Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  My explosion misses her completely. She hums with confirmation then turns for the back door. “Yep, that’s what I thought.”

  I frown. “What?”

  She keeps on walking. “Nothing. You can go back to your dishes now.”

  “Edith!”

  The back door slams behind her, and I throw up my hands in defeat. Jesus, what is with this family?

  * * *

  It’s early evening and I’ve quarantined myself in the shack. It’s just me and the local wildlife I’ve yet to evict. I have a hardback cracked open on my lap, a brand-new thriller I found Edith reading yesterday. Apparently we share the same literary tastes—we sat in the game room chatting about books for a good thirty minutes. When I heard Jack’s office door open, I leapt to my feet. I didn’t want him to catch me slacking on the job; I won’t gift him any ammunition against me. Other than our little blowups, I want to be the best employee he’s ever had. I want my likeness framed above a small plaque that reads: Employee of the Year! That way he won’t have any grounds to fire me.

  He didn’t see me lounging there with his grandmother, and she insisted it didn’t matter anyway. Still, I didn’t want to abuse his trust, so I got back to work, and Edith must have finished the rest of the novel because it was waiting for me on my doorstep earlier.

  It’s great so far, lots of murder and blood—everything a girl needs—but I’m having trouble focusing on it because it’s so damn hot in here. The sun is on its way down for the day, but the air is still humid and stifling. I took an ice-cold shower after work then put on one of Jack’s t-shirts, and instead of knotting it, I’m wearing it like a dress while my jeans hang up to dry. I finally got around to washing them, but this weekend I have plans to go into town and spend a little bit of my advance on some shorts. I can hardly wait.

  I push the window open and stick my face out, hoping for some cool wind, but instead, I’m greeted with stale, warm air. A bead of sweat rolls slowly down my forehead. This is ridiculous. Texas is a sauna. In California, it’s probably a breezy 70 degrees. At this moment, a woman is out with her boyfriend and begging him for his jacket. He’s annoyed she didn’t bring one of her own. I didn’t realize it’d be so cold! Boyfriends in Texas must not have this problem.

  Without another thought, I rip my book off my bed and fling the shack’s door open. I’m aware that Jack’s t-shirt cuts off pretty high on my thighs, but I don’t care. The idea of shoving my legs into wet jeans makes me want to dry heave. Besides, no one’s going to see me in this ensemble anyway. The guys are already gone for the day since ranch work starts early and ends early, and I’m pretty sure I saw Jack’s truck drive off an hour or two ago, so there’s no reason to suffocate myself in the hot tub I call home.

  If there was a pool on the property, I’d jump into it head first. I’d stay there, floating on my back until the sun burns out. As it is, I’m aiming for a hammock nestled under two oak trees behind the house. I spotted it my first day on the ranch, but I haven’t seen anyone use it. It might be a little dirty, but I don’t mind. My hope is that if I really get it swinging, I’ll generate a little air flow to cool me down. If not, I’m marching into Jack’s house and Tetrising my entire body into the freezer. I’ll happily perish beside the frozen peas—just the thought sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine.

  I relish in the feel of the soft grass beneath my bare feet as I make my way across the yard. I decide this is already infinitely better than the shack, right up until I hear a low whistle that says, Hey there, pretty lady.

  My attention snaps to the left, toward the barn, and I freeze mid-step.

  A group of ranch hands are circled around the front of the ancient truck I drove to the grocery store the other day, apparently working on it. Two of them are already staring in my direction—Chris and another boy about his age that I haven’t met yet. Chris’ eyes go wide and then he quickly averts his gaze as if I’m tiptoeing around outside in lingerie instead of a loose t-shirt. The other ranch hand doesn’t look away, and I’d bet money the whistle came from him. He’s focused on my bare legs like they’re two juicy cheeseburgers and he’s starving. The third ranch hand—the one with his head tucked under the hood of the truck—finally steps back and pauses his work. With a start, I realize it’s Jack. He wipes the grease from his hands with a rag and mutters something I can’t hear. Neither of the guys respond. He looks up to find them distracted then follows the gaze of the second man right…to…me. When he finds me standing in the middle of the lawn, my knees nearly buckle.

