Blue Beaver: Awkward Book Two

by Heller, JB

  After removing the lubed-up shoulder-length glove, I throw it in the bin on my way out of the barn. Juda’s taunts roll around inside my head as I stomp up to the house. I run a hand through my hair, and let the back door slam shut behind me.

  Asher arches a brow. “Juda?”

  “Is it ever anything else?”

  Asher shrugs and goes back to whatever he’s doing on his laptop.

  For the most part, we all get along pretty well. But recently, Juda has really been pushing the whole “you need a woman” bullshit. He doesn’t understand that being in a relationship takes time and effort, and I don’t have the energy required for that. I’m not like him; I can’t do one-night stands. It was never my thing, not even when I was younger. I mean, yeah, I’ve resorted to it over the years, but it never felt right.

  Pouring myself a scotch, I knock it down in one hit, drawing Asher’s eyes to me yet again. He closes his laptop, places it on the coffee table in front of him, and turns his torso towards me.

  “What?” I snap. Asher has always been the quiet, contemplative one of us. And it’s clear he has something to say now.

  He throws an arm over the back of the couch and tilts his head to the side. “Maybe Juda has a point. You spend all your time here. You don’t go out. You don’t socialise. You’re just going through the motions every single day.”

  “And your point is?”

  “There should be more to life.” He says this like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

  I shake my head. “Life isn’t a party. It’s hard work and sacrifice.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, brother. Yeah, some of it is about working your arse off and sacrificing things occasionally, but that’s not all it’s about. If you have no joy in your life, what’s the point of living it?”

  A lump forms in my throat, and I look away from him, unable to maintain eye contact. I gave up my own dreams and aspirations to take over the farm after Mum and Dad died. It was so long ago I don’t even remember what I wanted to do with my life back then. Raising Juda and making sure the farm brought in enough money to pay for Asher to go to college was all that mattered.

  Keeping my gaze fixed on the empty scotch glass in my hand, I mutter, “I’m going for a shower.”

  Asher speaks to my retreating form. “You should be a little selfish for the first time in your life and pass some of your workload on to me and Juda for a while. We can handle it, you know. Just think about it, Eli.”

  Could they handle it? Probably. Would it really be that simple?

  Once under the hot spray, I allow myself to imagine what it would be like to come in from working in the yards to a beautiful woman waiting for me. My chest constricts with longing. I want it so much.

  When I get out of the shower, I need to go for a drive. I don’t know where I’m going, but between Juda and Asher’s words, I have a lot of thinking to do.

  Day seven of battling the red river, and I’m craving sweets big time. And not just any old sweets—I need McKenna’s Heavenly Treats. It’s just over an hour’s drive away but so worth the trip.

  I pop a couple of my lower-grade painkillers since today is only a level six on the pain scale, then throw my heat packs in to warm. The second the microwave dings, I pull them out, drop them straight into my oversized handbag, and make my way to my car. Once inside, I secure the heat packs in place, hook up my Bluetooth to play Krista and Becca Ritchie’s latest book, Tangled Like Us, then reverse out of my drive.

  In preparation for eating all the things, I’m wearing my favourite stretchy black leggings, a chunky black cable-knit sweater dress that stops just above my knees, and a pair of brown suede booties. It’s understated yet stylish, and most importantly, baggy, thus somewhat hiding my bloated endo belly that I plan on extending with all the bingeing I’m about to do.

  I swoon along to the story as I drive. These girls can write some seriously amazing stuff. Part of the reason I haven’t bothered finding a bakery with gluten-free awesomeness closer to home is because the drive gives me an opportunity to get my audio romance fix.

  Pulling into a parking spot three stores up from McKenna’s Heavenly Treats, I just about squeal in excitement. This is what life without sex has come to: excessively over-the-top levels of enthusiasm for baked goods.

  After throwing my heat packs into the back, I snatch my bag from the passenger seat, swing my door open, and step out of my car. I gasp in terror. Air pushes into my body. A vehicle careens past me. I plaster myself to the side of my car. My heart thunders in my ears. Christ. In my eagerness to get my sugar fix, I didn’t even look.

