Racing Hearts: Bennett Boys Ranch

by Landish, Lauren

  You know, the basics.

  Time passes slowly here in the cocoon of my tree until I hear hoofbeats coming. Then time somehow both stretches and speeds up at the same time as excuses and justifications begin running through my mind. Depending on which brother, or God forbid, my dad, has found me, I’ll have to adjust on the fly.

  I slowly move a leafy branch, peeking out, but I can’t see anyone. I can hear a horse snorting, though.

  And then a deep voice rumbles, “What the fuck?”

  That’s not one of the Tannen boys, not one of my brothers and not my father. Which means only one thing. A Bennett.

  The voice pitches softer, higher. “Come here, girl. What are you doing out here?”

  Shit. He sees Ember, fully saddled, so it’s obvious there’s someone out here. I debate keeping quiet, but when I hear him cooing worriedly, asking the horse where her rider is, my conscience takes over.

  “She’s fine. I’m here,” I say from the treetop.

  I can’t see him, but I can hear his boots scuff quickly on the grass. “Fuck!” I get the impression that I just scared the shit out of him and made him jump, which makes me giggle.

  I wonder which Bennett it is? Surly, grumpy Mark? Funny, love-smitten James? Or . . .

  I hop down from my hidey-hole to the soft grass and turn around.

  “Luke?” I say, not surprised to see him since I’m right up by his property line, but also somehow shocked too. I haven’t seen him much besides the few minutes here and there in the crowd of people at Sophie’s wedding, so running into him twice in one week seems weird.

  “Shayanne? You almost gave me a heart attack.” He holds his chest dramatically, which draws my attention to the broad width there.

  I’d noticed it when we danced too, how he’d dwarfed me but held me softly, like a gentle giant. And when I’d been kidding and slapped his pec right over his heart, it’d been like touching a brick wall. I’d had to hold myself back from asking if that was real and patting him again just to double-check for myself.

  “Sorry, just hanging out. I’m canning tomorrow, so I had to escape the hot kitchen for a bit.”

  “To our property?” he asks, his eyes narrowed, but he seems more curious than angry.

  Usually, folks are pretty kind out here in the country. Welcoming and hospitable even. But not so with the Tannens and Bennetts.

  A while back, Mr. Bennett passed and Daddy tried to buy their land. It was in poor taste, and he was a bit heavy-handed with Mrs. Bennett and the boys, thinking he could take advantage in their time of need. Not that things between the families were good before that. It just reignited tensions a bit.

  We hadn’t known about Daddy’s tactics at first, had only heard him ranting and raving about ‘those snot-nosed Bennett boys that think they’re better’n everyone else.’

  There’d been hard words and a tense moment where my brothers and the Bennetts nearly came to a full-on brawl. In the long run, though, Mark Bennett had been the better man, and after accidentally stirring up some trouble with his questions around town, he’d filled us in about Daddy’s secret gambling habit.

  It’d been a turning point for our family. The time ‘before’ and the time ‘after’, when our image of our father had been not just tarnished but shattered.

  I’d always been a bit of a Daddy’s girl, but now, I can see that he’s slick and opportunistic. Within twenty-four hours of that newsflash, Brody had taken over the family reins with me at his side. Daddy is a part of this family, of course, but business-wise, it’s mostly in name only, though his word still carries some sway. Too many years of listening to him makes it hard to completely dismiss him. Especially when he gets loud.

  And so the cold war continues. I think mostly because no one wants to rock the boat. Or piss off Daddy, since he’s moved on to threatening to kick Brody out in some ‘who’s the boss’ battle. As if this place could run without Brody, I often think with an internal eye roll.

  But years of being the youngest and being the only girl mean I can’t help but argue and stand my ground, literally. “I’m not on your land. This tree is Tannen property.” I pat the trunk like an old friend.

  Luke’s eyes darken, but I can see a smile hinting at the corners of his full lips. I think he likes this verbal sparring. “The trunk, maybe, but that branch you were lollygagging in is definitely over the property line.”

  He might be right. Hell, the whole tree might be on Bennett property. I never really thought about it, and there hasn’t been a fence in this area to delineate the property line in decades because it’s not a pasture that’s used for the cattle. It’s just open space, sort of a buffer zone between our land and theirs.

