“Some place, right?” Anna says, beaming around the property, “I can’t believe we get to stay here.”
“The question is how do, we get to stay here,” I reply, planting my hands on my hips. “I know we’ve never necessarily been hurting for money, but this seems a little exorbitant for four people. Don’t you think?”
Sophie’s eyes sparkle mischievously. “Oh, it’s not just four of us,” she tells me.
“What do you mean?” I shoot back.
“You don’t know?” Anna asks.
“Of course she doesn’t. Mom didn’t say anything about it to us,” Sophie replies.
“Guys. What is it I don’t know?” I ask, exasperated.
“Ask Mom,” Sophie replies, “I’m sure she’ll explain everything.”
“Sophie, what—” I press, but don’t get any further. Right on cue, the front door swings open, and I find myself wrapped up in the airy but ardent embrace of my mother, Robin Porter.
“Finally! All my girls are here,” she gushes in her light, bell-like voice. Thick golden blonde curls fly every which way as she greets me, the gold-flecked blue eyes she passed along to her daughters shining with happy tears.
“Mom, Hey,” I reply, returning her hug, “Sophie and Anna were just telling me—”
“Just look at you,” she cuts me off, holding me at arm’s length for inspection. “I love the short hair! So becoming, Maddie. Have you lost a little baby fat since the last time I saw you? Oh, you must have. And there’s something else different, too. A sort of glow. I can’t put my finger on it…”
I step away from her, hoping that the “something else” isn’t the lingering sexed-up flush of last night’s escapades. Just in case, I change the subject as quickly as I can.
“Mom, Sophie just told me it isn’t just us staying here.” I cut to the chase, “What is she talking about?”
“Come inside, let me show you around,” my mom trills, seeming not to have heard me. I swallow down my annoyance with her habit of not listening when other people speak. After 24 years, I’m pretty accustomed to her talking right over everyone else. Like little ducklings, my sisters and I fall in behind our mother as she glides into the impressive house.
A huge great room opens up before us, its far wall an enormous window that looks out onto the deck and lake beyond. I’m struck dumb by the gorgeousness of the view, and the fine craftsmanship that’s gone into every detail of the home’s decor. Midcentury modern furniture and fixtures populate the high-ceilinged space, which includes a fully stocked kitchen, breakfast nook, and fireplace. The combination of rustic and sleek touches is truly striking. There must be at least half a dozen bedrooms upstairs, judging by the size of this place. But then, who’s occupying them besides us?
“Don’t you just love it?” Mom asks rapturously, doing a little spin around the great room. Her long bohemian skirts fans out around her, the bangles around her wrists jangling. “Every single detail was handpicked. John really does have incredible taste. And not just in design, either. You should see the wine cellar—”
“John?” I cut her off sharply, “Who’s John?”
“Oh!” she exclaims, her hand flying to her chest, “You haven’t met John yet! He was here just a second ago…”
“OK, but who is he?” I ask again, trailing my mom as she peers around the ground floor.
“He owns the house,” Mom replies distractedly. “He built it, actually. Incredible, right?”
“Yeah. Sure. So, what is this—like a house share or something?” I ask, exasperated, “Is he running a B&B, or—?”
“Here he is!” Mom cries out, clapping her hands together as the door to the porch swings open into the kitchen.
The man who steps inside has to stoop to keep from smacking his head on the door frame. He’s absolutely huge—at least 6’ 5”, and built like an ox. His arms and legs are bulky with muscle, his stance combative. His face is halfway hidden beneath a thick brown beard, flecked with white. His defined brow is deeply creased, and his resting expression is a standoffish scowl. But the second he sees the four Porter woman standing around the kitchen, his eyes crinkle into a benevolent, if reserved, smile.
“The whole brood is finally here,” says the enormous man, shucking off his green baseball cap now that he’s inside.
“Yep!” my Mom chirps happily, “Maddie, this is John. John, Maddie.”
“Nice to meet you, Maddie,” he says, extending his free hand to me.
