by Lindsay Mead
Vi stuck her hands in her pockets, feeling a little nervous about introducing Ian to her grandparents. For some reason, it felt like a big step. She had to remind herself that they weren't dating; he was only a client along for the ride.
"There's my girl!" her grandpa shouted from the other end and throwing his arms out wide. "Get yer ass over here."
The old man didn't look like a typical grandpa. Working a farm his whole life and spending his retirement training horses left him in fantastic shape. His hair was long enough to drag his fingers through. It was gray and white with tones of black. He had a full matching beard and mustache. With storm-cloud eyes, the gals at the local knitting club liked to call him the Silver Fox. He wore blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a flannel with rolled up sleeves.
Stretching down his right arm was the tattoo of a shovel with the metal blade wrapping the length of his forearm and wrist. Crow feathers appeared to float around it, a couple landing on the illustrated dirt pushed up by the shovel. On his other arm was a cross, along with the names of his family and known ancestors. Viola never asked him what the tattoos meant; that seemed too personal.
Grinning from ear to ear, Vi jogged the rest of the way to her grandpa and threw her arms around him. "Hey, Gramps!"
"How ya doin, girl?" He gave her an extra squeeze. "I wasn't sure you'd make it."
"I'm doing pretty good, actually." Stepping back, Viola bounced to Friends In Low Places blaring from a radio tied to a stall by thin wire. The budding party atmosphere filled her with excited energy and she pulled the Scotsman to her side. "Gramps, this is my friend, Ian Grave."
"Good to meet you, Ian. I'm Rick Danvers." Gramps shook Ian's hand and gestured to the gigantic barbecue with billows of smoke snaking from the long pipe. The smell of cooking chicken reached their noses and oh, did it smell yummy. "You ever had country barbecue?"
"No, I actually haven't." Ian grinned at Vi.
"Whoa, boy, listen to that accent! I don't know where you're from, but you've gotta try some country food." Gramps threw a rough arm around him and gave Viola a wink. "Your grams is in the stall."
With that, Gramps dragged Ian off to meet his other rancher friends. A crowd of them stood around the barbecue, smoking and drinking. Vi left them to it and went in search of her grandma. The rear of the barn was filling with people from all around. Most of them were familiar, people who'd been attending this party since it started. Viola said her hellos while slipping her way past the buffet table—it was country etiquette to bring a dish, a bottle, or a case to pass.
The stall that Gramps had referred to was the only one kept empty on a regular basis. This was where all the booze went and usually, someone was coerced into being the bartender for the evening. The small space was currently stuffed with far too many people.
Viola wiggled through the crowd, stopping in front of some crates that Grams was using as a bar. Like her husband, Grams didn't fit the traditional image of a grandparent. Her hair was long and gray with black streaks. She looked good in little more than an ebony cowboy hat, tight blue jeans, and a dark sleeveless vest—her fully tattooed arms on display.
When Viola had revealed the existence of demons to her family, everyone had different ways of coping. Ron and Amy chased extreme normalcy, living simply and safely. Gramps and Grams, on the other hand, found their wild sides. They rented their many acres to corporate farms, went full-time into competing with their show horses, threw massive barn parties twice a month, and became tattoo junkies.
Grams saw her granddaughter growing up in a world where she was different from everyone around her. So, for every tattoo Vi got, her grandparents got one, too. That's how awesome they were.
"Viola Danvers! Are you just gonna stand there staring at me all night without a word?" Grams shouted above the din, her eyes twinkling. "Come here, girl. Look, everyone, my granddaughter came home!"
The crowd cheered and greeted Viola as her grandma walked around the bar to pull her into a hug. Grams smelled like lilacs and saddle leather, and Viola filled her lungs with the scent. Strong from tossing hay bales and handling animals three times her size, she squeezed Viola with the strength of an ox. Vi would've let the embrace go on for ages, except that she noticed Ian watching from the stall's entryway.
"Grams, I got someone you need to meet," she whispered into her ear and pointed to Ian. "You've gotta hear him talk."