  So I hedge my bets because Mama didn’t raise no fool and my daddy’s a gambler. “Well, unless you’re here to tear it down, I don’t reckon it matters one bit. So, are ya?”

  “Here to tear it down?” Luke asks, his blue eyes swirling with confusion like he’s not following my train of thought. I’m not surprised. Most folks don’t. “Of course not. I like this tree.”

  I nod once. “Glad we got that settled. Second matter—you never saw me here. I’ve been in the kitchen all day. You got that?” I point a blunt-nailed finger his way. “Capiche?” I sound like a Hollywood version of a mobster, but with a twang instead of an Italian accent.

  But he gets me instantly this time. “Never saw you. Understood, loud and clear, ma’am.” He stands straight, clicks his boots together once, and throws a half-assed salute my way. A shitty impersonation of a soldier, but then he relaxes back into his usual cowboy stance. He’s laid-back and mellow, but he has little biting surprises, like vanilla ice cream with pop rocks in it. It’s a thing. I had it once on the Fourth of July.

  He scratches at the sexy scruff of blond along his jaw, his brows pulled together over eyes the color of cloudless summer skies. “So, why are you hiding out here? Everything okay?”

  He sounds like he cares. I remember how kind he just was with Ember, who can be skittish around new people. But she walked right up when he called her and is currently nibbling at his heels, hoping for scratches behind her ears.

  Horses are a good barometer of a person. If they like you, you’re probably all right. If they don’t, chances are, you’re a bad egg. It’s not a perfect test, but I trust Ember’s instincts.

  “All good in the hood,” I say for some reason. I think I heard it on a television show once or twice. I try to play it off, laughing at myself before Luke laughs at me. “I mean, just been a busy morning getting ready for canning tomorrow, and the kitchen was so hot, I had to escape for a little. The next few days are going to be doozies with Triple-P on the agenda. Even with the radio going, it’s gonna be five kinds of ugh.”

  My words are rushed, each one falling on the one before it like it’s a train coming in to the station too fast. Surprisingly, Luke follows until the end.

  “Triple-P?” he asks, his teeth flashing white. But he seems interested, not like he’s laughing at me, which is a good thing because I’m thinking I like that smile. Like he’s trying to figure me out, but I’m the simplest of simple. What you see is what you get with me.

  “Pears, peaches, and pumpkins. Bobby and Bruce are doing all the harvesting. I’ve got all the recipes ready, and the jars are cooling on the counter, ready to be filled. Today’s my last day of freedom before I get chained to the stove for the rest of the week, at least. And that’s just round one. Ding.” I make a sound like the boxing match can start, tapping an invisible bell with my fingers.

  I’m joking, of course, but Luke looks a little horrified as he looks down at my bare feet, or maybe it’s my ankle he’s checking out?

  Either way, I clarify. “Not literally, like ball and chain” —I drag my pink-tipped toes through the grass like I’m lame— “but because of the cans. I’ve seen your mom’s jellies. You know what I’m talking about.”

  Recognition dawns on his face. “Yeah, but she usually just does a batch or
two at a time. Maybe fifty jars a year. How many you doing?”

  I know he doesn’t give one single shit about my canning plans, but what else am I gonna talk about? Goat soap? The way he looks at me with those blue eyes that make me want to melt into the grass? Or how it felt when he’d catch me solidly against his muscled chest after a spin that reset my world’s axis?

  No, definitely not that last one, and I’d best stick to the safe topic at hand and not ruffle any feathers. Especially mine, which are itching to do a bit of a sway his way.

  “I’ve got two different pear recipes, cinnamon spicy for cobbler and a sweet jelly. Peaches? Three, I think, including a new bourbon one I’m excited to play with. And more pumpkin recipes than humanly possible, but since it’s a once a year thing, I do it up big.”

  I flip through my notebook, showing him the recipes, but I flash them too fast to reveal my secret ingredients. “My favorite is this smashed pumpkin, though. I’ve got almost a hundred orders for the special pie filling I make and twenty more Thanksgiving orders already. Lots to do, lots to do . . .”

