by Zoe York
“What do you mean, why do I care? Of course I care. It's my family's land.”
The shiver dancing up Lynne's spine reminded her she actually owned a backbone as well as the farm. “It's my land,” she said in a low voice.
“Only because your aunt was a stubborn, mule-headed fool.”
And the twang comes out. All those years of diction lessons, gone with the wind. Sitting back in her chair, she marveled at her mother's innate ability to spin any situation to her advantage. A teeny-tiny geyser of anger spurted inside of her. “What do you want, Mother? You don't need money. Why would you care what I do with this farm?”
“It's my birthright. I was the first born.”
“But you didn't want it,” she said through clenched teeth. “You never wanted it. From the time I was a little girl, all you ever said was you couldn't get out of here fast enough.”
“Your aunt loved that they passed the farm to her. She loved to lord it over me.”
“Lord it over you? They read the will, and you never spoke to her again.”
“She never spoke to me.”
“You're the one who left in a snit. You're the one who said you never wanted to speak to her again.”
“She was so stubborn, so proud,” Elizabeth grumbled. “She wouldn't even consider selling the place. Selfish, that's what she was.”
“She died alone.”
“Everyone dies alone, Carolynne Ann.”
“Oh my God.” Coffee sloshed from her mug as she pushed back from the table. She lurched from the chair and began to pace the room. The ruffled hem of her nightie tangled around her knees. Her stomach clenched in knots. “Mother—”
“It's true. Look at us. Richard left you. Your father left me—”
“Daddy died.”
“Yes! He died. I begged and begged him to retire, and the minute I get him to agree, he up and drops dead on me.”
“And you were up and gone before he was even cold in his grave.” Lynne came to an abrupt stop. “What are you always running from, Mother?”
Elizabeth drew a ragged breath. “You should talk,” she hissed in a low, dangerous voice. “I understand Richard's little chippie is pregnant. I also heard you made a fool of yourself at the club.”
“Goodbye, Mother.”
“You can't hide out forever, Darlin'. There's nothing there for you, just like there was nothing for me.”
Her thumb jammed the End button. Her fingers curled around the phone. She stared at the ridiculous rooster-printed placemats on the table and cocked her arm.
Someone knocked on the front door. She whirled, glaring at the clock on the stove.
I haven't even had my damn coffee yet. She closed her eyes, her arm falling limp at her side. The knock came again. More second-hand coffee? The thought made her eyes pop open wide. She rushed to the front door and wrestled with the ancient deadbolt.
“God, I'm glad you came back....” The words died on her tongue. She stared into the preternaturally bright green of Anna Albertson's eyes. “Oh, it's you.”
A blush sizzled across her skin as the woman gave her a slow once-over. “Oh, I'm sorry,” she said in a saccharine sweet tone. “I didn't realize you slept so late. I guess I'm used to the ways of farm folk.”
Her perky laugh grated on Lynne's last nerve—the one her mother left bloodied but miraculously still alive. She glanced at the worn-sheer cotton of her nightgown and forced a smile, smoothing one hand over her hair.
“I'm sorry. I don't usually sleep this late, but I haven't been getting much sleep lately.”
Catty? Yes, but damn it felt good. She stepped back, a gracious smile glued on her face. “Please, come in. Coffee's on in the kitchen. I'll only take a second to change.”
Anna's smile was as false as her eyelashes. She placed a large black sample case on the worn sofa. “Take your time, honey. I know how hard it can be for a girl to make herself presentable. We're not as young as we used to be,” she called, clip-clopping through to the kitchen.
Gritting her teeth, Lynne stomped her way to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and washed her face. Terrycloth rasped against her skin. She lowered the towel slowly, peering at her reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror.
The tiny lines carved into her skin taunted her. Her hands closed into fists. She wound the towel around them, fighting the urge to reach for her own make-up bag.
“He likes my face,” she whispered.