Seeing him, something sparked in the old woman's eyes. Yeah, he was that handsome. Grams waved him in, then shouted in a way that only a country mother could, "All right, everyone who's got a drink needs to clear out!"
Not wanting to face the wrath of Grandma Danvers, the crowd abruptly turned about. Ian moved aside as they shambled past. The men tipped their hats in greeting while the ladies winked and smiled. Oh, lordie, Ian was not safe here.
As the stall emptied, he came over. "Hello, ma'am. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"My God." Grams burst into laughter—a sound that came from deep within her belly—and wrapped her arms around the man. "You must be Heaven sent."
"Grams, this is Ian Grave," Vi said, smiling so hard that her cheeks hurt. "Ian, this is my grandmother, Martha."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Martha." Ian hugged her in return. "I can see that your granddaughter's good looks are a family trait."
"Oh, my." Grams snickered and swatted Ian playfully. "With that voice, you could charm the pants off a mule."
Grinning, Ian peered at Viola. "I don't know what that means, but I'll take it."
"Hey, Vi!" Gramps popped his head in. "You bring your fiddle?"
"Of course, it's not a party without it."
"Good, we're gonna play in fifteen," he said pointing at her.
"Hold on, let 'em get something to drink first." Grams waved him away and went behind the makeshift bar. "What'll be your poison, Vi?"
"We'll take the house whiskey." She put her hands on her hips, eager to finally get a drink in hand.
Ian was in for a real treat and he didn't even know it. One of the things, besides horses, that her grandparents had decided to invest their retirement in was a local brewery. Grams claimed that the idea was inspired by Viola and they'd worked alongside the brewer to find just the right flavors.
"You're going to play?" Ian leaned on the bar, twisting toward Viola as Grams did her thing.
"Yeah, the whole family plays an instrument." Vi put her elbows next to his. "We're like a redneck Partridge family."
"Ian, are you ready for the best whiskey you've ever tasted?" Grams reappeared from behind the bar and set down three glasses with one hand while, in the other, she cradled two mason jars.
He swung a skeptical glance her way. "Martha, I'm Scottish, I'll be hard to impress."
"We'll see. First up is our Heavenly Moonshine Whiskey." She twisted off the top with tattooed hands and poured a swallow of the amber liquor into each glass. "So smooth, you'll think you've died and gone to heaven."
Vi took her glass and clanked it against theirs. "Bottoms up."
Honestly, how many people can say they did shots with their badass grandma? Or more accurately, a badass grandma and a handsome Scotsman? As Martha promised, the whiskey was as smooth as ice cream with a delicate apple and honey aftertaste.
Ian examined the glass appreciatively and nodded. "Very nice, I'll admit."
Grinning devilishly, Grams unscrewed the second jar. "Next up is our Hellish Moonshine Whiskey. You wanna know why we call it Hellish?"
"Why?" The glint in Ian's eyes told Vi that he was thoroughly enjoying himself.
Before answering, Grams poured the three glasses and waited 'til Ian took his. "Because it burns on the way down—and it doesn't take much to get ya there."
He laughed. "I like that."
"Yup, everyone says that 'til they've had too many." Martha's gaze swiveled to Vi.
"It's true." Her mouth quirked sideways as she remembered her first encounter with Hellish.
It was fun at first, then ver
y quickly it wasn't.
The three tossed back their shots together. Hellish had bite, that was for sure. Ian slammed his glass and let out a whoop, causing Martha to howl. Not one to be left out, Viola let her inner wolf out.
Ian sucked in a harsh breath. "That is some strong shit, Martha."
"Well, thank you." She shimmied her shoulders and poured them both full glasses of Heavenly.
As they took their drinks into the crowded aisle, the moon was climbing into the sky and bugs were beginning to buzz around the overhead lights. The alcohol flowed while the food was gobbled up by the plate full and a bonfire crackled outside the open doors.
Viola and Ian wandered toward her family. They each had their instruments out and were tuning away. That's when Viola noticed the brand-new banjo in Lana's hands. Seeing the two approach, she waved it excitedly. "Look what Gramps and Grams bought me!"