“And you,” I offer, as John’s plowshare of a hand swallows mine whole. “It’s a pleasure I wasn’t expecting. I actually didn’t realize there would be anyone but us Porter ladies here.”
John lets my hand drop, glancing back at my mother. “Didn’t you tell them?” he asks.
“I could have sworn I mentioned it…” Mom drawls, her freckled forehead furrowing slightly. “At least, I meant to.”
“It’s totally cool,” I go on, “I just didn’t realize, is all. Mom’s never been a huge stickler for details.”
“That’s our Robin for you,” John says with a short laugh, looking warmly at my mom. She gives him a little bump with her hip, clucking her tongue at him. I glance at my sisters with raised eyebrows, but they don’t look as surprised as I feel. Why do I get the sense that I’m still lacking some information here?
“So. How did this house sharing arrangement come about?” I ask, as my mom goes to the fridge and produces a pitcher of lemonade.
“Well,” John says, sitting down at the long kitchen table and kicking off his boots, “Your mom and I go way back. We both grew up here, you know. Went all the way through high school together before she pissed off to the big city.”
“I hardly call going to art school ‘pissing off’, but that’s the gist of it,” Mom laughs airily, setting the pitcher down before John, who helps himself to a glass. “When I decided to come back here and get in touch with my roots, John was one of the first people I reached out to. He’s one of my oldest, best friends.”
“That’s one way to put it,” John cuts in, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “To tell you the truth, your mom here was my One Who Got Away.”
“Huh,” I say flatly, as Sophie tries not to laugh at my surprise, “That’s…interesting. And now you’re, uh, renting out part of this house to her? To us?”
“Renting?” John says, looking almost offended, “I’d never take money from a friend. Especially not this one. Your mother’s been staying here at the house as my guest. And now you girls are, too.”
There it is. The little piece of information that changes the entire nature of this getaway—the less-than-pleasant surprise I knew would be waiting in store for me, courtesy of my mother. She hasn’t just been visiting her hometown these past few months—she’s been living here with an enigmatic mountain man, who seems to have quite the thing for her. And from the way she’s beaming at him across the kitchen table, I can only assume the feeling is mutual.
“There’s one last free bedroom waiting for you upstairs,” Mom tells me, completely oblivious to my displeasure with her. “Between your sisters and John’s boys, we’re at full capacity now!”
“Oh…You have kids, too?” I ask John, trying to keep up with all the new developments going off like firecrackers around me. On top of everything else, there are going to be a bunch of rug rats underfoot?
“Yeah,” John says, heaving a deep sigh as he settles back in his chair, “They’re all around here somewhere. Could never keep track of ‘em, to be perfectly honest.”
“Right,” I smile weakly, trying to keep calm, “I, uh…I’m just gonna step out back and get some air, OK? See the rest of the property.”
“Take your time!” my mom says cheerfully, “You’re on vacation, after all. Relax. I’ll get started on dinner in a bit.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” I hiss at Sophie as I pass her on the way to the back door.
“You got as much warning as any of us,” she replies, following me outside
. Anna’s already disappeared somewhere, as she always does.
I shut the patio door tightly behind me and shove a hand through my dark blonde hair.
“What the hell is going on?” I whisper, glancing back at Mom and John mooning over each other at the kitchen table.
“Mom’s having a little love affair, I guess,” Sophie shrugs, “I didn’t particularly like finding out this way, but—”
“With him?!” I cut her off, “I mean, look at him! He’s like, a lumberjack or something. He’s not her type at all.”
“He’s a contractor, not a lumberjack,” Sophie corrects me, “And we don’t know what her type is, if she has one. We only ever saw her with Dad.”
“Exactly,” I reply fiercely, feeling suddenly close to tears, “She loved Dad more than anything. Smart, funny, put-together Dad. This guy is nothing like him.”
“Maybe that’s part of the appeal,” Sophie says, walking ahead of me down the patio steps that lead toward the lake. “Mom obviously came back here to take her mind off losing Dad. It makes sense that she’s drawn to someone totally unlike him.”
