by Connor, Eden
“About a week after she moved her things to a different bedroom, Nance had a heart attack. While he was in the hospital, she got his partner to see things her way. Emilio De Marco was a third-generation immigrant. He agreed that those Mexican women were vulnerable, so he stopped the crews from bringing young, single women.”
Amy turned off the ignition and handed Alice the keys. “Sounds to me like Eric’s family would make a good Social Studies learning module.”
Alice nodded. “Livia’s family traced their roots back to the earliest English settlers at Charles Towne Landing. Rafe’s great-grandfather landed at Ellis Island from Italy, around 1900. Worked his way south. You should get Eric to tell you his story. I can’t remember the details. Only took about seventy-five years for the son of an Italian immigrant to be considered good enough to marry a granddaughter of one of the town’s more illustrious families, but Livia adored her son-in-law. Until Eric’s sister got pregnant. While Livia and Rafe could agree on many things, they disagreed violently on abortion. She was furious because he wouldn’t put his daughter’s welfare above some church doctrine.”
Amy winced. She and Drew had similar disagreements. “Jonah’s a great kid,” she assured her mother.
Alice opened her door. “When did you plan to tell me you and Drew broke up?”
Amy exhaled loudly. Could her father keep nothing from her mother? “You might say he and I bumped heads over some of the same things that tripped up the De Marcos and the Chapmans.” When Alice’s eyes widened, Amy hastened to add, “Philosophically speaking.”
Her mother put an arm around Amy while they trudged through the snow. “Find a man who loves you for what you believe. What he does for a living isn’t as important as the rules he lives by.”
Amy nearly tripped over the curb. “I thought you’d be upset. I mean, I thought you liked Drew.”
“He’s a nice young man. Because you loved him, I liked him. Your dad....”
Amy nodded, glad the gymnasium door was unlocked when she pulled the handle. “Dress pants on Saturday. I know.”
Alice frowned. “That’s his way of saying he didn’t think you and Drew had much in common. But love is blind.”
“What a load of crap. Why do you put that garbage in her head, Alice?” Amy jumped and turned to look behind her. Her father stepped into the building, tapping his sneakers on the floor to shake off the snow.
“Didn’t you see the rug outside?” Alice demanded, glaring at Tucker’s snow-covered shoes.
“Infatuation is blind. Love sees every flaw, but still wants to be with you.” Tucker’s grin was wide when he threw an arm around Alice. “Go on, try and explain me and your mom being together for thirty-five years any other way. We got all day.”
Chapter Sixteen
When Eric pulled out of the elementary school parking lot, dusk was just falling. Amy turned in the front seat to smile at Jonah, seated in back. “So, how’d you like wheelchair basketball?”
Before the teen could answer, his cell phone rang. Jonah silenced the rap music ringtone mid-note. Eric grinned. Jonah had ignored more than one phone call this afternoon.
“That was awesome. Would one of those guys let me use their chair to see if I could play like that, Amy?”
“I’m sure Kevin would. They let able-bodied people play in the league. You just can’t use your legs.”
“That’d be so co—” The ringtone blared again. Jonah sighed loudly. “Uncle E, you’re the break-up artist. How do I get rid of this Annabelle girl? She won’t stop calling and texting. She’s scared off the girl I really like.”
“Who might that be?” Amy asked.
“Estrella. Cutest little senorita north of the border. She’s helping me with my Spanish.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your Spanish,” Eric protested. “Every time I quiz you, you’re golden.”
Jonah chuckled. “Well, obviamente. But until I get rid of Annabelle, I can’t find out whether Estrella’s any good at French. So, you gonna tell me your secret, or not, Uncle E?”
Eric cleared his throat. They’d spent all afternoon together and Jonah waited till now to bring this up? Colton was falling down on the job. He needed to have “the talk” with the kid, about things you didn’t say in front of women. “Um, well, do you know some guy Annabelle doesn’t like? Really doesn’t like?”
“Yeah. How does that help me?”
Eric felt Amy’s stare, but kept his eyes on the road. “Act like that guy instead. She’ll dump you fast enough. Works every time.”
