Racing Hearts: Bennett Boys Ranch

by Landish, Lauren

  I can’t help but tease back. “I can probably get pie from Shayanne if you kick me out.”

  “Don’t be talking about a girl’s pie with me, young man. I’m your mama and don’t need to know a bit about that.” Her hands are on her hips, but there’s an undercurrent of laughter to the words.

  Holy shit, Mama just made a joke . . . about my sex life. At least, I think that’s what she’s teasing about. My brows shoot up my forehead in surprise and question.

  “Don’t go looking so surprised, Luke Bennett. I loved your Pops and he loved me too. Wanna hear a secret?” she asks. I shake my head so hard my brain damn near rattles around, not wanting to hear this in the least. But she winks and tells me anyway. “It’s not like we only did it three times in the dark to get you boys.”

  I shove my fingers in my ears, scrunching up my face. “La-la-la-la. Nope, don’t want to hear that.”

  Her laughter is bright and loud as she bends over, hands on her knees like she can’t catch her breath.

  “Good lord, sometimes you boys are so easy.” She laughs while I stare, slack-jawed and horrified. Eventually, she rights herself, though her breath is still a bit wheezy. “Seriously, though, this is their first holiday without either parent and it’s bound to be a tough one. I don’t know what they did after Martha passed, but I’m going to make this one a bit easier if I can. You’d best be on good behavior.”

  Her narrowed eyes brook no argument. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She pats my chest nicely this time before heading out the open main door and back to the house. She’s got on tennis shoes, so I’m guessing she’s spending some time in her garden today.

  She’s the epitome of work-till-you-die stock, and they don’t much make them like her anymore. She’s worked every day of her life since she was a teen, waitressing, ranching, and mothering our motley crew. I know she’s looking forward to grandmothering James and Sophie’s little one as soon as it makes an appearance.

  As soon as the barn’s quiet, I hear the side door open.

  “Coast clear?” I hear a disembodied whisper.

  I chuckle. “Yeah, Mama’s gone. What the hell are you up to? Watching to make sure the coast is clear?”

  James comes into view around the corner, Mark behind him.

  James plops down in the chair on the other side of my desk, instantly lifting his feet to set his dirty boots on the wooden surface. Mark sets a big hand on either side of the doorframe, blocking us in.

  Though I asked James, Mark answers my question. “We saw Mama heading over here and thought we’d make sure everything was okay without getting in the way.”

  “You mean you didn’t want her to make a target outta you too.”

  He grunts, which I take as agreement.

  James claps, leaning back more so that only the back two chair legs are on the floor. “So spill. What’s Mama up to now? We also saw Shayanne stop by, so I know there’s something going on. Mama works in mysterious ways, but sometimes, she’s about as transparent as a glass window.” He points a thick finger my way and then Mark’s. “And if you tell her I said that, you’re a dead man.”

  I almost look behind him with wide eyes to make him think Mama is back and overheard his mouthiness, which is one of James’s favorite pranks to pull, but I don’t have it in me right now.

  I shake my head, swallowing my concern. “She invited the Tannens to Thanksgiving.”

  I might as well have set off a bomb in the room, which is the proper reaction to that news.

  “Shiiiiiit,” James drawls out in a hiss.

  “Fuck.” That bark of reaction to damn near everything bad is totally Mark.

  I nod. “I know. She warned me that she’s doing this for them and that we’d better be on our best behavior.”

  I’m quiet for a moment, looking at my hands as I pick at a ragged cuticle. “Can I tell you something, though?” I look up to find two pairs of blue eyes, bright as the summer sky and so similar to my own, staring back at me. “I’m kinda excited about it. For Shayanne, at least. I like the idea of her having holiday dinner with us.”

  James smiles, but Mark frowns, their reactions as different as the men they’ve become, even if they do bear a striking family resemblance. We all do.

  “I get why you’d feel that way. If anyone understands wanting to be with your girl twenty-four seven, it’s me,” Mark says humorlessly because he’s literally not kidding in the slightest about how he feels about Katelyn. “But Shayanne’s a package deal, Luke. The Tannen brother drama isn’t quite finished, so don’t go making problems for her. You want her, but they need her.”

