How to Love Her: McCullough Mountain (McCullough Mountain Prequel)

by Lydia Michaels

  She shrugged. “Or something.”

  After their shakes were delivered and they settled the bill, which Kate refused to let him handle, they drove back to the mountain. Kate showed him the lumberyard and it was a little intimidating. This was no small operation.

  “Does your dad hire people without experience?”

  “Sure. You’ll pick it up quick.”

  “Let me guess, you also know how to climb trees.”

  “Climb them, cut them. I was raised in the country.”

  “Your just a regular ol’ country bumpkin.”

  Glancing over her shoulder, she grinned at him then hefted her feet off the ground and she swung on a low hanging branch. Adorable—and fucking hot. Her breasts jutted against her shirt and his mouth practically watered. She was totally in her comfort zone. When he thought about their earlier conversation and how unsettled she sounded, it really pissed him off, because if one thing was clear it was that Katherine McCullough didn’t scare easily.

  After the lumberyard they visited the park and sat on a swing set, chatting about nothing and everything. By the time they made it back to her house she said she was tired. “It’s only six o’clock.” He didn’t want to be a prick, but he really didn’t want to say goodbye just yet.

  “I know, but I haven’t been sleeping much at night. I constantly have to pee.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. She hunted, climbed trees, knew how to handle a bow and a rifle, and talked about pee. Maybe they were too deep in the trenches of the friend zone to pull back. “We could watch a movie or something.”

  “Where? Here?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe.” He noted her hesitation and said, “If I’m inviting myself and overstepping—”

  “No, we can watch a movie. But I should warn you, my house isn’t really quiet. There are nine of us and it’s Saturday so my grandmother’s probably here.”

  “I don’t mind noise. I’m Italian.”

  “Okay.”

  He didn’t know what crazy assumption made him think Italians had the market cornered when it came to breaking the sound barrier, but he clearly underestimated the McCulloughs. They walked into an absolute clusterfuck.

  Mrs. McCullough was screaming at Kate’s dad and swinging a rolling pin in the air. A little girl with red hair like Kate’s had a blue eyed kid pinned to the floor as she pounded the ever-loving shit out of him with her fists. Luke and Finn and another guy screamed at the television in the den while a blond kid came trampling down the steps at about a hundred miles an hour.

  “So help me Jesus, if you don’t fix this damn stove I’m going to let you starve! I want a sandwich, he says. Do we have anything sweet, he asks. I’m gonna give you a sweet taste of my foot when I jam it up your arse the next time you expect me to cook on a broken stove!”

  Kate smiled. “You remember my mum.”

  Mrs. McCullough lowered the rolling pin and flushed. “Oh, hello, dearies. Did you make your sausage?”

  Shaking off his shock, Ant shook his head. “No, Katie got sick.”

  Her mother cocked her head. “Are you better now? Did you have something to eat? You have to remember to eat, love.”

  “I’m fine, Mum,” Kate assured, but didn’t seem too happy about her mother’s concern.

  “You sick, Katie girl?” her father asked.

  “No, I just got a little nauseous at the meat market. I was fine once we left. Dad, this is Ant. He’s thinking about applying for a job at the yard this summer.”

  Ant’s shoulders drew back as the man’s stare drilled into him. He hadn’t intended to talk about the job until he had his resume in order.

  “That so? You ever work in a lumberyard before?”

  Okay, this guy was totally intimidating, like the Bounty man on steroids with knuckles stained from hard work and forearms the size of Popeye’s. He definitely knew how to use an ax. Ant took a step away from his daughter. “No, sir. But I’m a fast learner.”

  His blue eyes scrutinized him as his brow folded. “You from the city?”

  Ant nodded. “Philadelphia. We moved here last fall.”

  The man glanced at his daughter and back to Ant. “You keeping company with my daughter?”

  “We’re just friends, Daddy.”

  This guy was definitely not the type that should be called daddy. Unless it was in the big daddy sense, like when a pack of hard ass bikers rolled up on hogs and went Thunderdome on a place. Maybe then.

