“How did you meet?”
“She used to work for a bookkeeper who did the accounts for a small bookshop where I worked when I was a freshman. She badgered me enough that I eventually gave in and started talking to her.”
“Huh. I wonder if she’d help me with my books.” Ox glanced at her. “Have you always worked in bookshops? Weren’t you working in one before you moved?”
“At Bay City Books. But that wasn’t where I was working when I met Tayla. The old bookshop went out of business,” Emmie said. “Lots do. But yeah. I guess that’s just what feels familiar.”
He nodded but didn’t say anything else.
Sensing he was waiting for her to speak, Emmie asked, “Why don’t you get a new radio for the truck so you can use your phone and stuff?”
Ox shrugged. “It was my grandpa’s. I learned how to fix cars on it, so I try to keep it as original as possible.”
“That makes sense. And the ranch was his?”
“It was his mom’s first. Came from her family. And then to him and then to my mom. She’s an only child, so after he passed, it was hers. They don’t keep as many cattle anymore. Mom and Melissa rent out the land for grazing and planted orange groves on the rest. Mom knows ranching, but my sister was always more into the farm side.”
“Cool.”
“I hope you like oranges, because once they’re in season, they’re going to send me into work with boxes of them. In the summer they usually have a stand at the summer farmers’ market downtown.”
Emmie smiled. “I like oranges.”
They were passing through dark hills covered with orange groves and orchards with red leaves. Fall was coming, and while the fruit trees looked tired, the dense citrus groves were invigorated. A smattering of rain had fallen in the foothills, leaving a haze of green along the dusty roads. They wound through tiny burgs and into dark hills, turning from pavement to gravel.
Ox jumped out and swung open a long gate. Emmie scooted over the bench and put the truck in gear, driving over the cattle grate and stopping on the other side as he swung the gate and latched it.
He was smiling as he opened his door. “You’ve done this before.”
“Sorry, I should have asked.” She was back safe on her side of the truck. “It’s just habit. My mom—”
“No worries.” He put the truck in gear and bounced over the gravel. “You can drive a stick.”
“That’s what I learned on.”
“Not bad for a city girl.”
“I was a small-town girl first.” Emmie was starting to feel nervous. She was just meeting Ox’s family as his friend, right? What had he told them about her? Had he told them anything? What if they thought she and Ox were together? What if they thought she was a snob because she’d lived in San Francisco?
“Don’t worry.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. He suddenly frowned. “Meatless chili.”
“What?” Emmie asked.
“You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”
“No.”
His face relaxed. “You’ll be fine then.”
The ranch-style house was tucked into a small valley in the foothills with the Sierra Nevada mountains towering in the distance. It had a long porch that wrapped around the outside and brightly lit windows that gleamed in the twilight. Ox ushered her up the porch steps and opened the door without a knock.
“Mom? Melissa?”
Emmie understood the vegetarian concern the second they walked through the door. The whole place smelled like barbecue, and her stomach rumbled.
Ox looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Well, that’s a relief. I think you eat salad every day.”
“Just because I like salad doesn’t mean I don’t like tri-tip.” Holy smoky deliciousness, it smelled amazing. It was impossible to get real, true Santa Maria–style barbecue in San Francisco, and Emmie hadn’t had any since she’d gotten back to Metlin. She could smell the savory garlic salt and peppered beef and the spicy aroma of pinquito beans coming from the kitchen.
“Miles?” A female voice came from the kitchen a second before Emmie heard the thump of small feet hurling toward them. As if on command, Ox knelt down as a small girl flung herself onto his back, peeking her grubby face over his shoulder.
“Hi!” the little girl said. “You’re Uncle Ox’s friend.”
Ox grunted and shifted the little girl on his back. “Emmie, this is Abigail, the small wild creature that lives in this house and breaks into my room when I’m not here.”
“You said I could!”
“I told you that one time. Now you’re just being nosy.”