A smug little smile toyed with the corners of her mouth. She reached for a tube of moisturizer and squeezed a generous dollop onto her fingertips. Her skin gulped the rich cream. She stroked her throat, tracing the same path Bram's fingers had followed mere hours before, massaging lotion into the beard- roughened patches of skin.
The nightgown slipped from her shoulder. A small pinkish-purple mark glowed in the hollow of her collarbone. Her smile blossomed as she reached for a tube of concealer.
“Oopsie,” she murmured to her reflection. The smile grew wide when she turned from the sink, jerking the nightgown back into place. “Boys will be boys.”
Five minutes later, she strolled into the kitchen to find Anna had set up camp. The coffee splatter had been wiped from the table and her mug was topped off. A golden-brown coffeecake drizzled with translucent icing sat in the center of the table surrounded by tubes, bottles, and pots in all shapes and sizes.
“Wow.”
“We have quite an extensive line.” Anna patted the back of a chair. “You sit right here, and I'll take care of every little thing.”
Escape seemed impossible. The lure of coffee proved too strong to resist. The coffeecake clinched the other woman's victory. She dropped into the seat. “Oh, well...uh, thank you.”
“Now, this is our Rejuvaderm line.”
Picking a bottle, she displayed the label. Lynne tried to make her eyes focus on the tiny lettering. It was a no-go. She glanced up and nodded. The thing could say “Pure Cyanide” for all she knew, but she'd be damned if she went groping for her readers.
“We use only the finest botanicals. At Bella Signora we believe only natural products can enhance our natural beauty. What we want to do is create a kind of barrier between you and all those nasty free-radicals floatin' around.”
She carried on with her spiel. Lynne's gaze flickered to her captor's heavily made-up face and, convinced no oxygen molecule could bust through a barrier that thick, she did her best to smother a skeptical smirk.
Closing her eyes, she submitted to the gentle stroking of fingertips as Anna slathered product from hairline to jaw. The tube gasped again, and before she could open her eyes, Anna began to pat the lotion onto her throat. Lynne stole a hasty sip of her coffee and nodded along as if she cared about the ingredients she recited. The low cadence of the woman's patter lulled her. No wonder she's so good. People must buy this stuff in their sleep.
Closing her eyes again, she allowed herself to float along on the flow of words. Layer after layer of sweet-scented creams were applied. She imagined Anna slapping each product on with a trowel each morning. Bram's words echoed through her brain and she sent him a taunt via telepathy. She's touching my face, she's touching my face.
“I'm so happy for you and Bram.”
Her eyes popped open. “Huh?”
“You and Bram. It's good to see him smiling again.”
Lynne eyed Anna warily, but the other woman's smile actually seemed sincere. “Oh. Yes, he does have a nice smile,” she answered, trying to remain non-committal.
Anna dabbed foundation along her jawline, blending with a tiny sponge. “I'll admit I'd hoped his smile would be pointed my way.” Lynne's jaw tightened, and Anna's smile flashed again. “Relax, honey, it never has been.”
“No, I'm, uh...ticklish.” Lynne closed her eyes for a moment, hoping the foundation's coverage was good enough to mask the color heating her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “He's a very nice man.”
A laugh bubbled from Anna. “Nice? I suppose. I can think of lots of w
ords to describe Bram Hatchett, but nice wouldn't have been in the top ten.”
“He is nice.”
“Yes, Bram is nice,” she quickly conceded. “I'm just sayin' I'd think of other words.”
A giant powder brush homed on her face. Lynne closed her eyes in self-defense. “Other words?”
“Oh, you know. Strong, silent, tall, dark, and handsome. Determined. Stubborn.”
The last word succeeded in drawing a laugh from Lynne. “You got that right.”
“I've never met a man more single-minded.”
Lynne stiffened, recalling Bram's description of Anna. Single-minded. The woman’s tinkling laugh grated on her ears. “How so?”
“I'm using a cream-based blush. Gives your complexion the healthy glow we lose sometime after twenty-five.”
Lynne grunted an acknowledgement and peered up at her. She wouldn't be distracted.