  His eyes narrowed as he let out a slow breath. “Come by after school on Monday and we’ll see how you do.”

  Can I bring protection? Maybe he’d ask Kate to guard his six with her crossbow. “Thanks. That would be great.”

  “We’re going up to my room to watch a movie,” Kate announced and Ant wanted to run. Didn’t she remember this guy had guns? He totally knows you picture his daughter naked.

  “Keep that door open,” Mr. McCullough growled.

  Great. Her father wanted to kill him and had a whole mountain to hide the body.

  Tell my mom I love her.

  Chapter Seven

  “I’m just going to use the bathroom real quick,” Kate said as they entered her bedroom. After everything she ate and being sick that morning, all she could think about was brushing her teeth. “My DVDs are on the windowsill.”

  Ant nodded and she left him alone. When she returned he was still standing, but holding the empty case of Austin Powers. “Did you put it in?”

  Ant pivoted. “What?” His eyes were uncharacteristically wide. “Oh, the movie. Yes.”

  Kate frowned and lowered herself to the bed. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded, but seemed a little jumpy and nervous.

  She scooted across the mattress so her back was against the wall and her legs could stretch out. “Are you going to sit?”

  He searched the room. “I’ll just sit on the floor.”

  She snorted. “What are you talking about? Don’t be ridiculous. Sit up here.” She tossed him a pillow and he held it at his waist.

  Reaching for the remote, she cued up the movie. Ant didn’t make his way to the bed until the opening credits were over. Once he was sitting beside her, he seemed stiff and alert. She wasn’t sure what happened to make him high strung all of the sudden. He was usually so relaxed.

  Being that she owned the DVD, and watched it a hundred times, her attention faded and her eyelids grew heavy. Resting her eyes for a minute, she wilted into the warmth at her side.

  “Kate?”

  “Hmm?” she hummed, lacking the strength to open her eyes.

  “Uh…you’re sort of leaning into me.”

  So tired. She should move. She shouldn’t lie on Ant like that, but he was like a big pillow that smelled really nice. “Comfy.” Her mind jerked as she fell deeper into sleep. She should sit up. “Want me to move?” He was so warm.

  After a long moment, he whispered, “No.”

  The movie ended and Ant debated starting it over just so he could have more time with Kate. Beautiful Kate. Fiery Kate. Crossbow Kate. Lying on his lap with all her sexy red hair Kate. He hadn’t moved a muscle in two hours except to play with the tips of her hair when he was certain she was out cold.

  But now the movie was over and it was after eight. He should probably get going. Sighing, he brushed her hair behind her ear and looked at her one last time. Her cheeks were like porcelain and her lips were the deepest pink he’d ever seen. Pressing his head to the wall he silently groaned. He wanted to kiss those lips so bad, but he couldn’t.

  Time to go. “Katie.”

  “Hmm.”

  “The movie’s over.”

  She stretched and his eyes went wide as her cheek nestled into his thigh, her mouth turning toward his stomach. Blinking at the ceiling he silently cursed and cleared his throat. “I should probably get going. It’s late.”

  Slowly, she rolled to her back and stilled. Silky strands of hair trailed over her brow and neck as her eyes flicked open. A pregnant mo
ment passed as she stared up at him, realizing she’d been sleeping with her face on his lap. Sure, he could have nudged her off, but he liked her there. Each time she nestled closer and settled a bit more, his body trembled with the hot burn of anticipation—painful, yet excruciatingly pleasant.

  Maybe because he couldn’t have her he wanted her all the more. The waiting was intoxicating. Addicting. Yet he couldn’t wait for it to end. But she was fragile and had been hurt and needed time to get over the past. None of that led to a hookup any time soon. But tonight, as he watched her sleep and savored every press of her body into his, he realized he’d wait her out as long as it took, because there was something special about her.

  “Did I fall asleep on you?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t mind.” He loved it.

  She rolled again, this time returning a platonic level of space between them. “Sorry.”

  He twisted his legs over the side of the bed and casually adjusted his jeans. “It’s fine.” His gaze shifted over his shoulder and he stilled, entranced, as she pulled her hair into a ponytail.