Emmie couldn’t help but smile. “Hey, Abigail. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Are you the one who picks out the books Uncle Ox gets me?”
She glanced at Ox. “Uh…”
“Yes, she does.” Ox walked toward the adult voices. “Mom, I’m home. Lissa, your kid is stuck to my back again.”
“Have you tried throwing water on her?” a voice replied. “That works for me sometimes. She’s awfully hard to unstick.”
Abigail giggled.
Ox said, “I haven’t. I need to try that. Get a pitcher and some ice so I can—”
“No!” Abigail jumped off her uncle’s back and sped down the hall again. “I don’t want to get wet.”
A woman stuck her head out of the kitchen and yelled, “Face and hands, Abby! I want them clean. Dinner in five minutes.” She turned to Emmie and Ox. “Hey! Welcome to the ranch. We raise cattle, goats, and eight-year-olds. The eight-year-old isn’t domesticated though.”
Emmie smiled. “No eight-year-old should be domesticated.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.” Ox took off his jacket and hung it on a hook in the hallway. He helped Emmie out of her cardigan before she realized what he was doing and had her grey sweater hung next to his before she could speak. “Lissa, you need anything before I wash up?”
“Can you double-check the goat pens? Abby fed, and I just want to make sure—”
“No problem.” He put a hand on Emmie’s back and shoved her toward the woman. “Emmie, Melissa. Melissa, Emmie.” Then he touched Emmie’s shoulder and said, “I’ll be right back.”
The woman held out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
The front door slammed and Emmie was left in the hallway with Melissa. The radio was playing gospel music, and Abby was singing at the top of her lungs down the hall.
“I’d say it’s usually not this crazy, but I’d be lying,” Melissa said. “I’m glad you came! Ox has told us so much about you.”
“He has?”
Another voice called from the kitchen. “Is that Emmie?”
Emmie recognized Ox’s mother’s voice. They’d met the one time when she dropped by the shop, but Ox said his mom didn’t drive into Metlin if she could avoid it. Emmie’s impression had been that of a small, sturdy woman in work boots and a flannel shirt. When she walked into the kitchen, the memory was confirmed. Ox looked nothing like his mom, though his sister was the spitting image.
“Hi, Mrs. Oxford.” Emmie set her purse on a corner of the counter. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“I told you to call me Joan.” She looked over her shoulder from the pot she was stirring. “I think I talked your ear off about your grandma when I saw you. I apologize for that. It hasn’t been that long. How you doing?”
The question brought an unexpected wave of emotion. “You know, I’ve been so busy… Thanks for asking.” Emmie blinked away a few unexpected tears.
Joan rattled on. “Working in her shop must bring back so many memories. I can’t imagine what that must be like. I think of Betsy every time I drive by.”
Emmie couldn’t remember the last time anyone had asked about her grandmother. When Emmie talked to her mom, it was only about her mother’s grief. There was so much to do, so many details to take care of. Then, after she’d decided to start the shop…
“Emmie?”
She sniffed. “Yeah,
I’m doing okay.”
The empty place sat like a lump in her belly.
“Oh, hon.” Joan turned and handed the spoon to Melissa. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“It’s okay,” Emmie said. “Really. It’s nice to hear that she’s missed.”
Joan wrapped strong arms around Emmie and gave her a long hug. “You call me anytime you want to reminisce. She was a gem of a person, and everyone just loved her.”
The hug was unexpected, but Joan Oxford was so maternal Emmie accepted the gesture without question. “Thank you. I guess I’m worried about disappointing her. I hope she’d like the shop. It looks so different now.”
“Different times!” Joan said. “I’m sure Betsy would love it. She was always trying new things.”
“She was?”
Ox’s mother smelled like barbecue and warm bread. Her hug felt like being wrapped in a very warm sweater. Joan was everything Emmie’s free-spirited mother wasn’t. Not that she didn’t love her mom. Joan just felt… comfortable.
Ox walked in just ask Joan released her. “Mom, what are you doing?”
