by Zoe York
He acknowledged the man with a nod, cautiously crossing the distance to the car. “Percy. What brings you by?”
“Ms. Prescott called and told me she decided to stay after all.”
“That's how it's looking at the moment.”
Percy opened the rear door and pulled a cardboard box from the seat. “I just came from havin' supper with Miss Anna.”
“Good for you.”
“We had a very pleasant evening.” He offered the box to Bram. “I wasn't sure if you'd be here or at Ms. Prescott's, but I thought it best to try here first.”
“What's that?”
“Something you were lookin' for, I think.”
Curious, he peered over the edge of the box. A frown tugged at his eyebrows when he spotted two yellow chicks staring up at him. “Chickens?”
“Miss Anna said she got them from a client.” Percy rocked back on his heels, clutching it to his chest, fixing him with a level stare. “I think we both know Miss Anna isn't the type to trade beauty services for livestock.”
“You mean—”
“I didn't ask too many questions. Anna seemed right grateful for that.”
“I bet she was,” he muttered. A piteous chirp made his jaw clench. “I knew she was up to something.”
“My key ring came up missing a few days ago. Mizz Albertson just happened to find it in the azaleas in front of my office.”
“Uh-huh.”
Shifting the box, Percy gave his jaw a thoughtful scratch. “Here's the thing. With you and Ms. Prescott...involved, Anna seems a bit more, uh, receptive than she might otherwise be.”
“So this is—”
“You can call it a bribe, if you want,” Percy said with a shrug. “I prefer to think of it as a mutual understanding.”
Bram's smile was slow to unfold. “You old dog.”
“Takes one to know one,” Percy shot back.
With a brisk nod, he spun toward his house. “Hang on to those two for a second. I'll be right back.”
He dashed into the house and headed straight for the master bath. There, he dropped to his knees and rummaged through the tiny wastebasket. He jogged down the steps a minute later and found his guest leaning against the hood of his car, chatting up the chicks in the box.
He extended his closed fist. “Here. Trade you.”
Percy shot him a speculative glance and opened one hand. When the golden earring fell into his palm, his gaze jumped to meet Bram's. “Where'd you get this?”
“Let's just say there was some evidence left at the scene of the crime.” He nodded to the earring and reached for the box. “You know losing that is killing her. Be the hero. Just keep her happy and far away from me and Lynne.”
Percy's long fingers closed around the earring. “Deal.” He straightened and made his way back to the driver's side of the car. “What are you gonna tell Ms. Prescott about them?” he asked, nodding to the box.
Bram rolled his eyes. “Nothing. The lady's not cut out for raisin' chickens.”
“You aren't gonna give them back to her?”
Shaking his head, he smiled. “Got something better.” He peered down at the fluffy chicks and sighed. “Oh. And Percy? I won't be making an offer on the farm.”
“I figured you wouldn't.” He shrugged. “Who knows, maybe she won't sell after all.”
“Maybe.”
Percy waved a hand toward the box. “I wouldn't mind taking them off your hands.”
“You want them?”
He nodded. “If you don't.”
“Why would I need more chickens?” Bram slid the box across the roof of the car. “Their names are Thelma and Louise. Are you sure you can handle them? They're a couple of wild women.”
“You handle yours, and I'll handle mine.”
He couldn't hold back his snort. “Yeah. Good luck with that.”
Percy chuckled. “I think we're both gonna need it. Night, Bram.”
“Night, Percy,” he answered, watching as the other man folded himself back into the car. “Thanks for stopping by.”
Chapter 27
He was up well before the chickens. In truth, he hadn't been to bed. Bram whittled and carved the night through, chiseling away shavings of raw wood and chipping away at what was left of his stubborn pride each second that ticked past. The moment the sky started to lighten, he shuffled to the house to start the coffee pot.
I'm too old for pride. Too old to wait. Too old to stay up all night.
