by Lex Martin
“What was that? Your senior year of high school?” He nods, and I laugh. “I got the highlights when Dad called me that weekend. Your antics made up the bulk of our phone calls when I was at A&M.” Chuckling, I point at him with my cup of coffee before I take a sip. “And everyone says you have a way with women. I bet showing Casey DeWitt your hairy balls won her over fast.”
“I’ll have you know I nailed Casey in her daddy’s barn two weeks after the mooning incident. She didn’t seem to mind my hairy balls one bit. That girl teabags like a champ.”
“Jesus, bro.” I shake my head and tuck my hair back in my baseball cap. “TMI.” Logan has always been a player with a capital P. I wasn’t a monk growing up, but I didn’t fuck everything with two legs either.
Reaching for a pen so I can pay some bills, I glance over when he doesn’t respond.
Shoulders tight, eyebrows cinched, he shakes his head. “I was so busy raising hell in high school, I didn’t notice the signs that Dad was working too hard.”
Aw, hell.
The familiar rush of guilt for not being here when it happened makes my stomach clench. Dad died that spring. Right before Allison told me she was pregnant. While my friends were partying and going off to start their lives, I was burying my father and worrying my girlfriend might abort our baby.
Of course, I told her I’d support her decision, stand by her, whatever it was. I might be old-fashioned in a lot of ways, but I’m not arrogant enough to think I have any say over what a woman does with her body. But I’d also be lying if I said I didn’t want her to have Mila. Even if I wasn’t in any way prepared to be a parent, I always wanted my daughter.
It seemed like the right thing to do. To marry Allison and support her and our child.
I knew Allison and I didn’t have amazing chemistry, but we had fun together, and I thought that could turn into love. Besides, I always abide by my commitments, and I wasn’t gonna let her go through a situation like that by herself. Her parents were less than thrilled with her marrying some guy from the sticks, even though they knew my folks since they were horse enthusiasts.
I would’ve done anything to get my dad’s advice in those days.
Ignoring the sting in my eyes, I clear my throat. “Those were rough times, but you’re not a fortune-teller, Logan. No way for you to know Dad’s ticker wasn’t healthy. The doctor said that kind of thing takes out high-school kids when they’re playing football. The right tackle, the right hit, and lights out.” Our mom made us both get echocardiograms to make sure we hadn’t inherited the condition.
I wait until Logan looks up and wipes his eyes. “No, you kept Dad young. Kept him on his toes. Not every man in this county can say his son mooned Charles DeWitt and lived to talk about it. I tend to think Dad was proud of his progeny on most days.”
Logan laughs, and relief settles over me to see him smile. “Why you always gotta use such big words, huh?”
“’Cause I’m what you’d call edumacated.” Regret eats at me since Logan never got a chance to go to college. He wanted to stay here to help me. He swears he doesn’t care, that school was never his thing, but it still bothers me he had to buckle down so soon.
My brother’s smile fades and he stares at me a long, awkward minute before his expression hardens. “Okay, you educated bastard, do yourself a favor and hire Tori before you die of a heart attack out there, trying to do everything on your own. If you’re so damn smart, get some help before you work yourself to death. Think about Mila and Cody. They need you to grow old and fat and lose your hair.”
A lump rises in my throat. Logan leans forward, his eyes somber, as he waits for the answer he wants to hear. One I reluctantly give him.
“Fine, I’ll hire Tori if it’ll get you off my ass.” I snatch the baseball hat off my head and toss it at him. “And ain’t no one losing his hair around here, asshole.”
Logan leans back in his chair, the smile on his face telling me he loves me, the sappy twerp. Thing is? I know I can’t do this by myself. And maybe Tori is exactly what I need. If we don’t strangle each other first.
“Glad to hear it.” He gets up and smacks me on the back. “Because I bought Mom’s ticket to Chicago. She leaves on Monday.”
Tori
The thick smell of cumin and chili powder wafts through the air, making my stomach growl. After one more stir, I tap the wooden spoon on the lip of the Dutch oven and place it in the “I love my spicy Mexican” spoon rest. That dumb thing still cracks me up, years after Brady gave it to my sister.
