Thoughts swirl around in my head like a Category 5 hurricane. I’m about to deny her abandonment again when Brogan says, “So I should expect you at six for supper? I just need to pop inside your place and pick up the wine opener I left here.”
I reply, “I guess so,” although I’m not sure I really mean it. He’s kind of caught me off guard by catching me in the tub and then telling me my mom has abandoned me.
As Brogan walks into my cabin, I start to wonder if Mom and Aunt Ruby are up to something and I’m just a pawn in some demented game they’re playing. The only question I have is, what game?
Chapter Forty
The Mothers
Ruby: I had one of the groundskeepers take a note up to Brogan about your birthday party being canceled.
Libby: Why didn’t you tell him yourself?
Ruby: Because at some point those two are going to figure out what we’re up to and may decide to rebel by going out of their way not to see each other. I figure the more I can throw them together before they find out, the better.
Libby: Did I mention how happy I am not to be there right now?
Ruby: Several times.
Brogan
Is it my birthday? Catching Addie in a bubble bath in the middle of the woods is exactly what I would have asked for, too. I give my writer’s brain free range to imagine all the possibilities, savoring each and every one while I hurry inside Addie’s cabin to get the wine opener.
I’m going to fry up some fish on my little camping grill. I might even head up to the lodge to pick up a decadent dessert, something with chocolate and whipped cream.
The first thought that hits me when I walk inside is that this place is starting to look more like a resort than a campsite. The king-size bed by the fire is fully rigged out with a plush comforter, throw pillows, and is that mosquito netting? There’s even a trunk at the foot of the bed for storage with an antique lamp and picture frames perched artistically about. I pick up one of the frames but there’s no picture in it yet. On my way to the kitchen, I wonder if she’s replaced the silverware with sterling.
I briefly wonder what it would be like if the fishing cabin looked like this and realize it would be nice to stretch out in a big bed by the fire. Maybe after I win the bet, I’ll make an upgrade.
The wine opener isn’t in plain sight, so I open the cupboard to look. That’s when I see it. A half-full bottle of Pacific Island clam juice. Oh, no she didn’t. Who in the world told Addie about my aversion to clams? Wait, I saw Cheryl’s truck last night. Those two must have met earlier in order for my childhood friend to betray me the way she did. Why would she do that?
Pacing around the kitchen I try to decide how best to handle this. Clearly revenge must be administered. I can either go outside and pour freezing cold water over Addie’s head right now or I can hold onto this information and retaliate in kind. Secretly.
I put the clam juice back and finally find the wine opener on the dining room table before strolling back outside. Not only do I avert my gaze, so Addie doesn’t think I’m a lech, but I don’t want her to see the anger that’s surely radiating from my eyes.
Vomited clam is by far the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted. I can’t even think about blackberries now without having a flashback. That woman ruined one of my favorite fruits for me. This means war.
“I’ll see you at six,” I call out, not waiting for an answer as I walk toward the path leading to my place.
I decide to head into town to see if I can figure out why Cheryl ratted me out. Of course, I can’t ask her directly without risking her telling Addie, but at the very least, I can gauge her reaction. What in the world did I ever do to her that she’d put me through that nightmare dinner?
On the way to town, I stop off at my brother’s house to tell him what’s going on, and to warn him that he might be next. After all, I didn’t perpetrate all of those pranks on my own, and if Addie was being fair, she’d remember that.
When I get to James’s place, he’s arguing with a woman at his farm stand. She’s asking him, “Is your produce certified organic or not? A simple yes or no will suffice.”
“It’s not a yes or no question,” he tells her before explaining, “Certifying organic requires tens of thousands of dollars to get the official seal. Most farmers can’t afford that, so we use the term ‘No Spray’ to indicate organic practices. I’m ‘No Spray.’”
“So, the answer is no, your produce is not certified organic,” she replies sassily.
If the look on James’s face is any indication, he’s about to blow a gasket. He stomps over to a pallet piled high with fresh corn. “Pick up any ear you’d like,” he practically yells.
She joins him before bending over and making her choice. James grabs it out of her hands and pulls back the top part of the husk before shoving it into her face. “What do you see?” he demands.
“A worm,” comes her quick answer.
“Every ear of corn worth eating has a worm on top. That worm couldn’t be there if I sprayed pesticides or used genetically modified seed. Got it?”
She shakes her head at him. “So, you don’t spray but that doesn’t mean you’re organic.”
“Woman,” my brother shakes the ear of corn at her, “go buy your produce somewhere else!”
“Should I tell my friends to do the same thing?” she asks obviously ready to give as good as she gets.
“If your friends are as big of a pain as you are, then yes.”
“Well, I never!”
“I’m sure you don’t, and maybe that’s your problem,” he shouts after her.
She knocks into me as she storms by, and I can’t help but laugh. “You need to work on your customer service,” I tell James.
“That woman has been coming here all summer and every single time she interrogates my workers about why we aren’t certified organic. I’m sick to death of it. Let her go to Market of Choice and spend a dollar an ear if she needs it certified. She could get four ears for the same price here that are fresher and just as pesticide free. Those city folks need to stay in the city and quit moving out to the country. They make me crazy.”
