by Dee Palmer
“It won’t go to waste.” His hand hovers next to my plate, and I happily swap with him.
“Oh, sure, help yourself. It’s nice to see someone enjoy my cooking. Kurt is always critical. It’s never going to be as good as his mother’s. I’m fine with it. I’m not a cook, I do the best I can while working full-time, and it would be nice to have that key difference acknowledged once in a while.” I shut my mouth too late. It’s not like we haven’t already established the whole ‘mistake’ thing, airing my dirty laundry now seems a little moot.
“Sorry.”
“Not my business.”
“Right. Anyway, I’m glad you like it.”
“It’s good. I can barbecue and cook pancakes, but Charge does most of the cooking.”
“Charge is your brother?”
“Yeah.” He takes another bite, and for a moment, I think he’s going to share a little about him and his life. He doesn’t. He finishes the sandwich and downs the lemonade. He takes the dishes over to the kitchen and begins to wash, and I join him to wipe and put them away. We move together like liquid, flowing in and out of each other’s space without a hint of friction—easy and natural.
“I never realized how much I eat. I guess you never notice raiding the refrigerator all the time until it’s not there. I’m gonna need to head into town later to get more supplies.”
“If you give me a list, I can get them for you.” My heart jumps for all the wrong reasons, and my all too rapid response rightly causes Pink to question me.
“Are you trying to keep me hostage or something?”
“No, not at all.” My laugh is a little forced and stilted. He arches a brow and faces me until I return his curious gaze.
“Really?”
“It’s a small town.” I offer with a defeated twist of a smile.
“And you don’t want anyone to know I’m here.” He finishes my thought, uncertainty troubling his facial expression.
I try to reassure him, shifting under the intensity of his gaze, which seems to see right through me. “It sounds bad, but it’s not meant to be. It’s just everyone knows everything, and this…well, this is just for me, and I kind of like that.” I’m not hiding anything, not from him at least. I just don’t want to share.
“You don’t have to worry. I’m here because I need space. I don’t need to be making new friends, and besides, it’s no one’s business what we do.” He steps closer, and when I step back, my back hits the kitchen table. I have to reach behind me to steady my balance.
“Exactly. Not that we’re doing anything.”
“Exactly.” How does he make that word sound the polar opposite of what it’s supposed to mean? Sparks crackle and heat pulses in the tiny space between us.
“Um, would you like some pie?” I duck to the side, and he grabs my hand. The sexual tension is like a force field he deflects with an easy smile while playfully tugging my reluctant body toward the back door.
The shy grin and slight hesitation in his voice pique my curiosity. “Maybe later. I want to show you something.” He pushes the door wide and allows me to peer cautiously outside.
“What did you do?” I gasp with glee, beaming back at him and rushing outside when I realize what he’s done.
He follows me down the steps and rests his hand on the corner post of his handywork. “I made a pen for Daisy. When she’s up and about, I thought she’d want to come outside. Stretch those gangly legs of hers.”
The smell of fresh sawn wood and recently disturbed earth fills my nostrils. The small enclosure is perfect, sturdy, and I’m a little overwhelmed. Stupid tears prickle the corner of my eyes. Blinking them back, I face Pink, happy as a pig in a pen. “You read my mind.”
“I read more than that, Buttercup.”
And there he goes again, flooring me with just a glance.
“Um…did you fix that fencing over there too?” Breaking the contact with a swift change of subject, I point behind him. I thought the horizon looked a little different driving down the track but I couldn’t work out what had changed.
“There’s not much else to do around here.” He shrugs.
“I wouldn’t go that far. There’s a heck of a lot of maintenance, too much for Gramps, that’s for sure.”
“And he can’t sell up?”
“It’s his home. He was born here. Even if it was in pristine condition and making money hand over fist as a working farm, he’d still owe more than we could ever repay. And it’s not.”
“Not what?”
“Not making money hand over fist.”
“Yes, I did get that, what with the whole marriage of inconvenience thing,” he states flatly. His jaw ticks with tension, and his harsh judgmental tone stings my raw nerves.