  I do the only thing I can think of: hold up my book as if to say, Hello kind fellow, nothing to see here, just doing a bit of light reading.

  He scowls, and just like that, the look is completed. It’s the perfect cowboy fantasy I never knew I had: he’s over there working on a farm truck with grease-stained hands, the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow on his chiseled jaw, his dark hair winging out from beneath his backward baseball hat. His t-shirt is stretched tight over his chest and his dark jeans are so worn in, I bet they’re perfectly molded to his thighs. His dark eyes warn me away. In fact, they do more than that. They’re a visual growl, rumbling in the waning light, but I can’t seem to take heed because in that moment, he’s the hottest man I’ve ever seen, and that’s a problem.

  A major problem.

  He catches the ranch hand still focused on me and smacks him in the back of the head, knocking his cowboy hat off. The boy scurries to pick it up and make his apologies, and I use the opportunity to turn tail back toward the shack as fast as possible. My legs move so quick, I break the sound barrier and a random window four miles away shatters as a result.

  Once I’m there, I throw the door closed behind me and start pacing. I get it; it doesn’t look good. He already thinks so little of me—hell, he probably thinks I’m some kind of west coast nudist, forcing my liberalism on these good Christian people.

  There’s a heavy knock on the door a second later, and I curse and squeeze my eyes closed.

  “Meredith,” Jack says, pounding again. “Open up.”

  “No!” I shout back. “I’m busy.”

  “I just saw for a fact that you are not busy.”

  “I’m busy not dealing with this right now!”

  “Bullshit. We need to talk.”

  “Fine!” I groan. “Okay!”

  I reach for the jeans, which are still hanging up to dry, and try to yank them on. I get them up to my knees, but they won’t go any higher; they’re too wet and tight. DID I HAVE TO LEAVE MY HUSBAND IN A PAIR OF SKINNY JEANS!? I hop around, yanking as hard as I can. I’m Ross Geller trying to stuff his sweaty gams into those leather pants, but it’s no use. The jeans won’t budge, and Jack is growing more impatient outside.

  “Meredith!”

  “Just hold on a minute!”

  I lie back on my bed and tug with all my might, and finally the denim starts to work with me. YES YES YES. I zip and button them, leap off the bed, and fling the door open with an angry huff.

  Jack breezes right past me and stomps into the shack so heavily that the fragile walls quake. It’ll be a fitting end, both of us suffocating under the rubble. Just as we’re gasping for our last breaths, I’ll offer to make peace, and very quietly, he’ll whisper back, Go to hell.

  “Yes please,” I mock rudely. “Invite yourself in and make yourself at home.”

  He turns to face me.

  “What the hell was that?” he asks, flinging his arm toward the yard.

  I scowl. “That was an accident. I thought I was alone.”

  “Alone!?” He shakes his head like I’m a certifiable idiot then takes two deliberate steps closer to me. I’m made aware of how small I am by comparison. I have to tip my head back to meet his brown eyes. I’m a child standing at the feet of a giant. “Let me make something perfectly clear: this is a working ranch. You’ll never be alone on this property. Also, you’re a young female employee—correction: the young female employee. It’s hard enough trying
to keep the guys in line, and then you go out there dressed like that!”

  I fist my hands in my damp hair, resisting the urge to scream as I shout up to him. “I get it, okay?! I’m not an idiot. It was an honest mistake and it won’t happen again.” I walk to the door, yank it open, and motion for him to get out. “Now if you’re done yelling at me, I’d like to try to salvage the rest of my evening.”

  He doesn’t budge, and his angry scowl only deepens. His gaze is on his t-shirt. “I thought I told you to stop wearing my clothes.”

  “I plan on it, as soon as I get some of my own.”

  “When’s that gonna be?”

  “This weekend.”

