by Sable Sylvan
“We can clean it for you,” said Liam. “It’d be no trouble, no trouble at all.”
“You volunteering?” asked Daisy.
“Sure,” said Liam, hands in his pocket, shooting Daisy a grin.
Daisy was more than a little suspicious, because why would Liam volunteer to clean out the grossest bathroom in Port Jameson? “It’s your funeral,” said Daisy. “Round back here, we’ve got the tool shed.”
Daisy opened the door to the shed. It was more than a bit dusty. “We’ve got gloves, trowels, hoes, anything you might need,” said Daisy.
“What do you want us to put the berries in?” asked Bill. Daisy turned, even though he was the shortest of the men, Bill still towered over her by at least eight inches...but he didn’t look so intimidating with a mouth dyed violet from the marionberries.
“Well, if you can resist stuffing them in your maw, we’ve got baskets for harvesting, and then, you can take them to processing,” said Daisy, opening a door on the side of the tool shed that led to a clean processing room. It was spic and span, and there was an empty silver tub in the center with a metal basket, with a sieve-like fineness, inside the tub.
Daisy turned on the water. “You’ll let the water fill until the basket is covered in water, and then, clean the berries until the water runs clear.” Daisy turned off the water and lifted up the basket. “Then, you can put them into containers, and those go in that cold storage unit. I’ll take the berries down to the Port Jameson grocers tonight.” Daisy pointed to a cardboard bin filled with plastic clamshell packages, with a “Craston Bros. Honey” sticker on it, as the berries were branded with the honey farm’s logo.
Daisy pulled out three shallow wicker baskets and gave one to each of the Williams. “Here. Get to work.”
Daisy led the boys out of the processing plant. “Where do you want us to start?” asked Liam.
“Does it matter?” asked Daisy.
“Well, yeah,” said Bill. “Usually...you’re gonna want your workers to work in the areas that get the most sun first, because that way, they can work in the shades once it gets hot.”
“That’s...actually a really cool tip, Bill.” said Daisy. “Thanks.”
“According to my calculations, we should start over...there,” said Wylie, pointing to a corner. “Is that where the sun usually hits?”
“Yeah, how did you know?” asked Daisy.
“Well, I’m guessing based on the heights of the buildings and the direction the sun will shine,” said Wylie.
“Or, he’s full of shiz, he’s worked these fields for your grandpa every weekend of every harvest since we were fifteen,” said Bill with a laugh.
Wylie turned bright red. “Thanks, Bill, real smooth.”
“So you mean I showed you everything for nothing, when you probably know more about this farm than I do?” asked Daisy with her hands on her hips. “And I just wasted all this time that I could’ve spent working on my accounting?”
“Hey, we had no idea if you were trying different methods,” said Liam. “This is your farm now: not your grandpa’s.”
“And if you need help with accounting, I could always lend a hand,” said Wylie.
“And what would you know about accounting? Or about farming?” asked Daisy with a frown.
“Wylie’s actually an accountant,” said Bill with a smile.
“Well, I can’t afford an accountant,” said Daisy, turning to Wylie.
“I can help you pro bono,” said Wylie. “Of course, that means I won’t be out in the fields helping with the harvest.”
“We can handle the harvest,” said Liam. “Trust us.”
“I’ll try,” said Daisy. “Come on, Wylie, I’ll show you the books.”
Wylie walked into the farmhouse with Daisy and left his muddy work boots by the door. Daisy left her cowboy boots in the mudroom and walked with Wylie to the office. The house’s halls seemed smaller when she was around Wylie and the other bear shifters. It seemed cramped, and made her feel warmer. She opened the door to the office, which had papers and files open all over the desk, covering the keyboard and the computer.
“Well, first things first, we’re gonna have to get this all sorted out,” said Wylie.
“I’ve got a system,” said Daisy.
“I’m sure you do, but we’re gonna get you a better system,” said Wylie. “Let’s organize stuff by month first, and we’re gonna use these folders.” Wylie opened a file cabinet and pulled out some empty folders and went to work, sorting out bills, receipts, and everything else Daisy might need.
“What about the office supplies?” asked Daisy. “I don’t have a pencil cup.”
