Baby Fever

by Landish, Lauren

  Well, Brody has been because I don’t usually go into town for that since he’s already there selling our family farm’s produce. But Brody sells my soaps almost as fast as I can make them, which is why I’m expanding.

  I like to picture my pretty soaps going from my little slice of dirt, to the resort, to the world. Not for some global takeover because I don’t have dreams of being a big dog in the specialty soap marketplace, but that even if I’m stuck here, some little piece of me can go . . . somewhere, anywhere, everywhere.

  “Brody Tannen, are you suggesting that I will mess this up? Let’s review . . .who’s more likely to appropriately handle a bit of public handshaking and salesmanship? I’ll give you a hint, it sure as rain ain’t you unless grunts and dirt are the angle you think we should go for?” I challenge him. “Further, who has handled every one of our contracts and financial affairs since the day she turned thirteen? Unless you or Daddy suddenly dropped your balls in favor of ovaries, it’s been me.”

  Brody winces at my crass language, but he knows I’m right. I might be trapped in this house, on this farm, looking after my Daddy and three brothers, but I’m an important part in this machine we call a family. Even if they sometimes forget it and I have to get a little loud with my reminders.

  Well, either that or I slip the tiniest sliver of Ex-lax in their chocolate chip cookies. Just enough to keep them regular, you know? A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to keep her menfolk in line.

  “Fine, I’ll leave you to it then. But, for real, call me if you need anything, Shay.” His voice is softer, kinder this time. And there it is, the gooey heart center of my rough-and-tumble, more likely to fight than talk, eldest brother. I’m closer to him than I am to either of my other brothers, mostly because while I run the house, Brody is in charge of running the thousand acres we own.

  He mostly cares for the critters, as he likes to call them. The herd of cows, the barn full of horses, my goats, a flock of chickens, a few herding dogs and mouser cats, and a partridge in a pear tree. Okay, not that last one, but I tried one Christmas when I was little. Mama had said no, and I’d pouted a good fit, but I’d gotten over it when I’d gotten a kitten instead. ‘A working animal’ my Daddy had called it, but Brody and me had turned it into a lap-sitting pet with milk and catnip. Meow-ser never caught a single mouse in his too-short life.

  That’s Brody though, all venomous spikes outside and honey-flavored caramel inside. Not that he’d let anyone but me see that.

  “I will, Brody. I promise. And remember, I’m hanging with Sophie tonight. Dinner’s already in the crock pot, so you boys will just have to spoon the stew into bowls when you’re ready.”

  “And dessert?” he asks, his sweet tooth known far and wide.

  “Cobbler in the fridge, ice cream in the freezer,” I say, mentally making sure that I’ve done my list of chores before I head out.

  Bills are paid, bank statements checked, floors cleaned, bathrooms scrubbed--no small feat with four men--and dinner cooked. Check, check, and checkity check-check. Shayanne out, finally!

  “Okay, be good, girl. Or don’t get caught being bad.” He grins wolfishly, likely thinking there’s no way I’d get myself into any trouble. I’m a good girl, except for this mouth. But that’s mostly the boys’ fault anyway, they’ve all had their hand in showing me how to cuss creatively.

  That’s me in a nutshell anyways. Though I might be female, my tight circle of family is all male and has left me decidedly . . .not-feminine? In virtually any way. Thank God for Sophie, my best friend and the girliest girl I know. Not to say that she doesn’t get down and dirty with the best of us, especially when her vet job requires it, but she’s got a fancy-schmancy spa-loving side to her too and I’ve been converted to the joys of foot soaks and face masks.

  “As long as Daddy don’t catch me, I’ll be just fine,” I volley back, though it’s the God’s honest truth.

  “Shayanne,” Brody warns.

  “What? Not like I’m gonna climb on the tables at Hank’s and start shaking my moneymaker. And even if I did, whatcha gonna do about it?” I grin big and wide, hands on my hips as I give a little shimmy shake, daring him to say that he’d tattle on me because we both know he won’t.

  Once upon a time, he would’ve been running to Daddy faster than a kerosene fire lighting up. Back when we’d all thought Daddy was a good man, an honorable one that we could look up to with pride and respect.