He pushed his hand through his hair then raked his palm over his face, pulling on his cheeks. The first cup of coffee scorched his throat. He took the second without benefit of cream or sugar. Bracing his hands on the counter, he waited for the caffeine to hit his system.
The sky turned from indigo to baby blue. He filled a thermos with the remainder of the steaming brew, pulled his keys from his pocket, and reached for the wooden headrest he'd left on the kitchen table. On his way to the door he stopped in the foyer and snagged the small cage he'd parked there hours before.
Ten minutes later, he climbed the steps to her door. He tested the knob, grunting his frustration when he found the house locked. Curling his fingers into his palm, he pounded the door with the side of his fist.
“Lynne!” He punctuated his bellow with another round of insistent knocks, smirking when the glass rattled in the door. “Lynne, open the door.”
A muffled curse followed by a loud thump made his smirk fade into a satisfied smile. He pressed his ear to the door, listening for the whisper of her feet against the floorboards. His fist met wood again, urging her to move faster.
“Come on, sugar, the sun's up.”
He glanced over his shoulder, checking to be certain the horizon wouldn't prove him a liar. The locks tumbled. The door swung open. The woman he loved glared at him from under tangled clumps of golden-brown waves.
He smiled. “Good morning.”
“Are you crazy?” she muttered. “It's not even six.”
“Yep. Plum crazy,” he answered. “Let's go.”
“Go? Go where?”
“I wanna take you somewhere.”
“Now?”
He allowed his gaze to travel leisurely down to the ruffled hem of her nightgown. She shifted, pressing her toes to the top of the opposite foot and rubbing for warmth. “You might need a jacket, darlin',” he murmured, pushing past her into the house.
“What do you think you're doing?”
“I've done my thinking. I'm ready to talk. Let's go.”
“I'm not going anywhere until I get some coffee.”
“I have coffee.”
He turned in a circle, stopping when he spotted a knitted throw draped over the arm of the couch. A quick snap of his wrists shook the folds from the blanket.
“This'll do.” He wrapped the fuzzy wool snug around her shoulders, took her hand in his, and started for the door.
“Bram, wait. What are you doing?”
He stopped, turning to look at her. His hand tightened around hers, unwilling to give her the opportunity to bolt. “I'm taking you on a date.”
“A date? Now?”
“Right now.”
She pushed her tousled hair from her face, fixing him with a fierce scowl. “Have you lost your mind?”
“No, ma'am. I'm fine.”
“I'm in my nightgown.”
He brushed a snarled curl from her cheek, tucking the wayward strands behind her ear. “You look perfect to me.”
Lynne held his gaze. “I don't have any shoes on.”
“I'll carry you.”
“Or you can let go of me long enough for me to find my clogs.”
“I'd rather carry you, but okay,” he said, reluctantly releasing her hand.
Lynne smiled and shook her head. She gathered her hair in one hand and glanced around. “I have no idea where they are.”
“Good. No shoes means you can't run.”
Before she could get her bearings he bent his knees, dipped one shoulder to catc
h her hips and wrapped his arms around her legs. One hand slipped under her gown. He cupped the supple muscle of her thigh as he straightened and turned on his heel, heading for the door.
“Put me down.”
“I will,” he promised. Snagging the doorknob, he pulled the door closed behind them.
Lynne pummeled his butt with her palms. “What are you, some kind of caveman?”
“I'm a man who hasn't slept a wink,” he said, covering her head with his hands as he deposited her on the bench seat of his truck.
She flailed about and finally extracted the wooden headrest from under her bottom. He tucked her feet into the cab and slammed the door.
Climbing behind the wheel, he shot her a worried glance. “Sorry about that.”
She ran her fingertips over the stylized rooster carved into the wood. “What's this?”
The truck roared to life. He dropped it into gear and cranked the wheel. Her fingers tightened around the raw wood. She reached for the handle above the door and hung on as he wheeled through the yard toward the back of the house.
