Fragile Hearts (Poplar Falls Book 4)

by Amber Kelly

  She looks like a summer day.

  “Ready, Doc? Dallas just texted and asked if we could stop in town and grab a couple more bottles of wine. Apparently, Myer didn’t pick up nearly enough.”

  I stand. “Ready if you are. Thank you for the lemonade, Mrs. Wilson.”

  She stands as well and wraps me in a hug. “Oh, it was my pleasure, and you call me Beverly, you hear. No more of this Mrs. Wilson nonsense,” she demands.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I shake Winston’s hand as she hugs Bellamy.

  “I’ll be waiting to carry her in,” he whispers loudly to me.

  “Pop! I heard that.” She feigns offense.

  “Wasn’t trying to keep you from hearing it, sweetheart.”

  He smiles lovingly at his daughter, and she kisses his cheek.

  Then, I walk her to my truck, and we head to town.

  Bellamy

  Brandt and I ride in silence to my brother’s cabin. It’s not exactly awkward, but it’s obvious neither of us knows what to say about what happened last night. At least he isn’t avoiding me, so I guess that’s a good sign.

  When we make it to the party, he immediately joins the boys outside at the horseshoe pits while I take the wine inside.

  Sophie, Elle, and Silas’s wife, Chloe, are already set up on the living room floor with Faith lying on a blanket.

  “Bells, it’s about time you arrived. We’re almost out of wine,” Dallas says from the couch. Empty wineglass in hand.

  “Since when do you drink wine?” I ask what I think is a fair question.

  She looks down at her glass and frowns. “I thought if I limited myself to wine, I wouldn’t get too drunk. I don’t want to pass out and not hear Faith when she wakes up to feed,” she grumbles.

  “I thought that you pumped, so you could drink. Doesn’t that mean Myer can get up and feed her?” Sophie asks.

  “I did. But I like getting up with her. And he has to get up at the ass-crack of dawn every day, so I like for him to get extra sleep on Sundays.”

  “You know, I heard him talking to Momma the other day, and I think he’s a little bit jealous that you’re the only one who can get up with her and feed her. He really wants some quiet one-on-one time with her,” I tell her, only slightly exaggerating the conversation.

  “Really?” she asks.

  “Yep. He wants extra daddy-daughter bonding time. You don’t want to rob him of that, do you?”

  She eyes me suspiciously. “I’m going to pretend you aren’t trying to manipulate a new mother and that all of that’s true. Now, hand me a beer out of the fridge, please.”

  I set the wine bottles down and grab us both a cold one before rejoining them.

  “How did you get down there?” I ask Sophie as she lies beside the baby, propped up on an elbow.

  “Very carefully, and I think I live here now because I don’t believe I’m going to be able to get myself up,” she groans.

  Dallas pops the top and takes a long pull. “Ahh, that’s so good,” she exclaims.

  “I miss wine.” Sophie pouts.

  “I bought you some sparkling grape juice, so you could pretend,” Dallas offers.

  Sophie wrinkles her nose at that.

  “I brought you some strawberry ice cream and churros,” Elle counters.

  “Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner,” Sophie declares.

  “Such a weird combination,” I muse.

  “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. It will change your life!” Sophie insists.

  The door opens, and Walker’s head pops in.

  “Cheese on all the burgers?” he asks.

  All of us nod.

  He gives us a salute and shuts the door.

  “Where’s Sonia?” I ask.

  “She called earlier. She and Ricky got in an argument because he wanted her to go to his best friend’s house to watch the fights with him and his wife. She wanted to come here. They finally compromised and are going to swing by here on their way there. So, they’ll be here shortly,” Elle explains.

  “Well, that’s progress, I guess.”

  “If you say so.”

  Elle obviously disagrees, but we made a pact to keep our opinions to ourselves when it comes to Ricky unless Sonia asks for them. Which she doesn’t often.

  “Bye,” Dallas says as she hugs me for the fourth time.

  “Bye, sis. I’ll see you tomorrow at Sunday dinner,” I remind her.

