She shook her head. “I didn’t even come in here last night.” She glared at him. “This is all your fault.”
His hand slapped against his chest. Indignation burned in his cheeks. “My fault?”
“Well, yeah. You distracted me with the kissing and the hammering and the second-hand coffee.”
He scowled his confusion. “Second-hand coffee?”
She turned in a slow circle. “I don’t suppose they got down.”
A smirk twitched his lips. “Not without some ropes and a safety harness.”
“This isn’t funny. I’m a horrible mother.”
Tears filled her eyes, and he kicked into full-blown panic mode. “Oh no. No. Don’t do that. You are not a horrible mother. You’re not their mother.” He crossed the room and folded her into his arms. “They’re chickens, Lynne. Not babies.”
“I raised a human being. Why can’t I keep a damn chicken?” She snuffled and buried her face in his shirt.
“I’ll get you chickens. I’ll give you a dozen chickens, okay? Just don’t… Aw, geez, don’t do that.”
Her sniffle turned into a snort. She raised her head and shot him a tear-soaked glare. “Men are such babies.”
“I’m not the one crying over two stupid chicks who decided to drive over a cliff.”
Snuggling into his shoulder, she spotted the window she’d left cracked and gasped. “Do you think a cat got them?”
“A cat? What cat?” She pointed to the open window and he frowned. “A cat would have to be a contortionist to get through a crack that small.”
“A snake?”
He stared down at her then sighed and stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “Sugar, I don’t know where those two crazy birds got off to.”
She swallowed hard and then nodded. Swiping at her eyes, she took a step back and sniffled, her spine stiffening with resolve. “You’d better get back to the porch. I have to get ready to go to town.”
He swooped in and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, brushing away the last of her tears with the pad of his thumb. “Two dozen birds,” he promised. In one smooth circle, he slammed the cage door shut, swung it from the counter, and started for the door.
“Better get a couple of boys this time…for protection,” she called after him.
The metal cage jangled against the doorframe. Bram didn’t break stride. He snorted and muttered under his breath, “There’s only gonna be one rooster around here.”
****
A little over an hour later, she was far more composed as she hiked her handbag onto her shoulder. Bram was storing a few tools in the mudroom. “Do you want to take my car?” she called to him.
He stepped into the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks. His tongue nearly slid down his throat when the light spring breeze wafting through the open window teased his nostrils with the fresh scent of soap mixed with perfume and other girly-scented lotions.
“Huh?” He cringed the moment the grunt left his mouth. Good God, you are a silver-tongued devil, aren’t you, Hatchett?
“We can take my car, if you want.” She jingled her keys. “You won’t need to unload your tools and stuff.”
He thought about the broken-down sawhorses he’d tossed into the bed of the truck. “You’re worried someone’s going to steal something?”
She rolled her eyes and dropped into the kitchen chair, hiked the leg of her jeans up and picked up her boot. His mouth watered as she smoothed the leather over her calf. His gaze followed the line of plastic teeth when she zipped the boot again. He clicked his own teeth together and tried not to think about sinking them into that smooth flesh.
Lynne tugged the hem of her jeans over the supple leather and cast a speculative glance at him. “I’d let you drive, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
His automatic denial died on his lips. In its stead he offered her a self-deprecating smile and a hand to pull her to her feet. He opened his mouth to speak but clamped it shut, lifting his nose in the air.
“Do you smell something burning?”
She waved her reddened knuckles in front of his face. “Other than skin?”
He caught her hand, kissed the tender skin then took another sniff. “Rubber,” he muttered.
“What?”
Bram stalked to the mudroom and yanked open the dryer door. “I think you’ve got a bad belt.”
“Oh.” She peered into the dryer with him. “Is that bad?”
“Well, it isn’t good.” He stuck his hand into the drum and sighed. “It’s not heating up either.”
“Well, crap,” she muttered, her shoulders slumping. “I don’t suppose there’s a Laundromat in town?”
He shook his head and reached for a small basket tucked on the shelf. “No, but you’ve got a clothesline out back.”
“Clothesline?”
He laughed and gathered an armload of damp bedding. “Come on, fancy girl. I’ll show you how it’s done ’round here, then I’ll carry you into town.”
“Carry me?”
Shaking his head, Bram handed her the basket of clothespins. “Drive you into town,” he explained patiently. “I understand the culture shock thing, but I’m afraid we might have a bit of a language barrier too, Mizz Prescott.”
Chapter Eleven
“Catch.”
Bright sunlight glinted off the keys as they arced through the air. Bram snagged the ring before it hit the ground then tucked them into his pocket. “You’re really gonna let me drive your fancy car?”
She cast a sidelong glance in his direction. “You did help me with my fancy clothesline. It’s the least I can do.”
He reached for her hand as she sauntered down the porch steps. “You look pretty. I did tell you that, didn’t I?”
“Thank you.” The heels of her leather boots sank into the muddy ground. She scowled at her feet. “Probably wouldn’t be pretty if I wore my garden clogs to town, huh?”
“Not as pretty, but still pretty.” Sliding his arm around her waist, he pulled her close and asked, “Want me to carry you?”
“To town?” she murmured.