“I canceled your order,” he said, pressing the accelerator and shooting past the empty chicken coop.
“Order?” He turned onto a narrow lane between plowed fields, and her head swiveled from side to side. “Where are we going?”
He reached between his legs and pulled the thermos from under the front seat. “Here.”
She abandoned her hold on the handle above the door and lunged for the thermos. Steaming coffee sloshed as she unscrewed the cap. “What order?”
“You want a chair; I'll make you a chair. But you're not paying for it, and I'm not putting a P on there,” he grumbled.
“I didn't order a chair.”
“The order was in the stack, but the name didn't connect before.”
His teeth clacked together when they hit a bump on the grassy lane. Lynne yelped as the hot brew splattered her hand. Glossy brown drops stained the pale wood. “Can you slow down? I'm about a quart low on caffeine and not exactly sure what's going on here.”
He let off the gas, downshifting while he eyed the end of the field. “Mrs. Richard Prescott—Lake Forest, Illinois. Scroll-work with a P in the middle. No flowers,” he recited. “I made Willie refund the credit card.”
He gave the wheel a crank, jolting along another rutted lane. “I'm not doin' the P,” he said again. “I'll be damned if I etch that bastard's name in stone.”
“Wood,” she whispered.
“Whatever.”
He took a sharp left, turning off the lane to cut through a stand of trees. Low hanging branches screeched against the windows. She shied from the glass, cupping the thermos lid with both hands. The tree line opened up and Bram pressed the brake, slowing as they approached the edge of the pond that separated their properties.
Streaks of pink-gold sunlight sparked the ripples on the water. He turned, brushing his fingertips over the pale wood. He cleared his throat, but his voice still came out in a rasp. “Do you like it?”
“I love it, but—”
“No buts. You want a chair, I’ll make you a chair, but—”
She cut him off with a finger pressed to his lips. The smile she wore would have made Da Vinci weep. “I'm not Mrs. Prescott anymore.”
“Huh?”
Her smile blossomed. When she looked up, the light radiating from her eyes rivaled the sun. “I haven't been Mrs. Richard Prescott for over two years. I think you canceled Cara's order.”
“Cara?”
“Richard's new wife? The mommy-to-be?”
Her eyebrows rose, and his eyes widened. “Why would she want one of my chairs?”
“I hear they're all the rage,” she answered with a shrug. She took a cautious sip of her coffee. “Rumor has it you've hit the Hollywood big time.”
He stared at the carved wood. “This is crazy.”
“It's been a crazy morning.”
He plucked the headrest from her lap and dropped the carved wood to the floorboard. “This isn't what I wanted to show you, anyway.” He yanked on the handle and kicked the door wide with his boot.
“Bram, I don't—”
He jogged to the back of the truck and dropped the tailgate. A moment later, he jerked open the passenger door and offered her his hand.
She gaped at him in disbelief. “I don't have shoes on—or clothes, for that matter.”
He glanced over his shoulder then turned back to her with a wicked smile. “Who's gonna see?”
She clutched her coffee to her chest. “Uh, the birds?”
“They won't tell.” He reached across her and grabbed the thermos, waving temptation in front of her eyes as he backed away, his hand extended toward her. “I have something for you.”
She hesitated for a moment then slipped her fingers into the palm of his hand. The blanket slipped from her shoulder when she slid from her seat. She giggled and wriggled her toes in the dewy grass.
He smiled, tightening his grip on her hand. “I knew there was a country girl in there somewhere.”
“She must be buried pretty deep,” she mumbled, following him to the back of the truck.
“I'll coax her out.”
Placing the thermos on the tailgate, he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her easily onto the edge. “Ack! Cold metal.”
She gave a violent shudder and pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders.
“Yeah, uhsorry.” He hopped onto the lip of the truck and twisted to reach for a small beige pet carrier. “I got this for you last night, but someone wasn't giving a guy a chance to talk.”