Emmie pulled away and wiped her eyes. “I’m fine.”
“I hate it so much when you say that,” Ox muttered under his breath. “Mom, what’s going on?”
Joan walked over and patted Ox’s cheek. “We were just talking a little about her grandma, baby. Go wash up. We’ll take care of your girl.”
Ox was frowning, but he left the kitchen while Emmie silently repeated, Not his girl. Not his girl. I am not his girl and this is not my family.
Melissa and Joan started chattering about what needed to be done for dinner, brushing off Emmie’s offers of help. Abby ran in a moment later, hair pulled into a fresh ponytail and face washed. She went to a drawer under the counter and pulled out placemats for the table. Within minutes, food was appearing and the table was set. Ox returned and sliced the tri-tip while Melissa badgered Abby about her homework.
“Hey.” Ox set the platter of tri-tip on the table and sat next to Emmie. “We driving you crazy yet?”
Not your family, but if you lean any closer, I might take a bite out of you.
Emmie smiled. “I’m—”
“Don’t say fine.” He speared two thick slices of steak and put them on her plate. “If you say fine, I won’t believe you.”
“I’m hungry.”
The corner of his mouth inched up. “Then you’ve come to the right place, Buttons.”
“Did you call her Buttons?” Abby burst into laughter. “Uncle Ox, that’s not a good nickname.”
Emmie turned to him. “See?”
“Says who?” Ox scowled at Abby. “What do you know? You’re eight and you named a goat Mr. Hummus.”
“Mr. Tumnus!” Abby yelled. “Stop calling him Mr. Hummus.”
Melissa passed the rolls to Emmie. “No yelling at the table, Abby.”
Emmie took the rolls. “Mr. Tumnus from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe?” She turned to Ox. “That’s an excellent goat name.”
“I told you, Uncle Ox.” Abby picked at her salad. “I like you, Emmie.”
“Thank you. I like you too.” Emmie liked any little kid imaginative enough to name a goat Mr. Tumnus. “Does Mr. Tumnus like books?”
“Mr. Hummus likes books,” Ox said. “Flannel shirts. Tin cans.”
“Aprons,” Joan added. “My tomato plants.”
“Wooden fence posts.” Melissa chimed in. “Dog food. Cardboard boxes.”
Abby met Emmie’s eyes with a very earnest expression. “Mr. Tumnus is a very curious goat.”
“It sounds like it.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
That was it. He was done for. Ox knew it the minute he walked into the kitchen and nearly attacked his mom when he saw Emmie crying. His mother was the closest thing he knew to a saint. Even during his obnoxious adolescent years, he’d worshipped her. The fact that his immediate reaction to seeing Emmie cry was a spike of anger at his mother knocked him sideways.
He was silent through dinner as Emmie chatted about books with Abby and asked genuinely curious questions about the ranch and the orange groves. She and Melissa chattered away while Ox’s head spun.
What was he going to do?
It was obvious things couldn’t continue the way they were. Their chemistry was too intense. Their attraction tangible. He’d nearly kissed her again when he buckled her into his truck, but her words had stopped him in his tracks.
“I need this to work, Ox.”
She was right. They both needed INK to work. But desire and excitement twisted his gut. He was being honest with her. He was shit about following rules, and he was gone for her. He’d never thought about a woman the way he thought about Emmie. He’d never wanted one the same way, especially one he’d barely touched.
Ox dug his fingers into his leg under the table, resisting the urge to grab her hand.
He was thinking about holding her hand at the fucking dinner table.
“Ox?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re quieter than normal.”
Emmie pursed her pretty mouth. She had the same expression when she was reading and she was really into a book. That mouth was one of the reasons he couldn’t resist biting her lower lip the week before.
“Careful,” he muttered.
“What?”
He leaned over and whispered, “You’re going to get bitten again if you’re not careful.”
Emmie’s cheeks reddened, and she turned back to the dinner table. “So do you guys get any snow here in winter?”