“To the car.”
“You’d throw your back out.”
He nuzzled her ear. She shivered, and the tremor raised goose bumps on his skin. “I have a strong back.”
Lynne chuckled. “I know. I felt you up earlier.” She flashed a teasing smile over her shoulder. Lacing her fingers through his, she tugged him in her wake, skirting the rear of the house.
Those legs must be four feet long. He hung back, eyeing the long expanse of denim. Maybe four and a half. His fingers clenched, gripping hers tight. I have a tape measure, he thought, casting a longing glance over his shoulder and wishing for his tool belt.
She gave his hand an impatient tug. “What are you doing?”
The sun picked threads of gold from her hair when she tipped her head back. The thick waves cascaded past her shoulder blades. He itched to gather them in his hands. “Appreciating a beautiful view.”
“It is lovely, isn’t it?” she asked. She stopped and inhaled deeply. “I love spring. Especially after a rain. Everything smells so clean.”
His free hand came to rest on her hip. Lynne leaned back, and he buried his nose in those luxurious waves. “Lovely.”
“Uh-uh,” she said, dancing out of his hold. “You have a porch to finish, and I have a dinner to prepare.”
He sighed and dug the keys from his pocket, leading her to the passenger side door. “I don’t have to drive, if you’d rather.”
She gave an indelicate snort. “I think you probably do.” She smiled up at him as she climbed into the soft leather seat. “It’s okay. This will give me a chance to play with all the buttons.”
Bram settled into the driver’s seat and reached for the seat controls. “Is it new?”
“New? Oh, no. I got it a while ago.”
“And you don’t know what the buttons do?” A cacophony of bells and chimes nearly drowned out the purr of the engine.
“I’m always driving,” she answered with a shrug.
He flung one arm over the seat and craned his neck to back onto the graveled drive. Lynne cleared her throat and tapped the screen on the dash with her fingernail. He spared it one glance, brow furrowing as he stared at the rearview camera.
“Now, how is that not distracting?” Undeterred, he wrapped his hand around the headrest and peered through the back window while he gave the car some gas. A disembodied female voice told him to turn left.
“I know where I’m going,” he grumbled at the dash. Lynne tittered, and he began to fiddle with the window controls. “This thing got air? It’s warm in here.”
An enigmatic smile curved her lips. “Passenger temperature seventy-two,” she ordered, enunciating each word. The vents on her side sprang to life.
He shot her a dark glare. “Show off.”
She grinned, leaned across the console, and planted a firm kiss on his lips. “Temperature seventy-two,” she amended, settling back into her seat when air started to gush from his vents too.
Gravel crunched as he pulled onto the paved county road. “Now I see why you bought it. Will the car be cooking supper too?”
She shook her head. “Nah, I can handle the cooking.” She stared out at the freshly turned earth. “Is this your land?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Nope. It’s yours.”
“It is?”
“All the way up to the crossroads.”
“Huh.”
Bram glanced over at her, seizing the opportunity she offered up on a platter. “You know Dad and I hold the lease on your acreage, right?”
Her head swiveled. “You do?”
“Yeah. Since your grandparents passed.”
She frowned. “I guess I did know that. I didn’t connect it all.”
“We lease the land from you. The Wilsons do most of the planting and harvesting. Like a co-op.”
“The who?”
He grinned. “There are about six branches of the Wilson family around here. They do the farming, and we get a split of the profits and pay the lease. They handle most of our land too.”
“Really?”
“Well, Dad can’t keep up like he used to, and I never really had the itch to farm, so we worked it all out.”
“I had no idea.”
“Listen, Lynne, about the farm—”
The ring of her cell phone blared from the stereo's speakers. He jumped, and she shot him an apologetic smile. She tapped the screen on the dash to disable the speakers.
“Hold that thought. It's Justin.” She dug the phone from her purse and pressed a button, but her smile powered the call. “Hello, sweetheart.”
Bram slowed at the crossroads, eavesdropping on the few vague answers she gave her son. He could only assume it had something to do with her visit to Heartsfield. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel while he tried to work out the meaning of her neutral replies.
Anna Albertson’s pink boat of a car sailed into the intersection, the engine roaring as she shot across the road. He lifted his fingers from the wheel in his customary wave, and her bleached-blonde head swiveled in a near three-sixty turn.
Now that was a Linda Blair moment.
He took off toward town listening with half an ear as Lynne chattered, describing the town, the shops, and the farm to her son. The barely concealed enthusiasm in her voice rang true. She turned a sunshine smile in his direction, humming an affirmative answer to what he assumed was another of her lawyer-son’s inquiries. He relaxed his grip, sank into the buttery leather seat, and punched the gas, trying to ignore the worry gnawing at his gut.
****
“I’ll probably be a bit,” Bram said as he opened her door.
She shoved the phone into her purse. “Sorry I talked the whole time. It’s just so hard to catch him these days.”
“I understand.”
She peered up at him, puzzled by his troubled expression. “Something wrong?”
“No.” He answered too quickly, and she raised her eyebrows. “I just… You didn’t mention anything to him,” he said in a low voice, waving one hand between them.
“Should I?”
