good, but we laugh and lick the messy melted strings of sugar off each other’s sticky fingers. Marshmallows never tasted so good as off his fingertips. So much for thinking about s’mores as anything but vaguely dirty again.

  As the sky starts to darken and the air cools around us, we head inside the house and I pour two glasses of wine. Trevor falls into the couch and pats the spot next to him. Curling up there, I lay my head on his shoulder.

  “Do you miss him?”

  Trevor gestures to a picture of James and me on the side table. We’re smiling and crammed into the photo, our faces pressed against each other as James holds the camera out and away to capture us. I wonder if the photo bothers Trevor, if it’s weird for him to see me with another man, happy and glowing.

  “Almost every day.”

  “Almost?”

  “It’s different now. There were weeks where I couldn’t get out of bed, because all I could think about was how he was dead, how fucked up everything was, how it was all my fault. Eventually I started allowing other things in my life again. It wasn’t easy, but the really hard stuff isn’t what people think. It’s the little things. Once I started crying in the grocery store because I grabbed chunky peanut butter off the shelf, which I hate, but James loved. Those are the worst, because they come out of nowhere.”

  Staring at the picture, I decide to let myself say whatever I want to, without hesitation. It feels like it’s time to let him in on this part.

  “Now I’m just more distracted, I guess. I just don’t have him at the front of my mind all the time anymore.”

  Trevor looks at me for a beat, then his gaze shifts back to the photo.

  “Am I a distraction?”

  “No. A couple of years ago, yeah, you probably would have been a distraction. But not now. Not you.”

  I pull my eyes back and stand to top off our wineglasses. Standing in front of Trevor, I lean over to the side table to refill his glass. He puts his hands on either side of my hips, and then drags them down to my thighs, teasing around the hem of the soft, pretty blue skirt I put on. He looks up at me with a stone face. I put the bottle down and run my hands over his head, strumming my fingers over his scalp.

  “I want to be with you, Kate, one hundred percent. I want to take care of you.” His head drops and I gingerly scratch the back of his neck. Raising his head again, he whispers, “Would you ever let me do that?”

  I back off and stand up, stretch out my hand and gesture toward the bedroom. Trevor walks close behind me, his hands on my hips, nestling his face in my hair and I place my hands over his, threading our fingers together.

  Standing in the middle of the bedroom, Trevor clasps my head in his hands and kisses across a hundred places on my face, then leans back and I can see his jaw clenching slightly.

  “This isn’t a joke to you, right?”

  “What?”

  “You’re not just with me because I’m Trax? I need to know you want me. Trevor.”

  The question throws me, wondering what I’ve done to crush his usual bravado.

  “I want you.” I poke him in the chest with my index finger. “I don’t even like that other guy; he’s scary. Just you.”

  “You never answered my question.”

  “What?”

  Moving the hair back from my face, he rests his hands at either side of my neck, holding me in place gently.

  “Would you ever let me take care of you?”

  I can’t look at him. Three hours ago, I imagined everything with him, and now he’s asking if he can give that to me. But the reality of saying yes to everything is so much harder than dabbling in the whimsical fantasy of it. Blood is pounding in my ears, and I think I might faint. My face feels cold, clammy. All I can give him is one word.

  “Maybe.”

  His face drops infinitesimally, but he covers it quickly with a half smile.

  “I’ll take that for now.”

  Then he picks me up and sets me down on the bed. Pushing up the skirt to my waist, he crawls between my knees and gives me a sexy grin.

  “Why don’t we practice? Let me show you how I can take care of you.”

  With that, he drops his head between my legs and I let him take care of every single longing that moves through my body.

  16

  In the morning, I wake to Trevor stretched across the bed again, hogging far more than his share. So much for all that taking-care-of-me baloney. It appears that doesn’t apply when it comes to sharing the bed, where it’s all about him and his smothering limbs.

  When he wakes and wanders off to shower, I study the contents of the refrigerator so that we might eat and feed our bodies in a way that doesn’t involve nakedness. I start a pan to heat on the stove, slice a couple of bagels, and prop them in the toaster. Cracking eggs into a bowl, I hear the front door open just as I throw the eggshells into the trash.

  “Kate? Are you here?”

  I stop in my tracks, motionless for a split second, my eyes widening. Shit. Lacey. I back out of the kitchen, hoping I’m hearing things due to some kind of orgasmic aftershock.