Cooking is the one thing I’m decent at, but only because I’ve had a shitty social life this last year. Though having a man-free diet made me turn to the next best alternative—actual food. While my friends were out partying, I was watching the Cooking Channel, doing my best to whip up those recipes, and trying not to feel like a loser.
I peer over my shoulder at Kat, who’s sitting at the kitchen table. “Hermana, are you sure you want it this spicy? I thought you had a lot of heartburn.”
Her lips tighten briefly and she blinks, once, twice. Miss Poker Face has the audacity to smile and shrug like she hasn’t a clue what I’m talking about.
She’s obviously hiding something.
Whatever. She’s been acting weird the whole day. Maybe I should chalk it up to a hormonal imbalance. If her feet weren’t so swollen, she’d insist on making dinner, but I talked her into kicking back and relaxing even though she’s going to be a back seat driver.
“Did you put in the Ro-Tel tomatoes?” she asks, eyeing the pot suspiciously.
See. Backseat driver. “Yeah, and when you’re hanging over the toilet later tonight, puking your little heart out, don’t blame me.”
She gives me that strange smile, the one that tells me she’s keeping a secret and thinks I’m clueless.
The front door slams shut and the stomp of boots coming through the living room echoes closer. Izzy comes racing around the corner with her arms open wide.
Three, two, one.
I turn back toward the stove as the sound of her feet stop, which tells me she’s gone airborne, followed by a grunt as she throws herself at her father. She might be seven, but she’s a total Daddy’s Girl.
“There’s my angel.” His voice rings out in the small kitchen. “And here’s my other angel.”
A minute later, the sound of smacking makes me smile and shake my head. Without looking, I know Brady has Izzy in his arms, and he’s leaning down to plant a wet one on Kat.
“Too much kissing,” Izzy jokes, and I snicker to myself. That kid is my mini-me, much to the chagrin of my sister.
Stirring the pot again, I give them a moment to be lovey-dovey. It makes me strangely emotional to be around them. They’re this perfect family unit. Every day, their house is filled with warmth and love. Even though I try to tell myself I don’t want this, that I don’t want a husband or kids because I know I’m a fuck-up, when I’m around Brady and Kat and little Izzy, I do want the happily ever after so much it makes my chest ache.
Damn Jamie for making me think that was possible.
I clench my jaw.
When I think the love fest is over, I turn around.
“Something smells good,” Brady says, setting his daughter down. “Ethan still coming over for dinner?”
“Mr. Ethan’s coming over?” Izzy grins.
What the… What?
My sister cringes and laughs awkwardly.
Crossing my arms, I squint. “Something you want to tell me, Katherine?”
We never discussed what happened at Ethan’s two days ago. What was the point? It was clear from everyone’s expressions in the living room they heard my argument with Ethan—his mom, his brother, my sister, the kids.
Although, to be honest, I’m not sure what we argued about. It was more about how Ethan made me feel. Like I wasn’t good enough. Like I was putting him out with my very existence. Like he took one glance at me and found me lacking.
The part of me that’s a
lways screwing up wonders if I was being overly sensitive. That maybe Ethan’s just a crabby ass in general, and I was reading into things that weren’t there. Wouldn’t be the first time.
I know Kat was disappointed in me for how I reacted to Ethan. She gets quiet when she thinks I’m being a dick. Like I’m in timeout and she wants me to think about what I’ve done. It’s annoying as hell. And for the last two days, she’s been really quiet around me. I’m typically not one to shy away from saying what’s on my mind, but I have to be careful with my sister. She’s so hormonal that she’ll start crying if I’m too blunt, and I’m never prepared for her tears.
Kat waits until I drag myself to the kitchen table to level me with an innocent smile. “Did I forget to mention that Ethan is joining us for dinner? Must’ve slipped my mind.”
My brother-in-law chuckles and kisses the top of her head. “I’ll get Izzy cleaned up for dinner while you guys work this out.”
