by Brill Harper
“Well, it’s not their fault either. I’m not the same man they knew.” Something about the way he looks at me makes my heart do a little flip. “On the bright side, I do have nice hands, though.”
My cheeks flame out. “You like teasing me.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to tease a pretty girl.”
“Now I know you’re teasing.” Pretty girl. Ha. “I’m not beating off the boys from my front door.” Oh. My. God. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?” He nods. “I’ll go check on your burger and maybe sew my mouth closed so I stop saying stupid things.”
He laughs through his nose. “I like the way you talk. You say what you’re thinking. It’s not a quality a lot of people have these days. A person knows where he stands with someone who doesn’t hide what they’re thinking in words they don’t mean.”
“Well, what I’m thinking right now is your lunch must be close to ready. I’ll go see if I can add some extra fries to your plate without anyone noticing.”
He winks at me, and I concentrate on my steps so I don’t humiliate myself further by tripping.
Marion stops me behind the counter. “Is he going to start trouble?”
“What? No. He’s minding his own business. Which is more than I can say for all the gawkers in here. Hasn’t the poor man been through enough?”
Marion shakes her head; her stiff updo never moves, though. I wonder how much of her paycheck goes to hairspray. Whatever is left from her Menthol Mores. “Look at him, though. He looks like those guys from Sons of Anarchy.”
“He does not.” Except in the very best way possible. “He looks like he’s lifted a lot of weights and is ready to take care of his farm.”
The bell rings and Mac shouts, “Order up!” I grab the burger and make my way to Boone, but not before I hear Mac bellow my name again. Great. What did I do now?
I’ll...just ignore him for a bit.
“Madeline, how come I don’t recognize you?” Boone asks me, reading my name tag when I set his plate down and pull the ketchup from my pocket.
“It’s Madeline, with a long I, actually. And we didn’t go to school at the same time.” Not that he would have recognized me if we had. I had an awkward stage more awkward than the one I’m in now. And it lasted a good long while.
“Wait,” he grabs my wrist, his eyes lighting up with curiosity, “are you Mad Maddy?”
Fuck. Me. I hate this town.
Tugging my arm away from him, I knock the ketchup bottle over. “Will that be everything?” I ask through clenched teeth. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck
Boone rights the bottle. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.” I shrug and turn, but he grabs my wrist again. “Madeline, I’m sorry.”
“It really doesn’t matter.”
“No, it does. It’s just that there aren’t many people in this town more notorious than me. I didn’t mean to be rude, though.”
There’s nothing I can do about the hot ball of tears working its way up. “Nobody has called me that to my face in a long time.”
It was my dad who was notorious. Every town has one. I just drew the lucky lottery ticket and got to be the daughter of the crazy guy who would stand on the street corner and rail at all the sins of man, prophesizing doomsday. My mom left me with him when I was too small to remember her. I don’t begrudge her escaping him. I just wish she’d taken me with her.
Every weekend, I had to stand on the corner with him, holding up my sign. I didn’t know what they even meant for a long time. I didn’t know we were abnormal. That all fathers weren’t so stern, so full of hate. He was probably mentally ill, too, but it’s hard to work up compassion for the man who kept me prisoner to his strict religion.
We’d lived on the outskirts of town, off grid. He did odd jobs and I did the housework once I was old enough. When I questioned his anger at people we didn’t even know, I had to write pages and pages of bible verses. So I stopped asking questions. As I got older, I realized people called us Lunatic Larry and Mad Maddy.
I had to wear long dresses that looked like I was a frontier girl and was home-schooled until junior high when the state forced him to put me into the system he so hated. Going to public school, as you might imagine, was not a picnic. Kids are cruel. And so was my dad. But little by little, I was able to loosen myself from his tight grip. I made a friend. Then two. They would help me change in the bathroom before school started, into clothes they brought me from home. A teacher took pity on me and would sneak me books that I could escape into as long as I kept them hidden from my father.