Anna shook her head as she applied the blush with light, circular strokes. “He and Susan hit it off in the third grade,” she said in a voice laden with import. “Thank goodness Susan never expressed any interest in another boy—I don't know what Bram would have done.”
“Some people fall in love young.”
“Some people never look any further than the tip of their nose until the bull bumps them with his ring,” she murmured, rifling through her case.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you know, they never grew up. Or, he didn't. Susan tried, but I don't think Bram was much interested in expanding his horizons.”
She waved a hand and Lynne obliged by closing her eyes. The butterfly strokes of a brush coated her eyelids with powder. A shiver shuddered through her insides, covering everything vital in a sheer film of ice.
“Because he didn't want to leave here?”
“Oh, he left here. They both did. Bram won a scholarship to the university in Russellville. Susan went with him. She came back with him too—like he wanted.”
She didn't need her glasses to read between the lines. “She didn't want to come back?”
“Oh, I don't know.” Anna brushed a sweep of shadow along the crease of her eyelid. “I suppose she was happy enough...for a while.”
The moment she was certain she wouldn't risk a scratched cornea, Lynne opened her eyes. “He loved her very much.”
“Sure he did,” she answered breezily. Wielding a sharpened pencil, Anna leaned in. “Close.”
“I don't wear eyeliner.”
“What? Why ever not?” she asked, clearly perplexed by the notion.
She shrugged. “Never could get the hang of it.”
“Just takes a little practice.”
“If I haven't mastered the art form in the last thirty years, I doubt I will now.”
Perfectly arched eyebrows rose. “Well, that's an interesting philosophy.”
“A simple fact, not a way of life.”
“And you don't believe people can change?”
“I think change is possible if it's important. I've never given the ability to apply eyeliner much credit. A swipe of mascara, and I should be good to go.”
Anna dipped a disposable wand into a tube and murmured, “Perhaps old Bram has met his match.”
Lynne bristled. “How so?”
“Oh, it's a compliment. Close,” she ordered. “I'm just sayin' a woman needs to be more direct with a man like Bram. He's a stubborn and bullheaded creature. I mean, if the separation didn't open his eyes.”
Lynne only caught one word. “Separation?”
Anna tsked and reached for a cotton swab. She dipped the tip in make-up remover and bent to repair the damage done. “Well, yes. Bram didn't tell you Susan left him?”
“No.” She caught sight of the tip of Anna's pink tongue caught between white teeth. Lowering her lashes, she tried to breathe through her nose when the woman leaned closer.
“Look up, darlin'.” Anna brandished the mascara wand again. “She ran off to Dallas to live with her sister a few months before she took sick.”
Lynne stared at the ceiling, focusing on the pale brown water stain in the corner. “She did?”
Anna made a non-committal noise. “I think the problems started after Willie graduated. Susie got the itch, you know? She wanted to go places, do more. Of course, Bram dug his heels in. He wasn't going anywhere. Like a mule.” She swept a coat of mascara along Lynne's lower lashes. “Close again. I always think two coats works best.”
She did as she was told, trying to ignore the staccato beat of her heart and breathing through her nose to calm her swirling thoughts.
“Bram didn't bother going after her until Sarah called him. I guess 'lymphoma' was the magic word for him. After all, it was Sarah who hauled Susie off to the doctors for tests, not Bram.” She dipped the wand. “Look up again.”
She stared at the ceiling, but even the water stain couldn't ground her. “So he brought her home.”
Another brisk nod confirmed her suspicions. “Actually, I think she was relieved. I guess when something like that happens you want what you know, right?”
Everything Anna said chipped away at the image she'd formed of Bram's happy marriage. The fact that he didn't bother to fight for his wife's love troubled her more than she cared to admit. “Right.”
“Not that she had much choice.” She dragged the wand along the tiny lashes beneath her eyes. The pointed tips of Anna's fingernails threatened to pierce the skin under her chin as she tipped her face up to inspect her handiwork. “Don't you give in. Stand your ground.”