“It’s not like that.” I cross my arms defensively.
“Really?”
“What happened to this being none of your business?” I snap.
“You’re right, princess. It’s nothing to do with me.” He pushes off the wall where he was leaning and storms into the cabin, darn.
Drawing in a steadying breath, I brace myself and follow. I don’t want to argue. If anything, I don’t want to talk about ‘it’ at all. I want to forget, and being here, with him, it’s very, very easy to forget.
“Where are you going?” I catch Pink as he grabs his jacket from the back of the sofa and slips his truck keys into his back pocket.
“Out.”
Rushing to block his speedy exit, I crash into him, his rock solid chest providing an effective wall to my face. Rubbing my bruised nose, I step back, my palm flat on his chest, sparks sizzling at my fingertips.
“Wait, I’m sorry.”
His hand covers mine and he steps flush to me. I feel him everywhere, creating a perfect storm of emotions inside me. My head is a mess and I know I should keep my mouth shut. This isn’t fair, yet no one has ever looked at me the way he is right now, like he doesn’t know whether he should kiss me or kill me. His lips crash against mine, desperate and hungry, soft and painfully good. He breaks, leaving me breathless and wrecked…from one darn kiss.
He smolders, his chest heaving, and his glare darkens as he silently drags in deep breaths to fill his lungs. I thought for a second he might apologize, that remorse would come rushing from his mouth, but there is no hint of regret in his eyes. If anything, he looks, not pleased, but certainly satisfied. Although I could have that all wrong, because it’s almost impossible to see through the thick fog of ever-present sexual tension.
“I’d say you don’t understand, but I think you do, and that’s what makes this situation especially hard. Maybe if I hadn’t met you or felt this…” My fingertips press against his chest and my other hand touches my lips, which still tingle from his kiss. “…I’d never know the difference, and now… Now it feels like everything has changed, yet it hasn’t. Nothing’s changed.” Blinking to stop the darn tears, I push on, trying to make sense of the mess of words tumbling around my brain. “Can’t we just make believe for a little longer? I’m getting married at the end of next month, and you’ll be gone.” The knot in my stomach feels a lot like a blade slicing its way to my heart. I take Pink’s hands in mine, holding him tighter than I should, pleading. “I know it’s selfish, and I have no right to ask, but until then, can we just pretend?”
“Pretend what, Buttercup?” His voice is strained, low and rough enough to make the hairs on my neck prickle.
“Pretend…pretend that this is just flirting, that this isn’t real, and that I’m not making the biggest mistake of my life.”
“Why the fuck would I want to do that?”
“Because you know I don’t have a choice.” I rub the stream of tears trickling down my cheeks, but they are persistent. He takes a handkerchief from his front pocket and hands it to me. The silence is oppressive, and my heart barely beats waiting for his response. His eyes bore through to my very core, and I find I can’t look away. But I can’t hold the contact either. It’s too much. I start to d
rop my chin. He tips it back with his finger. His lips brush mine and I close my eyes when he whispers.
“As you wish.”
“HEY BROTHER, HOW ARE YOU? You know calling once a week is not cutting it with Finn?” Charge’s reprimand stings, because I miss her too, and when we spoke last week, I told her as much.
“Don’t bust my chops, man. Finn understands I’m in the butt middle of nowhere. I don’t have a signal where I’m staying. Heck, I don’t even have electricity so I call every chance I get, which is only when I come into town.”
“Heck?” Charge splutters, unable to hide the amusement in his tone.
“What?”
“You said ‘butt middle’ and ‘heck, I don’t even have electricity’?” He chuckles.
“So?”
“So, what’s with the ‘ah phooey, I burned the muffins’, sailor boy?”
“Fuck off.” I’m laughing with him, since he’s made me so sound completely ridiculous with his lame impression. Not that I care, I feel a deep sense of something good warm the inside of my chest. I know the reason I appear to be watching my language like a Sunday school teacher.
“Ha! Hey, I’m serious, how’s it going with whoever it is that’s keeping you in the butt fuck middle of nowhere?”