It was obvious Melissa knew something was going on. Her expression was amused. “We do, but it doesn’t tend to stick. We’re not high enough.”
“Oh.” Emmie pushed the beans around her plate. “I like snow.”
“Me too,” Abby said. “Last year we got to sled.”
Melissa nodded. “Last year was heavier than normal. Pain in the ass with the cows, but fun for Abby.”
“Mr. Tumnus got really excited.”
His mom was playing dumb. “Is everything all right, Ox?”
“Yep.” He cut into a piece of tri-tip. “Just remembered something about work I needed to ask Emmie.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” He glanced at her. “There’s a clause in the employee manual we need to clear up.”
The one about sexual harassment and how she needs to be doing more of it.
Melissa asked, “You have an employee manual?”
Emmie’s cheeks turned redder. “Kind of. We have some guidelines and rules that have been pretty clear from the beginning. We’ve just never written them down. Maybe we need to.”
“Or we could keep things casual,” Ox said. “Like we have been.”
She smiled. “Yes. Exactly like we have been.”
“Maybe not exactly,” Ox said.
“Exactly is working great for me.” Emmie reached for the pepper. Picked it up. Set it down. “Excuse me, Joan. Where’s the bathroom?”
“Right down the hall, sweetie.” Joan was biting back a smile. “Second door on your right.”
“Thanks.” Emmie rose and left the room.
Ox watched her until she disappeared down the hall. He reached for another roll.
“You’re either really stupid,” Melissa said quietly, “or brilliant.”
“Ask me tomorrow.”
Joan asked, “So will you be staying in town tonight?”
Ox thought about the sweet swing of Emmie’s hips as she hustled down the hall. “Yep.”
“Are you having a sleepover?” Abby asked. “Whose house are you going to?”
Melissa snorted before she could turn it into a cough. “Yeah, Uncle Ox. Whose house are you going to?”
Ox smiled at Abby. “A friend’s.”
The tension in the truck was thick on the drive back to town. Ox could navigate the twisting roads in his sleep, he’d driven them so many times. He had a duffel bag thrown near Emmie�
��s feet and every intention of talking his way into her apartment even if he was sleeping on the couch.
Emmie hadn’t said a word. She wasn’t a chatterbox, but he could tell she was dying to say something. Or maybe she was waiting for him to laugh off what he’d said at the table or make a joke to relieve the tension.
Nope. Not this time, Buttons.
“I like your family,” she finally said.
“Thanks. I do too.”
She glanced at the duffel bag. So you have a friend you can stay with in Metlin? It’s really late.”
It wasn’t that late, but Ox played along. “I know. I’m pretty tired.”
Emmie was dying to ask who. He knew it.
“It’s nice you’re still friends with some people from Bombshell,” she said.
Nice try, sweetheart. “I’m not staying with anyone from Bombshell. Still kind of awkward between me and the guys over there. Though Ginger gave me a slight nod the other day instead of flipping me off, so I’m hopeful.”
“Oh.”
She had no idea what he had in mind. Ox almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
“I have a girl I can stay with.” Melissa was right. He was either really stupid or brilliant.
Ox glanced over at Emmie. Her mouth was open and she was staring at him.
“You bastard,” she said quietly.
He set his face in a hard line. “Why does that make me a bastard?”
“Because you… you said, when we were at the table”—her face was turning red, but it wasn’t a blush this time—“you talk about biting me—biting me!—one minute, and then you casually mention some girl you’re sleeping with.”
“I’m not sleeping with her.” He pulled the truck over on the side of the road. “Too soon for that. She needs some time to get used to the idea.” In fact, the idea of making her wait put him in a perversely good mood.
Emmie hadn’t even noticed that the truck stopped. “You’re unbelievable! You arrogant—”
“I’m not taking anything for granted. She hasn’t invited me to her bed. I don’t go there unless everyone’s on the same page. How does that make me arrogant?”
“You think you can just wind me up, walking around the shop, flirting with me—”
INK Page 15