“Put those in a mug,” said Wylie. “You don’t need a pencil cup. If you have a preserves jar, that’ll work out too, as long as it’s solid.”
“Alright,” said Daisy. She headed back to the kitchen and got a solid Mason jar and walked it back to Wylie. “How did you learn all this office stuff anyway?”
“I went to accounting school online after college,” explained Wylie. “And I had an internship at an accountant’s office before I opened up my own practice.”
“Wow, you have your own practice?” asked Daisy.
“You sound surprised,” said Wylie with a raised brow.
“It’s just...well, you don’t look like an accountant,” said Daisy.
“What does an accountant look like?” asked Wylie, sorting through the papers.
“I don’t know...sort of, well, nerdy,” said Daisy.
“Okay, what makes someone look nerdy?” asked Wylie. “Because I can go grab some comic book t-shirts and hoodies if that’ll make me look the part.”
“I didn’t mean it like that...it’s just, you’re so...buff,” admitted Daisy, blushing. “You look like you spend more time at the gym than with your nose in a book.”
“No way,” said Wylie. “I’m absolutely scrawny.” Wylie flexed a bicep to try and prove just how scrawny he was, but his flexing had the opposite effect. Daisy couldn’t help but turn pink as she watched Wylie flex his bicep. Wylie noticed the blush and pretended not to, although his cock twitched at the revelation that he was turning Daisy on.
“Not that scrawny,” said Daisy.
“No...I guess not,” said Wylie. “But there’s this stereotype, Daisy, that bears can’t do anything but work with their hands, and don’t get me wrong, I’ve worked every marionberry harvest on your grandpa’s land for the past decade, and I work damn hard out in those fields, but I’m just as useful with a calculator and a computer. If I stereotyped you based on how you looked...than I would have assumed you were a model instead of a hard-working farmer.”
“Wait, me, a model?” asked Daisy, stifling a laugh. “I’m way too curvy to be a model.”
“Well, I never understood why models in magazines were so stick-thin, but uh, I’ll put it this way, I’d put your picture on my front page,” said Wylie.
Daisy laughed harder. “Wylie, I believe you, only the nerdiest of guys would ever use a line like that.” Daisy couldn’t stop laughing and her laughter was infectious, and it spread to Wylie, so hard that he didn’t notice that Daisy slipped out of her chair...but Daisy landed squarely in Wylie’s lap, her ample buttocks spread across his lap.
“Hey,” said Daisy softly, looking up at the big brunette bear shifter who was cradling her in his lap. She hadn’t meant to literally fall into his arms, but she had...and it felt so right to be with Wylie.
“Hey,” said Wylie, brushing a lock of blonde hair out of Daisy’s face and pressing it behind her ear before he helped her sit up “Sorry about that, I guess we got a little distracted.”
Daisy could feel Wylie’s hot breath against her face. All sides of Daisy’s body, from her back, supported by his back, to her legs against his, were warmed by Wylie, and it was warmth that went from her skin to her core...but there was another heat growing in Daisy, outwards from her core.
“Sorry about that,” said Daisy, getting up from Wy
lie’s lap. She hadn’t intended for any of that to happen, and she needed to cool off. “I’ll...go check on the other guys.”
“Alright, I’ll keep sorting the papers out,” said Wylie with a small, soft smile. “See you, Daisy.”
“See you,” said Daisy, getting up and walking to the kitchen to get herself a glass of lemonade to cool down.
For the rest of the day, Daisy kept her distance from the men, ostensibly because the day was particularly hot and humid and being around them made her feel claustrophobic. They were all so big and naturally ran hotter than humans...but in reality, that wasn’t the kind of steaminess that was bothering her. No, it was the complicated feelings she was starting to develop, which were as uncomfortable and unused for her as the pair of brand new work boots she hadn’t quite finished breaking in yet. The real question was what would leave her with more pain by the end of the harvest season, the boys or the boots?
Chapter Three
The next day, like clockwork, the boys showed up before dawn to start working. Daisy continued to work with Wylie in the office, neither of them discussing what had happened the day prior when Daisy had fallen in Wylie’s lap, although the tension and heat was definitely still there.
