by Julie Reece
“Wait!” Holy mother of pearl. “You’re leaving me?” Panic drop-kicks my heart rate into overdrive and a meltdown is looking more probable every second.
“Going to miss me already? Happens all the time.”
“Don’t be stupid.” He bursts out laughing, but I’m not amused. My head wags back and forth. No way. “You can’t seriously expect me to milk twenty goats by myself.” Nothing could have prepared me for this morning, but a sick twinge irritates my stomach. I imagine my father’s face when I blow my assignment and show up on his doorstep after only one day.
“You’ll be fine. I have other obligations. Sometimes you’ll be given a task and expected to carry it out on your own. I can’t babysit your every move.”
I shoot to my feet. My anger is reflex, but it’s also useful. Most people will try to avoid a scene or hassle if they can, and I like it that way. If I thought too long about how my temper makes me a bitch I might care, so I don’t think about it.
Unlike most people, Silas stands his ground, feet apart, arms folded like the freaking Prince of Persia. “Do it or go home,” he says.
I glance at the goat, and chew my bottom lip. “I can’t do it alone.” The words are soft, more for me than him.
“I get so turned on when women beg like this, but you don’t need me. I honestly believe you can do this by yourself.”
“You’re such a jerk.” Nose running, I pat my pockets. Seems I dropped my tissue in the hay, so I use my shirt instead. “I am not begging you.” Silas watches me wipe my nose with something like horror, but I don’t give a crap. Between the dogs, and the hay, and the goats, my allergies are a four-alarm catastrophe.
He tilts his head to the side until his neck cracks. “Great. Then there’s no problem. Grow some balls, Teslow. I think you’ve got a little penis envy anyway, the way you’re always sticking your chest out, challenging everyone to a fight.” His face softens with his tone. “You can do this.”
And with that, he turns and walks from the barn.
9
Autumn
Is that how people see me? A girl who acts like some egocentric kickboxer with a chip on her shoulder, picking fights with everyone in the ring?
His words sting because they aren’t very flattering, and they’re a little bit true. I brush the hot tear off my cheek, surprised I’m letting him get to me. It’s not like people haven’t said stuff about me before, gossiped at school. I’ve always blown them off.
Why is he any different?
I let it be different once before, with Alex. A transfer student in three of my six classes last year, he was relentless in his pursuit of me. He didn’t care about the rumors, nor did he seem to want me just to trade up for my sister the way other guys did. I ignored him, but my brush-offs had the opposite effect, and all the attention was flattering. Good looking and a musician, half the girls at school were in love with Alex. And he liked me.
Or so I thought.
Once I gave in, we dated for five months. Opening up to him was easier than I thought it might be. He made me laugh, and let’s face it, no one makes me laugh. I went to his concerts; he played his guitar on my front porch while I sketched. My father hated everything about us, which only made me more determined. I blinded myself to little things, like the occasional bail on date night with some lame excuse, or his being evasive, even irritable, when I asked who kept texting him.
One night, while Dad and I were arguing over my choice of boyfriend, Dad got so angry he finally lost control. His face darkened, eyes wide with rage. He said the thing he’d apparently been holding back a long while. “Boys like that are experts in seduction, Autumn. Trust me, I know. You think artists are free spirits, but there’s no such thing. You’re simply careless, and if you don’t focus on a plan for your future, you’ll end up like your mother.” My chin lifted, happy to resemble her in anyway—until he dropped the last shoe. “No boy in his right mind would date a girl like you for anything else.”
A girl like me.
Memory stokes the embers in my lungs, the flame of resentment burning ever brighter. Whatever my dad was implying about my mother that night, or about himself, for that matter, I wasn’t sure I’d wanted to know. He never discussed what happened between them. Why she left, or how that links to me. Too painful to contemplate, my mind turns to the other issue Dad raised. Alex was pressuring me for sex.
The ironic part is, despite my reputation at school as a bad girl, I’m a virgin. Either Dad’s lectures carried more weight than I admitted, or deep down, I doubted Alex all on my own. In any case, I put him off.