"Whoa." Vi bent to examine it. Its pieces were polished brass while the wood was black and white with painted geometric patterns. It fit Lana's eccentric style perfectly. Viola smiled at her grandpa. "Bitchin' banjo, Gramps."
He tipped his beer and shrugged his shoulders. "She's a helluva player and deserves her own."
"You got an extra one of those around?" Vi nodded to the beer. From a blue cooler a few feet away, he dragged a can from the icy depths and tossed it to her. She turned to Ian and grinned. "There's something that I need to show you."
"Okay," he said tentatively and followed her through the aisle.
The stall she went to wasn't far and inside was a chestnut Quarter Horse. The gelding dozed in the corner, accustomed to the loud party. He'd been bought as a yearling at auction a few years ago and her grandparents used him solely for trail riding. He was a sweet old soul, even if he was still young.
"This here"—Viola cracked open the top of the beer can—"is Bud."
At the sound of his name, the gelding lifted his head and peered at them with his big brown eyes. A gentle nicker rumbled from his throat. He sauntered around, stuck his head through the door window, and let Ian run a hand down his long face.
Chuckling, Ian said, "Why do I feel like you named him that for a particular reason?"
"Of course we did." She smirked and lifted the beer can. "We named him after his favorite brand."
As though on cue, the horse wrapped his thick lips around the can. His teeth latched on, then he raised his head high. The contents poured out and the two jumped out of the way of arrant droplets while the horse guzzled. When he finished, Bud simply released the can and it clattered empty to the dirt floor.
"That was the weirdest fucking thing I've ever seen." Ian stared at her with wide-eyed amazement and a fat grin on his handsome face. "That was awesome."
Loving Ian's reaction, Viola laughed 'til her sides hurt. She touched his arm and leaned into him. "It's my favorite party trick."
"All right, let's play some music!" Rick shouted, twirling his mandolin into the air.
"Shit, I gotta get my case." As the crowd cheered, Viola left Ian and raced to get her violin from the jeep.
He was waiting with the others when she returned. Hurriedly, Vi passed off her drink and readied her violin. She then found a place between Amy, who played the guitar, and Ron on the harmonica. After a three count, the group launched into their best bluegrass. Lines quickly formed in the aisle and the dancing started. Ian stood off to the side, his eyes watching them with the fascination of a child. Grams appeared after a while and grabbed his hand. She could play an instrument or two herself, but she loved to dance.
With Grams there to show him the basic steps, before long Ian could've been mistaken for a born country boy. Vi loved watching him have so much fun with her friends and family. Dragging her bow across the strings of her violin was truly satisfying, but when it inspired people to joy—when they truly felt the music in their bones—well, there was no better feeling.
After several back-to-back songs, Ian convinced Grams to get Viola on the dance floor with him. The band swept into a slow song and Ian tugged Viola against him. His eyes sat softly on her face, sending warmth throughout her body. Martha's voice sang out over the instruments then and Vi smiled. She loved hearing her grandma sing. The woman had a salt of the earth kind of voice and the whole barn grew quiet to hear her sing. Caught in the sway of the song, Viola happily slipped her arms around the well-formed Scotsman and let herself be swept away.
The party went late into the night. They danced 'til exhaustion, ate good food, drank the best booze, and had the coolest company. There was nothing quite like coming home to wash away the darkness that sometimes latched itself onto Viola. With her belly full and a good buzz on, she was totally content as the party wound to its end.
"I know I'm sounding like a broken record here, but this might have been the most fun I've ever had," Ian said from right next to her at the picnic table. The light from the mosquito-repelling candle flickered along his sharp jaw. "Your family is amazing. You know that, right?"
"Yeah, I do." Viola smiled, well aware of how lucky she was—and Hell be damned, if she was going to waste a single ounce of that good fortune. The last of the party-goers had just left, but she wasn't ready for their night to be over yet. Smashing out her cigarette, Vi pushed up from the wooden bench and grabbed Ian's hand. "Come on, let's go have our own private party."
13
Snagging a jar of whiskey moonshine, Viola jogged to the horse trailer. She opened the side compartment and stole a thick horse blanket, two regular blankets, and a battery-powered lantern. She teetered backward under the weight, truly feeling her booze now that she was off balance.