“How can you be so calm about this?!” I exclaim, catching her slender wrist in my hand and turning her around to face me. “Dad just died, Sophie. This is—”
“Dad died three years ago,” she says firmly, doling out the tough love I always need and never want from her. “We need to support Mom in trying to move on. We need to try and move on ourselves too, Maddie. Especially you.”
“It’s not like I haven’t been trying,” I say softly, my voice cracking with emotion. I feel the fight go out of me as anger gives way to upset. Fat, salty tears start to roll down my cheeks, and I feel Sophie’s arms enclose me.
“Hey now,” she says, her voice warm and soothing, “I know you’ve been trying. I know. Just breathe, Maddie.”
“God, I miss him,” I whisper, letting my head rest on my little sister’s shoulder.
“We all do,” she says, brushing the hair away from my face. “And we probably always will. But we’ve still got to try our best to be happy, right?”
“When did you get all rational and wise and shit?” I ask her, laughing through tears.
“Drama school is basically one carefully controlled nervous breakdown,” she says, matter-of-factly, “I’ve worked through a lot of shit. You should try taking a clown class—it does wonders for your world view.”
“I have no idea whether you’re joking or not,” I say, shaking my head.
“Me either,” she smiles, brushing a tear off my cheek. “Now pull yourself together. I think we have company.”
My ears perk up as the sound of a revving engine floats across the lawn. Sophie and I look over toward a wide path leading off into the woods—the sound seems to be coming from over there. As we watch, a cloud of dust starts advancing on us from afar, at the center of which is a black ATV.
“Bet that’s one of John’s boys,” Sophie says, narrowing her eyes.
“That’s hardly a boy,” I point out. I’d been assuming that his sons would be kids for some reason, but the person atop that growling machine is a grown man. And that hardly puts me at ease. “Have you met them yet?”
“No,” she says, rolling her eyes, “I guess they don’t care much for the company of women. They’ve been making themselves scarce since I got here yesterday. This one showed up just before you, hopped on an ATV, and took off into the woods.”
“Charming,” I mutter, crossing my arms as the ATV roars our way.
“He doesn’t seem to be slowing down…” I hear Anna say from over my shoulder. I jump at her sudden appearance behind me.
“We need to get you a cowbell or something,” I tell her, watching as the loud machine comes charging out of the woods, headed our way.
“Is he going to stop?” Sophie asks, backing away as the ATV bears down.
“I have no idea,” I reply, grabbing Anna’s hand and yanking her out of its path. She may be a legal adult, but I’ll never stop thinking of her as a kid I need to protect.
The three of us let out high-pitched shrieks as the vehicle turns sharply in our direction. It skids out in a clear arc, tearing up the cultivated grass in its wake, sending pebbles and dirt flying at us as we cover our faces. I glare up heatedly as the engine cuts out, displaced bits of lawn settling all around us.
“What the hell was that!” I cry out as the towering figure swings himself down from the ATV. “Last I checked, running over your houseguests isn’t exactly good manners.”
John’s son turns his helmeted face in my direction, though I can’t see his eyes through the visor. He’s nearly as tall as his dad, and wears a simple black tee shirt with dark jeans. For a long moment, he stands perfectly still, just staring at me. What is this, some kind of intimidation technique? Trying to show me who’s boss around here? I lift my chin defiantly, unwilling to give any ground. He raises his arms to lift off the helmet…and it’s only then that I notice his full sleeve of tattoos. Before I can process another thought, he removes the helmet and shakes out his dark curly hair, backlit by the crystal blue lake. His unmistakable hazel eyes bore mercilessly into mine.
“You wanna talk about manners?” Cash growls at me, his gorgeous features hard and unreadable.
“Oh shit,” I whisper, feeling the breath rush out of my lungs. Just when I thought this vacation couldn’t get any more twisted…
Chapter Four
I gape up into Cash Hawthorne’s stony face, attempting to wrap my mind around what the fuck, exactly, is happening here.
