“You look good in that, like a biker chick,” Alex said, coming back to the side of the bike and putting on her own helmet. “Hot, even.” She winked and smiled when Elly blushed. Again.
“I don’t feel like a biker chick,” she replied, hitching up the chaps once more. Alex patted the seat and Elly mounted the bike, swinging her leg over.
“You definitely look like one now,” Alex insisted, resting a hand on Elly’s knee and squeezing gently. Elly sat straight, her shoulders back, confident as anything, or at least pretending to be, and Alex wished they were at the farm already, near a bed, or at least had some privacy.
“If you say so,” Elly said.
“I do.” Alex took her seat and started the engine. Not long now, though the road from Cardston would be slow, bumpy, and scattered with gravel. It would seem like forever, with Elly’s knees pressing against her hips. She wanted to be between Elly’s legs, but not like that.
She took the turn out of the parking lot faster than she’d intended, and Elly’s knees squeezed her hips tight. It was torture of the best kind.
Chapter Seven
When Alex made the turn onto the one-lane road, the last short stretch to the farm, Elly could hardly sit still. The bike slowed and Alex pushed up her visor.
“Not far now,” she said. “Sit still just a little longer. You’re like a kid.”
She was like a kid, Elly knew, a kid waiting for the promised treat.
Once Alex pulled into the drive and killed the engine, she could barely stay still while Alex made sure the bike was steady and put down the kickstand, dismounting. As soon as it was clear, Elly slid off the bike, landing on the grass and gravel with both feet and taking off her helmet.
She was home.
The farm looked much the same, though the grass had grown a little longer, and the clover was in full bloom. Elly inhaled deeply. It was perfect.
Alex unlocked the saddlebags and took out Elly’s gym bag from one, her own bag from another, and then the grocery bag from the back. “Lead the way, El.”
Elly skipped up the steps to the front porch, hitching up the chaps as she went. She unzipped her jacket pocket and took out her keys, opening the front screen door—which didn’t sag or screech anymore—and then unlocked the front door, pushing it open. She stepped inside, the rag mat muting her footsteps, and moved aside to let Alex enter with all their gear. She set her helmet on the bottom step, then shed her jacket and hung it over the knob at the bottom of the banister.
“Let me take that,” she said, grabbing her bag and the groceries from Alex. She set her bag down by the steps, then went through to the kitchen. The floor squeaked under her steps, but she hardly noticed. All she could think was that she was home.
“This place looks like it did back then,” Alex said, coming through the door, combing her fingers through her dark hair. “You haven’t changed a thing, have you?”
Elly shut the fridge after putting the perishables inside and straightened. “I haven’t changed anything,” she said. “It doesn’t need changing.”
“It’s cozy.” Alex flopped down onto the sofa that faced into the kitchen, on the other side of the large Formica kitchen table.
“It’s home.” Elly took a glass down from the shelf and went to the sink, running the water for a minute before she put the glass under the tap, filling it. She drank deeply, quenching the thirst from the ride. “Want a glass?”
“Sure.” Alex came over, took the glass that Elly handed her, and stood beside her at the sink. She filled it half-full, then drank it down as fast as Elly had.
“More?” Elly asked.
“Sure, but not water,” Alex replied. “You’ve been driving me nuts all day, El. All that squirming. I’m impatient.” She hooked her fingers in Elly’s belt loops and Elly found herself snugly against Alex, their hips resting against each other. Alex bent her head and Elly lifted hers, meeting her halfway for the kiss.
Alex’s scent surrounded her, a heady combination of leather and her light, surprisingly flowery perfume that she couldn’t name. She wanted this moment to last, and it did, stretching out into minutes, until they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily. Resting her head on Alex’s leather-clad shoulder, she closed her eyes. “I wish I hadn’t waited so long,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She felt Alex cup the back of her neck, stroking in gentle circles.
“You had my number all that time?”
Elly nodded, not lifting her head.
“And you never called.” Alex sounded disappointed, and her hand on Elly’s neck stilled.