“Will you forgive me for being such a douchebag?” Boone asks.
“It’s no big deal.”
“No, it really is. I got mean in prison. I don’t want to stay that way. Please tell me what I can do to earn your forgiveness.”
“Madeliiiiine!”
We both look toward the kitchen. “I have to go. Enjoy your meal.”
With any luck, I’ll never see Boone Barker again. Of course, the only luck I’ve ever had is bad.
Plowed: Chapter Two
Boone
I’VE BEEN HOME TWO months now, and every day feels like I’m getting further behind than ahead.
I can’t do it all. The house, the fields, my dad. They all need one hundred percent of my attention, but I don’t have three hundred percent to give.
Staring at the yellow legal pad in front of me isn’t helping move things along, but the words just aren’t coming together the way I want them to. I keep getting distracted by my too-young waitress with the cool gray eyes and round, curvy body.
My cock is not happy that I’ve been out of prison for two months and haven’t gotten it wet yet. I keep telling myself that’s why I watch Madeline so close when I’m in the diner. Yeah, she’s too young for me, but she’s got the body of a woman. The kind I like. Soft and a little plump. She won’t break under the weight of a big man. And she’d give him something to hold onto.
She’s working through the tables, warming up coffee. Occasionally knocking things over or spilling things. It always makes me smile, though I’m smart enough not to let her see me doing it.
She’s all wrong for me. But Jesus, those tits. I can hardly think about anything else sometimes.
“Whatcha working on there, Boone?” she asks when she gets to me.
The Big Mac’s Diner T-shirt she’s wearing is tight. She’s got an apron on over it, but the view of side-boob I’m getting is making me hard. I really need to get laid. Soon. I wish I knew why I didn’t go get some. I’ve seen the way women look at me. I could spend an evening in a bar and go home with one. I should. I could use a little softness in my life as much as my dick could use some pussy.
But that’s not me. Not even the new me.
I was ready to marry my high school girlfriend before I was arrested. I never cheated, never wanted to. I don’t want random sex—well, some of me does—and I’m not going to meet my future wife in a bar hook-up.
I flip the pad over so Madeline can’t read it, so she shrugs and tops off my coffee. “Farm stuff,” I explain.
“Top secret farm stuff?”
“Something like that.”
I’ve come in to Big Mac’s a few times a week, trying like hell to get used to people again. And to earn a smile or two from Madeline. They aren’t easy to get. Not since I called her Mad Maddy that day. But I can’t let it go. I need to get right with her, so I keep trying.
She was the first one in town to treat me normal, and I really screwed it up. I won’t screw it up more by acting on my attraction to her. She deserves a chance at getting out of this town, not getting stuck here with someone even more notorious than her old man.
“Madeline, how’s school going? You pass that test you were so worried about last week?”
There it is. That shy ghost of a smile. It’s worth drinking the shitty coffee for. “I did.”
“Never doubted you would. You’re smart.”
“Yeah, my brains have gotte
n me pretty far,” she says, gesturing to the diner. “My maid is cleaning my mansion as we speak.”
“Madeliiiine,” Big Mac bellows from the kitchen.
“What is his problem with you?” I ask when she flinches at his voice. I don’t like that. She’s a good person. I feel like she’s had a rough enough life without some asshole yelling at her all the time. “Big Mac needs to talk to you with more respect.”
“I screw up a lot.”
“Maybe you should try to get a different job. There are other restaurants in town.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t afford to go to school and pay rent somewhere. I work for room and board.”
I clench my fist so hard that the pencil in my hand snaps. “They don’t pay you?” Despite all that has happened to me, I have a strong sense of justice. Hell, maybe it’s because of what happened to me.
Her eyes get big, and she picks up the half pencil that rolled onto the floor. “I get tips. Sometimes.”
“That’s not even legal.” Big Mac is a hefty guy, but I can take him. I’ve taken bigger men out. Not something I guess I should be proud of, but if Madeline needs me for my muscle, I’m hers. “That’s ridiculous that you don’t earn a wage.”