  “Lacey?”

  My perky sister trots into the kitchen, fresh-faced and completely oblivious that her voice has just burst the fantasy bubble I’ve existed in for the last three days.

  “Where have you been? Herm said you took the week off. What’s going on?” Lacey fluffs her hair with her fingers and peers around the kitchen quizzically.

  “Sharon and Tom are out of town and I told them I would keep after their place, so I decided to take some time off while I was at it.”

  “Why aren’t you dressed yet? It’s ten o’clock. Are you sick?” She steps back from me a few feet, and I consider that playing off my sister’s raging hypochondria and germ phobia might be the best way to stop this freight train from careening off the tracks into a fiery explosion.

  “Maybe a little. Not sure what it is. I’ve spent a lot of time in bed the last few days.”

  This isn’t a complete lie. It’s what my dad used to call an “effective lie.” The kind of lie you tell to save someone’s feelings, or in this case, to save yourself from having to explain the naked man in your bedroom.

  “Well, I wanted to make sure you were still alive. I haven’t heard from you in a week.” Shrugging her shoulders, Lacey points at the breakfast prep in the kitchen. “You can’t be that sick. Quite a spread you have there.”

  Lacey starts to take her jacket off, because apparently she’s ready to dig in and have a family breakfast together. I have to get her out of here—now. Why would she pick today, out of every other day, to decide we should do brunch? Next, she’ll want to make friendship bracelets and get a mani-pedi together.

  “Lace, you can’t stay.” I grab her jacket and shove it toward her.

  “What? Why? Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just not in the mood for company right now. Don’t you have to work today anyway?” I steer her toward the door, lowering my voice so Trevor doesn’t hear and decide to get curious.

  “Not until two. I traded shifts with Sandi so she could go to her kid’s soccer game.” Lacey stumbles a bit, her foot catching against the errant edge of an area rug.

  “Katie?” Trevor’s voice emerges from the bedroom and I close my eyes, enjoying a drop of remaining peace before that freight train I’m imagining does its fiery-crash thing. I can practically hear the bloodcurdling screams of innocent townspeople in my head.

  Lacey halts and raises her hand up in a gesture to silence me, looking out the corners of her eyes toward the hallway leading to the bedroom. Before I can fake a heart attack or something to distract her, Trevor is standing there, still a little wet from the shower, with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Thank God he at least has a towel on.

  “Baby, do you have any more—oh, hi.” Trevor gives Lacey a small wave and then loo
ks at me with his eyes big.

  “Hi.” Lacey manages to strangle out the tiny word, but her voice is the quietest I’ve ever heard it. I drop my shoulders in resignation and flail my hand between them.

  “Trevor, this is my sister, Lacey. Lacey, this is Trevor.”

  “Nice to meet you. Sorry I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion. Just got out of the shower.” Trevor points to the bathroom and looks back toward it like he wishes a time machine would appear.

  “Uh-huh. Nice to meet you, too.” Lacey’s jaw is gaping and I see her take a labored breath, then swallow. Her eyes rake over his body and I can’t blame her for staring a little longer than would be considered socially appropriate. Besides, “appropriate” left the room when Trevor sauntered in looking like an ad for a very manly scented body wash.

  “Well, it’s great you two could meet and all, but Lacey was just on her way out. She has to be at work soon—don’t want to be late, right?”

  I give her a restrained kidney punch that is sufficient enough to get her moving forward again. Toward the door, where she belongs. Anywhere but here, in this room with a half-naked Trevor.

  “I don’t have to be there for another four hours.”

  “Still. Long drive, wide-open spaces of Montana and all. Who knows how the traffic will be today? Can’t take any risks.”

  I almost have her out the door, when Trevor calls out to me. “Katie?”

  When I turn back to him, he mouths the word “sorry” and grips the towel to ensure it doesn’t fall open. If Lacey saw the rest of him, all those perfect bits, she would probably die. Again, totally understandable, but then I might have to step over her body to get to him.

  “Do you have any more toothpaste? We’re almost out.”

  “Under the sink, right-hand side.”

  Lacey continues out the door, and when we make it to the porch, I’m exhausted because it seems like we’ve been stuck in the house having that awkward conversation for hours. I stop at the edge of the porch and pray Lacey will just walk away. Not likely, but a girl can dream.