  I press my shaking palm to my torso, swallow hard, and count back from ten under my breath to calm myself. That was too close. I didn’t even have time to see who or what almost hit me. Smoothing a hand down my ponytail, I swing my head from side to side, checking the traffic this time before rounding the hood of my car and stepping up onto the footpath.

  “Hey, you!” A pair of seriously pissed off, blazing blue eyes scan over my body, causing my throat to constrict as a man storms towards me.

  “Umm, yes?” I squeak.

  His eyes narrow to slits. “You just stepped out in front of me. I could have killed you! What were you thinking?” He comes to a halt a mere foot from me.

  He thinks I did that on purpose? Straightening my spine, I glare up at him. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Next time you get out of your car, maybe check for traffic first.” His eyes sear through me.

  My top lip lifts in a snarl. “You’re the one driving like a lunatic down a busy street—filled with people, I might add. Maybe you should drive a little slower and be aware of your surroundings.”

  Lifting a large hand, he scrubs it through his dishevelled sandy brown hair and shakes his head at me. “You’re saying that was my fault? Lady, you’re insane.”

  Strangely enough, this is not the first time the opposite sex has questioned my sanity. Sliding my tongue across my top lip, I brace myself for battle. If this guy thinks he can call me insane before he even knows me, he’s deluded. I’m about to let fly with a litany of insults, when I realise the annoyance that filled his blue eyes moments ago has been replaced by heat.

  I swallow, my anger faltering. “Uh,” I mumble. Shit, get it together, Charlotte! He’s a redneck country bumkin, and he just called you insane. In an attempt to get my head right, I take a deep breath, but it backfires. He’s so close I’m overwhelmed by his intoxicating scent: a mixture of soap, earth, and leather.

  Leather? Where the hell did that come from? Does he work with leather? My head spins a little at the possibilities as my eyes leave his to travel over his muscle-clad body. Firm biceps strain the fabric of his red chequered button-down, followed by defined tan forearms protruding from his rolled-up sleeves. I just about swallow my tongue. I love arms.

  Continuing my perusal, I’m met with thick denim-encased thighs. I follow them down to the cowboy boots they’re tucked into and sigh. He’s so fine. If I hadn’t recently taken a vow of celibacy, and there wasn’t a murder-scene-type situation in my pants, I’d be climbing him like a tree already.

  When my eyes finally return to his, I’m in more of a make-love-not-war kind of mood. And he’s looking at me like I’m his next meal. The longer we stare at each other, the thicker the air around us becomes. Need pulses through me as he slowly lifts his hand towards my cheek.

  His warm palm cups my jaw, his thumb tugging my bottom lip free from between my teeth. My tongue snakes out to wet my lips and grazes over the tip of his thumb, still pressed against my flesh. A deep but quiet groan escapes him, traveling right through me to my very core.

  But while it served to turn me on even further, it seems to have pulled him back to reality. He drops his hand as though he was just touching a leper and takes a step away from me. Confusion at this whole encounter fills me, and I rub at my forehead, trying to remember how I came to be standing here with this delicious stranger.

/>   What the ever-loving fuck?

  I got out of my truck, intent on ripping this broad a new one. How did I end up touching her and imagining those full red lips wrapped around my dick?

  Swallowing hard, I force my incredibly inappropriate thoughts down, then grip the back of my neck and rack my brain for something to say.

  Nothing comes to mind. Great. Just fucking brilliant.

  Her lips purse, and her hazel eyes stare straight through me, shining with lust just as powerful as my own.

  “Fuck,” I growl. An image of shoving her up against the red brick wall just three feet from us and filling her mouth with my tongue swirls behind my tightly closed eyes. I clamp my jaw shut, grinding my teeth together.

  I’m jolted from the fantasy by cool fingers sliding over my exposed forearm. My eyes pop open. She’s stepped closer and is looking up into my eyes with confusion. I take another step away from her, breaking our contact. It’s hard enough to think without her touching me.