  “I need her too,” I argue, “and she needs me.”

  Mark sighs and looks up at the exposed rafters, running his hands through his hair like he’s searching for something in his mind. “Imagine if James had brought home a girl we hated on sight, some prissy gold-digging bitch who didn’t understand our family ways and wanted to take him away from us. How would we have felt about a woman like that?”

  “Hey!” James balks, “Sophie ain’t like that!”

  Mark barely blinks. “Ain’t talking about Sophie. You know we love her more than we love you, asshole.”

  James grins and nods, knowing it’s partially true. What can I say? Sophie’s a hell of a woman.

  Back to me, he says, “What would we have thought—done—to make him see sense?”

  “Anything,” I answer, not seeing his point.

  “To them, that’s you.” I start to mouth off, but he holds up a staying hand. “They’ve been tainted against you by Paul, plus, you travel the whole world. You’re this fancy-schmancy horseman, not a ranch or farm-working hand like the rest of us. It ain’t your fault, but I reckon that’s how they see you. Like a snake oil salesman who’s selling their baby sister on a life of ease far away from them.”

  “That’s not what I’m trying to do. I mean, I’ll admit that I’ve thought about taking her with me on trips because this long stretch home isn’t my norm, but we haven’t even talked about that. I know this is her home. Hell, it’s my home too.” I shake my head and get up to pace, replaying conversations in my head and seeing them in a new light. “And I mean, I’ve tried to make things easier on her, on all of them, really, by helping out any way I can. But that’s just what I do. I wanna help.”

  My voice trails off, and Mark grunts as he puts a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You do help. We all know that,” he says pointedly, and I think again how wrong I was about my role here on the ranch. I’ve never been invisible, not to them, and it was only my own misguided perception that made me think I was. “Just make sure they see that too. Hell, Brody is about as upfront as you can get. Just tell him outright that you love Shayanne and want to marry her and have a whole litter of honey-haired kids running around their property, right where they belong. It’d probably ease his nerves considerably.”

  He grins so big his rarely-spotted dimple pops out on his cheek.

  Holy fuck.

  That sends a shock through my system. But not a bad one. No, not bad at all. I imagine a whole herd of little girls with Shayanne’s waves and my blue eyes, each with a goat in their arms.

  James’s laughter brings me back to Earth. “Ooh, boy, did you see his face? He went all dreamy and shit. Fuckin’ Hallmark movie special in there,” he says, tapping his temple.

  I narrow my eyes and shove his shitkickers off my desk, but he’s still chuckling. To Mark, I say, “Sounds like you’re trying to get me killed by Brody Tannen and kicked out from Mama’s table all at once. You wouldn’t be making a play to get all the pumpkin pie to yourself, now would you?”

  “If I need more of Shayanne’s smashed pumpkin pie, I’ll just buy it. No need to swipe yours,” he says gruffly, swatting at my head in a brotherly smackdown.

  I give him a bit of side-eye, not letting this go. “Just tell Brody I love his sister and wanna knock her up so I can see little Shay-Lukes running around? That’s your big plan, huh?”

/>   He presses his lips together. “I get where Brody’s coming from. He’s got a lot on his plate, and trying to herd a family of assholes is usually more force than finesse.” His eyebrow arches as he looks between James and me. “Maybe don’t say ‘knock up’, either.”

  James raises his hand like he’s in school. “I vote for Luke-Annes. It rolls off the tongue better.” With a smirk, he drawls out, “Luuuke-Aaaaanne.”

  “Sophie picked a baby name yet?” I ask him, redirecting his wild tangent.

  He starts to say something and then flashes his middle finger at me. “Don’t be trying to trick me. We ain’t telling names until that little one is in our arms.”

  Suddenly, he’s the one who looks all cartoon dreamy.

  Chapter 25

  Shayanne

  “I’m not going.” Brody might as well sound like a drill sergeant, laying down the law.

  “If he’s not, I’m not,” Bobby follows suit, albeit in a slightly less aggressively volatile fashion.