  Her long ivory neck had a beauty mark under her left ear. The collar of her shirt was crooked and he could see the strap of her bra. Purple. The day at the lake it had been red. She didn’t wear a lot of jewelry, just a leather band around her wrist and one of those Irish crown and heart bands on her finger.

  “What’s your ring called?”

  She gave her ponytail a yank and looked at her hand. “This? It’s a Claddagh.”

  He knew there was some code about the ring, something about the way a girl wore it that told if they were dating, single, engaged or married, but he wasn’t sure exactly what meant what. “What does it mean when it’s worn like that?”

  She fanned out the fingers of her right hand and looked at the ring. The crown was closest to her knuckle and the heart pointed toward the tip of her finger. “Nothing. It just means I’m alone.”

  “What if you turned it around? Does that mean you’re taken?”

  “It’s supposed to mean my heart’s locked away from others because it belongs to someone else. You only turn it when you’re in love.” She glanced at her left hand. “When a girl’s getting married, she wears it on the left hand and turns the crown outward after she says her vows.” The fingers of her left hand balled into a fist. “Why?”

  He shrugged and stood. “Just curious.” Not wanting to say goodbye, he stalled. The words came out of his mouth before he truly considered what he was asking. “Do you want to come to Sunday dinner at my house?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.” Holy crap, did he really just invite her to meet his family? “We eat around two.”

  A little V formed between her eyes. “You said dinner.”

  “It’s how we do. You want me to pick you up?”

  “Sure. Will there be sauce?”

  He laughed. “Smart ass. No, but there might be gravy.” If they were there, this was the moment he’d kiss her. He shifted toward the door.

  “I’ll let you know if there’s a difference.”

  God, he loved what a ball breaker she was. He’d been nervous he wouldn’t see her again until school on Monday, but this was much better.

  As he left, he tiptoed past the den where Kate’s father slept on a chair like a slumbering bear. As Ant passed the kitchen, Mrs. McCullough spotted him.

  “Anthony, are you leaving?”

  He stilled, glancing back with relief as Kate’s dad still slept. “Kate was falling asleep.”

  She smirked and stepped into the hall. “You’ll have that more and more, now,” she whispered, taking his arm and pulling him into the kitchen. “I want you to know you’re always welcome here. We’ll figure things out with Frank, but I think havin’ you around will help smooth matters over, you know? And gettin’ you in at the yard will make him more comfortable with the situation.”

  A little confused, he assumed she was saying Mr. McCullough wasn’t such a bad boss once a person got to know him. “Well, I hope to show him I’m dependable. I don’t plan on missing a day and I hope to adjust as fast as possible.”

  Her smile grew as her hand tightened on his arm. “Aren’t you a lovely boy? Oh, I could just weep to hear you say such words.” She nodded. “My Katherine did good bringing you here.”

  One of the boys—the one with dark hair—came in and opened the fridge, stealing Mrs. McCullough’s attention. “Kelly, I catch you drinking out of that carton again I’ll sew your lips shut.”

  The boy turned, bright blue eyes flashing with guilt. “I didn’t—”

  “Don’t lie to me. I bought that milk today and it’s half gone. I know what cups I wash.”

  “Mum, it wasn’t me.”

  Her lips pursed. “Go tell your brothers if I catch them drinking from the carton I’m sicking your father on them.” She rolled her eyes. “Bunch of animals.” As the boy scurried out of the kitchen, she shouted, “This is why we can’t have nice things!”

  That was his cue to leave. “Thanks for having me.”

  She smiled, surprising him with the approval he found in her eyes. “Don’t stay away too long, you hear?”

  As he walked out to his car there was a skip in his step. Though he was making slow progress with Kate, her mother seemed to be a big fan of his. If he could win over her dad and get the job at the yard, which Mrs. McCullough seemed to think was in the bag, maybe Kate would finally see he wasn’t such a bad guy. Today was definitely progress.

  The following afternoon, just after the kitchen was cleaned up from breakfast, Ant’s mother’s voice shook the rafters. “Nicky! You expect these meatballs to roll themselves? Anthony! Let that dog out before it pisses on my carpet! I’m runnin’ to the store. Lock the top lock behind me and keep your father out of the fridge. We got company tonight.”

