The Academy (The Academy Saga Book 1)

by CJ Daly

  was almost irresistible. Almost. I had to constantly remind myself: he’s only here to snatch my gifted brother from us. Then getting the lead out. So I sat

  down . . . at the farthest recesses of our couch.

  Pete looked over at me and groaned. “Kaaaaaate!—you’re so far away.

  I ambushed you today because I missed you!” He removed the plate from

  between us and sidled up next to me, proffering a cracker. “Peace offering?”

  “No thanks.” I stared straight ahead, trying to concentrate on Tom & Jerry’s escapades.

  “Please don’t be mad anymore; tell me what I can do. How about if I peel

  some grapes and feed them to you?” he breathed into my ear.

  “Sorry—all out.” I folded my arms, hoping he wouldn’t notice the goose

  bumps he’d just raised on them, making me look like a freshly plucked

  chicken.

  “Kate?” He hijacked my hand to rub his thumb along the pulse line.

  A feeling of pleasure so keen it was painful rushed through me. I removed

  my hand and leaned forward so that I was no longer mixed up in his personal

  space. “Hey guys . . . we gotta get to work right after this cartoon,” I reminded.

  The boys habitually complained but otherwise didn’t argue, fully

  engrossed in the colorful animation on the screen. I leaned back, feeling

  the weight of Pete’s eyes on me, so I focused on him focusing on signing my

  brother’s life away.

  “Kate,” he tried again, “I’d like to call a truce.”

  “I’d like to call BS.”

  • 300 •

  “I want to be friends.”

  I want to be more. Arg! I shot him a filthy look, ignoring his searching eyes.

  Drawing a deep breath in through my nostrils, I closed my eyes and tried to

  picture him with devil horns and a tail. Didn’t work, because I just inhaled a

  lungful of his scintillating scent, so that he became devilishly tempting and

  beautiful as an angel. I let out a snarl then stood up and snatched a cracker

  and lemonade off the coffee table.

  “Where are you going?” Pete rose to his feet to follow me.

  “Away from you,” I announced before stalking to the kitchen.

  He instantly looked wounded . Don’t care I told myself as he tried to melt

  me with the heat of his stare. I stared back, willfully. Then had the wonderful

  idea of stuffing the whole cracker into my mouth. So I did, and re-answered

  his question. “To work,” I said, spewing out little bits of cracker.

  Pete arched a brow, a smile playing on his lips. “Didn’t work—you still

  look ravishing.”

  I rolled my eyes while I chewed and swallowed. Then, holding up my

  lemonade in a mock salute, I tipped it back, downed it in five loud gulps, and

  clunked the empty glass down on the counter to face him squarely. A trickle

  of lemonade had dribbled down my chin in the process, so I swiped it off with

  the back of my hand.

  He shook his head, a wide smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Uh-uh.

  Sorry—that was just plain sexy.”

  I scowled at him. He was impossible. And now his eyes began doing that

  smoldering thing again. “. . . Except you missed some,” he said in a low voice

  I felt in weird places.

  Before I could think to move, he took my face in his hands. I sucked in

  a breath, half-panicked, half-expectant. Closing his eyes, he slowly drew me

  forward. My heart started galloping wildly while my body froze, helplessly

  waiting for his next move. He surprised me by licking off the remaining traces

  of sticky sweet from my chin. Stopping just shy of my lips, he opened his eyes

  to peek at me beneath impossibly long lashes.

  “There . . . all better,” he murmured before stepping away, leaving me

  breathless and wanting for more.

  My hand gripped counter. He was something else all right; I’d give him

  that. He was a friggin weapon was what he was. One he definitely knew how

  to use. That wasn’t playing fair, because I didn’t seem to have the same effect

  on him at all.

  He casually called from the living room, “Hey! Bugs Bunny! My favorite!”

  “Can we watch one mower Kadee, pwease?” Mikey begged.

  • 301 •

  “Please, please, please!” Pete joined in with the boys.

  Immobilized by current events, I fingered the blazing trail his warm

  tongue had left on my face. “Fine,” I snapped more harshly than I intended.

  “But right after this one, get your work clothes on and meet me out back.”

  Needing some time to gather myself, I stomped to my room to change into

  jeans and boots.

  When I emerged a couple of minutes later, Pete was waiting for me with a

  fat grin. “All’s missing to complete my fantasy is a cowboy hat.” I just huffed

  right past him, trying to hold on to my righteous indignation. “Now where

  are you going?” he asked.

  “To mix up the calf bottles.” I banged out the door.

  A short moment later the door banged again. “I’ll help you,” he said, and

  I tried not to feel thrilled by his choice.

  He trailed behind me at a leisurely pace, whistling cheerfully as I led the

  way to the tin shed where we stored our feed. In no mood for his good mood, I

  grumbled to myself as I scooped the powdered milk into the dino-sized plastic

  bottles. Wasn’t fair of him to tease me this way. We were naturally falling back

  into old patterns: the ones where he was fun, nice, and charming . . . and I

  fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

  I sighed, weary of fighting off Pete’s good vibes and his academy’s bad

  ones. While I began filling the bottles halfway up with hot water, he retrieved

  the scoop and finished filling the remaining bottles. Maybe if my life wasn’t

  quite so pathetic he could actual y like me for real? His acting was so good I actually believed that he really liked me. No warning bells. No queasy

  stomach. Just a bunch of strummin’ cherubs floatin’ around, stirring up

  feelings of—I banged a metal bucket down and started scooping grain. What’s

  he so dang cheerful about?