  I have had it. Day in, day out, we’re tippy-toeing around each other.

  Simultaneously, I’ve been busting my ass making dozens of pies to fill the orders that were placed as far back as September. Some people indulge all season, but primarily, these pies are a hallmark of so many families’ holiday tradition, which I love being a part of, but the increased sales this year are a double-edged sword when I’m the only baker. I’ve made upward of one hundred pies in the last week, most of those in the last three days. My new record.

  To their credit, the boys have done deliveries while keeping up with their own chores, including yesterday’s trip to take twenty of those pies to the resort restaurant for their holiday feast. But driving all over town isn’t nearly the work that making pie crust is. My hair is a near-perpetual frizzy mess from the humid kitchen that’s been so hot I turned off the heat yesterday and let the oven warm the whole damn house.

  Plus, I’ve done all the prep work for another batch of goat milk soap because the December farmer’s market is mere days after Thanksgiving. I’ve got my list of scents in my notebook, along with quantities of each, and have already printed the labels and cut ribbons to wrap each slab of yummy, soapy goodness. This market’s gonna be huge and our last chance to close out the year with a big profit. Well, big for a one-woman, thirty-goat operation.

  Add all that together with the fact that I haven’t seen Luke in days because I’ve literally fallen into bed after completing my daily checklist, and I’m at the end of my rope.

  Throwing one hand on my hip and pointing a finger at Brody, I tell him in my fiercest voice, “The hell you’re not, mister! Mama Louise has been a major help to us while Daddy was in the hospital and with all the arrangements, and you damn well know it. And she has kindly invited us to Thanksgiving, knowing that I’m plum worn out and can’t make a whole meal without losing my ever-fluffing mind right now. So, you are going to get off your tantrum-throwing, pouty ass, slap an appreciative smile on that ugly mug, and play nice for two hours like the adult I know you can be. Capiche?”

  Bobby doesn’t say a word, but he gets up and high-steps it to the kitchen where I see him grabbing foil-covered dishes off the stove like a good soldier. He stands next to Bruce, who’s trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile at my outburst.

  Brody rolls his eyes and sighs like an annoyed teenager. “Fine,” he surrenders. “Two hours, and I don’t want to see any lovey-dovey shit between you and Bennett.”

  “I will sit in his lap and suck gravy from his fingers if I damn well want to, and you will do nothing but smile and tell Mama Louise, ‘Thank you for dinner.’”

  I’ll do nothing of the sort, but I’m not letting Brody ruin this for me.

  I need to see Luke. I need to not have the whole meal and our holiday’s success or failure resting on my shoulders. Which makes me realize again how much Brody has on his.

  I go over and hug him by force, trying really hard not to let the fact that he doesn’t hug me back stab into my heart. “Thank you. I love you, even if you are a stubborn jackass.”

  He grunts and picks up the last foil-covered dish. “Let’s get this over with.”

  * * *

  Mama Louise is already holding the door open for us as we climb out of Brody’s truck. It’s older and seen better days, and eventually, he’ll probably switch over to Daddy’s newer truck, but for now, that seems weird, so it’s sitting in the garage like a token of his presence even in his absence.

  “Get on in this house before you catch cold,” she warns, but the smile on her face is welcoming and warm.

  “Thank you for inviting us,” I say in polite greeting as I head straight for the kitchen. I’d sat in it only days ago when I delivered her smashed pumpkin pie order. Behind me, I can hear each of the boys mumbling some sort of hello too, though quite a bit less appreciative than me.

  When I turn around, I see why. Mama Louise is taking advantage of the boys’ full hands and hugging each one of them. They look stiff and uncomfortable, but they’re at least well-mannered enough to not balk too much. Mama Louise winks at me, letting me know she’s well aware that she’s pushing them. They need it, though, that bit of motherly love, and she seems comfortable doling that out like ice cream on a hot day in summer.

  “Oh, just put the food on the counter,” a voice says, smacks between every word. “We’ll get everything all arranged.”

  I glance over to see Katelyn sitting on the kitchen table and Mark feeding her a slice of turkey.