  He glanced at the ceiling and waited for it.

  “Anthony! This dog is pacin’! I come back to shit on my carpets, you’re cleanin’ it up!”

  “I’ll handle it, Ma!”

  The door slammed. If he hadn’t witnessed how loud and crazy Kate’s family was he would think twice before bringing her here, but something told him she could handle his mother. Taking the stairs two at a time, he called the dog as it circled the parlor. “Come on, Povi. You gotta go out?”

  The dog followed him through the kitchen where his sisters were elbow deep in veal and pork.

  “Who’s comin’ to dinner tonight?” his sister Nicky asked.

  “You got a girl comin’ over? Who is she?” Maria kicked off the interrogation.

  “What girl?” Angela echoed. “Does she go to our school? Do we know her?”

  He stood by the back door and waited for the dog to handle his business. “No, you don’t know her and she goes to my school.” His sisters all attended the Catholic school in the next town because his father believed girls needed a little more supervision during their teen years. “Did you guys give Povi those treats again? He’s got the trots.”

  “Ma did,” Angela said.

  He rolled his eyes. “She bitches he’s always shittin’ on her carpet but she keeps feeding him those treats. Throw them away.”

  “You throw them away,” Maria snapped. “We’re busy makin’ meatballs for your girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  His sisters snickered. “That’s not what Mommy said.”

  Great. He opened the door and called, “Povi…” When the dog came running, he looked back at his sisters. “Where did Ma go?”

  “To pick up Nonna and get more garlic for the braciole.”

  The gravy was already simmering on the stove in the big pot. He lifted the lid and breathed in the savory scent. Using the wooden spoon he stole a taste. “This needs salt.”

  “Mommy said don’t touch it.”

  “It needs salt,” he argued, searching for the shaker.

  “She said don’t touch it,” Angela snapped, waving him away like a housefly. “Get out a’ here!�
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  Unable to find the salt he went in search of his dad, who was predictably washing the car out front. “Hey, Pop.”

  “Ah, finally some help. Grab the bucket.” Ant moved the bucket closer to his dad who was polishing the headlights of his Lincoln with a toothbrush. “Your mother…” he grumbled, shaking his head, silver hair slick against the black. “She’s freakin’ nuts. What do I do every Sunday?”

  Ant sat on the front step, stretching his legs across the walk. “Wash the car.”

  “I wash the car. All the sudden she’s tellin’ me I gotta go get more long hots for dinner.”

  He wasn’t sure if Kate would eat hot Italian peppers, but if she did she probably wouldn’t eat more than what they already had. “She’ll be fine when she gets back, Pop. You know how she is.”

  He grumbled again. “Who’s this girl?”

  “Her name’s Kate McCullough. You’d like her.”

  “Irish?” His head bobbed in a nod. “Good. You already got enough Italian women in your life. Don’t want too many.” He moved to the other headlight and mumbled. “Every day that woman gets closer and closer to my last nerve.”

  “We’re just friends.” When his dad screwed one eye shut and gave him a look like he was full of shit, Ant explained, “I’m workin’ on it.”

  His dad laughed. “Atta boy.”

  His mother returned and screamed at his father for dragging the garden hose over her hosta then she moved into the kitchen where she ordered around his sisters. Ant watched television, but mostly kept his eyes on the clock, counting down the minutes until he could pick up Kate.

  “Anthony,” his mother interrupted his show, hovering in the parlor door. She had her stained cobblers apron on, the one that buttoned down the front. “You want a snack? How about I make you a nice sandwich? I got capicola at the deli.”

  “I’m all right, Ma.”

  “You sure? You look irritable. You should eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  She waved a hand. “I’ll make you a sandwich.”

  Ten minutes later he was eating a sandwich while his sisters continued to slave away in the kitchen. There were definitely some double standards in their house, but he never complained because he was the son. Modern girls didn’t go for those sorts of rules, so he milked it from his mother as long as he could.