“Are you done?” I ask with a smile on my face. James is rarely this worked up over anything.
He inhales deeply before answering, “Yeah, I’m done. What brings you out here?”
I tell him what I found in Addie’s kitchen and he starts laughing. “What’s so funny? You might be next, you know,” I tell him.
“While I appreciate the warning, brother, I’m pretty sure Addison Cooper hates you way worse than me.”
“How do you figure?”
“I didn’t bet her that she could stay out in the woods for a month.”
“I didn’t either. She came up with that on her own.”
“Either way, I’m clearly on her side. That five thousand you wagered me is going to help me get my new hay baler.”
“I was just warning you,” I tell him testily. “Why do you think Cheryl told her about the clam juice?”
Jeffrey Wilkens walks over and announces, “My mom is kind of down on the male species as a whole ever since my dad left.”
“Do me a favor and don’t tell her that I know,” I ask him. “I want to keep Addie in the dark long enough to get my revenge.”
Jeff shrugs. “It’s none of my business.”
I look at my brother and poke him in the chest. “Don’t you say anything either. Now that I know you’re betraying blood to be on Team Addison, I’m not sure I can trust you.”
“Please,” he says while rolling his eyes. “You don’t think I have my own crap to deal with? I’ve got crazy city girls wanting to pick fights over corn. Clearly, I’ve got my own female troubles.”
I change the subject and ask, “Did you know that Aunt Libby left?”
“I thought she was staying for her birthday.”
“Me, too. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I think Mom is up to something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “Just keep your eyes open, will you? I feel like every woman I know has decided to turn on me and it’s making me a little nervous.”
“If you ask me, women are more trouble than they’re worth.”
“I think you might be right,” I tell him. Yet my mind zooms right back to seeing Addie in the bath in the woods and I wonder if she might not just be worth any amount of trouble.
Chapter Forty-One
The Mothers
Libby: You realize that even if Addie and Brogan get together they might not get married.
Ruby: What’s your point?
Libby: I just don’t want us to get our hopes up.
Ruby: They could still give us a grandchild without getting married.
Libby: Ruby, what kind of thing is that to say?
Ruby: There are no guarantees in life, Lib. I just want our kids to find happiness. The ring is secondary.
Libby: It’s a whole new world out there, isn’t it?
Ruby: I’ve never realized that more since losing Tom.
Addison:
What the heck? I can’t believe my mom has left me to rot in the wilderness while she goes off with my dad. I know I changed the game with my wager against Brogan, but we could still have spent time together. As soon as I get within range of a phone signal, I’m going to send her a thousand and one texts expressing my extreme displeasure at being abandoned.
The good news is that now that I have a bathtub, I know I can win this bet with one hand and one foot tied behind my back.
Speaking of the devil, should I have dinner with him tonight? I could stay home and eat with Billy, but I told my sort-of roommate I was going out and that he should give the bathtub a try. I don’t want to get in the way of his experiencing his first deep cleaning in thirty years. Also, I kind of told Brogan I’d come.
After changing into palazzo pants and a pretty over-the-shoulder top, I decide to go ahead and let Brogan cook dinner for me. I briefly toy with the idea of taking the clam juice along and trying to find a way to put it in his food, but it’s not worth the risk. What if he caught me? There aren’t many places to hide the bottle in my current ensemble.
Just before six o’clock, I look in the mirror and apply a bit of lipstick. I tell myself that I’m doing it because it feels good to get dressed up, but the truth is I want to look my best—or as close a proximity as I can without electricity. My hair has definitely increased in volume without the means to straighten it.
It’s nice to be appreciated by an attractive man and I’d be lying straight out if I said I didn’t find Brogan attractive. Very attractive. Mind blowingly, toe curlingly attractive. Not that anything can come from it.
While I don’t particularly feel comfortable walking in the woods by myself yet, I do feel more at ease now that I have my ribbon system set up. And my mace pointed straight out. I also bought a whistle on a rope that arrived in today’s mail. I’m wearing it around my neck like a high school basketball coach. You know, so if a cougar walks by, I can blow it and yell, “Foul! You’re out of the game!”
Brogan is stoking a fire out front when I arrive at his cabin. He’s wearing cargo shorts and a white t-shirt. He looks yummy. “Hey,” I call out.
He turns around and lets his eyes slowly devour me. The way he’s scanning me from head to toe makes me feel positively naked. Heat pours through me when I remember I was naked the last time he saw me. Thank goodness for bubbles.
“Hey, yourself,” he greets. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“It depends on how good of a cook you are,” I tease.
“I promise nothing will taste like clams.”
I guiltily look down at my feet before asking, “How are you feeling, anyway? You doing better now?”
“I’m great, thanks. Must have just been one of those things.”
“So, what are you making?” We need a change in topic, stat.