“I’m clean, Dad. I wasn’t rolling around in the barn or anything.” She huffs out a breath, but runs off wash her hands in the bathroom.
Motioning toward his wife, he gives me a crooked grin. “Don’t be too hard on her.”
I roll my eyes, and he laughs.
Once Kat and I are alone, my shoulders slump. “What are you doing? You know Ethan and I are like oil and vinegar.” Really, I can’t explain why I felt so defensive around him. It didn’t help that he was so handsome. Muscular and rugged from working on the ranch. Tatted up and shirtless with his Levi’s hanging low on his hips. Dripping wet with water and temptation.
All the more reason to stay away.
“Oil and vinegar are a great combo on salads.” When I give her a blank stare, she holds up her hands. “Just give him a chance to say his piece, okay? You don’t have to agree to work for him if you’re still not feeling it after dinner, but I think it would be nice to clear the air.”
“I get that you’re in this nesting period and want everyone to hold hands and sing campfire songs while you gestate, so I understand why you want this. But why does he need to clear the air? It’s obvious I’m not who he wants taking care of his kids.”
Tilting her head, she shrugs. “Maybe he was having a bad day. Everyone has them. I just know you shouldn’t write him off because he was grouchy. He’s a single dad doing it all by himself, Tor. He has a lot on his plate, but if you give him a chance, you’ll see he’s a good guy. That he’s trying his best.”
Fuck. When she says it like that.
My sister. Always the peacekeeper.
“Fine. But just because I don’t stab him at dinner with the blunt edge of my fork doesn’t mean I’m agreeing to this, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“You know me,” she chirps. “Zero expectations.”
For some reason, that doesn’t make me feel better.
Ethan
A smoky orange sun filters through the trees, washing the horizon in the waning daylight. My truck bumps along the gravel driveway until I pull to a stop behind two Ford F150s.
Brady’s farmhouse isn’t tricked out like mine, but his is far more charming. More welcoming. From the warm glow of the living room behind that picture window to the porch swing, everything about this place says home.
Making my way to the porch, I recognize the improvements he and Kat have made over the years. New siding. Pretty planter boxes. A brand-new playset, complete with a winding slide and monkey bars for their daughter. And rows and rows of lavender bushes that stretch into the distance.
When I reach the front door, I look down to make sure I’m respectable. Jeans. T-shirt. Boots. Sure, maybe I could’ve tried a little harder, dressed up more, but this isn’t a date.
Before I can think too long and hard about why I’m nervous, I wipe my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans.
Yes, this is fucking weird.
Just gotta be nice to Tori, see if we can have a civil conversation. At least I can tell my brother I tried to make this work.
I balance the six-pack of beer in my arm while I knock. Brady said he felt like Corona tonight when I texted to ask what I could bring. Good thing I checked because I was about to get him some Sam Adams, since he’s from Boston and that’s usually what he orders when we hang out.
When Brady opens the door, the smell of chili and baked things I can’t begin to understand how to make waft out.
“Hey, man. Come in. Everyone’s in the kitchen.”
“Whatever you’re making smells amazing.” I hand him the beer and slap him on the back.
“I’d say thank you, but I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
We pass through the living room and into the modest kitchen. I wave to Kat and Izzy, who are sitting at the table, even though my attention immediately zones in on Tori, who is standing at the stove. Her dark brown hair hangs down her back in long waves, and she’s wearing cutoffs that make her ass look like a juicy peach.
My palms itch to feel those sweet curves.
The thought is alarming.
Kat waves me into the room. “Hey, Ethan! I’d get up to hug you, but my baby keeps bumping my kidneys, and I’d rather not jostle the little kickboxer right now.”
I nod and take off my baseball cap. “Good to see you. Thanks for the invitation to dinner.”
Brady holds up the six-pack. “Hey, Tor. Look what Ethan brought. Your favorite beer.”
I’ll be damned. Guess the beer isn’t for him after all.