I drop my head back against the headrest of my truck and let out a heavy sigh before I reply. “It’s complicated.”
“You like her?” he asks like it’s the answer to everything. Man, I wish it was that simple.
“She’s… She has the biggest heart and even bigger blue eyes. Charge, she’s so damn beautiful, and god, she smells like, like cupcakes, butter icing sweet with a hint of vanilla. I kissed her.” The confession slips out before I can stop myself. The memory hits my senses with such vivid recall, I can almost taste her.
“On a first date. You scoundrel,” he taunts.
“Fuck off! I mean I couldn’t not kiss her. I had to. She felt it too.” I must sound like a lovesick schoolgirl.
“Felt what?” he asks, but it takes a good few seconds before I can respond. My head is trying to process everything, download my mess of thoughts and regain some semblance of sanity. I know this is nuts.
“There’s certainly something. I know there is, and she knows it too. It terrifies her, and she can’t stop herself. She still wants me around and it’s not because of Daisy. I may be a dumb sailor, but even I know it’s not because of an injured fawn. She doesn’t have to come over every night, but she does. I’m glad she does,” I add wistfully.
“Fawn? Daisy? Who’s Daisy? You’ve lost me.”
“Daisy is our fawn. Her mother was killed, and she wouldn’t have lasted the night. Buttercup saved her and asked me to help.”
“You’re taking care of a baby deer?”
“Yes.”
“Now I’ve heard everything. Wait till I tell Tug and Tox.” He chokes out a hearty laugh, and I take it. It’s not like any one of them wouldn’t have done the same; however, it’s still something they’ll happily bank as ammunition for a future roasting.
“Well, that’s great, Pink. You like her; she likes you, job done. Now come home and bring her with you.”
My stomach churns as I force the words out loud for the first time to someone that matters to me. “She’s engaged to be married in two weeks.”
“She’s what?” He rightly balks and I can just picture the angry shock distorting his face. I’d be the same if I didn’t know the whole sorry story. “And she’s kissing you back? Well, yeah, I can see she’s a real keeper, Pink.” His tone is thick with judgmental sarcasm.
“It’s not like that.” Exhaling helps to keep my tone level as I try to explain the storm of shit that is this ‘unique’ situation. “She doesn’t have a choice, Charge. She told the guy she didn’t love him, that she didn’t want to marry him, and his response was to threaten to take her Grampa’s farm.”
“He could do that?”
“His father owns the bank that holds the mortgage on their farm. She’s doing this to keep everyone happy, everyone except herself that is. She the most selfless person, Charge. You two would get along great.”
“If it’s just about the money, Pink, you know I have money—”
“No, man. Thanks for the offer and all, but I can’t interfere like that. Besides it would simply be replacing one set of obligations for another; ones which are just as much out of her control. She’d hate that. Like I said, it’s complicated.” I blow out a breath as heavy as the weight on my chest.
“Pink, you left your home to get your head straight and this doesn’t sound like a head straightening situation.”
“I know, but I can’t leave now; she needs me.”
“She said that?”
“She didn’t have to.”
“Have you—” He hesitates, and I’m quick to shut that down. It’s enough that I can’t escape that incredibly erotic dream I had from recurring every damn night. I don’t need him to spell it out. I see her when I close my eyes, breathe her in when she’s here, and feel her absence like a branding iron on my chest.
“No, we just kissed—once—and I won’t.”
“Probably for the best.,”
“Yeah.” Dragging my hand through my hair, I feel the tension beneath my fingertips in every strand. Charge’s is quiet for a long time, holding the silence between us and intuitively breaking it to speak when I’m ready.
“You must really like her.”
“I do.”
“I’m sorry, man.” I hear his concern, and I wish I could draw some comfort from him or the others for that matter. We’ve always been a solid unit, supporting each other, there for each other, but they aren’t here. This is something I am going to have to work through on my own.
“Yeah, me too. Okay, I better go. Buttercup invited me over for lunch at her place, and I still need to get my hair cut.” Winding up the truck window and my conversation, I glance in the rear-view mirror. Dirty blond hair falls over my eyes, and I have to pull it back to see my reflection. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, maybe something different.