  Okay, so maybe my little joke wasn’t so far off, I think with a small grin of shock. Brody looks at me, daggers shooting out like little warnings of ‘fuck, no’ with a big dose of ‘don’t you dare.’

  I don’t know Katelyn that well, only having hung out with her at Hank’s a couple of times with Sophie being our six degrees of Kevin Bacon connector. But she’s seemed sweet on those outings.

  Admittedly, I’ve wondered what magical, mystical witchy power she must possess to have captured Mark’s heart, the near-declared bachelor Bennett brother having never given anyone so much as a second glance and barely a word before she swooped in and claimed him. Or he claimed her? I’m not sure, but there’s a story there, according to Sophie, even if she won’t gossip enough to tell me what it is.

  “Hi, Katelyn, Mark. Happy Thanksgiving! Here okay?” I ask, setting my casserole dish and bag of goodies on the counter.

  “Absolutely,” Katelyn says with a smile. But when Mama Louise marches in the kitchen, directing my brothers on where to put things, she hops off the table like she’s afraid she’s about to get busted.

  For their part, my brothers look a bit shell-shocked but are following orders. I suspect that everyone pretty much does what Mama Louise says all the time. She’s a spitfire, and I’d hate to be on her bad side.

  She claps, getting all of our attention.

  “Okay,” she says, looking around her kitchen and not seeing us at all. “Ladies, help me get the food set up, please. Boys, if you’ll move that table out to the back porch, that’d be great. We don’t have a table big enough for everyone . . . such a good problem to have,” she interjects wistfully. “So, we’ll push the two together and call it good.”

  She claps again and we all get to hustling, doing her bidding.

  “Mark,” Mama Louise says. He looks at her just in time to catch the rag she throws his way. “Clean off the table, please. We sit on chairs, not tables.”

  He has the decency to look scolded for a half-second before a light sparkles in his eyes. It’s a good look on him, and unexpected, given his reputation around town. “Well, I kept putting Katelyn in my lap, but you vetoed that too. Figured the table was the safest place since you said we needed to be here to greet our guests.”

  She huffs and rolls her eyes, looking ever beleaguered by her sons, and I can feel her familiar torment on a cellular level myself.

  Sensing her proximity to killing him, Mark starts wiping. I see Bruce lean over and whisper somethin
g in his ear, and Mark’s small smile seems like a promising response.

  Together, the guys complete their assignment, moving the table to the screened-in porch and setting up space heaters to keep us all toasty while we eat. Mama Louise, Katelyn, and I get the food all ready.

  Mama Louise tells me, “Luke should be back any minute. He went into town to get James and Sophie loaded up. Don’t tell her I said so, but I think he’s there mostly to help get Sophie into James’s big truck.”

  She winks at me like that’s big gossip, and I have to grin.

  I haven’t seen Sophie since the funeral, but we talk on the phone almost every day. She’s been checking in on me like a good friend and keeping me entertained with pregnancy woes. Her recent reports have been focused on her inability to see her feet and her worries that James thinks she’s bigger than the broad side of a barn. In the next instant, she’ll hush me, though she was the one talking, and say the baby’s moving through happy tears.

  She’s going to be a great mother, I just know it.

  As if her words conjured him out of thin air, I hear a door slam outside. Seconds later, the front door opens and Luke swirls in like a tornado, all energy and power.

  “Shay?” he calls, his voice a rumble I feel to my toes.

  I peek around the corner, a dishtowel in one hand and a serving spoon covered in stuffing in the other. Luke’s face lights up as he sees me, and then he immediately scoops me into his arms, spinning me around as I try to keep the stuffing from flying all over Mama Louise’s kitchen.

  “Whoa,” I cry out.

  “Fuck, I missed you, woman.”

  Distantly, I hear Mama Louise mutter, “Language.”

  But Luke keeps talking, not paying her any mind. “You get everything delivered? Did you get some sleep? How’d everything go at the lawyer’s?” His questions pop out like gunfire, but he doesn’t let me respond. Instead, he takes my lips in a sweet kiss, tasting my answers and soothing every frayed nerve, tired muscle, and overfired synapse in my body.