“I don’t know, should you?” When she stared back at him, he shifted his weight, burying his hands in his pockets. “I thought maybe he’d wanna know if his mama was keeping company with some strange man.”
“Keeping company? My, you are a strange man,” she teased.
His jaw tightened. “Never mind.”
“Bram—”
“I may be a bit,” he repeated, backing away from her. “Tell Marcie to hang onto your bags.”
“I can manage.”
“I’ll swing by and pick you up.”
“Bram, the whole town is three blocks long. I can handle the groceries.”
“My mama will skin me alive if someone sees you hauling your shoppin’ to the car.”
“You use that whole ‘my mama’ thing quite effectively, Mr. Hatchett.”
A wicked smile lit his face, chasing the shadows from his eyes. He took another step back, rising up onto the curb with the confidence of a man who’d never placed a wrong foot in his life, and shrugged. “The tourists seem to like it.”
Lynne chuckled as she watched him stroll toward the hatchery, his back straight, his head held high. Taking him at his word, she decided to browse the mercantile for something pretty for the table before hitting the market. As she passed, she noticed the two rockers beside the door were empty.
She pushed through the door to find the same woman who’d been visiting with Willene before leaning against the counter and picking through a bowl of fudge.
“I swear we turned that whole office upside-down lookin’ for them. Why he insists on keepin’ all them keys on one ring…” She followed Willene’s gaze to the door.
Lynne flashed a friendly smile. “Hello.”
“Ms. Prescott,” Willene answered, inclining her head in a slight nod.
“I was just… Do you carry placemats or napkins, anything like that?”
The younger woman’s lips quirked into a ghost of her father’s sardonic smile. “Notions,” she said, gesturing to the correct aisle.
“Thank you.”
The store’s entire selection was comprised of a stack of plastic reinforced placemats decorated with garish roosters and a pile of matching poly-blend napkins. Stifling a chuckle, Lynne grabbed four of each and started for the counter. “These should work.”
Willene cast a dubious gaze on her choices. “Only four? Don’t you want a set of twelve?”
She laughed off the girl’s jab. “I think four will do.”
As Willene wrote up the sale, Lynne offered the blonde hanging on the counter a tentative smile. The young woman responded with a nod and offered the bowl of fudge. She declined with a wave of her hand, and Bram’s daughter took her credit card without a word. The awkward silence pressed on her last nerve.
“Listen, your father is coming over for dinner tonight. I’d love to have you and, uh, Bobby, and Abe and his family, if you aren’t busy,” she said in a rush.
Willene didn’t bother to mask her surprise when she glanced up. “Tonight?”
“If you’re free.”
The young woman fixed her with a long, appraising stare. “I believe we have plans.”
Lynne swallowed her disappointment and plastered on another smile. “Well, maybe another night. I might be able to convince your father to haul his charcoal incinerator over to my place, and I could invite you all over for a cookout.”
Willene shoved the placemats and napkins into a brown paper bag and thrust it at Lynne. “Or, Daddy can leave his grill where it is, and we all could invite you over to the house for a visit.”
Touché. Lynne fought to keep her smile from slipping. “That would be nice. I’ll speak to your father.”
She turned and hurried for the door, pretending she didn’t hear Willene mutter, “Yeah, you do that,” behind
her back.
“Whoa. That was better than one of those Ultimate Fighting grudge matches Joe makes me watch,” the other girl hissed as she pulled the door closed behind her.
Lynne ducked her head and rushed for the market, determined to wait in the relative warmth of the frozen foods section until Bram came to get her.
****
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bram asked for the third time.
“I’m fine.”
Tires hummed on pavement. The occasional bits of scattered gravel shot from the wheel wells. Outside birds chirped and tractors sputtered, but inside their hermetically sealed little world, silence reigned.
“I’m sorry I asked about Justin,” he blurted, taking a stab at what might be eating at her. “It’s just that…I don’t even know how long you plan to stay.”
He trailed off when she shifted in her seat, prying her gaze from the bland stretch and pinning him with it. “What do your kids think about this?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off with a bitter laugh. “This… There is no this,” she muttered. “We had dinner. We kissed a couple of times. I’m cooking you another dinner because you’re fixing my porch. Forget I said anything. God, what was I thinking?”
“Whoa, whoa, wait. Hang on a minute,” he said, pressing the brake as they approached the lane leading to her house. “What do you mean there’s no this?”
“I mean, this isn’t… We’re just keeping company.”
“As far as I’m concerned, there’s a this,” he said adamantly. “Keeping company… Do you even know what that means?”
“You made it up. Why don’t you tell me?” she snapped.
The car jerked to a stop on the narrow lane. “It means there’s a this goin’ on,” he said stubbornly. “And this is not about overcooked steak and undercooked potatoes.”
“Bram, I don’t know what you want from me,” she said, her earnest blue gaze meeting his.
“I don’t know either. Kissed a couple of times,” he muttered. “Hell, Lynne, apart from my mother and daughter, I’ve kissed two women since Susan died. One is you and the other… Well, I had to drive a hundred miles and get fairly drunk just to work up the nerve. Trust me, it wasn’t particularly good for either of us.”
Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set Page 38