  She hiccups. “Yep, we’ll be there,” she confirms.

  Walker tries to squeeze by us, and she nabs him and forces a hug on him.

  “Woman, you are tanked,” he accuses.

  “Am not,” she argues.

  “She hasn’t drunk anything in close to a year. I think the beer hit her hard,” Sophie tattles.

  Dallas sticks her tongue out at her best friend. “Narc,” she accuses.

  Sophie laughs and wraps her arms around Dallas’s neck. “I love you,” she says.

  “I love you too,” a disgruntled Dallas returns.

  She leans down and puts her lips to Sophie’s belly. “Auntie Dallas loves you too, Lily Claire.” She kisses the bump.

  Myer comes up behind Dallas, snakes an arm around her waist, and pulls her into his chest.

  “Everyone has to go, sweetheart. It’s getting late,” he whispers into her hair.

  “I think that’s our cue,” Brandt says from behind me.

  Dallas leans in and whispers, “He just wants drunken sex. The doctor gave us the thumbs-up yesterday.”

  “Hell, man, why didn’t you say so? Everybody, to your vehicles and vacate the property immediately!” Walker shouts.

  Myer laughs and shakes his head. “Thanks, man.”

  “I always have your six, bud. Enjoy all the sloppy lovin’.”

  Walker leads Elle to the driveway, and we all follow suit.

  Elle eyes Brandt as we stop at his truck.

  “You two have a good night,” she says before she walks off.

  Walker slaps him on the back. “Yep. Have a good one, Doc. You’re one hell of a horseshoe partner.”

  Braxton loads Sophie and then calls out before he gets in the truck, “We’ll be around about noon, Brandt.”

  “That’s right. Noon, sir,” Walker agrees.

  I look over at Brandt in question.

  “They are coming to assist in stripping and sanding the floors tomorrow.” He says it like he can’t believe they would want to help him.

  “That’s great. Three sets of hands are better than one.”

  He opens the door and helps me inside. We are once again alone and silent. I reach and turn on the radio.

  “I had fun tonight,” he mutters as I search for a station.

  “Yeah, me too,” I agree.

  “You want to ride around for a while?” he asks. “I mean, unless you’re tired,” he adds.

  “Not ready for the night to end, Doc?”

  He purses his lips together.

  “Not ready for sleep,” he answers oddly.

  I finally find the country station I like and turn the music up. I kick off my sandals and prop my feet on the dash.

  “Then, let’s cruise some back roads,” I tell him.

  He looks at me and smiles. Then, he pushes the button to lower both our windows, and the truck fills with the cool, fresh breeze.

  I lay my head back against the seat and close my eyes while Granger Smith’s voice drifts through the air.

  At some point, Brandt’s arm comes up to rest on the back of the seat, and he starts to absentmindedly play with my hair. Twirling it around his fingers.

  I moan and loll my head to the side to give him better access.

  He looks over at me. “You like that?” he asks.

  “Every girl likes having her hair played with,” I inform him.

  He looks back at the road, but his hand entangles deeper in my hair, and he starts to massage my scalp.

  I close my eyes and begin to drift off.
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br />   “Bells,” he calls.

  “Hmm?”

  “I enjoyed kissing you.”

  I try to rally and respond, but all I manage is a weak smile and a muttered, “I liked kissing you too.”

  He gently tugs my neck, and I let him pull me closer to him. I open one eye as I wrap an arm around his waist, lay my head on his shoulder, and snuggle in.

  He continues to drive while I sleep.

  When he pulls up to my house and turns off the ignition, it rouses me. I sit up and rub my eyes, and then I look at the clock on the dash. Hours. He drove around with me asleep, curled up to him, for hours.

  My arm is still around him, and I bunch his shirt into my fist at his side as I try to stretch the sleep away.

  “You’re home,” he whispers into my hair.

  I drop my forehead to his chin. And his hand comes down and starts lazily rubbing up and down my back as he holds me.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve had any kind of intimate touch,” he confesses into the dark cab.