  But that changed a while back. It’s not so much the Tannens against the world, but us ‘kids’ against Daddy and the world. At this point, Brody and me mostly work together to make sure our father isn’t getting us into any financial trouble with his gambling and big mouth.

  I get the irony of me saying he has a big mouth when I’m sassy as fuck, but my mouthiness is cute and crazy. Daddy’s is dangerous and daringly dumb.

  “Maybe I need to come with you,” Brody hedges. But he’s already rising from the kitchen table, moving to put his lunch plate in the dishwasher because I trained my big brother right. Thankfully, he means to dinner, not the business meeting since we’ve apparently moved on from that part of my plans for today.

  “You ain’t coming and you dang well know I ain’t dancing on tables. So do your job, and let me do mine. And we’ll both blow off some steam so we can do it all again tomorrow.” He narrows his eyes, swallowing like he’s tasting the air to see if I’m lying to him. I shove at his wide shoulders, “Now, get. I’ll be late. Don’t wait up.”

  He grunts which sounds like an agreement, but he’ll wait up anyways. He’s protective in a sweet and smothering way. But he goes outside, grabbing his hat on the way and smashing it down on his head. I wait one beat, then two, waiting for his constant humming to start and then I’m hustling my fine ass upstairs to get ready.

  A quick brush through my hair and then I pull it into a ponytail at the nape of my neck. Looking in the mirror, I pull it tight, making it as perky as possible. Sophie calls it ‘bronde’, not quite blonde, not quite brown, but somewhere in between. I call it blah, but what I lack in pretty color is made up for with thick waves that even corralled in a band, wind down my back to below my bra strap.

  Some mascara that Sophie showed me how to use and some tinted lip balm, and I’m ready, or as ready as I’m going to be. I’ve got my cleanest jeans on, my freshest boots, and a button up shirt tucked in behind my braided leather belt. In short, I look like a country girl, which is exactly what I am.

  I toss a pair of denim shorts into my bag for my night at Hank’s with Sophie and I’m out like trout. I clomp down the stairs like a herd of cattle and let the screen door slam behind me. A quick peek in the passenger seat tells me that one of the boys thankfully loaded up my boxes of soap, and I’m ready.

  A cloud of dust stirs up behind me as I pull out of the grass and onto the path to the front gate. I hold my breath, not even realizing I’m doing it until I hit asphalt and it whooshes out like freedom.

  I press the gas pedal to the floor, like there are demons chasing me but it’s not Satan’s goons out, it’s responsibilities and expectations, this role I play in my family. One I’m proud to have, but one that keeps me chained to a plot of land I could ride in a day. One that doesn’t have the whimsy and unexpectedness of ‘out there’.

  “Whooooo” a hoot of exuberant joy escapes my mouth, but really it’s from my soul as the wind rushes in through the open windows, tearing wisps of hair from my ponytail to whip them around. Each lash is a welcome reminder that I’m floating on the wind, buoyed by the sunshine, free to chase forever with home in my rearview mirror. If only for today.

  * * *

  “Oh my god, tell me all about it,” Sophie squeals from across the table, clapping her hands and from beneath the table, I hear her heeled booties stomping.

  I grin, excited to have something different to share today than my usual farm life update. Not that Sophie’s ever minded my chatter about goats since she’s an animal lover herself.

&n
bsp; I squirm in my seat, the vinyl making an awkward peeling sound against the bare flesh of my thighs. After my meeting at the resort, I’d changed at Sophie’s and she’d helped me add a bit of smokiness to my barely-there makeup. I feel a bit like a rhinestone cowgirl now, but knowing that I could outride, outrope, and outshoot most of the guys in this room helps me relax into the sexier-than-I’m-used-to getup.

  “They were so nice, excited even to carry my soaps. She read each and every label, set them up in a prime location right inside the door and let me leave a bowl of sample slivers in the lobby restrooms with a sign that Tannen Goat Soap is for sale in the gift shop.” I freeze, the full weight of the awesomeness hitting me at once. My jaw drops open and my hands lift to cover it as my eyebrows shoot high.