The boys had brought their own lunches that day and put them in the fridge, so, to surprise them, and reward them for all the hard work they’d done, Daisy decided she’d make them lemonade for lunch. The only minor problem was that she didn’t have any lemonade mix so she’d have to make the lemonade from scratch, which was fine, because she had a variety of fruit trees on the property, including a lemon tree.
Daisy opened up the cabinet and pulled out an empty plastic pitcher with a spout lid, her jar of special sugar, and a long mixing spoon, before she headed out the door to go to the Meyer lemon tree in the yard. There were only a few ripe lemons on the tree, and they were too high up for her to reach, so she headed out towards the fields and peered. There was only one man in the fields, Liam.
“Hey, Liam!” shouted Daisy, waving him down.
The man waved back and carried his basket of berries over to Daisy. “Hey, need something, Daisy?” asked Liam.
“Yeah...this is kind of embarrassing, but I need some help reaching a lemon,” said Daisy.
“No problem,” said Liam, walking with Daisy to the lemon tree. “Meyer lemons?”
“That’s right,” said Daisy. “My grandpa planted this tree when I was thirteen. He said that all my sourness would go into the tree and I would only be sweet from then on.”
“Guess he should’ve planted another tree,” said Liam. Daisy frowned.
“Joking. I’m joking, Daisy,” said Liam. He reached up into the tree and avoided the thorns as he picked the lemons, passing each lemon to Daisy. Daisy cradled the lemons in her bandana. Daisy had to take off her bandana to do this, but taking off her bandana also loosened her ponytail holder, leaving her blonde hair splayed over her shoulders.
“Are those enough lemons?” asked Liam, wiping his brow. His ice blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight.
“I think so, I’m just making lemonade,” said Daisy.
“Well...it’s not my place to tell a lady what to do in the kitchen,” said Liam. “But, I do have a really good marionberry lemonade recipe if you’re interested in trying something new.”
“That actually sounds really yummy,” said Daisy. “What’s the recipe?”
“It’s one of those recipes I don’t have measurements for,” said Liam. “I just memorized it based on the way it was taught to me.” Liam picked up his basket of berries walked with Daisy to the kitchen and looked over the supplies she had out before he pulled out a chopping board, a bowl, and a grater.
“What’s the grater for?” asked Daisy.
“Don’t tell me you don’t use the zest from your lemons!” said Liam. “That’s the best part.”
Liam washed the lemons and ran them along the grater’s finer side, the lemon peeling over the grater, small sour ribbons fall into the center of the metal tool, until he had a practically naked lemon. Liam cut the ends off the lemon and then cut the lemons in half, before using a hand held juicer to squeeze every last precious drop of lemon out of each half of the fruit. He poured the lemon juice into the jug and separated the zest into a bowl with sugar.
Then he took a handful of the berries, removed their leaves, and put those into a bowl. “Do you have a bartending kit?” Liam asked Daisy.
“A bartending kit? No way,” said Daisy with a laugh. “I only drink whiskey, all-American corn mash, and I drink it straight.”
“You really are a Texan,” teased Liam. “Well, you don’t happen to have a muddler or a pestle, do you?”
“No,” said Daisy.
“A rolling pin?” asked Liam.
“Of course,” said Daisy, and she opened the drawer that had her cookie sheets inside and took out a rolling pin.
“Perfect,” said Liam. He turned the rolling pin so that he was using the end of the rolling pin as a pestle to mix the sugar, then, he ground the berries into a mash. “Do me a favor. Fill a shallow pan with water, and put it on the stove.”
“Will this do?” asked Daisy, pulling out a small sauce pan.
“That’s perfect,” said Liam. “Just add about two cups of water, and put that on the stove, on high heat until it boils.”
“Got it,” said Daisy. “How do you know all this stuff about cooking, anyway?”
“I’m a bartender, actually,” said Liam. “At least, a few nights a week, down at the Port Jameson Saloon.”
“No frikkin’ way,” said Daisy. “You bartend down at that dive?”