  That makes me press closer into him.

  “I forgot how good it feels to share the same space with another person. To hold a woman as she sleeps,” he continues.

  I lift my head and give him my eyes.

  His bore into mine, and then they drop to my mouth.

  He brings his hand back to my hair and wraps it in his fist.

  Then, he guides my mouth to his.

  This kiss is different than before. It’s slow and sweet, but I feel it all the way to my toes … an ache. I want to wrap myself around him.

  I can tell he is close to losing control, too, as he tugs me as near to him as possible in the small space. My hand finds his thigh. I dig my nails into his muscle, and he groans.

  That’s when the porch light blinks on.

  I pull away and look over my shoulder at my daddy in his pajama pants, standing at the door like he did when I was a teenager.

  I look back at Brandt’s wide eyes.

  “My daddy just caught us making out in the driveway,” I whisper.

  He presses his lips together, trying to hold back a laugh.

  I sit up and reach for the door handle, and he grabs my hand and squeezes.

  “I’ll get your door,” he says.

  “That’s okay. I got it this time.”

  “Sweet dreams, Bells.”

  “Night, Doc.”

  I hop down and shut the door. I walk backward to the house and watch as he backs out and heads up toward the gate.

  Pop meets me at the steps.

  “I think I’m in trouble, Pop,” I say without turning around.

  His big hand lands on my shoulder. “I think maybe he’s the one in trouble, sweetheart,” he mutters.

  Brandt

  “Does this outlet have power?” Walker asks as he tries to start the floor sander he plugged into the extension cord across from the kitchen.

  “They all should. The power company came out Friday morning to check the wiring and turn on the electricity.”

  He tries again, and still, nothing.

  “Brax, when did we use this thing last?”

  Braxton is in the dining room, applying a coat of liquid paint thinner.

  He removes his mask and answers, “We used it upstairs at your place last weekend. It should work fine.”

  Walker goes and checks the connection again. “Dammit, I’m not getting anything. The thing is dead.”

  Braxton props the handle to the roller against the wall and walks into the kitchen. He flips the switch under the old mounted telephone, and the sander hums to life. Then, he marches back to the dining room.

  “You could have just told me what to do, jackass,” Walker calls.

  Braxton extends his arm behind his back and gives him the finger.

  They showed up at noon sharp this afternoon with a truck bed full of equipment. Equipment I would have had to pay for in order to get the job done.

  When we had been sitting around the fire, eating our burgers last night, Myer had asked what my plans were for today, and I told them I was starting the floors as long as Bramble Building Materials was open on Sunday to rent what I needed. I had intended to pick everything up on Saturday before Hal Franklin called about his sick goats. Braxton had asked what all I needed and said he had everything, so he’d offered his help, and Walker had stepped up next.

  The three of us work steadily for the next few hours before stopping to eat sandwiches Sophie sent with Braxton.

  “I think we have enough edging tape to finish up the kitchen and dining room before we call it a day. That way, your floors are ready when they arrive with your island and cabinets tomorrow,” Braxton says as we sit on the tailgate of his truck.

  “I appreciate all your help today, guys. I couldn’t have finished a single room on my own,” I tell them.

  “We would have helped you sooner if we’d known you were tearing everything out yourself. The demo is Walker’s favorite part of any project. Tearing things up is his special talent.”

  Walker doesn’t disagree. He just smiles around a mouthful.

  “Bellamy helped with that part,” I tell them.

  “Bellamy?” Walker asks.

  I laugh. “Yeah, you should have seen her with the sledgehammer, ready to start whacking away at the counters. I had to pry it out of her hand. She was going to hurt herself for sure.”

  “That woman is stronger than you think. She once got so mad at Myer and me that she picked up a ten-gallon bucket of WaterSeal and chucked it at us. Those damn things are heavy. Hurt like hell too,” Walker tells us.

  “Yeah, these ranch girls aren’t like the girls in the city. They aren’t afraid of hard work. But I wouldn’t let Sophie or Elle handle a sledgehammer either if I were around,” Braxton agrees.