  My voice trails off awkwardly, heat running up my cheeks as I for some reason feel like I’m babbling. But Luke is steady as can be, just watching me ramble and taking me in like I’m a show he wants to watch on repeat.

  He even seems impressed, whistling softly. “Damn, you are busy. All that and soaps too?”

  I shrug, toeing a rock in the grass. “Well, Brody wouldn’t dream of letting me near his animals, and Daddy won’t let a girl help with the harvest.” I drop my voice low, mimicking my dad’s. “Get in the house, young lady. Let those boys take care of the fields.”

  My eyes roll unbidden, and Luke laughs, a deep chuckle that vibrates in my belly too. “Yup . . . Sophie had to kick a little butt to earn her respect from James back when they first met. Some people . . .”

  “So up to my eyeballs in pumpkin pie it is.” I hold my hand flat, just below my eyes to highlight my point.

  “I get it. I’m playing catch-up too. Mark and James play favorites and only ride their horses most of the time, so while I’m gone, the rest of my babies get a little too lazy. Fed, brushed, and pampered too much . . . but they need the exercise. I’m letting Duster stretch his legs a bit.” He looks at the horse fondly. “But I didn’t think my ride was gonna lead to me catching a trespasser in our tree. Even if she’s a cute one.”

  Oh, we’re not back to this, are we? Wait, did he just say I’m cute? Is he teasing about the tree or about my being cute? I’m not sure.

  Both of us busy as beavers building a dam before winter but neither of us making a move from beneath the shade of my tree.

  Interesting. Exciting.

  Those are the words that keep running around in my head when I think of Luke, and I really do wonder what he thinks of me. I know I’m not the usual type of girl that guys go for. I’m a little too rough, a little too odd. But I’m looking at Luke like I’m sure women all over the continental US have, like I could eat him up with a spoon for supper.

  I take a moment to really feast my eyes on him, from his mop of overgrown blond hair that’s starting to have the barest hint of curl, to his blue eyes squinting against the sun, to his full lips and chiseled jaw. Broad shoulders, as we established at Hank’s, taper to a slim waist where his T-shirt is tucked in behind his belt, and his long, thick legs are encased in work-worn denim.

  Yep, a girl could definitely work with that, I think. He’s all honest to goodness, authentic man.

  Thankfully, the thought manages to stay in my head and not pass my lips, but judging by the amused smirk on Luke’s face, he’s reading my mind loud and clear. The air between us crackles with new, electric tension, our eyes meeting and all humor falling away as it registers that we’re both thinking the same thing.

  Well, I’m thinking Luke Bennett is a genuine horse riding, cowboy hat wearing, someone call Bonnie Tyler because I’ve done found a hero that I wanna ride all night long hunk. Hopefully, he’s thinking some sexier, sweeter version of that, because in my mind, he’s smoother than I am.

  But suddenly, his look darkens like he just remembered something, and when his eyes drift off to the distance, toward our homestead, I know what it is . . . my last name.

  “Shay,” he says, his voice soft and quiet, but it might as well be a siren, warning me off.

  My gut drops, a sour feeling taking over. “Yeah, you’re right. I’d better get back to the house before anyone misses me. Uh, I’ll see ya around.”

  I toss him a careless wave, grabbing my boots but not bothering to put them on as I whistle for Ember.

  She scurries over to me, thankfully sensing my need to get out of here. I climb up, and though I want to slouch in defeat, my training kicks in and my spine straightens.

  Out of the fiery kitchen and into the fire itself. Because I think Luke could burn me to ashes, with no poetic phoenix rising in rebirth. I’d be just plain toast in his wake. And while he’d be a hell of a way to go, based on his obvious rebuff in the silent but heated moment, I don’t think he’s interested in the girl next door.

  “Hey, Shayanne!” he calls out, and for a heartbeat, I consider pretending not to hear him, imagining that it was just the wind or my own wishful thinking. But I know it was his voice.

  I glance back, jaw hard. “Yeah?”

  He smiles, sweet and sexy and stirring my guts into mashed potatoes all in a single look. “Think you could save a jar of smashed pumpkin for me?”