“What…How are you…What?” I stammer, as the figment from last night’s salacious dream takes a swinging step my way.
“Didn’t mean to spook you,” he says, lips twisting into an unconvincing smile. “You city girls are awfully jumpy.”
“And you country boys are hard to track down,” Sophie says from over my shoulder, “Which of John’s boys are you?”
“I’m Cash,” he replies, his hard eyes still trained on me.
“I’m Sophia,” she tells him flatly, “The doe-eyed one is Annabel. And the short one right there is—”
“Madeleine,” I say softly, holding out my hand for Cash to shake. I’m embarrassed to see that it’s trembling, “Madeleine Porter”.
Cash glances down at my hand, then back up at my face, his wry smile unflinching. Even I’m baffled by my outstretched hand—pretending not to know him was my first instinct. But did I just do something egregiously wrong?
“Right,” Cash says, ignoring my hand completely.
“Let’s… go see if Mom needs any help in the kitchen,” Anna suggests, looping her arm through Sophie’s.
“God yes,” Sophie mutters, turning to go, “Hell, we could use a knife to cut through all this male ego clogging up the air.”
My little sisters hurry back into the house, leaving me squared off against Cash, the man I spent last night fucking every which way. The man who also happens to be the son of my mom’s one-time—and likely present-day—fling. The man who is currently looking at me in such a way that tells me I seriously missed the mark with my morning-after etiquette.
“I think I need to sit down…” I say quietly, feeling my knees turn to water.
“Suit yourself,” Cash shrugs, shaking out his sweat-slicked curls. “You’re our house guest. Apparently.”
“This is your house…” I echo, trying to make any of this sink in. “But then what…what were you doing at that bar last night? If you live here, I mean?”
“I don’t live here,” Cash says impatiently.
“But you just said—“
“My dad asked my brothers and I to come out here for a couple of weeks. Bit of male bonding or some shit,” he cuts me off, “I was on my way here when I stopped for a drink. Same as you, I imagine.”
“So…Did know anything about this?” I ask him, sinking down onto the porch steps. “About us being here? About me—?”
“What do you think?” Cash shoots back.
“What act?” he laughs shortly, setting his helmet down on the seat of the ATV, “This is just me, babe. Don’t know what to tell you.”
“You can tell me why you’re acting like a jerk all of a sudden,” I say, wrapping my arms around my knees. “I’m sorry if I didn’t handle this morning well. You know I don’t have much experience with the whole—”
“I honestly couldn’t care less,” he says evenly. I don’t know him nearly well enough to tell if he’s lying to me. “But hey, let’s maybe not mention the fact that we fucked like animals all last night around our families, yeah? Might make them a little uncomfortable.”
I stare up at him, mind reeling along with my heart. “So, what… You’re saying we just forget it ever happened? Pretend we’ve never met?”
“Isn’t that what you want?” he asks, eyes hard on my face, “I mean, wasn’t that the plan when you left this morning?”
I bite my lip, willing myself not to start crying again. The only reason I left without saying goodbye, was that I didn’t want to get my hopes up of something more with Cash. I didn’t want to ruin what happened between us by making an ass of myself the next morning. But would you look at that? I seem to have done it anyway.
“I’m really sorry, Cash,” I say imploringly, “Please, let me explain. I don’t want you to hate me—”
“Maddie, for the love of Christ, don’t turn this into a fucking soap opera. I don’t hate you,” he snaps, exasperated, “I told you. I don’t care. Just drop it, OK?”
I hold my tongue, trying to see past the steely mask of indifference he’s wearing. We may not know each other very well, but this isn’t the man I spent all of last night with. He’s icing me out. He thinks I bailed this morning because I wasn’t into it, and he doesn’t want to look bad. What we have here, as the movies say, is a big ol’ failure to communicate. But something tells me that communication isn’t going to be Cash Hawthorne’s strong suit.
Stepbrother Bastard Page 5