Then came the night of the Deer Creek High School’s talent show. Alex’s band played, of course. They were amazing, but as lead guitar and singer, my boyfriend was the star. I’d never been so proud to belong to someone. The boy everyone else admired chose me. Since my dad had volunteered me to help with counting ticket money after the show, I made plans to meet Alex in the parking lot afterward, around eleven.
I was running late that night, and by the time I got to the office, the other volunteers were finishing up and said I was off the hook. Never mind that most of the math dorks in the room were scared to death of me. They seemed relieved for an excuse to have me gone.
I’m pretty much on time for nothing; so naturally, my significant other didn’t count on me showing up early. With the windows of his Kia fogged in the crisp night air, it was hard to see inside. Yet, I had little trouble discerning multiple arms and legs flung everywhere in the backseat. His extracurricular activity seemed obvious, but a sliver of hope drew me to the window. Maybe one of his buddies had borrowed his car. I banged on the glass and waited.
Nope.
My boyfriend’s face popped up, followed by a disheveled blond. Then the scene got ugly.
I don’t remember much, but they got theirs, and I got extended visits with the school counselor.
Whatever. It’s history now and so is Alex.
So, why are you thinking about him? And what else has your dad been right about?
I lay my forehead against the goat’s flank in front of me. Goat number twenty, by the way. Booyah!
Her fur is soft, body warm. She doesn’t care if I dress like a gypsy, or rest against her because my back is killing me. I decide goats are okay, pungent though they are. Silas was right about me and milking. I am capable. I’m not an idiot, just permanently pissed off.
“Well, hello there,” says a feminine voice with a strong southern twang.
I twist around on my stool. A girl, maybe early twenties, stands just outside the barn door. Her honey-colored hair shines in the sunlight like a halo around her head. She’s wearing a pink eyelet blouse, and her long legs are encased in dark, skinny jeans. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear my sister’s closet had been raided.
“Hey,” I answer, adhering to my routine of saying as little as possible.
“I’m Jesse.” She smiles before scooping up Silas’s abandoned stool near the first stall and taking a seat next to me. I’m staring, but she’s focused on the goat. Her hands run over the animals back, udder, teats. “Nanny’s completely drained. You did a good job with her.”
My hand pats the goat still munching at her food. Standard non-talking tactics are typically successful in making people go away. Not this chick. She appears to be perfectly at ease with our extended silence. After a while, I shoo a fly off my knee and ask, “The goat’s name is Nanny?”
The warmth in her expression seems genuine. “Technically, we call all the goats nanny, except for Billy. I suppose that’s self-explanatory.” She leans toward me. Close enough to feel her breath on my forehead as she plucks a piece of straw from my hair.
Personal space, anyone? A total stranger is pawing my filthy hair. Are my eyes huge, because they feel huge?
The girl chats me up about goat hygiene, tone perkier than a yellow smiley face, as she casually removes yet another hay straw from my head. People don’t touch me. Yet, Jesse is working toward full on mon
key grooming.
I angle away. “Uh, I’ll wash it out later, thanks though.” She blinks her big brown eyes. “I’m sorry, but I might as well tell you I’m not much of a conversationalist, and I don’t really do the whole BFF summer camp thing, okay?”
“Great.” She nods. “Since we’re sharing, I’ll tell you that I’m not much of a labels person. And I don’t do friends with initials. Besides, you could probably use at least one ally during your internship, don’t you think?” Her voice loses any trace of the earlier perk. Her eyes flash with intelligence or maturity—whatever it is, she’s not the bubble I first thought her. And she wants me to know it.
She straightens. “So, now that we’ve got that cleared up, did, Ca—er … Silas leave you to milk all these goats by yourself?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” I answer, yet I feel more proud than angry, now.
Her grin is sly. “Poor Silas. He’s great when he’s not being an ass.”
Now I’m smiling. Maybe I should rethink this whole ally thing.