  “You and Bells looked like you were in a good place last night,” Walker says.

  “We are. I think.”

  “You’re really into her, huh?” he adds.

  “Yeah, I’m into her,” I admit.

  “Well, just remember, she’s Myer’s little sister and Elle’s best friend, so if you break her heart, I will have to break your kneecaps,” Walker states.

  “I, uh …”

  “He’s kidding. Fuck, Walk. He doesn’t know you well enough yet. Stop being a dick,” Braxton scolds.

  “Who says I’m kidding?” Walker asks.

  “I have no intention of hurting her,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, well, sometimes, shit goes down, even when you have the best of intentions,” he says, and it sounds like he speaks from experience.

  “That’s enough yapping. Let’s get back to work,” Braxton orders.

  Walker slides his eyes to me. “I don’t know why he always gets to be in charge,” he whines.

  “Because if you were in charge, we’d never get anything done,” Braxton throws over his shoulder. “Now, stop feeding your face and come on.”

  Walker begrudgingly throws the rest of his third sandwich back in the paper sack and follows Braxton.

  “They look good!” Braxton admires as I pull up the last of the tape.

  We stripped, sanded, and stained the hardwood a dark espresso, and he is right; they look better than I imagined. I intended to stain them a golden-wheat color, which was closer to the original floors, but Bellamy talked me into the dark hue because she thought it would look better with the gray-quartz countertops and black cabinetry I’d picked out.

  “They do. This kitchen is going to be kick-ass when you’re finished,” Walker agrees.

  “Are you planning on keeping that fireplace in the dining room?” Braxton asks.

  “I am. Bellamy thinks I should paint the brick white and add a dark mantel that matches the cabinets in the kitchen.”

  He nods his head. “She’s right. That would look amazing.”

  “And what does Miss Wilson think you should do in here?” Walker asks from the living room.

  “A dark gray accent wall and remote blin
ds,” I answer.

  He looks around and back to me. “There aren’t any windows in here,” he says.

  “Right, and add floor-to-ceiling windows to let the natural light in,” I add.

  “Oh, is that all?” he asks.

  Braxton laughs.

  “This is your house, man. Don’t let her female all over it before you even get a chance to move in,” Walker protests.

  “Says the man who literally calls Elle to ask her opinion of where he should add a damn nail to a support beam,” Braxton teases.

  “Do not make me say it, man. Don’t,” Walker warns as he points at Braxton.

  “Say what?”

  Walker looks at me. “She uses sexual persuasion to bribe me into getting exactly what she wants. What can I say? I’m a weak man when it comes to that woman,” he says.

  “Fuck, Walk, really?” Braxton stomps off to the door.

  “I tried to warn you,” Walker yells after him.

  We pack up and help Braxton get everything back into his truck.

  “I’d leave this stuff here for you, but we need it over at Walk’s this week. I’ll bring it back next Sunday though to help you do the rest of the downstairs. If we have time, we’ll get to the second floor too,” Braxton says before shutting the tailgate.

  “Can I pay you guys for your time?” I ask.

  Braxton shakes his head. “No, pitching in is part of being neighbors and friends around here. I’m sure Sophie will want a studio or something eventually, and you can come to help me.”

  “What about you, Walker? Need any help at your place this week?” I ask.

  “I can always use an extra set of hands. We want to get that place done before Sophie bursts and Braxton is rendered useless for six weeks or longer,” he says.

  “Then, I will be there after work tomorrow,” I tell him.

  He claps me on the back. “Make it Tuesday or Wednesday, Doc. You’ll want to come here after work tomorrow to check out your new kitchen and enjoy it. The work will be there at my place all week long.”

  “You’ve got yourself a deal,” I say. I thank them both again before they drive off.

  I turn to look at the house. The white paint is chipping and peeling, and it needs a fresh coat, but I think I’m going to give it a bit of a face-lift and change it to a colonial blue with white trim and black shutters and doors. Still regal but more me.