Elly didn’t know what to say.
The clomp of heavy boots on the porch kept her from having to say anything at all.
“Elly? You here?” Jack called, giving a perfunctory knock on the screen door.
Elly lifted her head and she and Alex broke apart.
“I’m here,” she called back. She heard the screen slam shut as Jack stepped inside, and she met him in the hall.
“I wondered whose bike that—” Jack took in her jeans and leather chaps, his brows rising. “Oh.”
She heard Alex behind her, felt the edges of her jacket brush her back and her hand at her waist. When she glanced back, she saw that Alex had locked gazes with Jack, a challenging look in her eyes and in the set of her jaw.
“You staying for long?” Jack asked, his gaze moving back to Elly. He didn’t acknowledge Alex.
“Just overnight.”
“I’m working the fields on your section to the north today,” he continued, “so if it’s all right, I might pop in a little later for a glass of water and such.”
“That’s fine.” Elly heard Alex’s indrawn breath but ignored it. Jack was welcome, as always. “Just knock.”
“Of course.” At the door, he glanced back once more. “See you later. Nice leathers, by the way. Didn’t think I’d ever see you wearing any.”
Alex’s exhalation warmed the back of Elly’s neck. “Does he always just show up like that?”
“He’s leasing the land from me—he’s allowed to be here,” she replied. “He probably wondered if someone had broken in.”
“That’s a bit scary, that someone can just walk in.”
Elly followed Alex back into the kitchen. “It’s just Jack, and anyway, it’s different out here. I hardly ever even lock the doors.”
“Really?” Alex shrugged off her jacket and dropped it on the sofa. “That’s risky.”
“It’s not Calgary,” Elly replied. “I know almost everyone in the whole district.” She looked out the window over the sink, saw the fields stretching out to the horizon, freshly plowed and ready for planting.
“It sure isn’t.”
“So what brought you out here last year then?” She hadn’t asked at the time—they’d been otherwise occupied and by the time her brain had cleared enough for questions, Alex was gone. She knew Alex was a city girl, but her suspicion of the country—there really was no other word for it—was a surprise.
“My grandmother’s birthday. I was looking for a gift, something she might like. Something vintage. A friend told me a lot of the smaller towns had good antique shops.”
“There are quite a few. I’m pretty sure every town between Calgary and the US border has at least one.” Elly’s stomach grumbled, and though it wasn’t quite dinnertime, she wanted something to eat. “Sandwiches for dinner, or cereal?”
“Either sounds good to me, unless you’re hiding some other food.”
“I wish I’d bought something more. I’m in the mood for a feast.”
“A feast would be fantastic. But if there’s still a bit of your father’s whisky left, we could have a glass for dessert.”
“Might be.” Elly opened the cupboard above the fridge. A bottle of whisky sat there, looking dusty and forlorn. A couple of inches of amber liquor sat in the bottle.
“Oh, good”—Alex came up behind her—“we’re in luck.” She reached over Elly and took down the bottle, setting it
on the kitchen table. Elly took the sandwich ingredients from the fridge and set out four pieces of bread. She made the sandwiches up quickly, and put them each onto a plate while Alex observed.
“Want a glass of milk with it?” Elly asked, taking the plates to the table.
“Just water’s fine. Milk and whisky don’t go so well together.” Alex made a face and Elly chuckled.
“I hadn’t thought of that.” She hardly ever drank whisky. She poured two glasses of water and brought them to the table. They settled across from each other, and little was said while they scarfed down their meals.
Alex finished first, while Elly still worked on the second half of her sandwich. “You eat too slow,” she teased, taking a sip of her water.
“You eat too fast,” Elly countered. “You should be savoring your food.”
Alex shrugged. “Habit. Comes from working in the bar too long.” She rose and took her plate to the sink, then went into the hallway, coming back with her phone in hand. She fiddled with it, then frowned.
“No service here,” Elly said apologetically. “If you need to make a call you’ll have to use the house phone.”