“Hey, I basically get paid to party with my friends,” said Liam. “I’ve gotten offers from night clubs, casinos, you name it, even some gigs in Miami and Vegas, and although I’ve visited those places for work...you can’t beat the vibe down at the Port Jameson Saloon. If you’re under thirty and live in the county, that’s basically where everything exciting happens.”
“I don’t have time to go to bars,” said Daisy. “But if I did, I guess I’d check out your bar.”
“It’s not mine, it’s actually owned by Bill’s dad,” explained Liam.
“And what does Bill do?” asked Daisy.
“He works up at the Asher Lumber Co. mill,” said Liam with a wicked smile. “But it’s nowhere nearly as exciting as working at the bar. I guess Bill was never really one for that sort of excitement, though. He likes being with the trees, says it feels like home.”
“Bill’s a nature buff?” asked Daisy. “He doesn’t seem it.”
“Well, all those times we went through your land, it’s because Bill said that it’s his favorite route to take to the moon ceremony,” said Liam. “Hey...Is that water bowling yet?”
“Yeah, it’s bubbling,” said Daisy.
“Awesome, take the bowl of sugar and the sack of sugar and add as much as you can to the water,” ordered Liam. “Mix it.”
“That’s a lot of sugar,” said Daisy as she emptied the bowl of sugar, filled with lemon zest, into the pot.
“Just do it,” said Liam. “It’s not like we’re gonna drink it all anyways.”
Daisy was confused, but she poured the sugar into the water until she couldn’t mix it in any longer and there were some unmeltable grains on the bottom of the pan. “Now what?” asked Daisy.
“Now, fill up a bowl with ice,” ordered Liam. “A big mixing bowl.”
Daisy turned, switching places with Liam who watched the boiling pot. She filled up a bowl with all the ice she had in the freezer. Liam walked over to the cabinet and pulled out a Mason jar and then, carefully, he turned off the heat and carried over the simmering liquid, and he poured the mixture into the Mason jar before putting the hot jar into the ice bath.
“How come you shifters are able to handle all that heat?” asked Daisy.
“What do you mean?” asked Liam.
“Well, you chugged my boiling hot coffee, and you touched the glass jar even t
hough it was filled with boiling sugar water,” said Daisy.
Liam took Daisy’s hand into his. His hand was still warm, but it wasn’t the warmth that surprised her. It was the texture. The texture was rough, like the bottom of a dog’s paw. “You feel that? Those are my paw marks,” said Liam, turning his hand over so that Daisy could rub her fingertips on the large marks on his hand. There was one big patch on his broad hand, on the palm, and there were four more patches along the lower third of his fingers. “The palm mark, well, every bear shifter has that, and the other patches are varied, like fingerprints, and appear in different places. Some people get the marks at the base of their fingers. Some get them on the tips. Every paw mark is different, just like a finger print.”
“That’s really cool,” said Daisy. “I’ve seen those before...but I’ve never touched them.”
“Well, most shifters don’t like being touched like animals,” said Liam with a small smile as he pulled away his hand. He turned back to the syrup in the ice bath. “Touch the jar. It should be cool by now.”
Daisy gingerly touched the jar. It was ice cold, and the syrup inside had started to turn into a gel, like a weak jam. “That was fast,” said Daisy.
“It’s an old bartending trick,” said Liam. “When we run out of simple syrup at the bar, I make a new batch in the kitchen. Super simple. The lemon rind is going to give this a bit of a kick, but the Meyer lemons are sweet, so you’ll find this goes perfectly with the lemonade.”
Liam opened up the utensils drawer and pulled out a pair of spoons. He dipped it into the syrup and tasted it. “It’s good, you want to try?” he asked Daisy.
“Yeah, sure,” said Daisy.
Liam dipped a spoon into the gooey liquid and quickly blew on it. “Careful. It’s still a bit warm,” he said as he gently held the spoon for Daisy, feeding her the honey-like substance.
Daisy opened her mouth and took the wet gooeyness onto her tongue. She had never tasted anything like it. It was like a weak, sweet marmalade, made with lemon peels, but it didn’t taste bitter like she expected. The liquid was indeed still warm but not uncomfortably so, and she swirled the spoon in her mouth to lick off every drop. “That’s...amazing,” admitted Daisy.