  For a few seconds, neither one of us speaks. In fact, we don’t even breathe. We stand there, staring each other down. His hands are on his hips. There’s a deep line etched between his dark eyebrows, and that line says, You’re more trouble than you’re worth.

  I’m staring up, memorizing every tan contour, when he suddenly breaks. He puffs out a heavy sigh and pinches the front of his shirt so he can tug on it and get a little air down his collar.

  “Shit, it’s hot in here.”

  “See?!”

  I want to wrap my hands around his neck and shake him like a doll, but it would only annoy me more when he wouldn’t budge. Maybe if I throw my whole weight into it like I’m trying to break down a door…

  “That’s why you weren’t wearing any clothes?”

  I purse my lips, unimpressed with his hyperbole. “I was wearing clothes.”

  “Not enough.”

  I roll my eyes and resist the urge to plunk him on the forehead. “I feel like we’re going in circles.”

  He shakes his head and slowly spins, taking in the shack with fresh eyes. I wonder what he thinks of it now that I’ve been here for a few days. My clothes are hanging on a line near the window. My cream-colored lacy bra flutters beside his t-shirts and I blush, resisting the urge to yank it down. If he notices it, he doesn’t say anything. His gaze sweeps over to the twin bed and then down to the floor.

  It’s no Taj Mahal, but all things considered, it’s a hell of a lot cleaner than it was when I found it. I have plans to purchase a few necessities, like a lamp and a rug, this weekend—that is, if my budget extends that far. I’m hoarding most of my advance, so unless the going rate for a rug is a few dollars and a winning smile, chances are I’ll be going without.

  “I’m getting you an A/C unit this weekend,” he declares suddenly.

  My face is a mask of indifference. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing my excitement before he breaks and admits he’s kidding.

  He doesn’t notice my resolve, too busy staring down at the floor. “And I’ll have Chris and Daniel come in here and repair these floorboards. Could have them do it Monday while you’re working so they aren’t in your hair.”

  I nod very, very slowly. My mouth is hanging open so wide at this point that I’m bound to catch a fly.

  “After that, we’ll see about fixing the walls.”

  At that, he turns for the open door, apparently finished with me for the time being.

  Wait…

  “Was that all a joke?!” I burst out after him. “Honestly, if this is another one of your weird mind games, I don’t want any part of it!”

  He doesn’t even bother acknowledging me, just keeps on walking, which I think means he was serious.

  I can hardly believe it.

  Soon, I will have cold, air-conditioned air blasting my face like I’m some kind of queen. I think I could cry. On second thought, it’s still too hot to cry—I have to stay as hydrated as possible until I get that A/C unit.

  * * *

  Friday flies by and before I know it, it’s close to quitting time. I’m about to experience my very first weekend of freedom here in Cedar Creek. I’m so excited, I don’t even get annoyed when Jack tells me he has a girl coming into town for a visit. Christine. He gives me zero details about her. In fact, I’m pretty sure he only brought her up so he could make sure I put extra towels in the master bathroom. I’m disappointed in his lack of gossip. Are they dating? Friends? Lovers? More? Luckily, Edith has no qualms about filling me in. We sit at the kitchen table during my break, sipping coffee and talking while Jack is out with the ranch hands doing all manner of manly things, I’m sure. (Earlier in the morning, I saw him carrying a rope—an actual ROPE! I always thought those were more for show. Anyway, at the sight of it, my recently kindled cowboy fantasies may or may not have ramped up tenfold.)

  I get the following information about Christine from Edith: she’s a “city girl” like me, though she used to live in Cedar Creek and went to the same high school as Jack. They didn’t date back then—I asked. Also of note, Jack was valedictorian of his graduating class. I didn’t ask about this, Edith just offers the tidbit up like any proud grandmother would. She also offers up the fact that he had a dozen girls chasing after him on any given day. Also, he was the starting pitcher for varsity baseball. She’d probably keep on rambling about him all day, but I pull her back to the topic at hand.

  “But are they dating now?”