“Jeez, that’s brilliant.” Jonah reached over the seat, extending a fist. Eric dropped his on top.
“Wait a minute,” Amy protested, punching Eric on the arm. “Jonah, this thing with Annabelle? Is it incidental contact or did you commit a deliberate foul?”
“Huh? Whadda you mean?” Jonah asked.
Eric cringed. Dammit, kid. Save yourself. Shut up.
Amy straightened. The dashboard lights illuminated her waving hands. “Incidental contact. You both were just playing the field. A call here, a text there, nothing serious, but you got bored with flirting before she did. Versus an intentional foul. You made Annabelle think you felt the same as her. Returned every call, sent her texts at night, walked her to class, but now you want to be with Estrella and you can’t man up and tell Annabelle the truth.”
Jonah flopped against the back of the seat, groaning. “I like your way, Uncle E,” he muttered. His ringtone sounded again. Eric offered to throw the kid’s damn phone out of his window.
Jonah laughed. “No way, dude. I love my cell phone. Besides, this is a text from Lila. She’s got dinner ready. Y’all wanna eat with us?”
Amy wouldn’t let the topic drop. “I’m serious, Jonah. This is the difference between being a decent person and being a jerk.”
Ouch. “Cynda made us a roast.”
He didn’t respond to Amy’s few remarks while they ate, until she mentioned taking a dip in the pool. “Go for it. If I put in a few more hours on the project I started today, I can finish up.” He slid his plate onto the coffee table and got to his feet. “See you in the morning. Fair warning, Cynda and Lila have a snipe hunt planned tomorrow.”
Amy nodded. “I talked to her today, between games. Something about finding old records on migrant workers? Call me a pessimist, but even if a list of names miraculously turns up, finding migrants who worked here for six months almost thirty years ago would be like finding one certain snowflake in a blizzard.”
Eric snorted. “I said it was a snipe hunt, didn’t I? This is Lila and Cynda’s plan. The girls mean well. We can’t just let Carpenter get off with three years without trying to find a witness.”
“I’d swear my daddy told me that’s why our taxes go to pay cops.” She stretched to discard her plate. “I’ve been dreaming about that hot pool for hours. Every bone in my body aches. I’ll do the dishes later.”
He wanted to go with her, to spend half an hour kissing and playing in the warm water. Wanted to bring her indoors afterward, give her a rubdown and slide inside her when she was warm and relaxed. Ached to rock into her soft and slow, watch her come, empty into her, and then pull her onto his chest to drift off to sleep. The weather report called for more snow after midnight. In the few seconds he stood there staring, his mind sketched the entire, intimate evening.
But her remark to Jonah hung between them like smoke. Eric turned and grabbed his coat.
Some of the warmth from the blowers he’d had running all day still lingered in the peach shed. Eric refilled the machines with kerosene and pressed the ignition buttons. Leaning against an old packing crate, he studied the frame he’d spent the day building. All he had left was to figure out how he wanted to hang the net.
And decide whether or not he was committing an intentional foul on Amy.
Do I love her?
He saw the looks on his brother’s faces when they looked at their women. Watching them was like going to a movie when he knew the
actor’s lines by heart, but what he was seeing was the foreign-language version, without subtitles.
He knew what should be said, he just didn’t speak the language. And it made zero sense that his heart was whispering something his damn cock had little interest in.
Not to mention, there were all kinds of ways to commit an intentional foul.
His cheeks stung from shame, recalling his second week in kindergarten. His mother had been missing for eight days when Eric had a vivid, horrible dream that a drooling, tobacco-spitting monster grabbed Cammie while she walked through the orchards. Eric woke in a cold puddle of his own urine. Rafe had turned to Livia for help when it happened again the following night. His grandmother let that tidbit slip in front of Phil.
Drew Pearsall had been in the bathroom when Phil taunted Eric. Gonna piss your bed again tonight, you big cry baby? When the principal dragged them apart, Eric was still kicking Drew, even though he was down. Phil hadn’t stopped swinging, despite the blood gushing from his nose.
He wasn’t sure if his attraction to Amy was fueled by the urge to even an old score with Drew and Phil, or if this was about helping her, pure and simple.