Finally, the mermaid turns around.
Maybe it’s the way the evening sun shines through the kitchen window, making Tori glow in a dreamy light. Maybe it’s the fact that I was baking like a catfish in the hot sun all day and probably have heat stroke. Or maybe it’s because I’m so hungry I could eat an entire Black Angus by myself. But Tori Duran looks like the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. No makeup or fuss. Just that thick, dark mane and those golden-green eyes staring back. Wary and cautious. Guarded.
Of course she’s guarded, asshole. You were a dick to her the other day.
I do that thing with my face where I try to smile. “Hey, Tori. Nice to see you again.”
The girl laughs humorlessly. “Did you really bring me that beer or did Brady tell you it was for him?”
Rubbing my jaw, I consider how to answer. Lying isn’t my strong suit. Never lied to my wife. Tried not to lie to my parents growing up. What was the point when they could always sniff out the truth anyway? So it doesn’t make sense why I want to now except I don’t want to hurt Tori’s feelings. Plus, something twisted in me suddenly wants to please this girl.
Taking a few steps closer and leaning in, so I don’t curse in front of Izzy, I whisper, “If I admit I got it for your brother-in-law, am I back on your shit list?”
Although I expect my answer to piss her off, the corner of her mouth tilts up like she’s amused. “You haven’t worked your way off it.” Her eyes squint playfully. “But honesty is a start.”
When I smile at her—a real one because I’m genuinely glad to see her—her lips part and she sucks in a breath.
I give her a wink. “I just need one chance, darlin’.”
Tori
Dinner passes in a whirlwind of pleasantries between Brady, Kat, and Ethan. I watch them and push the food around on my plate and contemplate why this guy is being nice to me when he seemed to loathe my existence two days ago. And I wonder why, when he aims that smile at me, I feel the singe of a live wire, my skin heating and burning under his scrutiny.
Why I can’t seem to catch my breath.
Almost as if…
Almost as if I like him.
Sweat breaks out on my back, and I sink back in my seat.
This is completely unacceptable.
I can’t like a man, especially this man. I will not be charmed by Ethan Carter or his big blue eyes and rough edges.
See, I can do this. I am a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man, and that’s how it’s going to stay.
I stra
ighten my shoulders, proud of my internal pep talk.
“Isn’t that great, Tor?” My sister nudges me with her elbow.
“I’m sorry, what?”
Her eyes widen like I need to pay attention, and I shrug, willing myself not to feel embarrassed.
“Ethan was saying how if you took the nanny position, you could borrow his truck to bartend at night. Since you had mentioned wanting to pick up some shifts somewhere.”
Ugh. Like I really want him to know I don’t have a car. That I don’t have near enough money to fix my old clunker.
When I look up, my eyes connect with his across the table. “That’s… nice of you. Though I’m not sure I have anything worked out yet. No one seems to be hiring around here.”
“Have you tried the Yellow Rose? Just opened up off the access road. I know the guy who runs the place.” He scoops the last spoonful of chili into his mouth, makes a growly noise, and points to the empty bowl. “That was fantastic.”
“Tori made it. She’s a great cook.” Kat rambles on about my “eclectic cuisine” like I studied with Gordon Ramsay or something instead of the truth—that I like to veg out to cooking shows, and I have a big Mexican family that demands ten million tamales at Christmas.
Ethan tips his Corona at me. “Well, dinner was delicious. Chili is one of my favorites.”
“You don’t say.” My eyes shift to my sister, who eats her second helping of cornbread and salad, not daring to touch the chili. “Interesting. My sister said she was really in the mood for chili, and yet she hasn’t eaten one bite.”
Kat shrugs, her lips tilting up. “I started thinking you were right. That I shouldn’t eat anything that spicy.”
“Go figure.”
Izzy yawns over her plate of half-eaten chicken nuggets, and Kat motions for Brady to help her up.
“We’re going to get Izzy ready for bed. You two chat. There’s a fresh pot of coffee brewing and a cheesecake in the freezer, so help yourselves.”