  “Right, yeah…well,” she continues, “Christine lives out in San Antonio and has some fancy fashion job.”

  This piques my interest, but when I ask for details, Edith drops the ball.

  “I don’t know what she does,” she replies, waving away my question like it bores her. “Looks at clothes, dresses mannequins—something like that.”

  She goes on to say that Christine used to be sort of sweet, but in the last few years, she’s changed. Edith’s direct quote is that Christine’s “got her nose so high in the air, she’d drown in a rainstorm.” I’d ask her what that means, but she leans in close and whispers, “I think she’s overcompensating for growing up in the trailer park across town with her mama.”

  My stomach twists and suddenly, I feel bad for contributing to gossip about this woman I don’t even know. “Edith!”

  “It’s the truth!”

  I shake my head. “She might be ‘high falutin’, as you called her, but if she makes Jack happy—”

  “She doesn’t.”

  “Well if she’s good for him—”

  “She isn’t.”

  “Sheesh, remind me never to get on your bad side.”

  “Where do you think Jack gets his?”

  She stands up and carries both of our coffee cups over to the sink even though I was only half finished with mine.

  “I’m not trying to be mean,” Edith says, clearly hurt.

  “I know. It’s just…I know how it feels to be the subject of…rumors.”

  She turns then and smiles warmly, her blue eyes twinkling. “See that? You try not to see the bad in people. You’re already nicer than she is. Prettier too.”

  I throw my hands up and get back to work, though I can’t help but think about Christine. It’s not my business what (or who) Jack does in his spare time, and I definitely don’t care about the type of women he invites to sleep over. Who cares if she’s stuck up or hoity toity? You know what I care about? Whether or not she cleans up after herself. That’s all. I hope she puts the used towels in the dirty clothes hamper and loads her dishes in the dishwasher when she’s done with them. She can be as mean as she wants as long as she doesn’t make my job harder come Monday morning.

  Still, I am a little bit curious about her. Call it boredom, but I’ve been imagining what she’ll be like all day, and I nearly jump for joy when I hear a car pull up out on the gravel drive.

  “Christine’s here!” Edith calls from the living room.

  I’m moving clothes from the washer to the dryer when the front door opens and she strolls in. I’m so anxious to see her that I stuff everything in as quick as I can and dash into the kitchen just as Jack greets her in the front hall. They hug instead of kiss, which I find interesting. Christine seems distant, offering Edith a polite nod, but nothing more. They obviously have bad blood.

  She’s bea
utiful—though, I obviously expected nothing less. Her light blonde hair is cropped short near her chin. She’s wearing a white dress and sandals that tie up around her ankles. Dainty gold necklaces are layered around her neck, and I’m immediately envious of how put-together she looks. It’s been easy to forget about comparing myself to other women when the only one I’ve seen for a week is more than twice my age.

  I’m still staring at her outfit when she rolls her suitcase into the room, bringing a trail of mud along with it. Dammit. I just mopped that floor this morning. The farther into the house she goes, the messier it gets.

  “Oh, oh! Hold on, looks like you have something on your wheels.”

  I rush forward with a rag I grabbed from the kitchen counter and make quick work of the mud. When I finish, I push off my knees to stand and smile. There, no more mud streaking my wood floors.

  All three of them are staring at me like I’m crazy.

  “Meredith, aren’t you off the clock?” Edith quips.

  I point back to the kitchen. “I was just finishing up some laundry, didn’t want to leave it in the washer all weekend.”

  “Laundry?” Christine frowns, glancing from me to Jack and then back again. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  She’s looking at me like I don’t belong. It’s the exact same look I give the fauna in the shack, but it doesn’t faze them. If anything, they’ve invited even more of their friends. Come on! Tell Jerry and the other spiders we’re throwing a barbecue later! Yup, havin’ flies again!

  “Meredith is helping out around the house for a little while,” Jack explains simply.

  Christine isn’t satisfied, so I smile and hold out my clean hand. “I’m the new housekeeper. Pleased to meet you.”