Maybe his cock was giving him time to figure that out, before he did commit an intentional foul.
Yeah, right. Because me and my cock are known for smart thinking.
Chapter Seventeen
Not again. Eric recognized Colton’s two-three knock. Opening his eyes, he stared at the ceiling, wondering why his brothers were impersonating an infestation of woodpeckers. With a growl, he flung the covers back and grabbed his sweat pants. He shoved his feet into the legs while hopping down the hall.
Throwing open his front door, he scowled. “Someone had better be dying.” Behind his brother, snowflakes drifted past the porch.
His brother waved a bag printed with a fast-food logo. “You got any salt?”
“You got any idea what time it is?” Eric snapped. “What the fuck’s wrong with your salt shaker?”
Colton brushed past without answering. Slamming the bag on the bar, he raised plaintive eyes. “I’ll get to that, but dude, we gotta talk.”
Eric sighed, praying this had nothing to do with Amy. “Hang on, let me stick some wood in the stove.” Colton didn’t speak while he stoked the fire and started a pot of coffee.
“Okay, what’s the problem?” Eric pressed his palms to the bar, standing opposite Colton. His baby brother hadn’t touched his food, a cue that whatever was on his mind was serious.
Colton’s expression was tense. “Lila wants to have sex.”
Eric clenched his hands into fists to keep from throwing a punch. “Why is that a problem?” He’d had only a few hours of sleep.
“Can’t keep my dick hard.”
Eric’s eyes were open now. “Huh?” Is there some hideous virus going around?
“Every time we try, I keep picturing my baby. Babies have a soft spot, you know. What if I give little Fred brain damage? I start thinking about that and my dick goes limp.”
Eric snorted. “That’s all in your head, brother. Even your dick won’t reach that baby. Don’t you think Mother Nature planned for that? By the way, you’ve lost it if you think Lila’s letting you name that kid Fred.”
“We can’t agree on a name. Fred’s a joke.” Colton pushed away from the bar and scanned the kitchen counters. “Cynda took our salt. Replaced it with some imitation crap that tastes like...like... pool chemicals. I asked for some at the drive-thru, but the idiot didn’t put any in the bag.”
Eric shoved the shaker that sat right under Colton’s nose into his brother’s hand. He couldn’t blame Colton for changing the subject. “Shhh, lower your voice. Don’t wake Amy.” He pointed toward the loft. “You need to practice talking quieter, anyway.”
Colton’s brows went up. “You’re not sleeping with her?”
For fuck’s sake, if that’s Colton’s idea of speaking softer—Glaring, Eric shook his head, but his pulse jumped at the almost-lie. Technically, he wasn’t sleeping with Amy.
“Good.” Colton let out a long sigh and upended the bag. “Right now, I’m not sure I could keep Lila from killing you if you treated Amy like you treat all the rest. And you need some damn bar stools.” Three containers of golden, deep-fried potato patties slid onto the counter. Colton broke Eric’s gaze to peer into the bag. “You got any ketchup?”
Dan swore Eric changed women like he changed oil filters. Religiously, every three months, whether a change was needed or not. “Why would Cynda take your salt?” Eric hissed, spinning toward the refrigerator to grab the ketchup bottle.
“Lila’s doctor said she needed to cut back on salt. I think maybe Cynda’s taking this nanny gig way too seriously. But if I say anything, I’ll be the bad guy.”
“Oh, yeah,” Eric muttered, parking the bottle in front of Colton. “I can see how it’d be easier to pay Cynda to steal your salt, then come and use mine.”
Colton slapped the bag to flatten it and then dumped a blob of ketchup in the center. Surrounding the ketchup with the potatoes, he pelted them with so much salt, it was like watching snow fall indoors. “So, how’d Amy happen to move in?”
Eric shrugged. “She needed a place. I had a spare bed.” He wasn’t having this conversation where Amy might overhear. He steered the topic back to one Colton found irresistible. “Is Lila okay? Yesterday she seemed a little... ragged.”