“What do you mean?”
The woman shrugged then lowered her hand to reach for a handheld mirror. “Nothing.” She twirled the mirror's plastic handle and held it steady. “Just don't wait until it's too late to make him see who you are like poor Susie did.”
Afraid to meet her own gaze, she kept her eyes locked on Anna's inscrutable expression. “Too late?”
She gave the mirror an impatient waggle. “The man has something about him. He's always had a kind of gruff, grumbly charm—in spades.”
Lynne lowered her gaze to her reflection and gasped. She raised her fingertips to her cheek, smoothing the warm peach blush heightening her cheekbones. Her eyes popped, deftly shadowed and smudged, burning vibrant blue against the muted tones.
“Wow.”
Anna smiled, and she was stunned by its genuine warmth. “You seem like the type who likes the natural look.”
“Yes, thank you.” She gripped the mirror's handle, admiring the minor miracle the woman had wrought. “You're very talented.”
She chuckled and reached for two more tubes. “You don't need to sound so surprised. This is my business, after all. A little lipstick and you'll be done.” She lowered the mirror, parting her lips gamely as Anna began to apply color with a tiny brush. “Make sure he gives you a fair price.”
“Price?”
“Everyone knows Bram's wanted this farm since Miss Corrine died. Don't let him charm the pants and the farm off you,” she said, slathering the sheen of sticky gloss over the color she'd applied.
Her gaze shot to Anna's face. The smug smile on tilting crimson lips made her gut clench. She stared at the other woman, refusing to flinch. “Of course not,” she managed to murmur.
Anna began gathering tubes, pots, and bottles, carelessly tossing them into her black case. “Bram can be awful persuasive when he wants something. Lord, I love a determined man.”
Her brittle laugh bounced off the walls. Lynne clamped her mouth shut and gulped the lump in her throat as Anna plucked a few color brochures from the pocket of the case.
“Now, I'm not here to give you the hard sell. Not my style. You wear that pretty new face around for the day and see what your beau thinks. Give me a jingle if you want anything. I noted all the colors I used on the back,” she said, nodding to a brochure.
“Anna—”
The other woman smiled and patted her shoulder. “I have to run. Enjoy the coffee cake.”
The clatte
r of Anna's heels on the hardwood floors was dulled by the roar of blood in her head. The front door slammed and the brochures slid to the floor unheeded. Panic clawed at her throat.
Bram didn't need her. He needed her cooperation.
Her ponytail brushed the edge of the table when she doubled over. She pressed her perfectly painted face to the rough denim between her calves and gulped for air.
He didn't want her. He wanted the farm. This couldn't be happening. Not again.
Chapter 20
The muscles in Bram's shoulders sang out disapproval. He rolled his neck, letting the warm sunshine soothe the aches. Jerry Johnson waved as he exited the post office. Bram lifted a hand to return the wave but didn't break stride. He kept his eyes focused on the general store, not wanting to invite conversation.
Double A batteries, duct tape, and rubber bands. He muffled a chuckle as his shopping list repeated in his head. Sounds like the props for a bad porno flick.
Chores at the hatchery filled his morning and he was glad for the work. He'd powered through his routine at the farm then drove into town on auto-pilot. Something was off. A niggling itch at the base of his skull made his skin prickle. Even though he'd held Lynne pressed against him all night, distance seemed to stretch between them.
He was baffled. Dinner went well. As well as could be expected. She seemed to like his family. Even Willie. The two women in his life appeared to have reached an understanding by the time the pies were cut, but something somewhere along the line went wrong. Bram just wasn't sure what.
She was tired. We were both tired. She didn't want me poking around in her head. Or anywhere else, for that matter. The front door to the market swung open. Percy Jenkins stepped through, clutching a Styrofoam box.
“Hey, Percy.”
“Bram,” the other man replied with a nod and stepped nimbly into his path.
“Lunch?”
“Chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes.”
“Sounds good.”
“Listen, Bram, I've been meaning to call you.”