  “Look,” I say. “Just be more careful in future.” Then I turn around and stalk back to my truck parked haphazardly a few spaces up.

  “Seriously? That’s it? You eye-fuck the shit out of me then just walk away?” she demands, storming after me.

  I turn, looking at her over my shoulder as she follows my retreat. She’s not going to let it go, so I pause at my truck—hand on the handle, ready for a quick escape. Clearing my throat, I gear up to apologise for my behaviour, but she cuts me off.

  “Don’t you dare say the word sorry right now.”

  Raising a brow, I’m stumped. What does she want then? “Uh, what would you like me to say?”

  She tilts her head, her bright-red ponytail swishing over her shoulder as she places a hand on her hip. “How about introducing yourself, then buying me a coffee?”

  Clearly, I heard her wrong. Furrowing my brows, I lean towards her slightly. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Her eyes flash with annoyance. “So that’s how it’s going to be. You’re going to bitch out and leave me hanging. What a gentleman.” She shakes her head, then turns on her heeled boots and walks back towards McKenna’s Heavenly Treats.

  Walking into my favourite place ever, I’m wrapped up in the comforting aroma of the best bakery in the whole freaking world. I inhale deeply, filling my senses with the heavenly scent of freshly made breads, cakes, pastries, and an assortment of other delicious, enticing goodies.

  I shake off my encounter with the scrumptious stranger. I’m closed for business anyway, so nothing could have come of it. Closing my eyes, I relax my stance, then smile. This is my happy place. A bakery in a small, hick town in the middle of nowhere. I thank God every day that I stumbled onto it a few years back when I came out here to interview an up-and-coming designer for my fashion blog. This is where she chose for us to meet, and I’ve been coming back here ever since.

  “Charlotte, honey, how are you?” McKenna’s voice calls from the counter along the back wall. She comes around to greet me and wraps me in her signature bear hug. McKenna is not a small woman. No, she stands almost six feet tall with broad shoulders and a massive smile.

  “Hey, Kenna. I’m doing okay.”

  But she knows me better than to let my white lie slip past her. “Uh-huh. And since when do you come to visit me when you’re feeling okay? You go sit your butt down, and I’ll bring you out some of your favourites,” she says with a wink as she shoos me towards a corner booth I’m rather partial to.

  A couple of minutes later, she places two hazelnut lattes and a plate full of awesome down in front of me, then slides into the booth seat opposite me. “So, how’s the blog going?” she asks and pops a bite-size square of vanilla slice into her mouth.

  Picking up a brownie, I take a bite and chew. My eyelids flutter and a deep, gratifying sigh hums from the back of my throat. Contentment fills me, and I settle farther back into my seat, smiling. “It’s great. I’ve seen a steady incline in sales over the last three months. Hiring Myrtle was a good move.”

  McKenna nods. A knowing glint shines in her eyes. “I just knew she was a good fit for you. She’s the only one in this town—aside from myself, of course—who has any dress sense at all.”

  I wouldn’t say that McKenna has good dress sense. I just let her think she does. I give her the occasional pointer here and there, but I can’t seem to get through to her that flannel is not an acceptable fabric choice in any wardrobe.

  Myrtle Mayer, however, does have a certain something when it comes to style. What she has is quite unique. She’s quirky yet practical. I guess being a single mother has something to do with the practical side of things. It was McKenna’s idea to bring Myrtle onboard, and I’m glad I listened to her. Myrtle’s become quite the asset.

  Licking brownie crumbs from my fingers, I catch McKenna staring at me. “What? Is it stuck on my teeth?”

  She shakes her head. “No, love. You just look tired. I worry about you, you know. Someone as wonderful as you should have somebody to take care of you when you’re unwell. A person who will come get these treats for you so you can get the rest you need.”

  I smile at her. She has only ever shown me kindness. Placing my hand over hers, I give it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for the thought. I appreciate it, Kenna, I do. But I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I take care of myself just fine. Besides, I listen to raunchy books while I’m driving,” I say with a wink.