“She’s miserable.” His brother’s jaw worked. Eric stared, aghast, watching his brother’s Adam’s apple bob and his eyes fill with tears. “I didn’t realize how hard this pregnancy would be on her. Maybe we shouldn’t have gone through with this.” Colton’s expression turned bleak. “If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself. She was so sick at first, if I touched her, it seemed like she had to puke. Now, she wants to and I can’t—” He sighed. “Dan’s getting married, did you know?”
He had no clue what to say, because “Bail!” wasn’t an option. “Yeah, Cynda came by to show off her ring yesterday.”
Colton couldn’t seem to stay on topic. Lila was rubbing off on him, Eric feared. Following her conversations took some effort.
“Every time we try and I can’t, she cries for an hour. She thinks it’s because she’s so big. I swear to God, that’s not it. I think she’s gorgeous.”
Colton stuffed potato rounds into his mouth. Moving to the counter by the sink, Eric grabbed two coffee cups and filled them to the rim.
Plunking Colton’s mug on the bar, he sipped his own coffee because he couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. Besides repeating what he’d said earlier. “I’m telling you, it’s all in your head.”
“My mom had me after forty. Lila will be okay.”
Eric froze, exchanging horrified looks with his brother.
“Oh, how nice.” Amy came down the last few steps and stopped at Eric’s elbow, rubbing one eye with the heel of her hand. “You brought some for everyone.”
He almost laughed at the way his brother’s eyes went wide when Amy grabbed one of Colton’s hash rounds. Colton always ate three packs of those things, but Eric suddenly had his own problems. She had that early-morning, girly smell of fresh sheets, soap, sweat, and the scent that was all Amy. The image of dragging her back to bed and kissing that delightful perfume off her skin was making his dick hard enough to punch a hole in the bar.
Yes! Thank you, God. Go home, Colton.
No! I can’t, not till I’m sure how I feel about her.
“Why are you up?” he snapped. “You sleep like the dead. How’d that little bit of banging wake you?”
She lifted her shoulders and held out her palms. Her impish smile made his heart skip. “The scent of fresh-fried potatoes jacks my eyes open every time. Or bacon. Bacon works, too.” Her hair stuck out like it’d been styled with a weed whacker. Her pajamas were rumpled. There were sheet tracks on one flushed cheek. She looked adorable, dragging a little hash brown patty—and the too-long sleeve to her pajama top—through Colton�
�s puddle of ketchup.
“We just have to keep her distracted for a few more weeks. Everything’s gonna be fine, Colton.” Amy patted his brother’s hand and then grabbed more fried potatoes. “Maybe we can play cards after the snipe hunt. I don’t have to work the tournament today.”
Dan thought if you took a woman to bed, you owed her dinner before and breakfast after. Colton would offer to cook breakfast for a woman twice before he ever thought about taking her to bed. Eric didn’t do breakfast. He sure didn’t do “every morning”. He knew how to do “occasionally.”
In the sideways fashion his brain had of showing him stuff, Eric had a flash of understanding. Maybe his dick didn’t have bad timing. Or brains. Maybe... maybe his subconscious had been protecting Amy, like Colton’s was protecting his baby. Because, while he still had no idea whether he loved her, he cared enough to not want to hurt her.
She’d never done “occasionally”.
And he wanted to be man enough not to teach her that game.
Watching Amy and Colton fight for the last few hash rounds like six-year-olds, Eric felt like the wings of a thousand honey bees were beating inside his chest.
Weird. But he laughed and grabbed Colton’s wrist, squeezing hard. “Manners, dude.”
* * * *
Amy hadn’t expected the farmhouse to be so large. A pot simmered on each of the huge stove’s six burners. Dan, Colton, Cynda, Grams, and Lila were seated at the large table on the far end of the cheerful room. She halted, her heart pounding fearfully when a huge, spotted dog dashed through a doorway and headed straight for her.
“Not-Jacques!” Dan barked, making Amy jump. “Sit!”
The dog skidded to a stop and plopped his butt onto the floor at her feet. He had brown eyes and a long tongue. His tail thundered against the cabinets. A second dog came out of the same doorway, moving much slower. Same silky-looking white coat, same black spots, but the second one’s eyes were glazed with white film.