Silas said, “Do the job or go home.” I did not milk twenty goats just to snark my way to unemployment, where I’ll spend the rest of the summer with my father and his never-ending agenda for my life. I made my choice to stay when I tackled goat number two, so I temporarily abandon cranky and play nice. “I’m Autumn, summer intern and general lackey.
“I know who you are. And I’m Jesse, spelled like a boy, without the i. I married into this mess.”
“On purpose?” I check my attitude, allowing another stiff smile so she’ll think I’m kidding. I’m not.
She laughs. “Crazy, huh? I met my husband Quinn at college. That’s what charm can do to a perfectly rational girl.”
“I get that.” After Alex, I can hardly judge. And since she’s a Behr, I’m doubly glad I was less rude than I might have been.
Her hand stretches toward me. At first, I think she wants to shake, but no, her fingers tug my muddy shirt. I stop myself from flinching, over my girl-bonding quota for the day.
Her golden brows pull together as she examines my clothes. “What happened here?”
Shockingly, I don’t want to explain why I’m covered in feces. “Slipped.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she laughs. “But I’ll need the details, now.”
“Sadist.”
“Runs in the family.”
I decide confession is best ripped off Band-Aid style. “One of the baby goats freaked out when I tried to leash her mother. She bucked and knocked me down, then ran out of the first little pen into that big one over there. I had to chase her all through the mud while the other goats got between us. Not one of my finer moments.”
Jesse’s boots brush the floor. “Before I came in here, I took a look at the paddock outside.”
My fingers latch the sides of my stool as I wait to hear what I’ve done wrong.
“You did a fantastic job milking the girls. Have you ever done this before?”
I snort to keep from shouting my relief. “No.”
“Well, you have a strong work ethic, Autumn.”
That’s a new one. “Not going to lie, I worked my butt off today.” I arch my sore back, emphasizing the point. “I’m probably the slowest on record, though. How do ya’ll keep up with them?”
“We don’t.”
My eyes narrow. “Come again?”
“We pay people to do this. The Behrs bought these goats a year ago from a farmer down the road. His sons milk them for extra spending money.” Jesse pats the animal’s shoulder. “Either Silas is taking the idea of teaching you from the ground up literally, or he’s messing with you. My guess is the latter.”
Blood drains from my face, leaving my skin cold. “I’ll kill him.”
“Hm.” She shakes her head. “Sorry. I can’t allow that. Occasionally, he’s a handful, but over-all, the family is ridiculously fond of him.” The skin around her eyes crinkles with her smile. “Forget him for now. I have a fantastic idea. Come with me.”
“Wait, now? I’m—”
“Disgusting? Yes, you are. I’m going to fix you up. It’ll be fun.”
I doubt it, but as my mouth opens to protest, Silas’s accusations rise up and slap me in the head. To prove I don’t have to challenge everyone, every time, I watch in frustrated silence as Jesse leads the last goat out of the barn.
A moment later, she reappears. “You’ve had a long morning, and Silas is, well, Silas. You’ll get used to him.”
I lift an eyebrow.
“Trust me. The good news is, since you’ve done the hard work of producing the goats’ milk, you ought to experience the benefits. Grab those pails. We’ll drop this milk off in the cooler and then you’re going to see what we do with the end products. What do you say?”
My gaze floats to the yard outside the barn door where the hot southern sun has bleached the grass yellow. Jesse seems nice enough, and I can’t come up with a reasonable way to say no without sounding ungracious. “All right.”
Jesse lets out a squee (a la Sydney) that wreaks havoc on my spine. I have no idea what I’m getting myself into or how to avoid it. Girding my loins, and my newly acquired polite-employee attitude, I follow her onto the sacred porch of the Behr house, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute.
10
Caden
The temperature must be ninety, and it’s not even ten o’clock. I stretch out on the hay bales stacked under a row of pines. Tucking my hands beneath my head, I chew a long piece of straw and watch the breeze rearranging clouds in a pale blue sky. When it strikes me I’m doing a bad impression of Jethro Clampett, I spit and sit up.