“Thought I’d check my texts,” Alex said, sitting back down and placing her phone on the table. She grimaced. “Guess not. I didn’t think we were that far in the middle of nowhere.”
“It’s the hill,” Elly said. “It interferes with the signal. I’d turn your roaming off if I were you. Sometimes we’ll get a signal but it’ll be from a tower across the border, and that gets expensive.”
Alex frowned. “Right.” She fiddled with her phone some more, then set it back down, tapping her fingers on the tabletop in an uneven tempo.
Elly finished her sandwich and rose to place her plate in the sink. “But we have lots to do aside from texting.”
“I don’t know how you could manage out here without your phone,” Alex replied. “I’d go nuts. I’m going nuts already.”
“You get used to it. And if someone really wanted to get in touch with me here, they could call. My number’s in the book.”
“People use phonebooks, still?” Alex laughed. “How weird. What else do you do out here?”
“I did work at the diner in town,” Elly said, trying to keep the defensiveness from her voice, “but when I wasn’t there, I used to go walking in the fields, down to the river. Or I’d read.”
“Not cleaning?” Alex’s gaze moved to the hallway, beyond which lay the entryway and its attached mudroom with its clutter.
Elly hardly saw that now; she was so used to it. Her dad had kept a collection of odds and ends, just in case he needed something for a repair. She hated that Alex didn’t understand the reasons behind keeping such things. They were on a farm, not in the middle of the city next to a big-box store. Alex’s words had turned her father’s foresight into a mess to be thrown away.
“I meant to, but—”
“I’m teasing. It’s no big deal,” Alex said, interrupting her explanation. “What’s a farmhouse without clutter? It’s like an antique store without price tags and a sales clerk.”
Elly smiled, though it was tentative. “I will clean it, one day soon.”
“Will you sell?”
Elly’s heart stuttered and her breath caught in her throat. “I’d never sell. It’s family.”
“A farmhouse is family?” Alex sounded puzzled.
“The land, the farmhouse, it’s been in the family for generations,” Elly clarified. “I could never give it up.”
“Must be nice to have something from family,” Alex mused. She picked up her phone, then put it down again when she seemed to realize that it was useless out here, her hand clenching into a momentary fist.
“Don’t you?” Elly asked.
Alex looked down at the table, her finger tracing a crack in the Formica. “Not really. But it’s not something I want to get into, to be honest.”
“Oh.” Trying not to fidget with discomfort, Elly rose from the table again, going to the stove and lifting the kettle from the burner. She filled it with water from the tap and put it on to boil. Her grandmother had always said that tea was the best thing for solving problems. And if it doesn’t work to solve them, then at least you have a cup of tea, Elly remembered her saying. She heard Alex sigh, and the click of the cell phone on the Formica once more.
“Making tea?” Alex asked, her voice sounding more cheery.
“Tea is best for what ails you,” Elly said, quoting another saying of her grandmother’s.
“It is,” Alex agreed, “but even better if it has a touch of whisky in it, for fortification.”
“We can arrange that.”
“But before we do,” Alex said, coming nearer, “we should be reliving last year.” She drew Elly into her arms, bending her head to kiss her. Elly parted her lips, allowing her access, remembering back to that other evening and Alex kissing her while the pasta boiled on the stove.
A crunch of gravel and the sound of an engine broke them apart.
“Whose car is that?” Alex asked, looking out the kitchen window. An old navy-blue Buick rumbled along the road, slowing to a stop before turning into the driveway. Elly sighed. She wanted just a few hours alone with Alex. Jack must have told his grandmother that she was back.
“That’s Mrs. Calderwood. She’s Jack’s granny, and a bit of a gossip. I’m sure she’s come out to see you for herself.”
“People actually do that? That’s a bit Little House on the Prairie, isn’t it?”
“She does.” It wasn’t the 1800s, and Elly resented the implication.
“They don’t call before coming over?” Alex was incredulous.