I’m so angry. If I could have one thing go my way, I’d use it to make sure she had a better life. She deserves more. I know we hardly know each other, but she brings out protective urges in me. Makes me feel like the kind of man I used to think I was.
“They’re like family...sort of.” She grimaces. “They were my last foster family just before I turned eighteen. They could have just tossed me out. But they let me rent a room above the garage in exchange for working here.”
Shit. That’s right. Her old man is dead. Though I can’t say anyone probably mourned him. Maybe she does. I remember her dad. He was a vicious motherfucker, always condemning people to hell. It’s hard to believe that little girl always at his side was my Madeline. I don’t think she ever spoke to anybody back then. Just stood there mute and wearing a long pioneer dress next to her father. Her hair was always a nest of tangles, and her eyes too sunken for her face. It will always haunt me that I didn’t try to help that little girl. Especially now that I know her. And like her. “How old were you when your dad died?”
“Fifteen.” Oh, man. Alone so young.
“And you went into foster care.”
“Look, this isn’t really the conversation I want to have with my customer while I’m working.”
“Maybe we’re friends then.”
She turns those gray eyes on me. There’s no trust in them. “Right. Okay, friend. What are you hiding on that pad of paper then?”
“It’s not important.”
Her eyes go cold. “Sure thing. Friend.”
“Madeline...”
“Boone, it’s okay. But don’t pretend we’re buddies, okay? I’ll respect your privacy and you respect mine. We just stick to things like the weather and if you want an English muffin or wheat toast.”
Fuck. I should let it go. She’s right, and the last thing I need is to get more obsessed with her anyway. I don’t need to know more about her life. I don’t need to get to know her better. What I should be concentrating on is getting my life back on track. And that means the house, the fields, and Pops. Not my curvy waitress.
Even as I am thinking all this, I flip the pad back over. “It’s a Craigslist ad.”
“You hiring on the farm?”
My dick is saying, “hell, yeah,” at the thought of hiring Madeline. But no. She’s too young. Isn’t she?
“I’m looking for a wife.”
Madeline
“YOU’RE HIRING A WIFE on Craigslist?” I know Big Mac is going to yell my name again any second, but I can’t walk away now.
I set the coffee pot down and grab the pad before Boone can stop me.
Wife wanted: Woman in 20s needed to be farm wife. Needs to be able to cook basic meals and clean. Must want kids. Gardening a bonus.
“Oh, my God. You really are hiring a wife on Craigslist.”
He scrubs his hand over his face. There are shadows under his eyes, but those eyes never stop moving. Like he’s always expecting danger. Like he needs to defend himself all the time. “I need help. All the stuff my mom used to do...the cooking, cleaning, decorating...none of it gets done anymore. I can’t do it all and work in the fields, too.”
“Boone, you hire a cook or a maid or an interior decorator. You don’t hire a wife.”
“I have...needs...also. The kind a wife would...” He pulls the collar of his T-shirt away from his neck like it’s strangling him.
“So go on dates! Oh my God. You can’t hire a wife so you can get laid.” I slap my hand over my mouth. That might have been a bit loud. And I can’t believe I’m talking to Boone about getting laid.
“I don’t have time to date.” He’s reading over his ad. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to work.”
“You sound like you’re shopping for a car, not finding a wife. What about love?”
He shakes his head. “What about it? I don’t need love. I need my house to be a home again. I need a partner. The bank says a loan would be easier to get if I was settled, too. Even though it wasn’t my fault that I went...away...they say it would look better if I had a wife. Stability.” He’s looking across the street at the hardware store. “I have to catch up. I missed too much. I don’t have time to...date. I just need to get started.”
That’s when I see what he’s looking at. Amy Bennett...well, Amy Jones now. She’s across the street pushing a stroller and rubbing her big belly. Amy used to be his girlfriend. She was the female Boone. Cheer captain, homecoming queen, and if I remember right, she was real smart, too. The whole blonde package.