I can’t see it; I just feel it.
“A haircut! Wow, she must be special.”
“Bye, Charge. Send my love to Finn.” I crank the handle, push the door wide, and jump out of the truck.
“Will do, brother. Take care and come home.”
I end the call, smiling at the handset. I miss them, and it kills me that they’ll never get to meet the one girl I can, hand on heart, say is more than special.
For six weeks, Buttercup and I have skirted the toxic topic of her engagement like seasoned diplomats. She comes over before work to check on Daisy and bring me some breakfast, even though I said she didn’t have to. After work, she goes home to her Grampa or maybe she sees Kurt. I don’t ask, and she doesn’t say. And every day ends the same, with Buttercup driving over before nightfall, to check on Daisy.
I look forward to that time the most, sipping on sweet tea and watching the sunset. Buttercup will wrap herself in a blanket and snuggle next to me on the porch and we’ll share stories like we have all the time in the world. I only wish we did.
My stomach knots and I don’t now why I’m so nervous. It’s not like I haven’t met her Grampa before. I helped him fix up the old barn, the fencing around some of the paddocks, and even met his lady friend, Shelli Rae. Still, for some reason, I have sweat trickling down my back, messing up the only clean shirt I have left, and I’m worried about the wine I’ve brought. Not that the store had a great choice; it had a total of three bottles, all the same brand, so it was going to be red, red, or red. The flowers available to buy were worse, and I opted to pick some wild ones on the way over. Now I’m worried she’s going to think I’m a cheapskate. Get a fucking grip, Pink, it’s a lunch not a state banquet with the President.
I jerk the handbrake, having arrived at Buttercup’s farm right on time. Running my hand over my head, the soft prickles feel strange. And that’s another thing…I’m now spor
ting the haircut from hell.
The front door opens and Buttercup appears in a pale yellow sundress with thin shoulder straps, a fitted bodice that’s nipped at her waist, and a thick white belt. It hangs below her knees and is very pretty, proper, and I can’t help laughing when I notice her footwear. Perfect. She’s wearing her old cowboy boots and sporting a smile as bright and dazzling as the Texas summer sun. She skips down the steps and skids to a stop, slapping both her hands to her mouth in shock when she actually sees me.
I take the small bouquet of flowers from the passenger seat, tuck the bottle of wine under one arm and get out of the truck. Her eyes are on stalks.
“Oh my, Pink! Your hair!” She gapes.
“You like it?” I hand her the flowers. She struggles to register anything other than horror. I happen to share that feeling, but it’s only hair. It’ll grow back, there are worse things—like marrying someone you don’t love for one. Her manners kick in, and she bites her lips into a polite, forced smile, nodding too quickly to be remotely genuine.
“Yes, it’s nice, short. It’s very short.”
“Apparently Stanley Scissorhands only does one type of cut, something he only told me once he’d shaved a path from my neck to the top of my head with a number three.”
“You mean you didn’t ask for this?”
“Did I ask to look like a scrotum? Um…let me think.” I rub my freshly clipped scalp.
“You don’t look…I mean, it’s not that bad. It’s just…” She grimaces, laughter picking playfully at the corners of her perfect pout.
“Short.”
“Can I touch it?”
“Fill your cowboy boots, young lady.”
She reaches up as I bow my head, and her fingertips dance tentatively all over my head. Instant heat fires my blood, which races directly to my cock.
“It feels nice, and it will grow out. It’s so soft.”
“It won’t be for long if you keep doing that.”
She whips her hand away and flushes an adorable shade of deep pink, which does more than make me grow. It makes me weep.
“Um, Grampa and Sherri Rae are inside. You’ve met her, Gramps said?” She’s flustered, stepping away and leading the way into the house. I should feel bad for embarrassing her like that, but it’s too easy, and she’s too adorable when she blushes like she does. I love it. And since it’s also the only legitimate technique I have at my disposal for making her blush that doesn’t involve physical contact, I’ll take it where I can.