  “Can you please stop all that dadgum whistlin’?”

  He immediately stopped to peer at me, one eye half-closed. “Aren’t you

  supposed to whistle while you work?”

  “Ha-ha. Very funny.” I switched the faucet to cold and filled the bottles

  the rest of the way up, then grabbed the rubber nipples from the bucket they

  were soaking in and started snapping them on. I looked expectantly at the

  back door for my no-show brothers. This was a three-man job—feeding

  fourteen hungry calves at the same time.

  “I’d better go see what’s takin’ them so long,” I said.

  “You go on. I got this,” he assured me, then started whistling again. I

  whipped around to glare at him. “Sorry—I didn’t realize it bothered you so

  much.”

  • 302 •

  “I didn’t realize you whistled so much.”

  He looked up from his work, beaming as brightly as the North Star on a

  lonely night. “I only whistle when I’m happy.”

  Arg! I stomped back to the house to fetch my brothers and the truck keys.

  Gah! Why did he have to be so dadgum irresistible? It was like trying to refrain from reposing for a while in a tropical oasis, after a long, scorching journey<
br />
  through The Sahara Desert—sure, you could decline the invitation to join,

  but why would you?

  A few minutes later, found me backing the old work truck up to the shed.

  Those crates were pretty heavy, and I had to admit: it was nice to have Pete

  here to do the heavy lifting for us. (Not to mention how nice it was to see

  him do it.) I watched as his muscles flexed in his sleeveless shirt, noticing the

  way the fabric clung here and there along his torso during his movements.

  It literally made my mouth hang open a spell before I caught myself. He’d

  insisted on hoisting them up himself, along with the fifty-pound bag of feed

  and the three bales of hay, claiming this was all part of the “workout portion

  of the program.” I had to swallow another lump down and remind myself—it

  was all part of the act.

  We jostled together over the tire tracks worn into the pasture, with the

  boys laughing like mad every time Pete pretended to pop up when we hit a

  pothole. “Whoa! Crazy driver at the wheel,” he shouted. “Look out!” Mikey

  was very nearly in hysterics. His infectious laugh even infected me, and I

  found myself laughing along with the antics.

  We arrived at our destination—a large parcel of fenced-in pasture reserved

  for the calves. These particular ones were bought for a bargain at auction

  because they were so sick and weak, they were half expected to die. I’d spent

  all summer long nursing them back to health and was proud as a mother hen

  of my herd. They all came trotting over like over-grown, hooved puppies,

  frolicking and kicking up dust, each one butting the other to try to get ahead.

  “Hey, babies!” I cooed, getting out to greet them through the barbed-wire

  fence.

  Their dry sandpaper tongues began licking my hands, arms, shirt. I bent

  over to rub them down while Pete went to retrieve the crates with the boys

  nipping closely at his heels. On the way back, he paused by the front fender,

  holding on to the crate handles and just staring at me. I felt silly and self-

  conscious in my worn jeans, in the middle of a huddle of overgrown babies,

  licking at me all over. Must’ve been quite a culture shock for Pete because he

  was still staring.

  “Need a hand?” I called out.

  • 303 •

  “Nope. Just taking a moment to enjoy the scenery.”

  I felt myself flush and turned to fight off a particularly effusive lick from

  a spotted calf, pushing him back a little before rubbing at his pink muzzle.

  “They like the attention,” I said in way of explanation.

  “Lucky calves,” he said, ambling forward with the first crate of bottles.

  I shook my head, fighting a secret smile. “Set it right here.” I indicated a

  worn spot near the fence. “We have to feed them all at the same time or else

  they try to trample one another.”

  “How do you manage that?” he wondered as we walked back together to

  grab another crate. Each crate held six bottles, so he took the full one, which

  left me the one holding two.

  “I’ll show you.” I smiled.

  By the time we returned with the bottles, the jostling and butting were no

  longer fun and games. The calves were all business now, automatically lining

  up across the fence line impatient for their dinner. I grabbed two bottles,

  turned to my two regular helpers. “Okay boys, let’s show‘m how it’s done,” I

  said before shoving each bottle into a make-shift slot in the fence that Andrew

  and I had engineered for precisely this purpose.

  “Clever. I didn’t even notice that,” Pete said.

  “Thanks.” I smiled proudly. “It’s somethin’ Drew and I came up with this

  summer . . . with Mikey’s help, of course,” I added quickly.

  “Simple and creative,” Pete approved. He grabbed two more bottles and

  followed suit. Soon we had fourteen hungry calves greedily sucking down

  milk. Pete grinned over at me feeding a black and white Holstein I’d named

  Buttercup by hand. “You’ll spoil him.”

  I laughed out loud, patting Buttercup’s head as she nudged for more.