“You’ve never lived in the country, have you?” Alex was such a city girl, and her comments, though not meant to hurt, stung in their excess. “People just drop by for a visit, unannounced. They’re usually on their way and just thought they’d stop in, as Mrs. Calderwood always tells me. It’s a small-town thing, I think.”
“It would drive me nuts,” Alex replied.
Elly went to the front door, opening it just as Mrs. Calderwood made her way up the porch steps.
“Oh, there you are, dear,” she said, carefully navigating each step, her cane in one hand, the other clutching the rail. “Jack said you had come back for a visit, so I thought I’d stop by and say hello. It’s just not the same since you left. The diner’s not so pleasant without your smiling face.”
Mrs. Calderwood gave her a hug, and Elly returned it, gently, being careful of Mrs. Calderwood’s fragile form. The widow was getting close to eighty years old, and she wasn’t as hale as she used to be, though she’d never admit it.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Elly asked as Mrs. Calderwood stepped over the threshold. “I’ve just put the kettle on.”
“That would be lovely, dear.” She followed Elly through to the kitchen, her lavender-water perfume scenting the air. When she saw Alex, she stopped.
“Mrs. Calderwood, this is my friend Alex Bellerose,” Elly said by way of introduction, watching Alex carefully, hoping she wouldn’t make a snide remark.
“How do you do?” Mrs. Calderwood said, quite formally, holding out her hand to Alex, who rose and came around the table.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Alex replied, taking the woman’s hand. Elly relaxed a fraction.
“I don’t know if Elly’s told you about me, but I’ve known her since she was a babe in arms,” Mrs. Calderwood said.
“She hadn’t mentioned it. I’d bet you have a lot of stories to tell, ma’am.”
“Don’t stand on ceremony with me, my dear. I’m not old enough to be called ma’am. Just Doris will do, or Mrs. Calderwood, if you must. I do have many stories.” She chuckled. “When Elly and Jack were little, they used to race around on the lawn, running through the sprinkler Elly’s pa would set up for them. Of course, Jack’s always been sweet on our Elly.”
Elly stifled a wince, watching as Mrs. Calderwood took a seat at the table. The kettle began t
o whistle and she went to the stove, turning off the heat and moving the kettle to a cool burner. She grabbed a couple of tea bags from the tin in the cupboard and plopped them into the old Brown Betty teapot of her grandmother’s, pouring the hot water over them.
“I can see why Jack would be sweet on her,” she heard Alex say. “I mean, who wouldn’t?”
“But Elly’s never been sweet on him,” Mrs. Calderwood replied. “I just don’t understand it.”
Elly turned and caught Alex’s glance. Since Mrs. Calderwood had her back to her, she shrugged and made a face. Alex tried to hold back her smile.
“I suppose perhaps Jack isn’t Elly’s type,” Alex said diplomatically.
“I suppose not.”
Elly brought the teapot to the table and went back for three cups and the sugar bowl and the milk from the fridge.
“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Calderwood pushed her cup over closer to Elly. “Would you pour me a cup now? I don’t like for it to get too strong anymore. It keeps me awake nights.”
Elly poured her tea and then set the teapot down. She needed it to steep longer, and when Alex nodded, she sat back down in her chair.
“So, is that machine out there yours?” Mrs. Calderwood asked, looking at Alex.
“The bike? It sure is.”
“A bit much for a lady, isn’t it?”
Elly bit her lip and tried not to smile. Alex shook her head.
“Not too much at all. Have you ever been on one?”
“Goodness me, no. I’d be too worried about falling off.” Mrs. Calderwood looked scandalized, yet amused.
“You really should try it,” Alex said, and Elly couldn’t decide if she was being serious or not.
“If I were a few years younger, I might just,” Mrs. Calderwood replied. “Elly, are you becoming a biker now? Should I be worried?”
Elly felt her cheeks flush. “Only just the once,” she said. “I don’t think I’d ever buy a bike or anything.”
Betting on Love Page 8