“Someone jumped the gun,” she retorted.
“I didn't want to risk someone getting away.” He opened the metal gate on the carrier and reached inside. “Put the coffee down and close your eyes.”
Lynne raised an eyebrow but complied without argument. He pulled a sable brown lop-eared bunny from the carrier, stroking its tiny forehead to soothe the animal's ruffled nerves. “You said something about giving a guy a dead chicken,” he murmured. “I wanna give you this.”
He placed the rabbit in her lap, keeping his hand on the frightened animal's back to hold him in place. Lynne's eyelashes fluttered. She sucked in a breath, and her eyes grew round.
“He's a boy. I checked,” he added with a nervous chuckle.
“You got me a rabbit?”
He raised one shoulder in a helpless shrug. “I figure chickens aren't really your thing. Jeanelle Morton breeds these things like, uh, rabbits.”
She stroked the soft fur, her fingers trailing over his with each pass. Her dark lashes shielded her eyes when she glanced up at him. “So, um...the bunny. Does it mean—”
“The same thing as a dead chicken.”
Her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. “I, um....”
When she met his gaze, he went on in a rush. “I told Percy I wouldn't be makin' an offer on the place. He didn't care. He'd had supper with Anna Albertson. He's had his eye on her for a long time—though how any man can look at that woman without squinting is a mystery to me.”
“Bram—”
He held up one hand to stop her. “Hear me out.” When she clamped her mouth shut, he went on. “We can stay here, or we can go there and eat cannoli every night. I don't care. I'll sign whatever you want me to sign about the farm. I'll even eat your crappy pound cake.”
“Bram, take the bunny.”
He stared at her, stricken. “But.... No. You gave me a dead chicken,” he insisted. “You said it meant you thought you might love me. Well, I might love you too.” He gave his head a hard shake. “I mean, I do. I am. I want—”
“Put him back in the cage thing.”
He cuddled the furry creature close to his pounding heart. “Listen, I know it hasn't been that long. I know we're moving fast, but dammit, I'm not a kid anymore. I know what I want.”
“Don't squish him.”
“I'm not gonna squish the damn rabbit.” The bunny began to push again
st his chest with powerful hind legs. He turned and thrust the frightened animal into the carrier. “I know what I feel,” he hissed, meeting her wide blue gaze directly. “When Percy told me you were leaving, I couldn't breathe—”
She silenced him with that magic fingertip again. “God, you talk too much,” she murmured. “Will you shut up and kiss me already?”
“Kiss you?” he mumbled against the soft whorls of her skin.
Her finger slipped from his lips and curled beneath his chin. “I know we're a little out of practice, but I think that's what usually happens when a girl gives a guy a dead chicken and he gives her a bunny.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Shut up.”
He grinned and wound his arms around her, smoothing the blanket over her back as he pulled her into his lap. A laugh rumbled from deep inside him. He lay back, taking her with him. “Yes, ma'am.”
She smiled and pulled the blanket open just enough to cover them both. He threaded his fingers through her tangled hair. He meant to kiss her soundly, but the beat of her heart against his made him lose the thread. “We're really gonna do this,” he breathed, fixing her with a solemn stare.
“Too late to change your mind. You already gave me Thumper and promised me a rocking chair.”
He rolled back, pulling her down with him. “Thumper?”
She shrugged, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “Not very original, I know,” she whispered then nipped at his ear. “It's the best I can do. I'm feeling a little twitterpated.”
Bram laughed, bunching the thin cotton of her nightgown when he slid his hands to her waist. “Twitterpated?”
“Are you mocking me?”
“No, ma'am, not mocking.”
She pushed up and stared down at him with a frown. “That sounded suspiciously like mockery.”
She braced her hands on his chest and reared back, glaring down at him. He took the opportunity to inch the hem of her nightgown over her thighs. “I would never mock you. I was taught to respect my elders.” His smile bloomed. “Ma'am.”