  An olive branch.

  Daring. Stupid. Sweet. All thoughts that rush through my mind, but in the end, I smile and give in because a little bit of something good is better than none of it. And Luke is good, even if he’s not good for me.

  “Of course. But I don’t do delivery service.” That’s a lie. I deliver stuff all over town with the boys’ help. But I can’t exactly roll up to the Bennett house in my truck because I’d get busted for sure.

  Luke tilts his head toward the tree. “Meet you here?” He still looks uncertain, like even though I agreed, he thinks I’m going to bolt like a jumpy foal. Or maybe like he’s questioning himself on whether asking for some pie filling was a smart move or the dumbest thing he could’ve done.

  I blink, telling my heart to slow the hell down because it’s beating in my chest like the hooves of a thundering herd of cattle. Not a date, not a date, I keep telling myself, trying to get the thuds to match my mental pace.

  “Okay, gimme three days to get the first batches done, so . . . Thursday? Around three?”

  I choose the day and time knowing my brothers’ and Daddy’s schedule. They might think they’re the boss, but I’m the one who keeps the whole train chugging with everything running smoothly. And by Thursday afternoon, Daddy’ll be gone for his weekend of gambling up north and my brothers will be busy with chores of their own. I should be able to sneak away without a problem and get back before dinner. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

  He nods, giving me a full smile like he’s happy I agreed. “See you then,” he says, confirming our little peace treaty.

  The trip back to the house is faster than I want it to be, my mind ping-ponging and replaying the expressions that chased across Luke’s face.

  He could’ve just let me go after he caught me blatantly giving him the once-over. It would’ve hurt, but it’d be like ripping a Band-Aid off.

  But he’d called me back, made plans to see me again. I can’t decide if he’s just trying to pull the sticky bandage off slowly so it doesn’t take skin with it or if he’s actually interested.

  In my pumpkin pie filling? In me? While that moment had felt like something, his wanting the pie filling is more likely, rich and thick, creamy and delicious, while I’m just . . . me.

  Shayanne Tannen, the odd-duck, fast-talking tomboy.

  I know folks in town think I’m some sheltered little girl, but I’m not. I’m a woman with a backbone of steel, big dreams, and a dirty mind. If only they knew.

  “Hell, if only Luke knew,�
�� I tell Ember. She whinnies in response like my good girl.

  Chapter 4

  Luke

  By lunchtime on Thursday, I’m damn near chomping at the bit for the sun to get to chasing its way through the sky toward mid-afternoon.

  I don’t know what it is, but my mind has returned to Shayanne about a couple of hundred times over the last few days. Our conversation had been like a roller coaster, ups and downs and twists and turns as the words rushed out of her pretty mouth like she couldn’t wait to have someone to listen to everything she had to say. I was glad for it. I hadn’t wanted her to control it but had rather been interested in what was running around in her head. Even about canning, for fuck’s sake.

  Everything had been comfortable and casual, and when I’d seen her eyes tracing over my body, I wanted to puff up like a damn stallion. Whatever protective urges I’d been having at Hank’s had caught fire in an instant when she licked her lips like I was an ice cream cone she was ready to suck down. I’d been on the verge of making a move, had felt the desire running hot through us both in the small space between us.

  And then reality hit me. Hard.

  That girl doesn’t need my protection, and she sure as hell doesn’t need my attention. She’s got three brothers who are big, bigger, and biggest. And none of them exactly like me.

  So it’s not good for either of us. But she’d looked so dejected, and I couldn’t hurt her, so I’d done the stupid—or maybe brilliant—thing and asked for pumpkin pie. No euphemism intended, mostly. I just really hoped, deep down, that I could see her smile again.

  And she did. It’d been beautiful, and my heart thumped proudly that I’d done that for her.

  Me. Luke Bennett.

  And now I keep torturing myself in my few idle moments with memories of her cute little bare feet digging into the green grass, her wavy hair blowing in the breeze, and wondering if her skin would taste like sunshine.

  More than once, I’ve nearly been caught daydreaming by James or Mark, and I know my luck can’t hold out forever. They won’t know why, but they aren’t as stupid as they look.