  “Oh my Chee-sus and crackers, Soph! I’m doing it!”

  She grins, truly happy for me. She should be, especially since this whole thing was her idea. When we met, I was just excited to have another girl to talk to, and had hoped for a friend for the summer while she was here. But she fell in love with a local boy and stayed. She was the one that suggested I sell my soaps other places besides the market, and here I am . . . actually doing it!

  “I’m not only a domestic goddess of the farm species. I’m an entrepreneur!” I proclaim, proud of both titles.

  “You sure are!” She does a happy dance in her seat, that I copy until a deep chuckle comes from beside the table.

  “I take it this means the meeting went well?”

  I look up to see James, Sophie’s husband standing beside the table. He’s a tall drink of water, a little thicker these days since he’s not keeping lean for the rodeo, and hopelessly smitten with Sophie. Which is only fair because that girl is ass over tea kettle for James too. They’d be sickening if they weren’t so adorable.

  I don’t answer in words, just squeal and nod.

  He smiles back, turning over his shoulder to call out to Hank. “Round of ‘special’ strawberry margaritas for the girls and a draft for me, please.” Hank nods but points a gnarled old finger at me, so I know I’ll be getting that ‘special’ version too. One sans alcohol.

  It makes sense for Sophie since she’s five months pregnant, but for me too?

  Come on, twenty-first birthday! It’s literally weeks away and at home, I have beer and wine coolers when I want, and the good lord and Sherriff Downs know I’ve had more than my fair share at pasture parties. All of which Hank damn well knows. But he, nor I, will risk his liquor license and the only honkytonk in town for me to get a little Jose Cuervo in my margarita.

  Seconds later, the waitress drops off our celebratory drinks, ours with paper umbrellas and James’ in a frosty mug. We raise our glasses, toasting my victory.

  “To the goats,” I say, my cheeks pinkening with joy.

  “To dreams coming true,” Sophie says back, always one for pretty words.

  “To the goat soap girl,” James answers, laughing like he said something hilarious as he winks at me.

  “Not the worst thing I’ve been called,” I singsong back as we clink glasses and take sips of our respective drinks.

  “Did you order yet?” James asks Sophie as we set our drinks down. At her nod, he guesses correctly, “Special of the day?”

  “Ham steak, potato salad, green beans, and a roll,” I say, a worry trying to worm its way into my head about the guys back home feeding themselves tonight. It’s not that they can’t, or don’t do it when they need to, but it’s part of my daily checklist and even though I know they’re fine and full of beef stew, I love them and worry they’ll get enough after a long day of work.

  Because make no mistake, I might work hard keeping the house running, but they work just as hard, sometimes even harder, keeping the farm and ranch running. It takes us all together.

  But I fight the urge to text our group chat to make sure they ate. They’re grown men, they don’t need me checking up on them. Besides, it’s a chance for me to lead by example. If I leave them alone, maybe they’ll occasionally leave me alone too. Let me have a bit of wild child freedom tonight.

  In my hometown. In a bar where the bartender remembers me in diapers. In a room full of people I’ve known my whole life. Sitting at a table with my literal next-door neighbor.

  Some rebel I am.

  But I only let a single bite of bitterness chase the margarita down, determined to celebrate tonight.

  And I do . . . chowing down on delicious food I didn’t make and burning it off by dancing with every cowboy that’ll spin me around the floor.

  I might not be the rebel they write books about, but I’m a good country girl and no one sits out when the jukebox plays the Cotton-Eyed Joe.

  I let the music take me away, kicking my worries to the curb, two-stepping away from the chains of rules I’m expected to follow, and celebrating that today, I took a chance and it paid off big-time. James might’ve thought he was being funny, but I’m damn sure glad to wear that crown today . . .

  “Goat Soap Girl” I whisper to myself, almost needing to pinch my arm at the dream come true.

  Luke

  A huge sigh works its way free when I see the lights of Great Falls.

  Home. Finally.

  But with as late as it is, I need to eat dinner before crashing into bed. It’s not like anyone’s expecting me at home anyways. I come and go as I please, my brothers and me, and an occasional seasonal ranch-hand, working the family ranch.