"What are you doing?" Ian appeared at her side, scaring the living crap out of her.
"Asshole." She burst into a fit of giggles.
"I'm sorry, did I scare the exorcist?" He chuckled. " I swear, I didn't mean to."
"Liar." Grinning, she straightened and shoved the heavier blankets into his chest. "Here, take these and follow me."
She started toward the edge of the property, where a flatbed awaited them. The alcohol in her blood made her body feel warm and languid while her mind was light and buzzy from her last cigarette. She could have passed out right then and there, but the fresh Autumn air filled her with an alertness that encouraged her to run naked through the fields. Not that Vi would ever do that—again.
The bonfire was nearly out, only a few burnt logs and glowing embers remained. Cold, early-morning dew clung to the tall grass and, as she walked, it soaked her feet with soothing wet droplets. Viola looked through the barn, straight across the drive, and up to the large white farmhouse. The porch light was left on for them, but it was too damned far to walk. Besides, her parents, Lana, Aaron, and god knows who else were probably crashed inside. A bit too crowded.
"Hey!" Viola halted and peered at her bare feet through the darkness. "What the fuck happened to my boots and socks?"
There was a long silence.
"Probably the same thing that happened to mine," Ian answered from behind.
Vi spun around. Though the Scotsman clutched the heavy blankets tight, they were beginning to slip. Thanks to the moonlight, she glimpsed the goofiest grin on his face. Superman was drunk! She dissolved into a fit of laughter and stumbled about.
"Come on, stop." He tottered over, trying poorly not to laugh with her. "You're gonna drop your stuff in the grass."
She forced herself to chill. "Okay. Okay. Calm on."
He tilted his head. "Did you say, 'calm on' or 'come on'?"
"I said, calm down." She gestured for him to keep following her. "Now, come on."
Viola turned and jogged the rest of the way to the flatbed. She dropped the lantern into the grass, splaying light across the ground and trailer. Whipping her blanket, Viola spread it onto the flatbed. Then, she took the thick horse blanket from Ian's arms and tossed it at the top of the trailer to be used as a pillow. Understanding what she was up to, Ian completed the bedspread with the last blanket.
&
nbsp; As he did, Viola unscrewed the whiskey jar and filled her mouth. At this point, even the Hellish Whiskey didn't burn. Ian finished making the bed and she offered him a drink. Putting the jar to his lips, he watched Viola strip off her shorts.
"I am not sleeping in jean shorts," she said in response to his raised eyebrow. Discarding them in the grass, Vi climbed onto the flatbed and under the top blanket. "Do you know how uncomfortable that would be?"
Ian downed another swig, then handed the jar to Viola. She screwed the lid on and leaned over the edge to set it nearby. Hearing Ian's pants unzip, a warm tingling sensation traveled to her core. Viola bit her lip and rolled onto her back, turning her attention to the sky. A trillion tiny stars spanned for miles and miles in every direction. She loved staring at the sky at night. It made her feel wonderfully small and free.
"What a crazy gorgeous fucking night," she murmured as a warm breeze tussled one of her blonde locks.
Ian lifted the blankets on his side and clambered in. "You swear a lot when you're drunk."
Vi snorted. "Shit, I swear a lot when I'm sober. Hope that's not a problem."
"Nope." Smirking, he rested his head on the horse blanket. "It was just an observation. You swear more than anyone I've ever met."
"Curse words are the truest forms of verbal expression," Viola said, suddenly feeling a little less drunk. "One word used correctly and with the right inflection can say an awful lot."
"That explains why swearing only sounds good when you do it." He put a hand behind his head, his eyes staring at the stars.
"Ian, there's something I've been wanting to ask you about." Vi rolled onto her side. "But it's really none of my business, and normally I never get so personal with a client—"
"You want to know how my parents died." He interrupted with a frown.
"No…I was actually wondering if you wanted to see my boobs?" she asked instead. Ian burst out laughing, his chuckle carrying out into the night, and Viola laughed with him. "Seriously, though, you don't have to tell me about your childhood, if you don't want."