Our barn is situated on the other side of the paddock, across from me. The thought of Autumn wrestling twenty goats was funny. Was. Now, I’m just annoyed. I glance at my watch. I’ve been waiting, what, over an hour now? I’m not normally drawn to the clingy, lost-princess types. So why the hell am I fantasizing she’ll run out of there screaming, throw herself into my rather impressive arms, apologize, and beg for my help?
Little brat.
She did the cat thing. Strolled into the barn all sleek and sexy and then tripped. Of course, I did the dog thing and caught her. What else would a good and faithful canine do—let her face-plant in the hay? Actually, I might. I hate her. She makes me crazy. Never have I wanted to dropkick someone the way I do her. I sling the hair from my eyes in frustration. At the very same time, I have to admit there’s something about the girl that tugs at me. After the BBQ yesterday, well, and the spider thing, protecting her seems automatic, like I’d rather throw myself off a building than see her hurt.
We barely know each other. Nothing about this makes sense.
Catching her was pure instinct. Once she was in my arms, though, the subtle scent of her shampoo fogged my brain. That and the feel of her skin and the way her hipbone grazed my leg as I lifted her lithe frame. She seemed small and helpless, looking up at me with a half-surprised, half-nervous expression. Adorable in an irritating sort of way.
Then boom! She turned those death ray eyes on me, and for what—because I kept her from breaking her neck? Small. Ha! Dynamite looks small and innocent, too, until it’s lit.
The devil on my left shoulder cheers because I’ve left her to eat some humble pie. Milk every one of those smelly buggers, dejar en paz, and see how you like that! The girl needs some serious mechanical adjustments, and I’m just the tool to make them.
Wait … Oh, shut up.
My phone rings. Eyes still glued to the barn door, I dig my cell out of my back pocket, then glance at the screen. There you are, Mother. Right on queue to micromanage everything I’m doing. I suppress an eye roll and answer.
“Ello, luv.”
“Caden?”
“Who else? Sup, boss lady.”
A sigh. “Did you get your intern settled yet? Are there any problems I should know about? What do you have her starting with?” What her Gatling-gun style questioning really means is, how badly are you screwing up, and what ca
n I fix for you?
“Well, I’m great, Mother, thanks for asking. How are you?” A breeze blows my hair into my eyes again, reminding me that I need a haircut.
“Busy with meetings, like always. Just calling to check in … ”
While listening to my mother complain about inventory problems, I watch with growing concern as my sister-in-law strolls across the meadow and into the barn. My fingers grip the phone tighter. Damn. I knew she was going to stick her nose in with my intern, but it’s too late to intercept.
“ … and be sure to ask Jesse and Quinn if anything comes up with Miss Teslow.”
“I’ve got this, Mom. Really. Just let me handle it, okay?” At the same time, my conscience nags: Is Jesse right? What if I am too harsh? My plan could crash and burn if I’m not careful.
I mentally punch my conscience in the throat.
“I hate not being there. Quinn said you described the girl as ‘unstable.’ I never know when you boys are joking, but that hardly sounds like the best choice for our first intern.”
“We talked about this. Everything will be fine. Besides, she was the only choice left.”
“I hope you don’t plan to use that as an excuse to get out of business classes at Clemson if she quits.”
“Could that work?”
“Caden!”
“Kidding. No, I can deal with her. I’m just saying I started with a less than ideal subject—”
“Is that so? You claimed you could train anyone—”
“And you agreed you’d let me train her—”
“But that was before I found out—”
“With no interference.”
Done interrupting each other, she releases another sigh. “Yes, I did.”
“So let me.”
“I only want the best for you, son. This ‘taking a year off’ business hasn’t worked out very well, and what with Piper’s accident … you need focus, a goal. You know I love you, but lately, your middle name is distracted.”
That’s definitely not true. “No, we changed my middle name to danger, remember? Or maybe Danger Man, both sound epic. I can’t decide. What do you think?”