  As long as I’m there for chores bright and early in the morning, no one gives a shit what time I roll into town tonight.

  So I pull into the parking lot at Hank’s, ready for a bite to eat, a cold beer, and a minute to relax. But damn, the lot’s full. And as I go inside, the loud music and chatter of the crowd greets me. So much for relaxing. What day is it anyways?

  I glance up at the specials board to see that it’s Friday. Huh, I would’ve guessed Wednesday at most, but the days on the road are long and seemingly endless so it’s no surprise I lost track.

  I sit down at the bar and Hank, the old guy saunters over. If you didn’t know better, you’d think his hip-swinging gait was from years of horseback riding, but I know his secret that his ambling walk is from a bum hip that acts up sometimes. But he doesn’t tell that story to many folks, so I don’t share it either.

  “Usual?” he asks, his hands drying a freshly-washed glass with a white towel.

  At my nod, he leans in, “Your brother’s over there. Not sure if that makes you wanna go over or leave, but there ya go.”

  My lips tilt up, appreciating the warning but I’ve got no bad blood with my brothers; we get along well besides the usual alpha male shit from our teens. It was well established then, and continues to be the case now, that my older brother, Mark, is the boss of us all. Now that he’s the stand-in for Pops too, he’s even more the leader of the Bennett family. The only one with a hope and a prayer of making Mark do something he doesn’t want to is Mama. Or maybe his girl, Katelyn?

  But it’s not Mark I see when I glance over my shoulder. It’s my younger brother James and his new wife, Sophie. She’s feeding him bits of her roll and he’s sucking at her fingers like it’s damn near foreplay in the middle of Hank’s.

  Never one to miss out on giving James shit, I tilt my head towards James’ table to let Hank know I’m moving over. He smirks knowingly, but trusting that us Bennett boys won’t get too far gone. We’re a little crazy, my youngest brother most of all, but we’re not troublemakers.

  I slide into the round booth, sneaking up to lean in close to Sophie’s other side. “Now what’s a nice lady like you doing with a degenerate like this?”

  James sputters for a half-beat, bowing up instantly before seeing that it’s me and settling. Slightly. “Fucker, can’t you see you’re interrupting here?” he growls, but Sophie’s already got a hand on his arm, encouraging him to stand down with a sweet smile.

  I chuckle, pointing at him. “And that’s the point. You think Mama’s gonna be happy to
hear about you and Soph mauling each other in the middle of Hank’s?”

  He bites his lip, looking at Sophie like she’s a steak and he’s a starving man. “I ain’t mauling her . . . yet. Just politely nibbling as she shares her dinner with me.” He’s got sex dripping from every rumbled word, and I don’t need to hear that shit from my brother. Hell, I hear enough when they visit the pond out on the ranch. Sophie ain’t . . . quiet.

  So I poke and tease, the way brothers do. “Oh, just sharing dinner you say? Then you won’t mind if she shares a bit of her biscuit with me too?”

  Sophie is on to our brotherly games by now and holds out a bite for me, barely restraining her laughter. I chomp it from her hand, making sure to not get too personal and touch her with my teeth or lips, but it still devils the shit out of my brother, who’s watching with fire in his eyes though we all know I’m just joking around.

  “You leave her biscuit to me, Luke.”

  I laugh, chewing open-mouthed just to drive home the point that I already got a bite of her biscuit, even if it’s not the one he’s mouthing about.

  I sit back up straight, no longer invading Sophie’s space, but still preening at getting one over on James. I can’t help it, he’s too easy, and Sophie’s so easy-going. It’s why their playfulness works I guess, not that I’d know anything about what a relationship takes since my grand total of serious relationships is zero.

  Casual? Okay. Short term? Sure thing. No strings? I’m your man. Because I’m gone next week anyways.

  Not that I’m leaving a trail of women everywhere I go.

  No, most trips I take, it’s me and a couple of old cowboys watching and praying our work takes and another generation of racehorse is born. For a guy who spends the bulk of his time on procreation, I do very little of it myself.