  McKenna rolls her grey-blue eyes at me. “I bet you do,” she says with a grin, but it drops quickly. “I know you’re quite capable of looking after yourself, but wouldn’t it be nice if someone else did it for you?”

  Shrugging, I take another tasty treat from the plate and pop it in my mouth. So damn good.

  The bell over the door chimes, and she peers over her shoulder, then shuffles out of the booth. “Juda, how are you, baby?” she greets a tall guy with shaggy blond hair falling in his eyes. I watch their exchange, curiosity building as he bends down to wrap his muscular arms around her.

  “Hey, Aunty K. I’m good. You got anything out back for me?” he asks with a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth grin.

  McKenna swats his shoulder. “You save that smoulder for someone like my pretty friend over there. It’s wasted on me. You know I bake extra for you and your brothers every Friday.”

  My gaze drops away from them the second she throws her thumb over her shoulder, gesturing to me. She knew he was coming in. That’s what all the questions were about. I should have known she had an angle.

  I’m busy deciding what I want to eat next when a large, tan hand approaches my plate. I slap it away without thinking, then my eyes shoot up, coming into contact with his. Holy-swoony-deliciousness. He looks tastier than these treats.

  Damn, there must be something in the water around here. First the guy on the street, now this specimen … God must be testing the strength of my vow.

  I blink and shake my head. “Don’t you know it’s rude to touch a girl’s treats without asking?”

  He smirks. “Can I touch your treats?”

  I scoff. I do not share my sugar fixes with anyone but Reagan. “Uh, no. I drove more than an hour for these babies. I’m not sharing.”

  His smirk transforms into a genuine smile, and its brilliance catches me off guard. It transforms his face, making him look almost boyish. While he’s still beyond attractive, I have rules, and one of them is not sleeping with anyone younger than myself.

  “Mind if I sit?” he asks.

  There’s nothing in my rule book about looking. In fact, I’m quite partial to the view in front of me right now. But there’s a very obvious glint of interest in his eyes, so I give it to him straight. “You may, but don’t get any ideas. You won’t be touching any of my goodies.” I pause for effect, then add, “Ever.”

  He nods. The strain of keeping his facial expression neutral is evident by the way the corner of his mouth keeps twitching. He clears his throat and straightens his shoulders, making him look even taller, th
en says, “I would never dream of touching a lady’s goodies. Not until she begged me to.” Heat fills his light-blue eyes as he stares down at me.

  He’s serious … I burst out laughing. I laugh so hard it hurts—like seriously, my insides do not appreciate the hilarity of this moment. A sharp pain shoots through me. I suck in a harsh breath and hold it, willing the stabbing in my abdomen to cease.

  Next thing I know, McKenna is at my side, rubbing my back and glaring daggers at the would-be Mr. Grey. “What did you do?”

  His hands raise in immediate surrender. “Nothing.”

  I pat her leg. “It’s fine, Kenna. He was just being funny and, well, you know what happens when I laugh too hard on devil days.”

  Understanding dawns, and embarrassment fills her cheeks. “Oh,” she says softly, then turns her focus back to the man-child across from me. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m a little overprotective of Miss Charlotte here.”

  He shrugs, then eyes me. “Do I even want to know what devil days are?”

  I shake my head. “You really don’t.”

  “Well, alright then. You ladies have a lovely day, and I’ll see you ’round, Aunty K,” he says as he gets to his feet, taking a large white box from the table that I hadn’t even noticed.

  “Okay, baby. You be good now.”

  He grins at her, then drops a kiss atop her head. He turns to leave and throws a small wave over his shoulder as he exits the store.

  Once he’s out of view, I turn to her, rest an elbow on the tabletop, place my chin in my palm, and then stare at her. She looks everywhere but at me. I clear my throat. “Are you trying to set me up, Kenna?”

  Pressing a hand to her breastbone, she gasps, “I would never.” Then she shuffles out of the booth. “I’ll just go box you up your usual.”