  “Shows how much you know, city boy—Buttercup’s a girl.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “I guess I am looking at the wrong

  end. In my defense, from this end, she looks like a he.”

  Stuffing the bottle between my knees, I covered her ears. “Don’t listen to

  him Buttercup!” I scolded Pete, “You’ll give her a complex.”

  He gave a throaty chuckle, but his eyes turned serious. “I gotta say Kate . . .

  you’re quite the little mama.”

  “Um . . . thanks.” Unable to withstand his constant scrutiny, I decided

  now was a good time to check their water supply, so I hopped over the fence.

  A string of calves trotted after me. Pete followed, agilely climbing over to join

  me like he crossed barbed-wire fences every day. A few of the calves eyed him

  suspiciously before finally deciding he was okay to also nudge and rub up

  against. I sighed . . . lucky calves.

  • 304 •

  “Hey!” he yelped a laugh. “Can you call off your brood? I think I’m being attacked.”

  My brothers chorus laughed before climbing the fence and jumping off

  like mini superheroes to the rescue. Pretty soon all three boys had different

  calves chasing after them. Everyone was laughing and having a really good

  time—myself included. This is dangerous. Very dangerous.

  “Hey, Kate . . .” Pete patted a particularly sweet-natured black Angus.

  “Why are these calves not with their mothers in the pasture?”

  “Because most of them never even got a chance to meet their mother when

  they were born before they were snatched away.” Disgust huskied my voice.

  “Why not?”

  “Because these calves were born on veal farms, and, well . . . you don’t

  want me to go into it. Suffice it to say, they started off life with a pretty raw

  deal.”His eyes turned soft. “Thanks to you, they seem to be doing pretty

  well now.”

  “Yeah, I guess. We lost three of ‘em though . . . too far gone when we got

  them—starved to death, actually.” My voice cracked at the memory.

  He came over to brush my hair with his hand. “Yeah, but think about

  how many you were able to save.”

  “That’s nice of you to say. A lot of our success comes from buying

  colostrum from Mrs. Hildebrand. That’s the mother’s first milk, and it has

  all this protein and antibodies in it the calves need to survive illness. It’s pretty gross though, because it looks a lot like drinkin’ bloody milk.” I realized I was

  babbling on. “Sorry. I’m sure that was TMI.”

  “No,” he contradicted. “It’s fascinating actually. This is the one thing they

  don’t really cover at The Academy.”

  “Not a lot of FFA members there, I take?”

  “You see,” he said around a smile, “you say that like I know what it

  means.” I laughed and briefly explained Future Farmers of America to him.

  “No, I’d dare say nary a one,” he laughed, rubbing the white star on the little

  heifer’s head. “I have to say I’m glad I’ve never eaten veal now.”

  “Good. Because if you said it was your favorite food, I’d have to turn my

  brood on y
ou in a Texas-sized stampede! I’m glad but curious. Why not? It

  seems like something they would serve over at that fancy boardin’ school of yours . . . that and bunny soufflé.”

  He pulled a face but let that one pass. “They don’t serve it because it’s on

  the ‘forbidden foods list,’” he quoted.

  “Because of moral reasons?”

  • 305 •

  “Because it’s unhealthy for us,” he corrected. “All the antibiotics they shoot them up with.”

  “I guess that’s something about your academy not to hate,” I conceded.

  “What?” Pete dramatically covered his heart with his hand. “I’m hurt,

  Kate. Can you not even think of one good thing to associate with it?”

  I lightly punched his arm. “Don’t push your luck, buddy.” We began

  heading back to the fence, leap-frogging over newly plopped cowpatties

  steaming on the ground. “I’m curious now. What else is on the ‘forbidden

  foods’ list?”

  “Oh, you know,” he said, “the usual suspects.”

  “No, I don’t know!” I burst out with impatience. “Please enlighten me.”

  I hoped he wasn’t going to clam up on me again, or worse—start quoting

  from the brochure.

  He slid me a sidelong glance. “Fine. Uhhh, let’s see . . . there’s hydrogenated

  oils of course, anything with artificial flavors, colors, or preservatives is

  banned, the popular MSGs, candy, soda—all junk food.”

  My eyebrows shot up. That was a pretty long list and must be difficult to

  maintain. I was quiet for a moment, processing. “What can you eat?”

  “Basically unadulterated, organic fruits and vegetables, whole grains, free-

  range poultry and meats, wild-caught fish, a lot of raw foods . . . except for

  sushi. Yunno—all the non-fun stuff.” He shrugged.

  I looked at him incredulously. “Wow. I didn’t think it was possible to

  actually feel sorry for you, Cadet Davenport. But I gotta say—I kinda do.”

  He tossed his head back, his sharp, pleasant laughter filling the empty

  pasture and my empty heart up with joyous vibrations.

  “So . . .” I stuck my hands between the coiled barbs on the wire, poised

  to hoist myself over. “You’ve like never eaten a donut before?”

  “I never say never,” Pete said, stepping behind me. His hands circled my

  waist with the confidence of ownership before lifting me high into the air.

  After I’d safely landed, he hopped over after me, lickety-split, and grabbed my