And she married someone else when he was in prison. That’s what he wants to catch up to. “Boone, you can’t hire a wife. That won’t get you what you want.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Just like I can’t hire a decent childhood on Craigslist, you can’t hire someone to erase the last five years. You need to do it the long way. Find a girl. Date. Fall in love. Then you can get married and have babies.”
His jaw is so square I could play Tic-Tac-Toe on it. Every muscle in his body is tense. “Look at me. You think anyone in this town is going to want to go out with a newly released felon like me?”
“You aren’t a felon!”
“Look. At. Me.” I am. I do. All the time. Boone Barker used to set my girlish heart aflutter, but the huge slab of man in the booth turns my grown-up knees to jelly. He’s massive and rough and virile. That wary look in his eyes never goes away and makes him seem almost feral. And he’s looking at me now. No, he’s looking through me. Like he can see how fast my heart beats for him.
Count it off. Three. Two. One. Speak. “I’m looking at you, and I still don’t think you should hire a wife from Craigslist.”
“Madeliiiine!”
I roll my eyes at the kitchen. “I have to go. Just...don’t place that ad yet.”
I push through the kitchen door and run right into Jay the dishwasher. The whole stack of plates flies out of his hands and crashes to the floor.
“Whoops.”
Big Mac is beet red. The spatula in his hand looks like a weapon right now. He’s either going to kill me or have a heart attack. “Madeline. For the love of...you are the clumsiest, most worthless waitress I’ve ever seen. I don’t care what Vera says. I’m done.”
Shit. No. “I’m sorry, Big Mac. Please don’t fire me. I’ll...pay you back for the plates.” Somehow. I follow him toward the office even though I should let him cool down. “I’ll work extra shifts. Please. You can’t fire me. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
He points at me, about to let loose a tirade of epic proportions and then stops. I turn to see what has him so bug-eyed to find an angry, hulking beast standing in the doorway separating the dining area from the kitchen.
Boone.
“You don’t talk to her like that e
ver again.” His voice is a low rumble, but no one could mistake his intent.
Oh, no. “Boone, please. Don’t make it worse. I deserve it. I broke the...”
I don’t get the rest out because he’s stalking toward us, a grim determination on his face. His big, muscular forearms are flexing, and I realize it’s because he’s making fists. I rush between him and Big Mac. “Don’t. I don’t want to be the reason you do this.”
What he doesn’t need is to get arrested for assault. Not defending my honor.
“Nobody treats you like that. Not ever again,” he says, his words a thick, low rumble. And then I’m in his arms, and he’s carrying me back out of the kitchen like a groom carries a bride across the threshold.
“Boone!’
Marion is chasing us, only she’s not trying to stop him. She’s ...got my purse and hoody. She gets in front of him and stuffs my things into my arm and waves. “This is just like Officer and a Gentleman. Good luck, Madeline!”
“Good luck? Marion, help me. Boone, put me down!”
He grunts.
God, he smells good. It’s not cologne. It’s probably hay and diesel for all I know, but it packs a punch to all my girl parts.
And now we’re in the parking lot.
This is crazy. I mean, if I were the kind of girl who kept a journal, I would totally write about this as being the most romantic thing that ever happened to me, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t nuts. “Boone! What are you doing?”
“Can you cook?”
“What?”
“Can you cook?”
“Yes. I mean...not like chicken cordon bleu or anything, but I can do the simple things. Why?” We’re at his truck. “Wait a minute.”
“Can you clean?”
“You are being ridiculous. I need to go back there and beg for my job back. Put me down. Why are you doing this? I mean, thank you for standing up for me. Nobody has ever done that before. But still, I need to go back.”
“I need someone to cook and clean and keep my dad company and maybe plant some flowers. You need a job and a place to stay.” He looks less angry, so that’s a good thing.