“I’m grilling some steelhead over mesquite chips. They’ll give the fish a nice smoky flavor.” He takes a few steps closer to me and my stomach drops like I hit a dip in the road going sixty miles an hour.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” he asks, his voice as thick as honey and as smoky as the fire he was just stoking.
“Please,” I squeak, sounding like my answer was churned out by a rusty crank.
“Come on in.” He gestures for me to follow him inside.
I’ve already been inside Brogan’s cabin, so I know what to expect. But when I cross the threshold, I see some marked changes. First, the table is set with a tablecloth and cloth napkins. There’s also a jug with wildflowers in the center and candles that are ready to be lit.
“Everything looks very pretty,” I tell him.
“You’re worth the effort.”
My knees tremble as his compliment washes over me. “Thank you.”
“After all, you went out of your way to make such a nice meal for me, and how did I thank you? I threw up.” He shakes his head when he adds, “I hope you don’t have the same bug I had.”
That kind of sounded like a threat. Yet how could he know what happened? I start to panic when I remember he went into my kitchen this afternoon to get the wine opener, but I know the clam juice was in the cabinet tucked behind a canister of tea bags. Surely, he didn’t see it. Or did he?
Brogan pours me a glass of chilled white wine and says, “I went with a viognier. I thought it would pair nicely with our fish.” He raises his glass and toasts, “To old friends.”
I clink glasses and correct him. “To new friends.”
He smiles endearingly before asking, “Would you like to sit outside while I put dinner on?”
“I could stay in here with you,” I suggest. You know, just in case he really is going to poison my food.
“I’m grilling outside,” he reminds me. I follow along so closely I might as well be tethered to him.
Sitting down on one of the Adirondack chairs on his makeshift porch, I comment, “You can get nice cushions for these chairs online.”
“I like them the way they are,” he tells me. “Rustic, like I’m living in the woods.”
“Living in the woods doesn’t have to feel rustic.”
“I suppose not. But that’s the way some of us like it.” He changes the direction of our conversation and asks, “So, Billy is staying up there with you, huh?”
“I hope you aren’t going to say that I’m breaking the rules of our bet.”
“Not at all. The bet was that you couldn’t stay up here. There were no stipulations regarding other people.” He smiles at me in a way that makes me feel like I just ate six hot fudge sundaes—content and nauseated at the same time.
“It’s crazy how Billy came out here from New York, isn’t it?”
Brogan looks confused. “What do you mean? I thought Billy was from Oregon.”
“Haven’t you ever asked him about his life?” I ask in astonishment.
“Of course, I’ve asked him, but he’s always evasive with his answers. I just assumed he didn’t want to talk about it.”
Curious. “Billy came out to Oregon to meet his father,” I tell Brogan.
“Who’s his dad?”
I shrug. “I have no idea.” Even if he’d told me I wouldn’t know who it was. The only people I know in this state are Cavanaughs.
Brogan puts the fish and ears of corn directly on the grill plate he’s placed over the fire. Then he scoots his chair closer to mine and says, “Billy is a man of mystery.”
It feels nice sitting side-by-side enjoying our wine while we wait for our food to cook. This is very different from dating in New York City where you either meet your date at a restaurant after work or he picks you up in a taxi. Then it’s straight to a crowded restaurant where someone else prepares your meal.
Of course, this isn’t a date. I know that.
After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, Brogan gets up to turn the fish over. He offers, “We could eat out here if you p
refer?”
“That would be nice,” I tell him. The crickets have started their evening song and while it’s not a string quartet, it’s still quite pleasant.
He goes inside to get the table and chairs. When he brings them out, he places them directly in the clearing under a large elm. He even brings out the jug of flowers and candles. The scene looks like it could be on the cover of Glamping magazine, which I know is a thing because I’ve done my research.
Brogan fetches a bowl with the salad next and places it on the table. Then he offers me his hand, “Will milady join me?”
I let him lead me to the table and against my better judgement, I realize this could be a date if I let it. I have to force myself to remember this is Brogan Cavanaugh, perpetrator of childhood terrors, and not a gallant gentleman. Having said that, we’re not kids anymore. If I can let the past go, there’s no telling what might happen between two consenting adults. The thought causes the detonation of a thousand little explosions throughout my nervous system.
Brogan serves my fish and corn before fixing his own plate. I take some salad from the bowl but decide to wait until he has a couple bites before I try it. After all, it’s the one thing I didn’t see him make.
Once I’m fairly certain the food hasn’t been tampered with, I dig in, and it’s delicious. I say as much. “You have quite a flair in the kitchen.”
“I’ve been cooking for myself for enough years that I’ve learned a thing or two,” he replies modestly.
We continue an amiable banter until we hear the distinct sound of a vehicle coming toward us. “Are you expecting company?” he asks me.
I shake my head. “You?”
“No.” A shiny SUV that looks distinctly out of place in the woods pulls up. Then the door opens, and a long slender leg emerges. What in the heck is she doing here?
Chapter Forty-Two
The Mothers
Ruby: No word from either Brogan or Addie. I’ve decided to take that as a good sign.
Love is a Battlefield (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Book 1) Page 18
